Bodie 7 Page 4

  A rifle fired behind him, the sound hard in the wide open desert landscape. The slug kicked up dust well away from Bodie. He figured someone was firing from the back of a moving horse. Not the best position for accurate shooting.

  As Bodie followed the natural curve of the gully, taking him briefly out of sight of his pursuers, a quick thought came into his mind.

  Desert landscape.

  He was moving further into the desert. The desolate, sun scorched wasteland where heat and the lack of water could kill a man as easily as a rifle slug. Cagle and Benedict were going to know that and they would make sure he wouldn’t be able to turn about and circle his way around them.

  Like it or not Bodie had to keep moving south, hoping to gain distance, but at the same time taking himself into the desert…

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Son of a bitch, we damn sure got him now,’ Tobe Benedict crowed. ‘He’s running south. Right into the desert. If we don’t put a bullet in him, he’ll burn up more’n likely.’

  ‘Never no mind about Bodie,’ Dancer yelled. ‘He put a goddamn slug in me. Jesus, it hurts, damnit. What about that?’

  He was down on the ground, making enough noise to raise the dead, and spilling blood.

  Vince Cagle was kneeling beside him, trying to get a clear view of the bloody wound.

  ‘Sit still, Billy, you asshole. How can I do anything with you jiggin’ all over.’

  ‘But it hurts, Vince, god it hurts..’

  ‘That’s because you were dumb enough to let Bodie shoot you.’

  ‘Hey, Vince, you want me to trail after him?’ Benedict said. ‘See where he’s going?’

  ‘You got a mind to then just do it,’ Cagle said. ‘Not likely he’s going to walk out of sight.’

  ‘Guess so. But he might turn about and circle us.’

  ‘Make sure he don’t,’ Cagle said. ‘Do I have to do all the damn thinking for this outfit?’

  Benedict checked his rifle, replaced the loads he’d used earlier. He took up his reins and eased his horse away.

  Ignoring Dancer’s continued moaning, Cagle crossed to his ground reined horse and opened his saddlebags. He pulled out a shirt and a flat bottle of liquor. He pulled out the knife tucked in his boot and cut away Dancer’s shirt from around the wound. The entry hole was neat but where the bullet had emerged from his shoulder the flesh was ragged and torn. The damaged flesh had formed a pulpy mass, still bleeding.

  ‘Lucky it didn’t break no bone,’ Cagle said.

  ‘Oh, I guess that’s okay then,’ Dancer said.

  ‘Billy, you got one hell of a sour disposition.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, you get yourself shot and see if it cheers you up.’

  Cagle cut the shirt into wide strips. Made a thick pad from more of the cloth. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and took a quick slug. He held out the bottle.

  ‘You want some?’

  ‘Hell, no, I don’t want no liquor.’

  ‘Suit yourself, Billy,’ Cagle said and poured some of the raw liquor over the entry and exit wounds.

  Dancer squealed as the alcohol burned its way into the wounds. Ignoring the noise Cagle placed the folded pad over the exit wound and pressed down, closing the bloody mound of flesh.

  ‘Goddam you to hell,’ Dancer howled. ‘What you do that for?’

  ‘Keep the wound clean,’ Cagle said, fashioning a crude bandage around Dancer’s arm and shoulder.

  ‘You like to burned my shoulder.’

  ‘Billy, shut your damn mouth. It’s like I’m dealing with a woman here.’

  Dancer didn’t make a complaint this time. When Cagle looked he saw the younger man had passed out.

  ‘Smartest thing you done today, Billy.’

  He finished tying off the bandage, then sat back and took another mouthful from the bottle, and got to wondering where Benedict had got to.

  ~*~

  The man called Silverbuck had gone to where his horse was tethered. From the packed saddle bag pouch he pulled out a wrapped object. He opened the soft cloth to expose a lovingly cared for pair of binoculars. The brass and leather was clean and unmarked. He had actually bought the instrument a number of years back and had found it useful when he was tracking someone. The powerful magnification allowed him to spy on someone from a long way off. He hung the binoculars around his neck by the retaining strap and made his way back to his vantage point. He took one of his canteens with him and took a slow sip as he settled down again. He raised the glasses and focused on the distant ridge line where Bodie had disappeared.

  He checked out the two men crouched near the gulley. The one Bodie had wounded was stretched out, his shoulder bandaged by one of his partners. The third man was some distance further on, mounted and carrying a rifle. He was following the line of the gulley where Bodie had taken cover. Silverbuck could see a thin mist of dust from the man hunter’s passing, but he failed to actually see the man himself.

  Silverbuck sat back on his heels, considering his next move. He decided to stay out of sight for the moment. If he exposed himself too quickly he would have these men to take on as well as Bodie. As much as he wanted the Stalker, Silverbuck had no intention of adding to his own problems.

  He could feel a growing ache in his arm. It troubled him from time to time, giving him pain. Even thought it had healed in the bone there was a lingering problem with the nerve endings that had been damaged in the limb and there were times when Silverbuck suffered for long periods. At least here in the hot desert the pain was bearable. When it was cold the pain became stronger, a nagging ache that refused to go away. During those times the anger in him grew hot and his need for vengeance against Bodie rose until he could have screamed in his fury. He found he was stroking his fingers across the ridged neck scar. Of all his wounds it was the one he hated Bodie for more than any other. He had survived the brutal cut but in the event he had lost the ability to speak as he should. He had lived when he should have died, yet now he was barely able to communicate and it was that which pained him more than anything.

  Damn you, Bodie, I will make you suffer a living hell before I end your life.

  He made the promise in the name of Ussen, the god of the Apache – not someone Silverbuck acknowledged very often, but on this occasion he meant it.

  ~*~

  Benedict had pushed his horse along the ridge, eyes searching for Bodie. He knew the others would join him once Cagle had the kid sorted. Dancer getting himself shot was going to slow them down. Too damned eager to prove himself, that was Billy Dancer. He was lucky Bodie hadn’t managed a killing shot. If he’d had time that would have happened. The man hunter didn’t waste time on wounding. Benedict kept reminding himself about that. Whatever happened out here no one was going back to Yuma unless it was over the back of a horse. This was a one-way ride.

  Drawing rein Benedict raised in his saddle.

  Where the hell had Bodie gone?

  He followed the meandering line of the gulley. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. It was like the man had vanished. Benedict looked across the opposite ridge. If Bodie wasn’t in the gulley he had to have climbed the far side and moved on.

  ‘Okay, you sonofabitch, we can all play games,’ Benedict said.

  He rode down into the gulley and up the far bank, sitting and scanning the surrounding landscape. The desert spread out ahead of him. Silent and empty. Heat waves shimmering. A desert breeze disturbing the sand. Benedict turned his horse full circle,

  Nothing. It was like he was the only man alive. He tipped back his hat and ran his sleeve across his face. The heat was vicious. It hammered down on a man, giving no relief.

  It brought back memories of his time in Yuma. The endless hours in the cramped and stinking cells with no escape from the crippling temperature. The unforgiving tedium of the days and the chill nights. Bad food. Guards who would beat a man as soon as look at him. Benedict still had scars on his back from being beaten. Hell on earth, they called Yuma Pen, and that was what it was. A
man was punished every day he spent in that place. Well, Tobe Benedict was out now, and he was never going back. Once they had settled with Bodie, the three of them were going to get as far away from Arizona as they could. It would have been easy to do that now. Simply ride on and forget the prison and Bodie. But that wasn’t going to happen. Benedict and Cagle and Dancer had a reckoning to settle first. None of them would feel content until Bodie was lying at their feet. Even if they had walked away Bodie would stay on their trail, hunting them down. It was in his nature. The only way they would ever feel totally free would be when he was dead. When they had paid him back for the three years they had lost in that damned prison.

  And with the man hunter dead they could collect the gold waiting for them, in. The bank at Mesa had been their final robbery, the one where the three had been caught, sentenced and jailed. If they had given up the gold they had previously stolen they might have received lesser sentences, but Cagle, Benedict and Dancer had remained silent about it. They figured to do their time, then retrieve the gold coins and take off with it. After rotting in Yuma, as Cagle had said, they had earned the money.

  Breaking out had seemed a good idea at the time. Having Bodie appear on the scene had been a bonus. Cagle had seen it as a sign things were on the up for them.

  Kill Bodie.

  Collect their cash.

  Ride on.

  Benedict wet his lips from his canteen. Swallowed a little more water.

  Already the perspective had changed. Okay, they had Bodie on the run. But Billy had been wounded and Bodie had vanished.

  Son of a bitch.

  He was on foot. No water. Being pushed into the desert, and he still managed to give them the slip.

  Benedict leaned forward, eyes fixed on a distant spot. He was certain he had seen movement. To the south and off to the west. He stared until his eyes ached. The heat haze made it hard to be certain. It could have been a man – then Benedict wasn’t so sure. The shimmering disturbance of the air made it hard to be certain. Benedict squeezed his eyes shut, blinked to clear his vision, then took another look.

  Nothing his time.

  His eyes must have been playing tricks on him.

  Even so Bodie was out there. And Tobe Benedict didn’t give up easy. He urged his horse forward.

  Keep looking over your shoulder, Bodie, ’cause I’m still here and still coming for you.

  Chapter Eight

  Bodie lay in the scant shadow of the tangled catclaw, his body stretched out full length in the shallow dip. He had pulled the soft sand of the hollow over him so he was partially buried. From where he lay he could see the mounted figure of Tobe Benedict as the man took his time checking out the area. The man was taking his time, most likely aware that Bodie had to be somewhere close. It hadn’t been long for the man hunter to have moved out of sight, so Benedict had to be figuring he was still close. Just hidden.

  Most likely watching. And waiting.

  ~*~

  It was uncomfortable where Bodie lay. The ground under him was hot and the high sun beat down with unrelenting ferocity. The scant shade offered by the catclaw did nothing to reduce the sun. Even the Colt in Bodie’s hand was hot, sweat forming on his palm where it gripped the butt.

  He admitted to himself that Cagle and his partners had caught him between a rock and a hard place. Pushing him south, into the desert, had been a smart move as far as they were concerned. Nothing ahead of him but more sun scorched emptiness and between Bodie and safety, Cagle, Benedict and Dancer. Not much of a choice, but it was the best offer he was likely to get.

  Following the tracks after dealing with Elkins had brought Bodie to his current situation and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He’d been too eager to catch up with the three and he had admittedly lowered his guard. That was then, this was now, and no point feeling sorry for himself. So he had walked into an impasse and all that was open to him was getting out of it.

  Bodie focused on Benedict. The man was too far for a shot from the Colt. Well out of range. Bodie thought of the rifle he’d had to leave pinned under his dead horse. Having that in his hands would have leveled the odds.

  He watched as Benedict trailed his horse along the rim of the gully, still searching. Benedict was staying where he was, keeping beyond the range of Bodie’s revolver. His position allowed him to scope out the landscape without presenting himself as an easy target. If Bodie did move he would be seen soon enough. A dark figure against the pale sand. So he stayed where he was, biding his time until Benedict tired of standing guard. He saw the man take another drink from his canteen. It reminded Bodie of his own thirst. His mouth was parched, sour tasting. He couldn’t even raise any saliva and Bodie didn’t try because that would have hurt his throat. What was maddening was the fact there was a water source close by he realized. No more than a few miles off to the west.

  Pinto Wells it was called. Created eons ago during volcanic eruptions that had pushed up from below the surface, where hot lava had spewed out and flowed across the surface of the earth, forming as it cooled into a series of rocky formations. Countless years had weathered the hardened crust and sand storms had smoothed the dark rock. And in time water from a deep underground source beneath the surface had broken through. A natural water course, where the constant pressure of the stream forced it to the surface, finding its way through the fractured rock, the precious liquid bubbled it way out to fill the rock pans. The flow of water had worn the rocks smooth over eons. Through the long years animals and man had used the place. Pinto Wells, as it had been named, was one of the few constant water sources. Many watering holes depended on rainfall to replenish them. Pinto Wells never ran out. There were very few of these natural places and Bodie had learned to pinpoint their existence. Right now he might as well have been a thousand miles from the spot. As long as he was being covered by Benedict and company that water offered nothing more than a prize that might turn out to be well beyond his reach.

  Bodie felt the tug of a rising wind. Lifted his head and felt it ruffle his hair. Over the next few minutes that soft breeze increased and started to pick up dust and sand. It was coming in from the southwest. Bodie checked in that direction and saw the distant, approaching swirl of a sand storm. As it swept in his direction it was picking up loose detritus. With each passing minute the strength increased and the density of the cloud increased. The first of the sandy particles reached Bodie. He knew that it might be a swift pass. The power of the wind sweeping over him and vanishing in minutes. But during that time he would be pretty well hidden from Benedict. It was a chance for him to move. To clear the area and find himself better cover. A slim chance. Maybe his only chance, but for Bodie it was worth taking. He also knew the storm might take its time, the blast of hot air remaining for some long period.

  Bodie checked the position of the sun. It was more or less directly overhead. Noon. The hottest part of the day. From there it would begin its slow descent into the west. It would take a long time and the heat would remain. With the coming of the sand storm the desert area would be at its worst. Bodie would use that to his advantage.

  He checked back to where Benedict still sat his horse, hunched over in his saddle, with his neckerchief already pulled over the lower part of his face against the intrusive dust.

  Persistent sonofabitch, Bodie thought.

  Over the next few minutes the dust cloud grew more intense and now Bodie couldn’t even see Benedict. He figured this was a good as it was going to get. He slid out of cover, shrugging off the layer of sand and pushed to his feet. He pushed the Colt inside his shirt to prevent it becoming clogged. Head down he leaned into the wind and moved off. He wasn’t far from being blind. The storm was in its full fury now, the thick rolls of sand pounding him as he pushed through. The sand peppered him, stinging any exposed flesh and Bodie shielded his eyes with one hand. It was hard work moving forward, the sand dragging at his feet, soft underfoot, making each step harder than the one previous. He found he was having to breat
he through his nose. If he opened his mouth it would take in more sand than air.

  He lost track of time. Didn’t even attempt to work out how long he’d been stumbling through the enveloping fog of dust and sand. He just kept slogging forward, checking the sky and occasionally catching a glimpse of the sun and making sure he hadn’t veered off track. As long as he kept it ahead he knew he was moving directly west.

  Staying on course was all that mattered right now. He needed to reach the distant tinajas, because that was where he would find water. Pinto Wells. If he didn’t reach there, the three men pursuing him might find the desert had claimed him before their bullets found him. A grin formed on Bodie’s parched lips. He was caught in the middle, between two unfavorable endings.

  He could die from dehydration – or from lead poisoning.

  Bodie didn’t see any advantage in either, so he made up his mind to positively reject them both.

  Chapter Nine

  Silverbuck saw the storm long before it arrived. He left his vantage place and took his horse to a sheltered spot where he sat out the wind and clouds of sand within the rock walls of a deep fissure. He waited with the inborn patience that was part of his heritage. He may have only been a half-blood but he carried inside him the capacity to exist with the land and not fight it. Live with the land. Become as one with it. Take what good it had to offer and not resist when it presented its harder face. It was the only way because man was never stronger than the land. If he defied it the land would eat him up and spit out his bones.

  Bodie would put himself against the storm, Silverbuck knew, because he had little choice in the matter. It would offer him a chance to break away from the three following him. The Pinda Lickoyi was no fool. He was hard and a survivor and he would not give in.

  The men chasing him were driven by thoughts of revenge. They would let their anger direct them along Bodie’s trail and if the desert did not destroy them they would follow Bodie until he turned on them – which he would.