Bodie 9 Read online

  He had made it clear to the mustangers to leave Trask alone while the man had been in camp. Not to question him, or have anything to do with him. The mustangers did just that. Cabot was not a man to cross. He could change moods in an instant and Will Cabot losing control was not a sight any of them wanted to see. He was also their boss. Their employer. He kept them in work. Paid their wages and they were all beholden to him for that. Not a man in the crew wanted to go against Cabot. It had happened a couple of times in the past. They all recalled what had been the result. Taking all those things into consideration they did as they were ordered and carried on with their work. Chasing the herds of wild mustangs across the Dakota hills was enough to keep any man occupied. It was back-breaking, dirty work. So Cabot’s crew put their efforts into that and left the rest alone.

  And when you took a man’s wages and rode for the brand, it was an unspoken law that made you side with him. If you didn’t it was a betrayal of loyalty.

  Charbonneau had been with Cabot for a long time, working the wild horse roundups and providing a handy gun when needed. The mustang business was tough and rival crews competed for the best herds, it sometimes came to open disputes and when that occurred it was Charbonneau who settled them. He was known as a man who stood no nonsense. Men who stood up to him had cause to regret their rash actions. Charbonneau never made threats he was not prepared to carry out. He carried a .45 Peacemaker in a cutaway holster on his left hip and when he drew it was not to show it off. Charbonneau only took out his gun when he was about to use it. There was never any hesitation when Charbonneau took out his gun. No holding back. And he always shot to kill. Never to wound because a wounded man, like an injured predator, might still have it in him to continue the fight. Charbonneau had seen that happen and early on he had reached the decision it would never happen to him. So far that philosophy had kept him alive. Charbonneau had no inclination to change that. Once a man was dead that was the end of it all. No second chance. No comeback. So putting off a premature end to life had become an important consideration.

  Royster, rolling himself a smoke from where he leaned against the rock, said, ‘How’d we get talked into this? Riding these damned hill looking for that feller, Bodie. Hey, Charbonneau, you’re the brains of this outfit. How’d we get the short straw?’

  ‘We’re lucky, I guess,’ Kellin said.

  ‘Somethin’ tells me luck had nothing to do with it.’ Royster struck a match on the rock face and lit his quirly, sucking the bitter smoke deep into his lungs. ‘So what you say, Charbonneau?’

  ‘You keep smoking the way you do your lungs will be full of soot,’ Charbonneau said, staring across at Royster from beneath the wide brim of his hat. ‘We got the job, so quit bellyaching and enjoy the view.’

  Royster shook his head. Sometimes there was no getting a straight answer from Charbonneau. The man could be downright impossible to figure. Royster looked across at Kellin. His partner simply gave a shrug. Nothing bothered Kellin. He was happy to do whatever Charbonneau told him. Content to do whatever he was told, draw his pay and ride on. There were times Royster envied Kellin’s uncomplicated attitude.

  ‘Ain’t that Gibbs’ place up this way?’ Kellin asked. ‘Pretty sure it is. Be a way north of us. Mebbe that Bodie hombre went there. Took shelter hisself.’

  ‘Could be,’ Charbonneau said. ‘Worth takin’ a look.’

  Kellin sucked on his cigarette. ‘I got that right.’ He looked across at Royster. ‘Seems as I ain’t as dumb as you figure, Royster.’

  ‘Hell, Kellin, nobody could be that dumb an’ still be walking around.’

  Kellin simply grinned. He and Royster had an ongoing line of insulting each other that went back a long way. They had been saddle partners before tying up with Cabot and their sparring never seemed to end. The more it seemed to annoy their companions, the more they indulged.

  ‘Being stuck out here with you two is worse than a ten year sentence in Yuma Pen,’ Charbonneau said.

  Silence reigned for a time before Royster said, ‘There’d be hot coffee on offer at Gibbs’ place.’

  ‘Sounds tempting,’ Kellin agreed. ‘Charbonneau?’

  Charbonneau had seen the rain slacking off. He checked his horse and swung into the saddle.

  ‘Let’s ride,’ he said. ‘Anything’s better than listening to you pair nattering like a pair of old ladies.’

  Chapter Ten

  Bodie moved his gaze from Trask across to Isaac Gibbs. He had showed no facial reaction on recognizing the fugitive. It was not the time.

  ‘Bust your leg?’ he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

  Gibbs gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘You’d think at my age I’d take more care. Did it falling out the loft in the stable. Damn fool thing to do.’

  Jessie said, ‘He has to prove he’s still able to do things he could when he was twenty years younger.’

  ‘She likes to mother me,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘With good reason.’

  Gibbs lowered his bulk into a solid armchair and stretched his splinted leg out in front of him. Jessie brought him a mug of coffee.

  Sam Trask had moved forward, holding out his own mug.

  ‘Be obliged for a refill, Miss Gibbs.’

  Jessie poured for him. ‘Oh, this is Mr. Bodie,’ she said. ‘Another refugee from the storm. Mr. Bodie, this is Mr. Lester Kincaid.’

  Bodie gave a brief nod.

  ‘And there I was thinking I was the only one foolish enough to go out in the storm,’ Trask said.

  His voice was quiet, pleasant enough, yet Bodie detected a hint of something cold behind the words. Trask moved closer to the fire. Even though he wore thick pants and shirt, with long dark topcoat, he appeared to feel the chill. Firelight glanced off his face, showing the strong bone formation. When he moved it was with deliberate awareness. The man was showing himself as easy going, with no hidden agenda. Bodie thought otherwise. This was the man he had come looking for. The one he carried a flyer on him that said Trask was wanted for rape and murder amongst other things.

  ‘What brings you all the way up here?’ Trask asked.

  ‘Passing through,’ Bodie said. ‘Kind of got off my trail when the weather hit.’

  ‘Heading for?’

  ‘Way west. I heard out in California the weather’s passing fair.’

  ‘Mr. Bodie, you are well off your trail,’ Isaac Gibbs said.

  ‘I kind of figured that.’

  ‘Well, you can wait out the storm here,’ Jessie said. ‘Just like Mr. Kincaid.’

  Bodie nodded. ‘Grateful for that.’

  Out the corner of his eye Bodie saw Trask’s expression harden. He didn’t appear too happy about the arrangement. Bodie decided he was going to need to stay alert. His senses told him Trask might have other plans. He had got this far. It didn’t seem likely he was ready to give up now.

  If he suspected Bodie was more than he was claiming…

  Bodie didn’t want Isaac Gibbs and his daughter placed in any firing line if it came to that. The problem with that suggested Trask might have other ideas.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I seen him,’ Royster yelled. ‘Over to the stable. He come out the house and crossed over.’

  He ran forward, rifle up and suddenly firing. He loosed off a rapid volley that did little except punch holes in the swinging door.

  ‘That boy just likes to make a deal of noise,’ Charbonneau said. ‘Kellin, get around the back.’

  Kellin spurred his horse into motion, yanking on the reins to swing it down the side of the stable, muddy soil spraying from under its pounding hoofs. Reaching the far corner of the stable he flung himself from the saddle, Remington in his hand, and angled it in the direction of the rear door. He reached out to drag the door open. The sound of more shots reached him from the front of the stable. Kellin moved forward as soon as there was enough room to slip through. It was dimmer inside the stable, yet there was enough light for him to be able to see the layout.

&nb
sp; He saw horses in the stalls. Restless as they reacted to the shooting.

  Kellin gripped the pistol, scanning the interior.

  ‘Bodie, we got you cornered, so give it up.’

  Kellin saw movement close by one of the stalls. The tall figure of the bounty man stepped into view, Winchester in his hands.

  ‘Just remember you came after me.’

  Kellin had no chance to reply. The rifle thundered out a number of shots, the .44-40 slugs hammering into Kellin’s chest and knocking him on his back. He slammed to the stable floor, echoes of the shots the last thing he heard.

  ~*~

  Bodie had finished his coffee, made small talk for a while, then said he wanted to make sure his horse was settled for the rest of the stay. He pulled on his slicker, hat, and took his rifle as he stepped out of the house, feeling the slap of the rain the moment he moved clear. Behind him Jessie called for him not to be long because food would be served soon. Crossing the yard, Bodie bent his head against the driving rain and eased inside the stable.

  He had used his excuse about the chestnut to get himself out of the house, his intention to work his way around the building and come up behind Trask by way of the kitchen. He had seen the back door during a casual glance around the interior. It wasn’t much of a plan but he figured it was going to be the best he could work up at the moment.

  ~*~

  With Kellin down Bodie reminded himself there were three of them.

  He turned about as he heard the creak of the stable main door. A hand showed, pistol leading, and shots were fired. The stalled horses began to panic, shrilling their fear as the shots sounded.

  Bodie crouched, shouldering the rifle and put a fast trio of shots into the door where he figured the hidden shooter was standing. He saw wood splinters explode as the slugs tore through the door. He heard a man gasp, saw the door sway as a weight fell against it.

  A bloodied figure fell across the opening. Body punctured by Bodie’s slugs. It was Royster, rifle slipping from his hands as he dropped.

  Two down.

  That left the one called Charbonneau.

  Bodie remembered him from the mustangers’ camp. One of the men who had been at the forefront of the attackers. His aching ribs chose that moment to offer a surge of pain that made Bodie aware of his situation. He listened to the hiss of the falling rain. It was liable to mask any movement the man might make. Kellin and Royster had made their physical presence known and it had made Bodie’s task easier. He had a feeling Charbonneau wasn’t about to do anything as casual.

  He leaned forward and pushed at the closest of the stable doors. Let it swing wide and open up the yard. Bodie stayed to the side where he could see but not be seen himself.

  The yard was empty save for three horses hitched beside the corral. They stood close together, heads lowered. The rain was still coming down in silvery sheets, buffeted by the wind. The exposed yard already held pools of water. Bodie threw a quick glance in the direction of the house. No movement he could see behind the windows.

  Where was Charbonneau?

  An easy enough question. All Bodie wanted was an easy answer. That was where life refused to play along. It had the habit of putting a man’s back to the wall and leaving him to face his difficulties in the dark.

  He checked the Winchester. There should still be plenty of shots left and he still had his .45. Ample ammunition but right then no target.

  Come on, Charbonneau, show yourself. I don’t have all damn day.

  Bodie couldn’t rid himself of the image of Sam Trask. Safe at the moment inside the house. But, Bodie reminded himself, with two innocent people close by. He refused to discount the fact that Trask was a wanted man. On the run and close to getting himself taken in by Bodie. They had already come close to a confrontation—just about the time Charbonneau and his partners had shown up. Trask had used the coach crash to effect his earlier escape. He might do the same while Bodie was distracted by having to face the three mustangers. For all the manhunter knew Trask might already have slipped away from the house and was on his run for the Canadian border. He had no proof. All he had was guesswork. Yet it crossed Bodie’s mind it was what he would have done in the same situation. Trask wanted his freedom. He wasn’t going to sit idly by while an opportunity presented itself.

  It was time to make things happen. Bodie made sure the rifle was primed and ready. He gripped it in both hand, took a breath and broke away from his position, making a rush for the other side of the stable opening. He almost forgot Royster was sprawled across the doorway and had to make a hard step over the body.

  The crash of a shot came just as he reached the other door, felt the slug pluck at his sleeve. He reached cover and told himself it had been a damn fool move, but he had needed to get Charbonneau to open up.

  Foolish or not, he had a result—apart from a tear in his shirt sleeve—because he had picked up the brief flash as Charbonneau had fired. As he pressed against the stable side he pinpointed the spot.

  Another shot put a slug into the door. Bodie caught the gun flash. It came from behind a large stack of cut wood. Focusing on the place he made out a part leg exposed at the corner of the stack. He brought the Winchester into position, finger curled against the trigger. The sheeting rain made it hard to see the target clearly. Bodie knew he wasn’t going to get a better shot. He settled his aim, fired and saw the leg jerk aside as the .44-40 slug shattered Charbonneau’s knee in a burst of red. Bodie levered a fresh shell into the rifle’s breech, stepped out from cover and crossed the yard at a loping run.

  Above the rain he heard Charbonneau’s pained cursing. Saw the man stumble into view, slumping against the wood pile, but still trying to bring his own rifle into action.

  ‘Leave it,’ Bodie yelled.

  ‘…crippled me…’ Charbonneau said fiercely.

  His rifle rose in an unsteady arc. He was hurt but still made his attempt.

  Bodie fired from the hip, a continuous burst of fast shots that ripped into Charbonneau and turned him half around. He pitched face down in the mud, arms thrown wide and didn’t move again.

  Bodie stepped out of the stable and walked towards the house. He was concerned now about Gibbs and his daughter. The gunfire could have alerted Trask.

  He was only feet away when he heard shots coming from inside. He jacked a shell into the Winchester, hit the door with his foot and sent it crashing open.

  He took in the scene that confronted him and even his senses were jarred.

  Jessie Gibbs and her father were on the floor, blood already spreading from beneath them. Isaac Gibbs had a mangled head wound, the back of his skull shattered. The girl, face down, had bloody wounds in her back.

  Standing close behind was Sam Trask, the pistol in his hand still smoking.

  The moment Bodie was framed in the door Trask turned his raised pistol and fired. Bodie felt the slug thump against his chest, pushing him backwards. A heel caught in the bottom edge of the doorframe and he went down, on his back, and he felt the chill of the rain hammering against his face…he thought it was a damn silly thing to do just lying there…but the strength had already started to fade and his will to get up went with it. He made one last effort before his body closed down and the day went black…blacker than he had ever known before…

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘I had a feeling you would be back, Herr Bodie.’

  The voice came from a long way off, or so it seemed to Bodie. He was slowly rising out of the darkness that had enveloped him when Trask’s shot had hit him in the chest. Right now he was so far away from reality nothing really made any sense. The shot had been the last thing he could clearly recall. Being hit. Falling. Cold rain on his face. Nothing after that until he…

  He knew the voice.

  Doc Meerschaum.

  Meerschaum’s broad face swan into focus. He nudged his spectacles into place, frowning as he peered down at Bodie. He shook his gray-haired head, but failed to hide the hint of a smile on his f
ace.

  The irascible medic who had treated him earlier. If that was true then was Bodie back in Colton? And how had he got there? Certainly not under his own steam. Not with a slug in him…he felt the dull ache then…in his upper chest. A deep pain that grew as he concentrated on it.

  ‘Damn it hurts.’

  ‘Of course. You have been shot. I took out the bullet but it was tight in your chest muscle and I had to fight to get it out.’

  ‘Hell, Doc, what did you use? A bent spoon?’

  ‘You are glücklich. A lucky man Herr Bodie. Those thick bindings I wrapped around you for the ribs. They acted as a barrier and slowed down the bullet. Your muscle did the rest. They stopped the bullet from going in too deeply. As I said. Glücklich.’

  ‘I don’t feel too lucky, doc. Not right now.

  ‘You complain. Now I know you will get better, manhunter.’

  Bodie swallowed, with difficulty. His mouth was parched. Meerschaum noticed his discomfort and produced a cup of water. He raised Bodie’s head and got him to drink. The effort left Bodie feeling weaker than he had for a long time and it was a relief when Meerschaum lowered his head back on to the pillow.

  ‘Last I recall I was way up in the hills. How’d I get back here?’ he asked.

  ‘Couple of trappers happened by. According to what they told me it was like a massacre. Three dead outside. Two more shot inside the house and you.’ The voice was Ezra Pointer’s. The Marshal stepped into view at Bodie’s side. ‘You want to fill in the blank spaces for me.’

  ‘I trailed Sam Trask to the Gibbs’ place. Didn’t know he was still there until I went inside to get out of the storm. He was calling himself Kincaid. I recognized him from the wanted poster. Didn’t let on I knew who he was in case he threatened Gibbs and his daughter. I let him believe I was a passing stranger. Went out to the stable to check my horse, figuring to move in by the back door and get the drop on him. Only I hadn’t counted on three of Cabot’s mustangers riding in. They cut loose and we went at it. I walked away. They didn’t. I went back to the house. Heard shots and went inside. The Gibbs’ were already on the floor and Trask cut loose the minute I stepped up to the door…I walked into it like a damn tenderfoot.’