Chapter Seven

It was exactly an hour before noon the following day when Bodie and Angela Crown reached High Grade. Angela took the loaded wagon along the rutted, thronged main street, Bodie following along at the rear, leading the three corpse-laden horses.

As they eased along the dusty street, with the hard glare of the sun beating down on them, Bodie took his first look over High Grade, and wasn’t impressed in the least. High Grade was no better or worse than any mining town. It was dirty and cluttered, its buildings raw and jammed together on an uneven stretch of ground clinging to the side of the dug-over, blasted-apart, timbered-up mountain. From a couple of miles out Bodie had begun to notice the dark holes burrowing into the face of the high slopes: the mines, with their dust-streaked workers scurrying about like so many ants. The mines ranged from simple two-man operations up to the organized company workings. The small mines had crude notices stuck in the earth saying: Lucky Lady Mine. Keep Out! When the bigger mines started to worry over their property they erected high fences, strung with barbed wire, and their warning notices left no doubt as to their meaning: Private Property. Stay off Or Be Shot! High Grade itself was just as business-like. It had no time for the frills of civilization. Everything was solid and functional. The saloons, and there were over a dozen of them, were not adorned with the usual garish decorations on the frontages. They bore a simple sign stating that drinks were for sale. The same applied to all the other businesses. A long, low building, with the smell of hot food rolling out into the street had a sign that said: Eats! On a corner a barbershop advertised: Cuts ’n’ Shaves. And down a sleazy alley Bodie caught sight of a crudely-painted sign indicating a dark doorway at the rear of a dingy saloon. The spelling on the board was incorrect, but the message was unmistakable — Fuks! And that sign just about summed up High Grade for Bodie. It was crude, down to earth, dollar-hungry, and moving too fast to give a sweet damn about anybody or anything.

And it was fit to bust at the seams with people. They were everywhere. Filling the boardwalks and spilling onto the streets. Jostling, shoving, shouting men and a fair sprinkling of women too. In the main they were miners. But there were plenty of other occupations to be found in High Grade. There were gamblers, with their dark suits and pale complexions, long fingered, keen-eyed men who spent their waking hours hunched over green-baize tables, unceasingly shuffling packs of cards, counting wads of banknotes, and keeping one eye on the other players and one on the door in case they needed a fast exit. There were the con-artists too, the wheeler dealers, the men who could talk a week-old corpse into buying a bottle of long-life elixir. And there were the goodtime girls, the saloon dancers, the ballad singers, and the plain old-fashioned whores, who sold the oldest commodity on the market. They came in all shapes and sizes, and colors, and they ranged from the cheap tarts who would do it for a dollar as long as you didn’t mind standing up in a dark alley with the wind fanning your butt, right up to the cream of the crop, the ladies of the night who knew every trick in the book and sent a man home after a single night thinking he’d just been to paradise and back.

There were other specialists walking the streets too, Bodie noticed. He smiled to himself when he spotted them, though it didn’t take much effort. They roamed the streets like gaudy peacocks, strutting and proud. They were the gunslingers, a breed of men Bodie had little time for. He figured they were all a little crazy. As far as he was concerned they were all bent on suicide. Why else did they go around just begging for someone to challenge them? Bodie didn’t subscribe to the notion that they were simply after a reputation. No man needed to be recognized that much. Not so that he had to put up his life in some totally unnecessary gun duel with some equally unbalanced halfwit. If they won and killed the other man, what then? They spent the rest of the time flitting around from shadow to shadow, scared to trust any man, living on a razor edge, waiting for the moment when the next loose gun would come looking for them. And then it started all over again. The glory and the fame and the bravado, Bodie had decided, was just a load of crap! A pile of horseshit! The only wish the gunslingers had was a death wish, and ironically it was just about the only definite end they could reach.

“There’s Deeks’ office.” Angela’s voice broke into Bodie’s train of thought. “Hey, Bodie, are you listening?”

Bodie followed her pointing finger. There, on the corner of the main intersection, stood a substantial, stone-built structure, two stories high. It had bars on every window, a heavy double wooden door, and a fenced compound at the rear. The top of the high fence had three rows of barbed wire running around it.

“What’re they expecting?” Bodie asked dryly. “Another civil war?”

“I did warn you,” Angela pointed out. “Bodie, be careful. Captain Deeks is a terrible man. I’m sure he’s a little mad.”

“Well, I ain’t too happy myself at the moment,” Bodie said. “You go on. I’ll come and see you after I deliver our late friends.”

Angela nodded. She pointed to where the main street split into two. One section of the street ran on through the remainder of High Grade and then carried on up the mountain to where the largest of the mines were located. The other section curved off up a long hill. At the top stood a number of larger houses. This was High Grade’s residential area, its Nob Hill, where all the wealthy mine owners and businessmen from the town lived.

“I live in the white house,” Angela said. “The one with red gables and the redbrick chimney.”

“See you later,” Bodie said, and wheeled his horse across the street towards the big, grim building. It didn’t have any kind of sign outside. Nothing that might indicate its purpose. That was because there was no need. The whole place advertised itself. It was the worst kind of jail, law office, call it what you would. It stood there, smack in the middle of town, like a big, bloated spider, and anybody passing by would know what that building was for, and be glad to get out of its shadow.

Bodie reined in at the hitch rail and swung out of the saddle. He tied his horse and made sure the other animals were secure, then took his rifle from the sheath. He tucked it under his arm as he crossed the boardwalk and stepped inside. He found himself in a dusty lobby, with a staircase leading to the upper floor. Straight ahead of him lay a long passage that appeared to run the length of the building. To his left, double doors, wide open, revealed a large office. Bodie crossed to the door and glanced inside. It was a big room holding a number of desks and filing cabinets. On one wall was a long gun rack. Chained on the rack were more than a dozen rifles and an equal number of cut-down shotguns. A notice board was full of pinned up sheets of paper. In a corner of the room a small stove was burning and on top stood a large coffee pot. The smell of brewing coffee filtered across the room. Three men were grouped around a desk that was noticeably larger and more expensive than any of the other desks in the room.

“I’m looking for Deeks,” Bodie said loudly.

The three men stepped aside to reveal a fourth man who was seated behind the large desk. Bodie could see why the desk was large. So was the man behind it. He was big, heavy, powerfully muscled but running to flabbiness. His broad head sat on a short, thick neck that appeared to be sunk into his wide, bulging shoulders. Black hair, cropped very short, emphasized the brute power of the man who sat there, studying Bodie with dark, bleak eyes.

“That’s me,” the man growled. His voice was harsh, clipped, emotionless. “I’m Deeks. Captain Deeks!”

Bodie crossed the office. “Story goes you’re the nearest thing they got to a lawman in this place. That right, Deeks?”

The bleak eyes turned cold, empty. The voice took on a menacing tone. “Mister, I am the law in High Grade. Don’t be fooled into thinking I ain’t.”

Bodie permitted himself a thin smile.

“You mind showing me your papers then? You’ve got a commission that says you’re legally appointed?”

There was a strained silence in the room. One of the men standing by Deeks’ desk gave a low snigger.

“Hey, Cap, I think he wants to see your badge ...” he began.

“Shut your trap, Ruger!” Deeks snapped. He glared at Bodie. “Look, you, I don’t know what kind of crap all this is, but you better go out an’ come in again! But watch what you say next time!”

Bodie’s anger rose in a sudden flash. He slammed the butt of his rifle down on the top of Deeks’ desk. “The only crap I see is sitting in front of me! Some fat asshole playin’ lawman! Who ain’t even a lawman! Just some dumb son of a bitch who doesn’t even know the kind of guts it takes to wear a badge!”

For a long moment Deeks stared at Bodie, and the manhunter could see the red tide of anger flooding Deeks’ face. Deeks’ huge chest swelled under his tight shirt, and he suddenly gave a wild bellow. Lurching up out of his chair, he swung a meaty fist at Bodie’s face. Bodie had anticipated the move, and as Deeks rose out of his chair, he eased back, driving the butt of his rifle in at Decks’ jutting stomach. Deeks gave a grunt as the hard wood drove into the soft flesh. His mouth dropped open, loose lips peeling back from stained teeth.

“Hey!” the man called Ruger yelled. He stepped in towards Bodie, his arms swinging wildly.

Bodie half turned, bringing his rifle round in a brutal chop. The side of the stock caught Ruger across the face. Bone snapped with a sharp sound and Ruger slid across the office floor, his face a mask of streaming blood and crushed features.

“Get the bastard!” Deeks’ voice boomed out.

As he twisted away from the falling Ruger, Bodie saw the other two men coming at him. One of them was going for his gun, and Bodie dealt with him first. The man was too close to Bodie to be able to change direction, so that he ran straight on to Bodie’s rising boot. It smashed up between his legs, impacting against his groin with a sickening thud. The man rose upon his toes, a long howl of agony erupting from his throat. He arched backwards against Deeks’ desk, sprawling across the cluttered top, sending papers and files flying as he writhed in pain.

The third man rammed his shoulder into Bodie’s chest, throwing his arms around Bodie’s body, and the two of them slithered across the floor. Bodie slammed up against the wall, the back of his skull rapping against the hard stone. He felt the man’s hard fists pounding his body and knew it wouldn’t be long before Deeks himself joined in. Raising his right boot Bodie slammed it down on the other’s foot. The man yelled. Bodie repeated the action. He felt bone shatter under his foot. The man let out a low sob, his arms falling away from Bodie. Bodie caught hold of the man’s loose hair and yanked his head down, turning so that he was behind him. Then he shoved hard, smashing the man’s face against the rough stone wall. He jerked his head back then rammed it forward again. Blood began to spatter the stonework. The man slid to the floor, his face a bloody pulp.

Behind Bodie there was a soft sound. On the floor beside him a dark shadow. A large, grotesque shadow. Deeks! In the split second he spotted the shadow Bodie heard a rustle of sound, saw the shadow raise one huge arm. Bodie ducked to one side, coming in under Deeks’ arm and the heavy gun in the man’s hand. He sledged a heavy blow over Deeks’ ribs. The big man grunted but didn’t fall back. Bodie hit him again, harder, then backed away as Deeks swung the gun like a club. The hard barrel clipped Bodie across the cheek, tearing a long gash that began to bleed heavily. Bodie realized that Deeks would be a hard man to put down.

Falling back a step Bodie took a fresh grip of his rifle, and as Deeks lumbered at him again, still swinging his own gun, Bodie lashed out. The rifle butt cracked down across Decks’ close-cropped skull. The flesh split, bright blood swelling up out of the gash and trickling down Decks’ face. Without pause Bodie hit Deeks again and again, in the same place. Deeks gave a strangled grunt. He pawed at the blood streaming down over his eyes. This time Bodie slammed the rifle into Deeks’ great stomach, over and over, until Deeks, gasping for breath, fell to his knees, the gun slipping from his fingers. He knelt there, groaning, blood pouring from the ugly gashes in his skull, running down over his face, soaking into his shirt.

Bodie stepped back, panting. He touched a finger to his bleeding cheek, feeling the raw gash. It was still bleeding badly. He glanced at Deeks and swore softly. Lifting his rifle he placed the muzzle under Deeks’ sagging chin and forced the man’s head up.

“You hear me, Deeks?” Bodie asked.

Deeks made a low wheezing sound, blowing bubbles of blood from his thick lips. Eventually he said, “I hear you!”

“Then listen, you bastard! There are three of your boys outside wearing blankets. You take ’em and you tell your boss this is how it’s going to be from now on. You tell Randall to lay off Angela Crown and her mine. She doesn’t want to sell and she doesn’t want any more crap from you people! Deeks, you might scare some of the poor bastards around here, but you don’t scare me! You tell all your hired guns to lay off! You got competition now, Deeks. I’m setting up as law enforcement for the Crown mine, and if you figure you play hard, Deeks, just try and play my way!”

Bodie turned away and made for the door. He heard Deeks gasp out a question, and turned. “What?”

“I want to know your name,” Deeks wheezed. “Who the hell are you?”

“Just tell Randall that the name’s Bodie. Maybe you heard it before, Deeks. Don’t worry if you haven’t, ’cause you’re going to hear it a lot before I run you out of High Grade!” Bodie paused before adding, “Or bury you!”