DAKOTA TERRITORY—1888
Bodie opened his eyes and felt the harsh glare of the high sun on his face.
He made no attempt to move because if did he knew it would hurt even more. He felt pretty sure his entire body was one solid bruise. If it wasn’t it should have been. He had been worked over on other occasions so he knew what it felt like. He closed his eyes again and shut out the bright light. He figured he might as well stay where he was until the pain eased off—but the way he was feeling that might not be for a long time. He could taste blood in his mouth from a cut on the inside of his cheek and explored with his tongue to see if any teeth had been loosened. No. He became aware of a sharp pain over his left eye and touching the spot he felt the ragged gash that was still bleeding. He let his fingers trace the contours of his face. More than one cut. Bruised and already swelling. Lips split and bloody.
That would have been Cabot.
He recalled the way the big man had worked his fists inside the rawhide gloves he wore. It had been Will Cabot who had been so eager to hit out. The man had been coiled. Ready to strike. And he had already shown his dislike for Bodie, so when the moment came he was the first to step forward, determined to prove himself. Maybe too determined.
Cabot was there to defend his friend. That was the way he called it.
Sam Trask was his friend and Bodie had no arguing with a man who stood up for his a friend.
That was the pure problem.
Cabot was defending his friend.
Sam Trask.
And Trask was the man Bodie was tracking. A wanted man on the dodge. He had been posted for the savage rape and murder of a woman. He had been on his way to jail when the coach taking him there had hit a section of broken trail and overturned.
There had only been two passengers in the coach.
Sam Trask, in manacles.
And Marshal Ed Pruitt, his escort.
On the box was the driver, Clem Bogard.
The coach had been hired to take Pruitt and his prisoner to Yankton, where he would await trial. The unexpected accident had resulted in Pruitt being injured and while the lawman had been unconscious Trask had found the key to his manacles in the marshal’s pocket. He had freed himself, and had taken Pruitt’s handgun.
When Pruitt had recovered enough to drag himself from the coach he had found Clem Bogard dead from a bullet would through the back of his head. If anything proved the point about Sam Trask, the cold-blooded murder of Clem Bogard was it.
~*~
Bodie had learned this background when he had spoken to Marshal Ed Pruitt in Yankton. He had made a rendezvous with the Marshal, following a summons from him. Bodie had known Pruitt for a number of years and receiving a call from the man had aroused his curiosity.
Pruitt had come directly to the point which was not unusual for him. The marshal was an experienced star packer, a man who had known his share of miscreants over the years. Good, bad, and downright miserable, he had seen them all.
‘Now I ain’t one for bad-mouthing a man,’ Pruitt said, ‘but what can I say about what Trask did. The stories are he’s a mean sonofabitch. What he did to Clem—well it just tells all. Am I talking crazy, Bodie, or what? Maybe that bang on my head kind of left me addled, but what reason could he have had for that?’
Bodie was sitting across from Pruitt in the marshal’s office, nursing a cup of coffee. He would have made the trip to see Pruitt for the coffee alone. ‘How is the head by the way?’
Pruitt still wore a bandage over the wound.
‘Grateful I have a hard one,’ he said.
He picked up a flyer from the desk and handed it to Bodie. It gave a description of Sam Trask, had a neat sketch of the man and advertised the fact that there was a reward for the man.
‘I can tell you, Bodie, that is damn good likeness of the man. Better than any photograph.’
Bodie read the flyer again—Wanted Dead or Alive.
‘So why bring me in on this, Ed?’
‘Tracks from the coach were headed due north. Up towards the high country. Pretty lonely up there. And him on foot with no real supplies ’cept what he took from the coach. Just the clothes he was wearing and a horse with no saddle. But he did take a rifle and a handgun. My guns.’
That had left a question in Bodie’s mind.
Where was Trask heading?
He answered his own question when a map of the area pinned to the office wall drew his eye.
Canada.
Across the border lay Saskatchewan and Manitoba where a man might easily lose himself. Big, wide-open country, sparsely inhabited and where US law would be out of its jurisdiction. It was as good a place as any for a wanted man to ride.
‘Now I could go through all the motions and ask the Canadians for help,’ Pruitt said, ‘but damnit, Bodie, by the time I got all that signed and sealed, Trask could be up in the Yukon.’
Pruitt knew the border wouldn’t stop Bodie. He would track his quarry wherever he chose to go. Which was why Ed Pruitt had brought the manhunter to Yankton.
‘No paperwork. No tin star, Bodie. Just you trailing Trask and bringing him back. Hell, man, it’s what you do best.’
Bodie stood and examined the wall map. From the point where Trask had walked away from the coach, the terrain was wild and empty. There were a hundred places a man could lose himself. Pruitt had pointed out the remoteness of the area. His point about Canada fit the picture too. There was little between Trask and the border. Nothing to prevent him disappearing into the great expanse of the border country and vanishing.
‘Bodie?’
The manhunter emptied his cup and crossed to refill it. Pruitt was watching him closely, awaiting Bodie’s decision.
‘I get supplies provided by your office?’
Pruitt gave a stifled laugh. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Bodie.’
‘Man has to make a living.’
~*~
A living? Getting beaten down by a bunch of mustangers.
If that’s the case, Bodie thought, I need to change my priorities.
He made the decision to stop debating matters and get to his feet. It was an easier said than done proposition. It hurt. It hurt a lot, but Bodie was, if nothing else, a stubborn individual. Moving caused ripple of pain that felt as if they started at his feet and ran though him all the way to the top of his head. It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the receiving end of a sound beating, but never one as thorough. He made himself a promise that somewhere along the line, Will Cabot would be repaid for what he’d done. Bodie admitted his thinking was petty, even childish, but he also decided the hell with that. He was in a petty and childish frame of mind right now, and the thought of the satisfaction to be gained from giving Cabot a taste of what he was suffering right now gave Bodie a warm feeling.
Eventually he stood upright—not as straight and tall as normal—but was on his feet. He remained there until the world stopped spinning. Forced the sickness from his stomach and took long, deep breaths. Even that hurt. Bodie closed his arms around his body, pressing against his aching ribs, and convinced himself there were no breaks. His battered body still hurt but at least he was standing again.
He took a long look around. Recognized where he was. Yards away his horse stood, still tethered to a low tree branch. Bodie glanced down at his right hip. His Colt was still in his holster, held secure by the hammer loop.
They had left him his weapons. He checked his horse again. Spotted the stock of his rifle jutting from the saddle-boot.
Bodie had tracked Trask up country, spotting where his trail led to the mustanger camp. He had even seen the horse from the coach in the corral, its company brand showing on its hip. When he had asked the question the mustanger boss, Will Cabot, had turned on him and backed by his crew, had set on the manhunter with a vengeance. The physical and verbal warning had been the same.
Stay away from Sam Trask. Leave him alone.
So Cabot had initiated the beating, leaving Bodie bruised and bloody, but had let him keep his weapons.
That left questions to be answered, but at that moment in time Bodie neither had the urge, or the ability to go into it. That would come later. The only concern in his mind was the fact Sam Trask had passed through the area. It was why Bodie was here. He had come looking for Trask and one way or another he would find the man and haul him back to Yankton.
First he needed to get himself doctored. It wasn’t going to do him any good chasing all over creation if he required tending. As reckless as he might be on occasion, Bodie had sense enough to know when he needed the services of a doctor.