“There’s my uncle’s place.”
Bodie followed Fran’s finger. He could make out the shape of a long, low house sheltering in the leafy shade of tall trees. As Fran set the team in motion, taking the buckboard on along the trail, approaching the ranch, he was able to see that Amos Skellhorn’s place was more than just a small outfit. The ranch buildings were well built, cleanly painted, the whole place organized and self-sufficient. It was obvious why Skellhorn had refused to move out and why he had refused financial compensation. Money couldn’t buy what had gone into this outfit. The man’s life had built the place. There was his sweat and probably his blood, too, in the ranch, and asking a man to put a price on it was like asking him to put a price on his newborn child.
As they rolled into the yard fronting the house the door swung open and a tall figure stepped out, the sunlight glinting on the barrel of the rifle held in large, work-hardened hands.
“Uncle Amos,” Fran called. “You put that thing down now. This is a friendly visit.”
Amos Skellhorn lowered the rifle, striding across to the buckboard, a wide smile on his brown, craggy face. He wore a thick, dark beard that covered the lower half of his face but which failed to hide the still-healing bruises marking his cheeks. As Skellhorn reached the buckboard he stared past Fran, his wary eyes raking Bodie’s face closely.
“Who’s he?” Skellhorn asked.
Fran stepped down off the buckboard. She touched Skellhorn lightly on the shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “He is a friend,” she said. “His name is Bodie, and he’s come looking for Jody Butler and some of his partners in crime.”
“Crime? What crime?” Skellhorn asked, puzzled.
“Murder,” Bodie said. “Butler and three of his friends killed a man back in Pine Ridge a while back. I’ve come to take ’em back there.”
Skellhorn digested the information for a moment. “You taking ’em dead or alive?”
“The way feelings are between them and me I can’t see it being anything else but dead. When they see me they’ll know they ain’t about to get a second chance - not after what they did to me the first time we met - and I ain’t about to go sending invitations out before I start shooting.”
“Bodie, I’m beginning to like you,” Amos Skellhorn said. “Come on inside, the both of you, and we’ll talk over some coffee.”
The inside of the house was up to the standard of the exterior. Amos Skellhorn led the way through to the large kitchen and indicated chairs they could use. He brought cups and a large pot of coffee. When he’d poured three cups and seated himself at the head of the table Skellhorn gave Bodie another long, searching look.
“You hear about our problems?” he asked.
Bodie nodded. “Only thing I can’t figure is why you’re just sitting back and letting them come to you. Why not take the fight to Butler? Give him a taste of what he’s handing out to you.”
“Fran, I like this man,” Skellhorn said. “Hell, Bodie, I wish you were with us. I’ve been trying to get my people to do just what you suggest. But they reckon we’re doing enough by digging in our heels and refusing to let Butler intimidate us.”
“A man like Butler understands one thing. Direct action. Ain’t no damn good just shaking your fist at him. You’ve got to let him feel it. Make him taste his own blood. Hurt him.”
“He means what he says, Uncle Amos,” Fran interrupted. “Bodie hadn’t been in town long before Frank Lowery threw him in jail for asking questions about the Major.”
Skellhorn threw a sharp glance in Bodie’s direction. “And you got out?”
“It wasn’t hard.”
“Lowery’s deputies tried to stop him. Two of them are hurt and Rick Jenner is dead.”
“Well that’s one who isn’t going to be missed,” Skellhorn said. “Bodie, you play a hard game. Right now, though, I wouldn’t want to change places with you. The Major takes it pretty hard when a man working for him gets hurt. He’ll be in a hanging mood.”
“That’s nothing fresh,” Fran murmured.
“Oh?” Bodie asked.
“By now you’ll have figured out the way Butler runs Elkhorn. Pretty much his way. And there are times when it gets a little rough. There’ve been a number of hangings over the past few years. All done by Butler’s so-called Regulators. Hell, the man must think we’re stupid. Everybody in the territory knows the Regulators are Butler’s men hiding under hoods. They’re nothing but a bunch of killers.”
“Up to now they’ve only hung rustlers and horse thieves,” Fran said. “No trials. They just picked them up, rode into town and hanged them. It was terrible to see.”
“I’ve got a feeling that’s what they have in store for some of us on Kittyhawk Creek,” Skellhorn said. “Butler’s bound to make another move. And when he sees that what he’s doing now hasn’t moved us, he’ll try something else. And somebody is going to end up dead sooner or later!”
“So let it be some of them and not you,” Bodie told him. “Next time you…”
His final words were lost in the brittle crash of breaking glass as one of the windows at the front of the house shattered.
Bodie grabbed his rifle and followed Amos Skellhorn through to the living-room. Glass littered the floor near the broken window and a large rock lay on the rug in the centre of the room.
Stepping to the side of the broken window Bodie peered out and saw a straggling line of horsemen ranged across the yard. He counted nine of them, every man armed, and all of them wearing crude white hoods over their heads and shoulders.
“Amos Skellhorn, step out here!” one of the hooded men yelled.
Bodie glanced at Skellhorn, who was standing at the other window, his face dark with anger.
“Comes a day when you’ve got to decide who’s running your life, Skellhorn,” he said.
Amos Skellhorn hesitated, but only for an instant. And then he lifted his shotgun, driving the muzzles through the glass. Before the glittering particles had touched the ground Skellhorn’s shotgun exploded with heavy sound, a gout of flame and smoke erupting from one barrel.
A hooded rider rolled sideways out of his saddle, the front of his shirt blossoming with spreading scarlet. The rider crashed to the ground and lay twitching in a pool of his own blood, his chest pulped to the bone by the devastating power of the shotgun blast.
There was momentary confusion amongst the riders. It was obvious that they were not used to the idea of someone actually fighting back, and it had left them temporarily at a disadvantage.
“Hit ’em!” Bodie snapped. “Now - while they’re thinking about it!”
He thrust his rifle through the window and started shooting, raking the line of riders with a deadly volley. He emptied two saddles, his bullets tearing bloody gouts of pulped flesh from jerking bodies. A third rider skewed half out of his saddle, barely managing to stay on his horse, clamping a hand over the blood spurting wound in his shoulder.
And then the riders fell back. Horses were jerked round, protesting against the heavy use of reins and spurs. A few desultory shots were fired in the direction of the house as the riders drew to a safe distance.
Amos Skellhorn grunted in satisfaction. He opened his shotgun and replaced the spent shell. “Damn,” he said forcibly. “You didn’t give me much chance for a second shot there, Bodie.”
The man hunter grinned. “Times like these, Skellhorn, a man’s either very quick or very dead.”
“They’re leaving,” Fran called.
Bodie glanced out of the window and witnessed the riders trailing away from the ranch, dust rising in pale clouds in their wake. The yard outside the house lay silent, though not empty. There were three riderless horses and three dead men.
“Stay in the house, Fran,” Skellhorn said. He opened the door and strode across the yard with Bodie at his rear.
Reaching the first corpse Skellhorn reached down and ripped away the man’s blood-spattered hood. He studied the face for a moment, nodding to himself.
“He one of Butler’s men?” Bodie asked.
“Sure. Name of Brittles.” Skellhorn stood upright. “Didn’t know one end of a cow from the other, but he damn well knew all about guns.”
They removed the hoods from the other two men. Bodie saw a face he recognized and pointed it out to Skellhorn.
“Name of Travis,” Skellhorn said. “You met him before?”
“He’s one of the four I’m here for. He was in on the killing back at Pine Ridge. And I owed him for a few hard knocks.”
Skellhorn glanced at the gory hole Bodie’s bullet had punched in the chest of the man called Travis. “I reckon you paid him in full, Bodie!”
With Skellhorn’s help Bodie loaded the bodies on to the three horses, roping them down.
“Be obliged for the loan of a horse,” Bodie said.
“Take your pick,” Skellhorn said. “I’ll have Fran make up a sack of supplies. I take it you aim to go after Jody?”
“It’s why I’m here,” Bodie said.
“Ain’t going to be easy. Hell, Bodie, you’ll be a target for every gun on Butler’s payroll! Let me come with you, man. I know this country. Every rock and every damn hole. And so do Butler’s gun hands.”
“You’ve already got a job to do,” Bodie pointed out. “Looking after your property. You’ve hit Butler hard today, so he ain’t going to be so casual about it next time. But don’t ease off, Skellhorn. You see a Butler man riding in you put a bullet through the son of a bitch. Call in your hands. Set up a defense line. Gather your stock and push it all in a place you can protect easily. Make Butler pay for every inch of your land he even looks at, and maybe - just maybe - he’ll leave you alone!”
“Sure you wouldn’t like to come and work for me?”
Bodie shook his head. “I couldn’t stand the pace, Skellhorn,” he said. “I like a steady life.”
A wide grin split Skellhorn’s face. “The hell you do!”
Later, as Bodie finished saddling the big dun mare he’d chosen, Fran came into the stable. She was carrying a loaded sack of supplies and a big canteen of water. Handing them to Bodie she stood back and silently watched him complete his preparations.
“I didn’t get a chance to say thanks,” Bodie said suddenly.
“For what?”
“Sneaking me out of town the way you did.” Bodie turned from the horse. He saw Fran’s troubled expression. “Something bothering you? Hell, did I forget to pay for my bed and breakfast?”
Fran’s eyes sparkled and her mouth curled up at the corners. “Maybe I should change you,” she said. “After all, you did rather take advantage of the little extras I offered!”
“Seems to me, Miss Skellhorn, that those extras could get to be catching.”
Fran moved across to him, pressing her supple body close. Without any encouragement she put her arms round his neck and touched her lips to his.
“See,” she said a short time later, “you’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Why - taking advantage of me .”
“Honey, I’d love to be around when you do it of your own free will,” Bodie said, and reluctantly disentangled himself from Fran’s embrace. “Now you get the hell out of here and let a man tend to his business.”
“Bodie, don’t you realize how crazy you’re acting?” Fran gripped his arm. “You’ve just seen the sort of thing that happens round here. Butler’s men aren’t playing games. You can’t go up there after Jody all on your own. Not against Butler’s whole crew!”
“He ain’t about to come down to me,” Bodie pointed out “Look, Fran, we agreed last night. No strings. No reasons why. Far as my job goes that’s the only way it can be. I can’t afford the luxury of allowing myself excuses why I shouldn’t do this or that. I start counting up the risks I’m going to be too damn scared to even climb out of bed to put my pants on.”
Fran took a slow step away from him, knowing she had no right to erect distractions. She was breaking her own rule about not getting involved, a rule that Bodie himself worked by. She was aware of the kind of man he was. Independent. Self-sufficient and totally in control of his own destiny. He was no man to be tied down, hemmed in by a fleeting thing like emotion. She had accepted that the night before, when she had gone to his room - but now, in the light of day, fully aware of her own feelings, she admitted that her need for him had already gone beyond a single night of passion. In the same realization she also faced the fact that for Bodie the episode might well be over and already forgotten.
“Just take care, Bodie,” she said, and hurried out of the stable, keeping her face turned away from him, so that he wouldn’t see the shine of tears in her eyes.
When Bodie led the horse outside some minutes later Fran was nowhere to be seen, but Amos Skellhorn came out of the house and crossed over to speak with the man hunter.
“I been doing some thinking, Bodie,” the rancher said. He held a rolled map in his hand, which he now opened. “This here is Kittyhawk Greek. My place is there. You ride west. Here you’ll be on Butler land.” He indicated various landmarks. “Now after you cross the high meadow above Cascade Lake there’s a hell of climb to the western rim of Butler’s range. Cut slightly north and you’ll have the Cascade Hills in front of you. Way up on top is what they call round here The Major Canyon. Butler has a line shack up near the canyon. Hard to get to. Pretty isolated. Hell, in winter a man can be stuck there for a couple of months. I figure that’s where Butler’s got Jody. Hiding him out until he can figure some way of getting the boy off the hook for that killing. And given time that’s just what the Major will do. One way or another he’ll buy Jody’s freedom.”
Bodie took the map and studied it, committing to memory all the landmarks and distances. “Looks to be a couple of days’ ride up there,” he said.
“Closer to three,” Skellhorn said. “Like I told you, that’s rough country up there. Nothing for miles but hills and forests. Why a man could spend a lifetime up there and never see another human being.”
“Times are when that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Bodie said.
He mounted up and rode his horse over the yard to where the three corpses hung over their saddles. He picked up the loose reins and glanced towards the house. The door opened and Fran stepped out, smiling at him.
“Take care,” she said again.
Bodie nodded at her. “Get her back to town,” he said over his shoulder to Skellhorn.
“I intend to.” Skellhorn held out a big hand, gripping Bodie’s firmly. “I have the feeling I’ll be seeing you again.”
Bodie touched the dun’s sides and set off across the dusty yard. He pointed the horse to the west, settling in the saddle. He didn’t look back. He never had seen the point in looking back. What was past was dead, didn’t matter anymore, and though the future might not have a deal more to offer at least it was alive, it had purpose, and sometimes it had promise.