There were two more.
Bodie took them both without even raising a sweat. It was like competing against five-year old kids. He killed the first one with a .45 bullet through the back of the head, coming up behind the man without being heard or seen. The man had died with an extremely surprised expression on what was left of his face.
The last one was just as easy. He tried to put up a fight, but Bodie put a quick shot through his left kneecap, blowing the joint apart, and after that the man was only too willing to talk. He told everything he knew and when he’d finished the look in Bodie’s eyes was terrible to see. The man had begged for help. Bodie’s knee shot had crippled him. He was in great pain and losing a lot of blood. Bodie obliged, putting a bullet between the man’s eyes to end his suffering. Bodie helped himself to ammunition from the dead men’s saddlebags. He took what food and water he could find, then used one of the stray horses to make his way back to where he had abandoned his own mount.
He put the supplies he’d gathered into his saddlebags, cut free the horse carrying the dead Reefer and Tyree, and mounted up. Turning the animal towards San Antonio Bodie rode on, leaving the scattered corpses to the already circling vultures.
He rode without pause. He drank water from his canteen on the move, chewed dried beef. When he came to water he stopped only long enough to let his horse drink. Then he rode on. He was tired and bloody and battered. He ached in every joint. Yet he rode like some grim specter through the long dark night hours and into the next day, ignoring the pre-dawn chill and the burning heat of the new morning.
He sighted San Antonio in the early afternoon. Riding on he passed through the busy town, paying no attention to the curious stares he was getting from the citizens of the thriving community. As the noise of San Antonio slipped into the background, Bodie’s whole being focused on the gleaming railroad tracks curving off across the dusty Texas landscape. About half a mile out of town was a spur line, and sitting on that spur line was the end of Bodie’s trail.
The black and maroon locomotive looked just the same as it had the day Bodie had first seen it. So did the long, richly-decorated Pullman.
As Bodie approached the coach he saw the men lounging around in the blazing sunlight. He saw them for what they were. Hired guns. Bleak faced, with that hungry look in their cold eyes. Nervous hands never far away from the jutting handles of the guns they wore like primitive objects of religion. As they saw him coming they broke apart and formed a human barrier between him and the Pullman.
Bodie reined in and dismounted.
‘You’re a dead man, Bodie,’ one of them said, smiling as if he had just said something funny.
His partners grinned too. They were confident. They figured they had it made. That they were going to be the ones to gun down Bodie. The man they called The Stalker. So Bodie let them go on thinking that.
And while they thought he drew his Colt and started shooting.
He took the leader out with his first shot, planting a bullet in the man’s smirking face. The expanding .45 bullet burst the man’s head open like an Over ripe melon.
The moment he’d fired Bodie changed his position, moving fast before the other gunmen could react. He snapped off two rapid shots at the closest, blasting a raw hole through the man’s side, while his second bullet took out the man’s throat, leaving a pulpy hole that spilled blood down the man’s shirt.
The remaining pair managed to get off a couple of shots. One even came within a foot of Bodie’s body. It was the closest any of them came. The next shot was Bodie’s and it took the man out of the game for good. He went to the ground with a bullet in his heart. The sole survivor stood his ground, reckless confidence spurring him on. He shot off two bullets, both of which went wide of the mark due to his lack of patience in aiming. Even as the final shot was being fired Bodie lifted his Colt, held it steady and pulled the trigger. The Colt jerked in recoil, then steadied for Bodie to use his last shot. It hit the target a fraction of an inch below the first one. The gunman spun round before falling face down on the ground, twin pulpy cones of raw flesh protruding between his shoulders like miniature humps.
Bodie ripped open the loading-gate and began punching out the empty cases. He thumbed in fresh cartridges as he moved towards the Pullman coach.
Steam burst from the locomotive. Dense black smoke surged from the stack. The locomotive surged forward then steadied, couplings clanging.
Thrusting the last bullet into the Colt’s cylinder Bodie broke into a run as the Pullman coach began to draw away from him. He should have expected Lyle Trask to have a last card to play. Not that the game was over yet.
The door at the rear of the Pullman was jerked open and a dark-suited figure stepped out onto the swaying observation platform. Bodie recognized the hard face, the cropped cap of dark hair clinging to the skull.
Teal!
Lyle Trask’s man. Bodie saw something else as well. The stubby shape of a sawn-off shotgun in Teal’s hands. Bodie threw himself to the ground as the shotgun swung in his direction. He heard the boom of one barrel, heard the whistle of the spreading shot. His shoulder struck the dirt and he rolled, coming up on one knee, bringing up his Colt in a fluid movement. He triggered two quick shots at Teal then thrust to his feet and ran for the Pullman.
Teal ducked low as the shots were fired. One shattered the glass panel of the door at his back. The other clipped the top of his left shoulder, nicking the flesh. Teal stumbled back, off-balance as the door of the observation platform rocked under his feet. Throwing out a hand Teal grabbed the rail that ran around the platform and pulled himself upright.
At that moment Bodie reached the Pullman. He caught hold of the rail and jumped for the step. He saw Teal in the act of regaining his feet and lunged up onto the observation platform. He smashed bodily into Teal, driving the cursing man back. They hit the door leading to the Pullman’s interior and it splintered under their combined weight, spilling them to the carpeted door inside. Teal lashed out with booted feet, catching Bodie in the chest and throwing him clear. As Bodie slithered along the paneled wall Teal scrambled to his feet, dragging back the shotgun’s second hammer. He swung round to find his target, triggering the charge too soon. The blast of shot ripped a jagged hole in the wall. Seeing that he’d missed Teal plunged forward, swinging the empty shotgun like a club. Bodie, down on one knee, ducked under the vicious swing, then drove the barrel of his Colt into Teal’s face. The edge of the sight sliced open Teal’s left cheek. Teal grunted in pain. He swung the shotgun again, driving it down across Bodie’s gun hand. The Colt slipped from Bodie’s numbed fingers. Bodie thrust his left hand out, grabbing hold of Teal’s shirt front. He braced himself and swung Teal round. The shirt ripped and Teal was flung across the coach. He hit the far wall, bouncing off, and ran straight into Bodie’s rising boot. It sank into Teal’s groin, wrenching a high scream from the man. As Teal staggered back Bodie hit him again, blood spurting from Teal’s mashed lips. Teal still managed to lift the heavy shotgun, lashing out blindly in Bodie’s direction. Bodie swayed his body back out of the way, and as Teal was half-turned by the force of his own swing, Bodie caught hold of his coat and ran him across the floor. Teal let out a terrified yell as he realized where Bodie was directing him. Then it was too late. There was a sudden shattering of glass as Teal smashed headfirst through one of the Pullman’s side windows. Bodie kept shoving. There was a moment when Teal got a grip on the frame of the broken window, but then Bodie gave a final heave and Teal went over the edge of the frame. His writhing body twisted frantically as he fell, and when he hit the hard ground his broken body bounced and slithered for yards before coming to rest against an upthrust rock at the side of the track.
Gasping for breath Bodie scooped up his Colt. He replaced the spent cartridges. Then he moved along the Pullman until he reached the door leading to Lyle Trask’s private compartment. The door was locked. Bodie unlocked it by the simple procedure of using his boot. The door swung open and Bodie stepped through.
‘Glad you were able to make it, Mr. Bodie,’ Lyle Trask smiled from behind his big oak desk.
Bodie booted the door shut behind him. He wedged it securely with one of the heavy armchairs.
‘Somebody following you, Mr. Bodie?’ Trask inquired, trying to keep his tone light.
Bodie smiled through bruised, bloody lips. ‘Not any more, Trask. Not Silverbuck, or any of his crew. Not even Mr. Teal. He just got off the train. The hard way.’
Trask’s face paled a fraction. He didn’t speak for a moment and when he finally did his voice was low. ‘Are you planning a similar fate for me, Bodie?’
Bodie slumped down in an armchair facing Trask, the muzzle of his Colt never once moving off Trask’s body.
‘You owe me $10,000, Trask. Cash! Now! You sent me after Reefer and his gang. They’re all dead. I figure you got the first delivery. Reefer and Tyree are out there somewhere. You want ‘em you go and drag ‘em in before the vultures finish ‘em off. ‘
Trask nodded. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He slid open a drawer in the desk and took out and threw across the desk a thick wad of banknotes. ‘It’s all there. The whole $10,000. Count it if you want. I had a feeling’ you might be calling in for it so I kept it handy!’
‘No faith in your own men!’ Bodie shook his head. ‘That’s sad, Mister Trask. If a man like you can’t buy the best what chance do the rest of us poor bastards have?’
‘I...I...don’t know what you mean,’ Trask began lamely. His eyes began to flick about the compartment as if he was looking for a way out. He was beginning to show the symptoms of a trapped man. . . .
Bodie snapped back the Colt’s hammer, his anger rising in a burning flood. ‘The hell you don’t, you double-crossing bastard! You set me up. Sent me out to do your dirty work and then hired a bunch of second-rate guns to get rid of me. You miserable son of a bitch! What the hell was it all for?’
‘Haven’t you worked it out, Bodie?’ Trask asked, his control returning slowly.
‘Shit, you bastard, I’ve been too damn busy trying to stay alive to sit down and work out why.’
‘Simple really, Bodie,’ Trask said. ‘You see, years ago, when I first started out, I needed money fast. I wasn’t fussy where it came from. So I organized thefts from government warehouses, businesses, freight lines, from anywhere I could locate guns. Those guns were supplied to a bunch who had contacts all along the border country. The main customers were Comanches. Then there were always the Mexicans. It was a good market. And a very lucrative one too.’
‘Son of a bitch!’ Bodie breathed softly. Suddenly he knew what Trask was leading up to. ‘Hoyt Reefer was your contact? You ran stolen guns to Reefer.’
‘For nearly three years,’ Trask admitted. ‘They were hectic years, Bodie, but I wouldn’t have missed a second. And they were money-making years too.’
‘And now you want to step up in the world,’ Bodie said wearily. ‘But it wouldn’t do your image any good if the voters found out you were no better than the bad boys you, wanted to rid the country of? Am I getting it right, Trask?’
Lyle Trask shrugged his expensively-clad shoulders.
‘Once Hoyt Reefer got to hear what I was planning to do, you think he would of just sat back and let me do it? Bodie, I couldn’t take the chance. I needed Reefer’s mouth closing for good.’ Trask leaned back in his seat. ‘So I thought why not hire the best man for the job. Let him track Reefer down and wipe him out. It would get rid of my worry over Reefer and also provide me with my political platform.’
‘You were going to use Reefer and his bunch?’
Trask nodded. ‘Of course. I was perfectly serious about presenting the dead men as proof of my genuine feelings about lawlessness.’ Trask managed a wry smile. ‘It almost worked, Bodie.’
‘So why the need to have me dead too?’ Bodie asked.
‘How would I know for certain that Reefer hadn’t spilled the beans to you before he died? It was simply a precaution, Bodie. A way of making things all neat and tidy. ‘
‘Like Jim Kelly?’
‘I almost overlooked him. It was Teal who pointed out that Kelly and Reefer had been in business for some time. Reefer might have talked about me. So Teal followed you to Anderson’s Halt and got rid of Kelly before you could talk to him.’
‘So Teal was the one. I suppose he killed the girl too. Sherry? You remember?’
‘I think Teal got a little over enthusiastic there, Bodie. He was worried she might have picked up some information. So he made sure she wouldn’t do any talking. It was perhaps a little hasty of him, but he had my best interests at heart.’
‘Yeah! Well his interest in everything has kind of died off by now!’ Bodie stood up and moved to stand over Trask’s desk. He stared at Lyle Trask, his eyes revealing the rage boiling up inside him. ‘Looks to me, Trask, like you’re in the shit all the way up to your neck. Ain’t goin’ to take very much effort to shove you right under.’
Trask ran his tongue across his dry lips. ‘Listen, Bodie, it doesn’t have to be that way. Hell, man, neither of us are fools! We know the way the world runs. A man has to make his way the best he can. I have a good chance to go far in politics, Bodie, and any man who goes with me could stand to make himself very wealthy. This $10,000 would be chicken feed.’ Trask reached out and laid his hand over the wad of notes on the desk. He slid the money across the desk, closer to Bodie.
Bodie’s left hand stretched out and his fingers closed over Trask’s wrist. He lifted Trask’s hand off the money, placing it on the desk top. Trask raised his eyes to Bodie’s and smiled confidently. Bodie smiled back. It was a fleeting expression and if Trask had looked deeper he would have realized that it was an emotionless gesture. Trask was still staring into Bodie’s eyes when the gun in Bodie’s hand came down across his outstretched hand. The fingers of Trask’s hand were pulped and crushed as Bodie struck again and again. His left hand, gripping Trask’s wrist, held the man’s hand in place despite Trask's agonized struggling. Blood squirted from Trask’s mangled fingers, spreading across the polished desk top in bright runnels. Trask suddenly opened his mouth to scream. Bodie simply lashed out with the Colt, laying Trask’s lips open to the gums, breaking Trask’s teeth with a brutal blow. Lyle Trask slumped back in his seat. He hugged his ruined right hand to his chest, moaning softly through his pulped mouth. Blood streamed from the crushed hand, staining Trask’s white shirt and suit. It oozed from the ugly gashes in his mouth. Trask stared at Bodie through terror glazed eyes.
‘For God’s sake, Bodie!’ Trask mumbled through his ruined lips. ‘What are you going..to...do...? ‘
‘Trask, I’ve got me one rule I never break,’ Bodie said. ‘It’s helped keep me alive for a long time, and I ain’t about to change things now. If a man figures to kill me then he’d better do it the first try because he ain’t going to be left in any condition to have a second go. Trask, you had more than your share of tries. Now it’s mine and it’s the only one I’ll need!’
Lyle Trask realized he was looking death in the face. Despite his terror and the pain he was suffering, he refused to just sit back and die without a fight. With a wild yell he lurched up out of his seat lashing out at Bodie with his free, uninjured hand, then ran across the compartment to the door at the far end.
Bodie had reached behind him, plucking from a sheath on his belt the knife he’d taken from and used on Silverbuck. He reversed the heavy knife, holding it by the tip of the blade. Raising his arm he drew it back, then jerked it forward, releasing the knife at the end of the swing. The glittering blade blurred as it made its short journey. It struck home just as Lyle Trask threw a despairing glance over his shoulder. The tip of the blade entered Trask’s neck on the left side just forward and below the ear, cutting its way through flesh and tendon alike. It penetrated Trask’s throat completely, the point emerging on the right side. Blood flowed as Lyle Trask let out a terrified scream. Pain began to burn through the initial shock. Trask stumbled and fell against the compartment wall. His legs began a frantic tattoo, his heels rapping against the floor. A gout of blood spewed from his trembling mouth.
Bodie crossed to Trask’s desk and picked up the $10,000. He tucked it in his pants pocket. Turning he went over to where Trask had slumped against the base of the wall. Gripping the handle of the knife Bodie jerked it free. Trask’s body arched in silent agony. Bodie wiped the blade of the knife on the expensive carpet that was already stained with Trask’s blood.
He reached up and pulled the emergency-cord. Seconds later the coach lurched as the locomotive began to brake, wheels squealing in protest. Bodie waited until the train had come to a halt. He dragged the armchair away from the shattered door and swung it open. He glanced at Trask’s motionless body: The blood had stopped flowing now and Trask was still.
‘End of the line, Mr. Trask,’ he said. ‘This train ain’t goin’ anywhere and neither are you!’
Stepping down from the observation platform Bodie started walking. It was a fair way back to San Antonio. He figured it would give him time to get his story worked out. Bodie knew damn well that he was going to have some fast, hard explaining to do to the law. One way and another, by the time he’d done he would have earned his $10,000. He wasn’t too certain about the $10,000 in bounty money on the Reefer bunch. It might be in his interests to forget about that. The law was going to be hard enough on him over the whole damn mess. Bodie reckoned he could talk his way out of it, but if he started shouting the odds about $10,000 in bounty, somebody, somewhere, might just start getting awkward.
Sometimes, Bodie decided, life had a habit of turning sour on a man. It took hold of him. Turned him upside down and inside out, kicked him from hell to breakfast, and then when he figured he’d had his share of problems it went and gave him a swift kick up the ass just for the hell of it. He shrugged. What the hell! Tomorrow was another day and it couldn’t turn out to be worse than this one.