Authors: John J. McLaglen
Tags: #historical, #wild west, #gunfighters, #western fiction, #american frontier, #the old west, #john harvey, #piccadilly publishing, #laurence james, #jed herne
‘
Well, Jed,’ replied the
concealed man. ‘Guess you better take that cannon out from your
belt, and toss it down somewhere far enough for you not to get any
ideas about diving for it. And put your sticker down as
well.’
Herne
’s face was carved from stone. Coburn
had him colder than the Sierra snows. And he’d made it easier for
him by coming up that trail. Whitey had seen the path and guessed
that was the way Jed would come.
He threw down the bayonet, glancing as
it fell to check its position, and drew the Colt, holding it
regretfully for a second in his hand.
‘
Quickly, Jed. Don’t get
foolish.’
The handgun followed the
bayonet.
‘
Make like you been caught by
the teacher and get your hands up on the back of your neck, Jed.
That’s it.’
‘
We known each other too
long, Whitey. Ridden too many miles. Know the way each other’s
minds work too damned well. I should have guessed you’d
guess.’
There was a dry laugh from behind him and
he heard the crunch of boots in the frozen snow. Slowly, taking
care not to let his hands slip away from his neck, Herne turned
round.
Coburn stood about eight paces from him.
Plenty close enough to cover any sudden move, but not close enough
to get caught by a dive or a kick. Just the right distance, as
Herne would have expected.
‘
W
hy did you come here, Jed? You must have
known that I’d be here. Sooner or later. You killed plenty of men
in the last year. Why not just have left it at that? Leave these
kids alone with their Ma, and just have ridden on with that pretty
little gal we tangled with back north.’
‘
Like I read in some book, there
are some things that a man just can’t ride round. These punks raped
Louise. And then she killed herself. Can’t just leave it at that,
Whitey. You know it.’
Coburn nodded, the pistol in his hand
beaded rock-steady on Herne’s belly. ‘I knowed it, Jed. Still kind
of hoped I wouldn’t be here to pick you up. I got a job to do, Jed
and it ain’t that I want...’
‘
Leave it,’ interrupted Herne.
‘Contract’s out, then that’s it.’
‘
Right, Jed. Figured you’d
know that well as me. Old man Nolan wants you back.’
‘
Dead or alive?’
‘
Ain’t that concerned. So let’s
try and make it alive. Look at it like this, Jed, any of these
punks he’s landed me with would have gunned you down. Backshot you
and left you like a dog. Cut off your head and taken it back to
‘Frisco for the old man. This way, after I hand you over, then
you’re on your own. Might be a way out. Man like you.’
‘
How many of
’
em?’
‘
F
ive. Full o’ wind and piss. Reckon they’re
men but act like babies. Without me, they’d have spilled their guts
all over the Sierras.’ With a grunt Coburn stopped and picked up
the gun, tucking it in his heavy belt, following it with the
bayonet. This old knife of yours. Recall that faro dealer in...
where was it?’
‘
Albuquerque.’
‘
Y
eah. Recall him?’
‘
The one who figured he
had the right to deal off the top or the bottom.’
‘
Runty guy with a little
moustache. When he reached out for his winnings, you whipped this
old bayonet out and stuck him clean through the back of the hand.
Squealed like a pig at the gelding!’
Herne
laughed. ‘Then when he put out his
other hand to pull out the blade, you spiked him with your knife.
Left him there all night Teach him a lesson.’
Coburn moved round Herne, his eyes raking
him for any sign of other weapons. ‘Right. Hung himself the next
night when he found his hands were all crook’d up. You carryin’ a
pocket gun?’
‘
No. What I got, you
got.’
‘
Then we better be moving
oil.’
As he started to walk cautiously across
the slippery ground, Herne at last asked the question that had hung
at the front of his mind ever since Coburn jumped him.
‘
The girl?’
Coburn tutted.
‘
Never
should have brought her. I tell you, Jed, old Nolan wanted the
contract out on her too. Told him I wasn’t in the game of
butchering little girls. Might have been once, but I’m gettin’ all
tender.’
The idea of the lanky albino ever getting
tender brought a wry grin to Herne’s mouth.
‘
So as far as I’m concerned,
she’s free to go.’ Although they were alone, heading back towards
the lake, Coburn dropped his voice. ‘But I can’t answer for these
young dudes back at the camp. I ain’t told them I’d seen you both
camping up on the ridge over yonder. I’ve been doing some figurin’,
and I’m not sure that Nolan don’t have some sort of contract out on
the girl with them.’ Herne half-turned to speak, but Coburn stopped
him. ‘And to save you askin’, then I’ll do what I can. After I seen
you safe back at our camp, I’ll go for a walk up there and have
some words with her. See her on the way to where she wants to go.
She got kin?’
‘
Me.’
They were near the edge of the lake, and
Coburn seemed disinclined to carry on the conversation. Herne had
tried to get a glance at his old friend, but he was swaddled up
against the cold. Strands of fine white hair spun like silk from
the edges of his hat, tied in place like Jed’s with a long black
scarf. Whitey’s eyes and face were buried in its shadow, with only
the pale tip of his nose protruding.
‘
Camp’s a half mile up
this draw. Been here only a day before you arrived.’
They climbed once more, their voices
struggling to carry against the rising wind. The sky had darkened
once more and the traces of blue had quite vanished. Herne paused
and looked back across the expanse of the valley, and saw a flurry
of snow breaking like surf against the walls of Mount
Abora.
‘
They know you’re here?’
he said, pointing towards the big mansion.
‘
Nope. Nobody knows. Not even
Nolan. You’ve been tough to keep a trail on. Considerin’ that girl,
you been makin’ good time all over the damned country.’
‘
I done my best,
Whitey.’
‘
Yeah. Look, Jed. I’ll do what I
can for the girl. Maybe get her to some folks I know down in New
Orleans.’
‘
Not one of your damned
cat-house madams?’
Coburn was genuinely shocked.
‘Jedediah! I’m ashamed of you. I might have done a whole heap of
bad in my time, and killed a lot of men. But most of them needed
it, and I ain’t never killed a woman.’
Herne
stopped once again, hoping that
Coburn would be tricked into coming close enough for him to have a
chance at him.
He wasn’t.
‘
No women, Whitey?’
‘
Well... I recollect one or two
who might have been kind of women, and a couple I wasn’t too sure
about. But they all were badder’n a broke-back rattler.’
The snow reached them as they climbed,
and both men huddled behind their clothes. Jed thought about Becky
all alone back at their camp, then dismissed the thought. There was
not a thing he could do for her. His only chance, and it was a slim
one, was to get away from Coburn. Then he’d think about
her.
‘
Nearly there,’ panted Coburn,
tired by the stiff climb from the lake.
They both stopped as they heard the
mournful cry of an owl, echoing across the valley, answered by
another one from up to their right. Herne looked enquiringly at
Coburn, who tugged down his scarf with his left hand and spat in
the fine snow at his feet. ‘Stupid bastards! Reckon that all this
secret whistling code is going to make them scouts. Old Jim Bridger
would have had this gang between two slices of sour-bread and then
walked fifty miles in a day.’
‘
That you, Mister
Coburn?’
‘
Who the fuck you think it is!
George Armstrong Custer and the Seventh Cavalry?’ Under his breath
to Herne: ‘At least they call me Mister Coburn. One of them tried
to get overly familiar a week or so back.’
‘
And?’
‘
Cut his ears off,’ Coburn
grinned. ‘Had to quit. That’s why there’s five when there used to
be six.’
‘
C
ome ahead,’ shouted the voice. Then, to
someone else: ‘The old man’s got him.’ A pause. ‘Yeah. I remember.
Here they come.’
Herne
moved his shoulders, feeling the
stiffening of the muscles from the strain of walking up the steep
hill with his hands behind his neck. Coburn’s camp was in a
sheltered clearing, close by a stream. A flurry of snow blew in his
eyes and he blinked to clear them. When he looked again, there were
four men in the camp, all holding guns, looking grimly at
him.
‘
Jesus! It’s another old
bastard!’
‘
Where’d you get
him?’
‘
Where’s that girl he rode
with?’
Coburn ignored them, steering Herne
towards the fire, where they both stood, side by side, looking
outwards. Almost, thought Jed regretfully, as though they were
about to face them down together.
‘
This is Jed Herne. You kids
might have heard of Herne the Hunter. Here he is. I known him a
long ways back. And he’s ten times any of you little snots. Get us
some coffee.’
Nobody moved, and Herne felt the tension
nudging at the base of his spine. Prickling the nape of his neck.
There was something wrong here. He sensed that Whitey felt it as
well.
‘
Where’s the girl, Mister
Coburn? You know that the Senator wants her brought in as
well.’
‘
No. I don’t know nothin’ bout
that.’
‘
Maybe the Senator don’t tell
you everything, after all, Mister Coburn.’
Whitey ignored the atmosphere, waving
round the group of men with the barrel of his Colt. ‘Let me
introduce you to the posse, Mister Herne. The guy there with more
weight round his middle than’s good for him is Frank Janson. Next
to him, the Mex, is Rivera. The left-hander’s Pete Austin. Last one
in line is Babe Wood.’
‘
Don’t call me
Babe
!’
‘
That’s Abilene Wood. Called
Abilene ‘cos that’s where his Ma left him when she moved on. Ain’t
got no other name. That’s four. Where’s the German?’
‘
Netzen’s off scouting,’
said Wood.
The snow was getting thicker, masking out
the surrounding trees. Herne had a feeling he’d had many times
before. There was a tension there, as though everyone was waiting
for something to happen.
‘
The girl, Mister
Coburn?’
It was Austin, the left-hander.
Holding a Colt. Janson also had a Colt. The other two held
Winchesters ready at their hips.
‘
Weather’s closin’ in. If
n she’s up there, then she ain’t goin’ far. We’ll get a meal, and
see what happens this afternoon. That make sense?’
He was buying time. Trying to feel out
just what the men wanted. Herne glanced round the clearing, hearing
only snow falling in the fire. And feet shuffling.
‘
Good to be back by a fire,’
said Coburn, throwing open his coat, half-turning as he did so. It
was an easy, natural sort of action. If he hadn’t been ready for
it, Herne would never have noticed that the movement brought the
butt of his own pistol within reach, tucked in Coburn’s
belt.
‘
You said Netzen gone
huntin’?’
‘
Y
eah, you could say that.’
‘
What’s he hopin’ to catch
himself?’
The fifth voice came from the bank of
darkness behind them. A voice with heavy accents.
‘
Y
ou, Mister Coburn.’
Herne
couldn’t see the hidden man, but he
almost made a grab for his gun. Only Coburn, again with that
seemingly accidental movement, swung his body round a little, so
that the Colt wasn’t so accessible. Jed guessed that Whitey must be
waiting for the German to show himself, before they made their
play. Five against two. All the five with their guns out ready, and
all on the alert.
‘
What’s this?’ said Coburn.
‘Something up with you boys? I brought in Herne, just like my
contract. And I’m aiming to deliver him back to San Francisco. How
come you boys seem to have different ideas?’
‘
Senator Nolan don’t trust you,
old man. He thinks that maybe you might be getting soft for this
bastard Herne. So he asks us to watch. If you step out of line, we
hit you. Or if you bring Herne in, you let us take over and you
ride on.’
‘
The bounty?’
‘
You is
muy hombre, Senor
Coburn. Maybe we keep the
dollars for you.’
‘
They’re going to move any
minute,’ whispered Herne to Whitey, wondering how the hell they
were going to get any sort of start on the five young
gunmen.
Coburn nodded slightly to show he’d
heard, and moved back again, putting the Colt within reach of Jed’s
right hand. But there were still those gloves!
‘
That fire’s damned welcome,
boys,’ said Herne, casually letting his hands drop while he pulled
off the gloves.
‘
Don’t try anything, Herne,’
snapped Coburn. ‘What’s happening between me and the boys ain’t no
concern of yours. Whatever happens here, it don’t make any
difference to you. Right?’
‘
Whatever you say,’ replied
Herne, wondering where the fifth man was and what kind of gun he
was holding.
‘
Cut the damned talking
and let’s get to it.’
‘
Wait on, Kurt,’ said Babe Wood.
‘Don’t be too hasty. I just want Mister Coburn here to realize
what’s going on. That things aren’t under his say-so no more. Is
that clear Mister Coburn?’
The ‘Mister’ was becoming more and
more insulting.
‘
You’re going to take Herne from
me, after all I’ve done to capture him? So you’ll kill
him.’
It was a flat statement. The gunmen
laughed, their breath frosting out round their faces. Once again
the snow had eased. There was the crunching of footsteps, and Herne
half-turned to see the tall figure of the German appearing from the
trees. Holding a sawn-off scatter-gun.
‘
I
ain’t saying we kill him just like
that. But there’s a kind of a chance he might try and run. Know
what I mean?’
‘
I know. And what about
me?’
There was a silence, and the gunmen
exchanged glances.
Herne guessed they were still worried
about the albino, despite the fact that they outnumbered him five
to one. Coburn held his Colt easily, taking care not to point it at
any one of them. That way they’d all feel menaced by it.
Herne saw that all of the young punks were
still wearing their gloves, and that gave him a lot of hope. It was
hard to work a gun fast like that Netzen was the main threat. You
didn’t have to aim too good with a scatter-gun to make a mess of a
man at that sort of range. Then the two with Colts. Easier and
quicker in confined shooting. Last the two with the rifles. If they
missed with their first shots, then the lever action would slow
them.
‘
Maybe you ride on, old man. Or
maybe we kill you where you stand. I’m tired of this fuckin’
word-game. Let’s get to it, boys,’ said Frank Janson, stamping his
feet in the cold.
‘
Now wait on,’ said
Coburn, pulling the glove from his left hand, then casually
changing the gun to his other hand to take off the other
glove.
‘
No more damned waiting,
Whitey,’ barked Janson,
‘
I see. Whatever happens, you
know me well enough to realize that at least one of you is going to
get killed before you cut me down.’
‘
So ride on.’
‘
No man tells me to ride on,
Janson. You should know that. But what of Herne? Am I to give up
six months’ work and a saddle-sore ass just for you to take the
bounty on him?’
Herne couldn’t work out what Whitey was
doing. There wasn’t the slightest doubt that the gunmen were going
to make their play at any moment. So it was down to Whitey to give
the two of them an edge.
‘
Jed?’
‘
What?’
‘
I’
ve been telling Jed here about you
young bravos. Personally, I think that Kurt there is the best. And
then I count on Pete Austin with his Colt. What do you think about
them?’
‘
Guess that’s right. But I’d put
my money on Janson, with the others about equal.’
‘
Cut the fuckin’ talkin’.
Are you movin’ on, Coburn, you crippled son of a bitch? Or do we
go?’
Coburn ignored them, still talking to
Herne, his tone as calm and conversational as if he were discussing
the weather with the pastor’s wife.
‘
Remember that ramrod with the
matched Colts? The pair with ivory-handles he said he’d won in
Paris off of a Lascar seaman?’
‘
Yes. What about
him?’
‘
Recall his trick with the
lamp, that damn near got us killed?’
Herne
nodded. There had been a tense
situation in a bunkhouse with the ramrod. He and three of his hands
were ready to draw against Herne and Coburn, and the cowboy had
tried to give them the advantage by ‘accidentally’ setting fire to
the waxed cloth on the table, timing his move until the material
flared up and Jed and Whitey were distracted.
It might have worked only there was so
much smoke that it also distracted his fellows and they had been
easy meat for the two gunmen. Coburn obviously intended something
like that. But what?
‘
What?’
‘
Gloves.’
‘
When?’
‘
Now.’
While the five men watched, growing
irritation on their faces, Whitey turned further so that the Colt
was within inches of Jed’s fingers, then dropped his own woolen
gloves in the middle of the camp-fire.
‘
Hell and damnation!’ he
shouted, pointing with his left hand at the burning
gloves.
Like well-trained puppets, all five of the
boys looked dutifully at where he pointed. It took them around a
half second to realize they’d been taken.
And that half second was far too long for
them to try and make up against Whitey Coburn and Herne the
Hunter.
It was as though there’d never been
the years apart for the two men. It worked like they’d talked it
through, agreeing in those short few words who would try and take
which of the boys.
The first shot was from Coburn, straight
through the middle of the German’s chest, sending the scatter-gun
spinning uselessly from his hands. By then Jed had snatched his own
gun from the belt, feeling the grips chillingly cold to his
fingers. Cocking it and snapping off the first of his shots at the
fatter figure of Jason, hitting him in the stomach, doubling him up
like a kick, swinging to aim next at the two
Winchesters.
They were just beginning to react to what
was happening, and one of them had started to duck away, opening
his mouth to scream a warning. It was the Mexican, and Jed’s second
bullet hit him high at the angle of the jawbone, just under the
left ear. Cutting off the cry in a splatter of bone splinters and
choking blood, the heavy slug ricocheting on and upwards, behind
the nose, popping the left eye neatly from its socket and finally
exploding out from the top of the man’s head. But its force was
spent and it didn’t quite tear through the Mexican’s hat, merely
raising a lump that became instantly soggy with brains and
blood.
The eye hung from the raw socket by a
tangle of tissue and nerve endings, and the man’s hand groped at it
even as he fell dead in the snow, a river of scarlet washing from
his open mouth, dotted with fragments of broken teeth.
But Herne wasn’t concerned with the
corpse. His worry was about the living. Out of the corner of his
eye as he moved to the right, thumb cocking the hammer of the Colt
for the third shot, he saw Whitey’s second bullet hit Babe Wood in
the shoulder, spinning him against a tree, where he fumbled with
his left hand, tugging feebly with the glove, to get off a
shot
For a moment Herne hesitated, wondering
whether to go for the injured man, or for Pete Austin who’d moved
faster than any of them, out of the line of Whitey’s sight, ducking
and sprinting for the trees, firing off a snap shot at Herne as he
ran.
The bullet was way off target,
probably at least a yard he decided, hearing it tear into a tree a
dozen paces behind him. He quickly straddled his legs, giving
himself a firmer base, holding his right wrist in his left hand,
and squeezed the slim trigger of the Colt. Felt the kick of the
recoil, and saw Austin slide forwards on his face through the snow,
the gun arcing from his left hand to fall through the lower
branches of a nearby pine, scattering the body with powdery
snow.
Immediately after his third shot, like an
echo, he heard the boom of Coburn’s gun, and a groan from Babe
Wood. He didn’t look round, seeing that Janson had clawed his way
up off the ground to his knees. His left hand folded across his
body as though he was trying to hold his stomach together, the
right hand desperately trying to level his gun at Herne. Jed cocked
and fired almost without thinking, so fast was his reaction. The
bullet hit the fat youth in the chest, knocking him over in a
flailing tangle of limbs, arms and legs kicking and scrabbling in
reflex actions.
There was a man moaning, and the harsh
stench of cordite hanging in the air of the clearing. And the
scorched smell of what remained of Coburn’s gloves, still
smoldering in the center of the fire. Drawing a deep breath, Herne
straightened up and looked round.
Rivera, undoubtedly dead.
One.
Janson; he walked over to the body,
but the blank eyes, already coated with a film of moisture, told
their own undeniable story. Two.
Pete Austin, the stain darker on his dark
coat, just under the left shoulder-blade. Herne rolled him over
with a boot in the ribs and saw the teeth pulled back from the lips
in a last snarl of defiance. Three.
Netzen, the German, his body propped
against the bole of a tree, hands pressed to a wound in the middle
of his chest. As Herne reached out and touched him the hands
dropped to his sides and the body fell over. Four.
Herne
walked over and stood by Whitey, who
was already methodically levering out the spent cartridges, letting
them drop to the earth, and inserting fresh rounds. Looking down
wordlessly at the boy named Wood. His groans were getting
weaker.
He lay on his back, wrapped in so many
layers of warm clothing that he looked like a beetle that had been
turned over and couldn’t right itself again. He was bleeding
copiously from the shoulder, and from a hole in the neck. Every
time he breathed, head lifting with the effort, blood bubbled from
his throat. A bright, shocking red. And each time that happened, he
groaned.
‘
Lungs?’ said Herne.
Coburn nodded.
‘
Help me,’ pleaded Wood, face
wrinkling with the pain of each breath.
‘
Nothing we can do, boy.
You done made your bed when you threw in with the others. I’m
sorry, boy. Never did enjoy killing young folks.’
‘
I’m not goin’ to
die?’
Coburn slipped his gun back in its greased
holster, stooping to tug a pair of gloves from the dead German’s
hands before he replied. ‘No point in lyin’ to you, son. I seen men
throat-shot like you before, and none of them lived above a few
minutes. If’n you got any prayers, or messages, I’d do my best to
see they got through for you, Babe.’
‘
Name’s not Babe, you
bastard. It’s Abilene.’
The boy tried to raise himself, but
the effort brought a fountain of blood to his mouth. He made one
attempt to spit it out but it choked him, and he slumped back
dead.
Jed stepped away from the bodies,
reloading his Colt. Looking up at the sky, trying to gauge the
weather. It seemed a little warmer, which probably meant a heavy
fall of the snow was imminent. There was a thud in the tree close
by his head, and his bayonet stuck there, quivering and humming.
Without turning round he tugged it free and slid it into the sheath
in his boot. Settled the gun in its holster, straightened, and
sighed.
‘
Now, Whitey?’
‘
Turn round, Jed. Don’t do
to talk to an old friend with your back turned away.’
Herne
turned slow and easy, feeling the
cold gripping his fingers, remembering that Coburn had picked up
another pair of gloves. Recalling how wearing gloves had slowed
down the gunmen.
His old friend stood facing him,
around twelve paces away, hand down by his side. Palm forwards.
Wearing the gloves of the dead German.