High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1 (10 page)

“They
look for the woman,” Black Elk observed.

Laramie
wasn't so sure. One of the outlaws in the first group acted kind of
nervous. He glanced around as though he expected something to happen.
And then a false bird call tipped the situation over the edge.

The
outlaw drew his gun and fired off into the darkness.

“They
know we're here!” yelled Laramie, “They're going for the
horses.”

A
chorus of cries broke out in the darkness, followed by more gunfire.
Laramie and Black Elk moved forward from the trees but hurried
gunshots flew over their heads and made them take cover.

“They're
firing wild,” the gunfighter called to the Indian.

There
was a disturbance in the corral as the outlaws climbed upon the backs
of their horses. More gunfire sounded and a Blackfoot warrior cried
out in pain. There was yelling from the corral and the horses surged
forward and busted through the lodge pole rails.

Two
men rode the gauntlet of fire laid down by the Blackfeet. Laramie
raised the Henry rifle and fired. The shot missed so he levered and
fired again. This time the lead rider threw up his arms and toppled
from his saddle. He tried to rise, but from the darkness two warriors
emerged and one lunged at the fallen man with a knife.

The
second rider almost made it but his horse stumbled and went down. It
had clipped a fallen log which caused it to land awkwardly and it
snapped its right foreleg. The night was pierced with the animal's
high pitched squeal of pain. Its rider lunged to his feet and started
to fire wildly into the dark until the hammer of his gun clicked onto
an empty chamber.

There
was an audible thunk beside Laramie, and Black Elk emitted a low
grunt and crumpled to the ground. The gunfighter checked the Indian
who gasped, “Get them, don't let them escape.”

Meanwhile
the outlaw tried hurriedly to reload his gun, but to no avail. An
arrow streaked from the darkness and pierced his chest. It was
followed by two more and silently, the man dropped his gun and slowly
sank to the earth.

That
left two more, thought Laramie, but where were they?

*

When
the shooting started, Blackie Harbin and Benny were behind the old
cabin and were no longer sure whether to head back inside or toward
the corral.

“God
damn it,” cursed Harbin, “that's torn it.”

Benny
ducked low, ready to run for the horses.

Harbin
stopped him as he blocked the way with his arm, “Wait.”

Out of
the darkness loomed a Blackfoot brave who carried a bow. Harbin
raised his gun and shot the approaching man twice. The Indian dropped
to the ground without a sound as another came at the pair. This one
was armed with a rifle which he fired at them. Benny and Harbin both
fired at the warrior and he was flung backwards by the heavy impact
of the bullets. He went down and never moved.

“Follow
me kid,” Blackie urged as he pointed in the direction the
Indians had come from, “We're goin' this way.”

“What
about the horses?”

“We'd
never make it,” Harbin declared, “now come on.”

“But
Blackie,” Benny protested, “we can't get out that way.”

“I
know, but we can get in behind the Blackfeet and maybe slip out. Now
come on while they are still busy with the other two.”

So the
two outlaws slipped into the night and left their comrades to die.

*

The
sun poked its head over the mountains and its rays caressed the land
like warm fingers. Laramie looked down at the bodies of Cato and Lone
Wolf. Once the Blackfeet had finished with them, they were a grizzly
sight.

“What
about the other two?” Black Elk asked Laramie with gritted
teeth as another wave of pain swept over him. The stray bullet had
taken him low in his chest. How it had not hit anything vital was
beyond Laramie, but there was no way that he could ride a horse, so
was being transported back to his village on a travois.

“They
got away, but will not get far. They have no horses so will be easy
to find.”

“You
must find them,” the Chief hissed, “Find them and bring
them back to me, alive if possible.”

“And
what if I can't bring them in alive?”

“Then
dead will do, but I want to see the bodies of the men who killed my
brother.”

Laramie
watched as the Blackfeet disappeared with their Chief, the travois
cut furrows in the earth as it was dragged along behind Black Elk's
Palomino.

The
gunfighter walked across to Bo and the big appaloosa nuzzled his
shoulder, “We got us some killers to track down boy, are you
ready to go.”

Bo
tossed his head about and snorted.

“Yeah
I thought so, come on then.”

Laramie
adjusted the unfamiliar weight of Cato's holstered gun before he
climbed up into the saddle and rode out after Blackie Harbin and the
killer kid, Benny.

Two
hours after Laramie and the Blackfeet had left the hideout, the
Coltrains arrived. Cato and Lone Wolf had been left in the open and
the birds and other wildlife had started to strip meat from the
bodies.

The
Judge took one look and placed a white handkerchief over his mouth to
stop the rise of bile. Shell on the other hand, took one look at the
mauled bodies, and lost his breakfast.

“Jesus
Shell,” cursed the Sheriff, “if you're goin' to do that,
take it somewhere else.”

Jeb
Coltrain dismounted and looked around. He stooped and picked up an
arrow that stuck out of the soft ground, “Looks like the
Blackfeet got here before us.”

He
snapped the arrow in two and cast it aside. The Sheriff looked around
some more and took in the macabre landscape, but knew it was a waste
of time.

“What
now?” asked Shell Coltrain.

“We
keep damn well looking,” snapped the Judge.

“Hold
on there Zeb, just think on it a minute,” the Sheriff cautioned
his brother, “Like I told you last time, we can traipse around
these mountains for days and find nothin' and at the moment, with the
Indians on the war path, we'd probably end up with our scalps hangin'
in some brave's teepee. Otherwise, we can head for the place where
Davis is goin' to end up anyway, if he's still alive.”

“What
do you mean, Jeb?” asked the Judge, seemingly ready to listen
to reason.

“We
know Davis is after the woman,” Jeb continued to explain, “now
if he gets her back, he's goin' to end up in Mountain Pass, and if he
does, we'll be there waitin' for him.”

He
waited while his brother digested the information, “That's all
well and good but what if he doesn't turn up in Mountain Pass.”

“Then
he'll be dead,” the Sheriff said matter of factly, “it's
that simple.”

“Alright
we'll do it your way,” the Judge conceded.

The
three remaining posse men rode out and left the carrion eaters to
their feast.

*

Laramie
caught up with the outlaws shortly after noon. He'd been on the
killer's trail for half a day but they hadn't made it easy. The men
had stuck to rough terrain which made it difficult for horses to
traverse and anyone to track them. Many times, Laramie had to
dismount and look for sign in amongst the rocky landscape.

The
trail lead him past a place he knew as White Falls, then up over a
ridge line and along an escarpment before it dropped down to an
expanse of water known as Miller's Pond.

It was
here that Laramie found Benny, as he sat on the pond's rocky
shoreline, waiting. Laramie halted Bo ten yards from him. The
gunfighter was instantly wary and cocked the hammer of the Henry he
had laid across his lap.

He
climbed down and moved away from the big appaloosa to keep him out of
harm's way.

“Howdy
kid,” Laramie greeted, “didn't expect to find you here
alone.”

Benny
looked at Laramie, impressed to see the gunfighter. “Blackie
said it was you. He saw you comin' down off the escarpment.”

Laramie
looked around, concerned about what Benny had told him, “Where
is Harbin, kid?”

He
waved a hand in the air, “He's around here somewhere. He
promised me I could have first crack at you.”

“What
happens after you go down kid?” the gunfighter asked, his face
expressionless, “Is he waitin' to bushwhack me?”

The
kid's eyes darted left to a thick grove of Aspen. It was just a
flicker, but was enough to tell Laramie that that was where Harbin
was hidden and waiting for the right time to pull the trigger.

“What
makes you think I will be the one to go down? You're mighty confident
of yourself.”

Laramie
watched silently as the kid climbed to his feet and stood in front of
him with his feet spread shoulder width apart.

“Are
you ready to die old man?”

“You
talk too much kid,” said Laramie flatly.

Benny
ignored the remark and continued to talk, “You know the funny
thing about this? It's the fact that when I kill you, it'll be your
guns that do it. It'll be your guns that finally bring about your
demise. Now isn't that ironic?”

Laramie
knew he faced a stacked deck. The two outlaws held the advantage, so
it was time to show some initiative and take it back.

“Like
I said kid, you talk too much.”

Without
warning, Laramie swung the Henry up and levelled it at Benny's
middle. The whiplash of the shot echoed through the air that
surrounded Miller's Pond. Benny's mouth opened in shock as the .44
calibre slug tore into his gut. Laramie knew instantly that the kid
was out of the fight and moved swiftly to find cover.

The
sound of another shot rang across the pond and a bullet burned
through the air close to Laramie's head. He tried desperately to make
himself as hard a target as possible then ran as fast as he could.

Harbin
fired again and the slug sent up a small geyser of dirt at Laramie's
feet. He darted to the left, and dived behind a dead fall tree, large
enough to conceal his bulk.

He lay
there for a moment and gulped down large breaths of air. Harbin fired
again and splinters flew from the tree. The gunfighter eased up, just
high enough to take a peek to see if he could locate Blackie Harbin's
position.

The
outlaw fired again and more splinters flew. The gunfighter ducked
back down, “I got you now.”

Blackie
Harbin was back in amongst the Aspen, beside a stump of a fallen tree
he used as cover. He was crouched down on one knee, armed only with
his pearl handled Colts. Laramie appeared up over the dead fall and
worked the Henry furiously. He fired and levered until the Henry was
empty, then he leapt over his cover and ran for the trees.

The
hail storm of lead caused Harbin to throw himself down on the damp
earth as an evasive tactic. Angry cracks sounded above his head as
the bullets passed close.

“Damn,
son of a bitch,” he cursed loudly.

After
the flurry of shots had stopped, Harbin rose up and brushed furiously
at the hair that hung in his face. He spat little bits of grass from
his mouth that had been forced in by the sudden dive to earth in his
attempt to avoid death.

He
caught sight of Laramie who ran towards the tree line. He raised his
Colt and fired twice, both bullets missed, although one tore a hole
in the gunfighter's jacket. Harbin took aim again but this time the
hammer fell on an expended chamber.

“Damn
it,” the outlaw cursed again and brought up his other Colt, but
was too late. Laramie had found the safety of the trees.

Once
inside the Aspen, Laramie dived to the ground among the tall grass
that grew there and drew the six-gun he'd taken from Cato's corpse.
Laramie double checked the loads just to make sure they were all
fine, then stealthily moved to circle Blackie Harbin's position until
he could get a bead on him.

“I'm
not surprised you're here Laramie. I just knew that posse wouldn't
stop you,” Harbin called out, “I saw it in your eyes just
before we rode out with the girl.”

Laramie
ceased movement to listen as Harbin continued, “I don't have
the girl, by the way. I think the Indians have her, so good luck
gettin' her back from them.”

“I'm
here after you Blackie, the girl's fine. You don't have to worry
about her, just me,” Laramie informed the outlaw.

The
penny dropped, “You were there at the cabin? Were you there
with them red devils?”

“I
was there. How do you think they found you?” the gunfighter
informed him, “Slate told me about the hideout. That's how I
knew where you'd gone.”

“You
sold us out to damned Indians, you son of a bitch! What white man
does that?” asked Harbin in a snarled voice.

“I
don't know Blackie, but tell me, what kind of man rides around rapin'
and killin' women?” Laramie countered.

“She
was a damned redskin. She don't count.”

The
gunfighter shook his head in disbelief, “She was a woman, and
it don't matter what colour her skin was.”

“So
what now?” Harbin inquired, “You plan on tryin' to kill
me over an Indian woman?”

“Nope,
the Indians want you for that. Me, I want you for killin' my friend.”

“You
mean that double crossin' son of a bitch, Slate?” Harbin asked
surprised.

“Nope,
the old mountain man you shot at the cabin,” the gunfighter
answered.

“Oh
hell, him,” the outlaw said nonplussed, “he was about
dead anyway. I did him a favour by shootin' him. I'll give him one
thing though, he was one tough rooster.”

The
conversation died off for a moment before Harbin came to a decision.
“Hey Laramie,”

“Yeah,
what?”

“I'm
comin' out,” the outlaw informed him.

Laramie
watched from his hiding position as Harbin stood and walked out into
the open, hands raised at shoulder height. He noticed too, that
Harbin had left his Peacemakers in their holsters. Laramie came erect
and holstered the Colt. Both men watched each other warily as they
emerged from the Aspen and crunched across the gravel at the pond's
shore.

“Do
you think right here is good enough Mister Legend?” Harbin
asked as he stopped and went into a gunfighter's stance.

Laramie
was emotionless, “Sure, why not. Guess it don't matter much
where you die.”

Blackie
Harbin gave Laramie a wry smile, “Guess it don't.”

Hands
blurred as they dove for guns. Harbin's Peacemaker came out and
roared a hair's breath before Laramie's. Two gunshots blended as one.
Harbin's bullet gouged a red furrow on the outside of the
gunfighter's left shoulder and caused a small spray of blood to erupt
from the shallow wound.

In the
fraction of time that it took for this to happen, the bullet from
Laramie's Colt hammered into the outlaw's chest and exploded out his
back.

Harbin
smiled at his killer, “I beat you, you son...of a bitch. I damn
well beat you. I told you I was...faster.”

Laramie
watched as Blackie Harbin tried to say something more, but a flood of
red welled up and spilled down his chin, his words a wet, gargled
sound.

The
gunfighter watched as Harbin took two steps and fell forward, dead.

Laramie
stared at the prone figure of the outlaw for a time before the pain
of his wound registered. He examined it and decided he would fix it
up later. He walked over to where Benny lay in the gravel, dying. The
shot had hit him six inches above his buckle and caused a wound from
which he would not recover.

“I
guess you're as good as what they say,” his voice wasn't much
above a pain filled whisper.

Laramie shook his head, “Just more careful kid.”

“I'm
dyin' ain't I.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,
kid, you're dyin',” Laramie confirmed what Benny already knew.

He
coughed and asked Laramie for a favour.

Laramie
didn't exactly know why he agreed to it, but he sat with Benny until
death came. Even though the kid was a cold blooded killer, dying
alone was the one thing the gunfighter feared. For that reason only,
he waited patiently for him to pass.

When
it was over, Laramie did something else he didn't really understand,
and buried them. Blackie Harbin was interred with his twin
Peacemakers, the killer's weapons deserved to be with their owner.
Benny got the Colt that Laramie had taken from Cato.

With
the familiar weight of the twin Remingtons about his waist, he felt
whole again.

Bo
waited patiently for him and when he mounted the big appaloosa, he
patted his neck and said, “Let's go get the girl and take her
home.”

*

When
Sally had arrived at Black Elk's village, she was sequestered away in
a large teepee. Even though she was in the middle of an Indian
encampment, she felt safe.

The
flap of the teepee was swept aside and a young Blackfoot woman,
clothed in a deer skin dress, entered with a bowl of food which
consisted mainly of deer meat.

She
had long, sleek black hair that fell halfway down her back. She was
slim built and of average height. Her hair framed a pretty face with
soft, dark eyes set just the right distance apart. She smiled warmly
at Sally and when she did, revealed perfectly even teeth.

Sally
smiled back when the woman gave her the bowl, “Thank you, it
smells lovely.”

“It
is deer. Eat it, while it is hot,” the woman said in halting
English.

Sally
held a hand flat against her chest and said, “My name is
Sally.”

“My
name is Little Fawn.”

Sally
smiled and tried her food, it tasted quite good and she told Little
Fawn so.

When
Sally had finished her meal, the squaw left her to rest. After the
previous day's chaos, she lay on the buffalo robes that were
provided, and slept.

Sometime
later, Sally was awoken by a loud noise from outside the teepee. The
flap was swept aside suddenly and two Blackfoot warriors helped a
third inside. Sally recognised him immediately as the Indian, Black
Elk.

He was
wounded and she scrambled aside as he was laid down on the buffalo
robes Sally had slept on. Little Fawn followed them in with a look of
concern deeply etched on her face.

The
two warriors left and Little Fawn started to tend to Black Elk. Sally
moved over to get a better look.

“Can
I help?” she asked Little Fawn

“Yes,”
said Little Fawn, “keep hand here.”

She
took Sally by the hand and placed it firmly over the wound. Sally
felt Black Elk flinch and he said something in his native tongue that
only the Indian woman could understand.

Little
Fawn looked at Sally, “I'll be back soon.”

After
she had left, Sally asked, “What Happened? Where is Laramie?”