Authors: George G. Gilman

Tags: #General Fiction, #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Westerns

California Killing (16 page)

BOOK: California Killing

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"Seems Santa Cause came early this year," Edge said easily, stepping out into the open.

Fury and fear mingled on Hood's sweat-greased face, emphasizing the bulge of his eyes. The muscle of the rifle held loosely in his free hand inched up.

"Not a chance," Edge warned.

Hood released his grip and the weapon thudded into the dirt. "One stage I ought never to have hit," the little man said dully.

"It made you rich," Edge pointed out. "Rich men can buy a lot of things."

Suspicion showed in the other's face. "My life?"

Edge's lips curled back in a grin. "All right, already."

Greed caused Hood to hesitate a moment. Then, reluctantly, he let go of the blanket bundle and it dropped to the ground behind him. "I can go?"

Edge shrugged. "Sure."

He was still suspicious. "You didn't come alone?"

"You see anyone else?"

"Can I saddle a horse?"

Edge nodded to the sorry looking animal, the open wounds in its sides covered by ravenous flies.

"You don't give much away," Hood snarled.

"Not a thing," Edge told him and for long moments Hood's protruding eyes examined the impassive face of the half-breed, searching for a hidden meaning in the remark.

But he failed to find a hint of a clue and so quickly gathered up the reins of the weary horse and swung into the saddle. Without taking his eyes or his aim from the mounted man, Edge reached back into the tunnel and led his own horse out. Then he walked the animal with a deceptive casualness over to the front of the cabin, as Hood urged his horse into reluctant movement.

Hood, afraid to startle Edge into a reflex action, kept his horse at a walking pace along the canyon. Edge made a loop in the rope fastening the blanket comers and hung it over his saddlehorn. Then he mounted and, with the Winchester held in a loose, single-handed grip, moved off in the wake of the other man, trailing him by a hundred feet.

The closer the canyon got to where it turned north, the narrower it became and the floor was layered with brush. In addition to the caution in his pace, Hood was also careful in the course he adopted, steering his mount in an uneven zig-zag pattern through the undergrowth.

Edge took note of this and ensured he followed Hood's tracks with the utmost precision, certain that on each side the ground was laid with the concealed traps of which Breen had spoken. As Hood neared the turn, Edge closed up on him, anxious to keep him in sight.

"Hold it, you bastard!"

The command was barked out by Breen who, with Dexter, flanked the wagon-wide entrance of the canyon. The snarled words and the sight of the two leveled rifles caused Hood to rein his horse to an abrupt halt. As Edge rounded the comer behind him, the bald-headed man turned in the saddle, his face a mask of hate.

"Not a thing," he mimicked.

Edge shrugged. "That's what I said."

"You have the money?" Dexter asked anxiously.

Edge patted the bulging blanket and a smile lighted the rancher's weary face.

"All yours," Edge said. "Less ten grand. Five for me and five for Holly and the little guys."

Dexter nodded. "It's what we agreed. I'm a man of my word."

"And the sheriff finally gets to take in Hood," Edge said.

"Like hell he does," an authoritative voice cut in.

All eyes swung towards the mouth of the canyon. Stricklyn, his city clothes filmed with dust from the long ride, sat woodenly astride his horse, his undistinguished face coated with hate. He was aiming a Bacon pepperbox at arm's length.

"Won't hardly dent his coat buttons," Edge warned flatly.

Stricklyn didn't hear the words. He squeezed the trigger and the tiny weapon spat fire. The gun pulled down and to the right. "That's for Magda," Stricklyn spat out. But the bullet did not touch Hood. Instead, it went under the heel of his left boot and seared across the fly-infested festering wound in the side of the horse.

The beast snorted its agony and reared violently with the final reserves of its strength. Hood came clear of the saddle and was hurled against the rock wall, to bounce down into the brush. He was able to emit one terrified scream. Then a powerful spring was tripped with a tremendous
twang.
A rushing sound hissed in the hot, unmoving air, and the jagged jaws of a huge bear trap unfolded out of the brush with lightning speed. They snapped together, the
clank
of their meeting accompanied by the
squelch
of tearing flesh and the
crunch
of snapping bone. As the four men watched, Hood seemed to be standing upright for long seconds, skewered on a curve of steel. But then a great skirt of blood gushed out all around him and the top half of his body toppled forward, exposing an enormous wound, draining entrails on a sea of blood.

"Holy cow!" Breen exclaimed, sagging against the rocky wall as Hood's upper body ceased to roll.

Stricklyn hurled the tiny gun away, wheeled his horse and rode away at a full gallop, trailing vomit.

Dexter stared at the two halves of the man in horrified fascination.

Edge moved his horse cautiously forward, his lean features expressionless as his hooded eyes searched the ground for more traps. But he reached the opening in the cliff safely.

"You want to count the money here, or in town?"

Dexter was finally able to drag his gaze away from the severed corpse. "Town," he croaked.

Breen shook his head ruefully as he looked at Hood's remains. "He sure don't look so much now, does he?"

Edge spat and glanced at the awesome spectacle of mutilated flesh, still oozing blood. "He sure don't," he agreed. "Only half the man he used to be."

THE END