Return to Massacre Mesa - Edge Series 5 (34 page)

the most.

‘But if you don’t show up within that time limit, don’t expect any more help from the military,’ the spade-bearded, bespectacled, nearing retirement age Major Ebsen warned grimly from astride his mount at the head of the column. This as two junior officers finished making a final check that the troopers had done all that was required for the detail to pull out.

‘And if you please, major, you may tell my father that we need no further help from him or any more of his minions!’ Lucy requested haughtily and accompanied her harsh words with a scowl toward the morose Tree and resigned Goodrich. ‘And that I’ll return of my own free will when I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.’

‘Or end up the same kind of buzzard meat as them Comanche laying dead out there, miss!’ the gravel voiced sergeant cook warned from up on the box seat of the first wagon as he swept a bleak eyed gaze over the sprawl of fly infested corpses.

‘That is a chance I am quite prepared to take, sergeant,’ she replied and swung up determinedly on to the bare back of the piebald pony she had selected, a far more confident horsewoman than she had been at the outset of the trek from Lakewood. The trooper who drove the wagon said with a doleful shake of his head: ‘And it’s not even the stolen money you’re looking for, lady?’

‘In my opinion, peace of mind is far more valuable than silver dollars, soldier,’ she countered.

The major issued a soft-spoken order that the sergeant riding behind him yelled. Then the guidon was raised aloft by a lieutenant and the column moved off at a walking pace that probably took less account of the comfort of the wounded man aboard one of the lurching wagons than of the effect of the heat of high noon on animals and riders. The civilians watched silently until the two troopers riding drag had gone by, each with a gloved hand raised in a farewell salute. Then Goodrich accused miserably:

‘I think that’s nonsense, Miss Russell. But since all of us have stayed behind when we could be safely heading for the comforts of home, it means there’s not one of

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us thinking sensibly. So you’re in good company.’

‘I just wish I liked better the company I’m in!’ the resolute woman countered acidly and glowered in turn at Goodrich, Tree, Dingle and Slade. Then she directed a nod and a brief smile at Rose Bigheart, Cooked Eye and finally toward Edge to further emphasise who was included and who was excepted from her disapproval. Dingle pointed out with a shrug: ‘Well, the sooner we all find what it is we’re each looking for, the sooner we can dissolve the company and go our separate ways.’

Slade giggled, Tree scowled and the Comanche squaw and buck were as impassive as Edge as everyone settled gratefully astride their mounts. Edge, who was in his own saddle cinched to the back of his own gelding took up his reins and muttered: ‘I sure hope it’s the kind of company that brings in the kind of result that gives a good return on my investment.’

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CHAPTER • 22

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THEY RODE up to the cave in the north side of Mesa Desolado as the dark of
the new night advanced quickly across the vast flatland of Dead Man’s Desert. And briefly enveloped the uneven face of the massive slab of sandstone before the glittering silver of the near full moon replaced the burnished gold of the setting sun. The impassive Edge and the equally stoic Rose Bigheart were out in front of the weary, unkempt, sullen, loose knit group comprised of Zane Slade, John Dingle, Sam Tree and Broderick Goodrich. The tight-lipped Lucy Russell had elected to ride with the just as withdrawn Crooked Eye who once more had volunteered to bring up the rear and keep watch for unwelcome trackers of any race.

‘I think it will be good to make camp here,’ the squaw announced as she reined in her pony and swung down to the ground in a single smooth movement.

‘Is this where the money’s at?’ Dingle asked eagerly. Slade was again unaware of the squaw’s once more suspicious surveillance of him while he peered around with an expression of part excitement-part fear on his scarred and bearded features. Then he shook free of the strangely exhilarated foreboding that had briefly gripped him and answered the question Dingle had asked of Rose.

‘Nah, mister: I spent a whole lot of cold nights in this cave way back. And I never once got the feel of any paydirt being anywhere around here.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Tree switched his attention rapidly between Slade and the squaw and suddenly noticed for the first time the disquieting interest Rose was taking in the man whose drift toward cackling madness had been halted since he had eaten so much of the army’s food earlier.

‘What the hell do you think?’ Slade demanded as Tree and Goodrich swung wearily out of their saddles. ‘I’m a prospector, ain’t I? But I never gave up hope of finding the easy pickings of the stolen army money while I was looking for signs of the 238

kind of rock a man has to work like hell at to get the ore out of. If there was sign the money was hid here, I’d have seen it the same as I’d have spotted traces of a mother lode, mister.’

Tree asked insistently of Rose: ‘You mind telling me why you keep staring at Slade the way you do?’

The pre-occupied Lucy asked eagerly as she dismounted: ‘Please, Rose, is Glenn’s body buried here?’

The squaw ignored both questions and said evenly: ‘I think we should all take the opportunity for a peaceful night’s rest. And tomorrow each of you will find what you are looking for.’

Dingle complained: ‘How do you expect us to sleep knowing we’re so damn close?’

‘Ain’t no money hid here, I tell you!’ Slade argued and peered once more into the pitch black mouth of the cave as he slid off the bare back of his pony. Tree demanded: ‘How can you be so sure of that, mister? And you: why are you acting so mysterious, squaw woman? All the time looking at him like – ‘

‘What?’ Slade switched his gaze rapidly between Tree and Rose. ‘I just got this feeling there’s no money here, that’s all, mister! And if this Comanche squaw don’t like me for some reason, I don’t give a shit! So she can - ’

‘The money’s not what my partner and me are here for,’ Tree cut in grimly. ‘But if we can get to the bottom of that old theft of government goods as well as bring in Billy Russell’s runaway daughter, that will sure make all the trouble we’ve been to worthwhile. Ain’t that right, Brod?’

Goodrich was totally perplexed by the overlapping exchanges and looked about to voice his lack of understanding while Tree continued to direct a powerful stare at Slade. When Slade hurried to speak first he looked and sounded suddenly terrified. ‘Hey, I don’t know what –‘

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Then when Tree took a step toward him the tremulous man clawed with a shaking hand at the ancient revolver stowed in the loose hanging holster.

‘Watch out!’ Crooked Eye yelled as he slid off his pony. At the same time Edge spun around from where he was unsaddling his horse just when the smiling Tree reach for his Colt. Goodrich also drew his sixgun but looked as frightened as Slade while Dingle hurled himself face down on the ground and shielded his head with both arms. Then Rose Bigheart lunged toward Slade and clasped one of her hands around the wrist of the man’s hand that gripped the revolver while the other fastened on the scruff of his neck: and she jerked him a half pace backwards so he crashed violently into her.

‘You can’t shoot – not now!’ she shrieked at Tree.

But the quietly smiling lawman ignored her plea. The Colt bucked in his hand and the bullet took the helplessly struggling, scrawny little man in the centre of his flat belly. And whether from the impact of the gunshot or the impetus after the squaw yanked him from behind, he and Rose took a half dozen staggering steps backwards. Then they came to a halt, a shocked expression on Slade’s gaunt features as he clamped both hands to the wound and gazed down: raised his head to display wide eyed terror from seeing the crimson ooze that ran from between his filthy fingers. Then he lost consciousness and Rose vented a sound like a sob: and when she let go of him he dropped hard to his knees with a bone cracking sound and tipped forward. His face smacked against the hard packed dirt while his unfeeling hands continued to clasp his belly.

‘Damnit, you’ve killed the guy, Sam!’ Goodrich croaked, his tone incredulous as a look of horror became etched into his round, flabby, almost comically goatee-d features. ‘You goaded the poor bastard and then you – ‘

‘He made a move for his gun, Brod! And of him or me, it’s better that he’s - ’

Tree broke off and thumbed back the hammer of his still smoking Colt as Edge and Rose Bigheart made sudden moves.

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But then he stayed the move when he saw they went to crouch beside the shot man and gently eased him over on to his back. And Tree breathed a sigh that released pent up tension, un-cocked the gun and holstered it. The squaw directed a stream of imperious Comanche at Crooked Eye while the boy listened intently. Then he nodded eagerly and set about building a fire while Edge ripped at Slade’s shirt to expose the blood oozing bullet hole.

Rose said: ‘He is not yet dead, but I do not think he will live for long. I speak from experience.

‘Mr Andrews had a similar wound, didn’t he? Lucy asked rhetorically and a little distractedly. She shook her head ruefully and went on: ‘This and the way the soldiers killed all those Indians. Much as the Indians killed so many soldiers all those years ago

. . . It really does seem like history is set upon repeating itself.’ Rose gave some further instructions to Crooked Eye in their shared language and the boy hurried to pour some water into a cooking pot.

Then as Edge straightened up from the senseless, shallowly breathing man he was certain the squaw was right about Slade’s slim chance of recovery: realised that in these circumstances they could do nothing more for him than prolong his life for a short time. Then he saw that the woman kneeling beside the dying man was looking around her with a frown of deep sadness that clearly was not on account of Slade and he said:

‘I guess it was right about here where Ricketts died, uh lady?’

‘Right there, mister.’ She pointed to the area immediately in front of the cave mouth.

‘Are you going to tell us what was spooking you about Slade?’ Tree demanded.

‘And Glenn?’ Lucy blurted. ‘Where did you and your man bury Glenn Montgomery?’

The squaw struggled free from sorrowful pensiveness and said adamantly:

‘Tomorrow: I will make it all clear to you tomorrow.’ She was easily able to raise Slade’s slight form off the ground high enough so she could remove his bloodstained 241

shirt. Which she began to rear into strips and then give to the young buck who dropped them into the warming water.

‘Sam, I don’t have any idea of what’s going on?’ Goodrich pleaded. Dingle growled: ‘Nor me neither.’

‘It’s as plain as the noses on your ugly faces!’ Tree snarled as he glowered down at the fatally injured Slade. ‘This half crazy sonofabitch must have had a hand in stealing all those government silver dollars way back when!’

Edge asked of the squaw: ‘Is this another feller who’s dying with a different name to the one he was born with, lady?’

‘My God, Sam!’ Goodrich muttered, frenetically toying with his tiny beard as he peered down at the shallowly breathing man with a black hole in the centre of his white belly. ‘Are you saying Slade was one of the deserters who stole all that money from Fort Chance and got all them troopers massacred?’

‘And your stupid buddy shot him!’ Dingle snarled. ‘Killed him for sure, it looks like! Likely he won’t never open his eyes nor his mouth again before he dies!’ The enraged man swept his glowering gaze over the fire-lit faces of everyone else at the night camp, spraying saliva in his anxiety to speak his piece before he was interrupted.

‘I ain’t so sure this Injun woman ain’t been stalling us all this time!’ He fixed Rose with a malevolent stare: ‘Maybe she don’t know a thing about the money! Just has some reason only she knows about for stringing us along! And Slade could’ve told us for sure where the money’s hid!’ He transferred his enmity to Tree. ‘This is some kind of unholy lousy mess you got us into, deputy! Pulling a gun against him for no reason and shooting the old coot down like that!’

For a stretched second the spluttering Dingle looked like he was about to lunge at the sullenly scowling Tree: but then he remembered he was unarmed. And recalled that there was a gun in the other man’s holster: and the damage it had already done to Slade after he riled the saloonkeeper turned lawman. So he confined his anger to a glare of tacit contempt.

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‘There’s something you’ve overlooked, feller,’ Edge told Dingle as he moved back to where he had hobbled his gelding.