Showdown With Fear (6 page)

Appealing to his sexual instincts seemed an unlikely approach. Grip was difficult to fathom. Maybe, Pete thought, he would feel a little fatherly, if Sara was ill.

‘Sara... you suddenly feel awful sick, right? Let’s have some awful groans.’

Grip stood up when he heard the first sound of retching.

‘What the hell’s the matter with the gal?’

‘Sir... she’s awful sick... she was bit by an insect last night... I think it’s poison. See this swelling here?’

Grip came into sight, but he was wary.

‘Now, son, I want you over there, see? Just while I take a look. I want you back in that hole there.’ He took Pete by the collar and nudged him into the dark, but did not slide the wood across.

‘Now, miss, let’s take a look. Where’s the swelling?’

Sara carried on making an awful noise, and she took hold of Grip’s shirt collar. Pete was quick-thinking and took the hint. He crept behind Grip, stepping carefully across to the rifle case. What he didn’t know is whether they were loaded or not, but he had to take that chance. He yanked off the loose lid with a rock, and snatched a rifle, turning to point it at Grip as he swung around to face him.

‘Why son... now that’s a durn foolish thing to do... you’re gonna git Grip into some trouble doin’ this trick.’

‘That’s the idea, big feller. Now Sara, get over here.’

Pete had to think very quickly. He couldn’t take the chance of tying the man up. What could be done to him? It must have been the urgency of the situation that compelled Pete to shoot for Grip’s leg.

‘I’m awful sorry to do this but...’

The bullet smashed into Grips’ shin and he went down in agony.

‘You should have killed him! Let me finish him!’ Sara cried out.

‘Sara no... I know how you feel, but... we can’t belly down to the level of these murderin’ rats. Now, let’s get wrapped up for some stormy weather.’

Grip moaned and held his leg, cursing them. He screamed out and told them that they wouldn’t get far.

‘The weather is a Godsend. The McVies couldn’t hear the gunshot in the storm! Come on, wrap up.’

Pete and Sara were soon covered up inside some thick top-coats and Pete took two handguns, plenty of bullets for both rifle and pistols, and Sara filled a bag with food. They scrambled out on to the mountain path, feeling the security of knowing that no-one could be watching them in that storm.

It took two hours to tread steadily down to one end of the valley, stopping every few yards to get some respite from the wind, which hit them like strands of rope. But Pete was determined that they walk on, towards the river, and across to the long plain leading to at least some possibilities of help. He knew that when the weather eased off, the McVies would come hunting for them, and they would know which direction to go. They would also have to walk. There was only one way, and that was to walk in the night, when it was cooler, and darker. But was poor Sara up to it? She hadn’t been eating, and she was dog-tired.

Chapter 5

The storm had been troubling Dan and Pearce as well. They scampered down into some brush when the wind built to full strength. They had one blanket, and Pearce wrapped that around him. Dan lay flat to the earth, pulling strands of vegetation over him.

‘Well, nothing to do but lie here till it passes!’ Dan had to raise his voice.

Pearce had his back against a rock and had some kind of cover. ‘Say, Mullen, what exactly is going on out there? You got it figured yet?’

‘I guess my Pete is stashed somewhere out of the way. They’re just waiting for me to arrive, I guess. But I know one thing. I know there’s a man watching us... or he has been. He’s about two hundred feet away... and I’m planning to circle and get him now.’

‘Don’t be a fool... there could be six of ‘em.’

‘No. Just the one. The damned fool smokes. I’ve got a nose of it now several times over... he’s about as useful as a tracker as a parrot. I’m going for him.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

Dan was right. The wind gave excellent cover. He could even afford to make some noise, as the howling covered it. He circled well around, knowing that the man watching them was high above, about a hundred feet up a slope. The sun had glinted on his field glasses earlier, too. It was a case of heaving steadily up the leeward side, gripping the shelves of rock, and fingering your way around a basin-shaped curve. Dan found himself about twenty feet behind a small man curled inside a topcoat, snuggled like a child, out of the storm.

The wind was blasting Dan’s face but he didn’t care. He had to screw up his eyes and shield them from the grit and sand, but carefully he made his way behind the man, then reached out and got his arm around the outlaw’s throat, dragged him back and gave him a blow with the butt of his revolver. He tied him up, throwing the overcoat to the winds. It was lucky the man was so small. Dan was grateful for this, as he had to pull him down the slope, half pushing and half rolling him. It was when the limp body slammed against the trunk of the only tree clinging to the bottom of the rock that Pearce became aware of what was going on and stood up.

‘I see you found our friend.’

‘He was shivering like a babe in arms... couldn’t take a little chill.’ Dan tied the man to the tree and they waited for him to come round.

‘Mullen, I never asked you. Why did you want to become a sheriff?’

‘Well, that’s a good question. Fact is, I was asked. The nice folk of Red Ridge must have been impressed with the way I handled myself.’

‘But the money?’

‘It’s not that good... but at the time I had Mary and Pete to feed. He was just a young colt then, dashing around, bumping into things and being a welcome nuisance!’

Pearce, in spite of himself, was wanting to know more about the man who had the labels attached to him.

‘Another thing that puzzles me, Mullen..... if you don’t mind me saying this, erm... people in town tended to call you a drunk!’

‘You think I don’t know that? I’ve lived with that for years!’ There was real, deep anger evident now. Dan Mullen spat the words out, shooting a glance at Pearce that made the storekeeper see, for the first time, what power to hurt there was in that man. It was the sort of power you wanted on the side of the law if you could. Ned Pearce saw very clearly why the town would ask Dan Mullen to take the tin star.

‘Mullen....all that runnin’ and shapin’ up... why? I seen you workin’ up a sweat when sane folks was takin’ a siesta!’

‘I’ll tell you why. Because I wanted back. I wanted my feet back in where there was a good life to be had. When you taste good, full life... with a family and people who respect you.. you never want to lose it. I wanted respect. I wanted heads to turn.’

‘They did... calling you a loser!’

‘Sure... well this loser’s aiming to claw back.’

‘Mullen, you got the star in your pocket. Put it on.’

Dan felt instinctively at the metal in his pocket. He had forgotten about it. But he remembered walking down the street, in his best suit, with Mary on his arm, to watch a stiff-shirt play from back east. Some travelling players trying to import a taste of culture. He remembered pinning the star on his waistcoat, and catching a glimpse of Mary’s look, in the mirror, at her man. She was proud. Proud to have him. And he would always have that walk down the street in his head. Most times, the walk down the main street was to visit the bar and sort out a brawl.

‘No... I can’t put it on. Not yet.’

‘No-one’s looking ‘cept me.’

There was a groan behind them. The wind was dying down and the captive was coming to his senses. He was a short, solid man, compact. A cowpoke by the look of him, skin like leather.

‘What the hell you do to... to git me like this? ‘

‘Well feller... I love windstorms and you hate ‘em... so I brung ya to a quiet spot. The name’s Dan Mullen. This here’s my friend Ned Pearce.’

‘I know who you are, you idiot. I been tailin’ you for days.’

‘I knew.’

‘
You
knew
? Goddam it... I thought I was being all quiet like.’

Dan grasped the man’s collar and lifted him. He jerked his head back against the trunk with a thud. ‘Look, you rat... I want some information from you about that vermin McVie. He’s got my boy holed up somewhere in the Sword.’

‘Mister... if you want to know where the Rattler’s Nest is, then I swear I don’t know. I’m with Stobart.’

Dan let the man go and turned to Pearce, who was looking puzzled. ‘Stobart... I should have known. The old friends meet up again... so there’s something big going on... Christ! We’ll need an army. If it’s Stobart, there’s desperadoes crawlin’ all over these twenty square miles of hot hell...’

The prisoner seemed quite proud to be associated with a name that clearly inspired such perturbation. He couldn’t help blabbing out a few useful facts.

‘Right... King Stobart is only six miles thataway...close on forty men with him. You’re a goner, Mullen.’

‘Shut it. You talk when I tell you to.’

Dan needed some thinking time. He could do one of three things. First, keep the man as a hostage. But that would be no worry to Stobart. Second, he could send Pearce back with this man while he himself went on. Third, he could take a bold step and send this snake in with a message. After some walking around in a circle tossing the options around, he decided on being bold.

‘Right, you scumbag, you’re about to scuttle back to the two big noises and give John McVie a message from me. But first, we need to eat. You can go in the morning.’

‘Mullen, what if they come looking for him?’ Pearce asked.

‘A risk we have to take. I’m going in there tomorrow to face them. You can come or stay... your choice. I wouldn’t ask you because...’

‘I know... because it’s suicide under another name.’

‘I wouldn’t have put it so simply.’

‘I heard you was a book-reader, Mullen. Any o’ your fancy books got any suggestions about beating fifty men with an arsenal of weapons and...’ The man realised he’d said too much. He cursed himself under his breath. Dan turned to him sharply and went up close. ‘What did you say?’

‘Nothin’

But he had said everything. Pearce was puzzled, so Dan explained. He told about the past schemes of McVie and Stobart, always dreaming up grandiose plans to take on the world. They had both been skirmishers in Indian wars and both fought for the South in the Big One. Pearce listened, open-mouthed. He was being told that there was virtually a private army being assembled just a few miles from him. For the first time on this trek, he longed for his store.

*

‘I’ve never had nothin’ - not a bent peso - till I grew hard enough to stand up and take what I wanted!’ Nick Stobart had suggested opening some whisky to pass the time under cover during the dust storm. The others were regretting it now.

‘Never could take his drink,’ Sammy whispered to his big brother, who was watching Stobart pitifully. He was thinking what a pathetic sight this was. A man who made himself a ‘King’ was no more than a raving drunk.

‘Sure... course you are a hard
hombre
... here, dreenk a leetle more with me huh?’ Barero was as far gone as Stobart. Nothing was going to be achieved today, John was thinking. But the biggest worry was Sammy. He was hot-headed and the tone was becoming a touch aggressive.

‘See, my family, we had nothin’ but an adobe heap... up the trail from some mine. Pa was killed workin’ there... and that wasn’t gonna be no life for me, tunnelling down in the guts of the earth, no sir...I was gonna be somebody, right Filippo?’

‘’Sright... you are a big
hombre
now,
si
amigo
.’ Barero swayed about.

‘Think you’ve had enough, Filippo,’ John said firmly. Even when tipsy, Barero knew that you didn’t argue. But Stobart was looking for trouble.

‘See, what about you, McVie? You know, you’re a quiet man. I allus said to my boys, when we meet John McVie you won’t see no boss in him.... but deep down he’s one mean feller. How come you got where ya are, John?’ He offered the bottle to John as he spoke, but it was refused.

Sammy cut in. ‘We came here to do business...and maybe start a team... but we was kinda hoping you was a professional, Stobart.’

Stobart’s expression changed. It was as if a shadow went over the sun. He wiped his lips, put the bottle down and looked ready to dish out some pain.

‘Professional? You questionin’ my ability or somethin’ kid? Why, if you was a full-grown man, I’d ask you to step outside and demonstrate that fine hardware you got stuck in your belt... if your diapers ain’t round your ankles.’ He grinned, and Sammy was going to reach for his gun, but found John’s hand covering the holster.

‘Now, I reckon we should recall that this is just drinking to the new partnership, right boys?’ John said. But under his breath he whispered to his brother, ‘there’ll be a time for that.’

Bottles were raised and Barero, loud as usual, called for success for the new outfit.

‘To the Rattler’s Nest Gang!’

‘Looks like we bin christened, McVie... drink up.’ Stobart staggered a few steps and poured some drink into John’s coffee-cup. The majority of splashed on the ground.

Most of the men were stretched out now, sleepy. Stobart and Barero were singing and seemed like old friends, warm and brotherly in their drunken state. Someone picked up a guitar, and soon there were Mexican ballads being performed by some of Stobart’s men, who were mostly Mexicans on the run who had taken cover with him and enjoyed their share in his plunder. John McVie had a feeling that ‘King’ Stobart would lose his kingdom as soon as the money dried up.

John and Sammy could talk a little now, with the strumming of the guitar and the three singers cancelling out any more needling conversation with Stobart. The wind was dying down now, and it was darkening outside. They had been undercover for hours.

‘John... this man’s a loser. The Mexis won’t stay with him... nor anybody, I guess.’

‘Nope... this has been tedious I’d say... and for all we know, Mullen could have turned up by now. Stobart has a man on him, but... well, there’s no sense to be had out of him now, he’s too far gone.’

‘John, you really gonna tell him where the Nest is?’

‘No Sammy... truth is, I just want his help in making sure Mullen and any friends he has left are six feet under by tomorrow, okay? The we split. We can leave Grip up there. We three head across the border and do some more dealing. Stobart’s gonna empty the cavern tomorrow. We’ll bring it down to him in bits.’

‘You think he’ll wait and watch? He’ll see where the Nest is.’

‘No, cos he’ll be occupied chasing my partners over the other side there, see? I got me a dozen men rough-riding around, and I’m gonna tell Stobart they want to meet him. He can’t resist picking up more men. Wants to take on his old enemy on the border, Captain Seedy’

‘Who’s he?’

‘A nick-name for a marauder on the Mexican border. Just a robber, but Stobart wants him dead and gone. The man tends to get in the way. I know that Stobart wants all this stuff - and more men- to go and git the rebel. He’s ex-Mex army. Deserters rush to him every day.’

It was a while after this, when the singing had stopped and most men were asleep, that one of Stobart’s men rushed in with a cry of alarm.

‘Hey... wake up... McVie... there’s a sort of bright light up on the cliffs.. come and see.’ Stobart and Barero were deep in sleep, but the McVie brothers rushed out to the valley bottom and looked up the slope. It was a flare, sizzling yellow and red, from the Nest. They knew something was badly wrong.

Men were rushing about, trying to steady the horses, who were unsettled by the noise and the flashes of light. Some thought it was an attack and snatched their carbines from their saddles. The drunks were roused from sleep. Even Stobart and Barero eventually made their way outside.

‘What is it, McVie?’ Stobart called out.

‘Must be Mullen,’ McVie lied.

‘He got many with him? I thought my boys got rid of the damned posse.’