Read Kill Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #6) Online
Authors: Frederick H. Christian
Tags: #old west, #outlaws, #piccadilly publishing, #frederick h christian, #sudden, #frank angel, #wild west fiction
Kill Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #6) (8 page)
‘
Yep,’
the old man said. An evil grin touched his face. ‘In fact, I’m
willin’ to bet you five thousand dollars you can’t.’
‘
How
would I collect?’
‘
Easy,
man, easy!’ the old man hissed. ‘There’s money on the place. I
could tell you where. Think of it!’
Gates looked at him. He let
nothing show on his face. The old man went on, encouraged by
Gates
’
silence.
‘
All
you got to do is get rid o’ your sidekick,’ he urged. ‘Give me my
carbine, I’ll do it. Then I’ll give you the money, an’ you’ll be
free and clear. You can ride out o’ here a rich man.’
‘
Marvelous,’ Gates said. ‘You sound like you actually mean
it.’
‘
What
the hell does that mean?’ rasped the old man.
‘
You
oughta go on the stage, Blantine,’ Gates said. ‘I never seen such
good actin’.’
‘
Damn
you for a pigheaded fool!’ snapped the old man.
‘
Aw,
you was just sayin’ I was such a smart feller, too,’ said Gates,
wounded pride in his voice. Vaughan came in as he said it, and
looked his surprise.
‘
What
was that?’
‘
Blantine here is miffed on account I won’t give him a gun
to bushwhack you.’
‘
Well,
thanks,’ Vaughan said.
‘
He
offered me five thousand dollars,’ Gates told him. ‘It was a
struggle to say no, I can tell you.’
‘
Yo’re
both loco,’ the old man snapped. ‘Crazy. Who put you up to this,
that Angel feller?’
‘
There
he goes again,’ Vaughan said. ‘His condition’s
deterioratin’.’
‘
Better
get moving,’ Gates said. ‘Sooner we can get him out of this
unsuitable environment, the quicker he’ll get well.’
Vaughan stopped to pat Ahern on the
head.
‘
Don’t
you go out until yore Daddy comes home, hear?’ he
grinned.
Gates was binding the old
man
’s hands
in front of him, wrists crossed. He was none too gentle and the old
man swore once or twice as the rope burned his skin.
‘
Be a
lot worse in Hell, old timer,’ grinned Gates. ‘Let’s
ride.’
‘
I’ll
dance on yore grave, you — !’ spat Blantine.
‘
But
not this mornin’,’ Gates told him. ‘Get aboard!’ He heaved Blantine
none too gently into the saddle, and swung up into the hurricane
deck of his own horse.
‘
Chris?’ he said.
‘
Ready,
mi coronel!’
‘
Why
are ye doing this?’ wailed the old man, frustration and anger
almost making him weep. ‘What’s behind it all?’ Gates looked at
Vaughan.
‘
Shall
we tell him?’ he said.
Vaughan nodded.
‘
It’s
for the good of the regiment,’ Gates said.
They jabbed the spurs in and rocketed off
down the ravine, swinging sharply left when it opened up on the
sage speckled plain, moving off northeasterly towards the long low
line of the mountains on the far horizon.
Angel was waiting for them in the hills.
When Vaughan
and Gates came over the crest of
the hill he rose from the shade of the live oak where he had been
hunkered down resting and walked into the open where they could see
him. They cantered across the open space towards him.
‘
Havin’
a nice vacation?’ Gates asked.
‘
Passable,’ Angel grinned. ‘How did it go?’
‘
Fine
as snake hair,’ Vaughan assured him. ‘You?’
‘
Likewise. I waited until they got into town and then slid
out without being seen. I think I got everything we
need.’
He gestured with his chin
towards the
pack mule tethered to the tree next to his horse. Then he
turned his attention to Yancey Blantine.
‘
Blantine,’ he said. ‘My name’s Angel.’
‘
Knew
it,’ the old man told him. ‘What’s your game, Angel?’
‘
I’m
taking you to Tucson for trial.’ Angel said. ‘The United States has
got a whole list of reasons for wanting you.’
‘
Pah!’
said Blantine. ‘You’ll never get to the border.’
‘
Everyone told us we wouldn’t get you out of Agua Caliente,’
Gates put in mischievously. ‘Look at you now.’
‘
Bluff,’ sneered Blantine. ‘You think my boys is goin’ to
let you get away with runnin’ a sandy like this? There ain’t a
place between here an’ Tucson you could lay your heads ‘thout my
boys hearin’ of it. They’ll enjoy watchin’ you all die.’
‘
Talk,
talk, talk,’ sighed Vaughan. ‘He never stops, you know
that?’
‘
You’ll
see, damn your eyes,’ raged the old man.
‘
What
now, Frank?’ Gates asked.
‘
We got
to cover some ground,’ Angel told his companions. ‘The old man’s
right — so far we’ve played fools for luck, but it can’t go on.
From here on in, we’ve got to out-think, out-ride, out-guess the
lot of them. It won’t be easy.’
‘
I was
afraid of that,’ Vaughan said.
‘
Let’s
ride,’ Gates suggested. ‘I keep hearin’ hoof beats.’
‘
Wash
your mouth out with soap,’ Vaughan said, ‘for saying such a
thing!’
They swung the horses around and pointed
north and west, as Angel got into the saddle and led the way up
again into the sage-dotted hills. There was no trail, no track for
them to follow. Angel was heading straight into the malpais, the
badlands of mountain and desert that lay ahead of them for a
hundred and more miles.
The sun was directly over their
heads now, striking down with an almost tangible force, leeching
the moisture from the bodies of men and horses, slowing their
progress to a walk, and when they were working their way across the
pitching slant of treacherous foothills, moving now up and around
the
huge
shoulders of wind scoured mesas, their pace became that of an old
man walking.
On and on they went across the
empty land, antlike against the hugeness of the towering hills,
Angel keeping them to where the ground was flinty and hard, where
the tracks they were leaving would be hardest to find. Ahead of
them stretched the endless vista of tumbling land, scoured across
with straggling lines of washes and gullies, dun brown with the
scattered
ocotillo, prickly pear, and yucca, the mesas grey blue
against the horizon, rocky outcrops isolated on the flat brown sea
of land like stranded whales. Dust sifted up and coated them,
toning down the coloring of their clothes, the textures of their
skin, the coats of the horses, to a uniform sandy grey. The horses
plodded on.
‘
I’ll
kill that Horace Greeley,’ Vaughan said.
Burke Blantine led his men into the plaza
and pulled his horse back on its haunches in a spectacular stop
that caused dust to boil upwards for twenty feet outside the
cantina. He shouldered his way past a knot of open-mouthed gawkers
by the door and went into the almost empty saloon.
‘
Where
is he?’ he shouted. The bartender, Jerry, looked
startled.
‘
Where’s who?’ he quavered.
‘
That
cheese-faced bastard who shot Harry!’ yelled Burke. ‘Angel! Where
is he?’
‘
I dun
— I dunno, Burke,’ the bartender stuttered. ‘I ain’t seen
him.’
A frown touched
Blantine
’s
face, the first tentative edges of the knowledge that he had been
had coming into his eyes. He rushed outside. ‘Search the town!’ he
yelled to his men. ‘Everywhere! Someone must have seen
him!’
The men scattered to their task,
and Pete Gilman swung down from the saddle and walked across to
where Burke Blantine was standing, pounding
one fist into the open palm of his
other hand.
‘
He’s
gone?’ Gilman made it a question, but Burke made no answer, for he
knew Gilman’s thoughts and his own were running
parallel.
‘
I
reckon,’ he said.
‘
Aw,
well,’ Gilman said.
‘
It’s
... it doesn’t smell right,’ Burke said tentatively.
‘
Huh?’
‘
It all
smells wrong,’ Burke said. There was a certainty forming in his
mind and he knew what it was and he was afraid to utter it in case
his hunch was right. Angel. Arriving in town, practically daring
the Blantines to come in after him. Why? Then when his challenge
had been taken up — and he must have known it would be — he was
gone. Again, why? To prove what? Or was it ... could it have been?
No. He wouldn’t let himself believe it. Not yet.
‘
No
sign of him,’ Gene Johnson said, panting from the unaccustomed
exertion afoot. ‘Someone said he bought a lot o’ stuff at the
store.’
‘
What?’
Burke rounded on the man. ‘What did you say?’
‘
He —
someone said he bought stuff at the store.’
‘
Supplies, you mean?’
‘
I
don’t know, Burke. One o’ the boys — ‘
‘
Find
out, damn you!’ screeched Burke. ‘Get at it!’
His men were back around him in
a few minutes with the full story, as Burke paced up and down on
the ramada of the cantina, up and down and up and down, pounding
his gloved fist into the palm of the other hand. Food, yes.
He
’d bought a
pack mule. What fool had — never mind. What else? Ammunition. Yes,
of course. Blasting powder? What the hell ... ? Water canteens. How
many? Six, someone said. Burke was nodding, nodding.
‘
What’s
it all about, Burke?’ his brother Harry asked finally.
‘
I’m
... I. . . it’s just possible,’ Burke said. His voice was not much
louder than a whisper. Then he snapped upright, his head coming
high and the commands lashing out.
‘
Gilman, Johnson! Take three horses each and kill them if
you have to, but get to the ranch and check on the Old Man. If
there’s anything wrong get back here as fast as you can. And I mean
fast!’
They looked at him with startled
comprehension dawning on their faces, and without a word swung into
the saddle, rocketing off out of the plaza and away up towards the
north-west, low in the saddle, straining to get every ounce of
speed the horses could give them.
‘
Harry!’ The tone of his brother’s voice made Harry Blantine
forget his wounded arm. He jumped forward. ‘Get going — I want you
at Olan Crumm’s place tonight!’
‘
Hell,
Burke, that’s nigh on fifty miles,’ Harry complained.
‘
Don’t
you argue with me now!’ growled Burke Blantine and there was such
violence in there behind the blazing eyes that Harry cringed away
from his brother and nodded.
‘
All
right,’ he whined. ‘All right.’
‘
Tell
Olan to stand by with every man he’s got. All the guns an’
ammunition he can lay his hands on. He’s to be ready to ride before
sunup.’
‘
Sunup,’ repeated Harry. ‘How will we know?’
‘
You’ll
know,’ Burke said grimly. ‘Get goin’!’
They watched Harry swing awkwardly into the
saddle, and even as he was doing so, Burke had turned to his other
brother and now his voice altered. He spoke slowly, soothingly.
‘
Gregg,’ he said. ‘I want you to do something for
me.’
‘
Sure,
Burke,’ the giant said cheerfully.
‘
It’s
very difficult, Gregg,’ Burke told him, and Gregg frowned. He
didn’t like difficult jobs.
‘
Do I
got to remember anything?’ he asked.
‘
Somethin’ real small,’ Burked said gently. ‘You can do it
easy, Gregg.’ Gregg swelled with pride at this.
‘
I want
you to ride up to Santa Elizabeta, Gregg,’ Blantine said. ‘As fast
as you can.’
‘
Sure,
Burke,’ Gregg said. ‘I c’n do that easy.’
‘
I know
you can, Gregg, that’s why I’m relying on you. Now: when you get
there, go see Dave Hurwitch. You know Dave, don’t you?’
‘
Yeah,’
said Gregg eagerly. ‘He runs the saloon.’
‘
That’s
it. Tell Dave — now this is the important part, Gregg, so try an’
concentrate — tell Dave there’s a one thousand reward for the man
who brings me Angel.’
‘
One
thousand dollars for the man who brings you Angel,’ Gregg repeated.
‘Gee, that’s easy, Burke. I c’n remember that easy.’
‘
Good
boy,’ Burke said. He slapped his brother’s massive shoulder. ‘Get
on that horse an’ ride, Gregg.’
Gregg nodded, a huge grin on his face. He
swung up on to his horse and larruped it around the withers with
the long reins. The startled animal bucked a little, and then Gregg
thundered off across the plaza heading due north towards Santa
Elizabeta.
‘
You
never sent any description of Angel,’ one of his men pointed out.
Burke grinned evilly.
‘
That’s
right,’ he said. ‘Dave’ll be so anxious to clap his greasy paws on
that thousand he won’t let any stranger get through Santa Elizabeta
until he’s absolutely goddamned certain that the man ain’t someone
called Angel!’
‘
What
now, Burke?’ another man called.
‘
We
wait,’ Burke Blantine said. ‘I could be dead wrong, in which case,
no harm’s done. All we got to do is catch one yappin’ cur. But if
he’s laid a finger on the Old Man ... ’
He looked up the far hills and his eyes
narrowed. The gloved hand curled again into a fist and he smashed
it into the flat palm of the other hand.
