Return to Massacre Mesa - Edge Series 5 (25 page)

Now Edge did raise the rifle and levelled it from the hip: straight at the belly of the scowling saloonkeeper with a silver star pinned to his shirt. Tree’s expression was briefly defiant then it mellowed as he looked toward Goodrich and shrugged. ‘It’s plain to see that we’re out-numbered and out-gunned, Brod.’

‘You mean we’re gonna head back for town on our own, Sam?’ The sweating 172

liveryman toyed nervously with his tiny beard.

‘We don’t have any choice, it seems to me.’

Goodrich revealed he had registered some of what had been said while he had seemed to be totally pre-occupied with looking for Comanche. He peered fixedly at Edge as he asked: ‘You said something about we can keep our weapons in the event the Injuns jump us, mister?’

‘It’s what I said,’ Edge agreed. ‘I wouldn’t leave any unarmed white man out here while there’s a bunch of painted up, riled up renegade Comanche in the hills.’

‘Then I’m for staying in a group!’ Goodrich said decisively and emphasised his choice by shuffling away from Tree to stand between Dingle and Lucy who continued to grip Edge’s arm.

‘Brod?’ Tree showed indecision.

The liveryman let go of the goatee, ran a shirt sleeved arm across his sweat run face and looked then gestured toward the sprawl of corpses which had recently attracted a swarm of scavenging flies.

‘We killed them savages, Sam. And I don’t reckon the others are just gonna ride off and forget we did that. They ain’t gonna let us get away with it so easy. I figure they’re gonna be gunning for us, whichever direction we go in. And the more of us whites there are sticking together the better chance we’ve all got of saving our skins is how I see it.’

‘Your friend makes a good point, sir,’ Dingle said.

‘He certainly does, Mr Tree,’ Lucy agreed. She still gripped Edge’s arm and seemed to be gaining in confidence by the moment. ‘And if you don’t wish to finish up like the unfortunate Mr Shaw – who was only doing your bidding, you remember – I think it makes good sense for the both of you to remain with us.’

Conners made to say something and from the way he looked scornfully between Tree and Goodrich it seemed likely he was going to voice again his dislike of being in 173

the company of lawmen.

But Tree spoke first and was as disgruntled as Conners. ‘I need advice from you people like I need a hole in the – ‘ He maybe realised the phrase he intended to speak could tempt providence and broke off as he spun around. Strode off at a fast clip along the ravine and made no attempt to alter his course when he reached the fly-infested corpses: trod heavily on the out-flung arm of one of the dead Comanche.

‘Sam?’ Goodrich pleaded shrilly but made no move to go after his fellow-deputy.

‘The hell with all of you!’ the ramrod straight man yelled without looking back. Conners rasped: ‘Crazy damn fool!’

‘Sam, surely it must be best to – ‘ Goodrich was driven into sudden stunned silence by a barrage of gunfire as everyone peered toward the saloonkeeper, expecting to see him blasted to the ground amid a welter of spraying blood. But as Tree came to a sudden halt and remained frozen for a moment it was clear he was unhurt. Then he whirled and lunged away from the mouth of the ravine. Behind him bullets kicked up divots of dusty dirt and formed a pattern of ragged holes that half encircled the spot where he had stood a moment before. The gunfire was abruptly curtailed and Conners rasped:

‘Sonofabitch.’

‘Likewise, feller,’ Edge growled.

Their voices sounded against the thudding of Tree’s heavy footfalls on the hard packed ground of the ravine floor as the tall, solidly built man lumbered toward the tight knit group. This time he launched into an ungainly leap to avoid trampling on any of the dead Comanche.

‘You get hit, Sam?’ Goodrich was as breathless with shock as Tree was from his frantic dash back along the ravine after he staggered to a halt.

‘Not even a scratch,’ the scowling Tree forced out between gulps for breath and 174

peered back the way he had come. ‘And I don’t reckon all of them are lousy shots.’

Edge asked: ‘Did you get to see how many aimed to miss you, feller?’

Tree reinforced his scowl. ‘I didn’t wait around to make an exact head count. But I reckon there’s a half dozen at least.’

‘Comanche?’ Dingle asked and gulped.

‘No, damnit!’ Tree snarled. ‘A troupe of frigging dancing girls! Sure they were Comanche!’

Dingle looked set to snap an ill-tempered retort, but Lucy Russell spoke first and now was considerably more self-assured without any need to hold on to Edge.

‘I wonder why they didn’t try to kill you, Mr Tree?’ Her tone was reflective. He shook his head, inhaled deeply, ballooned his cheeks and emptied his lungs of hot breath. The woman turned to re-address her query to Edge but saw he was striding along the ravine toward the western end. When she made to go after him Crooked Eye reached out to clutch her upper arm in the same way she had held on to Edge so often.

‘It needs just one White Eyes to draw the gunfire if it is Mountain Lion’s plan to trap us here, Miss Lucy,’ he explained.

She frowned and struggled to break free of the young buck until the idea he had put into her head had fully registered. Then she nodded and showed him a half smile. Crooked Eye released her and they all gazed silently toward Edge as he slowed his pace and changed the way he carried the Winchester. Aimed it to the front from the hip so he could loose off a shot at the first sign of danger. But when he reached a point from where he had an extensive view of the mountainous terrain spread to the west there was no sign of any living thing out there. Not even a circling buzzard on the scent of fresh blood. He raked a slow double take over the rugged, silent, ominously intractable country and registered that the only visible movement was the near imperceptible crawl of dark rock shadows thrown by the blazing mid-morning sun. Then he canted the rifle easily to his shoulder and beckoned 175

for the others to come join him.

Crooked Eye darted forward instantly and skidded to a halt alongside Edge while the rest trudged cautiously out of the ravine. All looking back as much as ahead: concerned about the half dozen Comanche who had fired at Tree and deliberately missed the man with a physique that provided an easy target.

‘Nothing?’ the saloonkeeper asked as he held his Winchester angled across his chest in a two handed grip, ready to react at once if necessary. The rifle toting Conners and Goodrich were just as ready with rifles to respond to danger, while the unarmed Dingle held back and looked even more apprehensive than before. Edge spat to the side and growled: ‘If they figure to spring a trap, it seems like it’s not going to be here and now.’

‘Why would they wait?’ Lucy asked.

Edge shrugged, took out the makings and replied: ‘I’ve blown a few fellers’ heads off in my time, lady. But I never did get to see from what was inside how the human mind works.’

Crooked Eye said grimly: ‘There are many Comanche who think Mountain Lion is not always right in the head. Sometimes there is no reason for what he does.’

‘What about the army?’ Dingle asked.

‘The frigging army?’ Tree was close to anger at what seemed to him to be a stupid question.

Lucy stopped frowning over Edge’s response to her query and explained: ‘Twenty soldiers – maybe more - from Fort Chance rode into the hills up ahead of us this morning. I suppose they could have heard all the shooting.’

Edge said: ‘I reckon the troopers are five of six miles away. And the high ground between them and here would muffle the shots.’

‘Anyway, them soldier boys have got their own business to attend to out here, 176

John.’ Conners said. ‘Way I see it, the military ain’t about to take a hand unless the Comanche start shooting at them.’

Dingle peered intently into the west. ‘But at least we know they’re out there, Ches. And if we get more trouble from the savages it’ll be good to know they’re close by. So why don’t we push on toward them, fast as we can go?’

‘Now it is you who is stating the obvious, Mr Dingle,’ Lucy censured.

‘I don’t take your point, miss.’

Chester Conners lit a cigar and set off at a fast walk as he trailed over his shoulder: ‘The Comanche have made it pretty plain they ain’t about to let any of us go back the way we came, John. And since there’s nothing for a hundred miles to the north except desert and the whole of Mexico’s to the south, west is where the army went and where we’re bound to go, uh?’

Lucy set off behind him as she announced with gloating satisfaction: ‘And that is precisely where some of us were going to in the first place. It’s where Mesa Desolado is.’

‘I guess they’re making some kind of sense, uh Sam,’ Goodrich muttered and started to trudge after the other two.

Tree growled a curse as he moved up alongside his fellow deputy. Edge lit the cigarette he had just made and asked: ‘You got any opinion on the subject, kid?’

Crooked Eye said evenly: ‘I can tell you only that Mountain Lion is not to be trusted.’

Edge nodded. ‘A while ago I saw a feller he killed. And just now another one he took the trouble not to kill. You say even his own kind figure he can take leave of his senses anytime for no reason. I don’t understand the feller so I don’t trust him either.’

‘We will go with the others now?’

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‘You figure we got any choice, kid?’

‘We Comanche can sometimes be like you White Eyes, Mr Edge. For instance, we believe that there is safety in numbers.’

Edge started forward.

The boy scampered to keep up with the longer striding man and prompted: ‘This is true, is it not?’

‘What’s true?’ Edge asked absently.

‘That there is safety in numbers?’

Edge looked down at the earnest faced, squint-eyed young Comanche and grinned briefly. ‘Sometimes, kid. But at other times the opposite can be true.’

‘Perhaps,’ Crooked Eye allowed thoughtfully. ‘When it is important to go quickly it is better for one man to move alone over – ‘

Edge broke in on the pensive young buck. ‘Was thinking of what’s best when the numbers add up to a whole heap of dollars.’

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CHAPTER • 17

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THE DAY got to be as hot as it gets in that part of the country in summer and
as they moved sluggishly through the hills all of them sweated, some cursed from time to time and nobody said very much that required a response. Edge knew that for a while he maybe felt worse than everyone else who trudged wearily along in the taciturn group. This as he reflected bitterly on how he was forced to travel on foot again after he had vowed not so long ago that it was a situation he would never allow to happen again: not without making someone suffer for his uncomfortable inconvenience. So, when he next met up with Mountain Lion, he intended to kill him. It was as simple as that: because Mountain Lion was the chief of the bunch of renegades who stole his mount. And horse theft was still a capital crime in this fast changing west where he was growing too old to want to walk anywhere anytime. Let alone through rugged borderland country in the blistering heat of high summer.

The red headed, green eyed Chester Conners lit a cigar and ended a long, dour silence as they paused to rest in the shade of a craggy overhang at the base of a cliff.

‘You know what I think them Injuns have in mind for us?’

Because of their weariness and since they knew the kind of bigoted man Conners was, none of the adults cared enough about his theory to ask the question he invited. But the young Comanche offered:

‘What is that, sir?’

Conners tacitly expressed his ill feeling for the boy who was doubly beneath contempt: because of his youth and the fact that he was an Indian. Then he glowered fixedly ahead to stress he was talking not just to the boy. ‘I reckon the heathen bastards are planning to drive us like a herd of steers until we drop. Then they’re going to just sit around and watch us starve to death.’

Dingle groaned: ‘Oh, my God.’

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Goodrich asked: ‘You figure that’s what they have in mind for us, Sam.’

‘I don’t know!’ the bad tempered saloonkeeper countered. Then he raked a scornful gaze over the flabby liveryman. ‘But if that happens, I figure you’ll be the last one to meet your maker, Brod. On account of you’ve got enough blubber on you to survive for twice as long as anyone else.’

‘There’s no need to get personal and make – ‘ Goodrich started to splutter indignantly as he tugged frantically at his ridiculously small goatee. Crooked Eye pointed out morosely: ‘The need to drink water will kill us long before we starve to – ‘

The young buck was ignored as Lucy snapped: ‘Of course there’s no need for it!