Shoot Angel! (8 page)

Cranford remained silent while
he absorbed Sherman
’s news. He glanced across the desk, smiling inwardly as he
studied Sherman’s wet, flushed face. The man was coming apart, he
thought. Sherman was close to absolute panic. Cranford realized
that his earlier decision to get rid of Sherman had been the right
one. The matter was even more urgent now. Sherman could split the
whole damn affair wide open if he was left to his own devices.
Scared the way he was Sherman might simply walk out and start
talking to the first person willing to listen. Critical as the
situation might appear, Cranford still considered it possible to
come out on the winning side. But not with Sherman
around.

‘
Well?’ Sherman demanded. ‘You just going to sit there and
play games?’

‘
Just
thinking ahead, Phil.’ Cranford smiled. He stood up. ‘Look, Phil,
let’s just take things easy. I don’t think we have anything to
worry about.’

‘
Is
that supposed to make everything all right? Because you figure we
ain’t got problems?’ Sherman laughed harshly. ‘Let me give you the
news, Judge. We’ve got more trouble than you ever saw. This time it
ain’t some saddle tramp we framed and tossed in jail. This time it
isn’t going to be so easy to forget. Christ, Amos, this is the
government we’re playing with. Angel’s a federal agent!’ Sherman’s
voice began to rise. ‘Anything happens to him this town’s going to
be crawling with Justice Department people. I seen those boys at
work once before an’ they don’t ever let go once they got you
tabbed!’

‘
Give
me a chance to think this out, Phil,’ Cranford suggested. ‘Don’t
worry. I’ll work on something. You go back to your office. Just
carry on like it was a normal day. Later tonight come back. Take
the back way. Fewer people know what we’re doing the
better.’

‘
We’ll
have to be smart to get out of this, Amos,’ Sherman said, slightly
calmer now that Cranford seemed to be taking control of the
situation.

‘
Leave
it to me, Phil. I won’t let you down. We’re not finished yet.’
Cranford came around the desk. He put an arm across Sherman’s
shoulders as he guided the sheriff out of the room, towards the
front door. ‘You leave this to me. I’ll see us through.’

Cranford closed the door after
Sherman had gone and leaned against the frame, his face set, eyes
cold, his thin lips drawn in a bloodless line. Damn the man!
Sherman was a stupid animal!
Ready to cut and run at the first sign of trouble.
It always boiled down to the same thing. You could never trust
people. Get involved and you had to depend on the strength of those
around you. All it took was one weak link in the chain and
everything was suddenly threatened. Cranford made his way back to
his office. He sat down behind his desk, staring at the blank wall
on the far side of the room.

First, see to it that Sherman
was silenced. That was a matter to which Cranford would attend
personally. After that it would be Angel
’s turn. And then … ? Cranford didn’t
plan any further ahead. He considered it better to take one step at
a time. Once he had Sherman and Angel out of the picture he could
sit back and decide on his next move. One thing he did know.
Eventually he would leave this place. He’d come to hate Liberty. It
was a dirty little town in the middle of nowhere and he’d had his
fill. It had served his purpose over the last few years. His
set-up, in partnership with Sherman, had brought in a steady flow
of money. Nothing spectacular but it had built up slowly. The
unexpected bonus of seventy-five thousand dollars from the man
called Harry Culp had been like a gift from the gods. With that
kind of money Amos Cranford could go far. And he intended doing
so.

Throughout the rest of the day
Cranford followed his usual routine. He took his midday walk to
town and ate lunch. Later he visited a number of
Liberty
’s
businessmen, discussing various legal matters. Halfway through the
afternoon he stopped off at the barbershop and had a trim and a
shave. He only saw Phil Sherman once during the day. The sheriff
was crossing the street as Cranford came out of a store. Sherman
almost gave himself away but managed to control his jangled nerves
and mutter a quick response to Cranford’s hearty
greeting.

It was a couple of minutes off
five o
’clock
when a dust-lathered rider reined in before the judge’s house.
Cranford had returned only a while before. He spotted the rider
through the parlor window and went quickly to open the front door.
He had already recognized the rider as one of the guards from
Trench’s camp.

‘
What’s wrong?’ Cranford asked.

‘
We
got trouble out at the camp,’ the rider told him. ‘On the way to
the construction camp this morning three prisoners made a
break.’

A sense of unease washed over Cranford. Even
as he asked the next question he was certain of the answer.

‘
Who
were they?’

‘
Feller called Birdy. Hard case named Capucci. And the new
one who came in yesterday. Angel!’

Cranford almost chuckled out loud. Of all the
men at the camp Angel had to be the one to escape. You had to hand
it to the man, Cranford thought. He was no fool.

‘
How’s
Trench handling it?’

‘
He’s
got the camp locked up tight. Every man he can spare is out looking
for those three.’ The rider grinned through the dusty mask caking
his face. ‘Hell, Trench is even out himself! I reckon we’ll get ’em
’fore they get far, Judge. They’re on foot and they don’t have a
gun between the three of ’em!’

Cranford considered the facts
and came to the conclusion that the lack of facilities
weren
’t
going to deter Angel. The man would improvise every step of the way
and if the opportunity arose he would furnish himself with whatever
he needed to complete his task.

Whether on foot or horseback, armed with a
gun or his bare hands, the man named Angel would also stick rigidly
to his predetermined line of travel, which would bring him
ultimately to Liberty.

To that end, Cranford decided, he would have
to prepare himself. One way or another, in the not too distant
future, Liberty was going to have a rude awakening.

‘
I
can’t see what you’re going to gain in Liberty,’ Birdy complained.
He stared at Angel’s tight-lipped expression and knew he wasn’t
going to get any kind of answer. The little man had learned quickly
in the short time he’d been with Angel that if the younger man
wasn’t in a mind to discuss something there was no future in
pursuing the subject. He grumbled darkly to himself, making sure
that his words were inaudible.

They were moving along a sandy
slope. High
rock faces soared jaggedly skywards all around them. The
terrain they were crossing seemed endless. A tortured expanse of
sun-bleached stone and dust, grotesque cactus lurching starkly out
of the dry earth. Pale tendrils of dust followed in their wake as
they stumbled wearily across hard earth, clambered over rocks that
were so hot from the sun that the briefest contact burned the flesh
of their hands.

For Birdy and Capucci the
journey had become
a nightmare. Their suffering was made the more unbearable
by Angel’s complete indifference. He simply led the way without a
word. Nothing appeared to worry him. His tireless, rangy physique
seemed to absorb all that the elements threw at him. His long legs
ate up the miles without pause.

‘
Hold
it!’ Angel rapped out, throwing up a hand for silence.

Capucci, stubborn to the last,
rasped:
‘I
don’t hear nothing!’

Angel said nothing. There was no need. Before
any of them had a chance to do a thing, three riders burst into
view over the crest of the slope just ahead of them. The riders and
horses were streaked with dust and sweat. Every man carried a
rifle, and as they spotted the three escapees they began to open
fire.

‘
Scatter!’ Angel yelled. He felt the vicious sting of a
bullet burn its way across the muscle of his left arm. He turned
and took long strides towards a scattering of rocks, moving in a
zigzag pattern. Bullets whacked the hard earth around him. Angel
blessed the fact that there weren’t many men who could score a hit
on a moving target from the back of a horse. Yet there was always
the lucky shot finding its mark. Angel took a long dive
groundwards. He let his body roll, paying no head to the bruising
it was receiving. As he wriggled in amongst the rocks he heard the
solid thwack of bullets gouging the protective stone. He curled up
at the base of a high boulder, reached down and slid out one of his
throwing-knives. Those bastards out there were looking for blood!
Well they could have some, but it damn well wasn’t going to be
Frank Angel’s!

He caught sight of a large
shadow flitting across the rocks to one side of where he was
crouching. Angel watched the shadows grow larger as the rider
pushed his horse deeper into the rocks. He waited, estimating the
distance he was going to have to send his knife. Slowly Angel rose
to his feet as the horse
’s head appeared. His arm eased back in the final
seconds before the rider showed himself. The rider’s head was
already turning in Angel’s direction, eyes flickering in
recognition. The man tried desperately to bring his rifle over from
the far side of his body. By then Angel had already cast the knife.
It winked coldly in the bright sunlight as it flashed across the
empty space between Angel and his target. The rider uttered a
shallow cry as the hard steel bit into the muscle of his neck. He
let go of his rifle and tried to drag the offending blade from his
body. Blood streamed from the wound, staining his fingers, soaking
his shirt. As Angel approached the rider the man turned to stare at
him with eyes already glazing over. A frothy burst of blood erupted
from his loose mouth. Keeling over, the man toppled from his
saddle. Angel grabbed the loose reins of the skittish horse and
moved to tie it to a knob of rock close by. When he returned to
pick up the fallen rifle the man was dead. Angel retrieved his
knife and put it away. He unstrapped the man’s gun belt, put it on
and checked the heavy revolver. For a second Angel gazed at the
dead man, regret clouding his features for an instant.

Leaving the horse, Angel moved
to the edge of the rocks. The other riders were still in sight,
firing at a mass of rocks. They weren
’t making any attempt at talking Birdy or
Capucci out. It seemed that Trench kept his word. He’d told Angel
back at the camp that anyone breaking the rules could expect to be
shot. Angel cocked the rifle. At least the rules were easy to
understand. He put the rifle to his shoulder and shot the closest
of the riders out of the saddle. The man hit the ground hard,
cursing loudly and obscenely. Angel had put a bullet through his
shoulder. The man rolled about on the ground, blood spurting from
the wound. The third rider yanked his horse about, searching for
the source of the shot. He spurred his horse forward, moving
towards Angel, as if he was immune to bullets. Angel levered
another round into the chamber.

‘
You
hold that horse right there, friend!’ Angel warned. ‘I can take you
out easy from where I am!’

The rider cleared his throat
and spat into the dust. He leaned forward, peering in the direction
of Angel
’s
cover.

‘
Come
on out of there, boy,’ he yelled. ‘Bad enough you tried to break
out. Now you gone and shot one of us! Boy, you are dead already!
Now get yourself out here and fast, you son of a bitch!’

‘
Hey,’
Angel called, ‘you understand Spanish?’

‘
What?’ The rider scowled. ‘Naw, I don’t understand Spanish.
Why?’

‘
I
figured you might
seeing as you can’t understand English. I asked you to stay put
else you’re liable to got shot!’

‘
Balls!’ the rider roared. ‘Damn you, mister, I done wastin’
my time!’ Without another word he began to dismount.

Angel shot his
lef
t leg
from under him. The man lost control and fell face down on the
ground. He yelled in pain and anger. Before he could make any kind
of recovery Angel had stepped out from the rocks, crossed over to
where he lay, and had kicked the man’s rifle out of his reach. The
man grunted bitterly, staring up at Angel.

‘
You
bastard!’

‘
Shut
your mouth,’ Angel told him. ‘Figure yourself lucky you ain’t
dead!’

The man began to reply, then
thought about what Angel had told him and fell silent. He made no
protest as Angel took his
gun belt.

Birdy and Capucci were coming
across the clearing to where Angel stood. Capucci was carrying the
weapons belonging to the man Angel had shot in the shoulder. He was
also leading the man
’s horse.

‘
How
the hell did you manage it?’ Birdy asked. He took the weapons Angel
handed him.

‘
I
live right,’ Angel
told him. He returned to the rocks and brought out the horse he’d
left there.