The Outrage - Edge Series 3 (35 page)

‘Take it easy, Alvin. But don’t expect me to treat you like a buddy after you nearly took my head of with that rock.’

‘Only because I thought – ‘

Edge turned and forced him to walk backwards toward the front of the mill until he was up against the wall beside the open doorway. Then he released his hold on the coat lapels and Ivers legs were suddenly drained of their strength so he slid down the clapboard until he was squatted on his haunches.

‘I got some questions for you, kid.’

‘I don’t want to die, mister. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. All of it the truth, honest to God.’

Far off in the direction of the fire beyond the timber behind where Edge towered over the frightened, hunkered down Ivers, voices were raised and horses whinnied. Nearby the creek gurgled with tranquil sounds.

‘It seems like the local vigilantes are getting ready to hunt you down, Alvin,’ Edge said evenly.

‘What?’ Ivers peered up at Edge with desperation etched into his sharp features. ‘You hear something? I can’t hear any damn thing on account of the rushing sounds in my head. Damnit, I did wet my pants. I was so scared! I can’t think of nothing else but being scared out of my mind.’

‘Springdale folks believe you killed the Quinn women. After you raped Nancy.’

‘I know it, mister. But you ain’t from around here. What are you gonna do to me?’

‘First off ask you some questions like I already told you.’

Ivers leaned to the side to peer along the track and through the trees as the body of distant sounds from that direction rose. Men getting up into their saddles and horses making eager snorting noises. He asked anxiously: ‘You figure we got the time for that, mister?’

‘I’ve got until the stage leaves Springdale for Austin next Wednesday, kid. But it’s a little more urgent for you.’

‘Okay, okay! Ask your questions.’ He tried to struggle to his feet but his quaking legs were not yet capable of supporting his slight frame. And he rested his elbows on his knees and sank his head into his cupped hands.

‘You and your buddy Hooper? You’re not denying that you did those robberies around Springdale, is that right?’

‘Yeah. Floyd and me admitted that after the Austin lawmen got us dead to rights for that one we pulled up there. For sure we did them.’

‘But you and Hooper had nothing to do with what happened at the Quinn house?’

‘No, mister.’ He shook his head while he continued to hold it in his hands. ‘I sure didn’t. I’ll swear to that on a Bible if I had one. Not me or Floyd was anywhere near the Quinn house that day.’

‘Okay, I – ‘

He jerked up his head to stare at Edge. ‘I ain’t got no Bible but I got a ma. Like you know, mister. I ain’t been such a good son to her but she’s the only person I really care about in the whole lousy world. I was never near the Quinn house that morning the women were killed. I swear that on my ma’s life. Damnit, me and Floyd must have been already heading up to Austin when them killings happened.’

‘It was the kind of house you and him – ‘

The clamour or predatory men tracking human prey rose in volume but it did not seem that the hunters were coming toward the old mill as Ivers broke in on Edge: ‘I ain’t never said it wasn’t a place we figured to rob. Floyd and me, we talked about it. The Quinns being so rich. But we never got around to doing it. And if we ever had we wouldn’t have hurt nobody. You see into them robberies that both of us admitted we done. We never hurt a hair on nobody’s head and that’s the God’s honest truth. Even Mr Meeker and Mr Lacy had to allow that’s so.’

‘No sweat, kid.’ Edge reached down a helping hand. ‘I believe you.’

Ivers gazed fixedly up with the look of a trapped animal in his wide eyes: but no longer one of the dangerous kind. Now he was beaten and helpless and accepted his only chance of salvation lay in the hands of this man he was not sure he could trust. He swallowed hard, made another whimpering sound, summoned what it took to grasp the offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his full height. Then he still needed to lean his back against the wall of the old mill to remain upright as he asked: ‘Damnit, mister, how am I ever going to thank you?’

Edge looked toward where the firelight had once glimmered through the trees and next the body of excited sound had signalled the bunch of vigilantes was about to get down to the deadly business of a very different kind of shooting game on the Cassidy spread. Now there was only moonlit darkness beyond the timber and the noise that betrayed the presence of men and horses were muted and no longer confined to one small area. He drew the Colt and Ivers gasped his horror at the unexpected move.

‘Easy kid.’ Edge held out the revolver at arm’s length above his head and thumbed back the hammer. Squeezed the trigger to explode a bullet harmlessly into the night sky. Showed a narrow eyed, mirthless grin as the single report resounded through a Texas darkness that a stretched second later was devoid of all sound except for the trickle of the water in the creek and his and Ivers’ breathing.

For the report had caused each of the widely scattered riders to rein in his mount as he realised that somebody else may have killed the escaped prisoner: or been killed by him. No voices were raised to yell the question and Edge said:

‘Come on kid, let’s go.’

Ivers was like a dumb animal again: but this time he resembled an anxious to please puppy dog, eager to obey the first word of command from a harsh master. ‘But I don’t know what – ‘

Edge hardened his tone but kept his voice low to warn: ‘You best be careful, Alvin. If the corners get tight it’ll be up to you to watch out for yourself.’

‘Sure, mister, I’ll do whatever you tell me to.’

Edge peered grimly into the young man’s frightened face and considered snarling another challenge to snap Ivers out of his too-ready compliance that bordered on complacency. But he figured it would serve no purpose in the boy’s present state of mind.

‘Right, kid. So – ‘

‘I reckon you must have had a real good reason to fire that shot?’

‘We’ve got no way of knowing what they plan once you’re dead, kid.’

‘Hell, what difference . . ?’ He vented a nervous laugh. ‘Hey, I got it now! You figure they’ll stop looking for me if they think – ‘

‘There’d be no sense in them hunting around in the dark if you’ve already been nailed.’

‘But if they all meet up where they started and there’s no one to tell the rest of them he shot me . . ?’

‘One
if
at a time.’

‘But what am I going to do, mister?’

‘The shot bought you some time. Not much, so best you quit wasting it talking about what might happen. You’ll find one of the Quinn’s horses hitched to the busted waterwheel at the side of the mill. Take it and ride away from here. But keep the noise down.’

‘Where will I go?’

‘Damnit, you want me to tell you how to wipe your nose when it runs, kid? I’m a stranger to these parts. You were born and bred here so you ought to know some places where you can stay out of sight for awhile. But don’t go far. I can maybe get you off the hook for the killings. But you’re still a thief and I’m not going to help you get away with stealing. And although it’s a Quinn horse it’s my gear on him. Which I’ll want back.’

‘Yes, sir, I promise. Just as soon as I know it’s safe I’ll go back to Springdale and turn myself in to Sheriff Meeker. And I’ll be sure to – ‘

‘Fine, now beat it, Alvin.’

‘I’ll go to –‘

‘Why should I want to know? You said you’ll be back.’

‘The way things have been going for me lately you’re the only one I can trust with my life. Outside of my ma, of course.’

‘Get moving to wherever you’re going, kid.’

‘Sure. You bet. Thanks.’ He whirled and scooted around the corner and along the side of the mill.

Edge holstered the Colt and headed at an easy pace across the clearing and into the timber then kept to the wheel-rutted track through the trees. Away from the creek there was no noise outside of that he made himself. No firelight in the distance any more. But when he emerged from the timber he could see that a wispy column of smoke still rose from the ashes of the dying fire some way off. The moon bathed open pastureland was featured with a scattering of low hillocks, some of which intervened between him and where the fire had almost burnt out. So he could not see if there was a cooking pot on the wood ash tonight. Even the chuck wagon would not be within sight from here. Also a force of men, on foot of mounted, spread out or bunched into a group could well be hidden in cover if they did not want to be seen. But he had no sense of being watched from any direction This situation he could understand and accept without undue concern. But the total silence on every side as he made cautious progress across his expanse of humped and hollowed pasture triggered some grave misgivings at the back of his mind. For there should have been some kind of response to the shot in the night. Even when the initial confusion was calmed, reasoned discussion should have resulted in a plan of action to discover why the shot had been fired.

Then there was sudden sound: and movement. From one of the grassy knolls that started to rise a dozen yards or so to his right. And he instinctively streaked a hand to his Colt, had the revolver clear of the holster as a horseman came over the crest and raced down the slope toward him. But the rider had not drawn a weapon and as Edge snapped his head from side to side he could not see if the man was a friend intent on warning him of danger or a malevolent foe.

Then came a burst of shrieking Rebel Yells that exploded from the throats of a seeming army of riders who suddenly galloped toward him from all sides. He cursed and flung himself out of the path of the first seen, closest horseman who was obviously no friend. Tripped on a tussock of grass and hit the ground shoulder first, dropped his head to his chest, brought his knees up to his belly and rolled over twice. Was unaware he had dropped the Colt until he clenched both fists in tacit response to the searing pain in his left shoulder and failed to feel the walnut butt grasped within the curled fingers of his right hand. The first horse he had heard and seen veered away and raced by in a blur, its rider still totally silent amid the clamorous shouting of the others. And Edge converted pain into anger and, as he had done so many times in the distant violent past, he channelled the savage emotion into a grim determination to survive. He scrambled up on to all fours as the night became filled with a fast rising crescendo of raucous noise at dangerously close quarters: hooves thudding on turf, horses snorting and men shrieking. Then a fusillade of gunfire momentarily drowned out all the other sounds.

But the men urging their mounts forward did not aim their revolvers at him. For as he wrenched his head from side to side and hurriedly estimated there were ten or so riders engaged in the attack he saw that the muzzle flashes stabbed into the sky. He rose to his feet and impossibly tried to keep all the riders in view as his narrowed, glittering eyed gaze swept the ground in search of the fallen Colt. But he failed to see it. Then the gunfire was abruptly curtailed and the yells became less strident as the men jerked their reins to command the animals into a single file formation. All except one rider, who spurred his mount into a gallop and, like the first man to show himself, rode straight at Edge.

He lunged to the side again, scrambling to stay on his feet and snarled a curse through clenched teeth as he avoided a bone crunching collision by inches. Then as the rider gave fullthroated vent to the Rebel Yell and he turned in the saddle to look back Edge peered hard at him. But the man’s face was unrecognisable behind a kerchief mask. And when Edge raked his gaze around the horsemen again he saw they were all masked in identical fashion. This as they formed a wide circle: galloping around him like hostile Indians attacking an ambushed settlers’ wagon of old. And the way they yelled, their words losing all meaning within the pandemonium, the analogy with fighting Plains Indians was emphasised. The second man who had threatened to run him down joined the circle as another broke free and veered across the open ground holding his snorting horse on a straight line toward the human target. Edge stood his ground until the last moment then whirled and powered away. But he did not escape unscathed this time. For the rider kicked out viciously to the side and the toe of his boot slammed against Edge’s already pained shoulder. Forced him into a stumbling run for several paces until he as able to plant his splayed feet firmly on the ground. Where he felt rooted to the spot for stretched seconds, grimacing with pain and fighting for breath while the high pitched shriek of triumph from the man who had struck the blow rang in his head. His left shoulder felt like it was on fire and he used the intense pain and the powerful anger it generated allied with mortal fear to positive effect. Combined them so they served to strengthen his resolve to escape from this danger in one piece: and made the men responsible for the torments regret they had ever tangled with him.

The man who had caused the damage was back in the fast riding ring and another sheered out from it to gallop toward a victim with no obvious means of escape. But there had to be a way out of this, Edge told himself. Just one man came at him each time. But too many were waiting their turn and none would be shy of making a second attempt to run him down. With one damaging blow already having agonising effect and his lungs pumping frenetically with over-exertion he knew he could not duck and weave for much longer. And after he went down and was too exhausted to get back up again he would surely be stomped to death by the hooves of spooked horses driven on by maniacally vengeful men. There seemed to be something particularly intense about the way the next man galloped his horse flat out toward Edge. He was hunched much lower in the saddle than the two before him and did not shriek his inarticulate hatred at a high pitch. Which was somehow more unnerving than the other attacks. Except for the one that had signalled the start of this lethal game to be played out according to a set of hastily conceived new rules. Was it the first man again? Certainly he remained as ominously silent and he was crouched as low while the circling riders sat high and erect, hurling obscenities toward Edge at the pivot of the ring. Linking his name, his Mexican heritage and his alliance to the old Union cause to every curse they screamed. As slivers of time past Edge determined to make a desperate attempt to get the better of this attacker. To take at least the life of one other if his own was to be forfeit. Or to escape to exact revenge later if fate decreed his time was not yet finished.