Head West (The Collected Western Stories of B.J. Holmes) Read online

  The Morgan, a general purpose animal which can double as a work horse when called upon made light work of hauling the suspended man to the top. From up above, Hazard could first make out the black, now disheveled, hair and then the checked pattern covering the shoulders. As the man pulled himself to his feet, Hazard was sure it was the man he sought.

  ‘Jeez, saying thanks don’t seem enough,’ the man said, smoothing his long hair and attempting to brush the dust from his face. ‘I couldn’t have held on much longer.’

  ‘I don’t know whether you should be thanking me, mister’ Hazard said, backing off a little and drawing his Joslyn.

  The man made an attempt to run but was successfully prevented from doing so by the quick interpolation of Hazard’s boot. Such that he sprawled face first into the dust.

  ‘You’re from town,’ the man said, rising to his feet and wiping the newly-acquired fresh layer of dust from his features. ‘With than damn posse.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hazard. ‘And trying to run like that you’ve just convinced me you’re the varmint I’m chasing.’

  ‘But I’m innocent.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before,’ Hazard replied. He had too. But from fellow prisoners–– however, that’s another story. ‘Now, you’re coming back with me. You can do it walking on healthy legs or limping––’cos I ain’t averse to putting a slug in you.’

  He ordered the man to stand at a distance while he took some more rope from his saddle. He cut off a length and used it to tie the man’s hands firmly behind his back. Thus freed from having to watch his captive closely he looped the rope used for the rescue and fixed it to his rig. He took the mare’s reins. ‘I’ll follow you up the cliff path,’ he said, motioning with his head,

  When they reached the summit, Hazard mounted. ‘You keep ten or so feet in front. Now git moving––you know the way to town.’ They proceeded slowly down the gently sloping trail.

  ‘The name’s Lester. Lester Adams,’ the man said after a while, without turning his head. Hazard didn’t speak. He already knew what handle his captive went under and he saw no use in a polite exchange of names, The less personal this business was, the better for his liking.

  ‘Ain’t seed you a-fore,’ the man continued. ‘What are you ? Some outside law?’ Several times in his past Hazard had been described as laconic. It seemed an appropriate circumstance in which to live up to the description.

  The man was obviously thinking about his captor. ‘No, you ain’t law. One, there ain’t been time for the sheriff to call in any outside officers. Two, it wouldn’t be in Oldfield’s interest.’ There was more silence. ‘I’ve got it. You ain’t one of the townsfolk from Raban’s End that the sheriffs roped in to form a posse. You’re some kind of bounty hunter!’

  He turned as he spoke and walked backward looking Hazard over. ‘Ain’t never seed a bounty hunter a-fore. In that case there ain’t much I can do is there? All you’re interested in is the money.’

  ‘Keep moving.’

  The man turned frontward again. ‘How much is Oldfield paying you, Blondie? How much does thirty pieces of silver run to these days?’ The biblical analogy was not lost on Hazard. Raised in a small farming community himself he d had his share of Bible readings. And he had respect for the Word, but he didn’t take his captive’s bait. Sometime later, they reached level round and Hazard called for him to stop. ‘You got one hell of a walk ahead of you through that desert. Have a drink before we start.’ He shook the canteen. It was half empty. He took the top off and swilled a mouthful himself. ‘Come here.’

  Adams walked back and Hazard tipped some water down his throat. ‘Now start moving again.’

  After about an hour Adams tried a new tack. ‘I know you won’t believe me if I say I didn’t do it,’ he said.

  ‘Right.’

  `Well, I didn’t.’

  Hazard ignored the expected protestation.

  ‘You know what he wants me for, don’t you?’ Adams pressed.

  ‘I don’t want to know. All I know is I’m getting paid for taking you in. If you didn’t do it, it’ll come out at your trial.’

  ‘Trial––hell! I ain’t getting no trial. Oldfield don’t handle things that way. Say, pal, give me a break.’

  Hazard ignored the plea.

  ‘He s covering up for hisself,’ Adams went on. ‘That’s what he’s doing. You ain’t local. You don’t know Oldfield.’

  `Right again. I don’t know him. But I’ve seen the color of his money. That’s enough for me.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, he’s got money all right. That’s why he get things done––his way. He virtually owns the place as it is. You’re just someone else he’s bought.’

  Hazard realized the man in front of him wasn’t going to shut up. ‘OK, get your story off your chest and then maybe I’ll get some peace.’

  ‘Oldfield and his men came into Raban’s End some six months ago. From Washington, as I have since found out. Since then land’s been bought. Sometimes by him, more often by his cronies. But he’s behind it. Things have been happening to frighten off homesteaders. And there’s been some accidents––the fatal kind. What I couldn’t understand is that there’s nothing worth a rat’s ass around the town. Land’s mostly desert as you can see. And ain’t never heard of no ore being found within a hundred miles. So why’s he buying it ?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘He came to see me a month ago. Offered a rock bottom price for my spread. It ain’t much but it’s all I got. I’ve worked hard and my stock, plus what we get from the land, feeds me and my family. We’re even getting a bit of surplus these days to market to buy a few luxuries. Anyways, I turned him down. Days later one of my barns got burned down. Then someone started putting shells into my heifers. It had to be Oldfield but what could I prove? I figure he’s bought off the mayor and law. Leastways they get kickbacks to keep them quiet. And everyone else in town’s shit-scared of him.

  ‘Anyways,’ the man continued, ‘I’ve got a cousin in Washington. Works as a clerk in some government department along Pennsylvania Avenue. He’s only a pen-pusher but, as I know Oldfield came out from Washington. I sent my cousin a letter. Explained the situation––I’m not the only one under pressure to sell––and asked him what he could find out about Oldfield in the capital. Yesterday I was in Raban’s End when a telegraph message came in for me. It was from my cousin. It transpires Oldfield’s got a political crony in the capital. The guy’s pushing through a bill for a railroad out here. Seems there’s nothing gonna stop it and so I reckon the two of them have been buying up land cheap all along the proposed route. They stand to make a fortune.

  ‘But within half an hour the telegraph operator––he’s the only other one who knows what the message said––was shot dead. The next thing I know Oldfield had named me as the culprit. Says he witnessed the killing. With Oldfield behind it I didn’t stand a chance so I lit out. That’s the situation you’re taking me back to.’

  Hazard remained silent. It was obviously in his captive’s interests to come up with some story like that. Then he said, ‘You’re wasting your breath. I don’t know nothing about politics. And you know I ain’t got no way of checking what you say. Anyways, I’m just a cog in a machine.’ There was a firmness in his voice but growing uncertainty in his mind.

  `If you untie me,’ Adams persisted, ‘I’ll show you the telegraph message. It’s in my back pocket.’

  ‘You know I ain’t gonna untie you.’ Hazard could have explained that one of the reasons was his inability to read, but that was an inadequacy of which he wasn’t proud.

  ‘OK; you get it out. It’s there.’ Adams stopped and indicated the pocket with his tied hands. Hazard took the Winchester from his saddle-holster and one handedly jabbed it in his captive’s back. ‘Keep on moving. Whatever’s on that piece of paper ain’t no interest to me.’

  Adams did as he was bid. ‘OK, tell you something else. Anybody in town will tell you that I ain’t ever been seen with a hand g
un. I’ve only got two pieces and they’re both rifles for use on the farm. You can bet your bottom dollar the bullets in the telegraph operator are both from a .45, something of that caliber.

  ‘Bottom dollar? You’re too late to talk of my laying down my last dollar, my talkative friend. My bottom dollar’s already gone.’

  Adams trudged on through the sand, eventually accepting a joint silence. They stopped at half-hourly intervals to take water till at last the canteen was empty. The heat was oppressive and Hazard was getting tired. He’d had a full day. But he wasn’t too tired to notice that Adams had slowed to a snail’s pace.

  ‘No need to go that slow,’ he chided.

  ‘I’m getting worried. Does Oldfield know you kept on my trail after that dust devil?’

  ‘Figure he does.’

  ‘I was just thinking. It’d sure suit him to have me dead a-fore we get back to town. And you, if it comes to that. I don’t suppose you got anyone local to miss you or cause any rumpus if you took a heavy dose of lead in your system. It’d sure have occurred to him that I would have told you the truth of the matter. It’d save him his “30 pieces of silver” as well.’

  ‘Nobody’s gonna gun us down. For one thing, it’s too open.’

  ‘We ain’t in town yet. We got us a few miles of rocky countryside to cross a-fore we get there. Lots of places where some pokes could hide and pick us off. You’ d better start thinking about your own hide, Blondie.’

  ‘‘That guy you killed,’ Hazard observed. ‘Did you talk him to death?’

  ‘I’m just saying we gotta look out for a drygulching.’

  ‘I’ve heard some diamondbacks in my time but none that rattled as loud as you.’ The last curt statement acted as a burial marker on the conversation and quietly, slowly they progressed across the desert, But Hazard was not a professional bounty hunter, although he treated his prisoner with firmness, he was becoming more uneasy. Like gentle but persistent waves on a beach, doubts were beginning to erode the conviction with which he followed his present course. Ten hours before he was willing to take on any work which would bring him money, but since then his hunger had been assuaged. In seeking money for catching a human being, hadn’t he sold his soul to the devil? He’d hunted men before, even killed, but that had been for overpowering personal reasons. This was different. How much is a man worth? By accepting the commission Hazard had set the price at two hundred dollars. ‘I’ve gotta live, ain’t I?’ he told himself. Thereby he buttressed his conscience––at least temporarily––against the incoming tide of doubt. The sun was low when they approached the first rocky promontory that marked the last stretch of trail to town. From the high elevation their long-cast shadows were efficient indicators of their positions. Ideal for sighting along a rifle barrel.

  Without warning there were two simultaneous, long-considered shots. The one gouted up sand a little behind the roped walker. The other took Hazard in the left shoulder. With hands encumbered, Adams bent from the waist and began a zigzag run toward the outcrop. Recoiling under the impact of the missile that had pierced his body, Hazard slumped forward awkwardly onto his mount’s neck. His legs automatically moved back with the impulse and his feet hit flanks, fortuitously spurring the horse on. The animal came to rest where Adams had stumbled prostrate under overhanging rock. Hazard began to keel uncontrollably out of the saddle.

  Adams saw his difficulty as he got to his knees. ‘You’ve been hit!’ He staggered clumsily to his feet and quickly arched his back to break the stricken rider’s fall. Hazard bounced against the cushion of the bent man and slumped to the sandy ground.

  ‘How bad’s it feel?’ Adams asked, looking at the blood adding another color to Hazard’s already multi-hued jacket.

  ‘You were right all along’ Hazard whispered. `Hell, you were right.’

  He drew his knife with his unaffected right hand. ‘Turn round.’ He sliced through Adams’s bonds. ‘You say you’re a rifle man. Get the Winchester from the saddle-holster. You’ll find some shells in one of the saddle-bags.’

  Adams eagerly did as he was bid while Hazard drew his Joslyn and broke it to check its chamber was full.

  ‘I’ll sort the bastards out,’ said Adams confidently. ‘You stay here while I go up top.’

  ‘No,’ Hazard cautioned. ‘You won’t stand a chance. They’ll be waiting for you. We’ve got the advantage. They’ve shown their hand and they’ve got to play it out.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  `They’ll wait for a spell and then have to come down. They’re committed now. We’d best lie low here––facing both ways. That’ll give us a chance. At least, they don’t know how badly I’m hit––or whether you’ve got free hands.’

  He parted his jacket, rent his shirt and examined the wound. ‘Get my bandana off and pad it in there…gently.’

  That done he lay on his right side against the rock with an arm outstretched and five-shooter leveled. ‘Now scat the horse. Then, the moment you see one of the bastards, shoot on sight.’

  Adams slammed the horse’s rump so that it cantered off and then he followed the suit of his erstwhile captor to face in the opposite direction. The soles of their boots almost touched.

  At least, Hazard had been right m his prediction of their bushwhackers’ next step. After a ten minute lapse, two figures with raised guns appeared from behind the base of the rock, one on each side of them.

  The slug from Adams’s Winchester took away part of Oldfield’s head. The man went down with a grunt, inaudible to them at their distance, blood drenching the front of his fancy Eastern shirt. Hazard’s .44 shot caught his target in the hip. The fellow buckled sideward as though his leg had disappeared. Although not dead like Oldfield, the pain in his chipped thigh-bone ensured he took no further part in the action.

  It was dark when Hazard stepped out of the doctor’s surgery. His shoulder was bandaged and his arm was in a sling.

  There had been a third man in the bushwhacking but he’d vamoosed when he saw his two cronies downed. Adams and Hazard had resumed their journey back to town. Adams had woken up the doctor and organized some attention for Hazard’s wound. While being medicated, Hazard had told the sheriff about the developments after the dust storm and the lawman went out with a wagon and fetched in the wounded man and body of Oldfield. Although the sheriff had been maneuvered into forming a posse to hunt down Adams, it was because of his simple-minded malleability and weakness of will, rather than any black-hearted complicity in the frame-up. He gave no more consideration to the notion of Adams being guilty. The climax of the hunt and the crumpled message from Adam’s pocket were explanation enough. The truth was corroborated when two hand-gun bullets were extracted later from the telegraph operator’s body. Washington would be contacted when someone could be found who could work the signaling apparatus.

  Hazard and Adams stood facing each other in the moonlight.

  ‘You’ve not got too much out of today.’ the homesteader said.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Hazard smiled ironically. ‘I’ve learned a lesson. Hope there’s no hard feelings’

  ‘Why should there be? You saved my life at the canyon. And, if you hadn’t brung me back and sided with me against Oldfield, I’m sure he and his men would have hounded me until they caught up with me and put out my lights. Huh, a puny sandstorm wouldn’t have stopped him.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe nothing, said Adams. ‘You been mighty firm with me today and now it’s my turn to be firm with you. You’re coming back to meet my missus and family. You’re gonna recuperate at our place. And when your arm’s better you can work with me on the land until you find another job or want to move on. I can’t pay you but at least, you’ll have a full belly. That’s if you’ve a mind to.’

  Hazard took the proffered hand with his own remaining good one and shook it. ‘I’ve a mind to.’

  (This piece marks a landmark for me as the first western short I ever sold. (The story of how Hazard came by his Joseph
-jacket and its significance for him is chronicled in Hazard (Hale, 1979)

  The Blue, The Grey and The Red

  Lieutenant Hopkins was sky-lined on the top of the hill. He stood for a moment surveying the valley before him. It was green, quiet, untouched by war. He breathed deep of the clean air and began to descend heavy-footed through the grass.

  He’d been walking for days. He felt annoyed that he’d had to relinquish his horse. It was the army brand that had done it. But the terms of the surrender had been clearly spelled out: only men who owned their own mounts would be allowed to keep them. A gesture of goodwill by General Grant, so that farm boys could get back to their farming. So, no horse; and he’d even lost his hat in the last skirmish. Jeez, if he could have kept that fiery-eyed sorrel he would have come out of this damn war with something. And his feet wouldn’t be so goddamn sore; nor his legs ache.

  There was a stand of trees at the bottom of the valley. He would rest in the shade for a piece. God, he was hungry. He dropped to the ground under the branches of the first tree he came to and went to sleep almost as soon as his eyelids closed.

  It was the crackling of twigs underfoot that woke him. He started, saw a shape loom against the sun; and moved for his gun.

  ‘Hey, hold on there. Ain’t no need for that no more.’ The accent was of the northeastern seaboard. The man before him stepped back a pace. ‘The war’s over,’

  Hopkins relaxed his hand and sat up. ‘Sorry. Instinct.’

  The standing man wore a uniform, too. At a glance grey like his own, but in fact a faded blue. Like it had been in the field a long time. The man was Union, a private. He had the same gauntness of feature that men of both sides shared. Not yet twenty, he guessed, like himself.

  The northerner hunkered down in front of him. ‘Saw you sky-lined fifteen minutes back. Looked like we was heading the same way. So I came over. Must admit I was a mite apprehensive. You being a Confederate an’ all. Then I told myself different colored uniforms ain’t important no more.’ He stepped forward again. ‘Lordsakes, you must be tired the speed you went to sleep.’