Latigo 3, page 4
“I see a stream ahead,” she called to him and gestured at a mesa to the left. “I would like to wash my face ... if you don’t mind. I feel ... ghastly ...”
Without waiting for Cole’s reply, she vanished into a stand of pines that fringed the great shelf of land.
Rugger said, “Mebby I better stay, at that. Ain’t right for me to run out on you like this. You got not only them two Latcheys to fight, but her too.”
“I’ll take my chances with the Latcheys. You go catch up with Meagan.”
With a wave of the hand and looking relieved, Rugger rode off down the snowy tracks left by Meagan’s horse. Cole drew a deep breath. Better Rugger quit on him now, when everything was reasonably peaceful, rather than later, in a showdown, when Cole might foolishly rely on the man.
Turning Trooper, Cole scanned the forested mesa where Amanda Cutler had disappeared. A lady deserved privacy, but she could have had it closer in. She should have stayed close.
“Mrs. Cutler!” he shouted through cupped hands.
There was no reply. To the left of the trees was a long slope strewn with boulders. From this higher ground he could look down at her, not to spy but to make sure she was in no danger.
Not too far west Kane Latchey stood with thick legs braced, field glasses to his eyes, scanning the rough country below from his hiding place in a brushy notch. What he saw below excited him.
“Elmo, you stay put up here. There’s only one hombre left. The others have pulled out.”
“Let’s go kill him, then,” his brother said.
“Yeah, but we got to move careful. There’s a purty woman down there we want ... alive.”
Chapter Four
CLAUDIUS MAX RODE in the private car on his own railroad. He was not a tall man but immense in girth. The eyes in his obese face were steel blue. Some said they could strip the hide off a man. He was a power in politics and finance, temporarily locked into a part of the country he detested.
Months ago he had left the seat of his power in New York, the Python Building, and come west to personally straighten out the tangled affairs of his Basin City office. Everything had started to go wrong because of a half-breed named Cole Cantrell. Latigo, some people called him. They had made a hero out of him at one time, and someone had even written a song concerning his exploits as captain in the Union Army and later as avenger of his parents.
Just thinking of it caused Max’s thick neck to redden. The job had been botched, or Cantrell would never have become a thorn in his side. The botched job was murder.
In the swaying car he was served a whiskey by a thin, harassed-looking man in a tight collar. He was Lackman, who acted as servant and also as bookkeeper and secretary for Python, which owned Centurion-Pacific Railroad.
Max sipped whiskey and eyed the slim, green-eyed creature in the facing seat. He had acquired her when she was quite young, via the marriage contract. Because she’d thrown a tantrum two nights ago over his refusal to return to New York, he decided on her punishment. Her maid was left behind in the big house he had purchased in Basin City. On this trip Theodora would have to hang up her own clothes and do any mending that might be necessary.
“I wonder how many people will be at the banquet?” she asked, to start a conversation. Talk was better than just sitting and wondering at what minute he would send Lackman from the car and order her to remove her clothing. He picked strange times and places for the enjoyment of her flesh, as he liked to put it.
“Everyone of importance will be there,” he grunted. “They damn well better be.”
For one of the few times since coming west he was arriving in a town without a show of strength. It didn’t worry him particularly. No one in New Sodom would dare attack him either verbally or physically. No one would dare! He would present a new Claudius Max to them, one who didn’t feel the need to be surrounded by armed men. For a time he’d had a reputation to live down, thanks mostly to that Cantrell bastard.
There was more to it than that, however. It was hard to find someone he could trust. His last bodyguard, whom he had liked personally, had been shot to death.
As for the depletion of his western staff, there was no one to blame but himself. Aside from those killed in gunfights, of course.
His strong right arm had been Lorne Payne. But Max had contrived to have Payne killed, because he suspected the man of having an affair with Theodora. Often Max wondered if he had been mistaken. Through the fringe of his lashes he studied Theodora, in the opposite seat, the wide green eyes, fine nose and generous mouth. Anyway, Payne was gone, and it was too late to wonder if he had actually warmed Theodora’s bed.
Another strong right arm had been E. J. Creed, whom Payne had replaced as head of the western office of Python. Creed he blamed for hiring incompetent gunmen who got drunk and bragged to a whore that they had murdered Cole Cantrell’s parents. He had banished Creed to one of the Python offices in South America.
The rail approach to New Sodom was down a long and very steep curve; not very wise from an engineering standpoint, perhaps, but bringing tracks to New Sodom had been a more or less last-minute decision made by Max.
As they approached the town Max heard faint strains of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” badly played, through the open window. He leaned out and saw a crowd in front of the railroad station of unpainted lumber. Someone was holding up a sign: NEW SODOM WELCOMES CLAUDIUS MAX.
The band started another brassy off-key chorus of “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Max smiled. The fools might as well be welcoming him by playing “Dixie.” He had augmented his personal fortune from both sides during the war.
When the train finally ground to a halt with a squeal of brakes and hiss of steam, town dignitaries flooded forward. Max lifted his walking stick in acknowledgment of their tribute. Then, with Theodora on his arm, he walked majestically to a waiting carriage, which was to take him to the Peerless Hotel, where two suites had been reserved for office and living quarters.
From the coach he caught sight of a sign: Intermountain Stage Lines. His mouth hardened because it was connected with Cole Cantrell, the stage-line superintendent.
“I wish the son of a bitch would show up here. I’d forget my peaceful image and have somebody blow him out of his boots...”
“What did you say, dear?” Theodora turned in the coach seat.
But he knew killing Cantrell was not all that easy. How many times had it been tried? Next time had to be the final curtain.
He had heard of a man with a special trick used in the business of gunfighting. It would take a trick of some kind to put Cantrell away permanently. No one could stand up to him face to face and get the job done. Too much blood had already flowed in the high country, trying to prove that point.
At the hotel some men wanted him to speak to a group in the ballroom, where the banquet would be held. But he said the train trip had tired him.
“I’ll join you later,” he said.
Then, beaming, he left them, went upstairs and immediately took Theodora to bed.
Deep in the mountains Kane Latchey had another look through his field glasses. “Yep, sure is a purty woman yonderly.”
His brother, Elmo, giggled.
“Like I say, you wait here,” Kane repeated. “Soon’s I got her I’ll yell. She’s alone.”
“Save some of her for me, huh?”
“Now, you listen, Elmo. That injun-lookin’ fella will come try an’ rescue her. You can get a good bead on him from up here.”
Elmo patted his rifle. “I ain’t forgettin’ he likely done in Cousin Willy.”
“I don’t want the gal hurt, Elmo. Not a scratch on her. You wait till I got her safe, then you blow that hombre to hell.”
Amanda had felt an urge to get away by herself for a few minutes while Cole Cantrell was arguing with Rugger. Tension the last hour had been frightening since the gunfight down the mountain when Hampton and Digg had been killed ... her fault.
For a time she had fought off a threat of nausea, but it had come back on her suddenly, stronger than before. She felt she would be sick, and it would be upsetting if it happened in Cantrell’s presence. He would probably make some remark about female weakness. It was so obvious to her that poor Jeff Peters had been afraid most of the time. And when Hampton and Digg were killed he was terrified. It showed in his every action, but Cantrell, so engrossed in the manhunt, apparently failed to realize it. She wondered if he ever showed any feeling for any living thing.
At least she had been able to slip away upslope, her horse struggling to reasonably level ground. From a distance she had glimpsed a curve of sun splashed water or ice through the pines. It didn’t matter which. She could break ice.
Here in the shadowed trees the sun was dimmed. As before, the outlaws had cracked through the ice so their mounts could drink. She wondered how long ago.
Dismounting, she tied her horse to a stump, then shrugged her coat off her shoulders and knelt on a damp carpet of pine needles. Her stomach still felt queasy. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Shuddering, she huddled there beside the icy creek until the feeling passed. Then she splashed cold water on her face and felt better.
There in the shadowed trees she thought back to the carnage of the morning. She was no stranger to death, having gone home to Richmond to visit her only relatives just prior to the terrors of Union encirclement. She saw the family home literally exploded before her eyes when Napoleon howitzers hurled shell after shell against fragile walls. In the assault she lost two aunts, an uncle and several cousins.
Something made her look over her left shoulder. Above the trees, straight up, was a high point of land and a platter of blue sky between mountain peaks. But there was nothing frightening about that.
Again she drank, feeling better. She wondered how long it would take Cantrell to find her. Obviously he was annoyed that she had gone off by herself. He was probably still arguing with Rugger. A wonder he didn’t strike poor Rugger. Cantrell expected blind obedience, from her and everyone. As authoritarian as Walter had been. My God, so much like Walter.
Something drew her attention up to a ridge studded with stumpy trees, which reminded her of quills on a porcupine’s back. It was on the far side of the creek, rising possibly a hundred yards or so. From the ridge down to the creek was a carpet of thick brush dusted with snow. It seemed to her that there was a sudden jerk or twist to the brush, as if an animal moved unseen. Or perhaps a human. She clenched her teeth, her heart pounding.
Cole reined in and stared down through the trees at Amanda Cutler kneeling beside the half-frozen creek. From that high position he also saw movement in the maze of rock and thick mountain growth on the far side of the creek. He dismounted.
Amanda didn’t move, just huddled there like a furry statue in her big coat. Silently he cursed her stubbornness in not going down trail with the others. But he knew in his heart that had she done so he would have worried for her safety.
Not that Peters or Meagan or Rugger would give her trouble, but they were so woefully unsuited to meet an attack, should one come.
In some ways she seemed formidable, but in recent hours he had a feeling that it was a facade, that just under the skin she was fine crystal and easily shattered.
Cole shifted his position and stared down through the trees. He saw movement again under thick brush near a great overhang of rock. Not the complete outline of a body, just a shadow, really. The man, whoever he was, moved with the stealth of an Indian. What if he was a red man trying to steal Amanda’s horse? Or a white man bent on mischief? Could he take a chance on killing him? The dilemma brought cold sweat to Cole’s back.
He lifted his rifle, but the woman got to her feet and was staring at something across the creek. No doubt she also had seen movement. Now there was the chance he might hit her by mistake. When he took another step she moved the same way.
Amanda did not know Cole was above her in the trees. All she saw was the twitching brush, closer now. A sudden rifle shot made her jump and squeezed out what warmth remained in her body. On the heels of the shot, a man’s head, topped with bright-red hair, appeared. He clawed at streaming eyes from a geyser of dirt the bullet had thrown into his face.
He disappeared into the brush and was shouting to someone out of sight on the ridge above.
“Hold it, Elmo!” he screeched. “You’ll be hittin’ me ...”
Sounds of a horse behind her brought a gasp. She spun around and remembered her revolver. The weapon felt like twenty pounds of iron. She was using her left hand to steady it when she saw that it was Cole Cantrell coming at the hard run through the trees. He swung down.
“You all right?” he demanded. From somewhere above came the sounds of a hard-running horse, then a second one. The sounds were beginning to fade already. “I was afraid to try another shot,” Cole told her. “And I can’t leave you and go after him...”
Somehow Amanda stiffened her legs to keep from collapsing and dropped the heavy revolver back into her pocket. “I ... I should thank you for saving me...”
“Let’s get out of here!” he urged.
They rode back the way they had come until they reached a spire of granite that would offer shelter.
“I ... I didn’t even see that man till he jumped up,” she said, gasping for breath.
“He’s gone ... for now. Why’d you ride off alone, damn it?”
She dismounted; her legs wobbled. “I guess we have no secrets now, Mr. Cantrell. I thought I was going to be sick, and I didn’t want you to see me. I would have been humiliated.”
“Better humiliated than dead,” he said, dismounting.
“Yes, I can understand that now.” Icy fear was slowly draining from her spine.
“You scared hell out of me,” he said, shaking his head.
“Did I?”
“Well, at least I scared off our friend.”
“I still want to make them pay for what they did to my husband and to Ben Knight. The man in the brush was one of them, wasn’t he?”
Cole nodded; he had heard the man yell “Elmo!” That meant the one in the brush was Kane. “They were closer to us than I thought. Now they’ll be doubly dangerous. Any minute they could jump us.”
“I’m relying on you to see that they don’t!”
He smiled faintly. “I see the old anger is back.”
Cole tilted his head, ears straining to hear any sound from higher ground. But all that disturbed the tranquility of the morning was the snuffling of their horses.
He said, “You must have loved your husband a great deal to be so willing to risk your neck to avenge him.”
“Avenge, yes.” She stared at the sky, head back. “It’s something I have to do.”
She mounted up, not an easy task in the bulky coat. He did not offer a hand.
“If you feel sickness coming on again, just tell me,” he said seriously. “Don’t go riding off. I’ll turn my back.”
She assured him it wouldn’t happen again. “I guess it was watching Willy slowly die before my eyes that upset me. At least with Walter and Ben and your two men it was quick.”
“When my time comes I pray for quickness.”
“I pray for a long life and a happy one.” Then she added, “At long last,” and stared up at the vivid blue dome of sky.
Cole looked at her but offered no comment. He had made new plans. But he wouldn’t tell her. Not yet. In time she would know, and then it would be too late. With her along, chasing the Latcheys was insane. Her experience with Kane had been too close. Cole had been lucky. A poor angle for a rifle shot from above in bad light. All he’d had was an impression of a figure, nearly masked by thick undergrowth. He had placed a bullet close enough to where he judged the head would be to hurl decayed pine needles and dirt into the eyes.
With a straight face he said, “Our only chance is to get ahead of them.”
“You lead the way.”
“It’ll mean hard riding. But you seem to be a good rider.”
“I’ve had some experience,” she said modestly.
“You’re a rather remarkable woman,” he said as they cut away from the tracks left by the Latcheys and swung toward the north and west.
“Remarkable? I don’t know about that.” She shrugged indifferently, but he sensed his compliment had pleased her.
She asked about Blue Dog Pass. “Was the poor dog actually blue? Or what?”
“Maybe a poet in the party. Dead Dog Pass isn’t very poetic. So they made it blue. Sounds better, I guess. Looks good on a map. Or maybe the dog’s name was Blue.”
“You speak well. You’re an educated man. A rarity out here.”
He told her he had attended an Indian school when he was young. “Mission school, they called it. Mostly I learned from my father. He bought books by the case and made me read.”
They had gone no more than three miles when she suddenly reined in, her mouth tense. “You’re leading us back,” she accused.
He made his voice gruff. “I’m having enough problems. Don’t give me more.”
“You said yourself there was only one way out of this stretch of country, and that was Blue Dog Pass. And if this is so, how can you get ahead of them and come back through the pass?” Her eyes glittered with triumph.
“Because they’re waiting up there to kill us. That’s why we’re going back.”
“Ah, I thought so ...”
“If I could have got a good bead on Kane and killed him ...”
“But he got away because you didn’t want to endanger me. I’m to blame for it.”
“Oh, Christ! Main thing is he got away and there’s still two of them. And the odds are too great for us to buck.”
“Alone you’d try it. But unfortunately you’re burdened with a female.” Her mouth was tense. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah,” he said bluntly, his voice as cold as hers.
“Why didn’t you come right out and tell me of your decision? Instead of pretending we were going to circle ahead?”
