Gunpoint / Name on the Dodger, page 23
Contents
Intro Page
About the Author
Also by the Author
GUNPOINT
Chapter One – Showdown Canyon
Chapter Two – Boy Into Man
Chapter Three – Waystation
Chapter Four – Deliver the Ransom
Chapter Five – Double Cross
Chapter Six – Badlands
Chapter Seven – Ghost Town
Chapter Eight – Gunpoint
Chapter Nine – Cache
Chapter Ten – Slaves
Chapter Eleven – Guns of the Past
NAME ON THE DODGER
Chapter One – Wilderness Meeting
Chapter Two – Capture
Chapter Three – Switch
Chapter Four – Trails and Cross Trails
Chapter Five – Wagon Train
Chapter Six – New Job
Chapter Seven – River Town
Chapter Eight – Hell Town
Chapter Nine – Dead and Buried
About Piccadilly Publishing
Copyright
About the Author
As well as writing under the pen name of Hank J. Kirby, Australian writer Keith Hetherington has also worked as television scriptwriter on such Australian TV shows as Homicide, Matlock Police, and Chopper Squad. He has penned hundreds of westerns (the figure varies between 600 and 1000) under the names 'Kirk Hamilton' (including the legendary Bannerman the Enforcer series) and Clay Nash as 'Brett Waring'. Both series now published digitally by Piccadilly Publishing.
Read More on Keith
Also by the Author
KIRK HAMILTON DOUBLES
#1: DEAD MAN’S DOLLAR & MAN FROM RED RIVER
#2: GUNPOINT & NAME ON THE DODGER
BANNERMAN THE ENFORCER series
CLAY NASH series
Chapter One – Showdown Canyon
THE MAN HAD been coming for three days now, and the two who rested their jaded mounts on the canyon rim knew that nothing was going to stop him.
“Dammit, he just can’t be law,” gritted Bart Winters, the older of the two, as he squinted into the scratched and dented field glasses. The focus mechanism had been slightly damaged by a bullet during the getaway after the bank robbery. He tried once more and swore in a weary voice. The image was better but still fuzzy. Then he swore again, with more feeling.
His younger brother, Larry, looked up from the spot in the shade where he was cautiously examining the wet bandage around his middle. He looked up at Bart, and his voice was almost inaudible when he spoke.
“What—what is it?”
The older man lowered the glasses slowly, and Larry saw the worry in his eyes.
“It’s a feller they call Dallas ... a bounty hunter.”
“He—sure didn’t waste any—time,” Larry groaned.
Bart Winters didn’t answer. He fiddled with the focus of the glasses again and took another look.
“That’s him, all right. Ward Dallas ... Nothin’ll stop him.”
“What we gonna do?” Larry asked despairingly. “Hosses still need rest. We got no food left and not much ammunition neither. We ain’t even got any money, Bart!”
Bart looked up when he heard the rising note of hysteria in the younger man’s voice. He saw how drawn and gaunt the kid was, and his lips tightened. That bullet needed to come out. Larry needed a doctor. After that, he would have to have a warm, clean bed and decent food. Maybe, Bart thought, he could do a deal.
Then he snorted at the crazy thought. A deal? With a man like Dallas? Out of the question. The bounty man had no reason to bargain. And if he caught up with Larry, Dallas would likely put a bullet through him because the reward notices said “Dead or Alive.” That meant dead to a man like Dallas. A dead captive was a whole lot less trouble, after all.
“Where is he now?” Larry asked worriedly, fumbling at his six-gun.
“Workin’ his way along. He’s down lookin’ for sign, and by the way he’s movin’, I’d say he’s found enough to lead him right to us.”
Larry was an ugly kid at best. Now pain and fear made him look like a scared rabbit.
“Hell, Bart,” he whined, “I only got four bullets left!”
Bart was filling the chambers in his own Colt and when he finished, he took his rifle and thumbed five bullets into the magazine. Now all the loops on his cartridge belt were empty. He turned to Larry and spotted three more cartridges which the kid had overlooked on his own belt. Bart took these, gave the kid one to put into the Colt and thumbed the other two into the Winchester.
“We gonna shoot it out, Bart?” Larry asked, sounding strangely calm now.
Bart squatted down beside him.
“I’m gonna shoot it out with Dallas,” he said quietly. “With any luck, I’ll nail the sonuver and catch up.”
“Catch up?” Larry frowned.
Bart nodded and started to lift the wounded man to his feet.
Larry groaned and tried to help. He was gasping with effort when Bart got him upright, and he swayed and gripped Bart’s shoulder for support.
“I—I can’t ride far, Bart,” the kid grated.
“Surprisin’ what you can do when you set your mind to it, kid. An’ you gotta get clear of this canyon. I’ll hold Dallas as long as I can, and like I said, I aim to nail the sonuver if possible. But you put as much distance between here and yourself as you can—just in case.”
Larry blinked and shook his head to get the stinging sweat out of his eyes. The hand on Bart’s shoulder tightened convulsively.
“Bart—where we gonna meet up?”
“There’s a waterhole on the other side of that rainbow ridge. You wait there till sundown. No later. If I ain’t there then, I won’t be comin’.”
“No, Bart!” Larry said in a high voice. “No, don’t say that... Look, why don’t we just keep goin’ together. I bet we can shake him loose if we try ...”
“Wouldn’t be no use, Larry,” Bart said flatly. “He’d just keep on comin’.”
“The bounty on us ain’t that big,” the kid argued.
“You dunno Dallas,” Bart said. “Nothin’ stops him once he starts on a chore like this. And besides ...”
“Besides—what?” Larry asked.
“No more time for talk, Larry-boy,” Bart said as he helped his brother towards the horses. “Gimme your boot and I’ll give you a boost up. Come on, kid! I’m tryin’ to save your neck.”
Larry almost fainted when he settled into saddle. He had to grab at the horn with both hands. Bart reached up to steady him.
“Bart, don’t do this,” Larry said weakly. “Come with me! Please!”
“This is the only way,” Bart said with resignation. “Believe me, I know Dallas.”
“Where from?” the wounded outlaw asked.
“We go back aways. He’s got a score to settle with me. But that don’t make no never mind. Happened before you took up with the bunch. Now, you sure you can find that waterhole?”
“I’m sure, Bart—listen, you never told me ...”
“No need before, and no time now. Little Brother, it’s been good havin’ you ride with me. We’re the last of the bunch now. Mebbe when we get outta this, we’ll start a new bunch. Or mebbe well just head for Mexico and say to hell with it, huh? Give it some thought, and I’ll see you around sundown.”
He held up his hand, and Larry gripped it weakly. He was reluctant to let go.
“Bart, you—really gonna come to that waterhole?”
“By hell, I’m gonna bust a gut tryin’, kid! Now, move along. I gotta get into position where I can lay my sights on Dallas ... With any luck, I’ll catch up with you before you even make the ridge.”
Larry stared hard and then nodded and turned his mount slowly, wincing as pain stabbed through his side. He hesitated once more, but Bart took off his hat, revealing the thinning hair plastered flat to his skull with sweat. He slapped the sweat-stained hat across the rump of Larry’s horse, and the animal snorted and lurched forward. The kid snatched wildly at the horn and grunted in pain. He looked back over his shoulder, wild-eyed. Bart was holding the hat high in an exaggerated salute.
Larry let the horse make its own way up and over the ridge. He kept looking back until Bart was hidden from view.
The grin faded from Bart’s face as the kid moved out of sight. He grabbed his rifle and saddle canteen, judging by the weight that the canteen was less than half full. It wouldn’t take long to use that much water in the heat. He would just have to see that it didn’t come to a stand-off. He moved his mount into another patch of shade and ground hitched it with a light rock on the ends of the reins so that he could knock it free in a hurry if he had to. He chose the path over the ridge which he would take if things turned out right. Then he turned and started down through the rocks that overlooked the ravine he figured Dallas would take.
Once he lost the elevation, he could no longer see the bounty hunter. That made the outlaw nervous. He told himself that it was Ward Dallas and not Bart Winters who would be getting a surprise.
The outlaw settled himself in a nest of rocks, regretting the lack of shade and soft ground. But a man couldn’t have everything, he figured. The main thing was to get Dallas in his sights and finish the business—the sooner the better. The posse had given up a week back. For a couple of days, Bart figured that he and Larry were going to make it. Then the kid had sighted the rider in the distance, topping a ridge where they had camped th
The same rider had appeared later that day, no closer, but coming along their trail steadily despite their efforts at covering their tracks. By then, Bart knew that Larry was in a bad way. The kid’s wound was poisoned for sure. He would be lucky to pull through, but Bart had to give him that chance at least.
Now that he had identified Dallas, Bart knew that the man had to be stopped with a bullet. Nothing else would do it. Damn the luck that put that ranny on his trail! Of all the lousy bounty hunters riding the West, it had to be him ...
The sun beat down on Bart’s back, burning his skin through his shirt. The horizon seemed to be moving. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and was startled to see how he trembled. Well, he hadn’t eaten for three days, and he had been pushing hard in a desperate bid to outrun the bounty hunter. His efforts just weren’t enough. The horses were just too played out, and the kid was too bad hit.
Bart’s mind wandered to where Larry might be by now. He hoped the kid would be able to stay in the saddle. He was the last of the Winters apart from himself, and Bart figured his own future was getting shorter by the minute. The kid deserved a chance. All he had ever wanted was to be like Bart. That was no wonder, really. Bart had been father to him as well as brother. Their old man had been shot down in a fight over cards. They had found the blood-spattered ace up his sleeve afterwards, when they were preparing the body for burial. Ma Winters had died years ago, somewhere up in Montana. She had left the old man and his wild sons long before that.
Larry deserved a chance, Bart figured. He had hoped that the last bank job would bring them enough so they could quit the owlhoot and head for the border, but it had all gone sour because some damn clerk tried to play hero and put a bullet into Larry ...
Suddenly Bart Winters froze. A trickle of stones clattered down onto the rocks where he crouched. A little gravel clanked dully against the canteen. At the same time, he heard a gun hammer notch back.
“You want it just as you are, Bart, or do you want to turn around?” a deep voice asked.
Winters’s fingers whitened where they gripped the rifle. How the hell had Dallas gotten around behind him?
“You won’t do that, Dallas. You ain’t no back-shooter.”
“In your case, I’d be happy to make an exception, Bart. You all through talkin’?”
Shaking, Bart Winters released his rifle and raised his hands above his head.
“Wait!” he gasped and slowly began to turn around.
He glimpsed Dallas’s silhouette against the sun, squinted and shifted position slightly so that he could see the bounty hunter better.
The man he faced was tall, lean, wide of shoulder, narrow of hip. Light brown hair grew down the back of his neck. A stubble of the same color fringed his rugged jaw. The wide mouth was set in a grim line, and the blue eyes were as merciless as the six-gun in his right hand.
“How the hell did you get around behind me?” Bart grated.
“Trick of the trade,” Dallas shrugged. “What were you tryin’ to do? Cover the kid’s trail and give him a chance to get away?”
“Somethin’ like that. How come you bought into this deal, Dallas? This ain’t your territory.”
“My territory’s wherever the money is, Bart. With the money I get for you—and Larry—I’ll have just about enough for that little spread I been wantin’.” His voice hardened as he added, “A place somethin’ like the one I used to have. You recollect it, don’t you, Bart?”
Winters swallowed and said, “The bounty on us ain’t that big.”
“It’ll be enough when I put it with what I been savin’. I’ve got you to thank for startin’ me on this line of work, you know. Why, without you, I might’ve still been just a small-town lawman. Like I was when I caught up with you after that stage job ... Now that’s something you do recollect, I reckon.”
Bart was streaming with sweat, but, at the same time, he was grateful to find that he was still breathing. He should have known that Dallas would want to bring it all out in the open before finishing him off.
It gave Larry more time to get away, anyhow.
Winters worked up a crooked smile.
“Yeah, well, I could hardly forget, could I? Five years on the rockpile.”
“And then you got out.”
Winters didn’t think it possible, but Dallas’s face grew even harder. The outlaw braced himself for the bullet, but the bounty hunter held his fire.
“You got out,” Dallas said again, “and you went straight to my spread. I was in town, wasn’t I? Tryin’ to keep a trail crew from runnin’ hog-wild. By the time I got home, I had no ranch—and no wife.”
He paused then and Winters shrank back against the rocks. The outlaw was looking straight up the muzzle of Dallas’s gun, not even daring to blink.
“I found what was left of my ranch right off, Bart. It was just a pile of ashes. But I didn’t find my wife for three days ...”
Dallas’s voice shook. He paused and dragged down a long, shuddering breath. When he spoke again, his voice was horribly matter of fact.
“Those three days must’ve been hell for her, before you finally let her die, Bart. You’re gonna find out all about how that feels ...” Dallas’s lips moved faintly in a cold, merciless smile as he added, “And then I’ll track down Larry and wipe the Winters off the face of the earth. It can only be a better place without scum like you.”
Bart was almost crying now in his terror. He opened his mouth to scream. His voice was drowned in the roar of the shot, but then he screamed again—alive and in agony. The bullet had shattered his left hip.
He thrashed in an uncontrollable spasm of pain, sobbing and gagging as the shock of the bullet rocked his nervous system. Standing on the ledge above, Dallas calmly waited for him to be still. Then he raised the smoking gun again and shot the man in the right kneecap. Bart screamed and screamed and screamed, the sounds echoing with blood-chilling intensity.
Knowing there was nothing more to lose, Winters snatched frantically at his six-gun. Dallas’s face registered a sudden flash of revulsion—for himself and for what he was doing. He was realizing that he had reduced himself to the same level as the outlaw.
He let Winters fumble up the gun in shaking hands. The man was sobbing with the effort, and his face was unrecognizable with the intensity of his pain. Then Dallas shot him between the eyes.
The bounty hunter stared down at the quivering man. At long last, it was over—and the terrible part was that he didn’t feel any better. In fact, he felt nothing at all—and that worried him.
But, of course, it wasn’t over yet. He had sworn to wipe out every Winters, and Larry was still somewhere ahead.
Dallas left Bart’s body where it lay and clambered back over the ridge to his horse. He mounted and soon located Bart’s ground-hitched horse. A quick search revealed that there was neither food nor ammunition in the saddlebags. The water canteen had been beside Bart, and the man’s convulsions had sent it skidding across the rocks. It had sounded almost empty.
Dallas nodded in quiet satisfaction as he mounted. The kid had few if any supplies, and he was still bleeding.
He wouldn’t be hard to find.
And kill.
Larry was in the throes of the fever, shaking uncontrollably as he huddled under his blankets in the rocks by the waterhole. The sun had gone down; the night chill of the badlands seemed to freeze his fevered flesh.
He was sick with the infection and sick with worry. He had a terrible feeling that Bart wasn’t going to show. The man had seemed somehow ready to—to sacrifice himself just so Larry could get away.
Oh God! What would he do if something had happened to Bart?
He should be riding on by now, following Bart’s orders, but he felt too sick to move. And anyway, he was hoping against hope that something had merely delayed his brother and that Bart would come riding up to the waterhole any minute ...
He jumped to his feet, driven by surging adrenalin, when the man suddenly appeared around the rocks. Starlight glinted from the barrel of the Colt he held in his hand. Bart wasn’t that tall... Larry groaned, and his shaking legs gave way.
