Whiplash, page 3
Almost with anger – at himself, the buckskin and especially Amos Coyne – Sandy was forced to admit that he was going to have to make a dry night camp and let himself and the horse rest for at least a couple of hours.
The ground on the small clearing where Sandy swung down was hard, but no harder than the saddle he had been sitting. After stripping the horse of its gear, he let the weary animal scrounge for whatever scant graze it could find and rolled up in his single blanket with a tethering rope to the buckskin tied to his foot. He could not lose that horse, such as it was, and have a chance out in open country.
He did not sleep, but rested. The rocky ground, the chill of the night prevented any real chance of sleep. The buckskin slept, or so he thought. It was hard to tell – the animal seemed to have been half-asleep since they had begun this probably futile pursuit of Amos Coyne.
To Sandy it seemed that the plan was already doomed to failure. But what else could he have done? Coyne had left them high and dry in Durant, and he had probably killed Len Storch as well. Coyne would eventually pay for his dirty tricks if Sandy Rivers had anything to say about it. He reflected that Jerry Higgins and Turk at least had a roof over their heads tonight, thanks to Pete Faber’s kindness and understanding, but they could not count on more than a single night’s lodging. They would rise tomorrow in a strange town, hungry and broke. As for Sandy’s own situation, well, it was not one to be envied.…
His eyes flickered open. The shadow of a man passed in front of the distant moon. Sandy stiffened beneath his blanket and let his hand stretch toward his Colt revolver.
‘Don’t move,’ a vaguely familiar voice said in a near growl, and the silhouette came nearer, boot heels sounding heavy against the rubble underfoot. ‘There’s no sense in moving. It seems you’ve found yourself a place to lie that’s almost comfortable.’
Sandy’s tension was eased only slightly by the man’s manner, which did not seem angry or murderous. He sat up and stared at the newcomer’s face. Finally, in the near-darkness, he made out a face he knew.
‘Bobo?’
‘It’s me,’ Bob Bodine, more commonly known among the Sky Box hands as Bobo, replied. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’
‘If you can find a comfortable spot,’ Sandy offered.
‘I don’t even care much about that. I’m to the point where I have to either sit down or fall down,’ Bobo told him. And it seemed to be true. He sat with a sagging thump, shaking his head bitterly as he landed. There was blood on Bobo’s face, Sandy noticed, showing as dark strings in the light of the moon.
‘What are you doing out here, Bob?’
‘Trying to make it to Durant,’ the man answered. ‘It seemed my only chance. You don’t happen to have any water with you, do you?’
Sandy shifted and reached for one of his two canteens and handed it across to Bobo who drank greedily, then lowered the canteen with a guilty look on his face. ‘Sorry, Sandy, I know you can’t have a lot to spare. But I haven’t had a drop of water in a day and a half.’
‘Take another sip,’ Sandy offered, and Bobo did so, corking the canteen when he was finished and handing it back.
‘What happened to you, Bob?’ Sandy asked.
‘It was that crazy Amos Coyne, of course,’ Bobo said, with unconcealed venom. ‘Him and that bull whip of his. I asked him where you, Storch, Turk and Jerry were, and he told me you four had decided to leave us back in Durant. Which I knew wasn’t so, because Turk, at least, wanted to head south again on his way back to Texas, and Jerry had hopes of hooking on permanently with the Sky Box.’
‘So he whipped you?’ Sandy asked in disbelief, although how he could doubt Bobo’s story after what had happened to Storch he could not have said. It was just that he had never run across a man with such blatant disregard of civilized behavior in all his years.
‘Whipped me, grabbed my horse’s reins, saying it was Sky Box stock, and turned me out onto the desert, saying that maybe it would teach me not to back-talk my bosses. The horse bolted – it’s probably in no better shape than I am right now.’
‘Was your horse Sky Box stock?’
‘Sure it was. You remember that old Vincent Skye gathered us and told us to take any of his ponies we found useful. Said he wanted us riding the best horses we could on the cattle drive.’
‘Yes, he did,’ Sandy recalled. He had taken Skye up on the offer himself. The red roan he had been riding was gaunted out, and so he had taken the big gray horse from Skye’s string as his primary mount for the cattle drive.
‘Why did you even approach Coyne?’ Sandy asked. ‘I mean, we could have chosen to stay behind, stay drunk and chase skirts.’
‘Because I know Amos Coyne,’ Bobo said. ‘I’ve ridden for Sky Box for a long time. Let me ask you this – who did Coyne kill?’
What a question! Did Bob Bodine know of trouble between Storch and the trail boss? Suspect something similar?
‘I think he killed Len Storch,’ Sandy told him. ‘He had been whipped and then stabbed in the back. We figured it was Coyne’s work. Why did you ask a question like that, Bob?’
‘I never yet been on a trail drive with Coyne when somebody didn’t fail to make it back,’ Bobo said. His head had bowed to his drawn-up knees and he now sat motionless in the cool of night, a pathetic silhouette in the moonlight. When Bobo spoke again, his voice was muffled.
‘What are you doing out here alone, Sandy?’
‘Going after Amos Coyne.’
‘Did I hear you right? What did he do to you?’ Bobo asked.
‘Outside of taking our horses and leaving us on the side of the road to starve to death, you mean?’
Bobo nodded his head. ‘All right. I see what you mean. It’s the way Coyne does his job, Sandy. It’s a damn shame, but in his mind, that’s the way to go about it. He knows you three were hired on only for the trail drive, that the chances of you ever returning to Sky Box were small. He must have gotten a little careless this time. You probably weren’t supposed to ever know what happened to your horses.’
‘So he just returns our ponies to the home ranch?’
‘Or sells them along the way – he’s got the authority to do that. That puts a few hundred dollars extra in his pockets. He’ll just say that you three pulled out and kept your horses.’
‘What would old man Skye say to that?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard that. Besides, you did leave your own horses on the ranch for Sky Box use. Vince Skye would just cuss you a little, say he’d be more careful who he hired next year and drop it. He’d count the cash he made off this year’s drive and be satisfied with that.’
‘And Coyne keeps getting away with it?’
‘Year after year,’ Bobo said. ‘He makes an extra four or five hundred a year with that trick alone, and a bonus from Skye for getting the herd through.’
‘Still…’ Sandy Rivers was staring at the paling moon. ‘Why would he go so far as to kill a man like Storch? That couldn’t have profited Coyne any.’
‘One more horse, one more bit of pay he could reclaim. Also Vince Skye is a decent man. He usually sends some money to the relatives of any man who happens to meet misfortune while working for the ranch. Of course, Coyne usually offers to deliver it to the bereaved. Vincent Skye is nearly eighty years old, you know; he doesn’t often ride any more.’
‘Coyne has it working for him in a dozen petty ways, doesn’t he?’
‘It adds up. I personally know that he has cut out a few calves over the years – he has enough unbranded mavericks that he could start his own ranch.’
‘Then why stay with Sky Box?’ Sandy wondered.
‘Because there’s still more money to be made in easier ways than working for it. As I said, Vince Skye is nearly eighty and he has only the one heir: his daughter Corrine. You must have seen her.’
‘Not to notice.’
‘Then you haven’t seen her, because you’d remember Corrine Skye,’ Bob Bodine told him. ‘She is one beautiful little girl in a tight package, if you know what I mean.’
‘Don’t tell me – Coyne is cosying up to Corrine Skye,’ Sandy said.
‘He’s trying his best. As far as I can tell, Corrine doesn’t care a snap of her fingers for Coyne. But he probably has the old man’s blessing and he’ll keep trying.’ There was a pause and then Bobo said, ‘Sandy?’
‘Yeah?’
‘To answer your original question, why did Coyne have to kill Len Storch, I can tell you why: Amos Coyne likes to kill. He enjoys being cruel to animals and people both. He loves to use that whip on whatever he can find. He’s a cruel man and he takes his cruelty seriously.’
Sandy, who had seen Coyne needlessly whipping cattle along the trail and had witnessed the result of the flaying of Len Storch, done out of brutality if the man meant to kill Storch with a knife all along, listened to Bobo and could only slowly nod his head. He did not know any other such men, and he hoped never to run into one again.
Except one. Yes, he meant to meet up with Amos Coyne once again.
The moon was riding high when Sandy rose to his feet on cramped, chilled legs. He figured the horse was rested enough to continue. And he had to continue if he hoped to make up ground on Amos Coyne. As Sandy hefted his blanket and saddle, Bob Bodine, who had been sleeping, opened an eye and looked at him.
‘Planning on moving on, are you?’ Bobo asked.
‘I don’t figure there’s any time to lose,’ Sandy answered, tossing his saddle onto the buckskin’s back.
‘Probably not.’ Bob Bodine got to his feet like an arthritic old man. Coyne had obviously inflicted some serious damage on him. ‘Will that horse carry double?’
Sandy swallowed the laugh that rose to his lips. ‘I guess you haven’t had a good look at it. He’ll barely carry one, Bob. Why do you ask?’
‘Because I want to go along. Sandy, I owe the man. Even if I can make it to Durant, I’d find myself in the same shape as Turk and Jerry Higgins, and that’s the best I have to hope for. Going with you, I’d have a chance to pay Coyne back.’
‘It won’t work, Bob. The horse can’t carry double and that’s that.’
‘There’s a chance I could find my own pony up ahead. It was startled and took off when my ruckus with Coyne began.’
‘That doesn’t seem like much of a chance, finding a horse out here, not even knowing which way it might have run.’
‘I guess it isn’t,’ Bobo was forced to admit. ‘The animal was well-trained, though, Sandy. I can usually whistle it up and he’ll come.’
‘Why didn’t you try that before now?’
Bobo’s expression was grave, slightly ashamed perhaps. ‘Sandy, I just managed to escape with my life. I was hiding in the rocks and brush. I couldn’t give my position away by whistling with armed men looking for me.’
‘No,’ Sandy said with understanding. ‘You say “men”, Coyne wasn’t alone in this, then?’
‘No, he has three or four men who know how he works, and what he’s trying to do – take over Sky Box – and they’ll back him up whatever he does.’
Sandy was wearing a frown. ‘I never noticed any of this funny business on the trail up to Durant.’
‘Why would you? There was no point in him trying these maneuvers before he’d driven the herd to the trailhead.’
‘But you keep riding for Sky Box!’
‘I do. I ride for the brand. I was drifting in the wind before old Vince Skye took me on, gave me a place to sleep, to eat, and a feeling that I belonged somewhere … it was real important at that time, Sandy.’
‘But you’ve never tried to talk to Skye about Coyne?’
‘A word or two now and then, but Vince just laughed off my remarks. I told you, Amos Coyne is his pup and the presumed future husband of Corrine. It doesn’t do a man much good to try to talk Coyne down to Vincent Skye.’
‘I suppose not.’ Sandy looked at the beaten, forlorn man standing alone in the desert darkness looking up at him without hope. It was against his better judgement, but he finally said, ‘Clamber aboard, Bob. We’ll try riding double for at least a little ways. Maybe you’ll find your horse.’ Sandy saw little chance of that, but what was a man to do? Of course, in the end they could wind up two men afoot in the wilderness, but the decision, rash as it was, had been made, and he steadied the horse as Bobo mounted heavily behind him.
The buckskin blew out sharply through its nostrils in annoyance, but once Sandy had started it forward, the beast labored on, moving at the same slow steady pace as before. At daybreak with the sun hanging low and red above the horizon, Bobo spoke up.
‘We’re getting close to where we were camped. You can make out the fresh hoofprints if you look. We can just follow them along, Sandy. Me, I’ll be keeping an eye out for my pony.’ Sandy only nodded his head. It seemed to him that Bobo’s horse would probably have circled around, eventually falling in again with the other horses, but then he was no expert on how a horse’s brain worked. They were like dogs and most other animals – they all had their own individual traits. Sandy had seen men shot dead and their horses standing over them, refusing to move. Others would run off, never to be seen again. He supposed it had something to do with how they were trained and how they’d been treated.
Sandy halted the buckskin every few miles to let the horse blow. He suggested that Bobo dismount when these pauses were made, but Bobo told him with sincerity, ‘Sandy, I’m not sure I could get up again if I did. I’m hurting more than I was yesterday.’
Once when Sandy was sharing his canteen with Bobo after swinging down to give the horse a little relief, he took a good look at the Sky Box rider in the daylight. Bobo’s face was bruised, his tan-colored shirt torn nearly to shreds by the lash of Amos Coyne’s whip. His eyes appeared as dark, deeply sunken orbs in his gaunt face. The man needed rest and food if were to survive. With his mouth tight, Sandy hung the canteen back on the saddle horn and climbed aboard.
‘Next time we stop, you’re going to have to swing down and have something to eat.’
‘I couldn’t eat none of your food, Sandy. I seen how light you’re traveling.’
‘I’ve got twice what I need to travel on,’ Sandy lied.
Later, as they rested and tried to make a meal of Sandy’s poor stores, Sandy said, ‘Maybe I should have just left you to go on to Durant on your own. You would have made it by now and found yourself some comfort.’
‘You’re regretting bringing me along?’ Bobo asked from a seated position. His hat brim shadowed his unhappy face.
‘I just mean that it’s kind of crazy – a man in the shape you are in trying to run Coyne down.’
After a few false starts, Bobo managed to get stiffly to his feet. There was a broken-toothed grin on his face. ‘You know, Sandy, if I’m crazy to try to track the man down, what does that make you exactly?’
Sandy smiled, shrugged and rose himself. ‘I don’t know, Bob,’ he said truthfully. ‘Shall we travel on?’
‘I’ve found a way to make it a little easier on all of us,’ Bobo said. Sandy could now see that Bobo’s eyes were fixed on some distant object unmoving against the lava-rock-strewn land. Bobo put two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill, penetrating whistle. The object in the distance stirred and, lifting its head, began to trot toward them.
‘I told you he’d stand,’ Bobo said proudly.
The horse, a neat little paint pony Sandy was familiar with, trotted right into their camp, tossing its head twice. Bobo staggered to the animal and put his arms around its neck. He looked to Sandy. ‘Think we can spare a drop or two of water, Sandy? Little Cookie here has been dry since I left him.’
Sandy nodded and took the canteen back off the pommel. There wasn’t much left in it, he noted. True he had a second canteen, but had planned on it being enough for one man and not two. They had crossed a creek on the drive up which was not many miles away, but it was a seasonal stream and hadn’t been running that much water even then. Sky Box cattle and horses had turned the creek into a muddy wash in their passing. They would have to hope for the best.
Bobo had poured a few handfuls of water into his hat and was now holding it up for the horse to drink. Sandy decided to try again. ‘You’ve got Cookie back now, Bob. Don’t you think that you’d be better off riding to Durant?’
‘And what would I do there, Sandy? I could sell my saddle for a few meals and a bed, I suppose. And when that money ran out, I’d maybe have to sell Cookie. Then one day I’d find myself busted and afoot. You know that town has no work to offer except when the herds are gathered, waiting for the train to roll in, and we both know no other ranch in the area has planned another trail drive for the rest of the year. You were in that position, same as Turk and Jerry Higgins. Do you really think that’s a situation I want to find myself in?
‘No,’ Bobo said, shaking his head. ‘You’re stuck with me. I want Coyne every bit as bad as you do after what he did to me.’
Sandy only nodded. There was no arguing with the man. He did not wish to point out that Bobo would be lucky if he could stay in the saddle for another day. Things were just not getting any easier.
With both men mounted now, they turned away from their camp and headed westward once more, intent on following and destroying the maniac who had forced this hellish situation on them.
FOUR
The land rose and fell, leveled off as they neared the summit pass, and the buckskin slogged on. Cookie didn’t look to be in much better shape. The younger paint horse hadn’t had enough feed and water the past few days. Bob Bodine looked worse than any of them. His head rolled and jerked as he clung to reins and pommel with both hands. He was a scarecrow riding, a starving, desperate avenging angel. At one point as they rode farther into brush country in the direction of the little creek, Bobo spoke up.
‘You were right, Sandy. I shouldn’t have come. I’m never going to make it to Sky Box and I’ll be of no help if you get into it with Amos Coyne and his men.’
