Hawk 12, page 11
Hawk was standing back by the porch and his hands were covering his guns. The whole thing had only taken seconds and none of Shade’s men had shown an inclination to join in and protect Miguel from what a few of them thought no more than he had coming to him.
The kid down the line still had itchy fingers and Hawk stared at him hard, not minding killing him if he had to, but feeling that he’d as soon not if it could be avoided.
‘Okay,’ said Hawk, pointing down at Miguel, ‘out with it. What’s the word from Shade?’
The answer came muffled and bloody. ‘I told you. I was to inspect the rifles. Arrange a sale.’
‘Bullshit! Shade may have told you to try that first or you might’ve been puttin’ on boots too big for you just to see how they felt. Either way, Shade’ll see me. An’ I want to know where.’
Miguel dabbed the sleeve of his stained and dusty shirt to his lips and winced. Whatever bounce he’d had before had left him like a leaf on the wind.
‘South of here, through Diamond Valley. There’s an old mission. The Mission San Antonio de Pala. Be there at noon. One day from now.’
Hawk took a couple of paces towards Miguel and the breed shuffled back through the dirt. ‘Tell him this from me. Tell him I’ll be there but he better not have any of you drifters with him.’ Hawk’s eyes swept around the curve of men. ‘He’ll be alone an’ I’ll be alone and we’ll talk. Make a deal.’ He stared down at Miguel. ‘That’s the way it’ll be. Understand?’
‘Sí. Sí. I understand.’
Hawk stood back. ‘A couple of you, help him back in the saddle.’
Miguel waved his arm angrily. ‘I don’t need no help!’
He got to his feet at the third unsteady attempt and walked towards his mount which had been brought back by another of the men. One hand grasped the saddle pommel and with some difficulty he hauled himself on to the animal’s back.
‘Remember,’ said Hawk. ‘Alone.’
Miguel glared at him with hatred and pulled hard on the reins, turning his horse through a tight circle. Hawk watched as the remainder of the men followed after him before going back on to the porch and through the open doorway into the building. Nick stood at the end of the counter, worried enough to be drinking his own liquor. Walker and Cora were nowhere to be seen. Hawk got as far as the bar before hearing the inevitable sound.
He spun on his heel and jumped back through the doorway, right hand speeding for his Colt. Miguel was riding hard towards the front of the building, using his knees to guide his mount, both hands occupied with the Winchester. He looked to have persuaded three of the seven to make the charge with him.
Hawk stood his ground as a slug from the rifle tore away a length of door-frame well to one side; he held his gun arm steady, squeezing slowly back on the trigger. Miguel’s wild-eyed face bobbed above the sight at the barrel end.
Not for long.
Hawk put a bullet through his neck a couple of inches below the stubbled chin. Flesh spurted bloodily out on both sides and a hole the size of a small fist was punched through under the base of the skull as the slug sped on its way. Miguel swayed in the saddle as the mount swerved away from the porch for a second time.
Hawk was already down on one knee, a couple of shots seeking him out without success. Firing from the saddle at speed was no more than a matter of luck and for Shade’s men it wasn’t running their way.
Hawk slipped the Colt back down into its holster and made a cross-draw for the sawn-off Meteor. The single-barreled shotgun whipped back across his chest, coming round towards the riders faster than they could react. He fired into the midst of the closest pair, spraying them with shot that shredded their chests and arms, tossing both from the saddle like so many old clothes.
The fourth man had succeeded in riding wide of the porch and was now in the act of turning, pistol in hand and angled towards where Hawk was still kneeling. Hawk threw himself forward, letting go of the Meteor as he fell. He rolled off the edge of the porch and under the hitching rail, coming up as the man tried to pin him with a couple of shots but failed. The Colt was back in Hawk’s hand; the hammer was clicking back fast under his thumb. There were others who would ride back to Shade and carry Hawk’s message. He had no need of this one. Even as the man lashed his boots into his animal’s flanks and sought to drive him away, Hawk took careful aim and shot him through the side of the head so that he was dead before his body hit the ground, bounced and rolled and came to a halt five yards further on. The riderless horse galloped hard down the trail as Hawk got swiftly to his feet and holstered his pistol. He brushed himself down and retrieved his shotgun from the porch, immediately breaking it and slotting a fresh cartridge into place.
Miguel was dead but the two he’d shot from the saddle with the sawn-off were only wounded, their faces white with fear save for where the blood from their wounds had speckled the skin.
Hawk relieved them of their weapons and ordered them to stand up. One of them managed to stay on his feet for fully five seconds before collapsing over the hitching rail, vomit spewing from his mouth as he tried desperately to prevent the better part of his guts from spilling through his hands into the dirt.
His companion swayed and staggered but kept upright, peppered with needle-sharp wounds.
Hawk nodded at the rail, then looked at the second man. ‘Get him mounted up an’ out of here. Tie him to the saddle if you have to.’
‘I can’t do that. Look at the state of him. You all but cut him in two.’
‘You took your chances,’ Hawk snorted.
‘Some chance!’
‘Nobody made you ride back in.’
‘Yeah. That’s okay to say now. If we’d plugged you things’d be different.’
Hawk laughed. ‘If the sun come up in the west, they’d be different too. Get him in the saddle an’ out of here before I finish the pair of you.’
‘He’ll die before he’s fifty yards down the road.’
‘Okay. At least he won’t be stinkin’ up this place any more than it is already.’
The man shook his head. ‘Jesus, mister! Ain’t you got a spark of common decency in you?’
Hawk grinned and shook his head. ‘No. An’ that’s why I’m standin’ here without as much as a scratch an’ you’re both shot to hell!’
He was still grinning when he stepped back inside the saloon.
What he saw wiped the grin clear off his face.
Nick was still back of the bar but now his head was facing in the direction of the kitchen and he was staring open-mouthed at the doorway. His dark eyes were wide and he was spotted with sweat. The fingers of his hands slid and clawed in and out of one another over and over again.
Cora was standing a couple of feet forward of the doorway. She was wearing the same white outfit Hawk had first seen her in, except that this time there was no white scarf and her hair, strangely dark, framed her face and all but touched her shoulders. She was standing absolutely still, not seeming to shake at all despite the pistol which was resting along the side of her head, the tip of the barrel disappearing inside the strands of dark hair.
Hawk had figured that all those who hadn’t come charging back in with Miguel had carried on towards the south-east and he’d been wrong.
The kid had shown a lot more cool than Hawk would have been prepared to allow him and he’d worked his way silently round to the back while all the shooting had been going down and come in through the rear door to find Cora peeling onions, traces of tears in her eyes.
‘Do something!’ implored Nick, wringing his hands. ‘Do something!’
Cora found the time to look at him with contempt.
The kid twisted one side of his face into a leer and increased the pressure with which his left hand gripped Cora’s bare arm. ‘Drop them guns!’
Hawk looked him in the eye and made no move.
‘Drop ’em! Now! Ease that belt open and let ’em fall. Do it right now or I’ll blow her head to pieces!’
‘I doubt it,’ Hawk sneered.
The kid leaned his pistol against Cora’s head hard enough to make her bend at the neck but still she didn’t utter a sound.
Hawk began to unfasten the heavy buckle at the front of his gun belt, wondering where Walker had got to. He could be back in the barn keeping clear; then again he could be about to make himself useful. Hawk didn’t think he could count on it. He had the belt undone and held it with both hands.
‘Drop it! Drop it!’
It hit the boards with a smack and slid against his boots. Cora gave Hawk a little of the contempt she usually saved for her husband.
‘Kick it away,’ the kid ordered. ‘Kick the belt out into the middle of the room.’
There didn’t at that moment seem to be a whole lot of choice. Hawk did as he was told and got a bit more pouting bottom lip from Cora for his pains. What the hell, he thought. Maybe I should let the punk blow her brains out anyway.
‘Now leave her alone,’ Nick cried to the kid. ‘Now you have his guns, leave my Cora be.’
‘Shut your fat mouth, old man!’ shouted the youngster and as the words spat from his mouth the hand holding the pistol edged away from Cora’s head.
Like a white fish she slid round inside his grip and with the fingers of one of his hands still tight into the slim flesh of her arm she seized his testicles hard and twisted them in a wrenching squeeze.
The kid gasped and instantly let go of her arm, tears springing to his eyes.
Cora clung on, twisting harder.
‘Hawk!’
He swiveled fast, hearing Walker’s voice urgent in the doorway. There was a pistol across the palm of Walker’s hand.
The kid screamed through the sharpness of pain that was close to making him faint and lashed out with his arm, the elbow cracking against Cora’s face, the force of the blow loosening her grip. As she stumbled sideways against the frame of the kitchen door, Hawk called, ‘Now!’
Walker tossed the pistol in a high arc across the room and Hawk caught it as it fell, fingers round the butt and thumb seeking out the hammer. The kid blinked furiously, trying to take aim. Hawk’s arm spun through a fast arc and his body rose up from a low crouch as the gun came level.
‘No!’ yelled Nick.
Hawk fired once and his shot grazed the kid’s arm high across the top of the shoulder blade, almost enough to shock the pistol from his hand but not quite. He ground his teeth together and sent a second slug after the first but to the right and lower down. It hammered into the youngster’s chest and he went back through the kitchen door, doubling low and with his left arm wound across his ribs. When his back hit the kitchen table, he arched upwards and the pistol finally fell to the floor.
Hawk steadied himself with one hand against the doorway and put a bullet close enough to the kid’s heart to kill him outright.
Cora molded her body into the door frame, hands locked tight in front of her waist, pulling the top of her dress even more tightly over her breasts. Her red mouth was slightly open as she gazed at the blood leaking from the boy’s body on to the peeled and unpeeled vegetables on the kitchen table. Only a thin film of sweat above the line of her upper lip suggested that she was in any way disturbed.
‘Cora!’ called Nick, moving across the saloon towards her. ‘Cora!’
She didn’t hear him.
Hawk stepped back to where Walker was waiting and nodded towards the bar. He poured them both a drink and after the first mouthful he nodded again and said, ‘Thanks.’
‘Sure,’ replied Walker, avoiding Hawk’s eye. ‘Just seemed the thing to do.’
Hawk smiled. ‘Yup,’ he said.
Walker even managed to smile too.
Chapter Eleven
‘DON’T TRUST HIM, do you?’
Walker forked a slice of bacon into his mouth and began chewing in the same methodical way he did everything else.
‘Shade?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘No.’
Hawk broke off a piece of cornbread and used it to wipe up some of the egg yolk and bacon fat that were collecting at one side of his plate. The smell of coffee came out from the kitchen and at intervals a snatch of song from Nick’s deep, almost guttural, voice. Occasionally, Hawk caught a glimpse of Cora as she padded from one side of the kitchen to the other. She still hadn’t said anything to him about what had taken place the previous day. She’d done what she’d had to do to save her skin and Hawk—with Walker’s help—had done the rest. What was there to say?
‘Why you goin’?’
Hawk’s reply was partly muffled by food. ‘Got a deal with the Pinkertons. Shade’s been gettin’ hold of Army rifles. Sellin’ ’em below the border. Put a stop to that, I stand to make a deal of money.’
‘How come the Pinks don’t do it for themselves?’
Hawk shrugged and carried on eating.
‘Maybe they’d rather see you get killed on their account.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You don’t mind that?’
Hawk leaned sideways, one elbow sliding forward across the long table. ‘You sure found your voice this mornin’, didn’t you?’
Walker spat out a piece of gristle neatly into the palm of his hand and tossed it to the dog, which was waiting patiently close by. ‘You get shot; I stand to lose the rest of my money.’
Hawk nodded ruefully. ‘Here I was thinkin’ you was worried ’bout my hide.’
‘Then you’re a bigger damn fool ’n I take you for.’
‘Okay. If that’s the way you see it.’
‘How else d’you see riding into a trap when you know that’s what it is all along?’
‘Knowin’ it makes it easier to deal with.’
‘Like you dealt with that kid yesterday?’
‘I’m grateful for what you did, don’t think I ain’t.’
‘An’ don’t you think I’m comin’ down to this mission to get myself shot at just to satisfy some pride or curiosity or whatever it is drivin’ you to do this fool thing.’
‘Don’t worry. I don’t. You can stop the wagon well short of the place and wait till I ride back.’
‘Then I’ll likely be waitin’ forever.’
‘Hang on what seems reasonable. If I ain’t in sight, pull the team out of there and move out.’
‘Suppose some of this Shade’s boys come for them rifles? Start wavin’ guns about?’
‘You get down off the wagon nice as you please an’ start walkin’.’
‘Yup. An’ what if they shoot first?’
‘What if you walk out of here an’ one of them pines falls on top of you an’ breaks your skull open? What if a chunk of that bacon gets stuck in your throat an’ you choke to death? Man don’t get nowhere if he don’t take a few risks.’
Walker pushed the plate away and wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. ‘Okay, only like I say, don’t expect any—’
‘I don’t!’
‘Can we get some coffee?’
‘Sure. Cora! Fetch us some hot coffee out, will you?’
‘She’s some woman, ain’t she?’ said Walker quietly when Cora had refilled their mugs and gone back through the kitchen door.
‘That why you threw in?’
‘Never liked to see a man usin’ a woman for a shield. Coward’s way, that’s what it is. Thought I’d even things up a little.’
‘You did good.’
Walker nodded, tried the coffee. ‘Yup,’ he said.
Nick’s voice continued to mangle some Mexican ballad while someone, probably Cora, counterpointed it with some considerable banging of plates and cutlery as they were washed up.
‘One thing I got to ask,’ Hawk began a few moments later.
‘I know. Why didn’t I use the gun myself?’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I told you; I never use a gun.’
‘Maybe not now.’
‘Not for a long time.’
‘Since when?’
Walker lifted the mug with both hands and drank. His eyes were focused on the side wall but what he was seeing was miles off and years away. A ranch building partly gutted by fire and a boy not much more than six years old struggling to get out, dragging a stuffed toy animal after him. The door had got wedged and the window was too high for the kid to get his leg far enough over to be able to drop down. Four or five arrows were embedded in the rough wood of the wall, one of them inches from the top of the window. Ponies went past at a gallop, intervals of thirty, forty seconds between them.
One time the pony slowed and a brave dropped lithely to his feet, swiveling low towards the building. He saw the boy’s fair hair rise and fall back of the window, drew a war ax from his hide belt and closed on the building fast.
A man in a fringed jacket, looking much as Walker did then save that his face was less lined and his eyes were brighter and housed less pain, jumped from behind a water trough and yelled a warning at the top of his voice.
Ran.
Hearing his father’s call, the six-year-old lifted himself up again, hanging over the bottom of the window by his arms.
The toy bear was still clutched in one hand, the small fingers grasping it by one tattered and chewed ear.
The brave lifted his ax.
The father hesitated, raised his pistol.
The ax was at the top of its swing.
Another Indian came galloping in, leaning low beside his pony’s head, an arrow pulled back against his bow string.
The man heard the thrum through the air and felt the fierce impact as the arrowhead broke the flesh at the back of his leg.
Saw the ax begin to fall.
Saw the eyes wide beneath the ragged line of fair hair.
Fired.
The brave whirled fast, dragging the final swing of his ax off target so that it jammed hard into the lower ledge of the window and splintered through four inches of thick wood.
