The Bounty Hunters, page 16
“Yeah,” Travis said.
“That’s what I thought. What kind of man is he?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Travis asked in surprise. “I thought you knew all about him and his gang.”
“Just what I’ve learned from wanted posters,” Colman said. “According to the one I saw on him, he’s forty years old, six feet two inches tall, weighs two hundred and thirty pounds, big round face, small sea-green eyes, walks with a slight limp. But a fellow who saw him once told me he walked more like he had the boils than a limp.”
“You’re good, Colman. You’re really good. What all can you tell me about the boys coming in on the train?”
“Well, there’s only two other members of the Biggers gang, so I figure it will be them.”
“That makes sense.”
“Dillard Peacock and Harve Duncan, if I don’t miss my guess,” Colman said. “Worth about six hundred apiece.”
Travis glanced at the bounty hunter, but said nothing.
Just then, in the distance, they heard the whistle of the approaching train.
“I guess we’ll soon know,” Colman muttered.
He was about to flip his cigar into the street. But he noticed, to his surprise, that Travis had taken out his tobacco sack and papers and was idly rolling a cigarette. Colman stared at the blond man in wonder. There were times when Travis’s indolent composure got on his nerves and annoyed him.
Yet he realized there was no hurry. The train was still some distance from the town, and it was only a short walk to the tiny railroad station, really only a box on the platform.
At last Travis rose, the cigarette between his lips, and descended the veranda steps. Colman got up and followed, scowling. He had started out thinking of himself as the leader, the man in charge. But more and more Travis was taking the lead—and he did not seem to care whether Colman followed or not.
But Colman followed. They went along the empty street, two tall, quiet, dangerous men, and stood silently waiting near the platform as the slowing train pulled to a stop.
Two men got off the train and came down the platform steps. To a casual observer they appeared to be of the same breed as the two waiting for them. Their faces reflected the same wooden expression, their eyes the same cold alertness. Yet somehow they were different. There was something vaguely shifty and furtive about them. Even as they watched Travis and Colman, their narrow eyes flicked beyond them at the town, alert for other signs of danger.
Dillard Peacock was wearing a mackinaw and Levi’s, Harve Duncan a sack coat and butternut trousers. Each carried a warbag and a blanket roll under his left arm, leaving his right hand free to grab the gun worn low in a tied-down holster. Peacock was slightly taller, but Duncan had broader shoulders, a thicker chest, a larger, stronger face. Duncan seemed the calmer and more cautious of the two, Peacock the more reckless and flashy.
“Raff Petty was going to meet you boys, but something came up and he had to leave early,” Travis said. “We told him we’d meet you in his place.”
“Who’re you?” Dillard Peacock asked.
“Name’s Travis,” Travis said quietly. “This here’s Link Colman, a bounty hunter. He can’t seem to make up his mind whether he wants to collect the bounty on me or the one on Grayson. While he’s trying to decide he’s been going after smaller pelts.”
Dillard Peacock dropped his warbag and blanket roll and his right hand tensed over his gun butt. “If it’s a fight you want, you’ve come to the right party,” he said.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Travis asked.
“We ain’t sure why we’re here,” Harve Duncan said. “We was takin’ us a little vacation in St. Louis when we got the telegram from Vince. All he said was to come here and someone would meet us with some horses.”
“You see any horses?” Colman asked.
“No,” Duncan said, shifting his pale eyes to the bounty hunter.
“I’d advise you boys to get back on that train,” Travis said. “But I figure you’d just jump off down the tracks apiece. So I guess we might as well settle this now.”
Duncan’s glance flicked over his shoulder at the train as it pulled away, panting across the desert toward Nevada and safety. Then he cut his worried eyes back at Travis and Colman. “We don’t even know what’s up,” he said. “I know Sam Grayson’s got an old score to settle with you because you killed his brother, but I didn’t know that was why he sent for us. I figgered he had enough men to . . .”
“He doesn’t seem to think so,” Travis said. “That’s why he sent for you boys.”
“Vince owes Grayson, but I don’t owe him anything,” Duncan said. “If I had knowed what was up, I think I would have stayed in St. Louis. This ain’t my fight.”
“It is now,” Dillard Peacock said, going into a crouch. His narrow face had turned old and bleak and gray in the cold wind. He had several small nicks on his face, souvenirs of an old knife fight or perhaps a shave when he was too drunk to handle the razor. “If they want trouble let’s give it to them.”
“Hold on Dill,” Harve Duncan said. “You’ll get us both killed. Neither one of us was a match for Red Grayson—and Travis killed Red.”
“Yeah, but how did he kill him?” Peacock asked. “I don’t think he could of beat Red in a fair fight. He must of got the drop on Red when Red wasn’t expectin’ it. I don’t think he can beat me either.”
“You can find out,” Travis said quietly.
“That’s just what I aim to do,” Peacock said.
He started to go for his gun, but Harve Duncan, moving with surprising speed for such a heavy man, stepped toward him and threw his powerful arms around Peacock, pinning Peacock’s arms to his sides.
“Cool down, dammit!” Duncan said roughly. “That temper of yours will get us both killed one of these days! I told you this ain’t our fight! We don’t even know what’s going on or why Vince sent for us! He may not want us to get in a fight with them!”
“The hell with Vince!” Peacock cried, struggling to free his arms. “The hell with you too! Maybe you’re scared of them, but I sure as hell ain’t!”
“Cut it out, Dill,” Duncan said. He got his hand on Peacock’s gun, then pushed Peacock away from him with his left hand and thrust the gun in his waistband. “Cool down now,” he said. “Don’t make me hit you, Dill.”
“If you do you won’t ever hit anyone else!” Peacock said through his teeth. He turned to Travis and said, “That’s all right, Travis. You won’t have long to wait. We’ll settle this just as soon as I can go down the street here and buy another gun.”
Travis nodded shortly, and Peacock, his teeth clenched in anger, bent and picked up his warbag and blanket roll and strode down the street.
“Dill!” Harve Duncan said and started to go after Peacock. Then he slowed down and looked back at Travis as he backed down the street. “I’ll try to stop him.”
Travis’s jaw was hard and stubborn. His eyes were clear and cold. “Just be a waste of time,” he said. “He’s bent on a fight. And I’ve already sent word to Grayson that I intend to start shooting his men on sight. That goes for anyone who sides them.”
Harve Duncan looked blankly at Travis, then turned and hurried down the street after Dillard Peacock. Peacock turned into a store and Duncan entered only moments after him. Not enough time for Peacock to get his hands on another gun and load it.
In fact, as Travis and Colman watched, the pair came back out. Duncan had a firm grip on Peacock’s arm and led the slimmer man across the street and into the saloon.
Travis did not like it, and his hard face and cold eyes showed that he did not like it. Colman did not like it either, but he said grudgingly, “That Duncan ain’t such a bad fellow for an outlaw.”
“You may not think so when he’s out in the hills with a rifle, hiding behind a rock,” Travis grunted. “He’s just waiting till he can catch us off guard, or till he’s got more help.”
“You think so?” Colman asked, his hard black eyes going to the saloon.
“I’d be willing to bet on it,” Travis said.
“Hell, let’s go kill the bastards then,” Colman said.
“I guess Duncan’s still got Peacock’s gun,” Travis said. “And Duncan won’t fight. But maybe after they’ve had a few drinks Peacock will talk him into it. Let’s wait a while and see what happens.”
Chapter 19
Travis and Colman went to a restaurant for dried-apple pie and coffee, then returned to the hotel veranda and sat in the same chairs as before, watching the saloon.
The hotel proprietor, Abe Settle, came down the street and rested his foot on the veranda step. He was a large, potbellied old man with a gray goatee and a stern, dignified manner. He moved and talked very slowly and quietly.
“You boys plan to hang around here long?” he asked, with a grim smile that had no friendliness in it.
Travis and Colman looked at him with hard eyes and did not bother to answer.
Settle quit bothering to smile. He got to the point. “I just went around to say hello to everyone. It’s something I do every day, the gout permitting. The people here are all old friends of mine and they wanted me to have a little talk with you boys and explain the situation. We don’t want no trouble here, and you boys are going to cause some if you keep crowding them two. A man will only take so much crowding. I found that out a long time ago.
“This is a small town. There ain’t many secrets. We know who you boys are, and we know who they are. They’ve been here before. But they never caused no trouble before. And it looks to me and everyone else around here like you boys are the ones trying to start something. I know what happened here in my hotel lobby this morning. I started to ask you boys to leave then, but I decided to see what everyone else thought. Well, they think the same way I do. If there’s a killing here the others will make things uncomfortable for us after you’re gone. They’ve always behaved themselves when they’re here. It’s only when people like you two come in and stir things up that there’s any trouble. So I’m asking you boys to settle your grudges someplace else. I can’t make it much plainer than that, can I?”
Travis had lost interest in the hotelkeeper and returned his attention to the saloon. But Colman kept his lava-hard eyes on Settle and now said with grating contempt, “You know they’re all outlaws, wanted for every crime in the book.”
“And I have a fair idea why you’re here,” Settle replied grimly. “You’re after the price on their heads. I can’t see as they’re much worse than you are, if you want my honest opinion. Everyone else in this town feels the same way. It looks to us like you boys have come in here to kill off some of our best customers and then leave. Course, they ain’t here all the time. Not even very much of the time. But they spend a lot of money when they are here.”
“Money they stole from fools like you in other towns,” Colman said savagely.
“They ain’t stole any from us,” Settle said, his mouth twisting with resentment. He took his foot off the veranda step and drew himself up to his full height, assuming an almost threatening posture. His voice got louder. “We don’t want you here. I meant to ask you polite. Now I’m telling you. I want you out of my hotel. You only rented that room for one night—last night. Get your stuff out of there or we’ll move it out for you.”
“You better keep your grubby hands off my stuff,” Colman told him.
“It doesn’t matter,” Travis said quietly. “We can’t stay here anyhow.”
“You’re right about that, son,” Settle told him. “You sure can’t stay here.”
Travis looked at the old man out of eyes so cold and remote that Settle shrank back a little in fear. But Travis did not say anything. He watched the saloon again in silence for a short time, then got up and went into the hotel, climbing the stairs. Colman reluctantly followed him.
A short time later they came back down the stairs carrying their saddlebags and blanket rolls. Travis had changed back into his sheepskin coat and butternut trousers. Colman still had on his new corduroy coat and had the heavy bearskin coat folded over his left arm.
Old Settle himself was behind the desk, reaching for the key. Colman had the key in his free right hand. He started to hand the key to Settle, then deliberately dropped it in the brass spittoon near the desk, and gave the old man such a hard black look that Settle was afraid to say anything, although he trembled with anger.
Colman followed Travis on out of the hotel, turning up the collar of his corduroy coat, his neck arched, his hat tilted low over his black eyes. He did not like leaving town this way, but he knew it would do no good to say anything. Travis had withdrawn into a silence so bleak and solitary that if he responded at all, he would probably tell Colman no one was asking him to go.
As they were walking past the saloon, Dillard Peacock came through the swing doors with a bottle in his hand and called tauntingly, “What’s the matter, Travis? You lost your nerve?”
Harve Duncan came out behind Peacock, caught hold of both his arms and dragged him back into the saloon without a word, ignoring the other man’s angry protests.
Travis and Colman continued along the street toward the livery stable.
“That’s what everyone will think,” Colman muttered. “That we’ve lost our nerve.”
As he had expected, Travis did not answer. The blond-haired man did not break his grim silence until they were a mile from town. Then, after the trail curved around a jumble of boulders, he reined in and said, “Let’s wait here a while. I figure those two headed for the livery stable to get some horses as soon as we were out of sight. They’ll probably come this way.”
In silence they dismounted and stood by a rock in the lee of the wind. It was not long before they heard the two horses coming at a lope. The two men rode around the huge boulder abreast, and halted when they saw Travis and Colman standing there by the trail. Harve Duncan had a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun across his saddle in front of him, but he did not try to use the gun. It was Dillard Peacock who clawed at his pistol, which Duncan had returned to him.
Both Travis and Colman drew their guns, but only Travis fired. The long-barreled Colt bucked in his fist and Dillard Peacock pitched out of the saddle, a dead man.
Travis and Colman trained their guns on Harve Duncan, who had not moved.
“A new shotgun?” Travis said in an acid tone. “And I believe I see a new rifle in Peacock’s scabbard. It looks like you boys went back to that store for some guns after all. What were you planning to do with that shotgun, Harve?”
Duncan glanced down at the shotgun across the saddle. But he did not move or speak. He knew when to be still.
“Get the shotgun, Link,” Travis said. “He’s still not ready to fight.”
Colman went forward and reached up and took the shotgun out of Duncan’s hand. He carried the gun to the horses and rammed it in Travis’s empty saddle scabbard.
“You got any shells for that thing?” Travis asked Duncan.
The heavyset man spoke for the first time. “In my saddlebag.”
Scowling, Colman went back and got the box of shells out of the saddlebag. It seemed that he was just an errand boy today.
“You buy those guns with your hard-earned money?” Travis asked.
Duncan moved his heavy shoulders. “Like I said back in town, we didn’t even know why Vince sent for us to come here. If I’d known what we were getting into, I would of stayed in St. Louis.”
“I think it would be a good idea for you to go back to St. Louis on the next train,” Travis told him.
Duncan thought for a moment, his wide face still calm and unreadable. Then he said, “I believe I’ll just do that, if it’s all right with you.”
“Good idea,” Travis said.
“You mind if I take Peacock back to Dry Wells with me and make sure he gets buried?”
“Go ahead,” Travis said. “But you better leave the rifle, just in case you change your mind.”
Duncan dropped his glance, a look of disappointment crossing his face. He silently got down, leaned Peacock’s rifle against a rock and lifted Peacock’s body gently across the saddle. He glanced at Peacock’s revolver lying on the ground, then left it where it was and got back on his horse. He looked at Travis and when Travis silently nodded, he turned his horse and rode back toward Dry Wells, leading Peacock’s animal with its lifeless burden.
Colman went over and got the rifle and pistol. He worked the lever of the rifle a few times and said, “Hell, it ain’t even loaded, and we ain’t got no shells that will fit it. It’s a ‘66 Winchester, uses the old Henry cartridge. But the pistol’s a Merwin & Hulbert. It fires the same shells as my Winchester ‘73. It might come in handy. It’s beginning to look like we may need all the hardware we can carry.”
Travis was looking north the way Duncan had gone. “I’ll bet we haven’t seen the last of him. He won’t go back to St. Louis. I doubt if he’ll even go all the way back to town. He’ll circle around us and head for the hideout as fast as he can get there.”
“If you thought that why did you let him go?” Colman asked, checking the long-barreled Merwin & Hulbert.
“There’s always a chance I’m wrong,” Travis said, going to his horse. He slid the shotgun out of the scabbard, broke it open and saw that it was loaded. “He was going to use this damn scattergun on us if he got a chance.” Travis snapped the gun shut and rammed it back into the scabbard. He stepped into the saddle. “Don’t leave that rifle lying around here where he’ll find it, in case he comes back this way.”
Colman broke the rifle on a rock, went to his horse and mounted. They rode on south into the badlands.
After dark they made camp in a box canyon sheltered from the wind and decided to risk a fire. A plate of bacon and beans and several cups of strong black coffee improved Colman’s mood. Travis rarely broke his silence and the smooth hard surface of his face gave no clue to his thoughts.
“That fire feels good,” Colman said. “I was about to freeze, even with the two coats on. I never did like cold weather.” He sopped his plate clean with a hardtack biscuit. “One time down in Texas I went after a bank robber and had to shoot him. That old boy didn’t have a coat, but he had on five shirts and they were so dirty he must not have taken them off all winter. Never saw anything like it.”
