Funeral By The Sea (2 page)

Then, squatting in the greater area of shade cast by the afternoon sun, he ate some more jerked beef, retrieved the partially smoked cheroot he spat out before killing the diamondback and lit and finished it. This took some thirty minutes and then he rose and gathered up his gear, to stow the shotgun, shovel and bedroll on the saddle in the same manner as if he still had a horse to ride. The bridle and reins he put in a saddlebag.

Just the clicking sound of his tongue against the roof of his mouth escaped his full lips after he had hefted his gear up on to his left shoulder and stepped out from the shade. His green eyes were totally lacking in expression as he glanced to left and right to survey the trail in both directions.

The buzzards which had been circling high overhead for a long time did not begin to swoop down upon the carcass under the rock overhang until the man was several hundred yards closer to the ocean.

He paid them not the slightest heed. For only if and when one of the Channon family’s hired guns was successful would such ugly scavengers take an interest in him.

CHAPTER TWO

IT was mid-afternoon when Barnaby Gold became aware of somebody on the trail behind him, heard the snort of a horse that was the first sound to intrude upon the regular footfalls of his trudging walk through the mountains.

Had the gentle breeze off the distant Pacific been wafting across the sun-scorched rocks still, he probably would not have been aware of approaching company so soon. But the equine sound carried a long way through the unmoving air, directed by the geological formation of the terrain.

He was moving along a low-sided gully up a gentle incline which narrowed to just the width of the trail at its crest. And he completed the easy climb to the top before he relieved himself of his heavy burden and rested to survey the way ahead, his lips parting to express a smile at what he saw.

The sun shone as brightly as ever out there to the west, but within a few miles of his vantage point the arid terrain gave way to a verdant expanse of pine forest with an implicit promise of cool shade and fresh, sweet, running water. High ridges continued to intervene between Gold and the ocean, and the port of San Francisco was still many miles and several weeks away, but this view from the top of the gully marked another important milestone on the long journey he was determined to make.

Then he allowed the smile to fade from his handsome face as he squatted down on his saddle, and shifted his gaze to look at the most distant point of his back trail that he could see.

He reloaded the Murcott, breaking the gun fully so that the hammers were cocked, and leaned it against his thigh. The left one. Allowed his right hand to rest on his right thigh, close to the holstered Peacemaker. He had already noted that there was ample cover close at hand beyond the top of the gully should danger threaten from a range outside of his own capability.

A few minutes after he took up his relaxed watch, a mountain wagon with a four-horse team in the traces came around the curve of the trail to start up the slope of the gully. It was moving slowly so that little dust was raised by hooves and wheels. Thus, Barnaby Gold could clearly see the bearded man who rode on the high, sprung seat and the large barrels that were lashed with ropes on the bed of the wagon.

The driver revealed that he had seen Gold by a slight forward thrust of his head. But he made no attempt to halt his rig as the horses began to strain harder in the traces to haul the heavily laden wagon up the slope.

A grey-bearded man of advanced years, Gold saw. Of medium height with a broad, muscular build. Wearing blue denim work clothes and a grey Texas hat. With a gunbelt around his waist, a holstered revolver on his right hip. But as far removed from a hired gunslinger as any man Gold had encountered in a long time.

The team came to a halt of their own accord when they closed with Gold, as he rose and blocked the way over the narrowest stretch of the gully. And the driver locked the massive brake blocks to the rear wheels.

He was close to sixty, his beard an unkempt extension of his sideburns, tobacco juice staining the whiskers surrounding his mouth. His skin was crinkled and dark brown. His eyes were blue, the white surrounds bloodshot. There was an expression of soured discontent on his grizzled face as he surveyed the man who stooped to pick up the saddle.

‘You’re the feller that near blew the head off that horseback along the trail I’m thinking?’ His voice was as embittered as his expression.

Gold gazed up at him from below the seat and nodded. That’s right, sir. I’d appreciate a ride to someplace I can buy a new horse.’

‘Go lame, did he?’

‘Was bitten by a snake.’

‘It happens, son.’ The man was obviously near-sighted. Only now that Gold was close below him did he make a careful survey of the young man, and shake his head as he altered his expression to one of disapproval. ‘Another one, uh?’

‘Another what, sir?’

‘Hell, son! Get aboard and I’ll take you to Oceanville. Ain’t no business of mine what kids like you do with your lives.’

He leaned down to take Gold’s gear from him and swung it atop the barrels at his back.

‘Appreciate it, sir,’ Gold said as he dropped on to the seat beside the old-timer.

‘Politest one I ever come across, I’ll say that for you. Name’s Harrow. Seth Harrow. What handle you usin’ right now?’

He combined a command to the team with releasing the brake lever, so that the wagon did not roll back at all before the horses strained against the traces to drag it from a standstill on the slope.

‘Same as always, Mr. Harrow. Barnaby Gold.’

The wagon crested the rise and the driver had to use the brake lever again, to hold the momentum of the heavy load on the downslope through the scattered rocks among which the trail wound.

Harrow waited until the rig was rolling along a level stretch before he asked, ‘Ain’t you wanted or don’t you care?’ He looked at Gold and saw his passenger was about to take a cheroot from a tin box. And warned, ‘Can’t allow no smokin’, son. On account of I’m haulin’ kerosene.’

Gold snapped the tin closed and replaced it in an inside pocket of his coat.

‘You’re welcome to a plug of chewin’ tobacco.’

“Thanks, but no thanks, sir.’

Harrow bit off a chew for himself and was silent for several moments until the juice began to flow. Then, ‘You get the rattler?’

‘Sure.’

‘With the shotgun?’

‘Right.’

‘Ain’t one to take chances, are you?’

‘Not when there’s no need, sir.’

A shake of the head, with a spit of brown-stained saliva when he was facing to the side. ‘You ain’t at all like the rest of the fellers at Oceanville, son.’

‘Oceanville?’

Now Harrow looked long and hard into the inscrutable face of his young passenger. ‘You know, I don’t think you know where we’re headed, do you?’

‘I can get a horse in Oceanville?’

‘And you ain’t what you look like, are you?’

Barnaby Gold clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘You didn’t answer my question about the horse.’

‘That’ll be up to Hal Delroy, son. But if you ain’t what you seem to be, it’d be better if you went someplace else for a mount.’

‘Where?’

Harrow sighed and spat some more tobacco juice off the side of the wagon. Said with a sigh, ‘That sure is a problem, son. Seein’ as how this trail don’t go no place else except Oceanville. And there ain’t no side trails off. On account of there ain’t no point, because there ain’t no other towns but Oceanville in this piece of country.’

‘Mr. Delroy’s a tough horse trader, uh?’

‘He’s a tough everythin’, son. But seein’ as how you’re in a tough spot already, guess there ain’t nothin’ else for you to do except take your chance in Oceanville.’

‘Appreciate your concern, Mr. Harrow,’

Another shake of the head. ‘I ain’t concerned for you, son. Just tellin’ you like it is. So you won’t have no cause to blame me if there’s trouble in town.’

‘Strangers aren’t welcome there?’

For his answer, Harrow spat and accompanied it with a scowl. Then asked, ‘Tell me something, son. How come you were ridin’ a trail with no idea of what was at the end of it?’

‘I figured the ocean was.’

‘The ocean? Well, there ain’t no doubt but that it’s there. And if you ain’t never seen it before, it sure is somethin’ to see. But you sure as hell don’t look like some hick tourist.’

‘It’s what I aim to be, sir.’

‘Uh?’

‘When I get to Europe, Mr. Harrow.’

‘Europe?’

‘Started out to head north-west, but the trail took a curve through the mountains. Not in any great hurry. Figured to reach the ocean and then swing north. Follow the coast until I reach San Francisco. Some of the clippers from there go to Europe.’

The old-timer gave the young man another long, hard look at close quarters. And blurted, ‘Shit, I believe that’s what you fully intend to do.’

‘Doesn’t matter to me what you believe, Mr. Harrow.’

The quietly spoken statement and the seemingly arrogant gaze of the green eyes acted to antagonize the driver. ‘And let me tell you somethin’, son. It don’t matter to me that you probably won’t get closer to Europe than Oceanville! Way you are!’

‘What way’s that, sir?’

‘Damnit, maybe you’re short on marbles or somethin’! You got the manners of some highborn, snotnose dandy yet you’re dressed and pack the kind of shootin’ rig that makes you look like a gun for hire. Headin’ wide-eyed and innocent into the toughest town in the whole of California. Maybe the whole damn country!’

Barnaby Gold clicked his tongue. ‘Tell you what I’ll do for you, Mr. Harrow.’

‘Do for me?’

‘You drop me a mile or so outside of Oceanville and I’ll walk on in the rest of the way. I won’t let it be known you gave me a ride.’

The old-timer vented a raucous laugh. And slapped his solid thigh. ‘Shit, son, I wouldn’t like for you to do that! You bein’ the way you are, I reckon I’ll be able to drink a whole day in the cantina and it won’t cost me a cent. Hal Delroy and his boys bein’ so grateful to me for bringin’ you in. Can get to be pretty damn dull in Oceanville so I’ve heard.’

There was a long silence between the two men after this, as the wagon rolled across the strip of country that divided the barren terrain from the pine forest, just the creak of timbers and springs, the squeak of axles and the clop of hooves disturbing the mountain peace. The sun was sinking and twilight was hovering on the horizon which was more clearly defined now that the
heat shimmer was gone. The smell of the ocean and the stink of body odor was abruptly masked by the sweet scent of pine foliage.

Then the trail curved into the forest and this late in the afternoon the shade was not so much cool as chill. Seth Harrow reached under the seat and pulled out a sheepskin coat which he draped over his shoulders, cape-fashion.

The trail started to rise now, veering from side to side to reduce the steepness of the climb toward a pass between twin peaks. Harrow seemed to welcome the chore of having to steer the team around the frequent turns, while Gold continued to be totally at ease with the silence between them.

‘Once over the ridge, it’ll be downhill all the way. Oughta make Oceanville this side of midnight.’ The younger man nodded and the older one scowled. ‘If you’re hungry or need a smoke real bad, we can stop for awhile. Prefer to press on myself. There’s good Mexican food to be got at the cantina in town.’

‘Hot food sounds fine, Mr. Harrow.’

The driver got rid of the wad of chewed-out tobacco, spitting it far to the side. Then for a long time as afternoon gave way to evening he seemed to have something important on his mind - and to be searching for the right form of words with which to express it. Finally, when the darkness of night came to the pine forest with just patches of moonlight reaching down through the foliage here and there, he came right out with it. Blurting the words fast as the wagon rolled over the crest of the pass.

‘Look, son, you didn’t oughta go into Oceanville wearing that fancy gunbelt on the outside of your coat the way you do!’

‘Don’t they allow the wearing of guns in Oceanville, sir?’

‘Damnit, quit callin’ me sir and cut out that Mr. Harrow stuff! Everyone calls me Seth! I like it that way!’ He moderated his tone. ‘But I also like it when youngsters got respect for old-timers like me. Which ain’t so often these days. So, to my way of thinkin’, you deserve to get a warnin’.’

‘As I recall, you’ve done little else but warn me that Oceanville’s a tough town. You also said it’s the only place in this part of the country where I can buy a horse.’

‘But you gotta go the right way of gettin’ what you need, damnit! Hal Delroy and his bunch are outlaws, son. They don’t carve notches on their guns, because there ain’t nothin’ short of a howitzer that could take that many notches and not fall apart. Crazy killers, all of them. With enough money on their heads it would break any bank I know if they was all turned in at once.

‘Oceanville’s their bolt-hole. As good a hideout as I ever did see. Them and a bunch of Mexican fishermen is all that lives there. Plus Delroy’s sister Eve and a handful of whores.