Funeral By The Sea (7 page)

He was as calm as ever in response to the taunt. ‘Why do you have to wait for somebody like me to come along, lady?’

The sneer remained on her face as she returned her attention to the overhead canopy. But now her feelings were directed at another target. ‘Because my brother has developed delusions of grandeur lately. He can bring in as many whores as he likes and pass them on to the men at the cantina when he tires of them. Easy as bringing in the best liquor and wines and the most expensive furnishing.

‘He never used to put on the style so much. Lord it so high. But I guess he just got bored. First off, he said I wasn’t to fraternize with the men here. That it wasn’t right for me, the sister of the boss, to go with the help. Then he stopped me from taking trips as I used to. Up to San Francisco and over to Tucson and Phoenix and Houston. To Chicago once.’

Her tone was becoming increasingly angry. ‘He still goes. To pick up a new batch of whores for himself or to bid at furnishing auctions. And, if he feels like it, he hires someone like you - who takes
his
fancy - to take care of my needs. Why, I’m not even allowed to do my own shopping, have to clip pictures out of catalogues and have Seth bring me what I want.’

‘Guess he won’t be doing that anymore, lady.’

She made a sound of impatience. ‘Sure he will, Gold. Seth is a big money gambler and Hal pays high for his help. Seth will be hauling in supplies again just as soon as he’s well enough.’

She moved her hand to his thigh and gently ran her fingertips along it, rolled on to her side and rested her elbow on the pillow, her face in her cupped hand.

‘Hal pays high to the men who please me, Gold. And you’ve made a fine start toward getting the biggest reward ever.’ She spoke seductively, then vented a deep-throated laugh when she raised her head to look over his thigh. ‘Ah, not ready yet. I’ll change that.’

‘Give me a moment, lady,’ he told her and reached out to kill the cheroot in the expensive dish.

She changed her position at the same time, and it was her mouth instead of her fingers that were on his thigh when he looked down at her. And he allowed her to bring her hand up to begin caressing him, and to say huskily, ‘Hello, little feller.’

Then he bunched his right hand into a fist, and as her lips parted to augment her fingers, he slammed it into her jaw.

The force of the blow knocked her senseless without any sound coming from her, and threw her over on to her back on the bed.

Barnaby Gold came upright on the floor and murmured, ‘Bye bye, little lady.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE aromatic water in Eve Delroy’s tub in the small room off to the side was cold. But it felt good to immerse his body in it, and after he had scrubbed the sweat and dirt of many days from his flesh he made use of it again to shave off a day’s bristles.

He dressed in the bedroom, making only small sounds, no louder than those which marked the regular respiration of the unconscious woman with the dark bruise on her jaw.

Elsewhere in the big house, all was silence. And outside there was just the rhythmic thud of waves breaking on the beach.

When he was fully dressed, he turned out the two kerosene lamps and went to the window, from this elevation was able to see across the ridge of sand to the ocean that lived up to its Pacific name. Was flat and calm, with no sign of the moon-silvered surface of the riptide that Seth Harrow claimed made the bay dangerous.

Because the big house was off-set at the end of the street, he was able to make out the curved row of adobe buildings which showed up very white in the radiance of the moon. No lights showed at their windows and nobody was moving outside of them. And every lamp which had previously shafted light from the front of the big house was also out now.

Without looking at the unconscious woman again, he retrieved his saddle and accoutrements and unlocked the door of her room to let himself on to the dark landing.

He carefully kept to its centre, his gear held in front of him, so as not to bump into the clutter of furniture and tip ornaments noisily to the floor. An occasional snore or moan sounded from behind the doors he went past, to signal if the occupant was in a conscience-free or a troubled sleep.

Down the stairs and across the hallway. The double front doors were neither locked nor bolted. On the principle that there was honor among the thieves of Oceanville - and the unfortunate Mexicans would not dare to enter the big house uninvited.

The night air was chill and he took deep breaths, until then not realizing just how much perfume had been in Eve Delroy’s bath water.

He quickened his pace now, the sound of his footfalls muffled by soft sand as he went along the side of the house, passing Seth Harrow’s wagon which had not been unloaded.

Within the redolent darkness of the long stable block he stood for a minute, so that his pupils adjusted to the low level of light. The thirty or so horses installed in the stable made only small sounds at his intrusion. Then the jet black gelding he selected vented a snort as the saddle was slung across his back. But it was a sound of acceptance and eager anticipation of the relative freedom that lay outside the stable.

It was a big, strong-looking horse which - like all the mounts in the stalls - had been well cared for. Back in Fairfax or Standing, which was the next town up the trail, Barnaby Gold would have been prepared to pay seventy-five dollars for such a horse, whether to ride or to add to the team which drew the hearse.

Now he took five twenty-dollar bills from his roll and spiked them on a nail at the front of the vacant stall.

He led the gelding by the bridle, outside and back to the base of the unclimbable sheer cliff that made Oceanville such an ideal place for wanted men to come to. Continued to lead the animal over the untrampled sand between the rocky heights and the frameworks of fishing nets
out back of the Mexican dwellings. Only swung up astride the saddle when he was clear of the end of the street, but continued to hold the pace to an easy walk as he headed for the slab of rock which was an extension of the cliff across the seaward end
of the ravine.

He did not look back as he rode, and he lit a fresh cheroot to further emphasize that he was a man enjoying perfect peace of mind, with an undeniable right to leave the bizarre community by the sea in the early hours of the morning.

He rounded the end of the rock and started up the gentle slope, expressionless eyes fixed upon the area where he knew a ledge to be.

‘Time for a change already?’ a man said.

Barnaby Gold recognized the voice of the pipe-smoker from their brief exchange out front of the cantina. He reined his horse to a halt as the man came to the edge of the ledge and then tilted back his head to look up at him.

‘She-cat is right, sir. She’s too much for me and she ain’t happy. Sold me this horse and kicked me out.’

The man on the ledge was momentarily alarmed. ‘I figured you was Steve Grady come to relieve me.’ Then he laughed. ‘Stud, hell. I said it in the cantina after you went after her. Can’t expect a boy to do a man’s job. Bet she give you hell, didn’t she? After that whippin’ of the old-timer got her so stirred up and pantin’.’

‘Said she’d have me strung up and give me a beating if I didn’t get out of town fast. Charged me a hundred dollars for this horse.’

Another laugh, embittered this time. ‘Tight as her brother with money. Maybe see you around, kid. But not here, I guess.’

‘No, sir. Not here. Bye bye.’

The sentry moved to the rear of the ledge and Gold clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then clucked the horse forward at the same easy pace as before, content to have overcome yet another obstacle along his path of escape but tensely aware that there were two more guards positioned in the heavily wooded section of the ravine.

They were further up the slope, but lower on the sides than Kent and Bud had been and he was within fifty feet of the narrow entrance when another recognizable voice called,

‘Well, look who we got here, Vic.’

Again he halted the horse, hands on the reins resting on the saddlehorn, as the scar-faced Joe emerged from the trees on his right. At the same time as the bearded Vic showed himself on the other side. Both with Winchesters which they carried canted to their shoulders. Both wearing warm topcoats that reached to their calves, bulged out on the right hip by holstered revolvers.

‘Runnin’ out on your lady friend, stud?’ Joe asked in a tone to match his leering grin.

Gold waited until they had come to a halt some ten feet to either side of him. ‘You men know she’s not the kind to let me go unless she wanted it that way.’

‘Ain’t that a fact,’ Vic allowed.

‘But she was so hell-bent set on havin’ you, stud.’

‘I didn’t come up to her expectations.’

Vic laughed. ‘Hey, that’s funny!’

Joe’s scarred face had become fixed with a scowl of suspicion and he did not respond to his partner’s good humor. ‘It ain’t never bothered Miss Eve before, stud. On account of she’s proud of her rep for gettin’ a man to give of his best. Or, in your case, a boy.’

‘Hey, that’s right, Joe. She had that guy with the gut a whole week before she could wake up with a smile on her face.’

Joe continued to keep his scowling eyes fixed on Barnaby Gold’s deadpan face. ‘Maybe you ain’t got any balls, boy? Can’t get it up no way. Is that how it is?’

‘No, sir.’

Joe shook his head. ‘But even if that is how it was, Miss Eve wouldn’t just give you a horse and tell you to ride. Not after gettin’ her hopes built up so high. She’d have figured some other way to get a charge outta you. Get down off the horse, boy!’

He spat out the command, and swung down the rifle, worked the lever action without allowing the muzzle to stray off-target.

‘Shit, Joe!’ Vic snapped anxiously. ‘If she did give him the okay to leave, she won’t be happy that we stopped him!’

‘You know the rule, Vic.’

‘Sure I know it, Joe. Hal and his sister get whatever the hell they want and anyone who gets in their way gets trouble.’

‘Not that rule. The one that says the people here don’t steal from each other.’

‘I paid a hundred dollars for this horse, sir.’

‘You’re a goddamn liar, kid. And if you don’t get down like I said you won’t be nothin’. Except a corpse.’

Barnaby Gold dismounted slowly on Vic’s side as the bearded man brought down the Winchester and aimed it, still anxious about what was happening.

‘I sure hope you know what you’re doin’, Joe.’

‘Miss Eve wouldn’t steal a horse, would she?’

Vic shifted his nervous gaze from Gold to peer at the black gelding. And after a moment snarled, ‘Shit, you’re right!’

The black-clad young man curled the fingers of both hands. But Vic’s aimed rifle in front of him and the knowledge that Joe was similarly poised to kill him on the other side of the gelding made the distance from hands to Peacemakers suicidally long.

And there was certainly murder in the eyes of the bearded man as he stared at Barnaby Gold.

‘Your horse, sir?’

‘Friggin’ right it is, you sonofabitch!’

‘Don’t kill him, Vic!’ Joe yelled as he closed fast with the far side of the stolen gelding. ‘Or she’ll...’

Barnaby Gold was prepared to die here and now. To bring up his left hand to the Colt on the swivel rig. Maybe to take a bullet from Vic’s Winchester. Or maybe to kill the bearded man and be shot in the back by Joe. One way or the other was a certainty, because not even a man with far greater gun skills than he could escape alive from between two aimed Winchesters.

The despair he felt did not show on his expressionless face as he jerked up his curled left hand. A despair compounded by many other emotions.

Disappointment that he would never get to Europe. Self-anger that he had got into this situation because of his stubborn arrogance. Fear of the pain of dying. And a greater fear of the alternative if he did not die - of being handed over to the mercilessly evil Delroy woman.

A woman so terrifyingly cruel that she influenced the bearded man who stood on the brink of death, stayed his finger on the trigger of the Winchester as he stared in horror at the Peacemaker as it was cocked and swiveled to draw a bead on him.

Then the barrel of Joe’s rifle crashed into the side of Barnaby’s Gold’s head, after the scar-faced man had leapt up and across the saddle of the horse. And swung the Winchester in a short but powerful arc.

The victim of the blow felt an instant of intense pain, and then nothing. Fell sideways to the trail and was joined by the cursing Joe - tossed off the saddle as the startled horse reared and bolted toward the top end of the ravine.

Joe rose painfully to his feet.

Barnaby Gold stayed senseless on the ground with the dust of the gelding’s pumping hooves settling on to him, adhering to the blood that oozed from a wound opened up by the rifle barrel in his hair above his right ear.

‘Thanks, Joe,’ Vic rasped breathlessly.

‘I enjoyed it, man. Can’t abide snot-nose kids who act like they’re equal to me.’