Send Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #2) (2 page)

Angel eased his weight onto the
balls of his feet as the boy stepped back slightly from Johnny, his
eyes widening at the venom in the man
’s words.

‘
Now
just hold on there a minute, Boot. This is an Army post, not some
one-horse cowtown saloon. I’ll say what I please.’ Just for a
moment the boy’s eyes flickered towards his friends, who sat frozen
at their table.

‘
You’ll say you’re sorry,’ whispered Mill, ‘or you’ll bite
on a bullet.’ The two men moved apart slightly, both of them
keeping their eyes on the soldier. The other soldier, the one who
had tried to calm Blackstone down, moved away, his jaw dropping
slightly and his eyes wide with fearful anticipation.

‘
Now
see here, Johnny,’ he began.

‘
Quiet,’ whispered Mill. ‘You’re ruining my
concentration.’

One of the men at the table
shoved back his chair and leaped towards the door, determination on
his face.
‘Corporal of the guard!’ he yelled, ‘Corp—’ With a lithe
bound amazing for one of his bulk, Miller was across the room and
beside the striding soldier, his gun moving in a blur from holster
to hand and up and down, falling with vicious certainty. The
soldier fell as if hit with an ax, his leg twitching momentarily. A
trickle of blood oozed from his right ear.

Blackstone gazed at the fallen
man in horror. The drunkenness had fallen from him like a cloak,
and he realized in his cold sobriety that the two men before him
were in a killing mood, a flat and unemotional mental state which
would be all the more ferocious for its
cold-bloodedness. His eyes moved
wildly to right and left, his thoughts as plain as if they had been
printed on his forehead. High noon, officers asleep, enlisted men
dozing, the nominal guard playing cards in the orderly room, no one
likely to stir for another hour or even two. He had to face it
alone. His chin came up.

‘
It’ll
take the two of you,’ he said calmly.

‘
Lovely,’ said Mill. The two men advanced on the boy, who
retreated backwards until he was brought up short by the bar behind
him. At that moment, Boot slapped the boy across the face. The
sound had the shocking suddenness of a pistol shot in the silent
room and for a moment, Blackstone stood frozen with disbelief, the
red welts of the older man’s fingers imprinted clearly on his
beardless face. Then a strangled scream of fury burst from his lips
and he threw himself forward, clawed hands reaching for Boot’s
neck. Boot grinned like a cat and dropped his shoulder slightly,
moving it upwards to meet the oncoming face. The soldier ran into
the shoulder, rock hard, braced expertly to meet his charge. It
stopped him dead in his tracks and he reeled off to the side, blood
bursting from his lips and nose, down on his knees and mewling
through the smashed mouth. As he scrabbled to regain his feet,
Mill, lips wet with anticipation, drew back his spurred and booted
foot, ready to deliver a rib-breaking kick to the unprotected body
of the boy. There was an angelic smile on his face. He and Johnny
had done this many times. He always enjoyed it.

‘
Ah,
no,’ said Angel, who was moving even as the boy sprawled to the
scarred board floor. With a smooth and powerful movement he caught
Mill’s foot from behind, fingers curling around the instep. He
jerked upwards and back, stepping away easily as Mill went face
forward into the floor, smashing himself hard, blood and dust and
dirt smearing together on his broken face, half unconscious from
the impact, his head almost touching the feet of Johnny Boot, who
whirled around, his hand flashing for the six-gun holstered at his
right thigh.

‘
Now
that’d sure be stupid,’ Angel said mildly, freezing Boot to the
spot.

The muzzle of
Angel
’s gun
was steady, and pointed directly at his middle. From a range of
three feet, no man could miss, and Johnny Boot knew better than
most what a .45 bullet in the stomach could do. His lips went back
from his teeth and he let his weight settle on his heels. Mill got
up from the floor, spitting, furiously pawing sawdust and blood
from his face.

‘
By
God,’ he hissed. ‘You’ll pay for this.’

‘
Don’t
ruin your day waiting for it,’ Angel said coldly. ‘Put your hands
on the bar where I can see them. Move.’

He lifted
Mill
’s gun
out of the holster, followed suit with Boot’s, and handed them to
the gaping bartender.

‘
Stay
neutral, friend,’ he said to the man. ‘Put these somewhere out of
reach — theirs and yours.’

The bartender nodded hastily,
almost eagerly. He hurried to do Angel
’s bidding, then stood away from the
trio and watched them, hypnotized by the events.

Boot had now regained control of himself. He
turned warily from the bar, hands well in view, and hooked a heel
on the rail.

‘
Mister,’ he said conversationally, ‘I wonder if you know
what you’ve got yourself into?’

‘
Looked like as nasty a whipsawing as I ever saw,’ Angel
said. ‘I just naturally felt I had to butt in.’

‘
Teachin’ a young pup manners,’ snapped Boot. ‘None o’ your
business.’

‘
You’re a stranger here,’ whispered Mill. His face was
puffing badly and his piggy eyes looked even more evil. ‘You’re
starting out purty bad.’

‘
Tell
me,’ Angel smiled. The gun muzzle remained level and
unwavering.

Tut your gun away,
stranger,
’
Boot said. ‘Fight’s finished.’

‘
Really?’ said Angel, letting the six-gun slide easily into
the holster.

‘
Sure
thing,’ said Boot flatly. ‘You’re small beer, mister. We ain’t got
no need to beat up on drifters, no matter how mistook they are.’
His voice took on a tone that was almost wheedling. ‘Al Birch is
the top man around these parts. It’s no boast: he is. He is because
we keep him that way. We’re what you might call his major
suppliers. Now you could buck us, an’ you might even get away with
it. But you can’t buck Birch, stranger. Don’t even think about it.
Get on your horse, point him back the way you come, an’ never come
back. Sabe?’

‘
I
reckon,’ Angel nodded.

‘
Good.’ Boot’s smile was the smile of a wolf seeing a calf
leave the herd.

‘
I’ll
tell you what me and Willie are goin’ to do. We’re goin’ to step
outside for a couple of minutes. That’ll give you time to have a
beer and be on your way. Don’t be here when we get
back.’

Angel nodded.
‘One last thing,’
he said mildly.

Boot turned to face Angel
again, his face resigned and his bearing that of a man reasoning
with a stubborn child.
‘What now?’ he barked.

‘
This,’ Angel said. His arm was moving even as he spoke and
all his weight was behind the perfectly timed punch that came up
from somewhere around his hip and took Boot clean on the point of
his jaw, lifting him perhaps an inch off the ground and sending him
cartwheeling backwards against the wall. Boot smashed into the
solid adobe with a crash that shook the building, and everyone
heard the dull clunk of sound when his head hit the brickwork. He
went down on the floor like a dropped sack.

Angel turned to Mill. His tone was still
conversational.

‘
Why
don’t you give your friend a hand? I don’t think he’s going to make
it home on his own.’

Mill looked at Angel for a long moment.
There was something furtive and sick in his piggy eyes. He said
something beneath his breath.

‘
Physiologically impossible,’ Angel said cheerfully,
‘although it’s sure imaginative. Maybe I should break enough of
your bones to see if it can be done.’ The bantering tone dropped
from his voice and he took a step towards Mill, who cringed
backwards, fear - and something else - showing in his eyes. Angel
shook his head.

‘
Get
out of here, Mill,’ he said. ‘You’re contaminating the air. Take
that’ - he pointed at Boot’s still form - ‘with you.’ He took
another step forward and Mill scuttled back, heaving at Johnny
Boot’s body. One of the soldiers stepped forward to help and Mill
rebuked the man with a vicious curse. He wrestled the unconscious
body towards the door, sweat streaming through the bloody dust on
his face. Never once did he look again at Angel.

The news of the fracas spread
like wildfire around the Fort. It was not long before the
sutler
’s
store was crowded with people, with all ranks of men from the Fort,
all eager to see the man who had finally given Boot and Mill the
bad time every man there wished them. A bearded old Irishman who
chewed tobacco and spat with engaging ferocity and alarming
accuracy, came into the store with a battered medical bag and
proceeded to clean up the young officer’s face, managing through
the entire time not to breathe one question about the cause of his
injuries. Finally, he could contain himself no further.

‘
Dadblast it, Blackie,’ he exploded. ‘Must I die of
curiosity before ye’ll speak?’ His voice had a rich green
brogue.

Blackstone managed to look
surprised.
‘I thought everyone knew by now, Doc,’ he said.

‘
Aye,
lad, I daresay they do,’ grinned the old doctor, rattling a
spittoon some twenty feet away with a jet of tobacco juice. ‘But
‘tis the details we’re longing for. The lovely, juicy
details.’

The onlookers crowded around
again as Blackstone proceeded to tell in ever-exaggerated
detail,
exactly what had happened to him and then what had happened
to Mill and Boot. When he finished, there was a shout of delight,
and everyone looked around for the man who had effected this small
miracle. He was nowhere to be seen.

‘
Hold
on, now, hold on,’ Blackstone told them. ‘I’ll go and see where he
is.’ He went out into the sunshine, and after he had asked two or
three men around the parade ground, came upon a sergeant who had
seen someone answering Angel’s description heading for the stables.
Blackstone went into the pungent-smelling, muggy building. He found
Angel grooming the ragged coat of the line back dun he had ridden
in on.

‘
You
ran out on us,’ Blackstone said, breathlessly. ‘I figured to at
least buy you a drink.’

‘
Another time, maybe,’ Angel said. ‘I’m not much on cheering
crowds.’

‘
Me
neither,’ agreed the youngster. ‘Mister, I owe you. An’ I don’t
even know your name.’

‘
Angel, Frank Angel.’

‘
Frank. My name’s Richard Blackstone.’

‘
How
long you been out here, Richard?’

‘
Goin’
on two years. Why?’

‘
Nothin’ special,’ Angel said. ‘Just like to hear you tell
about the conditions in these parts.’

‘
Well
... gladly,’ Blackstone told him. ‘But look: won’t you at least let
me try to repay you in some way? Would you - would you be my guest
for dinner? It’s bachelor grub, I’m afraid, but you’d be very
welcome. An’ I think I have a bottle of wine we could split between
us.’ The boy blurted out the words as if afraid that by stopping he
would give Angel an opportunity to refuse. A slow grin crossed the
older man’s face.

‘
Why,
that would be very pleasant, Richard,’ he said. ‘I’d be happy to do
that.’ Blackstone’s face broadened into a boyish - if lopsided -
grin.

‘
Why,
you can stay overnight if you’ve a mind,’ he said. ‘My friend Jamie
Kitson is away on leave in Kansas City, so I have our quarters to
myself.’

‘
He
the same rank as you?’

Blackstone nodded
proudly.
‘We
joined the service the same day.’

‘
Lieutenants,’ Angel said shaking his head. ‘They get
younger every year.’

Blackstone grinned at the old joke. He
turned and headed for the doorway, stopping to face Angel before
going out.

‘
Seven
o’clock, right after retreat suit you?’

‘
Down
to the ground,’ Angel assured him. ‘I’ll be there.’

When he finished caring for the
horse, Angel walked around the Fort. He noted the thick outer walls
of the perimeter buildings, the sloping roofs and the forest of
chimneys on each.
The officers’ quarters ran across the best side of the
Fort; that was to say the side which would receive the least of the
sun - northeast to southwest. He noted the positions of the
commissary and the dispensary, the CO’s house, the adjutant’s
office, the guardroom and the jail. There were five rows of
enlisted men’s barracks on the opposite side of the square to
officers’ row. The flag hung limp on the tall sapling pole in the
center of the parade ground. He saw one or two tame Apaches, not
many. Right now, the Army and the Apache were at peace. The Fort
wore an indolent air. Discipline slack? He had read the record of
its commanding officer, Brevet Lt. Colonel Brian Stuart Thompson.
He knew, in general, the man’s background and the campaigns in
which he had fought. It had been an unspectacular career, and
marred by indiscretions. Drinking had brought about one specific
black mark which had ensured that Thompson would never rise above
his present rank: there had been a General Court Martial and
allegations of adultery with the wife of another officer at Fort
Griffin. The charges had been unproved, but the black mark had
remained. Thompson had friends in Washington but even they were not
powerful enough to have the records whitewashed. He would stay on
frontier posts like this one until his retirement.

He found the row of adobe huts
that housed the laundry-women, wives of enlisted men or their
common law women, and paid one of them a dollar to heat him a tub
of water. After the bath in a big old washing tub, he changed into
a clean shirt and Levis and found a cool spot beneath a ramada to
watch the ageless ceremony of retreat, savoring the sweet sad
sounds of the bugle. Then he ground out his cigarette and walked
across to Blackstone
’s quarters.

Blackstone met him with a warm
smile and showed him proudly around the cramped rooms which were
his home. The furniture was sparse and makeshift: a wooden chest of
drawers, two armchairs and a stuffed sofa that had somehow found
its way to the Fort. The floor was of packed dirt and the walls
limed adobe. Indian blankets had been hung on them to add a splash
of color, and Blackstone
’s dress sword hung crossed on its scabbard above
the fireplace. The table was neatly laid for two. An orderly served
them a decent meal of boiled meat and boiled potatoes, canned fruit
and fresh bread from the post bakery. The wine was pleasant and
light, although far from cold. Afterwards Blackstone produced some
cigars and a bottle of whiskey. He poured a generous measure and
watched expectantly as Angel sampled it.

‘
Jesus!’ Angel said. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘
A
patrol took it off some traders. Probably on their way to sell it
to the Indians,’ the boy said.

Angel shook his head, blinking
the tears from his eyes.
‘That’s the real stuff,’ he coughed. ‘All often
minutes old.’

They went out on to the cool porch behind
the house and put their feet up on the porch rail. Angel led the
conversation towards Mill and Boot.

‘
They
play rough,’ he observed. ‘What’s their racket?’

‘
Cattle,’ Blackstone told him. ‘They steal them.’

‘
You
know that for a fact?’

‘
No,
of course not,’ the young soldier told him. ‘But it’s the local
talk. Johnny Boot got out of Texas two jumps ahead of the Rangers a
few years ago. Mill with him. They’d been thieving there, cutting
cattle out of herds an’ driving them into New Mexico to sell on the
Mescalero Reservation. The prices they asked, nobody had too many
questions.’

‘
And
here?’

‘
Same
thing,’ Blackstone explained. ‘Birch an’ Reynolds have the beef
contract for the Hot Springs Apaches. There are a few other
ranchers around here: George Perry an’ Big Walt Clare over to the
north-east. They say they’re losing cattle all the time. Birch an’
Reynolds never do. Folks around here say they’ve got a miracle
herd. No matter how many head they sell to the Army or the Indians,
they always have the same number of head left.’

Angel nodded, encouraging the boy to
continue.

‘
Of
course, the Army tends to turn a blind eye. First, rustling is a
civil matter, not a military one. If a man comes along with
unbranded beef an’ offers it at a price the others can’t compete
with, that’s not the Army’s problem. The Army’s problem is to feed
the Indians as cheap as possible.’

‘
What
about the agent at Hot Springs?’ Angel asked.

‘
They
say he’s part of the ring,’ Blackstone said. ‘Not out loud, of
course.’

‘
Boot
and Mill again?’

‘
Yeah.
Johnny Boot is a killer. They say he’s very fast with the gun. And
Mill - well, you saw him. I think he’s sort of half crazy ... likes
to see people beaten up. If he killed a man, it’d be slowly.’
Blackstone shivered a little, though the night was still warm.
‘Gives me the creeps thinking about it. Which is why I want to
thank you again, Frank—’

‘
Richard, let’s not get into all that again,’ Angel said.
‘Anybody’d have done the same.’

‘
Well,
I owe you one, anyway,’ said Blackstone. ‘I won’t
forget.’

‘
So
Birch and Reynolds just about control the business in these parts,’
Angel prompted.

‘
Pretty much. They have a brewery up in the hills, about ten
miles from here. Reynolds’ Addition, it’s called. There’s gambling
up there, and women. Half of the men on this Fort owe money to
them.’

‘
And
the town?’

‘
Off
limits to us,’ Blackstone said. ‘They keep things pretty clean down
in Daranga. Tame sheriff. There’s only one place doesn’t belong to
them, and that’s The Indian’s. Mostly Mexes an’ such go in
there.’

They talked as the stars came
startlingly alive in the black-blue
heaven, millions of them, seemingly close
enough to touch. A cool wind came in off the chaparral, and there
was the soft scent of sagebrush. When they turned in, Angel had a
pretty clear idea of the layout of the whole area, and thanked his
luck that he had so early found someone who could fill him in on
what to expect. Birch and Reynolds had the country in their hands.
Bribery, extortion, even murder seemed to be part of their
catalogue, and complete financial and physical control their aim.
He nodded, turning over before sleep. The pattern was
emerging.