Shoot Angel! (13 page)

While Jess made up a sack of
food Angel went across to the wrecked jail. Only now, by the light
of a couple of lanterns which had been rigged up, was he able to
see the extent of the damage. The explosive charge had knocked down
most of the front wall and part of the roof. Ignoring the curious
stares of the men in and around the jail Angel
clambered over the rubble until
he could get to Sherman’s desk. He dragged open the drawers one by
one. In the last drawer he found what he was looking for. His own
gun belt and Colt. Angel checked the gun and then strapped on the
belt. He noticed that the rifles were still in the wall rack. For
the second time that night he chose a weapon. There were still
plenty of cartridges for the rifle in the desk. Angel loaded the
rifle and shoved a handful of spare cartridges in his
pocket.

Angel left the jail and walked
down the street to the livery stable which, Jess had explained,
looked after the horses of Liberty
’s law-force. Also, she told him, the
stable housed any livestock belonging to prisoners. The livery
owner grumbled long and loud when Angel knocked him up and told him
he wanted his horse. The man began to assume a belligerent pose
until Angel shoved his badge under the man’s nose. The protests
stopped as if the man had suddenly suffered a cut throat. He
dragged on a pair of pants and led Angel to the stable. Inside,
Angel quickly located his horse and gear. He saddled up and led the
horse outside, mounted up, and rode through town to Jess Blake’s
restaurant. She came outside with the food she had put in a
sack.

‘
It
seems silly, but take care,’ she said, smiling up at
him,

Angel tied the sack of food behind his
saddle.

‘
I
will, Jess, and thanks. Now just point me in the right
direction.’

‘
They
rode north,’ Jess told him.

Raising a swift hand Angel
turned his horse about and rode away from Liberty. He knew that in
a few hours it would be light. Once daylight came Birdy was going
to find difficulty concealing himself from
Cranford
’s
bunch. They were going to be on the lookout for any kind of
pursuit. If they saw Birdy, and recognized him, Angel knew very
well that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

He tried to work out where
Cranford might be making for. The man had a lot of money with
him
—Angel
hadn’t missed seeing the open safe in the wreck of the jail—and it
would help him to go far. Cranford might carry on to the far north,
up into Canada. Then again he could cut west towards California,
taking the lonely trails across the High Sierras. He could just as
easily make for one of the railroads, buy himself a ticket and go
in any one of half a dozen directions. There was a lot of country
available for Cranford to choose from. Nor was he even restricted
to the United States. San Francisco, for instance, offered the
opportunity for someone with money to book passage on any number of
passenger ships bound for foreign ports. Likewise the eastern
seaboard provided similar facilities. There was even South America.
A man with Amos Cranford’s talent for nefarious activities could
easily carve himself a comfortable niche in one of those steamy,
isolated, tropical little republics down at the far end of the
Latin American continent. With his knowledge of law and his money,
Cranford had the means of rising to great heights, no matter how
dubious his motivations and his methods.

With Liberty dropping further
and further behind him Angel pushed his horse deeper into the
bleak, dark slopes of the hills above the town. He rode as fast as
he could while still managing to follow the faint trail left by
Cranford
’s
bunch, and the single line of tracks Birdy was producing. The
silent hours drifted by in a blur. And slowly, imperceptibly at
first, the deep-night hue of the sky began to fade. Pale streaks of
light began to break the monotony of the darkness. There was little
change in the temperature. Angel found himself shivering slightly
against the keen chill of the high country. In a few hours he would
be longing for its return. With the eventual rising of the sun
would come the endless hours of savage heat. The air thick,
cloying. The vaulted canyons and rocky escarpments would become
vast, unrelenting ovens, reflecting the trapped heat with magnified
intensity.

Angel crested a high ridge,
reining in his panting horse. He slipped from the saddle and gave
the animal a few minutes
’ rest. He took his canteen and swallowed a
mouthful of cold water. While his horse took the opportunity to
chew at some clumps of tough grass, Angel made use of the halt to
study the landscape. Early-morning light was flooding the land,
washing the earth and rocks with its sheer brilliance. At this
height the altitude created a clearness in the air that added to
the natural capabilities of man’s eyesight. Angel found he was able
to pick out far-distant objects with startling clarity.

Like the riderless horse wandering aimlessly
across the face of the long slope far above him, Angel watched the
horse for a while, aware of a growing sensation of unease settling
over him. Abruptly he went to his horse and mounted up. He kicked
the animal into motion, yanking impatiently at the reins when the
horse showed signs of reluctance at being disturbed. Once he was
moving Angel pushed his horse hard.

Even so it took him almost an
hour to reach the spot where he
’d first seen the riderless horse. He
followed the tracks it had left. He found the animal a few minutes
later, grazing in the shade of some rooks. It was the same horse
Birdy had used on the ride into Liberty. Angel gathered the reins
and led the horse as he rode back the way it had come, following
the line of erratic hoof prints it had left.

He found Birdy face down at the
base of a granite
rock face. Even before he climbed from his saddle Angel was
able to see the ugly, crisscross weals and tears in Birdy’s body.
The man’s clothing was in bloody shreds. Angel knew what had caused
them. He’d seen the results of brutal whippings before. A man
skilled in the use of those ugly weapons could tear flesh from
bone. And Angel didn’t doubt Trench’s capabilities one little
bit.

‘
Oh …
oh … God it hurts!’

Birdy
’s thin body began to shudder
violently as Angel turned him over. The skinny man’s chest and face
were torn and bloody. Deep gashes left white bone exposed in a
number of places. Birdy stared up at Angel as if he was a stranger,
then recognition shone in his dull eyes and he clutched at Angel’s
arm with a bloody hand.

‘
I
knew you’d come,
Angel. Didn’t figure on getting caught, mind. But one of Cranford’s
boys must have spotted me. Hell, I ain’t no damn Apache. Anyhow
they snuck up on me ’fore I knew what was happening. They wanted to
know if anybody else was following. I told ’em there wasn’t. Funny
thing is they didn’t believe me an’ it was the truth. So that son
of a bitch Trench laid into me with that whip.’ Birdy paused for a
while, biting back the pain rising in his body.

‘
Jesus, Angel, I never knew a man could hurt so much and not
be dead. That bastard Trench, he really let go at me. Hell, I
figured I’d done pretty good while they had me in that camp. All
that time and I never once felt that whip. Minute I get out who do
I walk right into! I told you I wasn’t safe on my own,
Angel.’

‘
I
wish you’d have
told me what you were up to,’ Angel said. ‘It was a dumb thing to
do, Birdy, taking off after Cranford on your own.’

‘
Yeah,
I found that out,’ Birdy whispered. ‘I just figured you needed a
little help, Angel.’

‘
Don’t
think I’m not grateful, Birdy. I just wish it hadn’t cost you so
much.’

Birdy nodded.
‘What the hell,
Angel. I had nowhere else to go. But I did all right for you?
Didn’t I, Angel?’

Angel nodded.
‘Sure, Birdy, you
did fine. They won’t get away now.’

Angel made no mention of the
fact that he would have been able to pick up
Cranford
’s
trail without Birdy’s help. Whatever Birdy’s motivation for wanting
to help Angel it had only brought him pain and suffering. To reveal
that his efforts had been unnecessary would have been as harsh as
allowing further punishment from Trench’s whip.

‘
Birdy, how many of them are there?’ Angel asked.

‘
Cranford, Trench. That pair who used to be Sherman’s
deputies … Duggan and Koch. And a couple of the guards from the
camp. I figure Cranford must have paid off the rest of them.’ Birdy
managed a faint grin. ‘That too many for you, Angel?’

‘
Kind
of odds I usually take care of before breakfast.’

‘
Yeah.
Hell, Angel, I wish I could see you … !’

Birdy
’s voice trailed off. When Angel
glanced down at him, the man was dead.

Angel slid the body into a
shallow depression in the ground and covered it with rocks. He
unsaddled Birdy
’s horse and turned it loose. He placed Birdy’s handgun in
his saddlebags, hung the canteen from his saddle horn. Then he
mounted up and put his horse on the trail. He did not look back at
Birdy’s lonely grave, simply stared ahead, his whole being focused
on what lay before him.

There was a saying to the
effect that you never heard the bullet with your name on it. If the
saying was true, Angel decided, then somebody had misspelt his
name, because he very definitely heard the
bullet
—and
felt its passing. Angel left his saddle without hesitation,
snatching for the rifle in the scabbard at his side. He hit the
ground on his left shoulder, hugging the Winchester to his body as
he rolled towards the scant cover of a flat boulder. Almost
separately, a section of his mind was registering the flat crackle
of further shots. Bullets whacked the rocky ground, howling off
into the air. As far as Angel could judge there were at least two
rifles.

Angel hit the base of the
boulder. Putting more strain on his battered muscles than his
condition warranted, Angel thrust his body over the top of the
boulder. He was already rolling towards the far side when yet
another shot sounded. Angel gave a soft grunt of pain as the bullet
ripped a bloody
gouge across his left shoulder. He felt hot blood coursing
down his back as he tumbled behind the boulder. Fighting off the
surge of pain and nausea, Angel twisted round, bringing the
Winchester to his shoulder.

He scanned the rocky slopes
above his position. Nothing showed at first. Angel waited
patiently, just hoping that whoever was up in those rocks lacked
that quality. Sunlight flickered along the exposed barrel of a
rifle. Angel shifted his position slightly. The rifleman, above him
and to his left, seemed also to be on the move. Angel gave him a
few more seconds. Then he caught a glimpse of the
man
’s dark
bulk, could even make out the pale oval of the face.

‘
All
right, you son of a bitch,’ Angel breathed. He angled the
Winchester, held his target and allowed for the rise of the slope
before he touched the trigger. The Winchester cracked, muzzle
lifting in recoil. His bullet struck within a half-inch of Angel’s
intended mark, throwing the rifleman back off his feet.

Angel levered a fresh round into the breech,
gasping as the sudden movement caused an ugly shaft of pain to burn
across his shoulder. He sagged against the boulder, swearing
softly. It did little to ease the pain but it still made Angel feel
a whole lot better.

Somewhere above him hoofs
clattered on hard rock. A shower of loose stone shot down the dusty
slope, pin-pointing the whereabouts of the second
rifleman. It
appeared that he’d had enough and was leaving.

Angel came to his feet,
bursting out from behind the boulder, searching the
sun bright slope
above him. He was angry enough to allow his caution to slip. A
surge of recklessness took control. He ran across the open ground,
stumbling in his haste.

The rider broke into view,
coming down the treacherous slope at breakneck speed. His face, a
white blur, was turned towards Angel. As he realized
Angel
’s
potential threat, the rider made a desperate shot with the rifle
held in his right hand. He yanked the weapon across his body,
wasting precious seconds before he pulled the trigger.

Angel was already diving
towards the ground, his own rifle lifting as he hit the hard earth.
He heard the other rifle explode, the shot passing over his prone
body. Angel returned fire, came to his feet, and fired again. He
saw his bullets hit, ripping bloody holes in the
rider
’s
body. The man went limp and rolled loosely from his saddle. He hit
the slope face down, slithering in a floppy sprawl and coming to
rest at the bottom.

Angel came to a dead stop. He
remained motionless for a time, watching and listening, his wild
anger subsiding gradually. Movement off to one side brought the
Winchester up, but it was only one of the horses. Angel eyed the
wandering animal as he let the rifle sag. He crossed to where his
own horse was standing. He sheathed his rifle
and reached for his canteen,
noticing the fresh blood running across his left hand. He became
aware now of the sharp sting of pain across his shoulder. Blood had
soaked the back of his shirt and sleeve. With the wound in the
place it was there wasn’t much he could do about it. So Angel
ignored it.