High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1 (7 page)

“Are
you blind old man?” asked Jeb Coltrain in frustration, “Can't
you see this badge? It says Sheriff.”

Lonesome
smiled coldly, “It's right purty. Now, have you ever seen what
a lead ball can do to one of them nice shiny badges you're wearin'?”

The
Sheriff was out of patience, “I asked you a question. Were they
here and where did they go?”

“No
they weren't here and I don't know where they went and that was two
questions.”

Benny
moved his horse forward, “Damn you old man...”

The
Hawken moved and its gaping muzzle settled on the kid, “Now
sonny, just you pull them horns of yours in before I go and teach you
some manners.”

“Back
off kid, let the sheriff handle it,” said Harbin.

“He
ain't goin' to tell us squat Blackie,” Benny whined.

Lonesome
redirected his gaze until it rested on the boss outlaw, “So
you're the great Blackie Harbin. You and yours are the ones the
Blackfeet is lookin' for.”

Blackie's
eyes hardened.

“Did
he tell you what he did Sheriff?”

“Shut
up old man,” Harbin grated.

“He
killed himself an Indian. Not just any Indian, the brother of a chief
no less.”

Harbin
pulled the flap of his duster aside, and exposed one of his pearl
handled Colts, “I told you to shut up, I won't tell you again.”

The
old trapper ignored the killer's threats and continued, “But it
didn't stop there. He had himself a great time with the braves' wife
before he cut her throat!”

“Damn
you,” Harbin cursed and his hand blurred. The Colt cleared
leather and before the old man could bring the Hawken into line, a
single shot crashed out. The .45 calibre slug caught Lonesome in the
chest, and knocked him back. As he went down, the mountain man lost
grip of his prized possession and it fell into the grass beside him.
As Laramie had told Sally, Lonesome was tough, and the old timer
struggled back up to his knees. He looked Harbin in the eye and tried
to speak. No words came forth and after a few hard fought seconds of
trying to stay erect, Lonesome Lane fell face first into the grass
and remained still.

“No,
what have you done!” cried the Judge.

“What
in hell did you go and do that for Harbin?” cursed the Sheriff.

“He
talked too much,” shrugged Harbin.

“Is
what he said true?” questioned the Sheriff.

“And
what if it is?” the outlaw challenged.

“It
damn well explains a lot.”

Before
more could be said, Lone Wolf returned, “I found their trail
leadin' away from here.”

“Which
way are they headin'?” the Sheriff asked.

Lone
Wolf pointed up the valley, “There is more. This mornin',
Indians were here. Five of them.”

“Who
cares about them,” Harbin brushed the cautionary warning away,
“it's them others we are after. How far ahead are they?”

“Maybe
three hours.”

“Let's
get going then,” said the Judge as he fought to get his horse
turned, “damned animal of Grover's is as stubborn as that old
goat was.”

“Okay
then,” said Jeb Coltrain, “you lead out Indian.”

The
group swung their horses away from Lonesome's cabin and followed Lone
Wolf as he lead them away from the solitary figure that lay face down
on the ground.

Laramie
called a halt around noon so they could water their horses at a rocky
stream which cut a path through a small meadow. The water was clear
and cool, and while the horses drank their fill, the gunfighter
topped up the canteens.

“Look,
over there,” said Sally, as she pointed to something in the
meadow.

Laramie
looked and saw a large bull elk, that had just stepped out of a stand
of spruce, his antler rack magnificent. He stood quietly for a moment
then stretched out his neck and emitted a high pitched, bugling call.

Sally
was awe struck, “What a wonderful animal.”

Laramie
agreed, “He's just lettin' us know we're in his territory.”

Sally
watched as the Elk remained still for a while longer before he turned
and disappeared into the trees.

“Laramie,
come and have a look at this,” Slate called from where he
watered his horse a little farther upstream.

He
left Bo to drink and walked across to Slate, “What is it?”

Slate
pointed to a patch of damp dirt beside the stream, “Look
there.”

In the
middle of a bare spot was a solitary, unshod hoof print. The sight of
it caused a chill to run up Laramie's back. He lifted his eyes and
scanned his surroundings, then he looked back at the source of his
worry, “couldn't be more than a couple of hours old.”

“That's
what I was thinkin'” Slate agreed.

Laramie
looked about some more, “I'll be happier when we can get out of
the open. The trail cuts through the trees up ahead. I'll feel better
then, let's go.”

They
mounted up and said nothing of their discovery to Sally.

Once
the path entered the trees, Laramie breathed a sigh of relief. He'd
watched their back trail but could detect no one following, but that
only meant that nobody was visible. The trail weaved its way through
tall pine trees, their aromatic scent hung heavily in the air. The
gunfighter let the big appaloosa pick his way along an undulating
path that dropped into a gully. He crossed another of the many
streams and climbed the slope on the other side.

The
trail started to rise steadily and over the course of a few hours,
the ground became rockier, and large, grey outcrops became more
frequent. The forest thinned out substantially once the path topped
the ridge line and continued along its spine.

Laramie
eased Bo to a halt, “We'll rest here for the moment.”

Where
they sat, the riders had a clear view into the next valley. It was
not much different from the one they had just ridden out of, except
there were more trees and no lake. A river meandered across the
valley floor, and bisected the wilderness in its path.

Sally
pulled her horse up beside Laramie's, “This country just keeps
going. It's magnificent.”

“Do
you see where the river bends around that rock formation, on the
other side of those trees?”

Sally
looked to where he pointed, “Yes, I think so.”

“We'll
camp there tonight and we should reach Mountain Pass late tomorrow
afternoon.”

Sally
nodded, “I will be happy to get back.”

Laramie
poked the small fire with a stick and caused it to flare, sending off
little sparks that danced in the night air before it died down again.
In the surrounding darkness, the croak of frogs was loudly
accentuated by the stillness of the night. Somewhere close, a wolf's
howl made the horses stir and fidget nervously. Slate stood and
walked over to the animals to soothe them.

Laramie
stood and crossed the camp site to talk to Slate while Sally enjoyed
the small amount of warmth provided by the fire. After their
conversation, Slate picked up his rifle from beside his saddle and
walked out into the night.

“Where
is he going?” Sally asked curiously.

“He's
goin' to take watch,” Laramie explained, “just in case we
get any unwanted visitors.”

“Do
we need to put the fire out?”

The
gunfighter shook his head, “No, it should be alright. That was
why we set up in these rocks, it'll kill the glow of the fire some.”

Sally
shivered, “I was hoping you would say that, it's getting cold.”

“If
you turn in next to the fire and keep your blanket wrapped around
you, you should be fine,” Laramie explained.

“I
hope you're right.”

An
hour later, with Slate still on watch, Sally and Laramie rolled up in
their blankets and went to sleep on opposite sides of the fire. The
plan was, that in a few hours, Slate would wake Laramie, who would
take over watch. Like a lot of plans formulated throughout history,
this one didn't work out.

*

At
first Laramie couldn't work out what had roused him. The fire had
burned low, but he wasn't cold. Sally was asleep and peaceful, so
that wasn't it. There was a slight breeze in the trees which made a
low whistling sound. Apart from that, it was relatively quiet. Even
the...

He
stopped and listened. The frogs, yes the frogs were too quiet.
Something had caused them to cease their song. They should still be
croaking, unless...

Laramie
eased his hand out and wrapped it around the butt of one of his
Remingtons. He slid it slowly out of its holster. There came the
triple click of a gun hammer being eared back to full cock. It wasn't
his.

“Just
put the gun down Davis, nice and easy,” came a low, familiar
voice.

Laramie
cursed under his breath and put the pistol down.

“Now
stand up, real slow.”

He did
as ordered and once up, was face to face with the Sheriff of Rock
Springs.

There
was a scream from Sally as Blackie Harbin dragged her roughly by the
hair and forced her to her feet. Laramie made to move to her aid but
was stopped short when the sheriff's six-gun dug into his ribs.

Jeb
Coltrain smiled wickedly, “ I have someone with me who's been
dyin' to meet you.”

The
sheriff nodded and there was a swift movement from behind. Something
hard smashed into the back of the gunfighter's head and caused him to
sink to his knees. His ears rang and through it all he heard Sally
scream again.

Laramie
shook his head to clear the cobwebs and struggled to his feet. A
little shaken, he turned to faced his attacker.

The
man was short and very rotund and his right hand held a large tree
branch. So that's what hit me, Laramie thought, then became aware of
the small trickle of blood on the back of his neck.

“You
damned murderer,” cursed the Judge, “You killed my boy.”

He
raised the branch to strike again, but Laramie's survival skills
kicked in before the Judge could start his downswing.

The
gunfighter's head snapped forward and caught the Judge across the
bridge of his nose. Cartilage crunched and blood spurted as Zebulon
Coltrain emitted a howl of pain, staggered backwards and clutched at
his ruined nose.

Jeb
Coltrain grabbed Laramie roughly about the throat and pressed his
Colt hard to the side of his head, “Do somethin' like that
again and we'll just hang you right here,” he warned.

“Son
of a bitch,” the Judge cried out, “He broke my nose!”

He
pulled his hand away from his face to find it covered in blood, “I'm
going to enjoy hanging you,” he spat a great glob of blood onto
the ground, “Damn you.”

There
was more commotion as Slate was pushed into the camp by Benny and
Cato. He looked at Laramie, fear etched deep into his face, “I'm
sorry Laramie,” he apologised, “I fell asleep. I'm so
sorry.”

“Don't
worry about it kid,” he said softly, “it could've
happened to anyone.”

Harbin
pushed Sally aside and walked purposefully over to Slate, who knew
what was about to happen.

“Well,
well. If it isn't the double-crosser. Do you remember when you joined
our little band, what it was that I said about double-crossers? And
do you remember what I said would happen if you ever double-crossed
me?”

Slate
remained silent.

“Do
you?” Harbin snapped.

Benny
and Cato stepped away as Slate nodded weakly.

“Leave
him be Harbin!” Laramie snapped.

Blackie
Harbin gave Laramie a look of pure evil and said, “He was
warned.”

Harbin
swiftly drew one of his pearl handled Colts and shot Slate in the
head. It snapped back savagely as the .45 calibre slug blew blood and
gore out the back when it exited.

Laramie
squeezed his eyes shut as rage built up inside of him. He tried to
block out the laugh of Benny and the cry of anguish that escaped from
Sally. He drew in a couple of deep breaths and opened his eyes.

“I'm
goin' to kill you for that Harbin,” Laramie said coldly, “just
you wait and see. It may not be tonight, but it will happen. Count on
it.”

“You
seem to forget, Davis,” Jeb Coltrain hissed in his ear, “I
have a prior claim. On you.”

He
shoved Laramie forward and the gunfighter staggered a little before
he regained his balance.

Laramie
looked about in search of Sally. He saw her, on her knees, face in
her hands, as she tried to deal with the cold blooded manner of
Slate's death. Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed silently, the
sight of what Harbin had done, etched deep in her mind alongside that
of the salesman from the stage.

Laramie
stumbled a couple of steps toward her, but Shell blocked his path,
“Are you goin' somewhere killer?” the deputy asked with a
wicked smile.

Laramie
made to move around him, but Shell's fist travelled swiftly and the
blow took him in the midriff. He doubled over as the air rushed from
his lungs, and a hammer blow to the back of his head, took him to his
hands and knees in a slump. Through the fog that clouded his mind, he
heard Sally scream for it to stop.

A hand
grabbed his shirt and dragged him to his feet. Through blurred
vision, Laramie could just make out the face of Shell Coltrain, a
smile plastered across it. He struck a vicious blow to Laramie's face
and split his lips as they mashed against his teeth. A second blow
snapped his head back and it bobbled about, senseless from the last
blow. Blood flowed freely from a cut on his face and. things grew
dark as consciousness began to leave him.

Shell
let go of Laramie's shirt. The gunfighter collapsed to the ground
with a low moan.

The
Judge stepped forward and lashed out with his boot, anger and
frustration evident in his actions. It landed solidly and Laramie
felt pain shoot through his ribs. The second blow followed by
another, glanced off his shoulder before it collected him in the side
of the head. Mercifully, darkness finally claimed him.

“Whoa,
hold on there Judge,” the Sheriff tried to calm his brother,
“Try to leave somethin' for the hangman.”

The
old man blew hard from his exertions, “Alive or dead he's still
going to hang. You mark my words. He'll hang and everyone will see
what we do to murderers who kill our own.”

“Tie
him up Shell,” Jeb Coltrain ordered his nephew. “We'll
stay until mornin' and then head back to Rock Springs.”

Shell
rolled Laramie's prone form over and bound the gunman's hands behind
him with a strip of rawhide. He dragged the body over to where Sally
sat and dropped him roughly to the ground. She immediately started
to tend his wounds to make sure he was okay.

“May
I have some water?” she asked Shell Coltrain, “Just to
clean him up a little.”

The
younger Coltrain sneered, “Hell no. Be happy with the fact he
is still alive. It's more than he deserves and more than my brother
got.”

He
turned and walked away.

As she
returned her attention back to Laramie, a canteen appeared in front
of her eyes. Sally looked up as Orson Blake stood over her.

He
smiled warmly, “Here, take it.”

Sally
took the canteen and asked hopefully, “Can you help me?”

Blake
shook his head sadly, “No, I'm sorry. I should not have even
given you that.”

He
turned away without another word and walked off.

*

“Cato,”
Harbin called out, “Where in hell are you?”

The
outlaw emerged from the dark as he buttoned his flies, “I'm
here, stop yellin.”

Harbin
pointed at Slate's cooling body, “Get rid of that will you,
before it starts stinkin' up the place. After that, keep an eye on
the girl. When we ride in the mornin', she's comin' with us.”

Cato
looked at Harbin, the look on his face said, you shot him, you get
rid of him, but decided against voicing his opinion. Instead, he bent
down, took the body by the hands and dragged Slate unceremoniously
out of camp.

Harbin
looked around for Benny and found him going through Laramie's
belongings.

“What
in hell are you doin' kid?” Harbin asked curiously.

“Just
lookin',”Benny said without an upward glance.

“Just
remember, any money you find gets split,” Blackie warned him.

Benny
straightened up, unhappy, “What about his guns, can I have
them?”

Harbin
shrugged, “Sure, why not.”

Benny
unbuckled his scarred Peacemakers and strapped on Laramie's
Remingtons. He tied the rawhide thongs about his thighs and fiddled
with the gun belt until it felt comfortable.

He
smiled at Harbin, “There, now I'm a damned legend too.”

Harbin
shook his head in bemusement, “Takes more than a gun to make a
man, kid.”

Benny's
ugly stare burned holes in Blackie Harbin's back as he walked away.

*

Soon
after sun up, the mountain air was cool and fresh with the scent of
pine and wood smoke. The horses stamped their feet, eager to be on
the trail. Laramie had spent a cold, uncomfortable night with his
hands tied behind his back.

In the
aftermath of his beating, everything hurt. His ribs were tender from
the Judge's kicks and his face bore the signs of Shell's attack. His
lips were cut and tender, and one eye was bruised and swollen. The
small cut above his temple had stopped bleeding, but the residual
headache was testament to the Judge's kick that had caught him in the
side of his head.