Miller's Ride Page 3

  The talking gunman snatched at his low-slung sidearm, but it was nothing more than a token gesture. Chad’s bullet hit him high in the chest. The impact was devastating, and before the body made ground, Chad had twisted sideways-on to the man with the shiny rifle, and he shot to kill.

  The farmer still lay in the dust between the men, and Chad felt the rage of a dreadful injustice. A rifle shot tore past his head, and he dropped to the ground as he fired. The third aggressor was firing blindly from the shadows, but Chad was concentrating on the rifleman. He saw the man’s shoulder drop as he levered another round into his rifle. His shape under the lamp was all that was needed and Chad’s bullet took out his throat.

  ‘Do for me too, eh?’ Chad muttered, his heart thumping with the noise and smell of brimstone. He threw a wild glance at two people remaining on the boardwalk, then at his horse. The ugly dog had returned and was snapping at the mare’s legs. Chad loosed off another bullet, cursed as he blew the vile animal apart. He turned to the man in the shadows who’d stopped firing. He guessed he was out of ammunition.

  He held his Colt down at his side and yelled at the man. ‘I’ve got four bullets left, back-shooter. How about you?’

  ‘Weren’t me who shot the dirt-farmer,’ the man shouted back. ‘You’ve already killed him.’

  Chad took a step forward. ‘Step out,’ he called. ‘If you can move for the crap in your pants.’

  The man was fearful but, dropping his own Colt, he shuffled into the middle of the street.

  Chad walked up to him. ‘You can die on your feet or live on your knees. Make your choice.’

  The man started at Chad in disbelief: didn’t, couldn’t answer.

  Chad drew back the hammer of his Colt. ‘Make your choice!’ he yelled, his voice a chilling rasp.

  ‘Live … live on me knees.’ The man gave up, and spoke almost inaudibly.

  Chad fired point blank down into the man’s foot. ‘Smart,’ he offered as the man fell.

  Chad took a long look down the street. In the darkness he couldn’t see beyond thirty or forty paces, and there was still no sign of young Joe.

  The man was doubled up on the ground. Both his hands were gripped tight around the lower part of his right leg. He dribbled, was spitting hate-filled abuse at Chad.

  Chad walked to his horse. He climbed cautiously into his saddle, swapping the Patterson from his right to his left hand. Thinking on what Rose and Ashley Bridge had told him, Chad was certain the two men he’d just killed were on the Porton payroll. ‘You’ll be needin’ a doctor to have a look at that foot,’ he responded to the man’s painful fury. ‘An’ tell Porton that this time he ain’t swattin’ sandflies. From now on there’s folk that ain’t runnin’ from his guns. An’ they ain’t rollin’ over, neither.’

  He swung the mare to face up the street. There was now only one man still standing outside the hotel bar. He was an oldster, stiff in one leg, who supported himself with a crutch. Chad glared at him. ‘What are you starin’ at?’ he snapped, almost smiled as the old man quickly turned away.

  At the limits of town Chad dismounted outside the livery stable. ‘Joe, you still in there? Come on, open up,’ he shouted, banging at the door.

  One of the big double doors opened a way, and Chad stepped inside. There was a row of crude, bitch-lanterns nailed to a low beam, and under their weak light the stableman was sitting on a crate. Joe was standing to the side, his Winchester able to cover anything that made a threatening move.

  ‘Did you hear all that shootin’, kid?’

  Joe nodded. ‘These are their mounts. They must’ve been the Porton men.’

  Chad looked at the stableman, who shrugged. Then he looked back at Joe and grinned. ‘Yeah, we met in the street. I had to kill two of ’em.’ Chad pushed his Colt back into his gun-belt. ‘Get your horse, we’re shot o’ this place.’

  Joe huffed and puffed in excited frustration while he saddled up. The stableman got to his feet and pointed at the youngster.

  ‘That kid was goin’ to kill me,’ he growled at Chad.

  Chad backed out of the stable behind Joe. ‘He still might,’ he said, ‘I might, if it ever looks like your support’s with Porton or his troops.’

  As Chad remounted his mare, grain-rats scurried from a cracked skirt of the stable. Chad instinctively shuddered. ‘Must o’ got the whiff o’ fresh carrion,’ he muttered.

  Joe was watching him. ‘What we doin’ about the doc?’ he asked impatiently.

  Chad nudged his mare forward. ‘We got to stand off for a while … see if we’re followed. That burned-out shack we passed earlier’ll give us enough cover in the darkness. If no one’s makin’ a move, I’ll go back for him. I know where he’ll be. We get him back to Big Windy, then maybe I can lay me down with Mr Sandman.’

  5

  OPENING ROUND

  There were still a few lamps burning along the main street when Doc Quinn came out of Waddy’s Halt. He stumbled down the veranda steps before taking a confused route in the direction of the town bank.

  He clutched a leather valise which he’d collected from his surgery an hour earlier. He’d had to treat a man who’d had the best part of his foot shot away.

  The doctor was trying to get his fuddled mind round what had happened. Who the stranger was, who dared face up to Porton’s hired gunmen. For a long time no one had opposed a High Smoke hand and lived to brag on it. Whoever the stranger was, he was proficient. Two of the men had died outright from a single shot each.

  The doctor found some compensation in patching up the third man. He didn’t use pain-killer as he prodded smashed foot-bones back into a crimson pulp.

  In the wanting of peace and comfort, Quinn had betrayed his profession and personal integrity. He’d become like the rest of the town – a pawn in Brig Porton’s assets game.

  As he turned into a narrow lane beside the bank and fumbled a key into the lock of his door a tall, slim figure emerged silently from the shadows. A Pecos accent clipped from the darkness.

  ‘Another job for you, Doc. You’re in need of a soberin’ up an’ a bullet probe,’ Chad said.

  Quinn began to tremble, immediately tried to shake off the whiskey. ‘I’ve got instruments. They’re here in my bag. Who are you?’ he blurted.

  ‘Never mind. Let’s go,’ the voice commanded.

  ‘Who are you?’ repeated Quinn, trying to get a sight of Chad’s face in the darkness. ‘Where we going?’

  ‘Out o’ town. There’s someone hurt real bad an’ he needs a doctor, so don’t waste time askin’ questions. Just don’t make any fuss. I’ve hurt enough people this night.’

  ‘Don’t get violent,’ Quinn stuttered. ‘It’s just that … I’ve only been practising—’

  ‘In town, yeah I know,’ Chad snapped. ‘But that was then, this is now,’ He stabbed his finger into the doctor’s midriff, caught the bag as it fell. ‘Don’t you go worryin’ though, we ain’t goin’ near the street.’

  Chad hustled the doc away. Keeping to the shadows, they moved along the lanes and back alleys. Less than five minutes later, from the back of town, they were headed out to the fire-gutted shack.

  During the ride Doc Quinn was sick as he sat Joe Bridge’s mare. But he hung on, a little gritted and a lot fearful.

  When they pulled up at the shack Chad dismounted, reached up and grabbed him by the lapels of his soiled coat. He dragged him to the ground, then to his feet as he sagged with anxiety.

  ‘Sorry about the treatment, Doc,’ Chad said. ‘But you got to get around a bit more. There’s people that need you … took an oath at sometime, I’m guessin’.’

  The doc gave a violent tremble when Joe suddenly appeared between the charred doorposts. He looked nervously at Chad.

  ‘This is Joe Bridge. It’s his pa you’ll be tendin’,’ Chad said. ‘You’ll be ridin’ with him.’

  Joe grimaced at the thought. ‘I can run,’ he decided, eyeing the front of Quinn’s coat. ‘Won’t slow you down … promise.’


  The doctor climbed awkwardly aboard Joe’s horse and they started north to Big Windy ranch. Joe was ahead and moving easy. To Chad it looked like he could keep the pace for hours if he had to.

  After a few minutes of silence Quinn spoke into the night. ‘If you’re who I think you are, mister, you’ve stirred up the town tonight. Brig Porton won’t take kindly to two of his men being killed … another with his foot half-shot away. There’ll be suffering. From now on, your life expectancy is considerably less than mine … unless you’re thinking of pulling your own army.’

  Under the thin moonlight Chad was staring ahead. Joe was keeping at a steady distance.

  Chad laughed. ‘I’ve got more than an army, Doc. If High Smoke wants to carry on the fight, Mr Porton should be thinkin’ of circlin’ a bone yard.’

  Quinn shook his throbbing head. ‘That’s brawny talk, but not exactly my stock-in-trade. A dead doctor’s a dead doctor, and there’s no effective treatment for that, yet. I was aiming to ride away from this … this godforsaken place one day.’

  ‘Poton’s sort o’ trouble’s just grist to us Millers, Doc,’ Chad said, and laughed again. ‘I’ll accompany you all the way to Denver … Philadelphia, even, when you’ve done here tonight.’

  The swaying gait of the horse was making Quinn feel sick again. His chin sank to his chest. ‘Porton’s fed information from everywhere,’ he said. ‘He’ll know where I’ve gone.’

  ‘You sure ain’t one for goodly portents, are you, Doc? What the hell do you think he’ll want you or any other pill-pusher for? It’s a row o’ wooden overcoats they’ll be needin’.’

  Quinn made no reply. His sickness was rising uncontrollably.

  The riders took a low rise that overlooked Big Windy. In the moonlight, Saguache Creek appeared as a shimmering silver ribbon. Chad sat for a moment looking into the silent darkness, held up his hand as Joe joined them.

  It was long after midnight when they dismounted. Lights were still showing from the ranch house and Perdi stepped out on to the porch to meet them. Anxiety showed immediately when she saw two men on the dun mares. She looked past Chad, raised a smile when Joe appeared, waving his Winchester.

  Chad spoke up sharply. ‘We’ve rode right up to the front door, Perdi. That’s a mite careless.’

  Perdi shook her head. ‘Jack was out there below the rise. He told us you were comin’ half an hour ago.’

  ‘Who’s Jack?’

  ‘Jack Meel, our mustang-finder. He spends every night out watchin’. His name ain’t really Jack. We call him that, ’cause o’ the size of his ears. He’ll never be taken by surprise … so we won’t.’

  ‘That’s useful,’ Chad acknowledged, as he climbed from his horse. ‘Someone pour black coffee and gunpowder into the doc here, an’ he’ll get busy. Ain’t that right, Doc?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Quinn. He spoke very quietly, but with obvious resignation.

  ‘Our pa needed you days ago,’ retorted Perdi. ‘He was shot twice. The bullets are too deep for me to get out.’

  Quinn held out his bag for Perdi as he dismounted. “I’ll need help. But it won’t be sewing like you know it,’ he told her.

  ‘Just tell us what you’ll need,’ she said. ‘My sister’s with him. She’s better at that sort o’ thing. I’ll pour the coffee.’

  Perdi looked at Chad. ‘Did you have much trouble?’ she asked.

  ‘None that me an’ your kid brother couldn’t handle,’ he replied. ‘Joe’ll probably tell you about it, but later on I’ll tell you what actually happened. In the meantime, you rest more easy. Porton’s at least two guns down.’

  ‘At least two? More easy?’ Perdi was incredulous as she turned into the house.

  Chad rubbed the back of his neck, arched his back. He turned to Joe. ‘Before you turn in, kid, show me to the bunkhouse … anyone else I haven’t met.’

  6

  RIDING THE HILLS

  Chad was standing outside the bunkhouse. He’d already checked on his bay, which was stabled alongside Rose’s buckskin mare. It had returned, as she’d said it would.

  His thoughts turned to food when the hefty front door of the house eased open and Perdi stepped out. Silhouetted in a yellow wedge of light, she could see Chad as he started across the yard towards her.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said as he approached. He would have been surprised at her garb if he hadn’t had a taste of it the previous day. She wore a tie-down, battered range-hat, and a leather belt was pulled around a short blanket-coat. Chad recognized the small carbine her sister had carried up at the pool.

  ‘You called me miss, and now it’s ma’am. Why’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘Fear.’

  Perdi’s brow creased at Chad’s expressive smile. She turned her head as colour flourished around her neck.

  ‘War bag packed?’ Chad asked, with as much lightness as he thought acceptable in the circumstances.

  ‘I’m going to relieve Marlow Frost, not turning out for a hoedown. It’s my watch, an’ I’m there ’til eight,’ Perdi responded a little sharply.

  ‘Well, I’m claimin’ another meal,’ Chad told her. ‘You’ve time to have some coffee with me.’

  Seated at the family table, Perdi clasped her hands around the coffee mug. ‘When the doc gets through with Pa, you’ll let me know?’ she asked, more agreeably.

  ‘Yeah, of course, straight off. I’ll ride out myself.’

  Joe walked through the door, his Winchester slung over his shoulder.

  Perdi looked affectionately at her brother. ‘Why don’t you turn in for a few hours, Joe? Could be we got a busy day ahead of us.’

  ‘That’s why I ain’t turnin’ in. I’m part o’ this too,’ Joe said, more excited than tired.

  Chad smiled at him. ‘Well, right now your sister’s runnin’ herd on things, an’ I’m gettin’ some fancy fixin’s,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you join in? I’m sure there’s enough.’ Joe refused. Disappointed, he stomped across the yard to the bunkhouse. Chad guessed he preferred the camaraderie and high talk of the other men.

  Perdi was watching patiently. ‘Guess I’ll be gettin’ along,’ she said. ‘As if you didn’t know, there’s pastries baking. Just leave enough for Marlow.’ She turned back from the doorway. ‘You’ll find he’s not a talkative man … Marlow. He’s biding time … waiting for a chance to get to Porton … or his men. He holds them responsible for his wife’s death.’

  Chad shook his head, spoke quietly. ‘This Porton ain’t a great achiever in Hooper’s social whirl, is he,’ he said.

  Sometime after Perdi had gone Rose came into the kitchen. She’d obviously hung in with the surgery, but Chad could see the strain.

  ‘How is your pa?’ he asked.

  ‘Not good. Doc took out three bullets. Two were real close together.’

  Chad followed Rose into her father’s bedroom. Doc Quinn was holding a big swab against Ashley Bridge’s shoulder. The rancher’s eyes were closed and oily sweat beaded across his forehead, down the folds of skin alongside his nose.

  When Chad went back to the main room Marlow Frost had arrived. He was seated at the table, and his eyes never moved from forking meat-pie off a plate.

  Chad raised his eyebrows. The man was well-fitted with a name, he was thinking.

  ‘I’m Chad Miller. You’ll be Marlow Frost,’ he said.

  Frost acknowledged Chad with a low grunt, then: ‘The kid told me.’

  The gory, chloroformed atmosphere of Ashley Bridge’s room had got to Chad’s head and spoiled the satisfaction of food. The indifference of Frost made him feel uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to say to the man, other than ask about the death of his wife. He made himself a short smoke and poured some coffee.

  When he’d finished eating Frost pushed his plate to one side and stood up. He looked Chad straight in the eyes, and with a brief, almost courteous ‘goodnight’ he walked straight out of the door and across to the bunkhouse.

  Chad felt relieved at Fros
t’s departure, couldn’t work up much understanding or sympathy. Perdi had told him very little, but he still wondered why Frost didn’t vent some of his spleen nearer to High Smoke.

  Chad shrugged, pushed the door to, and sat in a more comfortable chair. He was dozing, dripping cold coffee into his lap, when Rose appeared with the doc.

  Quinn’s face was grey and Chad could see that his hands were trembling. He looked like a man who’d been examining more than bullet wounds.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ Rose said. ‘I’ll get the doc something.’

  ‘Somethin’ stronger than buttermilk,’ Chad suggested.

  Quinn looked at Chad. His eyes were bloodshot, guilty.

  ‘He’s goin’ to pull through after all your good work, is he?’ Chad wanted to know.

  Quinn sat at the table. ‘I’ve done all I can. He’s more chance than he had a few hours ago, but it doesn’t look good.’ He was staring at the tips of his fingers. ‘If I had got here earlier … maybe …’ His words trailed off. ‘I never was a brave man,’ he said.

  ‘Not much of anythin’ lately,’ Chad muttered.

  ‘I know that, and I’m sorry,’ Quinn said miserably. ‘But if he gets through the next twenty-four hours, he’s a chance. I’ll be staying … of course.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. You been thinkin’ on whether Brig Porton’s after you?’ Chad asked.

  ‘Maybe. Like you said, it all depends on what happens in the meantime. I can’t do much more than take a chance.’

  ‘So, I’m wonderin’ if you bein’ here makes a difference?’ Chad said.

  Rose reappeared with a glass of whiskey, placed it carefully on the table in front of the doc. Quinn stared anxiously at Chad.

  ‘Drink it. We ain’t goin’ to argue on whether you deserve it or not,’ Chad told him.

  Quinn licked his lips into a cracked smile, picked up the glass. ‘Thank you Miss Bridge … and for your help.’

  ‘I promised I’d let Perdi know about her pa,’ Chad said. ‘Anyways, I’ll feel happier knowin’ she’s OK.’