Hell for Leather Read online

  Smythe seemed uneasy in his mount while Zeke appeared nearly asleep. The temperature, which had been rising all morning, began to show a little mercy, which was good as the sky above was void of clouds and would offer no respite from the sun.

  “How hot does it usually get out here?” asked Smythe by way of breaking the silence.

  “Pretty hot.”

  “That’s a vague answer.”

  “Did you come all the way out here to talk about the weather?”

  “No.” admitted Smythe, “You’re right.”

  “So what’s on your mind?”

  “I need to find someone.”

  “What did he do?”

  ”It’s a she, and she didn’t do anything. She’s missing.”

  “Then go see the marshals about it.”

  “I don’t believe a missing girl would trouble their thoughts any great deal. A life doesn’t seem worth very much out here.”

  “Depends on the life, I reckon.” said Zeke. “Mine is plenty valuable to me.”

  “Of course. Well this girl’s life is considerably valuable to my employer. She’s his daughter.”

  “She run away from home?”

  “I’m afraid not. She was on her way to San Francisco to meet her husband. He was to oversee her father’s vast financial interests in California.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Her train was attacked by Comanche Indians.”

  “How do you know it was Comanche?”

  “Several witnesses reported seeing a small band of Comanche Indians stop the train, board it and take several young women with them.”

  “Kidnapping ain’t what the Comanche do. If they took her, then I hate to tell you this, but she’s already dead.” Smythe was silent for a few moments.

  “Do you have children, Mr. McAllister?”

  “Not that I know about.”

  “For a parent, not knowing the fate of your child is the worst possible Hell imaginable. If she has in fact fallen victim to this marauding band, I would like you to confirm this so that I might give my employer some small measure of peace.” Zeke said nothing but simply rode on, staring silently at the horizon. Smythe examined his face looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what Zeke was thinking, but Zeke’s eyes gave nothing away.

  “Well?” said Smythe finally.

  “Hush.” replied Zeke, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

  “What is it?”

  “I said hush.” Zeke turned his steely green eyes on Smythe to drive the point home. A glare like that coming from a man like Zeke would have been enough to keep Smythe silent til rapture, but Zeke continued, “For the next few minutes, you don’t talk unless I tell you to. Go along with whatever I say and keep close. If guns start blazing, you turn Mable around and run her hell-bent for leather all the way back to town. Understand?”

  “Not entirely.” Zeke sighed, exasperated.

  “Just do what I say.” he told him.

  As they rode slowly toward what Smythe finally saw was a small encampment, Zeke kept looking up at the sky. Smythe assumed he was praying.

  At length, they made it to the camp. A fire was smoldering at the center of five bedrolls whose owners had only now noticed they had visitors. Zeke and Smythe approached slowly and stopped. The four men stood still, waiting for the two of them to make a move. Smythe’s heart was pounding, but the sight of Zeke, calm and cool, soothed his nerves. Smythe noticed that Zeke had locked eyes with one particular member of this small group.

  “Afternoon, Eli.” Zeke finally said to the man Smythe assumed was the reason they were there.

  “Is it afternoon already?” replied the cowboy, acting like a circus clown. Smythe took this as a display of bravado and relaxed slightly. It meant he was afraid.

  “I reckon you know why I’m here.”

  “Whores missing me already and sent you to fetch me?” More foolishness, thought Smythe. He wanted to know how Zeke would handle this. It would tell him a great deal about this stranger.

  “Now don’t play dumb, Eli, though you are quite convincing in the role.” Smythe smiled to himself. How easily Zeke seemed to control the situation. “Do you know what would happen if word was to get out that Harold had let his upstanding saloon become a den of thieves and card cheats?” Eli became visibly irritated by this.

  “You mind who you call a cheat.” he said, placing his hand on his holstered six gun.

  “And you mind where you put that hand.” answered Zeke coolly, “You lost, fair and square. Pay old man Hendricks what you owe him.”

  “Or what? There’s four of us and there ain’t but two of you.”

  “Eli,” said Zeke as though he were bored of the whole thing, “only three of you are wearing iron. Do you really think I wouldn’t have time to bury you three before I got around to putting bullets in the last one? Hell, I wouldn’t be nervous even if I was alone. As it happens, I brought my good friend along for the company. This here is English George, the Butcher of Barberry. You’ve heard of him, I’m sure.” Eli squinted up at Smythe, looking him over.

  “Well yeah, I’ve heard of him.” he lied, convincing no one. Smythe kept quiet and felt very near to fainting as he stared down this undoubtedly ruthless outlaw. He focused his will on not blinking and Zeke was impressed by his manner and bearing. Eli was backed into a corner. Zeke could tell he was nervous. Good. “He don’t look English to me,” said Eli nervously, “and he ain’t even wearing any guns.”

  “I am most certainly English.” said Smythe, swallowing the lump in his throat, “As for my guns, I assure you they are well within reach.” Zeke could see fear blooming on Eli’s face. He was scared now and scared men do stupid things. Zeke had won, now he had to find a way of getting out of the situation while letting Eli save some dignity in front of his men.

  “Tell you what,” said Zeke, “what say we make another wager, only this time if you lose, no bellyaching and no dawdling, you pay Hendricks and on top of that, you give Harold a dollar for sullying his bar’s reputation.” Eli took his eyes off Smythe for the first time.

  “What if I win?” he asked.

  “Then I’ll pay Hendricks the balance of your wager myself.” Eli relaxed slightly as he considered this. “You see that buzzard in that tree over yonder?” Eli took a moment before taking his eyes off Zeke. The buzzard in question was perched on a mesquite tree quite a ways off from where they were standing.

  “You think you can hit that from here?” exclaimed Eli, genuinely amused, “Hell, Zeke, you’re on!” Zeke smiled.

  “Why don’t you take a few steps back.” he said.

  “Sure thing.” said Eli, now completely at ease, “Let’s give Ezekiel some room, boys. I don’t want to hear him complaining when he loses that we distracted him.” Eli and his gang gave Zeke a wide berth as he dismounted. Smythe strained his eyes in the direction of the bird. It seemed impossible to him. As Zeke stood between their horses unpacking his Sharps rifle, Smythe leaned down and kept his voice low.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? That bird has to be four hundred yards away.” without turning around, Zeke replied.

  “Actually, it’s about four hundred and fifty.” Zeke loaded his rifle and slowly walked over to a small tree with low branches. Carefully he selected one that was at just the right height. He rested his weapon on the branch and settled into his firing stance. For what seemed like an eternity to Smythe, nothing happened.

  “While we’re young, Zeke.” said Eli to the amusement of his crew. Zeke sighed.

  “Eli, every time you open your big mouth, I have to start over.”

  “Start what over? You ain’t done nothing.”

  “Just be quiet.” admonished Zeke and went back to his sights.

  As Smythe observed the scene, it appeared to him as though Zeke was frozen in his stance. Everything around him was moving, if only slightly. The horses shifted their weight or swished their tails. Even Eli and his posse, which stood near
ly inert in rapt attention, could be seen blinking and breathing, but Zeke was perfectly still. Smythe shifted his focus from Zeke to his target. From Smythe’s vantage point, the bird was merely a dot, nearly indistinguishable from the tree upon which it was perched. He tried to imagine what it would look like through Zeke’s gun sights. It would be like shooting at a speck. Smythe had hunted as a younger man, but this was something else entirely. He studied Zeke’s eyes. His shooter’s stare was intense, but relaxed. Slowly, Zeke’s finger began moving backwards on the trigger.

  BLAM!

  The shock of the rifle’s report caused Smythe to jump and he turned his eyes to the bird just in time to see it explode in a burst of feathers and fall to the ground.

  “Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Eli, throwing his hat to the ground. Zeke ejected the spent brass, ambled over to his horse, slung his leg over and adjusted himself into his saddle all the while keeping his rifle in his hand just in case Eli got some fool idea in his head.

  “A bet’s a bet.” he finally said to Eli, adding, “Don’t make me come call on you again.” he could see Eli was unhappy, but neither he nor one of his gang was about to make any sudden movements. Any man who could make a shot like that was most assuredly a mean son of a bitch and not to be tussled with. Zeke turned his horse away.

  “Let’s go, George.” he said. Smythe followed suit trying not to burst out laughing. When they were out of sight of the camp, George finally exhaled.

  “Good Lord, man!” he exclaimed, “That shot was a miracle!”

  “Ain’t nothing miraculous about guns.” Zeke spat on the ground and removed a cigarillo from his vest pocket.

  “How did you know you could hit the target?”

  “I didn’t. That’s why it’s called a bet.” he struck a match and lit his smoke.

  “So what would you have done had you missed?”

  “Honored the wager.” Zeke exhaled a pillar of smoke.

  “A man of honor?” Smythe grinned, “You are precisely the man I need.”

  “To find this girl, huh? Tell me something, how did you find me? And why?”

  ”Ah yes. I was getting to that. Three years ago, you tried to ambush a Wells Fargo coach, did you not?” Zeke was visibly disturbed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Mr. McAllister, I am not here to cause you any trouble”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I told you. I need to find someone.”

  “Horse shit.” snapped Zeke, “If that’s all you needed, there are a hundred men who would gladly take your money to find whatever you want.”

  “That’s the problem. Money is a very poor motivator. I need a man with an interest in something other than money.”

  “And you think that’s me?”

  “Mr. McAllister, let’s not play games. I need your help and time is a factor. I know you were involved in the attempted robbery of the coach. I know you’ve been on the run. I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “That coach was carrying a substantial amount of gold. Very few people knew that and when we received word that someone had been planning to attack it, my employer became concerned that someone within our company was acting in concert with the would-be thieves.”

  “An inside job?”

  “As you say, yes. I was sent to investigate. The manager of the station provided me with details of the assailant’s appearance, as well as names. He also mentioned a man named Clayton.”

  “So why me? Why now?”

  “Did you know the manager feels very indebted to you?”

  “Why?”

  “According to him, things could have been much worse.” Zeke turned his face away from Smythe as shame flushed his cheeks. “With his testimony,” continued Smythe, “and my help, you could be exonerated. No more running.”

  “And it took you this long to find me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I found you shortly after it happened. My employer had simply lost interest by that point.”

  ”What do you mean lost interest?”

  “Well nothing was actually stolen. When no direct evidence of a conspiracy surfaced, I resumed my normal duties.”

  “So as long as no money goes missing, nobody cares.”

  “Sad but true, isn’t it?” Zeke didn’t know what to make of the situation. Part of him was glad nobody seemed to care that the manager’s wife was dead. He doubted he could ever look that man in the eye, despite his misplaced feelings of gratitude. No matter what anyone said, he felt guilty. He hadn’t killed her, true, but he was responsible. He was one of the bad guys. He could still see her lying there, her blank eyes wide open. She had seemed to be staring directly into his soul. Zeke shut his eyes against the memory.

  “How long since she went missing?”

  “Four days now.”

  “And where was the last place you know that she was?”

  “The train when it was attacked. I have a map with its location marked on it.” Smythe removed a railway map from his vest and opened it. “This is where you should start.” Zeke looked at the map.

  “That’s deep into Indian territory.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Then you realize that there is a good chance she’s dead. Even if she escaped, four days without water and she’s either dead or wishing she was. What then?” Smythe lowered his eyes. The thought of her in jeopardy clearly affected him. He had, of course, already considered this possibility, but hearing someone else say it was different.

  “In that case,” he said, gathering himself, “she wore a locket. She wore it everywhere. It was a gift from her mother. She would never part with it. On the back was an inscription. If she is dead, bury her with it and tell me what it says and I will still help you. I give you my word.” Zeke folded the map and turned his gaze westward.

  “Not much time. I have to leave now.”

  “What? Right this minute?”

  “If she’s not dead and I don’t find her soon, she will be.”

  “Don’t you need to prepare?”

  “I’m always prepared.” Zeke looked out over the landscape, “What’s her name?” he asked.

  “Alaine.”

  Zeke’s horse was getting tired. He had been riding for hours now and it was getting dark. He hoped he had put at least thirty miles between him and the Englishman by now. His horse slowed to a trot and Zeke made no effort to drive him on. A bright moon sat low on the horizon ahead. This was a good sign. If the sky stayed clear, Zeke would be able to press on into the night before stopping. If he could, he would ride until daybreak. Zeke did not enjoy sleep. Nightmares stalked him most evenings. He had seen many things in the War Between the States, things that did damage to a man’s mind.

  That was why he had headed west. This landscape was as foreign to him as the Englishman’s accent. It held no memories for him, reminded him of nothing. Even better, it seemed to have no memories of mankind. No monuments. Few people. Fewer buildings. It just went on ignoring men in general and him in particular. He liked that thought. If the land could ignore him, then maybe God would ignore him too. That is, if he even existed. Zeke was doubtful.

  Zeke gazed absentmindedly out at the land around him. If there was an argument for God’s existence, this was it. Mountains in the distance. Hills around him. Wide open spaces. Boundless nature surrounded his senses and bathed him in beauty. The cool evening air smelled of fresh water and he drank it in. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply in and slowly out. A normal man would feel lonely and small in this environment, but Zeke thrived in solitude, even longed for it. He wasn’t a hermit, but the farther he got from other men, the happier he seemed to be. There was a part of him that simply couldn’t trust men to just start killing each other for some stupid reason or another. As for feeling small when faced with such magnitude, Zeke could hardly feel smaller than he already did on a daily basis.

  He hoped he would be able to find the girl, but he knew the prospect
s were not very good. If she had been taken by Comanche, she was probably already dead. If not, he would track them down and bargain with them. He would give them everything he had and in return he would receive absolution.

  It wasn’t just the idea of being free from prosecution that drove him forward to danger. More than that, he wanted to look that way station manager in the eye and tell him how sorry he was that his wife had been killed. If he could do that, maybe he would find peace at long last.

  Peace. He could hardly remember what that even felt like. He wanted to remember. He wanted nothing more than that. First, however, he would have to find this girl.

  If the Englishman’s map was correct, she wasn’t a spoiled rich girl anymore. The attack on the train had taken place in rough terrain. There were steep canyons and perilous drops. The fact that there were few places to find water made it easier for Highwaymen to ply their thieving trade. All you had to do was sit there and sooner or later some hapless, thirsty Pilgrim would happen along. Easy pickings.

  Zeke pondered her possible fates. She was either already dead, dying or tied up and wishing she was dead. He hoped she could hold out just a little while longer. His horse had rested enough, he decided. He whipped its haunches and spurred it into a gallop.

  Zeke rode late into the night only stopping when clouds began to obscure the moon and it became too dark to see. He unrolled his blanket and used his saddle as a pillow. Lying on his back, he stared up at the night sky. Every so often, the clouds would break and silver light would burst through, illuminating the earth and shining on the clouds. He could see the bright, billowy tops of the clouds stretching up so high they seemed to bump up against the stars. If there is a Heaven, he thought to himself, that’s where it is. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep beneath his vision of heaven, and for once, it was a peaceful sleep.

  When he awoke in the morning, he found his horse grazing nearby. He attended to his necessaries, saddled his horse and set out. He would eat breakfast on the trail. With his horse freshly rested and fed, he didn’t feel too bad about running him a little this morning, even if it did make it all the more challenging for him to eat his beef jerky. He was a half a day’s ride from the spot marked on Smythe’s map.