The Wild Bunch Page 4

  People were running past the city hall. Wainscoat and Benson shouted questions at them but the people ran on, too dazed to heed.

  A blasphemy burst from Wainscoat.

  Benson stood gaping, unable to get breath into his lungs.

  More footsteps echoed on the wooden sidewalk. Simpkins and Fray were running for the city building, shouting.

  “Get out of the door—give way—we need rifles.”

  Benson and Wainscoat threw the same questions.

  “What is it? Mexicans? A raid?”

  Simpkins panted on his way past: “Don’t know. Crowd on a roof over there blasting into the parade. The damn soldiers turned tail and ran—lemme by. Come on, there’s guns in the office.”

  The mayor and the rancher turned back automatically.

  • Harrigan ran from the doorway of the empty store, Deke Thornton behind him. Other bounty hunters erupted into the square, searching among the uniformed bodies for faces they could connect with reward posters.

  Deke Thornton had stopped outside the door, his face bleak, sickened by the jackal performance, sickened by the whole monstrous mess. He was also worried. As soon as their shock wore off, the people of San Rafael would start thinking about vengeance and he did not know how strong Harrigan’s position here was. Could he protect Thornton? Could he protect himself?

  He watched Coffer and Nash arguing like curs over whose bullet had killed Abe, moving on to the dead paymaster. Coffer bent quickly and grabbed the big railroad watch and chain from the corpse.

  Harrigan seemed stupefied for the moment by the fact that their horses were at a distance, that they could not immediately ride down the outlaws. He recovered abruptly, strode forward, jerked the bounty hunter back, shook a finger at the dead paymaster.

  “You stupid damn fools. How could you shoot this employee and let Pike Bishop’s gang get away?”

  Coffer grinned.

  “They didn’t all git.”

  Nash shook his head.

  “I didn’t shoot this old boy. My first bullet killed that man over there.” He pointed at a uniformed body. “Don’t you think I know whom I hit?”

  “The hell.” Coffer was belligerent. “He’s lying. Him and all the rest was shooting your employee here while I was knocking over outlaws. I got three of them, I think.”

  Thornton was too disgusted to let the argument go on.

  “They all shot him. And they shot these women and kids and citizens too. By God, Harrigan, when you set up a massacre you do a job.”

  Harrigan swung to face him, livid with rage. “You keep your mouth shut or you’ll be headed back for Yuma.”

  A wave of futility swept through Thornton.

  “The way I read it, I’m headed back anyway. With the haul Pike made here, he’ll be long gone and for good.”

  A new spark came into Harrigan’s eyes, an incongruous look of pleasure that was a shock to Thornton. Nash and Coffer had moved away to search other bodies but Harrigan dropped his voice.

  “That’s the one part of this fiasco that worked. Bishop didn’t make any haul. He didn’t get a payroll. He got a load of dummy sacks.” He started across the square. “I’ve got the see about the clerks in the office.”

  Thornton stood frozen where he was for a moment. Then he went after Harrigan. As they reached the railroad building they both stopped, listening. From beyond the broken window came a high voice singing.

  Shall we gather at the river

  Where the bright angels rise and fall

  Shall we gather at the river

  When the work’s all done next fall . . .

  The men from the city hall were running toward them, shouting. Harrigan did not even hear.

  “By God,” he said, “look in there—that uniform. That’s one of them still inside.”

  He moved ahead cautiously.

  In the office Crazy Lee Stringfellow was sated with blood and celebrating. Caught up by the height of the battle in the square, he had shot both clerks simply to have a part in the excitement and it had not occurred to him to leave. He was still marching, singing at the top of his voice.

  He heard a noise at the door and looked that way, his grin stretching his thin face.

  “Sing, you. Sing. Shall we gather—”

  Deke Thornton shot him. Crazy Lee staggered, went down to one knee, the shotgun he had found behind the counter dragging on the floor. His face showed only surprise.

  “Well, how’d you like to kiss my sister’s black cat’s ass—”

  A second bullet, Harrigan’s, knocked him flat. Crazy Lee rolled, brought up his gun and pumped lead at the doorway where Simpkins and Fray were boiling in. The first blast nearly cut the marshal in half. The next took the deputy’s head and killed the bounty hunter behind him. Crazy Lee slumped over his gun.

  Harrigan and Thornton emptied their guns into the boy. They need not have. He was already dead.

  “Jesus.”

  Harrigan was looking at the body as if it were still a danger.

  Thornton said, “That one I never knew.”

  Harrigan shrugged.

  “I’ve seen him around town. They called him Crazy Lee. I think he used to come up here to spy for Bishop.”

  Thornton looked at Harrigan, his distaste obvious in his face.

  “And you spread your little rumor about a phony payroll where he’d be sure to pick it up and take it back to Pike.”

  Harrigan smirked.

  “So let’s get on with it—”

  A roar cut him short. Mayor Wainscoat and Benson had been thrown back by the falling bodies of the law officers. They had struggled free and now charged Harrigan. Thornton noted that townspeople were beginning to gather outside the building.

  Wainscoat was yelling, “What the hell is going on? They say you had a crowd up on top of Bradbury’s old store shooting up this town. Have you gone crazy?”

  Harrigan was curt. “Simmer down, Mayor. We had a stakeout for the Wild Bunch when they came after the payroll and—”

  Wainscoat did not simmer down. He kept yelling. “Stakeout? Those soldiers were the Wild Bunch? I don’t give a damn. You killed a lot of innocent people—wounded my wife. Look out there.”

  Harrigan, shaken in spite of himself, was trying to control his temper.

  “I’m sorry—if those temperance idiots hadn’t marched in right when they did—”

  Wainscoat’s arms were waving.

  They had my permit. They’ve got a perfect right to march on their own streets. Why wasn’t I told what you were doing?”

  “Because nobody in this town can keep his mouth shut. Bishop would have heard we were waiting for him and not come.”

  “Well, by God, that would have been better than this slaughter. Harrigan, I’ve had you and your high-handed railroad. I’m going to make you pay. By rights we ought to hang all of you, every last one.”

  Harrigan’s control snapped.

  “Before we built the railroad here this was a lousy, stinking little pueblo. And you, Wainscoat—who put up the money to get you elected? Who got Simpkins the marshal job? Who makes this place run? You know who, so shut up. What happened couldn’t be helped. Unless that gang is stopped the railroad will go broke, go out of business. Then where would you and your town be?”

  Wainscoat fell silent. But Benson pushed forward, big, tough and having no need to kowtow to the railroad.

  “Quit trying to crawl out of this, Harrigan. You’re responsible and I’m going to see that you’re handled. If the law can’t do it vigilantes can. And if they can’t I’ll bring in federal troops. They’ll handle you and the outlaws, too—outlaws wearing army uniforms. That’s something soldiers don’t appreciate.”

  The rancher stormed out, leaving Wainscoat in acute discomfort. The reminder that he owed his position to the railroad had taken the wind out of him. And Harrigan’s men had crowded around the argument, making him more nervous.

  “You heard Benson,” he temporized. “He means what he sa
id. And I don’t want any more trouble here. You take your killers out of this town—and don’t come back.”

  His shoulders bowed under the burden on them. He turned and went out to attend to the removal of the bodies.

  “The pompous ass.” Harrigan spat. “I made him and, by God, I’ll break him.”

  Thornton was watching the growing gathering in the plaza. “If I were you I’d quit making threats and think about clearing out of here about as fast as a horse can run.”

  Harrigan sneered.

  “I know you would. You’re not as tough as you were supposed to be. You were the one who was going to kill Pike, get his whole bunch.”

  “And you’re the one who set it up the way you did. You wouldn’t listen to me. I’d have gotten him—my way. I’ll still get him. My way.”

  Harrigan glared.

  “What makes you think you’ll get the chance? What makes you think I won’t send you back to Yuma for another twenty years?”

  Thornton was more afraid of Yuma than of the people beyond the door. He had no doubt that a mob would gather. Benson or someone like him would soon get them drunk enough to move for a mass hanging. The thing to do was to get out now, while San Rafael was still in mindless shock. But to save himself from prison if he escaped the hanging, he had to make Harrigan let him go after Pike.

  “You send me back and you’ll never come up with Bishop. He’s beaten you every time so far. You don’t understand how he thinks. I do. Your phony payroll story won’t work again. But maybe I can still catch up with him before he gets too far. Some of his men are wounded. I don’t know how bad—but maybe they will slow him up some.”

  “And if you don’t catch up?”

  “I’ll think of something for later. I’ve got to.”

  “That’s right.” Harrigan smiled wolfishly. “I’ll give you thirty days. If you haven’t got him by then—back to Yuma.”

  He walked across the office, through the rear door and into the alley, picking up the men staked out there. Thornton followed him. Harrigan was still talking.

  “He’s headed for the border. And just in case you get any bright ideas about ducking across the line yourself—remember that I’ve got a long arm. I’ll put ten thousand dollars on your head. There are plenty of men who’d like to collect that. Is that clear?”

  It was brutally clear. He might possibly avoid another trip to Yuma if he broke across the border. But he would never be free. Every hand would be against him. Even Pike’s, now. He could trust no one.

  He nodded.

  “You have my word. I’ll bring in Pike. Where will I find you? You won’t stay here.”

  “I’ll be at the railroad camp at the head of rail. Thirty days. Remember that.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Pike Bishop raced at top speed for the first two miles, then slowed to rest the animals. He did not want them run into the ground. They had a long way to go.

  He had lost too many men and Buck was in bad shape, probably blinded by the kid’s shotgun. But each man left had his loaded saddlebag.

  The trip had accomplished its purpose. The gang had its stake. And they had been lucky. If the parade had not turned up, giving them cover for their retreat, none of them would have made it out of the ambush.

  And for a few moments it had seemed like old times. But there was a difference. To see Deke Thornton had jarred him more than he wanted to admit. Deke had looked old. But neither of them was as young as he once had been.

  He cursed the old wound in his leg. It was hurting badly from the dodging run through the plaza and the riding was no help.

  Their trail wound through barren, broken, waterless country, empty, fit only for scaly desert creatures, vermin and rodents. A wash cut across in front of them, gouged out by old flash floods. Pike put his horse down the steep bank at an angle.

  Behind him the file strung out, Buck still at the rear, unable to see where he was going, his horse following Angel’s without guidance. It tipped down the bank, crossed the swale and lurched up the other side. Buck wasn’t expecting the sudden pitch, lost his balance and slipped out of his saddle. He landed in sand, rolled and came to his knees with a startled cry.

  The cry made Angel look around.

  He called, “Buck’s down.”

  Pike, already up the bank, put his animal back down, rode past the others and stepped down beside Buck. Buck’s face was tipped up, turning from side to side as he kneeled there, still hugging his saddlebag against him.

  “Who’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Pike.”

  Pike reached down and took the saddlebag from Buck. The man did not resist. He lurched forward, pawing for Bishop’s legs. Bishop stepped away and swung painfully into his saddle, his face set, bleak. He knew what he had to do. And it was not easy. But Buck himself helped.

  His face still turning, unable to see what was around him, almost incoherent with pain, he called out his own hand.

  “Pike—I can still ride—I can’t see but I can still ride. Oh, hell—I can’t. I’m through. Finish it, Pike—finish it.”

  Pike had already drawn his gun. He turned the barrel down and fired. Buck fell backward, lay in a quiet huddle.

  Pike dropped his gun into its holster, wheeled his horse, kicked his spurs and drove again up the bank.

  He looked back, found the rest of the party still sitting, uncertain, in the shallow arroyo. His voice was suddenly impatient.

  “You want to move on or stay here and give him a burial?”

  Tector Gorch’s eyes were round.

  “He was a good man.”

  “He’s dead.” Pike’s lips were flat. “And he’s got a lot of good men back in San Rafael to keep him company.”

  Dutch, watching Tector, sounded mocking: “I’d like to say a few kind words for all the departed—then maybe sing a hymn or two. Then go to a church supper with a choir.”

  Tector looked from Dutch to Pike and finally in disbelief to his brother.

  “You’re both crazy.”

  The words burst from Lyle. He put his horse viciously up the slope, took out on the trail at a run.

  Tector was close behind him. Angel rode after them. Dutch came up, stopped at Pike’s side.

  Dutch’s thick lips spread into a slow grin. Pike’s eyes met his in a challenge.

  Pike relaxed, smiled also. He raised his glance to the trail over which they had come, found no sign of pursuit. He beckoned with his head, rode at Dutch’s side.

  “Things change.” He said it sourly. “Ten years ago when I rode into a town, a shaky drunk with a tin badge would hide in the saloon until I was gone. Now they set it up and wait for you.”

  Dutch sighed.

  “And with old friends.”

  Lyle, dropping back, heard the words and was puzzled.

  “Old friends?”

  “Deke Thornton,” Dutch said. “Ever hear of him?”

  “The hell. I always heard he was Pike’s partner.”

  “He was.”

  “You mean he was back there with that crowd?”

  “On the roof.”

  Lyle’s head swiveled to Pike.

  “Why should he be there? On their side?”

  Pike said, “He got old and tired. When that happens people change.”

  Dutch growled, “He changed. You didn’t.”

  “Five years in prison does things to a man, Dutch. And if you’ve got twenty more to go, you’ll do anything to get out. I would.”

  “Why didn’t he go down to the Argentine? I hear Butch Cassidy is making a killing down there.”

  “Bolivia,” said Pike. “That won’t last either. Pretty soon the mining companies will bring down a bunch of hardcases and they’ll get Butch. Any one of us is worth a year of drinking and whoring to any fool who can read a wanted paper and carry a gun.”

  Dutch still protested. “Deke Thornton isn’t just any fool.”

  “No. But he doesn’t want twenty more years in jail. He won’t give
up. I’ll lay you odds he’s on our tail right now.”

  Tector was scornful.

  “Lyle and I’ve been stealing ever since the big depression and we ain’t never been caught. Thornton and nobody like him don’t worry us none.”

  Pike’s chest stretched with a breath dredged down to the bottom and he rubbed surreptitiously at his hurting leg.

  “I don’t really give a damn about Deke Thornton. I just know I’d surely like to get the hell off this horse for a while.” He pushed ahead, running again, anxious to reach a place where he could rest.

  By late afternoon they pulled up at the rail line that identified the border, halted on the rim of a wash that ran under the tracks through a culvert. Angel sat his saddle looking across as if he saw a beautiful woman.

  He said softly, “Mexico. Mexico lindo.”

  The Gorch brothers threw him a look of contempt and Lyle grunted.

  “What’s so lindo about it? If it wasn’t for the tracks you couldn’t tell the difference. It’s just some more of this lousy Texas desert.”

  But Pike was glad to be here. No real safety existed on the other side. Deke Thornton and other pursuers would not hesitate to cross the line between the countries. Still, the border would turn back whatever law was following his trail.

  He raised his hand, touched his spurs.

  The five survivors of the bunch rode into Mexico.

  • Pat Harrigan and Deke Thornton led the bounty hunters out of San Rafael at a sharp pace. It was not too fast for Thornton. Groups of angry men watched them out of town. The bodies had been taken away. The wounded were being cared for in the hotel lobby. The tension in the reviving town had been heating to the point of explosion.

  Not until they had left the outskirts and were cutting across country toward the railroad construction camp did Thornton breathe a little easier.

  The rail camp was an unlovely place, constructed as temporary quarters for the laborers who had built this section of the line. It lay in a hot, sandy hollow between two barren hills. There was little wind to refresh the air and the whole hollow stank.