Under the Vultures Moon Page 10

  He should have known then it was too much to hope.

  With a lurch, they moved forward. The engines in the tin horses whined and whirred as they worked themselves up to a steady hum. Away from Crosspatch Hill, they picked up a decent speed, haring across the open country at a fair lick. They could make the trip to Tarnation in one go, without refuelling or recalibrating, but the passengers were a different story. There would be rest stops and convenience breaks a-plenty, all adding to the journey time. Every passing minute was agony to Jed. It was another minute of being away from Horse. It was another minute of knowing Horse was strapped in that stall with his head open and his lights out.

  As far as Jed was concerned, the stage couldn’t get to Tarnation too soon.

  ***

  The first stop came a couple of hours later at a cluster of buildings that existed solely for the purpose of the passengers’ relief. There was a bank of toilet stalls, abuzz with flies, a covered waiting area and a drug store that dispensed cool drinks. Jed stepped down from the carriage to watch his party alight, admonishing them to be sure to use the stalls reserved for LADIES. The drunken feller was next off, leering at the last of the ladies in the line. Jed stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

  “Nothing for you there,” he breathed. “These ladies are married to their cause.”

  The drunkard belched in Jed’s face, his breath alone enough to intoxicate a weaker man. He tottered away to the stalls labelled MENFOLK, already unbuttoning his pants.

  A couple waiting under the covered seating area stepped up and addressed Jed. Jed pointed at the driver who was checking the tin horses’ oil levels. They showed him their boarding passes. One was a young woman with a lacy parasol. She was wearing the immodest dress of a show girl - Jed thought even Miss Kitty would raise an eyebrow at the high cut of the front and the more-than-was-necessary dip of the décolletage. Her hair was dyed an unnatural red and piled high. Sweaty ringlets hung over her ears. Her face paint was smeared. Her companion was a weasel of a fellow in a candy-striped shirt and bowler hat. His long fingers indicated he earned his living as a piano-player. The duo were a long way from any saloon.

  The driver checked their papers. “Sonia Dupree and Filbert Finn...” he marked them off on his manifest. “Get on board. And welcome,” he added as an afterthought.

  Miss Dupree struggled with her parasol before boarding. Filbert Finn gave Jed a cold appraisal.

  “Going far?” Jed asked, returning the piano-player’s gaze with steelier eyes.

  “All the way,” Finn coughed out his reply. “Reckon in Tarnation there’s at least one bar will take us.”

  The driver sent Jed an uh-oh look. “Your ladies ain’t going to like that. I don’t want no trouble. Perhaps you folks ought to wait for the next one. Be along in three days.”

  “No way!” said the showgirl, adding less ladylike expressions. “We cain’t wait three days for no coach.” She glanced anxiously at the staging post.

  “In a hurry,” said Jed.

  “Like I said,” Filbert Finn interrupted, “we’re keen to get us to Tarnation and further our careers.”

  Jed left them to get settled in. He went to the drug store to round up his ladies.

  A couple of them had rolled up their sleeves, exposing hairy forearms, to play pool. Others were swigging beer from bottles and chewing jaw-weed and tobacco. Two more were arm-wrestling for cash.

  Jed sent an apologetic look to the soda jerk and tossed him a couple of gold coins for his trouble.

  The men traipsed back to the coach, chastened and ashamed. The drunkard whistled at them. He grabbed the lady bringing up the rear and made a lecherous overture for which he received a punch on the jaw. He fell backwards, landing heavily on his tailbone. The other ladies all laughed at the drunkard’s plight. Jed hurried them into the coach, warning them to keep their traps shut.

  They smiled at the showgirl who had joined the journey until a look from Jed reminded them they were not supposed to approve of that kind of thing.

  “Disgraceful,” said one.

  “Showing off her legs!” said another.

  “I seen them!” enthused another, dropping out of character and rubbing his thighs. Jed urged the driver to get going. The resulting lurch of the carriage brought an end to the gawping and the suggestive comments.

  They bounced along a rockier stretch that rendered interaction futile, but when the trail became clearer and the going easier, the drunkard, who had replenished his supplies of liquor at the drug store, decided his chances would be better if he approached the sassy-looking showgirl.

  He got out of his seat and sidled up to Miss Dupree. He breathed in her ear. “How’s about sitting next to me, doll?”

  Miss Dupree made as though she was ignoring him. He repeated his request.

  “Go back to your seat, sir,” said Filbert Finn without looking at him. “Alone.”

  The drunk told him to keep his rat nose out of it if he knowed what was good for him.

  He reached around the showgirl’s back and gave her a squeeze, pressing his face against her neck. Miss Dupree tried to beat him away with her rolled-up parasol. Jed’s ladies were laughing, enjoying the action.

  Filbert Finn got to his feet to intervene. He gave the drunk a shove, trying to dislodge him from his companion’s side. The drunk staggered but did not let go.

  “Who the hell do you think you’re shoving, boy?” he snarled. He swung wildly at the piano-player, cussing and grunting. Filbert Finn was backed against a window. He turned his face from the blow he was sure was coming.

  But it didn’t come. He dared to look. The drunk had been pulled backwards by a hand on his shoulder. A punch from the gunslinger’s fist spun him around on the spot. He landed face down in the aisle, where he stayed and began to snore.

  The coach came to an abrupt and unscheduled halt.

  “That’s it,” said the driver. “Cain’t have no fighting on board. Company policy. Y’all will have to alight here.”

  The party of ladies in black exploded in uproar. Miss Dupree got to her feet. “Gentleman was only defending my honour,” she protested, giving rise to a few jeers of derision from the ladies. “More’n anybody else did.” She gave her companion a pointed look. Filbert Finn flushed red.

  “I say eject both parties at once. Let them slug it out in the wilderness.”

  No one added their support to his idea. The driver shook his head.

  “Just the drunk then,” he said. “If’n you fellers will help me carry him off.”

  “You cain’t leave a man out here alone,” said Jed. “Drunk or sober. Might as well just put a bullet in his belly and watch him die real slow.”

  “I cain’t have fighting on my coach.”

  “Weren’t no fight,” said Miss Dupree. “Was one punch and that was all it took.” She looked her saviour up and down and was pleased with what she saw. A few of the ladies in black wolf-whistled.

  The driver mulled over his options and realised he only had but one. “All right, folks; we carry on. But I’m warning you - all of you - any more of these shenanigans and you’re all getting off and I don’t care whether you took part or not.”

  He went back to his seat.

  Miss Dupree simpered and twisted a ringlet. “Thank you, my shining knight. Why don’t you come sit by me, less’n that drunken skunk wakes up and tries it again.”

  Jed touched his hat and told her his seat - a single up at the front - suited him just fine.

  Miss Dupree pouted in disappointment. Filbert Finn tried to pat her hand; she whipped it away from his grasp.

  They passed several miles in silence. The heat of the afternoon was making them lethargic but at least it helped the drunkard stay asleep.

  Miss Dupree waved a fan in front of her face. She nudged Finn to g
ive her a drink of water. Refreshed and inspired she got to her feet and addressed the other passengers, rousing them from their dozing and contemplations.

  “Say now, why don’t we have us a little old singsong? It’ll pass the time and it’ll be fun.”

  The ladies in black looked at the gunslinger who barely moved his eyes to signal no.

  “I’ll get us started,” she moved into the aisle. Filbert Finn tried to get her to sit down again but the showgirl, with the chance to perform in her sights, was unstoppable. “Join in if you know the words.”

  She launched into a rendition of a saucy song about the daughter of the owner of a banana plantation. Jed winced. Behind her, he tried to signal to his ladies not to join in, to disapprove, to look scandalised, but he was fighting a losing battle. By the second chorus they were singing along.

  “Oh, it was long and it was bent and she gobbled it till it was spent.”

  Miss Dupree conducted them with her parasol, delighted with their enthusiasm but a little surprised by the number of baritone voices in this makeshift choir.

  Jed’s face was in his hand. They were going to blow it. Perhaps they should just get off and walk. He looked up and saw the piano-player was staring at him. Filbert Finn looked away, his expression unreadable.

  Oh, I ain’t going to have trouble with you now, am I? Jed wondered. He sat back and lay his hat over his face in a bid to drown out the increasingly raucous singing of ever-bawdier songs.

  ***

  Another stop was scheduled for dusk but as the sky grew darker, the coach grew faster. They were careering along at an alarming rate. Jed put his head through the window and, holding onto his hat, saw that the driver was lying on his side. A red hole was right through him. He’d been shot.

  Jed instructed the others to stay in their seats no matter what. Before they could question him, he climbed through the window and up to the driver. The man was dead. Shot through the heart but who was to blame? He was lying across the override controls for the tin horses, which was why they hadn’t stopped where they were programmed to. Jed heaved the deadweight of the body aside. It toppled to the ground; the wheels bounced over it. Jed grimaced an apology. He jabbed at the controls but the horses were unstoppable. Jed drew a revolver and shot the control panel. One of the horses tripped over itself. Its lights went out and its head popped up on a spring. The other kept galloping, dragging its fellow along with it. Sparks flew up as the road ground away at metal.

  Behind Jed the passengers were shouting and screaming, calling for the coach to stop.

  I’m doing my best, Jed thought. He tried to aim his revolver at the running horse’s head. He fired, clipping off a tin ear but the horse kept galloping. It veered off course, leaving the rocky road behind, tearing across scrubland. The wheels bounced off stones, giving rise to more commotion and cussing from inside the carriage. Jed fired again. This time the bullet pierced the horse’s neck but still the metal beast kept running, faster than ever if anything. Jed was running out of ammunition. His battered box of bullets was in the carriage. There was no time to climb back in to get them because he saw, in the last fading of twilight, that a couple of hundred yards ahead, the ground dropped away into darkness. They were heading for Greenhorn Canyon and would plummet to their deaths in less than a minute.

  Jed stood on the driving seat and took a second to steady himself. Then he launched his body at the back of the careering horse. He landed heavily and nearly slid off. There was nothing to grab onto on the sleek machine. Jed tightened his knees to gain purchase then shimmied up towards the neck. He grabbed the mane, which was purely decorative and made from strands of tinfoil. The mane cut into his hand but Jed held on. He aimed the revolver in his other hand, pressing the barrel between the horse’s eyes.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  The horse’s head exploded in a fireball. The legs stopped immediately as the body collapsed. Jed fell with it. The coach behind him was catapulted into the air above him in an arc old Zeke would have been proud of. The occupants were screaming as they were thrown from their seats. The carriage was heading towards the edge of the canyon. Jed had not stopped the horse in time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Greenhorn Canyon!

  Jed braced himself but the impact he expected never came. He doubted Greenhorn Canyon was a bottomless pit so he crawled away from the wreckage of the horses and peered over the edge.

  The carriage was suspended, caught on a tree that was growing from the canyon wall, the branches a giant hand. But the tree was not going to play ball and throw the coach back out again. The occupants were going to have to get themselves out.

  If only Horse were here! We could airlift the passengers to safety one, maybe two, at a time.

  An ominous creak told Jed the tree was not going to remain where it was for much longer. The extra weight was putting strain on the trunk and the roots that tethered it to the cliff face.

  Jed called down to the passengers, instructing them to keep perfectly still. And to stop shouting - it would be easier to keep still and remain calm if they stopped shouting.

  Jed needed time to think but there was none. A minor explosion behind him made him flinch. The horse burst into flames.

  Inspired, Jed returned to the burning beast. The chains that linked the horses to the carriage had snapped when the coach was flung into the air. They were of a good length and Jed reckoned they should hold the weight of even the burliest of his ladies in black. He yanked the chain free of the harness. The links were hot from the fire but he ignored the searing pain. He wrapped one end of the chain around his waist and dropped the other end over the canyon edge.

  “Listen up,” he called down. “One at a time, I want you to climb out of the carriage and grab the chain. Take it easy and don’t look down and we’ll have you out of there.”

  He heard an argument start up.

  “Ladies first, I reckon,” he called back. “Miss Dupree, that means you.”

  “I don’t know,” the showgirl whimpered. “I just cain’t.”

  The tree creaked. The passengers gasped.

  “All right, all right, I’m going!”

  Jed saw the bright red hair appear as the showgirl emerged from the carriage window.

  “Can you see the chain, Miss?” Jed called down.

  “Yeah!”

  “Grab hold and wrap it around your wrist.” Jed dug his boot heels into the dirt, feeling the tug on the chain as Miss Dupree took hold of it. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be!”

  Jed backed away from the edge. The chain tautened. It squeezed his ribcage but he kept going. Eventually, the red hair appeared at the lip of the canyon. After a couple of more steps, she was able to clamber up. She rolled over on the ground to get away from the drop.

  “Thanks, Mister,” she got to her feet and smoothed down her clothes.

  “Later,” said Jed without looking at her. “You can help me pull up the others. Those ladies ain’t as dainty as you.”

  “Sure,” said Miss Dupree. “What do I do?”

  “Put your hands around my waist and step back when I do. I’d hate to tread on your toes.”

  “With pleasure!” The showgirl stood behind the gunslinger and wrapped her arms against him. What a strong, broad back! She laid her cheek against it.

  “Er - Miss?” said Jed. Miss Dupree stood up straight.

  Next up was the first of Jed’s ladies in black. Miss Dupree’s services were dispensed with as the larger lady took her place at the gunslinger’s back. The showgirl was quite put out until Jed advised her she could help the climbers pull themselves up over the edge.

  “Sure thing,” she said, twisting a ringlet.

  They repeated the process; it became easier each time with every additional person to assist with the heaving. Then one
woman in black said gruffly, “Jed, that there drunkard’s still in there and out for the count. Ain’t no way he’s going to climb up.”

  “Shoot,” Jed cussed. He called down to the stagecoach. “You folks still in there, listen up.” By Jed’s reckoning there were two of them along with the drunk: the feller who’d worn the lampshade back in the Lonesome Goat and the rodent-like piano player. “You’re going to have to bring up the drunk feller. Tie the chain around him and the rest of us will pull him up.”

  He heard the piano player protest. Something along the lines of the feller chose to get inebriated and should face the consequences.

  “Come on, Filbert!” Miss Dupree called down. “You cain’t leave that feller there to die.”

  “After he touched you up, Miss Dupree, I’d say leaving him here’s too good for him.”

  The tree gave its loudest creak. A couple of roots were ripped from the cliff wall. The carriage dipped lower.

  “Hurry up, before you get beyond the reach of the chain!”

  Jed stood at the edge, his toes in mid-air. Behind him, his ladies in black formed a line, all linked, like a conga line that had gone astray. He lowered the chain.

  Filbert Finn emerged from the window. He stood grasping for the end of the chain.

  “No, Filbert! Get the drunk skunk out first!” Miss Dupree scolded him from above but the piano player wasn’t paying heed. He stretched for the chain, went right up on tiptoe but it kept swinging out of his reach.

  There was an almighty snap and the tree and the coach dropped away. Filbert Finn went with them, his hand still reaching for the chain that was increasingly beyond his reach.

  The folks on the cliff top held their breath, wincing in anticipation of the crash. When it came, they closed their eyes and hung their heads.

  “Filbert!” Miss Dupree sobbed. “It’s my fault,” she kept saying. “I should have hooked him with my parasol.”