[September 2020]
Chapters: 5
Word Count: 17,590
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Warnings: H/c, Angst, Violence
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OUT OF DARKNESS
by
Eleanor Ward
Curry searches for Heyes after they get separated, following an
ambush. But the trail has gone cold, and he’s running out of options.
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* * *
Kid Curry looked down, from his horse, at the unconscious form of his partner, Hannibal Heyes, slumped on the ground, and shuddered. The two men who had hit him straightened up and looked across at their boss, standing a few yards away, his rifle pointing up at Curry who shifted his gaze to bestow a murderous look on the man. His gaze was about all he could move since his wrists were bound tightly behind him and a noose was pulled tightly round his neck and stretched up over the branch of a large tree and was being held taut by a third man.
Curry and Heyes had been minding their own business, having left the town of Hobbs, the previous day, for a leisurely trip down to El Paso to follow up on the promise of a job with a friend of Mac McCreedy’s. Since they were in no hurry to get there they had decided to enjoy a “scenic” journey in the mild, spring, temperatures rather than be bounced around in a stage or risk being recognised on a train.
They’d bought fresh horses at the livery, having had to abandon their others fleeing from a posse the previous week and, after purchasing enough supplies for their trip, had set off, making camp for the night about thirty miles south west of Hobbs. The day had dawned bright and sunny and, after a leisurely breakfast, Curry and Heyes had set off again exchanging friendly banter as their horses trotted along. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, shots had rung out, sending up spurts of dust just a few yards in front of their horses. They’d reined in, casting nervously about them for whoever had fired the shots.
Four men had approached them. Curry and Heyes had supposed the men were Bounty Hunters, or people who had maybe been on a train they’d robbed, and recognized them, and were expecting them to want to take them in for the $20,000 reward on their heads, and had been momentarily relieved when the oldest of the men had introduced himself as Jason Winters, owner of the ‘Big W’ ranch, around 25 miles south west of Hobbs.
Their relief had been shortlived however, when Winters had accused Curry of stealing one of his horses, which Curry had strenuously denied. Winters had then pointed out his ranch’s brand on the horse’s flank, a W enclosed in a circle. Curry had tried to explain that he’d purchased the horse, in good faith, in Hobbs, but Winters had refused to believe him, saying that a now ex-employee of his had recently been found to have secretly stolen some of his horses, including the horse Curry was riding, and sold them on for his own personal gain, and had been doing so with outside help, and accused Curry of being one of his accomplices. How Winters had managed to find them, out here, in the middle of nowhere, Curry could only guess at, but presumed that the livery man, or someone else in Hobbs, who had recognized the ranch’s brand on the horse, must have tipped him off.
Heyes had tried to use his silver tongue on Winters, to resolve the situation, but to no avail. Winters had had his men tie Curry’s hands and put a noose around his neck. Heyes had tried to intervene, to defend Curry, and had been dragged from his horse by two of Winters’ men and knocked unconscious.
Curry gazed at Winters now, his mouth dry with fear. Even though the man had no official proof that he was involved in stealing his horses, it looked like he planned to have his revenge and, with Heyes unconscious on the ground, there wasn’t any hope of him escaping.
“Look, I’ve told you, I brought the horse, fair and square, at the livery, in Hobbs. Go ask the livery man, he’ll tell you.” Curry said now, a note of desperation in his voice.
Winters shook his head. “You didn’t get that horse from him. Some of my horses have passed through his livery before now. It’d be more than his life’s worth to sell on any more of my stock.”
Curry’s gaze shifted to Heyes, still slumped on the ground.
“What about my friend?” he whispered.
Winters glanced across at Heyes and then back to Curry.
“He aint ridin’ one of my horses. I don’t have any quarrel with him. He’ll be free to go on his way, afterwards.”
That was a relief at least, Curry thought to himself, as he glanced once more at Heyes’ unconscious form on the ground, but it grieved him that he wouldn’t have the chance to say goodbye to him. He shook his head to himself. This was insane. He’d done nothing wrong, yet they were going to hang him and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. At any other time, the irony of the situation would have been funny – Kid Curry, wanted outlaw, hung for a crime he didn’t commit – but right now the situation was anything but funny.
“I’m innocent.” He protested again, his voice sounding strained, even to his own ears, but Winters merely shook his head.
“You’re ridin’ one of my horses, with no bill of sale, and no way to prove how you got it. In my book that makes you guilty of horse theft,” he replied, “and horse theft is a hangin’ offence.”
“And I aint got no proof that you’re really the owner of this horse.” Curry countered, “How do I know you’re not one of those in on this horse rustling thing?”
“I hardly think you’re in a position to argue the point but, for your information, I and my ranch are well known in this area, you can ask anyone and they will verify my identity.”
“There aint exactly anyone around for me to ask.” Curry pointed out.
“True.” Winters nodded, then, turning to his men, “Boys,” he said, nodding towards Curry’s horse.
“No...” Curry shook his head as Winters’ two men approached, “This is wrong.”
“You should’ve thought of the consequences before you got into thievin’, son.” Winter reproached him.
“No!” Curry said again as the two men took off their hats, ready to spur the horse into running, “I didn’t steal it… Look, take the horse… I’ll pay you the value of it to take it back from me…”
Just then, a shot rang out and the man holding the noose let go of it, with a yelp of pain, as the bullet hit him in the arm, just as the other two men shouted “Yah!” swatting the horse’s rump with their hats.
With a startled snort, the horse sprang forward, Curry surprised to realize that instead of swinging on the end of a rope he was still seated, somewhat precariously, on the now bolting horse, trailing the rope behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder as the horse took off, to see Heyes, propped on one elbow on the ground, his gun in his hand, having regained consciousness enough to take a somewhat shaky aim, and hit the man holding the rope.
One of Winters’ men whirled round and swung a backhand blow to Heyes’ head. Heyes slumped to the ground, and that was the last thing Curry saw before the horse headed into a patch of woodland, obliterating his view.
* * *
Back at the tree, Hank and Walter, the two men who had spurred away Curry’s horse, were laying into Heyes, kicking and punching him. The semi-conscious Heyes tried to curl up in order to protect himself from the blows while Winters examined the gunshot wound to the other man’s arm and, seeing that it was just a flesh wound, took the man’s bandana and used it as a bandage to stem the bleeding.
“Walter, get after him.” Winters yelled, pointing in the direction of Curry’s fleeing horse.
Walter obediently mounted his horse and headed off after Curry, while Hank continued his assault on Heyes before delivering one last blow, with the butt of his gun, that left Heyes motionless on the ground, blood trickling down his face where the blow had split his skull open.
Winters and his wounded companion got onto their horses, with Hank following suit after finishing his assault on Heyes, and together they set off after Walter. They met him, some time later, coming back towards them, looking grim.
“I lost him.” said Walter. At his boss’s furious look he added, “That horse sure can run.”
“Of course it can run. It’s one of mine!” snapped Winters, “Pure bred.”
“We can track it.” suggested Walter.
Winters sighed, “The way that horse can run, it won’t stop for miles. It would be dark before we tracked it down.”
“The guy might come back for his friend. We could wait, and catch him then.” suggested Hank.
“He might. But if he’s got any sense he’ll have thought of that and will deliberately stay away. But, he could just as easily have fallen off, somewhere, and broken his neck.” snapped Winters. He sighed, “It’s more trouble than it’s worth to try and track him. Let him have his lucky escape. I can afford to lose one horse, and I’ll know that guy if I should ever see him again. Come on, let’s get moving. I want to get back to the ranch before nightfall.”
“What about the other guy?” asked Walter.
“He’s of no interest to me. Leave him.” growled Winters, “Come on, let’s get going.”
With an exchange of looks, Hank and Walter followed their boss as he spurred his horse.
* * *
Curry gripped the horse’s saddle tightly, with his knees, and concentrated on trying to keep mounted as the horse bolted through the woodland. He assumed Winters or his men would be giving chase, but he didn’t dare risk looking back for a sign of them in case he lost his balance on the horse.
After several miles, the horse finally slowed to a walk and, eventually, stopped, by a narrow stream, to drink.
Amazed to have remained mounted, Curry managed to slither off the horse and sat, somewhat shakily, down on the ground, to catch his breath, and then began to try and work his hands free from the leather thongs that bound him, while all the time keeping a watchful eye open for any sign of pursuit. Almost two hours later, he finally managed to slide his bloodied wrists from the bindings.
He sat there for several minutes, flexing his shoulders and rubbing his arms, as he tried to restore the circulation, before pulling the noose from around his neck. His neck was chaffed, but the skin wasn’t broken.
Getting to his feet he crossed to the horse, removed his canteen from the saddle and took a good, long, swig of the cool water, before bending to refill it in the stream. He then got down on his knees and washed the blood off his wrists and hands from where he’d struggled to free himself from his bonds.
This done, he remounted the horse and, taking the reins, turned it around and headed off back in the direction he’d come from, back towards Heyes, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of their attackers.
* * *
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Heyes groaned at the thumping pain in his head. He lay there for several minutes, halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness, before opening his eyes, only to screw them shut again against the bright sunlight that pierced them and intensified the pounding in his head. He tried to move, crying out as pain flowed through his body.
Eventually, several minutes later, he managed to roll over onto his side and several more minutes after that he managed to struggle into a sitting position. He almost toppled back onto the ground, as dizziness engulfed him, but he braced himself with one arm, the other holding his head, retching, as he fought a losing battle with a wave of nausea that rose up in him, groaning as the action intensified the pain flowing through his body.
Through half closed eyes, he looked around him in confusion. How had he got here? What had happened? he wondered, not coming up with any answers.
Eventually, it dawned on him that he couldn’t just sit there. He needed to get up and go in search of some help.
He managed to get onto his hands and knees, yelping as pain shot through his ribs and abdomen. He knelt there for several moments before attempting to get to his feet, but dizziness overwhelmed him and he fell back down on the ground with a moan of pain.
“Help me…” he muttered, closing his eyes as unconsciousness engulfed him once more.
When he next opened his eyes the sun had moved further across the sky, lengthening the shadows of the surrounding landscape.
Once again, he struggled onto his hands and knees and, after several attempts, finally managed to get to his feet, swaying and staggering as his head swam.
He squinted around him, wondering which way to go, having no idea of where he was. Presently, hunched over, and with one arm wrapped around his abdomen, he staggered off in a westerly direction.
* * *
Curry was probably half a mile from the spot where they’d been ambushed when he spotted a horse, in the distance, grazing peacefully.
Curry brought his horse to a halt and looked around, wondering if the horse belonged to Winters, or one of his men who were maybe trying to track him. He hurriedly took cover, in amongst some trees, and watched, but there was no-one in sight. Wary, he waited for a while. Nobody appeared and so, cautiously, Curry began to approach, his eyes scanning around for any possible ambush.
His heart jumped into his mouth when he got to within thirty yards of the animal and realised it was Heyes’ horse. Did that mean that Heyes had been taken prisoner by Winters and his men, or worse…? A cold chill ran through him at the thought that Heyes might have been killed by them. It seemed odd, however, that they would not have taken the horse with them, even if only as recompense for the one Winters believed Curry had stolen.
Gathering up the reins of Heyes’ horse, he headed back towards the spot where they’d been ambushed, coming upon the tree they’d planned to hang him from, a short time later.
Curry scanned the area. There was no-one around.
He dismounted and crossed to where he’d last seen Heyes, lying on the ground.
The ground was scuffed up by the boots of the men, and there were what looked like dried blood stains in the earth, but not a sign of Heyes.
With his heart in his mouth, Curry searched the area for any sign that the ground had been dug up, afraid that the men might have killed Heyes and buried his body before leaving, but he could find no sign of any disturbance in the earth and prayed that his friend was OK. But, if he was OK, and Winters had kept his word to let him go free, where was he, and why had his horse been wandering on it’s own?
There was nothing for it but to head back towards Hobbs and hope that he could find his friend there, or on the trail in between.
* * *
Ely Drake sat atop his small cart, dozing, his chin down on his chest, lulled by the rhythmic movement, as the horse that pulled the cart trotted along, combined with the hot afternoon sun.
He was a big bear of a man, with pudgy hands and an even pudgier face, out of which several days whiskers sprouted. His over-long hair was unkempt and his clothes were worn and ill fitting.
Drake had been into the nearest town to trade produce, from the farm that he and his mother ran, for supplies, and had stopped off at the saloon, before leaving, where he had drunk heavily which was contributing to his drowsiness.
The wheel of the cart bounced through a rut, the jolt rousing him somewhat. As he looked about him, trying to get his bearings and work out how much further it was back to the farm, his eye was caught by something moving, erratically, up ahead. He blinked, trying to focus his bleary gaze on the object. As he got nearer, he realised it was a man, and, from the way he was hunched over and lurching from side to side, that he was injured, or ill.
Drake pulled alongside the shambling figure of Hannibal Heyes and brought the horse to a stop.
“Hey!” he called.
Heyes stopped and half turned towards him and Drake could see he had been the victim of a vicious beating. His face was cut and bruised, one eye swollen almost shut, his face, neck and shirt smeared with blood that had run from an open wound on the side of his head. From the way he was hunched over, one arm wrapped protectively around his abdomen, Drake guessed he had some cracked ribs too.
“What happened to you?”
“I…” Heyes croaked, looking confused, swaying dizzily on his feet. “I’m not…”
“You alone?” Drake spoke over him, scanning the area for a sign of whoever might be responsible for the man’s condition, and pondering the reasons for it and on whether he might be in any danger himself. “Ain’t ya got a horse?”
“I don’t...” Heyes began, looking absently around him.
“What’s ya name?” Drake spoke over him again.
Heyes put a hand to his head, looking as though he was going to pass out at any moment, grabbing onto the side of the cart to keep upright.
“Hey!” Drake shouted.
Heyes lifted his head and looked up at Drake through glazed eyes.
“Help… me…?” he croaked.
Drake eyed him, thoughtfully. Suddenly his surly face broke into a grin.
“Sure, I’ll help ya, mister.” he said, obligingly.
Getting down off the cart, he moved to help the injured man into the back of it, after first moving the supplies around to make a space for him to lie down. Then he got back up on the front and, taking the reins, set off, once more, putting the horse into a faster pace, keen, now, to get home with his newly acquired cargo.
* * *
Curry arrived back in Hobbs the next afternoon. He had found no sign of Heyes on the trail and had been forced to make camp, after dark, before continuing on into Hobbs at first light. His stomach grumbled at not having had any food for almost twenty-four hours but, for once, Curry was unaware of it, his mind full of worry over what had become of his friend.
He hoped that Heyes had somehow made it back to town and that he would find him waiting for him, at the hotel, but, after checking in, and then making a search of the whole town, he was concerned to find no trace of him. He paid a visit to the livery man to find out where he’d gotten the horse from, but the livery man was uncooperative, obviously afraid for his life, claiming that he hadn’t taken in a branded horse and denying having sold it to him. When Curry had pressed the issue, telling him that he’d almost gotten hung over it, the man had backed down slightly, and said that if Curry had indeed gotten the horse from his livery - which he wasn’t going to admit to - then someone must have swapped it for one of his other horses, earlier in the day that Curry and Heyes purchased theirs, and he had missed seeing its brand.
Disbelieving, but with no way of disproving his words, Curry left the livery, not sure what to do next. Should he wait here to see if Heyes turned up, or should he go in search of him? But where would he look? He might head off in one direction and miss Heyes coming from another. He couldn’t risk going in search of Winters because, if the man laid eyes on him again, he would probably finish what he started and kill him. Curry could only hope, since he’d found Heyes’ horse wandering on its own, that Winters had honoured his word to let Heyes go. But, that being the case, how had Heyes got separated from his horse, and why had he not found him on the journey back here?
That cold chill came over him again as he contemplated whether Winters may have killed Heyes, and buried him somewhere, but he quelled his fears. If Winters had done that, Curry couldn’t imagine him leaving his horse wandering around for someone to stumble across. He would probably have taken it back to his own ranch as compensation for the one he believed Curry had stolen. Curry hoped that meant Heyes was alive. He couldn’t fathom out what could have separated him from his horse, or where he might be now, but he clung to the belief that he was OK and that he would eventually find him.
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