Retribution

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-2-

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Despite still being furious with Heyes, Curry had, nevertheless, returned to their hotel late that night.  When he found their room empty, he assumed that Heyes had stayed in the saloon and got involved in some late night card game.

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When he woke the next morning to find Heyes still hadn’t returned, he was at first irritated by his childish behaviour, believing that he had stayed out deliberately, just to make a point. But when he’d had breakfast and there was still no sign of him, his irritation began to give way to concern.  It wasn’t like Heyes to go off and leave a situation unfinished.  If he planned to part company with him and go it alone, he would have come back to the hotel to collect his things and told him so to his face, and even though it was Curry who had walked out, he knew Heyes better than to believe he would leave town without waiting to see if he came back and to find out what he intended to do.

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He hung on a while longer in case Heyes was deliberately trying to wind him up, but, after lunch, when there was still no sign of him, he was worried enough not to care about saving face, all sorts of reasons as to why he hadn’t come back whizzing round in his head.

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Perhaps he’d got into a fight, over a card game, and ended up in jail… or worse. Curry shuddered. Or maybe he’d got drunk and got arrested for being drunk and disorderly.

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He went to the Sheriff’s office to check, but no-one had been brought in the previous night, so he went to the saloon, where, after asking around, he established that a man answering Heyes’ description had been in the saloon the previous afternoon, playing poker, and had left later with one of the saloon girls.

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“She aint turned in for work today either.” the bartender told him.

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Curry frowned, “Do you know where she lives?”

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The bartender nodded, “She shares a room with one of the other girls, up the street, over the Telegraph Office.  Name’s Josie.”

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“Thanks.” Curry turned to leave.

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“If you see her, tell her to get her ass in here double quick unless she wants to be out of a job.”

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“Will do.” Curry left and headed up the street towards the Telegraph Office.

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The girl who answered his knock at the door informed him that she hadn’t seen Josie since the previous morning.  Curry thanked her and left.

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Something wasn’t right, he thought, as he walked back towards the hotel.  It wasn’t certain that the man seen leaving the saloon with the girl was Heyes, but it was too much of a coincidence for him to dismiss.  He could understand him staying out all night with some girl, just to spite him, but to vanish completely, and the girl too…

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He shook his head, a knot of apprehension beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

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He decided to go back to the saloon to try the only other option left, to try and pick up the trail of Heyes’ horse. The animal was missing as well, and Curry could only assume that wherever the horse was, Heyes would be too.

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He went back to where their horses had been tethered the previous afternoon.  Heyes’ horse had a chip out of one hoof that made if relatively easy to track, and Curry soon found its prints in the ground.  He was thankful it hadn’t rained overnight and washed them away.

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He searched around amongst all the other hoof prints that had come and gone since, and finally found tracks of Heyes’ horse going in the opposite direction to that which they had ridden into town from.

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He walked along a way, studying them.  There were tracks of at least two other horses going in the same direction.  He wondered at first if the other prints were just of other riders who had passed that way before or after, but none of the tracks overlapped, so that was unlikely. They were all evenly spaced, suggesting that Heyes had been travelling in the middle of a group of people.

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Curry stood up with a sigh.  He had no option but to follow the tracks and see where they led.  If Heyes had decided to leave town without waiting to see if he came back, Curry wanted to give him a piece of his mind for going off without any explanation or word of goodbye.  Heyes owed him that much at least, after all the years they’d been together.

But, given that Heyes had disappeared without taking any of his belongings, it looked increasingly like he was in some kind of trouble, in which case he would try to help. He went back to the hotel, gathered their things together and checked out.

 

He secured his and Heyes’ belongings to his horse and, after pausing to pick up a few supplies, set off to follow the tracks.

It wasn’t long before he found the tracks of several other horses, and a wagon. The tracks of Heyes’ horse were clear on the ground, but seemed surrounded on all sides by the others, suggesting that whoever they belonged to, Heyes wasn’t travelling with them of his own volition. It looked increasingly to Curry as though Heyes had been abducted, maybe by some Bounty Hunter who had recognized him.

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Some time later, he pulled up when he found what looked like signs of a scuffle.  He dismounted and studied the ground carefully.  The tracks of Heyes’ horse were now all jumbled up with the others, and there were several sets of footprints and some strange indentations in the earth that Curry couldn’t work out at all.  A few feet away he found the remains of some tree branches and a piece of rope, but he didn’t look far enough to find Josie’s body, buried behind the rocks a short distance away.

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Curry couldn’t work out what had happened here, but at least he knew now that he was on the right trail.

He remounted his horse and moved on, wondering how far ahead of him they were, and if Heyes was alright.

 

 *  *  *

 

When the men had breakfasted and were ready to leave, Heyes was told to get on his horse.  He struggled over to it, biting his lip to prevent himself from yelping with pain.  He wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction of letting them see how badly he was hurting.

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He reached the horse and hauled himself into the saddle.  Again they tied his feet under the horse’s belly, which caused him excruciating pain with every step the animal took.

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Today, they chose to tie his hands behind his back, rather than in front of him, which made him even more uncomfortable.  Apart from being stiff and sore from his fall the previous day, not being able to hold the saddle, he had to use his knees to keep his balance, which hurt his leg even more.

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McKenzie yanked his arms behind his back to tie him, which re-opened the wound in his shoulder.  Heyes closed his eyes, his teeth clenched against this fresh wave of pain, but he remained silent.

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Again the men ignored him as they rode, merely turning round every once in a while to make sure he was still there – as though he had any chance of escaping, he thought bitterly – and to make a few snide remarks in his direction.

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They paused midway through the morning, dismounting to water their horses and drink from their canteens, leaving Heyes tied to his horse.  McKenzie started to offer a canteen to Heyes, but Felton stopped him.

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“Water’s too precious to waste. He can wait.” he growled.

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McKenzie shrugged and replaced the cap on the canteen.

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“But you…” Heyes began to protest, but was cut short as Felton slapped him across the face with the back of his hand.

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“Shut up.” he growled,  “One more word out of you and you’ll get nothing, except a bullet in the head.” He drew his gun and pressed it to Heyes’ temple, clicking the safety catch off.

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 “Got it?  Good.” he said, when Heyes didn’t answer.  He put the gun away and turned his horse away, shouting instructions to the men.

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Heyes sighed.  A man needed water in this heat.  He knew only too well the consequences of dehydration. He prayed he could last out until they chose to give him something.  Felton would probably expect him to plead with them to give him some before the day was out.  Heyes resolved not to.  He wouldn’t let them demoralize him.  Whatever they dished out, he would take, with dignity.

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Presently, they re-mounted and pressed on again.   Heyes felt terrible.  He was hot and thirsty and desperately uncomfortable, and the pain from his injured leg and shoulder was driving him slowly mad.  Like a constant toothache, it gnawed away at his senses until it obliterated all other conscious thought. 

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He had no idea how long they’d been travelling. The hours blurred into one another.  The movement of the horse’s body pulled his injured leg and was so painful he wanted to cry.  He felt sick and dizzy, but he couldn’t risk passing out.  Felton hadn’t been joking when he’d said he would put a bullet through his head.  The reward money was the same if he delivered him dead or alive.  He would have to use every ounce of his willpower to keep alert.

 

 

 *  *  *

 

When they made camp for the night, Heyes was once again given a meagre plate of food and a mug of coffee.  At turning in time, McKenzie once again fastened the chain about his neck and secured it to the spokes of the wagon wheel. 

One of the other men, a young lad of about seventeen, stood nearby, sniggering.

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“Well, jest look at you,” he chided, “all trussed up, like a turkey.”  He began strutting around, flapping his arms and making a gobbling sound.

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As he strutted in front of him, Heyes, already irritable from the pain he was in, lost his temper at the kid’s sarcastic remarks and stuck out his foot, tripping him up.

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The lad fell right in front of Heyes, who grabbed him by the jacket collar and hauled him up face to face with him.

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“Just watch it, kiddo.” he hissed at him,“If I get…” The rest of his sentence was cut short as Felton suddenly appeared, yanked the lad aside and struck Heyes hard across the face with the back of his hand.  Heyes glared angrily up at Felton, blood trickling from a split lip.

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“Joey, get to bed.” Felton snapped at the lad, without taking his eyes from Heyes’.  Heyes returned his gaze defiantly.

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Joey scrambled to his feet and scurried off, muttering to himself.

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“It’s easy to hit people who can’t hit back.” Heyes said flatly.

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Felton’s answer was to slap him again, the force of the blow knocking his head back against the wheel of the wagon.  It took all of Heyes’ willpower not to reach up to rub the spot, which stung painfully.  Instead, he stared at Felton, almost proudly.

Felton took a length of rope and stepping over Heyes, bent and yanked his wrists behind him, tying them tightly together.

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“Maybe that’ll keep you out of mischief.” he hissed, before getting to his feet and stalking off.

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“You’d better watch it.” McKenzie sneered, “Joey is Red’s kid brother.  He don’t stand no messin’ where Joey’s concerned.”

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Heyes ignored McKenzie, trying to get into a position that didn’t hurt.  McKenzie had fastened the chain tight enough for it to be restricting to his breathing, and Felton had tied his wrists so tightly, the rope cut into the already raw flesh until they bled, but he was so exhausted he slept anyway, regardless of his pain and discomfort.

 

 *  *  *

 

Kid Curry caught up with the gang on the third afternoon.  Up on a ridge where they couldn’t see him, he watched them carefully, trying to figure out what was happening, and what to do next.  He counted seven men altogether, and they all looked useful. They had Heyes well tied up, and he appeared to be hurt.  But at least he was still alive.  Curry had half expected to find a corpse.

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He followed at a respectful distance until they made camp, then he crawled a little nearer to try and get a better look, wishing he had a rifle.  They’d had to sell one of the two they possessed a few weeks back, to buy food, and rely on sharing one between them, which Heyes had had in his possession at the time of their argument.

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McKenzie untied Heyes from his horse,  “Get down.” he told him, “Over there.” He pointed to the wagon.

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Heyes slid off the horse, hanging onto the saddle for a moment as he tried to summon up the strength to get over there.  After another day in the hot sun with barely any food and no water, he had very little strength left, and he was so stiff, and in so much pain, he could hardly move.

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“Move it.” McKenzie thumped him between the shoulder blades with the butt of his rifle, knocking him to the floor.

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Heyes slowly hauled himself up and managed to hobble over to the wagon.  He moved like an automaton, too blinded by pain and fatigue to think straight.  He sank to the ground by the wagon, gazing vacantly ahead.

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He was handed a plate of food and a mug of coffee.  He felt too sick to eat, but he forced himself to drink the coffee as it was the first drink he’d had since sunrise.  But his throat was so dry and constricted, he could barely swallow it, and had only managed a few mouthfuls before McKenzie returned to take the cup and plate away from him.  He then chained him to the wagon wheel, and tied his hands behind him again on Felton’s instructions.

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Heyes gritted his teeth and tried to lie still.  Every time he moved, the ropes cut into his already raw wrists, causing him even more pain.

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Joey hung around making sarcastic remarks.  At first, Heyes was too dazed to notice his presence but eventually, his calls of “Hey, turkey”, and his strutting and clucking noises drew his attention.

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“I told you to watch it.” Heyes croaked at him.

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Joey crouched down by him, sniggering, “Or what? What are you going to do to me?” he sneered.

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“I’ve got friends.” said Heyes, “One word from me, and you’d be finished.”

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“Oh, yeah?” snorted Joey, “And how are you going to get in touch with them, eh?”

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“I don’t need to.” said Heyes,  “They’ll catch up with you, sooner or later.  If I’m dead, they’ll get all of you.  If I’m not, I’ll do it myself.  Either way, you lose.”

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Felton, who had been listening to the conversation, now walked up to Heyes and delivered a hefty kick to his stomach, the force of it lifting him off the ground.

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He would have doubled up, but the chain around his neck pulled him back sharply, almost choking him.  As he lay gasping for air, like a fish out of water, Felton crouched over him, grabbing his collar and hauling him up to face him, a knife blade, glinting evilly in the firelight, in his free hand.  He pressed the point of the blade under Heyes’ chin.

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“I’ll only tell you this once.” he hissed menacingly, “Say just one more word to my brother… just one… y'hear? … and it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever say… because  I’ll personally cut out your tongue.” He grabbed Heyes by the hair, forcing his head back, “Do you understand?” He spat the words, his face inches from Heyes’,  “Do you?” he repeated, when Heyes didn’t answer.

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Heyes had been determined not to be intimidated by them, but as his strength failed, so did his courage.  Felton’s eyes told him that he would have great pleasure in carrying out the threat and, frankly, he was scared, especially after seeing how brutally he had attacked and killed Josie, without a flicker of remorse, before turning on Heyes himself and shooting him. 

Too winded to reply, Heyes nodded as best he could with Felton grasping his hair.

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“Good,” sneered Felton, reading the fear in his eyes,  “and,” he continued in a menacing whisper, “be warned; if I have to do that, it’ll be just the start.  By the time we get to Cheyenne, you’ll be minus a few fingers and toes as well as a tongue.”  He laughed evily, stroking the flat of the knife blade across Heyes’ forehead and down over his cheek, while Heyes held his breath, praying he wouldn’t slash him.

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Felton traced the line of Heyes’ jawbone to the centre of his chin and then turned the blade over and deliberately drew the point down from Heyes’ bottom lip to the edge of his chin before standing up and wiping off the smear of blood on the sleeve of his jacket.  Then, with an evil smirk, he turned and strode away, pleased at Heyes’ reaction.  They all cracked after a few days, however tough they thought they were.

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Heyes closed his eyes and let out his breath in a shuddering sigh, trembling, partly from exhaustion and the effects of dehydration, but as much from fear, at the thought of what Felton had threatened to do to him, which was, in Heyes’ mind, a fate worse than death.

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Curry was too far away to hear what was being said, but it was obvious they were giving Heyes a hard time.  He badly needed help by the look of him, but how was he going to rescue him?  He couldn’t take on seven men with rifles with just a hand gun.  It was suicide.  He would have to watch and wait for an opportunity to arise.  He just hoped Heyes could hold out.

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