Whirlwind

Chapter 10

Han helped the girl to her feet and they moved away from Holt. Cocking his piece, Han kept it aimed right at the outlaw. He might look harmless enough laying there, but there was no limits to the tricks he might be up to in his frenzied efforts to avoid answering for his crimes.

“Are you all right?” Han asked the girl.

“I will answer,” she replied, “Although I would not like to go through another such wrestling match in a hurry.”

“It looked to me as though you was getting the better of that contest. Where did you learn to fight so?”

“I had to take care of myself. I had several people try it on with me, as you might say. A girl had to learn to protect her honour.” She giggled.

“Well you surely managed to hold your own with that son of a … gun. Tell me, would you object overmuch if I was to shoot him now, before he recovers like?”

“You are joking?”

“I am joking a bit. I would still like to shoot him though.”

At length, Holt showed signs of recovering his senses. This was indicated by groans, profanities and a prolonged bout of swearing about Betty and Han. After he showed no signs of easing up on the tirade, which contained some of the coursest language which Han had ever in his life heard, he said sternly to Holt, “Recollect yourself, there is a lady present.”

“Lady, you say? Where is she? I don’t see none such.”

“We are going to be moving off directly,” said Han, “so you had best collect yourself and accept your fate like a man.”

“Yes,” said Holt bitterly, ”It is all well and good your talking of us both being men, but I will take oath that you would not durst face me, just the two of us together, if my hands were free.”

Han laughed. “That is foolish talk, Holt. Your hands were free that night I grabbed ahold of your shirt and threatened to blow your head off. Or had you forgot that?”

“No, I had not forgotten that. There will be a reckoning for it as well.”

“Not in this world. Come, get back on your horse.”

“Suppose I refuse?”

“Then before God, I will come over there and kick your ass, begging your pardon Betty.”

“Don’t mind me, “ said Betty, “It is a word which I have heard before.”

Han stood up. “Come Holt, what will you have?” A thought struck him. “Do not think that you will be able to goad me into shooting you, so you can escape the hangman’s noose. I will do no such thing. Either you get on that horse peaceable like or I will knock you out again and then truss you up like a hog and carry you on the horse in that wise. Is that really how you would wish to enter Hopetown?”

After a little further grumbling and not a few curse-words, Holt mounted his horse and the three of them set off again. Now a circumstance which none of them marked was that somewhere along the line, the tin star had fallen from Han’s shirt and lay back there at the scene of the tussle. This was to have serious consequences later, as we shall see.

The fight had improved Jed Holt’s spirits, as did anything in the line of violence. His mood might have improved, but this was more than could be said for his general appearance, which now presented a shocking spectacle. In view of what happened that day, Han later wondered if this whole episode had been designed with that end in mind. At any rate, in addition to the scratches across his cheek, Holt was pretty bruised up on one side of his face, where Han had swung the rifle butt at him. Blood was also trickling down his face from a cut which had been inflicted in the same way on his scalp. Add to this the dirt and twigs which was all over his hair and upper body and the man presented a dreadful aspect to the world. Han noticed this when Holt turned to address remarks to him from time to time.

“Landsakes, Holt, your face is a sight to behold. Why did you make all that necessary?”

Jed laughed at that. “If you cannot bear to see what you have done, then my advice to you would be not to do it. You struck me with your gun and this is the consequence.”

“You were purely sitting up and begging for it, as you well know. If we come to a stream or something, I am amenable to your washing away some of the blood and freshening yourself up somewhat. If we enter town with you in that state, it will make people think that I have been knocking you around.”

Holt turned round and bestowed an ill-favoured smile upon the young man. “Why that is precisely right. Folks might very well think such a thing.”

“Meaning that you will be able to appear in the role of victim? Yes, I see that this would do you no harm.”

“Tell me boy,” said Holt, “I heared you last night talking to that girl about your folks. I was right then that they died at Sand Creek? Is that why you came hunting for me and my brother? On account of losing not one set of parents, but two?”

Reluctantly, han answered, “Yes, if you will know the truth.”

“What would have befallen you if I had not rode by that day? You would have just carried on tilling those fields? You know, I suppose, that we did you a favour there?”

“Shut up, Holt. I do not wish to hear anything which you have to say touching upon this subject.”

Holt continued as though Han had not spoken. “The way I see it, those old folks were just about tuckered out. They could not have worked for much longer and yet might have needed taking care of for years before they died. That burden would have fallen upon you. You would have been working the land for all the hours God sent and then nursing a pair of useless old folk into the bargain. No chance to go out courting a girl, marrying and suchlike.”

“I have told you to leave this alone, Holt.” said Han in a queer, tight voice.

“See though, what the situation is now that you find yourself in? You have a farm, a house, no dependents to fret about, no relatives liable to come begging for your aid. Seems to me that your prosects is much improved since me and my brother relieved you of those useless mouths.”

The shot echoed across the bleak landscape. The ball from Han’s pistol passed only inches from Holt’s head, so close that he heard it pass by, buzzing like a bee. Han rode up and faced the man.

“I am not to be pushed into killing you Holt, but that is not to say that I will not put a bullet in you, somewhere like your ankle or knee. I tell you now, before God, that if you say one more single word about my parents, I will do so. You will hang none the less for having a broken ankle and I am telling you that I am the very boy to give it you. What do you say? Will you carry on down this road and see what it brings you?”

“I reckon not.” said Holt and they continued travelling.

After they had got another mile or two down the road, Holt said, “Still and all, it is a thing to consider. People treat those like my brother and me as mad killers, but there is another side to the case.”

Unable to resist his curiosity, Han enquired, “How do you figure that?”

“We weed out those who are often no use to society or their own selves. The weak, the old, the foolish. You could say that Eli and me have been like farmers, taking out the weeds and cutting back weak plants. I think that we deserve some recognition for this.”

“I would say this,” said Han slowly, “It seems to me that maybe they will not hang you after all. Perhaps they will instead shut you up in a mad asylum. You and that brother of yours were mad dogs. You are trying to make your crimes sound more than they were. They were dirty acts by two dirty and worthless men. You asked a couple of nights ago if I had ever been to a hanging. I will tell you now that I aim to come to see you hanged, Holt. I want to make sure that they make a good job of the business. You will end up like your brother, in an unmarked grave.”

He dropped back a little to ride by Betty’s side for a spell. She said to him, “You should not set mind to what he says. He is crazy as a coot.”

“Yes, this is so, but the worst of it is that there could be some slight, small grain of truth in what he says. Have you noticed how people like to read books about outlaws and robbers? They do not show any such enthusiasm for books about dirt farmers and storekeepers. Perhaps he does have some sort of noble calling. It would explain much.”

“Do not listen to him. What happens when we get to Hopetown and hand him over to the sheriff? Do you really want to part from me for good? We can if you will. I should not have buffaloed you into bringing me along on this trip. It was not nice of me.”

“Let us get rid of this man first and then we can perhaps talk about this. I cannot think straight today. You will recall that I did not get a wink of sleep last night, for having to watch yon villain.”

For the next three hours, they carried on along the track leading to Hopetown. All three of them were tired and none were in the best of moods. Despite her making light of the fight with Holt, Betty had been badly shaken by the experience and was still frightened when she thought of how the affair could have ended. She was also thinking on the future and trying to make how Han was inclined to her and, just as importantly, how she was inclined towards him. Han was brooding that he had let Holt provoke him into opening fire. More than that, he was turning over the man’s words in his mind, those to the effect that Han was better off now than he would have been if he faced the future prospect of caring for Esther and Patrick. There was undeniable truth in this and he did not wish to face the fact.

As for Jed Holt, it is not really possible to say what was going through his mind as their journey drew nigh to its final destination. He was like a cornered animal, seeking only a way out of the trap into which he had fallen. Since he had no weapons at his disposal and was covered by a young man armed with two guns who had cause to hate him, the only thing open to him was to probe at the boy’s defences with his words. Whether this would be sufficient to find a weak spot before they reached Hopetown was by no means certain. Still and all, Jed Holt had never been a quitter and he was not about to fall into that habit at this late stage of his life.

Han called a rest at midday and they finished off the half loaf of bread which remained. There was just about enough coffee for a single cup each, although no sugar to go in it. Betty kindled a small fire and did the necessary. Once again, Han made sure that Holt sat at a distance from he and the girl and he ate and drank with the rifle in his lap, never taking his eyes off Holt, even when he was chatting to Betty.

“Boy, there is a thing that I would know,” said Holt, after they had drunk their coffee, “And that is this. You are an Indian and you are helping out the white man’s law and his whole system. Does that not sit ill with your conscience? Wasn’t it the white man who killed your family all those years ago?”

“It was white men not the white man. There is good and bad in all types. Are you not proof of that? There are bad Indians as well. This girl here had her kin killed by such and her home burned down.”

“How’s that? I have not heard this story.”

Betty related the story of her capture by the Kiowa and Han’s part in freeing her. After he had listened intently, Holt said, “You are something else again, you know that boy? I do not think that you and me are all that different. That is just exactly the way that I too would have handled that show.”

“Except,” observed Han, “You would have killed the men and stolen both ponies instead of just the one. I managed the whole business without shedding blood.”

Holt laughed and was about to say something more, when Han cut in, saying, “I am up to all your games, Holt. You hope to delay matters by talking endlessly like a woman, while you hope that something might turn up to prevent you being delivered to the sheriff in Hopetown. It will not answer. Within a few hours, we shall be there and I will be rid of you.”

Holt offered no further resistance to mounting his horse and riding on in the direction of the town. For most of the travelling, they had seen no other rider, but now they began to see one or two men passing by; not actually on the same track as them, but maybe half a mile on either side. Han took this to be a sign that they were getting closer to the town. Halfway through the afternoon, they saw three men riding towards them. As they came closer, they looked to be ordinary, respectable folk about their business. It was now that Holt made his last desperate throw for freedom.

Betty and Han were talking about this and that, although the Indian did not take his eyes off the man ahead of him. With no warning whatsoever, Holt spurred his horse on towards the approaching men, crying, “I am a Federal Officer! This Indian has killed my men and taken me captive. I call upon you by the power authorised to me by law to assist me in apprehending an offender. You have a legal duty to aid me.”

This was such an unexpected turn of events, that Han was at a loss to know how to proceed. So he just carried on riding forward, not at all sure what would be the outcome of Jed Holt’s latest gambit. He pulled up sharply when one of the men drew his pistol and said, “That’s far enough now.”

“You fool,” said Han, “I am a deputy and this man is under arrest and being escorted to the sheriff’s office in Hopetown. The boot is all on the other foot and it is me you should be assisting. That man is a dangerous killer.”

This new claim seemed to throw the men into some confusion, which was not at all lessened when Holt said confidently, “Him a deputy? Where is his badge, if that is so? And more to the point, did you ever hear of an Indian being given the authority to arrest a white man?”

Han glanced down and was dismayed to see that his star had fallen off at some time in the past. The other three men were looking at him with no friendly eye and Holt, observing this, decided to follow up his advantage. “Look well upon him,” he said, “He is a Cheyenne Dog Soldier and he and his fellows ambushed my patrol. All were killed but me. I was off duty, which is how I am not in uniform, but I am a cavalry officer. I was tracking down a party of Cheyenne who have been amurdering and looting all over this territory. If you do not assist us in this enterprise, it could be your wives or daughters next who are seized and sold into slavery.”

It was obvious that Holt had not dreamed up this pack of lies on the spur of the moment. He had been putting together the story all day and just waiting for the chance to tell it.

“I have in my pocket here a letter from the sheriff of Tribulation, which gives me authority and names this man as Jed Holt, a notorious wrongdoer.”

“Jed Holt?” said one of the men, “Are you saying that this here is Jed Holt?”

These were the very last words that this man spoke in the course of his life. Seeing that this particular gamble was about played out and that his hand was not worth betting on, Holt rode to the man who had just spoken, reached with both hands for the pistol that he wore, pulled it from the man’s holster and shot him dead. Then he turned to face Han.

The shot had spooked the horses and they all began to jitter around and whinny. Holt’s own horse reared and bucked, but he managed to stay on. He could not get a bead on Han because of this, giving that young man an opportunity to reach out his rifle and draw down on Holt. As he did so, one of the other men, seeing his partner gunned down, drew his own pistol and fired at Holt, who shot back. Neither of them were hit.

While this was going on, Han drew down on Holt and called upon him to throw down his gun. Instead, Holt, tried to steady his horse, which was now rearing again. He looked as though he were hoping only to get off a shot at Han, who seeing this, fired once. The bullet took Holt in the shoulder, low down and towards his chest. He dropped his pistol and clutched at the wound. Then his horse jittered again and he fell heavily to the ground, where he lay winded.

Han, who was mightily pissed at how the intervention of those three men had precipitated this bloodletting, rode up and pulled out Pete McGuire’s letter. The two surviving men read it, grim looks on their faces as they saw the real state of play.

“Well,“ said one to the other, “It looks like a true bill. What do you say?” The other nodded. Then the man who had spoken turned apologetically to Han. “I am sorry about this, but you will allow that it looked mighty strange to see a Cheyenne holding a white man at gunpoint in this way. I am sorry that we read it wrong.”

Down on the ground, where he was laying, Holt called out, “I am done for, you bastards. You let that Indian kill me.”

Human nature does not change much over the years and so the next stage of this little drama will likely enough not come as any surprise. Seeing that they had been wrong footed and placed in what was a false position, the two men decided that the sooner they left the scene, the better they would like it. They had visions of being summonsed to court, asked a heap of annoying questions, blamed for somebody’s death and I don’t know what all else. In short, they intimated to Han that they would be moving on and were neither of them feeling inclined to leave him a forwarding address.

“What about your partner?” asked Han, pointing at the dead man.

“He is not right close to us, to speak honestly,” said the more talkative of the two men. “It is not like he is my brother or something of that sort. Besides which, he is dead and there is little I can do to remedy the situation.”

“What do you say I should do with his body?” asked Han.

“Well, you are apparently a deputy and I guess that it is part of your duties to make provision for such contingencies. You may take him with you to Hopetown or leave him here. It is nothing to him any more; he is dead.”

“Why you coldblooded piece of…” began Han, but then stopped. “All right then, ride on. I hope that you are both satisfied with this day’s work, which has cost two men their lives.”

Holt protested from where he lay, “I ain’t dead yet!” Then he gave a sharp groan of pain and doubled up in agony.

After the two men had left, Han got down from his pony and looked at Holt’s wound. Even now, he did not trust the man, half expecting that he would make another attempt to seize a gun and escape. A quick glance told him that the bullet had not hit the shoulder at all, but was a deal lower. It had not just passed through, but was clearly lodged deep inside Holt’s chest. He shook his head. “I don’t see that there is much that I can do for you. I am guessing that the bullet has entered your lung or is near your heart. I am sorry.”

“What’s to do then?” Holt asked. He had a spasm of coughing and Han saw flecks of blood spray from his mouth. He had no training in such matters, but it looked to him as though that surely meant that the wounded man’s lung was shot through.

“We will not ride on,“ said Han gently. “I will try to make you comfortable here. I am sorry it turned out like this.”

“Well I ain’t,“ said Holt. “There are worse deaths a man could suffer. From all that I am able to collect, this will not take long.”

Han turned to Betty, who was looking sick and shaken. “Bring me the blanket from my saddle-roll. And the canteen.” Turning to Holt, he said, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I am cold. That blanket would not come amiss.”

Han set aside his pistol, it being too late to fret about such. He then tucked the blanket around Holt, just like he was tucking him up in bed. The man looked up at him. His face was ashen and he was trembling. After coughing up a little more blood, Holt said, “I am not sorry that it was you that shot me. When I stood there that night, with your gun pushed against my neck, I knew then that you would be the death of me.”

“Don’t talk,” said Han, “You are using up your strength. Would you have me read a psalm to you or say a prayer? I know a heap of such from my parents.”

Holt tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain. “No, I can’t say that I would be comforted none by such a thing at this time. I would like a sip from that canteen though if you could lift me up a mite.”

Han supported the dying man round the shoulders and helped him take a sip of water. This provoked a a paroxysm of spluttering, which sent blood all down the man’s shirtfront. “I am failing.” he said. “I am sorry for killing your folks, but I don’t suppose that signifies now.”

“ It does,” said Han softly, “It surely does. Can I get you anything else?”

There was no reply. Holt had lapsed into unconsciousness and he lay there for another five minutes in Han’s arms before breathing his last. Betty stood still while this was happening; pale with shock.

After Holt had died, Han lowered his body to the ground and stood up. “This is the hell of a business. I would not have looked to kill him like that. I did not mean to do so, but I can’t see that I had another choice.”

Betty said, “If you had not done it, I think that he would cheerfully have shot us all, if that was what it took to get him free from here.”

“Yes, I made the same calculation, which is why I shot him. I am still sorry that I did it though.”

Some of her pertness returning, Betty said, “You would have been a sight sorrier had he shot us, I reckon.”

“That at least is true,” said Han.

There remained the vexing problem of how to proceed from this point onwards. One way would have been just to abandon Jed Holt and the unknown dead man and ride off. There were two things against this course of action. In the first place, Han had had quite a connection with this man. Not a good one maybe, but never the less their paths had crossed and then run side by side. He could not just leave him here like a dead animal. Then again, he had engaged to take the man to Hopetown and hand him over to the sheriff. If he left him here and went off, it would look for sure as though he had killed the man out of hand and bolted. Han did not want such a thing said of him, even by strangers.

In the end, he and Betty succeeded in loading both Holt and the dead stranger on the back of Holt’s horse, the other two men having taken away the stranger’s horse in the confusion following the shooting. Han tied their ankles to their wrists to keep them from falling off. It loked ugly, for all that it was the most practical way of accomplishing his purpose. He did not like to see men treated like animals in this way, but there was no other way of doing it.

“Do you think that you will get into trouble for this?” said Betty, “When we reach town, I mean. You don’t think that anybody will say that you shot Holt without cause.”

This had not occurred to Han. He thought the question over in his mind. At last, he said, “I do not look for that to happen. If, as the sheriff in Tribulation says is likely, there is news that Holt is wanted, then I think that folk will understand what came to pass. Besides, I have a witness.”

It was slow going. There was no question of proceeding at more than a walk with the two men on the one horse. A couple of times they had to stop, because one of the other of the corpses swung round so that the body was hanging round the belly of the horse, with the ankles and wrists on the top side, resting on the saddle. Not only did this look gruesome, it slowed down the horse. It was evening before they got to Hopetown.

It was a fair sized town with a railroad station, telegraph and all that a modern town could require. The sight of an Indian, accompanied by a white girl and two corpses was a novel one and folks stopped dead in the streets to stare at the odd sight. More than that, they called people from their houses to come and see. A crowd of shouting boys surrounded them at one point, making what Han supposed were intended to be Red Indian war whoops. He had to enquire several times before he was able to discover where the sheriff’s office was. This was because the first person he asked, a woman, hurried off in panic.

At length, they found the office, which by a great mercy was not closed for the day. Han and Betty dismounted, tethering the horse with the dead men on it outide the office. They went in and Han handed the sheriff the letter from Pete McGuire. He read it in a leisurely fashion, like a man who has all the time in the world.

After mastering the contents of the letter to his own satisfaction, he put it down on the desk and looked up at the two young people. “So you have been sent by Pete McGuire, hey? Well, I make no bones about telling you that he is a lazy son of a bitch and a dishonest fellow to boot. How come he did not bring this dangerous robber here himself?”

Han shrugged. “I could not say, sir. He asked me to do so and I have brought him.”

“Well, where is he?”

“He is outside.”

“What the devil have you left him out there for? If this really is Jed Holt, he will be halfway to Kansas by now.”

“I don’t think so, sir. You see there was a mishap along the way and he is now dead.”

“First off, is where I want to see the body. I know the Holts by sight. This would not be the first time that somebody tried to sell me a cat in a sack and claim reward money of some body belonging to the Lord knows who. Show me.”

“Reward money,” said Han, “You mean that we might get a reward for bringing him in?”

“Let’s take it one step at a time. Like I say, first off is where I want to be sure that this really is one of the famous Holt brothers.”

They went out to where the horses were tethered. A large crowd was gathered round the bodies. The sheriff said, “Come on you fellows, move away now. What do you think this is, a carnival sideshow or something of that sort? Move clear, I tell you.” He unceremoniously lifted up the heads of the two dead men by grasping their hair. He took a good long look at Holt.

“All right, let’s go back in the office and make medicine. You loafers move away from the front of my office now, you here?”

Once they were all three back in the sheriff’s office, he asked them to explain how Holt had died and who the other dead person might be. Betty and Han took it in turns to explain how it had been. When they had finished, he said, “Well, that sounds like the truth to me. At any rate, one of those two men is Jed Holt, of that there is no doubt. Now, this is where the knife meets the bone, as they say. There are two rewards for Holt. One is an official one, for the amount of $500. Seeing that you would not have known of this unless I told you, I think it fair if we split that down the middle, me taking $250 and the same to you. How does that sound?”

Han said slowly, “I think that that is very fair, sir. I did not look to profit from this business, seeing it as my duty, so to speak.”

“Well ain’t you the virtuous one?” said the sheriff. “There is more though and I will put you onto this, although it profits me nothing. Holt killed some fellow up in Denver City and the family offered a $500 reward on their own account for his capture, alive or dead. I will give you the details and also a chit from me to say that you brought him in dead. That should be all you need to secure the money.”

“That is right good of you, sir,” said Han, “You mean that you will get nothing from it?”

“I am not a greedy man, son,” said the sheriff, “I have just made myself $250 for sitting here and doing precious little, while you brought Jed Holt here and nearly got your self killed in the process. I would say that you have earned that money. Come back tomorrow morning and I will pay out the $250,”

Han and Betty could hardly believe what had happened. They went out into the street and, ignoring the curious stares of those still hanging round outside the sheriff’s office, walked down the street a way. Betty said, “Tell me straight, Han, do you want us to part company for good and all here? I will be able to find something here, work or what have you, if that is to be the way of it.”

Han looked at her and she fancied that now that this other business had been dealt with, he was looking at her differently. “If you want to come with me for a while, maybe stay at my place when I go back, then you are welcome to do so.” It struck him that he sounded ungracious and he added, “You are more than welcome. I would like it very much.”

A couple of days later, the two of them lit out from Hopetown together, heading north. What befell them after that is another story.