Name On The Bullet - Edge Series 6 (11 page)

But now, once again, he was a loner: free to complete the chore that had drawn him to return to this part of the country. Beholden to nobody and owing nobody anything: except himself. And when he had achieved what he came here for – put the final touch to something he had been promising himself to complete for so long - then there truly would not be one single thing left undone to trouble his mind.

As Mann had said of the people of Brogan Falls: to keep him awake at nights, put him off his supper whenever he thought about it, or feel the need to look the other way when people who knew what had happened . . .

Hell no, that did not apply, he acknowledged to himself as he reined in his horse, swung out of the saddle and led the animal to the back of the clearing where earlier the posse had spotted the horses of Vic Munro and Hannah Foster. Nobody knew anything about the final matter he had to clear up before he could truly say he was turning over a new leaf: begin again with an almost totally clean sheet and have nothing but a few maverick regrets to disturb his peace of mind. And it was for sure that no man could get to be his age without having a handful of experiences that in retrospect he viewed with sorrow. No mortal man, anyway, and Edge was certainly that. Had reached a stage in life when he was increasingly reminded of his own mortality: and that the only second chance a mortal man got to right a past wrong was in his lifetime.

It was not until he began to unsaddle the gelding that he realised how deep down wary he was at the end of a day when so much had happened in which there had been no good reason for him to take a hand. A day and half a night, he corrected for the time was by now well advanced into the small hours. And it could not be too much longer before the glittering light of the half moon faded from among the pine trees and the greyness of a new dawn would herald another chill day in northern California.

But at least, he reflected contentedly as he unfurled his bedroll and used his saddlebag for a pillow, lay down and covered himself and the Winchester with a blanket and the sheepskin coat then set his Stetson over his bristled face, during the day to come he did not need to abide by the hidebound rules of regular country town society. He could get up when he liked, ride wherever he wanted and not have to pay attention to what other people did or what they said to him. For such a high degree of freedom it was entirely worthwhile foregoing the relative luxuries of the McGowan household for the few primitive comforts of his present circumstances.

It was in this contented frame of mind that he drifted into sleep, listening to the night sounds of the timber start up again now the creatures whose province he had invaded accepted his unthreatening presence among them. And when he came abruptly awake and instantly knew all was not as right with his world as it had been when he bedded down, it was the absence of these familiar sounds of the night that alerted him to a changed situation. The fire continued to crackle and now it also spat and hissed softly in lightly falling rain. Beyond this, the sounds of his own breathing and the unobtrusive noises made by his horse there were no others.

For stretched seconds he remained totally immobile, then snapped open his eyes and peered up into the pitch darkness of the underside of his hat: ears attuned to pick up any sounds that signalled the reason for his own tense alertness and the silent watchfulness of waiting nature. Then his horse whinnied: and an answering sound came from no more than a hundred yards off. Instinctively he tightened his grip around the frame of the Winchester that shared his bed, inched his other hand up and across his body, out from under the covers. Eased the Stetson from off his face, down on to his chest and cracked open his eyes to narrow slits now that they were exposed to the drizzle.

His gelding had craned its neck around to look in the direction of the second whinny: over toward the northern stretch of the Sacramento Turnpike. Then the animal was at ease again, dipped its head and began to tear at the lush wet grass: gave no sign of concern when the hooves of two of its kind drew closer, urged cautiously forward by nervous voiced riders. Something about the voices signalled to him that there was no danger and he folded up into a sitting position, set the Stetson on his head, drew up his knees and rested the rifle against them.

‘Mr Edge? It is you, isn’t it?’ This intruder to his night camp was certainly a woman. And sounded no more at ease now than when he first heard her after he awoke.

‘Large as life and twice as ugly,’ he answered evenly. ‘And I guess you ladies ain’t going to turn around and ride on back to town? So life can start to look a little better to me?’

‘Thank God!’ the second rider said breathlessly.

Edge’s surprise that both of the night callers were women had diminished and his newly awakened mind was perplexed as he recognised their voices. And next their faces as they swung to the ground then led the horses forward until both of them were illuminated in the faint glow from the gently guttering fire.

Hannah Foster had been the first to speak. And Julia McGowan the one who gave thanks to the Almighty. Women of about the same age and build: neither of them particularly well favoured with striking looks. Both tonight caped from head to foot in dark coloured slickers that gleamed in the firelight and sparkled with the raindrops that coursed down the shiny oilskin surfaces. While he surveyed them for stretched seconds Edge reflected how they had something else in common – each had yesterday violently lost the man in her life. Albeit one had been enough in love with hers to marry him while the other showed little sign of grief at the time of his killing.

‘Is there something I can do for you?’ He gave a token tip of his hat to each of them and began to feel the cold of the rain-filled air now that just his legs were draped by the covers. ‘But even if I was in the right frame of mind to offer the usual hospitalities at this time on a dirty night, the home comforts are a little lacking hereabouts.’

‘Whatever’s around here is better than being locked up in that stinking jailhouse, mister.’ Hannah Foster’s growling tone sounded much more natural than her caution when she approached the camp.

‘All we want from you is help,’ the new widow said intently. ‘Everything legal and above board I can assure you. Marshal Hooper has released Miss Foster on my surety that she’ll return to Brogan Falls within a week.’

‘I want you to find the sonofabitch who killed Vic!’ Hannah rasped.

‘And I want you to track down the man who killed Wendell if it’s somebody different.’

Julia said in a rush. ‘If it is, I’ll grant you more time.’

‘Not a chance,’ Edge said and stretched out flat on his back again, pulled the blanket and coat up over him and the rifle and tipped his hat over his face. ‘Goodnight, ladies. If there’s enough of it left to say that. It there ain’t, morning to you.’

‘Okay, finish your sleep, Edge,’ Hannah invited tautly. ‘We’ll talk again after the new day has dawned. Maybe you’ll feel differently about things then.’

‘Like I said before,’ Edge growled into the interior of his hat. ‘Not a chance.’

‘You can’t be certain of that yet,’ Julia claimed evenly. ‘We’ll talk later. For now we could all do with some rest.’

Edge murmured so only he heard his own wryly spoken response: ‘No sweat, if the rest is history.’

CHAPTER • 6

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WHEN EDGE awoke he saw the rainfall in the night had been brief and light and the
new day was bright with cold sunshine under a cloudless sky: next registered the crystal clear air smelled of wet pine needles, fire smoke, coffee and frying pork and beans. Hunger was a slight, not unpleasant ache in his belly as he sat up among his bedding, put on his hat and took some deep breaths as he rasped the back of a hand along a heavily bristled jaw line.

‘There’s enough of the morning left for me to wish you a good one, mister.’ Hannah Foster’s tone was sardonic and a matching smile was hinted at in her large green eyes and the slight twist of her full lipped mouth.

‘And we hope you’re feeling a little less grouchy after you’ve had such a fine, long sleep, Mr Edge.’ Julia McGowan’s voice was just a fraction less cynical and nothing approaching humour showed on her gaunt featured face. Her hazel eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot.

The fresh fire, with a coffeepot and a skillet in the glowing embers was some twenty feet away. The two women sat close by it on the other side from him on their saddles and blanket rolls, a clutter of used plates and cups scattered across the damp grass nearby. They looked well fed and more neatly turned out than he may have expected in the circumstances: but tired from having had less sleep than Edge or drained by their disparate emotions after the violent killings of Quaid and Munro. Each of them watched closely as he rose to his feet, stretched, groaned and massaged sharp muscular pains in his lower back and at his right shoulder.

Then the hazel eyes of the flat of chest, narrow of waist, brown haired Julia betrayed mild curiosity while the green ones of the more solidly built, long blonde haired Hannah held a glimmer of latent contempt.

‘If you’ll bring your crockery and tableware over here, you’re welcome to have some food and coffee,’ Julia offered.

Hannah said pointedly: ‘There’s enough in the skillet for you to have your breakfast and a noon meal, Edge. Which seems just about right for the time of day you finally got out of your – ‘

‘Look, let’s not rile each other!’ Julia snapped and directed a caustic look at the other woman. ‘I’m certain you want something to eat, Edge?’

‘It depends, lady.’

‘Depends on what?’

‘How much it’s going to cost me.’

Julia retorted: ‘Cost you? We aren’t going to charge you for – ‘

‘No strings,’ Hannah cut in on the literally minded Julia. ‘But while you’re eating, maybe we can put a proposition to you? And then if you’re not of a mind to help us . . . ‘

She shrugged. ‘Hell, we’ll just be down some pork and beans is all.’

Edge stooped to open a saddlebag and brought out a plate, mug and knife and fork. Then Julia ladled some food on to the plate while Hannah poured equally good smelling coffee into the mug he extended.

‘Listening with my mouth full is a lot easier than talking with it that way, ladies. But I have to tell you: there’s an important piece of business I need to attend to before I can consider any line of work you’ve got in mind for me.’

‘The hell with that!’ Hannah sat her well-padded rear down hard on the saddle perched on her bedroll. ‘You know from last night what we want you to do. And the longer you fool around with making excuses to –‘

Edge cut in: ‘Fooling around ain’t at all what I’ve got it in mind to do, lady. Important business is what I said it was and that’s what it is.’

‘Just eat, quit talking and please listen,’ Julia urged tensely.

‘Yeah, do that,’ Hannah added. ‘You said it was easy for you to do?’

Edge swallowed some coffee, relished how it cut through the bad taste of a night’s sleep and the after effects of yesterday’s cigarettes, set down the mug and picked up his plate. Began to eat the freshly cooked food that was no gourmet’s delight but hit the spot for a man who had not eaten since last night’s frugal supper in the kitchen of the McGowan farmhouse.

‘My father’s terribly ashamed about what him and the rest of the Brogan Falls men almost did yesterday, Mr Edge,’ Julia said in a subdued tone and licked her lips. ‘And he’s sure all of them will feel just as bad in the cold light of day –how they allowed him to stir them up enough to go to the jail and . . . Well, you know what they had it in their minds to do?’

Hannah looked like she wanted to speak but Julia trapped her into silence with a hard eyed look then shrugged and dug out the makings: began to roll a cigarette with skilled fingers. ‘My father’s going to call a meeting and put it to the vote that – ‘ She broke off when she heard Edge groan: switched her gaze from the middle distance to look toward him and allowed: ‘All right, you can say something if it’s really important, Edge.’

He swallowed a piece of pork and told her evenly: ‘I’ll say whatever I like whenever I like, lady.’

Hannah glowered.

Julia gulped.

Edge told them: ‘Right now I’ll tell you ladies this. That in my experience when people in small towns stir up trouble for themselves and find out they can’t handle what comes of it, it doesn’t follow naturally that somebody like me has to ride in and clear up the mess they’ve made of things.’