Radburn muttered for a couple of seconds under his breath, then replied, “I never said anything about not takin’ the money.”
“I didn’t think so.”
They rode on, fifteen hard-faced men, all of them with plenty of blood on their hands even before today.
But there was more blood staining them now, a lot more, Grimshaw reflected. He had seen a lot of ugly things in his life, but right offhand, he couldn’t think of anything uglier than taking axes and chopping a bunch of dead men into pieces.
Would it fool people when they found the bodies? Grimshaw thought it would, since everybody in these parts was so worked up to start with about the monster in the woods. But the important thing, as far as his boss was concerned, was that more damage had been done to Rutherford Chamberlain’s logging operation. Whatever had been killing men out here in the woods was doing Grimshaw’s employer, Emmett Bosworth, a favor, but Bosworth wasn’t a patient man. He had decided to push things along a little faster, and for that reason, he had recruited Grimshaw and the other gunmen.
Grimshaw, Radburn, Hooley, and the others had all been involved in range wars in the past. A timber war was really no different. Rutherford Chamberlain had the trees, and Emmett Bosworth wanted them. Simple as that. Grimshaw had assumed at first that he and his fellow gunmen would be carrying out the same sort of campaign they had waged on behalf of various cattle barons—ambushing Chamberlain’s men, sabotaging his equipment, generally making life hell for anybody who worked for Chamberlain.
Bosworth had come up with another idea, though. He wanted to take advantage of the fear that was spreading through the forest. The so-called Terror already had men plenty spooked. If the Terror seemed to be going on an even worse killing spree, Chamberlain’s men might finally start refusing to venture into the woods and do their work.
A man couldn’t cut logs without loggers. That was Bosworth’s idea, and it was a good one, as far as Grimshaw was concerned. When Chamberlain had to give up his lease on this prime area of timber, Bosworth would move in, and then Grimshaw and the other men would have a new job.
They would go into the woods, hunt down the Terror, whatever it was, and kill it.
“Son of a bitch.”
The disgusted words came from one of the men toward the rear of the group. Grimshaw reined in, hipped around in his saddle, and asked, “What is it, Nichols?”
The man’s horse had slowed almost to a stop, taking each step gingerly.
“Damn horse has gone lame. I’m gonna have to get off and walk for a spell, see if he can shake it off.” Nichols looked around. “Unless I can ride double with one of you fellas.”
“I don’t think so,” Grimshaw said.
Nichols’s lean, beard-stubbled face got a worried frown on it. “You’re gonna get ahead of me, though.”
“Afraid of the Terror, Nichols?” Hooley asked.
Nichols flushed. “Well, wouldn’t you be?”
Hooley hunched over in his saddle as a fresh fit of coughing struck him. When it was over, he straightened and shook his head.
“I ain’t afraid of anything. No reason to be.”
The rest of them knew what he meant. Hooley coughed up blood a dozen times a day. He wouldn’t last another six months, no matter what. Probably not another three. When a man spent all his waking hours staring down that particular barrel, he really didn’t have any reason to be scared of anything else.
“Well, then, why don’t you stay with me, so I won’t have to ride on in to Eureka by myself?” Nichols suggested.
“You think I won’t?”
“I’m hopin’ you will.” Nichols looked around. “I don’t much cotton to the idea of bein’ out here in the woods by myself.”
Hooley thought it over for a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Why the hell not? The rest of you fellas go on. Me and Nichols will be there later.” He frowned at Grimshaw. “You better not spend our part of the money on hooch and whores before we get there, though.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your
Nichols dismounted as the others rode on, with the exception of Hooley, who sat there with his hands crossed and resting on the saddle horn. While Hooley waited, Nichols examined the horse’s front legs and hooves.
“I was hopin’ maybe he’d just picked up a rock or somethin’ in his shoe,” Nichols said. “Looks like he’s gone lame, though.” He sighed. “It’s gonna be a long walk back to town.”
“We might as well get started.” The other gunmen had already gone out of sight. Hooley licked his lips. “I’d just as soon not stay out here any longer than we have to.”
Nichols picked up his horse’s reins and started leading the animal as Hooley turned his mount to follow the others. Grinning, Nichols said, “Thought you wasn’t scared.”
“I ain’t. I just don’t care much for the woods, that’s all. I’d rather be in town where I can get a drink and rest my eyes on a nice-lookin’ woman if I want to.”
The two men made their way through the towering trees, moving slowly because of Nichols’s horse. They had gone maybe half a mile when both animals began to act a little strange. Hooley’s horse lifted its head and pricked up its ears, then gave a violent shake of its head. Nichols’s mount started pulling back on the reins, as if it didn’t want to go forward anymore.
“What’s got into these damn jugheads?” Nichols asked.
