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    Bodie 4: The Killing Trail
    Bodie 4: The Killing Trail
    Bodie 4: The Killing Trail
    Ebook139 pages2 hours

    Bodie 4: The Killing Trail

    By Neil Hunter

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    About this ebook

    The half-breed Coyote was a ruthless killer. It needed an equally ruthless man to run him down, and Bodie was the only gunman who could measure up. He set out to find Coyote, but the first complication came in the voluptuous form of Eden Chantry, a girl he knew from way back. The second big problem was Silva, a hitman from the East. Bodie’s reputation had spread even as far as New York, and somebody there had decided that The Stalker was too dangerous to live . . .

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPiccadilly Publishing
    Release dateJan 25, 2013
    ISBN9781301756445
    Bodie 4: The Killing Trail
    Author

    Neil Hunter

    Neil Hunter is, in fact, the prolific Lancashire-born writer Michael R. Linaker. As Neil Hunter, Mike wrote two classic western series, BODIE THE STALKER and JASON BRAND. Under the name Richard Wyler he produced four stand-alone westerns, INCIDENT AT BUTLER’S STATION, THE SAVAGE JOURNEY, BRIGHAM’S WAY and TRAVIS.

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      Book preview

      Bodie 4 - Neil Hunter

      Issuing classic fiction from Yesterday and Today!

      The half-breed Coyote was a ruthless killer. It needed an equally ruthless man to run him down, and Bodie was the only gunman who could measure up. He set out to find Coyote, but the first complication came in the voluptuous form of Eden Chantry, a girl he knew from way back. The second big problem was Silva, a hitman from the East. Bodie’s reputation had spread even as far as New York, and somebody there had decided that The Stalker was too dangerous to live . . .

      THE KILLING TRAIL

      BODIE THE STALKER 4:

      By Neil Hunter

      First published by Star Books in 1978

      Copyright © 1978, 2013 by Neil Hunter

      Published by Piccadilly Publishing at Smashwords: February 2013

      Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading the book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

      Cover © Westworld Designs 2013

      This one is for David Whitehead because he is keeping the faith

      Chapter One

      A faint, dust-dry wind drifted across the arid land. It caught the pale smoke rising from the small fire and smeared it over the cloudless expanse of sky. Heat waves shimmered in the air, distorting the landscape, giving the bleached rocks a false life. Gaunt cactus thrust their ungainly shapes skywards, twisted and curved in silent protest against the overwhelming, unrelenting heat.

      Leaning forward Bodie lifted the blackened coffee pot off the fire and poured himself a cup of the steaming brew. He placed the pot over the flames. Raising his head, he squinted from under the curled brim of his hat, eyes scanning the barren slopes surrounding him. Nothing moved within his sight, but that didn’t mean a thing out here. He picked up his cup and tried the coffee. It was still too hot. Just like the damn country, he thought sourly.

      At his back there was a slight sound. No more than a whisper of supple leather against the gritty earth. A humorless smile edged Bodie’s mouth.

      You must be getting old, Chuy, he said. I heard you.

      A soft laugh drifted over his shoulder. From his rear a lean figure stepped into view — a brown, light-stepping Apache, dressed in white cotton pants and a blue shirt. The Apache’s gray hair was held by a faded red headband. He was easily sixty years old, yet he moved with the casual ease of a sixteen-year-old boy.

      Sit with me, Bodie said, and watched Chuy squat in the dust on the far side of the fire. Coffee?

      Chuy nodded quickly, his face expressionless, the dark, glittering eyes following every move Bodie made. When the coffee had been poured he took it with a birdlike nod of his head, the battered old rifle he carried now cradled in the crook of his arm.

      Has the Pinda Lickoyi put a bounty on my old gray head, Bodie?

      Bodie shook his head. If that was so, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking!

      The old Apache inclined his head. He pointed a gnarled finger at Bodie. If they do, Bodie, I will ask the spirits to let you be the one to come after me!

      What do the spirits say about Coyote?

      Chuy’s eyes blazed with anger. He turned his head and spat on the ground.

      That one is all evil, Bodie! Any man who touches him is cursed! From the day he sprang from his mother’s womb he was evil. Did I not watch him grow? From baby to child. From child to young man. And always there was the evil.

      Far as I’m concerned, Chuy, he’s just a half-breed gone all bad, Bodie said evenly. He’s a mean son of a bitch, and that bunch of renegades he leads is no better.

      Is it Coyote you hunt? Chuy asked, and when Bodie nodded the Apache went on, What is it you want of me, Bodie?

      Been a lot of people chasin’ Coyote for a long time, Chuy. Ain’t none of them even come close. Tell me where to look, Chuy, and I’ll put him where he won’t do any more harm to the Apache or the Pinda Lickoyi.

      Chuy studied the manhunter sternly. Many times we have faced each other as enemies, Bodie, he said, and also as friends. Were it anyone but me, you would be dead now. There is still talk in the camps of the Apache of those you killed in the big Canyon of the San Andres.

      I lost a good friend that day, Chuy!

      Chuy nodded. Rostermann. Though he wore the soldier’s uniform he was a good enemy, and he died well. The old Apache fell silent for a time. I will tell you all I know of Coyote.

      After refilling the Apache’s cup Bodie sat back and waited. Chuy took his time, and there was no hurrying him. He drank his coffee slowly, eyes lifted to the far land beyond, his attention fixed on something only he could visualize. After much deliberation he placed his empty cup on the ground.

      There are those who will tell you that Coyote is not as other men, Chuy began, that he cannot be killed. That he is a god in human form. All this is foolish talk, fit only for the women to chatter about. Coyote is only a man. But he is wild and not to be trusted. Hear my words, Bodie, and do not forget them. If you seek Coyote and find him, kill him the moment you can. If you do not he will surely kill you. Chuy touched a gnarled finger to the side of his skull. There is a sickness inside his head only a bullet can cure. From the moment of his birth the evil had a hold on him, and it grew as Coyote grew. He has no place in the Apache world, or the places of the Pinda Lickoyi. This he knows and his hate feeds on the knowledge. And he lives only to destroy. His way is evil. The Apache fights for his land, for his right to live. The Pinda Lickoyi fights because he wants what belongs to the Apache. Coyote kills and destroys for no reason except the hate he carries for Apache and white alike.

      You heard any talk of him lately? Bodie asked.

      Chuy nodded. He was seen two months ago on one of the old Apache war trails, leading his band down into Sonora. Coyote is as the summer breeze, Bodie. He comes and goes without reason or plan. A strike here, another there, and then he vanishes. The land is too big and Coyote is small. He can hide in a thousand places.

      No talk of him having a fixed camp?

      Once he stayed for six months upon the Mogollon Rim. Then he had a woman with him. She was a Mexican from a trading post on the Gila.

      Is there a name, Chuy? Bodie asked.

      The old Apache shrugged. I heard little about this woman. Only that she was young. She wished to stay with Coyote, but he sent her back to the trading post to wait for him.

      Chuy’s information was scant, but it was the best Bodie had been able to gather concerning the renegade called Coyote. If Bodie had been anything other than a practical man he might have had cause to believe the tales that were told about Coyote — the ones that hinted at Coyote’s less than human characteristics, giving credence to the near myth that had the half breed pegged as a phantom, a walking spirit, indestructible and elusive. Coyote was alive all right. A vicious, wily, hit-and-run maniac, driven by hate and a seemingly unquenchable bloodlust. Given the right place and time a man could stop Coyote — for good — and Bodie figured he had as good a chance as anyone.

      I wish I could tell you more, Bodie, Chuy said. But how much can one say about the wind? It is there or it is not. From nowhere it comes to plague you, and when you try to catch it in your hand it slips away, leaving you alone and foolish. Coyote is kin to the wind. He comes and goes as his will dictates, but his sting is worse than any wind.

      They sat and talked for another hour, Bodie feeding the old Apache coffee while he probed the warrior’s mind, easing out tiny scraps about the man called Coyote, and when they were done he felt he knew the half-breed a whole lot more.

      It is done, Chuy said abruptly. Nodding quickly the old Apache rose to his feet and trotted off into the sun-bleached rocks. With the Apache’s departure the empty silence descended, rolling over Bodie in a smothering flood.

      Bodie stayed where he was for a long time. He wanted to give Chuy time to ride well clear of the meeting place. Finally he climbed to his feet, stretching his long body to iron out the stiffness brought on by such a prolonged sitting. He put out the fire and gathered his gear, making his way to his waiting horse. Packing away the empty coffee pot and cups Bodie picked up the reins, swung into the saddle and moved off.

      He rode north for the rest of the day, camping that night in the shadow of a looming mesa. By first light he was already back in the saddle. Towards late afternoon of that day he reached his destination, and was riding in along the dusty main street of Tombstone.

      Chapter Two

      Two weeks previous to Bodie’s meeting with Chuy in the arid wastes of Arizona, another meeting had taken place. It was conducted in an office on the other side of the continent, in a room reeking of wealth and

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