The Black Widow by John J. McLaglen Page A

with ropes round his
ankles and wrists tied behind his back. He was bare to the waist,
and despite the cold his body was covered with a slick coat of
sweat.
    Sweat and blood.
    Their main enemy in getting the man, whose
name was Mel Tarrant, back to their camp was the weather. They
waited for more men to ride out from Mount Abora, huddled down
behind the rocks, the tip of Herne’s bayonet pricking Tarrant’s
throat. They’d heard hooves, but only one man had appeared round
the bend, peered cautiously through the driving sheets of snow, and
galloped back to safety. Jed didn’t blame him.
    At least half of the force slain, by
nobody knew how many gunmen. Killers who might still be hiding in
the rocks waiting to carry out further slaughter. It made a lot of
sense not to wait around within rifle range.
    Once darkness fell, it was
comparatively easy for the two gunmen to hustle their prisoner back
through the white carpet of snow, now well over ankle deep, and in
places over the knees. Past the brightly-lit front gate, and in
among the trees, stepping cautiously. Pushing Tarrant in front of
them, and treading in his footprints, so that if there were any
traps in the way it would be the boy who would lose his
leg.
    Becky was almost beside herself with
worry, and grabbed Herne tightly round the neck, squeezing him to
her. The fire had been well tended and there was a fresh pot of
coffee steaming away brightly. It was good to be back out of the
snow and in the warm.
    ‘ They’ll know now that
we’ve arrived. They’ll guess that you aren’t alone, Jed. Not with
that many downed. So they’re going to stay holed up inside, jumping
at every shadow.’
    Herne nodded, cupping the hot mug in his
hands, letting his mind and body relax after the tension and
violence of the afternoon. Glanced across the fire to where the boy
sat, blood dried brown over much of his face. Becky had made a move
to help him, and wipe it clean, but Coburn had stopped her. Quite
rightly, thought Herne. It didn’t do when you were about to ask
someone some questions he might not want to answer to show him too
much kindness.
    As soon as he’d finished his coffee,
Whitey began on Tarrant.
    ‘ Right, Mel. You did say
your name was Mel, didn’t you? Don’t want to get things wrong. Not
right at the start like this.’
    ‘ What do you want to know,
Mister Coburn, sir? Just ask me and I’ll tell you.’
    Lips pulled back from his teeth in what he
thought passed for a reassuring smile, Coburn leaned forwards.
There was a hiss in the air, and faster than the eye could follow,
the albino had drawn a knife and cut the boy’s coat open, slashing
the shirt and red vest underneath, nicking the flesh. Tarrant
whimpered with the sudden violence, and tried to roll away. But
Coburn reached out and locked his fingers in the damp tangled hair,
tugging him right forwards, so that their faces were only inches
apart. His voice dropped to the faintest whisper, so that only the
boy and Herne could hear.
    ‘ You sit right still, boy. I’m
just going to cut away all these clothes you got on.’
    ‘ Whitey!’ interrupted Herne.
‘Remember the girl’s here.’
    ‘ Yeah. Like my partner here
says. There’s a young lady with us. But it’s mighty hot with this
fire, so I’ll just slice away the clothes from above the belt, and
keep the decencies. Right.’ The voice dropped even lower. ‘And if
it wasn’t for the girl, you stinkin’ little bastard, I’d cut off
your cock and burn it in front of you!’
    Shamed and bare, the boy had been right on
the edge of tears, but Herne had felt no pity for him. A hired gun
was paid on results. If the going got tough, then he shouldn’t
snivel about it. Neither he nor Whitey had ever wept over screwing
up on a contract.
    And this boy wasn’t even on the side of
the angels. The Stanwyck family was evil, and it was boys like this
one who stood between Jed Herne and his justified revenge. So what
was a little more suffering among