Love's Bounty

by Rosanne Bittner

  Callie shivered with delayed reaction to what had just happened. She stared at the dead bodies sprawled on the red earth, then hurried to catch up. “Lay close to me tonight, Chris. I want to touch you all night and know you’re okay.” She took the reins to Blackfoot and walked along beside him.

  He stopped to shove his Winchester into its boot. “Let’s just hope the men we’re looking for are still in Hanksville, so we can finish this once and for all.”

  Callie had to walk faster to keep up.

  “I’ll clean that Winchester tonight and figure out why it jammed,” Chris told her. “I want you to have it on hand tomorrow. And I’ll give you an extra handgun again, just like when we went to Hole-in-the-Wall.”

  “I almost wish Buck and his bunch were with us again.”

  “Well, they aren’t. It’s just us, Callie. I wouldn’t worry a bit if it was just me, but I worry about a stray bullet hitting you, if it comes to shooting. If I had to take on half the town, I could do it. Hell, I’ve been up against some pretty poor odds before, but I never had to worry about the woman I love being in the middle of it all. That changes things.”

  “I’ve proven I can handle myself, Chris. I won’t get in the way. Heck, it might end up you’d need me anyway.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “I do need you, but not that way. That’s just the problem. I fell in love with the woman who hired me, and now look at the fix I’m in.”

  Callie studied his dusty face, streaked from sweat. “You’re a hell of a man, Christian Mercy. You’ll do just fine.”

  He grinned, shaking his head. “Let’s get the hell out of here, find a place to settle for the night where we won’t be noticed. The horses need to be rubbed down, and we need some rest. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Callie swallowed back her dread. “Lordy, we sure do.”

  Chapter Forty

  Callie thought how odd the sky looked as she and Chris headed for Hanksville. Behind them and to the west were black clouds, great bolts of lightning cutting through them. It was an almost mystic sight, for it was obvious a violent storm was going on, yet there was no sound. To the south, the direction in which they rode, the Henry Mountains were brightly lit with sunshine, and to the east the sky was pink, casting an eerie glow on the maze of hundreds of miles of rock and canyon beyond which, somewhere out there, lay Robber’s Roost.

  It was as though they were in the midst of peace and tranquillity, while all around them was violence. Four men lay dead north of them. Outlaws dwelled in caves and other hiding places east of them. An intense storm surrounded them. And to the south lay Hanksville…and its own threat of violence. But right here was only silence, except for the scuffle of their horses’ hooves.

  Chris did not want to exert the horses that day in any way, not merely because of their hard run late yesterday, but because they just might have to be ready to run hard again. He didn’t want them winded and tired before they reached Hanksville. The town was in sight now, and Callie breathed deeply for courage. Chris’s extra Winchester rested in her rifle boot. Guns were loaded, as were ammunition belts. Chris had given her an extra belt he owned, and she wore it over her shoulder because it was too big to buckle tightly around her hips. In its holster was the extra six-gun Chris wanted her to have. She felt like they were going to war…and maybe they were.

  She thought about those pretty dresses Chris had bought her. Would she ever get to wear them? They had fit so nicely when she’d tried them on, and she’d daydreamed about the kinds of hats she should wear with them, how she would look in them with her hair all done up fancy and some color in her cheeks and on her lips, maybe some pretty little diamond earrings decorating her ears. She’d never be as elegant as the woman in that picture Chris carried, but she sure as heck would try.

  It helped to think about things like that because it helped keep her from thinking too much about Hanksville…and Terrence Stowers…seeing his face again…that ugly scar. What a contrast Chris was to men like that, so fine to look at, so respectful, so gentle.

  She was a woman now, a full-out, flat-out woman, as able to meet Christian Mercy’s needs as any woman, even the ones like Lisa. But it wasn’t just her sexual awakening that made her a woman. It was the things she’d learned on this journey, the places she’d been, the way she’d learned she could be strong and brave and that she could handle herself against dangerous odds better than she thought. She was a far cry from the half-child she still was when she first left Rawlins, on her way now to becoming Mrs. Christian Mercy, the wife of a man of money and education, a man who would take her to wonderful places and teach her wonderful things.

  But first…Hanksville. Her thoughts had drifted so much that she hardly realized until just then how close they were, only a few hundred yards now.

  “We know Stowers supposedly runs a saloon here,” Chris told her. “I don’t doubt there is more than one in Hanksville, like any other town out here. We’ll just have to go into every one of them until we find him. Be alert. Heaven only knows how many new friends he has here besides the two men you know of.” He faced her. “You okay?”

  Callie took another deep breath. “Couldn’t be better.”

  Chris cast her a sympathetic smile, then stopped to light a cigarette before kicking Night Wind into motion again. “Let’s go.”

  Callie urged Breeze into a faster lope to catch up, and within minutes they were riding down the main street of Hanksville, which was more of a dirt path than a street, an assortment of wooden buildings and hitching posts on either side of the street. The town was much like any other small town out west, a livery, a blacksmith, a dry goods store, no church, several saloons. Men of questionable nature hung out on the boardwalks, watching them. Some wore long dusters, some wore regular shirts and vests, some even wore suits. All wore guns, and hats pulled down far enough that it was difficult to see their faces.

  They passed a sign that said just BANK. A bank? In a town habitated mostly by outlaws? She supposed outlaws needed a place to put their money same as anybody else, but it sure seemed strange. A dark-haired, dark-eyed man stood in front of the “bank,” wearing a suit and looking quite spiffy. How strange, she thought. She was even more surprised to see a woman walk across the street leading a little boy by the hand. Apparently there were a few plain folk who lived here.

  Chris stopped in front of a building with a sign that simply read SALOON. She wondered if anybody named their businesses here. Everything just said what it was. LIVERY, MERCHANDISE, HOTEL. Maybe no one lived long enough here to name anything. Businesses probably changed hands every few months due to death.

  Now she could hear thunder. The storm was coming closer. Chris dismounted and tied Night Wind. Callie followed suit, tying Breeze to the same hitching post. They tied the packhorses then, and Callie followed Chris’s movements when he pulled his Winchester from its boot. She took out the second rifle and walked up the steps with Chris, who nodded to a big-bellied man who stood just outside the swinging doors to the saloon. “Morning.”

  The man nodded. “Closer to noon.”

  “I suppose so,” Chris answered. “You live around here?”

  The man nodded. “I run a delivery service for the outlying ranchers. Even make runs up to Robber’s Roost.”

  “You mind telling me who owns this saloon?”

  The man looked him over. “Who wants to know?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  The man shrugged. “You the law?”

  “No.”

  The man glanced inside. “Jeremy Webster is the current overseer.”

  Chris looked across the street at a building that read TAVERN.

  Another nameless business, Callie thought.

  “How about that tavern over there? Do you know who owns it?”

  “Who exactly are you lookin’ for?” the stranger asked.

  “Just tell me who owns it, if you know.”

  “You don’t look to me like you have any good inten
tions for whoever your lookin’ for, mister.”

  “I don’t. He’s a rapist and a murderer, preys on helpless women. I’ll tolerate a horse thief or a cattle rustler, even a bank robber. And I’ll warrant you don’t mind those things either. But I don’t tolerate men who rape and murder good women, and I’ll bet you don’t either.”

  The man shifted and cleared his throat. “The man who runs that tavern across the street is a big guy, ugly as sin, if you’ll pardon my sayin’ so. Got a big white scar down the side of his face. Calls himself Terrence.”

  Callie sucked in her breath. He was there! “Let’s go!” she told Chris. He grabbed her arm before she could get away. “You stay right here.” He looked back at the man he’d been talking to. “Is there a Mexican who hangs around with Terrence? And a younger man, real skinny, blond hair? Calls himself Penny.”

  The man took a thin cigar from his vest pocket. “You got a match?”

  Chris took a match from his own shirt pocket and struck it against the building, lighting the man’s cigar for him. The man puffed it a moment before finally answering Chris’s question. “I could get myself in a lot of trouble giving you that information. You have to understand, I have to deal with these men. They trust me, and because I run supplies up to Robber’s Roost, they don’t mess with me or try to rob me, and they trust me in turn not to divulge names.”

  “Is that where the other two are? Robber’s Roost?”

  The man shifted again, taking another look around as though worried he was being watched. Callie stepped forward.

  “Mister, we’re talking about men who took turns raping my mother!” she told him, keeping her voice down. “A widow, and a good, hardworking woman. Then they murdered her and stole our horses and cattle! These are the kind of men even other outlaws won’t tolerate!”

  The man sighed and glanced inside the saloon again before answering. “All right. Penny generally sleeps at a whorehouse up the street. He always sleeps in, so he’s probably still there. The stucco building up that way to your right. The Mexican calls himself Luis. He helps Terrence run the tavern. But he’s not needed this early, so he’s likely to also be at Grace’s place.”

  Chris nodded. “Thanks.” He turned.

  “Hey,” the man spoke up.

  Chris faced him again.

  “If you’re not the law, then who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He turned away again, taking Callie’s arm and leading her across the street. “Stay outside,” he told her.

  “I have to see him! I have to be sure.”

  Chris sighed. “Just look, then. If it’s him, give a nod and leave the rest to me.”

  “Chris—”

  “Promise me!”

  Callie shrugged. “All right.”

  Chris kept hold of her arm as they crossed the street, stepping around horse dung to get to the other side. The thunder was growing louder now, and Callie felt a few raindrops. Chris stopped in front of the tavern doors. “Remember what I told you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Their gazes held. “We lucked out finding him still here,” Chris told her, “so let’s get this over with.”

  Callie nodded, and taking a deep breath, she followed Chris inside. They scanned the room to see two men sitting at a table, smoking and drinking whiskey, one of them playing solitaire. They both looked up and stared, probably surprised to see new faces, let alone the fact that she and Chris were heavily armed. Chris led her up to the bar, and just then a man who had been doing something underneath the bar rose up.

  Callie felt instant rage and a sudden plunging pain in her heart. After all this time and all her searching, she had finally found the main culprit in her mother’s attack. She would never forget that nasty scar across his right cheek.

  Chapter Forty-one

  “Help you?” Stowers asked, his gaze scanning Callie’s bosom before looking at Chris. “What’s your choice, mister?”

  Chris looked at Callie. She nodded and backed away. In barely the blink of an eye, Chris’s revolver was pulled and aimed at Stowers. “My choice is to take you to the nearest jail in Utah and have you manacled and sent up to Rawlins, Wyoming, to hang,” he answered. “Or I can kill you now. Makes no difference to me. Which way would you prefer to die?”

  Terrence’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, mister?”

  There was that deep voice Callie remembered. “He’s talking about you raping and murdering my mother!” she answered. She cocked her rifle and leveled it at the man. “This man’s a bounty hunter, and I’ve paid him to bring you in so’s I can watch you hang! And I hope you die slow. I want to watch your face turn purple and see your feet kicking!”

  Terrence stood still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He started to move a hand under the bar.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them!” Chris ordered. “Come on out from behind that bar. And I hope you have your walking boots on, because you have quite a journey ahead of you.”

  “The hell I do!” Terrence answered. He dived behind the bar, and at the same time Callie noticed movement at the table where the two men sat. She whirled to see one of them had a gun pulled. She fired just as Terrence appeared at the end of the bar with a shotgun in his hand.

  Everything happened in a matter of two seconds. Callie’s shot missed. Chris fired at Terrence, then whirled and shot the man at the table. At virtually the same time, Terrence’s shotgun went off as the man crumpled to the floor. Stray pellets from the wildly fired shotgun splattered into Chris’s right hip and the back of his thigh. Stumbling slightly, Chris turned and fired a second shot into Terrence, who, although wounded, was trying to rise and shoot at him again. Chris’s bullet slammed into the man’s face, opening a hole in his left cheek. He slumped forward and landed in an awkward position, blood quickly forming a pool under his face.

  “Chris, you’re hurt!”

  The second man at the table charged out the door.

  “Stay here!” Chris ordered Callie, running out after him.

  “Chris!” Callie was not about to obey such an order. Chris was hurt. She ran out after him, knowing he would head toward the stucco whorehouse. The man who had run out of the saloon was headed that way himself. He ducked into an alley, but Chris, obviously favoring his right side but still running, kept to the main boardwalk.

  “Oh, God, Chris,” Callie whimpered as she followed.

  Chris reached the stucco house and Callie was close behind. She could hear women screaming inside, and someone fired a shot out the front window at Chris, who ducked and jumped down from the boardwalk on the other side of the building.

  “Oh, lordy!” Callie exclaimed. “Chris!” she shouted. “I’ll go around back!”

  “No, Callie!” he yelled back at her.

  Callie refused to listen. Apparently the man in the saloon had managed to get there and warn Penny and Luis, who just might escape out the back door. She cocked the Winchester again and charged around behind the whorehouse to see a skinny blond man climbing out a back window, apparently thinking the only person he had to worry about was Chris, out front.

  Callie knew it had to be Penny climbing out the window. She raised her rifle and fired, hitting him across the top of his shoulder. Penny cried out and raised a pistol. Callie quickly fired again, this time hitting a piece of the stucco above his head. She ducked and rolled as he fired two shots back at her. She felt a sharp sting at her left calf, and she dodged behind the thick trunk of an old pine tree behind the house. She looked around to see the wounded Penny fall the rest of the way out of the window, then get up and start to run. She raised her rifle to shoot at him again, but someone else fired first, and Penny cried out and fell sideways, then collapsed.

  “Chris,” Callie muttered. At least he was still alive. She stepped out from behind the tree trunk. “Chris!” she called. No answer. “Oh, God! Oh, God!” she whimpered. She heard shouts from inside the house, then more screaming, more gunfire. T
he Mexican was the only one left. Chris must have gone inside after him. What about the man who’d run out of the tavern? He must be inside too!

  Callie ran to the back door, pounding on it. No one opened it. She heard crashing sounds inside. She ran to the window where Penny had exited and she climbed inside, falling onto a bed. A wide-eyed red-haired woman stood naked in a corner.

  “You stay right there!” Callie ordered, pointing her rifle at her as she got off the bed. The woman shivered and nodded. Callie ran into the main room then, where Chris and a powerfully built Mexican man were involved in a vicious fistfight. The man who had run to warn Penny and the Mexican lay dead against the wall. Callie had no idea how Chris lost his guns, but one woman stood nearby, holding his handguns, her lip bleeding; and another, who had a cut on her face, held Chris’s Winchester.

  Both women were so engrossed in the fight that they didn’t even notice Callie. The one holding Chris’s six-guns was screaming at the Mexican to “beat the hell out of him,” referring to Chris. The other woman lamented at all the damage inside the house. It looked to Callie as though everything breakable was broken, and she watched with horror as Chris and the Mexican went crashing through the front door and on outside.

  Chris was wounded! The Mexican was strong and mean. Frantic, Callie walked up behind the two women and laid her rifle against the back of the one holding Chris’s two six-guns. “I don’t have time to fool around, ladies,” she told them. “That’s my man out there looking to die, and I’m not gonna let it happen, so put those guns down and step outside.”

  The one with the six-guns turned a painted face to look at her. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Name’s Callie Hobbs, and that Mexican out there raped and murdered my ma. Is that the kind of trash women like you try to protect?”