“Well, Milt. Seems I do blame you.” Heller’s colorless eyes flashed like lights in the dark. “But I blame him more. He won’t live through this day.”
“Threats,” Kuo said, as if scorning the idea. “Leave now.” His gun barrel didn’t waver. “Now.”
Feet shuffled. “I’m going,” Dunce said.
“Yeah,” Beaver, the silent one, agreed.
The clomping of boots continued on out the door.
“For now,” Milt snarled. “Kuo, this ain’t over. You’re making me look bad to my good friend Heller. That just ain’t right, you being who you are. Be warned. If he don’t get you, I will.”
“Get out, I said!” Kuo shouted anew. “All of you.”
Heller, when Ketta peeked up at him, said nothing more. Even with blurred vision she saw he had a loopy little grin on his bewhiskered face. It bothered her more than if he’d been shouting.
He and Kuo’s eyes were locked. They remained that way until first Milt, then Heller, backed all the way outside.
Kuo stepped over Ketta and slammed the door shut. There was a bar to put across it. He dropped it in place, then stood there a moment, his face bleak, before holstering his revolver and reaching down to pick her up.
Ketta could barely lift her head. She cried silently, hot tears sliding down her cheeks. If only Yester were here. Or no. She wouldn’t wish him mixed in this situation. Not even for her freedom.
Kneeling, Kuo gathered her to him.
And she let him.
A bullet whizzed through the small window past her father’s head and plowed into the rough table. The table rocked under the impact, knocking over the whiskey bottle and spreading the raw smell of cheap alcohol as it soaked into the wood.
The first single shot was soon followed by a barrage of gunfire. The window shattered into a million pieces that flew everywhere in the room. The noise was almost enough to make Ketta pass out again. Kuo pressed her flat onto the floor, his body the weight to hold her down.
Finally, the din ended as the outlaws’ guns emptied. Abrupt silence vibrated with its own echo.
Kuo lay still, Ketta locked in his arms. “Well, child.” His face was pale and frozen looking as he gazed down at her. “Looks like we’re in for it now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: YESTER
Yester pressed his face into the earth. He figured he might as well get used to it seeing as how he’d probably be there for eternity. Those damn outlaws had to be looking right at him and planning to use him for target practice. How could they not? He lay in what must be plain sight. Why were they delaying?
After a minute, when nothing happened, he lifted his head an inch off the ground and parted the branches of the fireweed he’d fallen behind.
“What the hell?” His breath stirred the dust, the whole yard as hot and dry as that desert he’d read about. The one in Africa, where lions and elephants roamed.
His guts shriveled when two men stampeded out of the cabin and jumped off the porch into the yard. They were the two who hadn’t been in Pullman with the rest of the gang. They weren’t taking in the view, though. No, sir. They both were staring back into the cabin’s dark interior like something real interesting was going on inside.
He didn’t dare move, even if the two were occupied. Who knows what the others were up to. Maybe these fellers were just a tease.
Sure wished he could see what held them enthralled. Somehow, where Ketta was concerned, he doubted it was anything good.
Loud voices carried to him. Some cussing. Something that, from the tone, sounded like threats. Finally, a man yelled, “Get out, I said! All of you,” and two more men backed out of the cabin. They moved more slowly than the first two.
Yester caught a glimpse of a gun barrel gleaming in a ray of sunlight. Looked to him as if there must’ve been a falling out between the outlaws. What did that mean for Ketta?
The door slammed shut. The four men outside stood as if dumbfounded, staring at the door, before one of them gestured the others in closer for a hobnob. One of them stepped off to the side of the cabin, to about where Yester would’ve been if he’d made it across the open ground, and fired off a shot through a little window.
Yester jumped, the fireweed waving in front of his face.
He’d seen the man, a real ugly galoot, before. A scarred-up feller as homely as a hobgoblin, the feller had been with Kuo at the bar in Pullman. If Yester had to guess he’d say the two weren’t such good friends now as they’d seemed then.
The crack of the shot had barely faded before the other three men drew their weapons and opened fire on the cabin. Yester could hardly believe his eyes—and his ears protested the racket. Over at the corral, horses startled by the noise commenced bucking and running inside the circle. Dust flew; one of them kicked a hole in the watering trough.
Nat, hidden practically inside the corral itself, took the opportunity to make a dash for cover closer to the cabin.
Just like Yester had to do.
Now or never, he told himself. Sucking in a mouthful of air, he jumped to his feet and ran, four, then five strides. His long body landed in a forward dive, finding shelter behind a loosely stacked pile of wood. He figured he’d never moved so fast in his life. And maybe as soundlessly. Who knew, considering the gunfire and the whinnying of several frantic horses?
Releasing his breath, he chanced poking his head around the woodpile just in time for a “ping” to sound and a splinter of wood to pierce his cheek.
“Damn.” Drawing back faster than a worm into its hole, he dabbed at blood with his shirt sleeve. A ricochet. The outlaws hadn’t spotted him. If they had, the stack of wood would’ve been riddled by now, and his body as full of holes as a window screen.
The shooting stopped.
After maybe sixty seconds, the horses slowed their frightened pacing and went still.
The man who’d arrived just ahead of him and Nat ducked down and reloaded his firearms. The rest of the men followed suit and then stood shouting and making rude gestures toward the cabin. They muttered a little among themselves, but Yester couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Weren’t they afraid of being shot? Yester was torn between admiration for their nerve and disgust at their stupidity.
Why hadn’t Kuo shot back at them? That’s what Yester couldn’t figure. And maybe the outlaws couldn’t, either, because, after a minute or so, the ugly son-of-a-gun he’d recognized called out, “Hi, Kuo. You alive in there?”
“I’m alive,” Kuo shouted back. “You and your boys, and Heller, too, better pack up and go. You ain’t welcome here no more.”
The ugly feller did an angry little dance, puffs of dust rising beneath his boots. “You’re the one ain’t welcome, Chink. We’re taking over this here hideout.”
“Yeah,” a younger one shouted, shaking his fist.
The gunslinger fellow grabbed Ugly and said something in his ear. Ugly nodded and yelled, “Heller says we’ll let you live, long as you’re the one to pack up and go.”
Gunslinger said something more, and Ugly repeated, “Do that, and he’ll guarantee your safe passing. Myself, I’d just as soon kill you.”
Kuo shouted back, “Like you did Frank? Shot up with the back of his head missing?”
“Found that, did you?” Ugly had a good belly laugh. “Oh, yeah. Heller says for you to leave the girl when you go. Part of the condition of your getting out of here alive.”
Yester’s mouth went dry.
Gunslinger elbowed Ugly and spoke again.
“Safe passage,” Ugly amended, grinning, “that’s what he said.”
Yester had good eyesight. There was no missing Ugly’s suggestive wink.
A gunshot from the cabin answered, the bullet coming near enough to Ugly’s foot to take a notch out of the toe of his boot. He bounded high in the air, coming down cursing as he joined the others in a mad scatter.
None, to Yester’s relief, in his direction.
They’d reached a stalemate.
A full half hour passed. Yester’s throat grew drier and drier as he sprawled behind the woodpile with the hot August sun beating down on him. A scrawny jack pine shaded the other side of the pile, but none for him. He wondered how Nat was faring, if he was as thirsty as himself. Even though Yester’d seen his friend’s flight from the corral, he had no idea where Nat had ended up. For all he knew, Nat had taken to his heels.
But, no. Nat would never do that. He’d be on the other side of the cabin, waiting for a break, just like Yester.
The lull didn’t last much longer.
Yester’d seen the outlaws start a discussion, bandying ideas back and forth. He’d caught parts of the talk. Single words mostly, mixed with a few phrases. Words like fire, shoot, carve him up, lift her skirt, sell.
His heart thudded. Some of the threat seemed aimed at Kuo, which didn’t worry him so much. It was the last couple, about lifting her skirt and selling, that did. Those were aimed right at Ketta. Enough had happened here for him to believe Kuo was defending Ketta, risking his own life to do so. Common sense seemed to indicate he and Kuo ought to join forces to fight their mutual enemy. That’d put him and Nat and Kuo against the four outlaws. Might not even the odds, but make ’em better. If only he and Nat had more than Yester’s old rifle and a couple of pocket knives between them.
The outlaws all had guns. Yester figured his next job was to get at least one of them for Nat, and maybe an extra for himself.
Yester had been studying the men he now considered targets. He figured taking Heller’s guns away from him was out. For now. Likewise, Ugly’s. The other two, they were different. Not much older than he was, for one thing, which he hoped meant not much experience in the outlawing business. And not to be conceited or anything, but he’d bet on his own intellect coming in ahead of theirs. Theirs put together.
He tried not to think of his own lack of experience in anything except doing ranch chores and riding herd on some half-wild horses.
The outlaw boys were excited by the action and careless. The buck-toothed feller with the pimples and sweated-through holes in the armpits of his shirt was getting real antsy. He kept putting his carbine down, then having to look around to find it. His reason for setting the carbine down was not reassuring, since he had a whetstone he used to hone the blade of a large hunting knife every few minutes.
The other young one—Yester heard him called Dunce—apparently lived up to the name. His eyes were vacant as he gazed around, and his jaw hung slack most of the time. He shambled when he walked, so Yester thought he’d have walked in circles if somebody, mostly Ugly, didn’t call him to order every now and then. He did, however, keep a pretty good grip on a small handgun.
So. One or the other.
The waiting ended when Heller said, “You, Dunce, fetch some wood over here. We’re going to start us a fire.”
“A fire? What for?” Dunce looked around. Bent over and picked up a couple twigs from the ground.
Yester tensed. He thought he knew what for.
“Not them little bits,” Heller snapped. “Dumb shit. Over at the woodpile. Bring four or five good-sized chunks.”
“But it’s hot, and we ain’t got any food to cook.” Dunce whined like a little kid.
Heller snorted. “Jesus. Ought to shoot you myself. Tell this kid what the fire is for, Milt.”
“Gonna burn them out, Dunce. You hustle now and do what Heller says. Get that fire built right here in the yard. Let Kuo and that girl see what’s coming.”
“Oh,” Dunce said, apparently enlightened. “We going to burn the house down like you did at that ranch?”
“That’s right,” Milt said.
Dunce grinned. “Fun. I wish I’d been there.”
Removing a rock from under his elbow, Yester hefted it in his hand. Not as heavy as he’d like. But there was a branch, maybe three feet long, the wind had blown off the pine in the not too far distant past. It all depended on how close Dunce came.
Turned out he came real close, and, even then, it took two thumps on Dunce’s noggin with the branch to knock him out. The job didn’t go cleanly, either, with Dunce having time to yowl, “Ow” before the second blow put him down. And then Yester had to snatch up the pistol and rummage in a pants pocket for ammunition before making his escape.
Could be it didn’t take more than five or ten seconds all told, but each second felt more like a minute to Yester. The greatest surprise was that nobody came running to see what had happened to Dunce. Not until Yester had turned the corner around the cabin and paused for a glance back. Even then it was only the buck-toothed one and not Milt or Heller.
The boy leaned over his brother, if that’s what he was, and called out to the others, “Dunce ran into a tree and knocked himself out. What do you want me to do?”
Heller cursed. “Leave the dummy lay. You bring the wood. We gotta get the fire going.”
Yester gave a sigh. Sure was clear they didn’t have a care about being interrupted or even overheard. But a fire. He couldn’t let that happen.
First thing, he had to find Nat.
Turned out, Nat found him.
KETTA
When the crack of gunfire faded, and chunks of lead quit flying through the air, Kuo rolled aside from Ketta’s rigid body.
She lay as if frozen, thinking that nothing could touch her as long as she stayed still. But her eyes . . . she couldn’t seem to close her eyes. The one that wasn’t already swollen closed, she meant.
Kuo’s face swam into view above her. He sat her up and folded her into his arms.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She thought maybe it wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to her. Not even the first time to pose that question.
“No. Yes.” Her lips barely formed the answer. Finally, she blinked both eyes open and looked directly at him. Of its own volition, her hand came up and touched his cheekbone. “But you. You’re bleeding.” A drop ran down his chin and plopped onto her face. That particular wound on his cheek wasn’t the only one. Two or three splinters stuck out from his skin like stiff pig bristles. One was ghastly, just missing his eye. Or did it?
Quickly, she closed her own eyes, shutting the vision out.
“We’re a lucky pair, child. Both of us,” he said as if amazed at the discovery.
“We are?” She blinked again. His left hand, which he’d used to cover her face, looked like a rat had been chewing at it, and even his shirt bore several new holes.
Men’s voices came through loud and clear now that the windows were shot into honed shards and glittery dust.
“Kuo,” Milt shouted. “Hey, Kuo. You alive?”
Grunting, Kuo set her aside and crawled toward the window. She saw him wince as pieces of broken window pane cut through the knees of his britches and bit into his hands. His revolver had fallen from the holster when the shooting started and he’d dived to cover her up. The pistol had skated under the table. Spying it, he snatched up his gun as he went.
“I’m alive,” he called back, and something more besides, something rude and insulting. Bracing his back against the cabin wall, he fumbled for more cartridges to reload the gun.
She started to get up, but he waved her back. Did he expect another attack? Ketta didn’t know if she could stand one. But she couldn’t stay sprawled in the middle of the floor, either, amidst all the broken glass.
Stooping, she went over to join Kuo at the window. Copying him, she stayed at the window’s side and peered out. Positioned opposite him, her perspective was different from his, but it seemed to her the outlaws, though they’d taken cover, weren’t all that well hidden.
“Why don’t you shoot them?” she asked. “Milt. Why don’t you shoot Milt? He’s right there.” Her forefinger pointed.
Kuo sighed. “If I shoot, they’ll shoot back. At some time, they’ll shoot us. Me or you. Or both.”
Ketta set her hands on her hips. “Not if you shoot them first.”
“I am one gun; they are fo
ur. And I don’t think it’s escaped you that my sight is somewhat impaired.”
Glaring at Kuo, Ketta finally understood what his wounds meant to their safety. “Oh,” she gasped.
“Yes.” His voice was dry.
Before, when she first snapped out of the strange blankness she’d felt when under fire, she’d known Kuo had several nasty splinters in his face and that his blood dripped onto her. She hadn’t noticed the effect one of the splinters had on him though. Now she did.
“Oh,” she said again.
One of those slivers pinned his eyelid to the brow bone. Blood filled the eye. Blood he couldn’t blink away.
“I need you to pull the splinter out,” he said. “Now, before they start shooting again.”
Only then did she realize the din had stopped.
“You want me to pull it out?” she squeaked, her hands coming up and covering her mouth. In truth, she felt sick at the notion.
His good eye fixed on her. “Who else?”
Could she do it? Was she even strong enough? Ketta set herself. Well, she had to be, that’s all. There was no one else. Impossible to leave him like this. Besides, she baked bread, didn’t she? Kneading and pummeling the stiff dough into a silken mass. She milked the cow. Her hands were strong for all they were tiny, and her fingers nimble.
Ketta drew in a deep, deep breath. “Come sit,” she said. “I can’t reach you from here.”
The whisper of a smile touched his lips. “Good girl.”
They crept from their post by the window to the part of the room Kuo deemed safest, seeing it was protected on two sides by cabin walls. Ketta, righting a chair, dragged it over and gestured Kuo into it.
The first try resulted in her fingers slipping from the blood-soaked wood, but not before moving it enough to start new bleeding. Yes, and a harsh-drawn grunt that rocked her to her soul.
Ketta snatched her fingers from the splinter. “I can’t do it.
It’s in too deep and slippery. I can’t get a grip on it.”
“Try again. Pull straight out.”
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