The stuff was pure ecstasy.
Chapter 6
The cabin had seen better days. The roof sagged and the front door hung crooked. Smoke curled from a stone chimney, proving someone was in there. A single horse, a grulla, was tied to a peg in the front wall and stood dozing.
From an outcropping above and to one side, Ash scanned for signs of others. Ben Sharkey supposedly had five or six men with him. Either most of the gang were off somewhere or Grimes had lied to him and whoever was down there had no connection to Sharkey at all.
Ash worked lower. The only window was covered by part of what looked to a pink sheet, of all things. There was little risk of his being spotted. Still, he hugged cover. Near the bottom he eased onto his belly. He was only a few yards from the cabin when without warning the pressure returned.
Ash stopped and bit his sleeve so as not to cry out. As it always did, the pain grew worse. Ash dug the fingers of his left hand into the dirt and prayed for the pain to go away. He hadn’t bothered to inject morphine when he woke up and now he was paying for his mistake.
Gradually the pressure eased. The agony faded.
Ash almost got up and went to his horse to inject. When he could move, he crawled to the side of the cabin and rose into a crouch. He was weak from the attack and could barely stand.
From the front came the scrape of the door. Someone emerged. They were whistling the tune to “Little Brown Jug.”
Ash crept to the corner. A quick peek sent a tingle through him. Wedging the Winchester to his shoulder, he boldly stepped into the open.
The young man who had called himself Grant and pretended to be a gambler was saddling the horse. He was still wearing the black suit and string tie. He had just thrown a saddle blanket on the grulla and was about to do the same with his saddle. Either he sensed something or Ash made a slight noise, because he stiffened and spun.
“Lonnie, wasn’t it?” Ash said.
Caught holding the saddle, there was nothing the younger man could do except what he did; he blurted, “Damn.”
“Set it down slow,” Ash directed.
Lonnie obeyed.
“Poke your hands at the clouds and turn around. Again, nice and slow. So much as twitch wrong and I’ll give you one of these pills.”
“How the hell did you find this place?”
“Did I say you could talk?” Ash approached and jammed the Winchester against the small of Lonnie’s back. Reaching around, Ash relieved him of the Remington pocket pistol, which he tucked under his own belt. Ash stepped back. “You can turn around.”
“My uncle will be mad, me being caught like this.”
“Speaking of which, where is he?”
Lonnie shook his head. “Go to hell.”
Ash motioned at the open front door. “Suppose we go inside. You first. Walk backward and keep those hands high.”
Lonnie looked over his shoulder to keep from tripping. As he stepped over the jamb he suddenly stopped and gazed past Ash. “Uncle Ben!” he hollered. “Look out! It’s that lawdog you shot!”
Of all the tricks and ruses ever invented, it was one of the oldest. Yet Ash fell for it. He whirled, and no one was there. He spun back around to find that Lonnie had bounded inside and was slamming the door after him.
Ash threw himself at the door, ramming into it shoulder first. It proved to be as rickety as it looked. There was a crash, and slivers and dust flew every which way. Ash wound up on his side on a dirt floor.
A shaft of sunlight illumined Lonnie. He had an axe in his hands and was sweeping it over his head.
Ash rolled just as the axe arced down and it thudded into the dirt an inch from his ear. He kicked out, felt his boot connect, and heard Lonnie yelp. Then he was up on one knee and had the rifle level. “Drop it or die.”
Lonnie winced and tottered. “You about busted my knee, you bastard!”
Ash raised the sights so that Lonnie’s left eye filled them. “I won’t tell you twice, boy.”
Hissing like a stuck snake, Lonnie cast the axe down. “I almost had you,” he boasted.
Ash stood. The hell of it was, Lonnie was right. He’d been unforgivably careless and nearly paid for his blunder with his life. Glancing about, he discovered a table with three legs and a pair of chairs that appeared fit to fall apart if anyone so much as sneezed. “Take a seat.”
Hobbling and cursing, Lonnie did as Ash wanted, and glared. “What now, you son of a bitch?”
Ash slid the other chair a good six feet and straddled it, resting the Winchester across the top. “Now we wait for your uncle to show.”
Lonnie laughed. “He’s long gone and he’s not coming back.”
“You expect me to believe he up and left you?”
“I am to join him in . . .” Lonnie stopped. “Damn me. I almost gave it away.” He studied Ash. “How is it you’re still breathing? I saw him shoot you with my own eyes. You should be dead.”
“Some men don’t die easy.” Ash let it go at that.
“My uncle sure thought he made maggot bait of you. He was drunk for a week, celebrating.”
“How many ride with him these days?”
“I plumb forget,” Lonnie lied, and chuckled.
“Have your fun while you can,” Ash told him. “Once I no longer need you, you won’t be laughing.”
“Threats like that might work on kids and old women but I don’t scare easy,” Lonnie declared. “You’re a marshal. You don’t go around killing folks for the hell of it.”
Ash motioned at his shirt. “Do you see a badge?”
Lonnie tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Did you leave it back in Mobeetie so you could come after us on your own account?”
“You’re not as big a simpleton as I thought,” Ash said. “Tell me where your uncle got to and I’ll let you light a shuck.”
“Go to hell.”
Ash shot him in the leg, the blast thunderous in the cabin’s confines. Lonnie howled and fell. Clutching his leg, he rolled back and forth, spewing obscenities. Ash patiently waited for the tantrum to subside. When it did, when Lonnie was spent and gasping and covered with blood and dirt, he said, “Get back on the chair.”
“Drop dead.”
Ash aimed at his other leg. “You’re not a quick learner, are you, boy? I am. I’m learning I like this.”
“You like shooting people?”
“I like shooting scum like you.” Ash wagged the barrel. “My patience isn’t what it was.”
Practically shaking with rage, blood dripping from under the hand he had over the wound, Lonnie sat up and slid to the chair, leaving a scarlet smear in his wake. “I can’t get up on my own.”
“You do, or you don’t get up at all.”
Lonnie blistered the air with more swearing, but he made it onto the chair. “I’ll never tell you anything now.”
“That’s fine. We’ll sit here a spell.”
“What are you up to?” Lonnie asked through clenched teeth.
Ash held the Winchester over the back of the chair with one hand and rubbed his chin with the other. “I figure you were on your way join Sharkey and your other friends. When you don’t show up, they’ll come look for you.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. They’re on their way to see about robbing a bank. I was going home to see my ma.”
“Sure you were.” Ash didn’t believe him. As young as Lonnie was, he’d been riding the high lines with his uncle for a while now and was as hard as they came. “I bet you haven’t been back to see her in ages.”
Lonnie snorted. “Shows how much you know. My ma and me have always been close. Pa died when I was little and she looked after me and my brothers all on her own. I’d do anything for that lady.”
“You’d steal and kill for her?” Ash sarcastically asked. “Is that why you hooked up with your uncle?”
“You’ve got her all wrong. She begged me not to go off with him but I wanted to repay her for all she’s done for me and my brothers.”
&nbs
p; Now it was Ash who snorted. “Repay her with money you stole from law-abiding folks?”
“I’ve been saving my share,” Lonnie said. “I have enough now that she can buy a new wagon and new dresses and such. Things she’s always wanted but never had the money for.”
“Your mother the saint won’t mind how you got it?”
“Don’t you dare insult her again. She’ll never know it came from me. I’m giving it to one of my brothers and he’ll get it to her and say he won it in a poker game.”
“You have it all thought out.”
“I’m not as dumb as you make me out to be.”
Ash nodded at the spreading scarlet pool under Lonnie’s chair. “You’re dumb enough to bleed to death for a man who isn’t worth dying for.”
Lonnie glanced down and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Drops of sweat peppered his forehead. He pressed both hands to the wound in an effort to staunch the flow. “I feel awful queasy.”
“You’ll feel a lot worse before long.”
Grimacing, Lonnie gouged a thumb into the bullet hole. “Damn it. It just won’t stop. You’ve got to bandage me or let me bandage myself.”
Ash didn’t respond.
“I’m no use to you if I’m dead.”
“You’re no use at all except to tell me where your uncle is,” Ash enlightened him.
“You were a lawman.”
“So?”
“So you can’t just sit there and let me die.”
Ash considered that. Once the boy would have been right. Once he would have done all he could to save him and bring him in alive. “I’m not sure myself what I’ll do.”
“You’re trying to scare me.” Lonnie licked his lips and squirmed.
“You don’t get it, boy. You don’t savvy what this is about.”
“Yes, I do. You’re mad at my uncle for shooting you and you won’t rest until he’s behind bars.”
“I won’t rest until he’s dead.” Ash pushed his hat back on his head. “You keep thinking of me as a badge toter when I’m doing this for me. For weeks I laid in bed in more misery than I’ve ever been in and all I thought about was how much I want your uncle dead.”
Lonnie’s pant legs was soaked and his boot was caked with crimson. His face had become as pale as a sheet and his lips weren’t the right color. “My uncle respected you, you know.”
“That’s a good one.”
“He did. He was mad about you crippling him, but he told me that as tin stars go, you were as decent as they get.”
“So he hunted me down anyway.”
Lonnie held up a dripping hand. “Please, Mister. I don’t want to die.”
“No one ever does.” Ash marveled at how little emotion he felt. He wondered how that could be.
“Do I need to beg?”
“All you need to do is tell me where to find your uncle.”
“You’ll bandage me.”
“I’ll bandage you.”
“Then take me to a doc?”
“I’ll bandage you.”
Lonnie was shaking. He bowed his head and his shoulders slumped and he said in a small voice, “My uncle went to Selby. Honest to God he did.”
Ash gave it thought. It made sense. Selby was a small settlement near the border, the hub of a farming community. It had a general store and a bank and not much else. The bank would be easy pickings. “How many gunnies does your uncle have helping him?”
“Five. Now will you help me?” Lonnie’s teeth commenced to chatter. “I’m cold. I feel like I’m freezing when it’s summer out.”
“It’s all the blood you’ve lost.” Ash got up and walked out. He went around the corner and to the rocks to where he had concealed the roan. Sliding the Winchester into the scabbard, he climbed on. Clucking, he tapped his spurs.
He was out of the rocks and a short way from the cabin when a sharp cry brought him to a stop.
Lonnie was a shambling ghost. His red hands were held out in appeal and tears streaked his cheeks. “Please!” he wailed. “For God’s sake, don’t leave me like this!”
Ash reined around. He rode back at a walk. When he got there Lonnie was on the ground, convulsing. Ash stayed on the roan and leaned on the saddle horn.
No blood came from the wound; there wasn’t much left in the boy’s body.
The spasms ended and Lonnie lay on his back, gulping air. His lips had gone from blue to purple. “You miserable bastard.”
“I’m obliged for the pocket pistol. A man can always use a hideout.”
“Miserable, rotten, stinking bastard.”
“I’ll take your horse too. I’ll sell him and use the money for supplies.” The mention of money reminded Ash of what Lonnie had said about his mother. He reined the roan over to the grulla. Bending, he opened Lonnie’s saddlebags. There it was, right on top, stuffed into an old sock. He counted it and was amazed. There was more than two thousand dollars. “I’m obliged again, boy.”
Lonnie was silent.
Ash placed the bundle in his own saddlebags, snagged the grulla’s reins, and reined over to the still form. He stared down into the lifeless eyes and he smiled.
“I’ll give your uncle your regards.”
Chapter 7
Tombstones jutting from the prairie. That was how Selby’s dozen or so buildings looked from a distance. They were lined up in a row like graves in a cemetery. The comparison was heightened by the lack of life. The heat had driven everyone and everything—except for several horses tied to hitch rails—inside or into what little shade there was. A panting dog peered out from inside an upended rain barrel. A pig rested under a porch.
A man in an apron stared out the window of the general store as Ash rode up. Ash stiffly dismounted, then stretched. He tied the roan and the grulla to the rail and noticed the trough was dry. Slapping dust from his jacket, he went into the store. A tiny bell jangled over the door.
“How do you do?” the proprietor greeted him.
“I’m hot as hell and thirsty enough to drink a lake dry,” Ash replied.
The man offered a polite grin.
“Where can I get water for my horses? I’ve come a long way and they are wore out.”
“So I noticed.” The man pointed at a frame house past the bank. “See that house? It belongs to the mayor. See that metal tank on stilts at the side of the house? It’s fed by one of the few wells still working and he will let you have water for fifty cents a gallon.”
“Pay for water?” Ash had never heard of such a thing.
The portly man nodded. “We haven’t had enough rain for pretty near a year now. The farmers are worried their crops will wither and die, and if that happens the town will wither and die too.”
Ash gazed toward the bank. Whoever built it wasn’t much for fancy; it was a squat block of stone and wood. “Have there been any other strangers in town the past few days?”
“You are the first I’ve seen in over week.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Walter, by the way. Walter Ober meyer. You can call me Walt.”
“Do you have law here, Walt? Or do you rely on the county sheriff or the Rangers?”
“We rely on ourselves.” Walt cocked his head. “Why do you ask? Are you in some sort of trouble?”
Ash debated telling him. Walt would no doubt spread the word and the townsfolk might take it on themselves to arm and wait for Sharkey and his men to arrive and blow them to hell. He couldn’t have that. He wanted to kill Ben Sharkey himself. “Just curious.” To change the subject Ash said, “I noticed you haven’t gotten around to building a saloon yet.”
“We never will. We are a God-fearing town, Mister. Drink is the devil’s lubricant. It brings nothing but misery and lawlessness.”
Ash would dearly love a whiskey even though Doc Peters had warned him about mixing morphine and alcohol. Doc said to go easy or there might be complications. Ash realized he’d neglected to ask what those complications might be. “I commend your morals but it’s a shame.”
“I have
jugs of water and tea and there’s coffee on,” Walt said. “I also have eats.” He gave another of those polite grins. “I’m the closest thing to a restaurant Selby has.”
“I’ll be back.” Ash went out and untied the horses. He led them to the mayor’s house and opened a gate in a picket fence. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when the front door opened and out bustled a small man in a suit that was too large. He wore a bowler and had a waxed mustache.
“I’m Mayor Quilby. Can I help you?”
Ash nodded at the water tank. Under it was a trough. “Your storekeeper told me I can get water for my animals.”
“Did he tell you I charge?”
“That he did,” Ash said sourly. It bothered him to have to pay when he was here to help the town.
“Then come ahead. I’ll open the spout. How much do you want?”
Ash fished money from his pocket. He stood in the shade of the tank with the roan and the grulla. Dipping his hand in the trough, he wet his neck and his face. The water had a musty scent but was wonderfully cool.
“Mind if I ask your name?” the mayor asked.
Ash saw no reason not to say.
“You are welcome to stay as long as you like, Mr. Thrall. Keep in mind we are not one of those rowdy towns where every evil under the sun can be had.”
“What makes you say a thing like that?”
Mayor Quilby looked Ash up and down. “No offense, but you have the air of a tough character and tough characters generally are—how shall I put this?—more free-spirited than most folks.”
“By ‘tough’ you mean ‘mean,’ ” Ash said in annoyance. No one had ever compared him to the kind of men he used to arrest. “Hell, if I was I’d bust your teeth for bringing it up.”
“I told you no offense was intended. I was only letting you know we don’t go in for those sorts of things.” Mayor Quilby wheeled. “Enjoy your water. I’ll be inside if you want more.”
Ash decided he didn’t like the little rooster. He was about to say a few choice words, but stopped. What is happening to me? he wondered. He was much too irritable. He figured it must be the heat. Cupping a hand, he sipped the water. It had a metallic taste and he spat it out.
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