The old marshal turned on her. “Why didn’t you shoot?”
“Because it was a child, that’s why. A small girl wearing a dress.”
“Should we go after her?” asked Holliday.
“No. Leave her. Her family’s dead anyway.”
“She’s only a child!” exclaimed Pat. “We can’t leave her out here.”
Roberts glanced at Pat, she met his eyes defiantly. “You have five minutes to find her. Then we leave,” he said.
Holliday sheathed his sword and sprinted off into the darkness after the girl. Pat went to follow, but Roberts stopped her by grabbing her arm. “This child is not our mission. You’re responsible for her.”
“I know.”
Roberts released her.
Tearing her eyes away from the old marshal, Pat hurried into the darkness after Holliday.
Holliday lifted the girl onto the saddle before Pat, who encircled the child with her arms. The girl hadn’t said a word since they caught her. She was dirty and her long hair was wild and messy. Pat checked her for injuries, but she didn’t seem to have any. The child was six or seven years old and sat motionless with her head lowered, staring listlessly at the ground. She seemed unaware of what was happening around her.
She’s in shock, thought Pat.
“Her mind’s gone,” said Roberts, seated on his horse.
“No. She’ll be fine.” Pat flattened the girl’s hair, hoping it was soothing.
Roberts turned his horse’s head and started heading east again.
“Hard ass,” mumbled Pat.
Holliday put a boot into a stirrup and mounted his horse in a smooth action. “You know he can probably hear you.”
I don’t care. The man is heartless.
Holliday moved out after Roberts and Pat tapped her mare’s ribs and brought up the rear. Not far from the barn was a fenced corral where three dark humps littered the ground. As they passed by, Pat realized the dark shapes were the corpses of three cows. Each animal had their throats torn out, as if they had been attacked by a large predator.
The demon killed for sport? That’s odd.
The three horsemen rode east in single file—in the direction Roberts believed the demon might be taking. How he could tell, she wasn’t sure. By now, he had lost all signs of the demon’s passing. What choice did they have? Every minute that passed lowered the chances of finding Kate alive. No one said it, but they all knew it.
Doc must have guessed that Kate is probably already dead…
Pat squeezed the girl gently, but the child didn’t respond. “It’s all right, my little one. You are safe now.” The child just stared at the ground as it slowly passed by.
If this little girl survived…maybe Kate can as well.
Chapter 15
The sun peeked over the distant hills, illuminating the sky with soft light. The coming day brought sudden fatigue to Pat as the night’s activities finally caught up with her. She yawned and tried straightening the kinks out her back without waking the sleeping girl in her arms. The girl’s head lay against Pat’s chest, her breathing slow and steady. She was scrawny and her weight barely noticeable against Pat. No doubt the child and her family had missed many meals.
The poor thing is exhausted.
The child hadn’t said a single word in the last two hours or even acknowledged Pat’s or the men’s presence. Roberts was ignoring her, Pat expected no less. Holliday turned in the saddle a few times, but the girl didn’t appear to notice him or anything else.
Even if the child’s mind was damaged from the events she had witnessed, leaving her out here to fend for herself was an unfeeling act of barbarism—even for Roberts it was overtly cruel.
God judges by our actions, she remembered her priest saying once. If that’s the case, it’s not looking good for Roberts on judgment day. His actions seem to get people killed… Her mind drifted to Sheriff Bartlett and her Native Tracker friend, Tommy Red Hawk, where out in the wasteland, Tommy sacrificed himself to save them from a demon horde hungry for their blood. Many good people die around Roberts…
A sharp crack, followed by a whistling sound brought Pat back to the present.
Thud!
Something smacked into her horse’s chest.
What the…?
The stocky desert horse screamed in distress and leapt forward, sprinting across the land at breakneck speed. Pat tensed, tightening her grip on the girl and the horse’s reins as she locked her heels around the beast’s barrel-shaped body.
Stop!
Pulling back on the reins, Pat strained against the horse, but it didn’t stop. The poor beast huffed and puffed like a loco and after a minute or so, it slowed—it was running out of steam.
Wheezing and snorting, the horse slowed to a slow trot and no longer content to move in a straight line, it staggered haphazardly on legs that grew more unsteady the further it went. The horse came to an abrupt stop and then stumbled sideways into a thorny bush. Barbs as long as nails slashed her legs and arms.
“What’s got into you? Stop! You dumb animal!”
The horse stopped suddenly, but Pat held on tight. Several seconds later, the horse leaned over to one side and then stiff-legged, dropped like a stone. Grabbing the girl, Pat threw herself clear of the falling horse and landed heavily on the hard ground.
Ooof!
Pat lay on her back, cradling the girl protectively on her chest. She was winded from the impact and lay motionlessly for some time trying to catch her breath. The girl was as limp as a rag doll in her arms and didn’t move.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Her horse lay nearby on its side, its eyes wide. Heavy breaths snorted from its nose, lifting fine dust into the air like small yellow clouds. At the center of its chest was a ragged hole, bloody and as large as her thumb.
It’s been shot!
Pat crawled over to the fallen animal, keeping her and the girl’s heads low. The girl didn’t fight and allowed herself to be dragged along the ground to the dying horse. Pat hunkered down against the dying horse and drew her revolver. Peeking over the animal’s back, she surveyed the land.
Nothing moved. There was no sign of the shooter, or Holiday and Roberts—
A gun shot rang out and lingered in the air for a second before fading away.
Where’d that come from?
The rising sun chased away the last of the night, casting light on the land. Long shadows trailed across the surrounding land which appeared to be devoid of life. Pat listened for another shot, but her pulse thumped in her ears, threatening to drown out everything else.
Where are you? She only had to see the shooter and her gift would do the rest. But where were they?
Several distant shots rang out in rapid succession and Pat peered around wildly—the sounds lingered in the air, making it hard to determine the direction they came from.
The wind picked up and started blowing from the east. At first it carried with it only fine dust, but quickly the concentration of the particles became thicker until it was a dense cloud. After a few seconds the cloud obscured much of her vision, filling her ears and mouth with dust and causing her to cough. Pat threw herself over the girl, covering the child with her body, shielding her the best she could from the blasting sand.
Where’s this coming from?
The dust storm was getting thicker by the moment and the morning grew darker—almost as dark as night again. Suddenly in front of her, a silhouette loomed out of the storm and her gun spoke. The dark shape dropped, vanishing from her sight. A few seconds later, the wind intensified, lifting dirt in a wild frenzy, making it impossible for Pat to see a thing. She closed her eyes.
I can’t breathe!
Pat covered her mouth with her hand, gasping for air. She felt like she was drowning! The young girl cried out, she too was struggling for air. Pat dropped her revolver and doubled over, fighting to suck in some life-giving air. But she found nothing except choking dust.
Rolling ont
o her back, Pat gulped air like a fish out of water. Then gradually, everything around her grew black as the dust storm blocked out the last rays of sunlight and her lungs gave up their fight for air. Slowly, her sight started to dim.
Who’s there? An angel…
A dark man-shaped silhouette loomed over her, the dust twisting and distorting much of its shape. For a moment it looked like—
No, it can’t be!
A sharp crack rang out, splitting the silence like a woodsman’s axe. In an instant, one of Holliday’s ivory-handled revolvers appeared in his hands. There was no mistaking the sound of gunfire.
Pat Garrett’s horse bolted past him, throwing up dirt in its wake as it ran off to his left. The crazy animal was spooked and plowed wildly through thorn bushes with little concern for the consequences.
“What’s she doing?” asked Holliday.
He reined in his horse and it obeyed, sliding on the loose gravel as it pulled up fast.
The shooter has the sun at his back. Smart.
Looking east, Holliday’s vision was hampered by the rising sun. It was impossible to see where a shooter might be positioned.
There was a second gunshot and his horse reared up and stumbled back a few steps—it had been shot in the neck. Buckets of crimson blood gushed down the animal’s muscular neck and it cried in pain and fear. It was done for. Regardless, Holliday dug in his heels, urging his dying horse on. To survive, he would need to find cover and fast.
The horse managed a few faltering steps before its front legs folded beneath it and it crashed into the ground, throwing the thin gambler from its saddle. Holliday leapt clear of the dying horse, landing a few yards away. He hit the ground hard and pain shot up his legs.
“Hell’s balls!” Why couldn’t this happen at night?
Holliday threw himself behind a thorny bush, only seconds before all hell broke loose and the air filled with flying lead. Several bullets whistled through his cover, passing within inches of his body—far too close for comfort.
Suddenly, the guns stopped. Breathless, Holliday chanced a look and peeked out from the bush, keeping as low as he could. There was no sign of the shooters—there had to be more than one. No man could fire that fast even armed with a Henry or Winchester repeating rifle. There were at least three shooters he calculated and they all were probably on high ground.
There was no sign of Roberts or Miss Garrett.
No use waiting, it will only give them more light.
Holliday drew his second revolver and crept forward—instantly regretting his decision as pain shot up his leg from his right ankle.
“Where’s my good luck now?” he muttered through clenched teeth.
He needed to relocate fast. Holliday moved forward and weaved in and out of the scattered bushes as fast as his damaged ankle allowed. After a short distance he dropped behind a low rock and waited. No one shot at him. The moments ticked by and when he thought he had waited long enough, he peeked over his cover and surveyed the land. Nothing moved.
Where’s Roberts? He was only a dozen yards in front of me.
Holliday pushed up his hat brim with one of his revolver barrels and then stepped out from the rock—something whizzed past his head, narrowly missing him. Spinning around, the gambler faced a man brandishing a long-handled woodsman’s axe. How he snuck up behind him, Holliday didn’t know. The man grinned maniacally and swung his axe again.
Holliday ducked under the blow which could have taken his head off and stepped backward, out of the madman’s reach. One of his revolvers roared, creating a neat hole in the center of the man’s forehead—right between his black, demon-like eyes. The man’s manic features froze, his axe raised high for a killing strike that now, would never fall.
“You don’t like that, do you?” he said to the man. “Well, here’s his brother.”
Holliday fired his second revolver into the man’s chest and he dropped his axed, collapsing where he stood. The dead man’s eyes stared up at the sky and were no longer black. He didn’t look like a killer, he looked like any other poor farmer—
The girl’s father?
This man didn’t carry any firearms which meant the shooters were still out there. But where? The shooters would have heard his gun play and would know where he was. It was time to relocate. Holliday left the dead farmer and crept forward. With every step he winced, his progress was slow. A dozen yards away he dropped in behind a bush, panting like an old Georgian hound. He grabbed his ankle and listened.
What’s that?
Holliday went to turn his head, but a blade rested against his pale cheek, forcing him to remain still.
“I miss our night-friend already,” grumbled a deep voice.
“Roberts, you asshole, I could have shot you.”
“Not when the sun’s up…” Roberts crouched down beside the gambler. “There are three rifles spread out yonder.” He pointed east. “They have us pinned down.”
“Where is Miss Garrett? And the girl?”
“Her horse took a slug and ran off that way.”
Hopefully she’s still alive. “What’s your plan, Marshal?”
Roberts’ yellow eyes locked on Holliday. “We could wait for night and sneak out of here in the dark…”
“Hmm, is there an option B?”
“Yeah, gut the bastards and let the crows pick at their remains.”
“And I thought I wasn’t going to like you.” Holliday holstered his guns and drew his thin-bladed sword. “Lead on, Marshal.”
They crept forward and hadn’t gone far when the dust started picking up and blew at them from the east. The wind howled and sped up, forcing the two men to stop and cover their mouths. Holliday’s body started to spasm as he dropped to his knees in a coughing fit. He fished out a white handkerchief from a pocket and covered his mouth.
Can’t…go on.
Roberts grabbed Holliday’s coat and dragged him to his feet. “We must keep moving,” shouted Roberts over the roar of the wind.
“I can’t…”
The marshal put his shoulder under Holliday’s arm and together they staggered blindly into the dust storm. They had only gone a short distance when they staggered into some rocks and hunkered down behind them. The rocks shielded them from the brunt of the savage storm which seemed to be intensifying even more.
Suddenly, as fast as the storm came, it weakened and over the space of several seconds it cleared enough they could see a dozen yards. Then it stopped all together. The dirt just dropped out of the air. It was like someone just switched off the dust storm.
“I smell the hunchback’s involvement in this,” said Roberts, dusting off his clothes.
There were no further shots fired at them. Roberts and Holliday moved from the rocks in search of their mounts. Both of their animals were dead, killed by the ambushers. This left the men in the middle of nowhere without transport. Their supplies were lost to the storm and the only thing they salvaged was half a canteen of water, which was buried under a pile of dirt. And thankfully, they still had their weapons.
“This water won’t last long out here,” said Roberts.
Holliday agreed. “We better find Miss Garrett and get out of here then.”
The pair headed in the direction that Pat’s horse went, spreading out to look for her tracks. The freak storm had erased all sign of her passing.
“She could be anywhere,” Roberts said when they regrouped.
“We can’t give up on her.” Holliday studied the old marshal’s face, but couldn’t read what the other man was thinking.
I don’t think he cares too much for her. Or anyone else I guess. “Maybe she followed the bushwhackers...”
“Most likely they took her,” Roberts replied. “And the girl.”
“More reason to find them fast.”
Roberts shouldered the canteen and looked east. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 16
The sun blasted the earth with its cruel rays, baking all who were foolish en
ough to challenge its rule. Not by choice did two men move slowly across the desert’s surface, it was a necessity. After traveling for hours one of the men stumbled, not for the first time, and fell to the compact ground. He lay for several seconds before the fine dust aggravated his lungs, causing a coughing fit to shake his thin body.
A shadow loomed over him and he glanced up at the stern face of the old marshal.
“Don’t worry, I’m not dead yet,” said Holliday. “This is just a Georgian custom.” He accepted Roberts’ offered hand and with the marshal’s help, he stood. “Although, it normally comes after I have consumed a barrel load of alcohol.”
“Can you keep going?”
He thinks I’m dying, Holliday thought.
He dusted himself off, coughing a few more times. “I was…just looking for the demon’s tracks.”
“You look…tired.”
“You meant to say, dying.” Holliday grinned, baring his white teeth. “I thank you for your concern, but I am in the prime of my life.”
Roberts’ expression didn’t change. “Water?” He offered Holliday the canteen.
I know it’s almost empty and I haven’t seen him drink yet.
“I am fine, Marshal. I think we better keep moving.”
The old marshal moved off, setting a steady pace toward the east. Holliday glanced back the way they had come. We are halfway between two small ranges…we must be in hell already. He scooped up his walking stick and followed in the cavalry man’s wake as fast as he could.
I can’t wait for you to taste my steel, demon…
Holliday removed his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. He glanced up at the sun, staring at it for several seconds. “Curse you,” he muttered. “You can try, but you’ll not kill me today.”
Some distance ahead, Roberts had stopped at the top of a small rise in the otherwise flat landscape. He faced east and Holliday was thankful, the old lawman didn’t turn to watch his slow and painful passage. It was now past midday and it seemed to the gambler they traveled inside an oven. He needed shelter and to rest.
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