Cuno rose, set his rifle on his shoulder, and walked back to the train. Fire Eyes stood in front of it, staring toward him and the dead blonde behind him. As he approached, she turned and walked off toward the back of the train. Cuno watched her for a time, before she leapt onto a platform between two cars and disappeared.
He went back to find Spurr sitting against a withered willow, rolling a cigarette.
“Kid,” he said, “if you can get me back to Diamondback, New Mexico Territory, I’ll be eternally grateful.”
“Forget grateful. How ’bout getting me an amnesty from the governor or whoever’s giving ’em out these days?”
“Can’t promise it, but I’ll give it a shot.”
Cuno thought about it, looking off across the northern hills and mountains. He looked at Spurr. “Who’s in Diamondback?”
“A sawbones who can breathe new life into me.”
“What’s her name?”
“June Dickinson.”
“Good-lookin’?”
Spurr licked the quirley closed and narrowed an eye at Cuno. “What do you think?”
Cuno grunted. “I reckon I’d best build us a fire, tend those wounds of yours, then get started on a travois.”
“I reckon you’d better.”
Cuno grunted and turned to stride off toward the creek. Hoof thuds sounded behind him, and he spun around, lowering his Winchester. Fire Eyes galloped her cream out away from one of the stock cars and the gunrunners’ bloody wagons, casting a long glance toward Cuno before reining the stallion around sharply and galloping east.
Her hoof thuds dwindled behind her.
Cuno looked at Spurr. “Where the hell you s’pose she’s goin’?”
“Wouldn’t know. But you can bet she’ll be back for the guns.” Spurr blew a puff of cigarette smoke and adjusted his wounded leg on the ground with a grunt. “Forget her, kid. I’ve said it before but I’ve never meant it half as much as I mean it now—the girl’s dangerous.”
“Yeah.” Cuno scratched the back of his head. “She sure is.”
He continued striding off toward the creek bed, glancing once more, longingly, at the Yaqui queen galloping away from him.
.45-Caliber Cross Fire Page 22
