by Jake Logan
“Like you care,” grumbled Ed, then looked up at Charlie. “What’s cauterize?” he asked. “That like cuttin’ a calf?”
Charlie ignored him, and Billy was well aware that his hand was hovering a little too near his gun. But Billy tipped his hat. He figured it was something that Slocum would do.
“Been nice, boys,” he said, all smiles, “but I got to be about my business. You ain’t got too much of a walk in front of you. You should make Cross Point by noon tomorrow.”
“Hey!” Charlie angrily shouted. “Ain’t you gonna take us along? Or at least leave us that spare pony?”
Billy just smiled. He reined his pinto horse away, although he kept his eyes on the one named Charlie. He didn’t trust these boys much further than he could throw MacNulty’s barn.
Charlie held his gaze, too, turning as Billy skirted them.
And then Billy did one of his tricks, one of the things he hoped he’d be famous for one day. He spun that pinto halfway around, and backed all the way down the little canyon, still leading the bay and keeping his eyes on the Frame brothers without cease. He backed that horse up almost a hundred yards in a straight line before he doffed his hat, spun the horse one hundred and eighty degrees, and took off at a gallop.
That ought to give those boys something to tell their kids, he thought. They can tell ’em all about the time they were spared by the great Billy Cree, and about his fancy pony-work.
He quickly picked up Slocum and Lydia’s trail again, and once he was around a bend in the trail and out of the Frame brothers’ sight, he slowed to a jog.
Well, he had some trouble getting the bay on the end of his lead rope to slow down, too, but he did it. He was glad he was out of the Frame brothers’ sight, though.
And Slocum! Of all the rotten luck! He would have rather met up with Slocum in a saloon or someplace. Would have rather met him friendly than like this.
Was it worth taking a chance on getting his head blown off just to extract a little revenge on the bitch? He wasn’t quite so sure, now. But then, he was the man who had hunted the Show Low Kid for a couple of years, and all for his half of about seven measly grand, which the Kid had long since spent.
And maybe taking down Slocum would be a good thing. It would sure seal his reputation.
That was, if he could take Slocum down.
From all the stories he’d listened to and the reverence and admiration and downright awe with which they had been told to him, this Slocum must have some kind of angel sitting on his shoulder. Either that, or he was just that much better than everybody else.
“Well, I ain’t no slouch my own damn self,” Billy muttered, and almost believed his own words. Still . . .
His gaze riveted to the track, he made his way along the trail. Billy Cree had a whole lot of hard thinking to do.
Lydia fed the baby the last of the milk before she ate her own lunch. It wasn’t much. Just hardtack and coffee, but blessed with a couple of tiny desert quail that Slocum had shot.
They had stopped to take the noontime break at the base of a hill, near a little clump of palo verde trees, bright yellow with heavy spring bloom. Slocum had told her that there was water here, underground, which didn’t come to the surface until farther on, just outside Cross Point.
Rivers that ran underground, scorpions slipping into the shoes under her bed at night, miles of desert with no civilization in sight: to all these things and more she had grown accustomed since she came to Arizona.
It was different back home. Cedar Rapids, Iowa, that’s where she was from. It was green there. Green and rolling, with rich soil. You could smell it, that black, black, Iowa dirt. You could smell the richness of it, and the promise of it.
It occurred to her that maybe she should go back home. Maybe not to Cedar Rapids, where a scandal had run her out of town and driven her west in the first place. But some other town in Iowa. Or to be safe, Illinois. She had a different name now, didn’t she?
“How’s your quail? Sorry there isn’t more.”
Lydia looked up and smiled. How fortunate, how very fortunate she was to have been found by Slocum and gifted with this baby. She knew little about children, but she found herself growing fonder and fonder of the red-headed tyke.
And as for Slocum?
She knew he wouldn’t stay. He wasn’t the type, and the good Lord was aware that she’d known all too many of them. No, he wouldn’t stay. But he’d given her succor and tenderness and release—and hope—at a time when she’d needed it most.
She’d remember him in her prayers for the rest of her days.
And she’d thank him again, too, once they got to town.
The smile escaped her lips, and she felt herself blush a little. She said, “It’s fine. Just wonderful! What do you think? Maybe a couple more hours?”
Slocum nodded. He sat next to her, picking the roasted quail off the bones with his fingers. “Considerin’ that we have to travel so slow, I figure we’re makin’ pretty decent time.”
He tipped his torso to one side, and it took her a half second to realize he was trying to see the baby, which she’d wrapped in a blanket. “Tyler asleep?” he asked.
“For the moment,” she said. “Slocum?”
“Yes’m?”
“I’ve been thinking,” she started, choosing her words carefully. “About what I want to do after we get to Cross Point, that is.”
He arched a brow and waited.
“Do you think,” she said hesitantly, “I mean, if he doesn’t have any other relatives or anything, that they’d give Tyler to me? To raise?”
He looked a little surprised at the question. He said, “I don’t know, Lydia. ’Course, I don’t see why not.” He shrugged those big shoulders. “Hell, he’s likely got plenty of money to support the both of you for a long spell.”
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I hadn’t thought of that. The mine, I mean. I was thinking about maybe taking him back east.”
“It’s a thought,” Slocum said, and after tossing the last of the quail bones over his shoulder, licked his greasy fingers clean, muttering, “Hell, that wasn’t much more than an appetizer.”
Lydia chuckled. “You’ll get the meal tonight,” she whispered. “And dessert.”
He leaned over and cupped her face in his hand. “You mean what I think you mean, honey?” he said, grinning a little wickedly.
“Only if you have a very dirty mind, Mr. Slocum,” she said, the corners of her mouth crooking up.
He looked around, leaned a little closer, and asked, “Why are we whispering?”
“Little nippers have big ears,” she said softly, and tipped her head toward the sleeping baby.
Slocum’s smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “The kid’s gotta learn sometime,” he said, and kissed her.
“Goddamn it, Ed, get up!” Charlie shouted. They had walked almost another mile since meeting up with Billy Cree, and Charlie was still madder than a hornet. “And stop bleedin’!” he added.
“It ain’t my fault if I’m still leakin’!” Ed shouted back. He was down on the ground again, and holding his leg, and he was mad at his brother, too. “It hurts, Charlie! Can’t we stop for a while? Ain’t no way in hell we’re gonna catch ’em, even if we was to run dead-out. I swan, if we don’t stop and have us a break pretty damn soon, I’m gonna up and die on you. Then you’ll be sorry!”
Charlie started to make a grab for his hat and Ed ducked his head, but then Charlie seemed to think better of it.
“Oh, hellfire,” he said, and slumped to the ground, too.
He wiped his sleeve over his brow, eyed his brother, and said, “You’re right, Ed. You couldn’t catch up with ’em, even if you was to run. Your pin is pretty damned bad, I’ll admit that. So here’s the deal. I’m gonna have me a little break here with you, and then I’m gonna go on by my lonesome.”
Ed opened his mouth as if to complain, but Charlie held up a hand. He held it close enough to his hat that Ed closed his yap.
/> “I’m gonna come back for you,” Charlie went on, in a way that Ed didn’t think was entirely unbelievable, “don’t you worry. And I’m leavin’ you half the water and grub. Not that there’s much. But by God, I ain’t gonna let a whole gold mine slip away, not when I’m so close to grabbin’ it!”
But Ed was still worried. What if Charlie went and got himself killed up there? His brow furrowed. “Don’t leave me, Charlie,” he said, a plea in his voice. “Let it go this time.”
“Got to,” Charlie replied.
Now, Ed figured that Charlie’s arm must be hurting him terrible, but it was worse for having to haul that travois. Charlie could make better time if he was only carrying supplies for one person. And Charlie’s leg wasn’t banged up like Ed’s was. Charlie could step up the pace if he wasn’t having to go so slow for Ed.
Ed wasn’t as stupid as Charlie thought.
Charlie was saying, “You can see that I got to, can’t you, Ed? I gotta do it for us.”
Ed didn’t say anything. He knew Charlie well enough to know that Charlie wanted that gold mine, period. It didn’t matter that Ed was sort of in on it, too. It was the money, or the promise of money, that had Charlie’s innards in an uproar.
Oh, if Ed was still alive when Charlie rode back for him—and he probably would be, because Ed was one pretty lucky sonofabitch, even if he did say so himself—then Charlie would share and share alike. Blood was blood, after all.
But the money was the thing that was keeping Charlie’s nose to the track.
“Can’t you see, Ed?” Charlie urged.
Ed took a deep breath, then whistled it out through his teeth. He didn’t say so, but he’d agree to just about anything to get off his feet for another fifteen minutes or so.
Slowly, he nodded his head.
“I reckon,” he said at last. “I reckon I can see how you got to go on. You’re gonna go on without me, anyhow, so I might’s well give it my blessin’.” Then he looked up. “But Charlie, I still don’t see how you’re gonna catch up with them. They’re probably near to town by now!”
Charlie began to take his things off the travois and put them in a little pile. “That ain’t my first whatchacall . . . objective, Ed.”
“What is, then?”
“Gonna catch up to that goddamn Billy Cree, that no-account, gun-happy little bastard,” Charlie spat. “He didn’t think I ever heard of him, but I have, all right. Damn little pipsqueak. He thinks he’s so high and mighty on account of he’s held up a few stages and one lousy bank!”
That was it, then, Ed thought, or at least a big part of it. Ed wondered just how long it would take him to walk to town. Charlie was bound and determined to take on both Slocum and this Cree fellow, whoever the hell he was. Ed had sure never heard of him.
’Course, he’d never heard of Slocum either. Maybe Charlie was right. He needed to pay more attention to what folks said.
But to lose a gold mine and a brother—and maybe his own leg—all in two days? Why, it was insulting, that was what! Kind of sad-making, too.
Charlie, who was still caught up in thoughts of vengeance and riches and hadn’t seen the trace of insight flicker over Ed’s features, snorted. “Well, he ain’t seen the last of Charlie Frame, no sir! He’s up there somewhere, and he’s got him a horse, that’s a horse I want. I want both of ’em! The goddamn gall of him, to ride through here with that spare mount and not even offer to let one of us ride it!”
Ed was pretty sure which one of them Charlie meant, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m gonna get me that sonofabitch Slocum next,” Charlie went on, “and then I’m gonna get that damn baby and the mine!”
Charlie stood, scooped up his possessions, and straightened his hat. “I’ll be back for you, Ed,” he said and set off, at a considerably more rapid pace, toward the east.
Ed sat there, watching him retreat into the distance. “Good luck, there, Charlie,” he muttered, and absently twisted the stick in his tourniquet again.
16
Slocum helped Lydia up from the ground, then brushed the dust from his clothes. He was disappointed that she’d called a halt to the proceedings—well, disappointed wasn’t exactly the word for it. Blue balls was closer. But he had to agree that it was foolish to stop here, when they were so close to town, and could have things so much better.
And softer.
And safer.
“Sorry,” Lydia said again as she batted at her skirts. The dust rose in little clouds.
“No, you’re right, honey. Don’t worry about it no more.” He went to the horses and began to tighten their girths.
Behind him, she said, “Slocum?”
“I told you, baby, I’m all right,” he lied. “We’ll be in town in a couple of hours, and then—”
“Slocum!”
He turned to see a rider bearing down on them. It wasn’t one of the Frame boys, that was for sure. This man was riding all out, low over his horse’s neck as only a shorter man could.
And in his hand, something flashed silver in the sun.
Without ceremony, Slocum shoved Lydia to the ground with a shout of, “Get to cover!”
He didn’t see where she got to, because he dropped and rolled the other way just as a slug hit the dirt right in the spot where he’d been standing.
It wouldn’t have killed him, but it wouldn’t have done his foot a whole lot of good, either.
His rifle was in his boot on Tubac, who, along with the other horses, had skittered to one side at the sound of the shot.
Slocum was stuck with just his handgun. It would have to do. He already had it free of its holster and was steadying his hand, preparing to squeeze off a shot at the charging gunman.
But at the split second that he fired, the man in the distance wheeled his horse to one side and brought him to a sliding stop. He bounded from the horse’s back before he had stopped all the way, and dove behind a cluster of rocks.
“Shit,” Slocum muttered.
Quickly, he looked over to see where Lydia and the baby had got to. He saw a little of the fabric of her skirt peeking from behind a low rock. She was safe, and she had the baby with her. At least, Tyler and the blanket seemed to have vanished from their former position on the ground.
Well, she had a lot better cover than he did, damn it. There wasn’t anything this way but weeds and a couple of stunted bushes, by which he was barely concealed. Again, he swore.
He wished he had that rifle, if only to toss it to Lydia. She’d already proven that she knew how to lay down a good covering fire. She was a damn good shot, too.
Good, hell! She’d shot Charlie from about fifty yards out!
“Slocum?” she said quietly, from behind her rock. “Slocum, are you all right?”
And just then, he had a thought. A stroke of pure genius, more like. Whoever was out there must have passed the Frame brothers and who the hell knew what had passed between them? But it was a pretty sure bet that the gunman was either after Slocum—it could have been for a hundred different things, including just wanting to hone his own reputation by adding Slocum to his list of kills—or else he was after the baby, and the baby’s deed to that mine.
In any case, it was a sure thing that the gunman knew that Slocum was right here.
And maybe it might be better if the gunman thought Slocum was dead.
“I’m fine,” he shouted back at Lydia, and immediately covered his head with his hands.
It was just in time, too, because a barrage of shots came right at him, kicking up dirt and weeds. One slug snaked across his shoulder, burning like hell. For once, he did what he felt like doing. He hollered good and loud.
“Slocum!” shouted Lydia.
“Stay put,” he hissed.
“Slocum, are you hurt?”
Damn the woman, anyway. Why couldn’t she just let a fellow pretend to be dead?
“I’m fine,” he hissed, just loud enough for her to hear, and in spite of the blood trickling down his arm
and back. “Just start wailin’ over me, all right?”
“But I—” she began, and then said, “Oh!”
Suddenly, she began to keen. “Oh, Slocum! You’ve shot Slocum, you son of a skunk! What will I do now? Slocum, please! Slocum, move! Don’t be dead!”
Hell, a man at three times this yahoo’s distance could have heard her plain. What lungs!
He believed he saw a little rustle in the grass next to that clump of rock.
Lydia whispered, “That’s Billy Cree’s horse out there. I don’t know who’s got it or why.”
“Let’s worry about it later, all right?” Slocum muttered.
Out across the canyon, a man slowly and warily stood up, back behind the rocks.
Lydia’s head popped up over the rocks, and absolute fury filled her face. She cried, at the top of her lungs,
“Billy Cree, you murdering, raping sonofabitch! Why aren’t you dead?”
Slocum mouthed a curse word that he wouldn’t have repeated loud enough for Lydia to hear. This was just wonderful, all right. Lydia said that she’d killed Billy Cree!
Just how many more dead men were there out there, gunning for them?
But he didn’t have long to be annoyed. Lydia knew what she was doing, after all. She kept on shouting at Billy, harassing him, and he confidently began to walk forward.
“You shut up, you slab-sided bitch!” Billy shouted. “You know damn well what I’m gonna do when I get my hands on you.”
“Ha!” Lydia called back. “If you do, you mean.”
“When!” Billy shouted. “I’m gonna do you again like I done you at the Kid’s, and when I’m tired of you, gonna take my gun and put it to your head and send you home to Jesus. Or hell.”
“I’ll rip your dinky little pecker off before I’ll let you poke me again with it!”
Despite himself, Slocum blinked at that one. In fact, he lost his concentration entirely.
“Like hell you will, you little whore!” Billy shouted again, and Slocum snapped back to business.
Now, he could have shot Billy right there, probably killed him or at least wounded him, but he didn’t want to kill him. No, Slocum wanted to haul Billy Cree into town with his tail between his legs. It would serve the little sonofabitch right.
