Signaling for Alan to circle around the graveyard to the left, J. D. measured his steps carefully and circled around to the right. Since there wasn’t any place for a grown man to hide among the tombstones, both of them focused their attention on the trees. When they met up at the back of the graveyard, Alan waited for his next set of orders.
“He’s got to be in those trees,” J. D. said.
“Either that, or he ran into town.”
“If he did that, he would’ve already been picked off. He’s probably just hiding or running for that river we crossed on our way in here.”
“You think he knows we mean to kill him?”
Raising his gun and crouching like an animal getting ready to strike, J. D. aimed at one of the misty shadows in the dank spaces between two of the bigger trees. “He does now.”
Alan’s eyes snapped in that direction and he reflexively tightened his grip on his gun. The tall figure in the nearby shadows had been there before, but hadn’t moved enough to distinguish it from the other looming shapes. Now, J. D. knew that the man had been silently watching him from that spot the entire time.
“You the gravedigger?” Alan asked.
Nick stepped forward.
“Hold it,” J. D. snapped. “What’s that you’re carrying?”
Nick kept his arms out to the sides. “You mean my pack?”
“Toss it.”
“It’s just my tools.”
“I said toss it.”
Nick let the bundle fall to his feet. “I don’t even know you men,” he said. “Why go through so much trouble to find me?”
“Never you mind,” J. D. said as he sighted along the barrel of his gun. “Just kick that over toward my partner. Alan, open up that pack and see what’s inside.”
Nick pushed the bundle along the ground toward Alan.
J. D. watched every move Nick made. He also watched the older man’s face to see if he could find any hint of weakness or fear. He found neither. Normally, folks didn’t have the strength to keep their eyes fixed upon him for more than a few seconds. This gravedigger, however, showed no sign of looking away.
While rummaging through Nick’s things, Alan shook his head. “All I see is tools. Hold up. I just found something else.”
“What is it?” J. D. asked.
Alan answered that question by removing a battered pistol from within the bundle. The gun sat awkwardly in his hand, causing Alan to look it over with increasing disgust. The barrel was nearly as twisted as some of the roots under his feet and the trigger mechanism looked brittle enough to snap under the slightest bit of pressure.
“Well?” J. D. demanded.
“It’s a gun,” Alan replied. “Or at least, it used to be. Damn thing looks like it came from the bottom of a junk pile.”
“Get rid of it.”
Alan happily pitched the weapon into some bushes without another thought. Since he was busy digging through the rest of Nick’s pack, he didn’t notice the subtle, angry twitch in Nick’s eye as he tried to mark where his gun had landed.
“Ain’t nothing more here,” Alan finally said. “Apart from digging tools and such.”
“Good.”
“If you’re gonna shoot,” Nick said, “then why not tell me what you’re after?”
By now, J. D. had taken aim at Nick’s chest. “Wrong place at the wrong time, mister. That’s all there is to it.”
Nick chuckled under his breath. “Story of my life.” With that, he lifted his right leg and reached down for a slender knife that was stashed in his boot. In one, smooth motion, he drew the knife and threw it directly at the gunman.
J. D. was unprepared to feel the blade drive into the meat of his gun arm as he pulled his trigger.
Nick was already moving. The hot lead from J. D.’s wild shot whipped past him and only managed to snag a piece of his jacket along the way. His sights were already set upon Alan and he charged forward to press the momentary advantage he’d created.
Watching the turn of events with wide eyes, Alan raised his gun and fired off three quick shots that made plenty of noise without drawing any blood. Then, all Alan could do was watch Nick rush toward him like a crazed bull.
Lowering his shoulder at the last moment, Nick slammed into Alan’s chest. Alan landed with a wheezing thump and both his arms splayed out to his sides. As much as Nick wanted to grab the gun from Alan’s hand, Alan held onto it with every bit of strength he could dredge up. In his youth, Nick wouldn’t have had any trouble with the task. Now, he was at a distinct disadvantage.
Through sheer survival instinct, Alan managed to pull his arm free from Nick’s mangled fingers and roll out from under him. As he scrambled along the ground, Alan could barely decide where he wanted to go. Just as he got himself situated, he felt a powerful impact on the back of his head and the dim light of dusk turned to black.
While struggling to get his own feet beneath him, Nick balled up his fist and delivered a second punch to the base of Alan’s skull. That punch landed in the same spot as the first and knocked Alan’s forehead once more against the ground. Alan wasn’t completely unconscious, so he managed to protect his gun by pulling that arm beneath the rest of him before curling into a defensive ball.
Nick turned around just in time to see J. D. sitting up and reaching for the knife stuck in his arm. When he spotted Nick, J. D. gritted his teeth and switched the pistol into his other hand so he could squeeze off another shot.
Pushing aside the pain in his aching muscles as well as his last vestige of common sense, Nick dug his feet into the ground and ran straight at J. D. He reached out with his right hand and just managed to slap away the other man’s gun a split-second before it spat out a plume of smoke and sparks.
Nick’s ears were ringing and the grit of burned gunpowder coated the back of his throat. Thanks to the close proximity of that last shot, he didn’t hear J. D.’s scream when he grabbed hold of the knife still embedded in the man’s arm and gave it a single, powerful twist.
The jangling in Nick’s ears was slow to fade, but he instinctually glanced over to see what Alan was doing. Sure enough, Alan had flipped onto his back and was sitting up with gun in hand. There was still a confused look on his face, but Alan quickly focused in on where the fight had gone.
Nick lunged for J. D.’s gun and felt his hand close around its grip. When he got his finger on the trigger, the gun had slipped in his hand and skewed to one side. Nick was accustomed to the kind of trouble a regular gun gave him, but he cursed it all the same. Tightening his hand around the grip and taking another second to adjust for the slip, he pulled his trigger just as Alan pulled his own.
Alan’s shot was panicked and rushed, which caused it to hiss through the air a few inches off-target.
Nick’s measured shot carved a good-sized hole through Alan’s head.
Feeling his heart pound against his ribs and the blood churn through his veins, Nick watched Alan flop over and hack up one, final gasp.
THREE
When Nick turned the gun toward J. D., he saw naked fear in the other man’s eyes. J. D. tried to kick and scramble his way toward the surrounding trees while waving his hands as if he could swat away a bullet. Nick kicked J. D. onto his back while tossing away the gun. He then stood over the younger man and reached down to take hold of the knife still lodged in J. D.’s arm. Although Nick didn’t twist the blade, he held onto it solidly enough to keep J. D. from moving.
“What the hell brought this on?” Nick asked. “Who are you men?”
J. D. gasped painfully. As he tried to get away again, he felt the knife staying where it was. Finally, J. D. gave up his struggle and rested on his back. “You…recognized George,” he said, wheezing.
“George? You mean that boy from the Van Meter spread?”
J. D. nodded.
“So what if I recognized him?”
“Dutch didn’t want the…job to be spoiled.”
“What job?”
A good amount of the
color had drained from J. D.’s face. His wound wasn’t bleeding too badly, so Nick figured the younger man was fading due to exertion.
“Tell me,” Nick growled, loudly enough to be heard through the fog in J. D.’s head. “What job?”
“Dutch…needed someone on the inside. To make it…easier.”
“Make what easier? Are they going to rob Van Meter’s ranch?”
Once again, J. D. nodded.
“When?” Nick asked.
“Soon. Real soon.”
Nick straightened up and took his knife with him. The blade came free, allowing J. D. to finally let out the breath he’d been choking on. After wiping the blade on his shirt, Nick ran to search for his gun. Along the way, his mind raced to figure just how quickly a group of men that size could move.
If Nick knew about anything as much as he knew about his current profession, it was how a gang worked. He’d practically grown up leading one. After getting to the bushes where his gun had been tossed, Nick dropped to his knees and shoved his hands through the brush.
The sun was a memory and the dim glow in the sky was all but blotted out by the trees over his head. Since he couldn’t see much of anything, he closed his eyes and let his hands continue their search on their own. In the darkness, the ghosts he thought he’d banished came rushing back to him. He saw the faces of men he’d killed, men he’d betrayed, men who were his brothers and men who’d dragged him through hell.
While trudging through those nightmares, Nick touched the familiar piece of gnarled iron. He quickly found the nub of a handle and then closed his hand around it. To the ignorant eye, the Schofield looked like a piece of cobbled-together junk. Even the handle was chipped down to a stump, but it fit Nick’s hand perfectly.
Nick lifted the gun while letting out a relieved breath. The fingers clutching the weapon were just as gnarled as the gun itself. His right ring finger was nothing but a short stub and the middle finger was clipped short as well. Although his other fingers were there, the scars made his flesh look more like melted wax. His left hand was slightly better, but not by much.
Unlike J. D.’s gun, this one didn’t slip. Its handle had been specifically carved to fit his hand as well as compensate for the odd balance due to his missing fingers. Every other part of the weapon was modified as well, allowing Nick to draw and fire it almost as quickly as he could in his youth.
Gun in hand, Nick hurried to where his horse was waiting. Rasa might have been way past her prime, but the horse knew better than to wander off after being freed from the wagon’s hitch. While the gunshots hadn’t spooked her, she was ready to put some distance between herself and that graveyard. She took off like a shot at the first touch of Nick’s heels, carrying him all the way back to the little cabin he’d built outside of Ocean.
As soon as he swung down from the saddle, Nick headed for the door and pushed it open. Catherine’s face was the first thing he saw.
The brunette stood up from where she’d been sitting and rushed over to greet him. She didn’t even seem to notice how close Nick’s hand was to his gun as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly.
“Surprise!” she said.
Nick barely even knew what to think. His mind was still swimming with what had happened as well as the memories that were his constant burden. Finally, he managed to calm himself enough to speak in something other than an angry snarl. “What are you doing back? It’s not time to close the restaurant yet.”
“I left early. Something told me you’d like it if I paid you a visit. Weren’t you thinking about me?”
“Yeah. Of course I was.”
Catherine took a step back and held Nick at arm’s length. She looked him up and down, which was more than enough to tarnish the smile that had been on her face. Her smooth skin accentuated the fine lines of her face in much the same way that the cut of her dark green dress accentuated her figure. Long, dark hair flowed freely to the middle of her back, just the way Nick always liked it.
“What is it, Nick?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“There was some trouble.”
A look of horror flashed across Catherine’s face. “Did somebody come after you? I thought that was all over.”
“It is. This is something different.”
“Different how? Just tell me what happened.”
Nick immediately went to the small room attached to the back porch. Normally, it was a place used to store meat or other supplies. A section in one corner, however, was designated for a different purpose and was sealed off by a locked wooden panel.
“Some men rode through the graveyard while I was there,” Nick explained as he unlocked the panel with a key kept in his watch pocket. “They had guns. They rode away, but some of them came back to try and gun me down.”
“Oh, Jesus. Do you know them?”
“I recognized one of them, but he wasn’t anyone who would want to shoot me.”
“Who was it?” she asked.
Opening the panel, Nick reached inside for a handful of bullets as well as a battered leather holster that had only started to collect dust. “He was one of the boys working for Joseph Van Meter.”
“The one who owns that ranch outside of town?”
“That’s the one. I went there for a job a while back and just caught sight of the kid. I didn’t even say a word to him.”
“Then why would he want to kill you?”
“That’s what I aim to find out,” Nick said as he strapped the holster around his waist and stuffed the extra bullets into his pockets.
Suddenly, Catherine took special interest in the gun at Nick’s side. “Wait a second. You only kept the holster in there? When did you start carrying that gun around again?”
“I never stopped, Catherine. We may be starting a new life, but that don’t mean the old one will just forget all about me.”
“It won’t if you keep digging it up and—”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” Nick cut in. “It’s got something to do with the rest of that gang. They intend on cleaning out the Van Meter place, and that kid I spotted must be a part of it. That’s why they didn’t want me to tell anyone else about it.”
“You told me,” she pointed out. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Sit tight and keep the shotgun ready, but I doubt you’ll need it. Those boys who came after me didn’t have the first clue who I was, so they’ve got no reason to know about you.”
Catherine took a deep breath and lowered herself onto a chair. “Are you sure they weren’t just some bunch of cowboys?”
“I know killers when I see them, and these boys have taken shots at plenty more men than me. Not many more, but enough so they got a taste for it.”
Catherine wanted to ask how Nick could be so certain, but she stopped short because she already knew the answer. She also knew there was nothing she could say to convince Nick to put his gun away and see a doctor about the bloody stain on his shirt. “Are you at least going to talk to the sheriff about these men?”
Nick looked up from what he was doing and was silent. The expression on his face was a mix of hesitation and bewilderment. Finally, he said, “That might be a good idea.”
Catherine laughed and rubbed Nick’s shoulder. “I think so. I know you’re not used to working with the law, but this sort of thing is what they get paid to do.”
“Fine. You get the sheriff and tell him to go out to the Van Meter ranch. I’ll meet him there.”
“You’re still going?” she asked.
“Of course I am. I just needed to stop here to make sure I had enough ammunition.”
“How much do you need?”
“More than my pockets can hold.”
FOUR
Even though he’d seen the sky shift from one color to another and could feel the air growing cooler by the minute, Nick was surprised at just how quickly the light had been sucked away.
Rasa had had a busy day, and so Nick saddled up his other hor
se and snapped the reins. Kazys was a bit younger, but had spent the better part of two years pulling a wagon. Nick’s concerns about the horse’s speed were put to rest as he soon felt the wind rushing against his face.
He rode with one hand gripping the reins and the other hand upon his holstered pistol. Nick got through town without incident and quickly saw the flicker of lanterns behind windows fade away. That left the wide expanse of land beyond Ocean, which was now as black as sackcloth.
The door to the small office swung open and smacked loudly against the wall, causing the two men inside to sit bolt upright behind their desks. When they saw Catherine storming inside, they jumped to their feet.
“Sheriff Stilson, you need to go to the Van Meter place,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” asked the first man to reach Catherine’s side. In his mid-forties, he had a full head of light brown hair and sideburns that extended down to his chin. His features were angular. The hands he placed on Catherine’s shoulders were thick and beefy.
“There’s men riding out there,” she said, twisting out of the man’s grasp. “They shot at my husband.”
Both men’s eyes darted to Catherine’s left hand, but neither one of them saw a ring on her finger. Suddenly, Stilson nodded. “Oh, you’re the undertaker’s wife.”
“Yes, I am.”
“He’s been shot?”
“Yes!”
“What happened?”
Catherine sucked in a deep breath. From the corner of her eye, she could see Stilson’s deputy studying her closely. The man was at least fifteen years younger than the sheriff and had a bushy mustache. His bulky arms were propped on his hips and his eyes were practically glued to Catherine’s bosom.
Placing one hand flat against her chest to cover herself, she pretended to be out of breath as she said, “My husband’s gone to help Mister Van Meter. From what he told me, you should do the same. There’s a bunch of men headed out there to rob him or…”
“Or what?”
Catherine didn’t like the tone in the lawman’s voice. “I told you my husband’s been shot,” she said sternly. “He went off to lend a hand where it’s needed and I thought he was wrong not to come here first. Maybe he wasn’t so wrong after all.”
Man From Boot Hill Page 2
