by Ralph Cotton
“Damn you, Kitty,” Trueblood shouted. He fired two shots at her, and she ducked low in the saddle, the tails of her riding duster flapping wildly behind her. The clothes she’d been wearing still lay on the ground beside the blanket. Trueblood fired two more shots before he saw the woman and the two horses ride out of sight.
The reality of his situation finally sunk in after a moment of stunned silence. Drawing in a deep breath, Trueblood looked down at Andy Weeks’ naked, bloody body. “Looks like I wasn’t the unlucky sonsabitch after all. Was I, Andrew?” He looked up in the direction Kitty Dellaros had taken with the horses. Recalling the sight of her standing naked in the sunlight earlier, he said, “Hell, I knew it was too good to be true.”
He opened his Colt’s cylinder, dropped his spent rounds and replaced them. “I ever lay eyes on that throat-cutting whore again, I swear to God, she’s graveyard dead,” he vowed to himself. Holstering his Colt, the stunned and disappointed outlaw sighed and slipped away along the stand of pines. He gathered her clothes and walked along a thin game path leading down to a wider trail below. There’s no point in trying to follow her, he thought. She wasn’t going to stop for nothing until she knew she was safely away from him.
Two miles away from the water hole, Kitty Dellaros reined in and stepped down from the horse she was riding, and lowered the duster off one side to inspect a bullet graze across her shoulder. Of all the rotten luck, she told herself. She’d had to leave without managing to gather her clothes. She hadn’t expected Trueblood to come barging into the pines just as she was getting ready to make a run for it.
Now she was stuck with no clothes. I’m not about to try going back there, she thought, allowing the duster back to droop off her bloody shoulder. Trueblood would kill her for certain. At the rump of Weeks’ horse she flipped open the saddlebag and found a wadded-up bandana. Shaking it free of dust, she looked it over, sizing it up as a bandage. It wasn’t much, she decided, but it would have to do, for now anyway.
She folded the bandana and pressed it down against the bloody bullet graze. But just as she started to pull the shoulder of the duster back over the bandage to hold it in place, she caught sight of the ranger standing at the edge of a tall saguaro cactus, his rifle in one hand, the reins of his big stallion in the other. Afternoon sunlight glinted on the badge showing from behind his lapel.
Collecting herself quickly, Kitty gave a coy smile and in a cool, even tone said, “My, my, Marshal, you certainly know how to catch a gal unawares.”
“Arizona Ranger, ma’am,” Sam corrected her, stepping forward. “Arizona Ranger Samuel Burrack.” Having noted the bullet graze and knowing her shoulder might be too weak for her to raise her hands, he said, “Keep your hands out where I can see them.” He looked her up and down closely, having already seen that she was naked beneath the riding duster.
“All right . . .” She let out a breath. “Just so you understand, Sheriff,” she said, “I’m not wanted for anything. My hands are clean.” She gave another slight smile and wiggled her bloody fingertips. “See? Bloody, but clean,” she added.
“I know you’re not wanted for anything right now, Miss Dellaros,” Sam said, ignoring her calling him Sheriff. This was her way of being playful with him, he saw.
“Oh, you know my name, then, Deputy?” she said, her eyes widened slightly. The ranger doubted her look of surprise.
Yep, she was teasing him with the names—Deputy, Marshal, Sheriff; anything but his actual title. But he ignored her. He wasn’t going to play any games.
“Yes, I know your name, ma’am. It’s Kitty Dellaros. You’re Silva ‘the Snake’s’ woman,” he said.
“I’m acquainted with Silva Ceran,” she said in an evasive manner, “but I wouldn’t call myself his woman. And I don’t know his whereabouts.”
“That sounds like the kind of answer a lawyer would advise you to give,” Sam said.
“Those lawyers,” she said, again with the smile. “What would a poor gal on her own do without them?”
Sam just stared at her, knowing his silence would draw out more than anything he could say at this point. He was right.
After a moment under his gaze, she shrugged. “The truth is, I’m nobody’s woman but my own. I like it that way.” It was her turn to look him up and down, assessing him. “It leaves me free and open to any opportunity that presents itself.”
Sam saw the suggestion in her eyes, but he was having none of it. Looking past her along the trail, he said, “I heard gunshots a while ago. Where’s Weeks and Trueblood?”
“They’re back there,” Kitty said, giving a toss of her head. “The gunfire was them firing at me.” She nodded at her wounded shoulder. “We had a disagreement. Luckily all I got was a graze out of the deal.”
Sam’s eyes went to the bloodstain on the torn shoulder of her duster. “A disagreement about what?” he probed.
She gave him a defiant look. “About me spreading my legs for the two of them, Sheriff,” she said.
“I see,” Sam said coolly, unaffected by her off-color remark. “Where were you going?”
“I was headed back to get something I left with my dead horse,” she replied. “I’m still going there, unless I’m under arrest for something.” She stared at him expectantly.
“No, you’re not under arrest,” Sam said. “But you’re riding back to the water hole with me.” He nodded in the direction of the runoff where she’d left Weeks and Trueblood.
“If I’m not under arrest for anything, Ranger,” she said, finally using his correct title, “you’ve got no right to hold me against my will.” She cocked a hand on a slender, well-rounded hip.
“Unless it’s for your own good,” Sam said. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight until he’d seen what all the shooting was about. “For all I know there could be Apache slipping around this way and that out here. I can’t leave you alone.”
“Uh-uh,” she said. “I’m not falling for this. I told you I forgot something in my saddlebags. I’ve got to go get it.”
“If it wasn’t for that, would you be riding with me to the water hole?” Sam asked pointedly.
She shrugged her good shoulder stiffly. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” she said. “But I did forget something, and I’m not stopping until I’ve got it back.”
As she spoke, Sam had reached into his trouser pocket and lifted out the locket. He flipped it open and let it dangle from his fingertips. “Is this what you were going back for?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She took a step toward him before she caught herself. “Where did you get that?”
“From the saddlebags, like you said,” Sam replied. He clasped his hand shut around the cheap locket. “It’s a beautiful picture,” he said. “I can see why you don’t want to lose it.”
“Give it to me.” It was not quite a demand, but not far from it. She took another step forward. The ranger raised his hand, stopping her.
“Not so fast, ma’am,” he said. “Here’s something else I found when I went through the saddlebags.” He pulled a thin leather razor case from his vest pocket and held it up for her to see.
“Yeah, so?” Kitty said. “It’s just an empty razor case.”
“Finding it empty is what concerns me,” Sam said. “If it had a razor still in it, I’d feel much better.”
Without hesitation, Kitty spread the front of the riding duster wide-open, revealing her naked body. “Does it look like I’m hiding a razor?”
“No, ma’am,” said Sam. He had to keep himself from looking away from her. He wasn’t gong to let himself be taken in by his own good manners. He looked as long as it took to see that she wasn’t carrying the razor. At least she isn’t carrying it nowhere visible, he thought. “Close your duster, ma’am,” he said quietly.
“I want the locket. Give it to me,” Kitty said firmly, letting the duster fall closed. She held her open palm out.
“I’ll give it to you when we see what’s going on at the water hole,” Sam said.
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“But you said I didn’t have to go with you back to the water hole,” Kitty persisted.
“You don’t have to,” said the ranger. “But that’s where I’m headed, and this locket is going with me.” He dropped the locket back into his trouser pocket. “You can suit yourself, whether or not you want to go with us.”
Sam turned to the big stallion.
“Wait, Ranger,” she said. “You have no right to do this.”
“Do what?” Sam asked innocently, swinging up and settling into his saddle, his rifle still in hand. He nudged the stallion over to the other horse and picked up its loose reins.
“Damn it,” Kitty said under her breath. “All right, I’ll ride along with you as far as the water hole. But I want your word that I can have my locket back when we get there.”
“You have my word, ma’am,” Sam said. He nodded toward the horse standing nearest to her.
She grumbled under her breath as she took the reins to the horse, but as she started to swing up into the saddle, he said, “What about that empty razor case?”
She gave him a flat stare. “Are you kidding?”
“No, ma’am,” Sam said, returning the same flat stare. “I’d feel much better.”
She sighed and turned slightly away from him. A hand went somewhere into an inside hem of her duster and came out holding a folded straight razor. “Here, then,” she said. “I hope you’re satisfied.” She held the razor out for him to take.
But without moving the stallion an inch closer, Sam said, “Pitch it to me.”
“Pitch it—?” She caught herself in surprise and said, “You sure are a cautious man, Ranger.” She pitched the closed razor.
The ranger caught it. “Yes, ma’am. Cautious to a fault.” He looked at the slight smear of blood along the razor’s handle, but made no mention of it. Instead he slipped the weapon into its case, put it away and gestured her toward the rocky trail.
“You don’t have to be scared of me, Ranger,” she said. “I don’t bite.” She smiled. “Unless, of course, it’s the kind of biting you might happen to like.”
“After you, ma’am,” he said politely, ignoring her remark. He sat still until she nudged her horse forward. Then he touched his heels to the stallion’s sides and rode along behind her, leading the third horse by its reins.
Chapter 4
Before the ranger followed Kitty up the last stretch of trail to the water hole, he noted a newly arrived pair of buzzards overhead, circling high, searching the earth below. It occurred to him that the winged scavengers had done well by following the outlaws’ trail. It also came to him that either one or both of the men he was after were lying dead somewhere near the water hole. He’d have to be careful that the woman didn’t try to make a run for it or try some other trick.
Also seeing the buzzards, Kitty slowed her horse and said over her shoulder, “All right, I suppose I need to tell you that Andy Weeks is dead. You’re going to know soon enough.”
“What about Trueblood?” Sam asked, noting that the buzzards’ circle had centered above the stand of pines.
“He’s alive, but I left him afoot. He’s madder than hell,” said Kitty. She studied the trail ahead warily. “He’ll kill me if he gets a chance.”
“Stay square with me, ma’am,” Sam said quietly, nudging the big stallion up beside her. “I’ll see to it he doesn’t get the chance.”
She paused, slowing her horse. “You have to understand something, Ranger Burrack. What I did, I did in self-defense. It was the only thing that would have stopped what they had in mind.”
Sam didn’t answer.
“Do you . . . understand, that is?” she asked quietly, studying his face in profile beneath the wide brim of his sombrero.
“Ma’am,” Sam said, “it would be best if I see Weeks’ body first before I answer.” He glanced at her, then back toward the pines lying ahead of them. “I see no signs of struggle on you.”
“There was no struggle,” Kitty said. “Not yet anyway. I wasn’t about to let things get that far along.”
They stopped at the edge of the pines, stepped down from their saddles and walked their horses forward. When they reached a spot ten feet from the bloody body lying sprawled and naked on the blanket, Sam let out a breath and pushed up the brim of his sombrero. Dark, dried blood glistened on Weeks’ throat and chest. A wide black pool covered the blanket beneath him.
Seeing the look on Sam’s face, Kitty said, “I was desperate, Ranger.” As she spoke, she looked all around on the ground for her clothes, but couldn’t find them. “I knew it was coming and I did what I knew would work.” She continued looking for her clothes a moment longer.
“It worked, all right,” Sam commented. “This man didn’t see what was coming until it was too late.”
“Of course not,” Kitty said, giving him an incredulous look. “How far do you suppose I’d have gotten if he knew what I was going to do to him?”
Sam didn’t reply; he knew she was right. A judge might have a hard time calling it self-defense, her striking the first and only blow. But as to her logic on the matter, he understood, even if he wasn’t going to admit it to her. He looked at a blackened, blood-crusted palm that Weeks had used to clutch at his throat for a second. But only for a second, he decided, seeing the palm flung out and opened wide. The man had lost blood so fast he hadn’t had time to even try to save himself. Not that it would have done him any good, Sam noted.
“Can you believe this? The sonsabitch took my clothes and boots,” Kitty said with contempt. “Of all the low, spiteful—”
As she fumed and stomped, still looking all around, Sam followed a set of boot prints across the dusty ground until they disappeared into the pines. Leading all three horses, he stopped at a spot where the path plunged almost straight down. I’ll let Trueblood have this stretch of rugged, broken terrain, he thought. He looked out and down across a rocky stretch of flatland that reached across a wide valley. Hard tracking through brush and across endless rock, he thought. Once the outlaw made it onto the flatlands, he could go in any direction, hiding his trail.
But Sam decided he’d follow the outlaw’s trail as far as he could. Once he lost him among the difficult terrain, he’d have to postpone the hunt until another time. Right now, he had the woman to deal with. This must be your lucky day, Delbert Trueblood. . . . He looked out across the high badlands plain.
“Hey, Ranger,” Kitty called down to him from atop the path behind him. “I’m going to wash up a little, get some of this dried, stinking blood off me.”
She wasn’t asking him; she was telling him. This is her way of testing me, seeing how far she can push things her way, he thought. This was how it would be with her the whole trip.
“Go ahead. But you’d better hurry it up,” Sam said, turning with the horses and walking back up to the water hole.
When he and the horses topped the path and walked to the edge of the water, he was taken aback to see her standing ankle deep in the water, naked, shameless. The duster lay piled on the rock edge. She made no attempt to hide herself in any manner. She reached down and wet the bandana she’d taken from her wound. Holding it above her shoulder, she squeezed it. Pink, bloodstained water ran down her firm breast, her flat stomach, the rest of her.
She kept a narrow gaze on the ranger, as if inviting him to watch. But he needed no invitation. He wasn’t about to look away. Looking away from a woman like this would be a mistake, he knew, no less than turning his back on a male prisoner. No matter what else Kitty Dellaros was—charming, witty, sexy—above all else she was dangerous.
“You know, I’m thinking, Samuel,” she said, getting bolder, more familiar with him. “If you’ll give me my locket, we can get going our separate ways. The way you said we would.”
“Not now, ma’am,” Sam said. “This killing changes everything.” He gestured toward the body lying on the blanket beneath the circling buzzards. “You’re going to have to go back to Wild Wind.”
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nbsp; “Killing? It’s not a killing,” she said. “I told you, it was self-defense. Any court will understand that I had to do it in order to save myself.”
“I wish you luck then, ma’am,” Sam replied. “But I’m taking you to Wild Wind.”
“What about Trueblood?” she asked. “He’ll be gone by the time you take me into town and come back out here.”
“That’s how it looks.” Sam had no intention of discussing any more than what was necessary with her. He knew that on foot Trueblood would have no more than a two day start on him. Cutting across the flatlands and back instead of backtracking the high trail they’d been riding would put him back in the hunt soon enough.
“And me? What about me, Ranger?” she asked, trying to sound mistreated in the mix of things.
“What happens to you in Wild Wind is up to the local authority.”
“Local authority? Hell, they don’t even have a sheriff there,” she said. “All they have is Ed Ray. He’s not smart enough to feed himself without biting his fingers.”
“Ed Ray Richards is the duly elected town selectman,” Sam said. He ignored her insult toward the man. “His jurisdiction reaches this far out. It will be his call.”
“Damn Ed Ray Richards. . . .” She planted a hand on her cocked hip and stood with her feet spread shoulder-width apart. Her voice fell to a breathy tone. “All right, let’s get down to some serious trading here.” She smiled at him suggestively. “What have I got here that you just might want?”
“Get yourself washed off,” Sam said, ignoring her blatant proposition.
“Oh, I see,” she said coyly. “Why bargain with me when you can take what you want anyway.”
“You see nothing,” said Sam. “Get washed; get dressed. We’re leaving.”
She let out a breath of resignation. “All right, Ranger. Listen to me. There was no struggle because I told Weeks and Trueblood they could both have me. I had to, to keep myself from getting left afoot. But here’s what you have to understand. After they got what they wanted from me, they would’ve had to kill me. After they thought about it, they couldn’t have let me live, take a chance on me ever telling Silva what happened.”
