Grinning to himself, Sol holstered his pistol and took another look around. Since any killer would have made his presence known by now, he wasn’t concerned with being ambushed. Instead, he was looking for the next marker to point him in the right direction.
Before searching too hard, he reminded himself of the caliber of men he was after. If they hadn’t thought ahead enough to properly douse their fire, they probably weren’t bright enough to cover their tracks any other way. Being careful not to disturb the ground upon which he walked, Sol kept his eyes focused on the dirt and moved slowly around the campfire.
When he made it to the side that was pointing away from Warren, Sol saw plenty of freshly laid tracks in the gritty dirt. While he knew some trackers might have been able to tell what kind of horses were being ridden and how fast they were going, Sol wasn’t nearly that skilled. He had eyes in his head, though, which was enough to let him know which direction these horses had gone.
‘‘I’ll be damned,’’ Sol whispered to himself. ‘‘I might just be able to pull this off.’’
He straightened up and looked around proudly, but there wasn’t anyone else to pat him on the back. Keeping his smile in place all the way back to his horse, Sol flicked his reins and got moving along a path that ran next to the tracks he’d spotted.
He kept following those tracks until the sun began to dip below the horizon. Within the next several minutes, the sky took on several different shades of orange and yellow. The sandy terrain was rough and jagged, but Sol felt oddly at home amid all of that wildness.
Without the rumble of wagons or the sound of other folks’ voices ringing in his ears, Sol was able to hear himself think. In this case, that was all he needed to find the tracks he’d been after and follow them to a cluster of rocks that rose from the ground like an old giant’s backbone. There were a few trees scattered along those rocks, hanging on to the sides as if they were just too stubborn to die. Unlike most trees, which seemed to blossom toward the heavens, these had a few thorny branches reaching out as if to scratch the sky out of spite.
If he’d listened to the common sense spouted by Matt, Sol would have been in a room somewhere waiting for supper to be brought to him on a plate. His back, shoulders and neck would have been aching after a long day’s work and he would be looking forward to laying his head down and closing his eyes. Instead, Sol felt like he could jump down from his horse’s back and run the rest of the way to those rocks.
More than that, Sol knew he would see one of those robbers any moment now. In fact, this was the first time he could put himself in the shoes of the men he’d seen gathered around the faro tables night after night. Those fellows always went on about how their numbers were bound to come up. Sol knew his own number was going to come up as well. As he got closer to those rocks, he could taste victory on the back of his throat. It was sweet. So that was why those fools kept playing faro.
Sol glanced down and behind him to double-check the tracks. The sun was continuing its slow fall, which now put a deep red hue into the sky that bled down into the sandy dirt. After a bit of squinting, Sol was able to pick out the tracks. He had to shake his head because the only reason there was so much dirt to be pushed around by those horses was that it had been blown away from a flat plane of rock less than a quarter mile to the north. If those riders had been smart enough to steer toward that barren plane, nobody would have been able to track them. If they were the right tracks, he would know soon enough. If they weren’t, he wouldn’t have had much of a shot at finding the gunmen anyhow.
But Sol didn’t spend too much time fretting about that second possibility. Something in his gut told him those riders didn’t have the sense to scout this country out enough to know about that rocky plane. That same sort of rushed thinking would lead them to the first refuge they could see, which was the spiny ridge in Sol’s sight at the moment.
Before taking another step in that direction, Sol pulled back on his reins until his horse had come to a stop. The gray gelding chomped on his bit and shifted anxiously from one leg to another. Sol knew just how he felt.
After taking a moment to survey the land, Sol decided to cut to the left and ride around that side of the ridge. It was the lower side of the rocks, which meant it should be easier for him to get closer to anyone who might be watching from a higher vantage point at the opposite end. Then again, he guessed he could also see the sense in heading for the higher end of the ridge; the rocks themselves would provide more cover.
Like one of those gamblers who had a wad of cash burning a hole in their pockets, Sol couldn’t hold himself back one more second. The sun was still dropping and the sky was shifting from shades of red to the purple end of the spectrum. Before long, those purples would fade into black and then Sol would be riding in the dark.
Following his gut, Sol snapped his reins and steered his gelding to the left. For all he knew, those gunmen could have approached those rocks hours ago and kept on riding. One thing that Sol did know was that there wasn’t another town close enough to be reached from that spot unless the gunmen were willing to whip their horses within an inch of their lives.
Sol’s thought flowed through his mind in a rush as he rode toward that ridge. Perhaps because he was so preoccupied, he reached the ridge a lot quicker than he’d anticipated. There were still a few streaks of color in the sky, which made it that much easier for him to make certain his pistol was loaded. He also kept a Winchester rifle in the boot on his saddle, which he’d mostly used for hunting. He checked that weapon as well before sliding it back into its well-worn leather home.
Doing his best to approach the ridge without being too noisy about it, Sol could feel the muscles in his stomach clenching with anticipation. More than anything, he wanted to dig his heels into his horse’s sides so he could get around the rocks as quickly as possible. Seeing the vague smudge of black smoke rising from somewhere behind that ridge made his anxiousness even harder to bear.
The moment he’d gotten close enough to the ridge, Sol brought his horse to a stop and climbed down from his saddle. One hand came to a rest upon the gun at his side and the other reached out to take the Winchester from its boot. Once he heard the crackle of a fire and a few muted voices, Sol smiled.
Working his way to the rocks, Sol leaned against them and poked his head over to get a look around them. Only then did he truly get a taste of what those men at the faro tables had felt.
Sol’s number had hit.
Chapter 6
The first face Sol could see belonged to one of the men who’d traded lead with him back in Warren. There was another man sitting with his back to the ridge, but that didn’t worry Sol. What did worry him was the fact that he could see only two of the gunmen when he knew there were at least three.
Since trying to find the other man would have required Sol to move around and possibly draw attention to himself, he stayed put. Besides, he figured the third man was probably just off somewhere relieving himself or tending to one of the horses.
‘‘What the hell are you doin’ there?’’ someone asked from a spot that was high and to Sol’s right.
The tension in Sol’s belly suddenly felt more like an iron fist gripping his innards. When he started to turn to get a look at the man who’d spoken, Sol heard boots scrambling against the nearby rocks.
‘‘Not so fast,’’ the man snarled as he closed in on Sol. ‘‘You didn’t answer my question.’’
Gritting his teeth so hard that he nearly cracked them, Sol forced himself to turn toward the man. In much the same way that he’d known these were the men he was after, Sol knew the man approaching him already had his gun drawn and aimed directly at him. Sure enough, once he turned enough to get the look he was after, Sol found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.
‘‘Who the hell are you, mister?’’ the other man asked.
Sol couldn’t reply. It was all he could do to keep himself from shaking like one of the barren branches scratching at the sky.<
br />
From the small fire that had been built on the other side of the ridge, one of the men asked, ‘‘That you, Bill?’’
The man pointing his gun at Sol nodded and shouted, ‘‘Yeah, it’s me. Looks like we got some company.’’
‘‘How many?’’
Bill was a big fellow with an ample belly. A bowler hat was pulled down low onto his head and had a rim that was just wide enough to cast a shadow over his face. A wide mouth hung open so loosely that it seemed doubtful it could shut. When he spoke again, his words came out in a slobbering whisper. ‘‘Who else is with you, boy?’’
Like any man over the age of twenty, Sol didn’t appreciate being called boy. He used that spark to rebuild the fire inside that had gotten him this far.
Bill leaned forward and extended his arm to shove the pistol into Sol’s face. ‘‘If you ain’t hearin’ me so good, maybe you could use another hole in yer head.’’
Sol forced himself to look over the gun being pointed at him and into the eyes of the man holding it. "You’re one of the men who robbed Charlie,’’ he said.
"Who?"
‘‘The owner of that mine in Warren,’’ Sol explained. ‘‘Charlie. You robbed him.’’
‘‘You mean Mr. Lowell? What the hell do you know about that?’’
There were footsteps coming from the direction of the campfire, but Sol wasn’t about to look that way. He had more than enough on his plate dealing with Bill.
‘‘Who is it, damn it?’’ one of the other men shouted.
‘‘I don’t know for certain, but I think he’s the law,’’ Bill hollered back.
‘‘Is there more than one?’’
Bill let out a bellowing reply as he turned to look at his partners. ‘‘Give me a second without you chewin’ my ear and I can—’’
Before Bill had a chance to say another word, Sol made his move. After pulling his knees up toward his chest, he sprang forward and reached for his holstered pistol.
Bill snapped his head around and let out a surprised grunt when he saw Sol coming at him. He had to move his aim an inch or so to the side, which was just enough to give Sol a fighting chance. Before Bill could adjust his aim, Sol reached out to slap away Bill’s gun. The pistol barked once and sent a round sparking against a nearby rock.
Sol’s gun let out a quick, sharp roar and jumped within his grasp. That brief explosion was enough to illuminate Bill’s face like a photographer’s flash powder. The expression on Bill’s face showed equal measures of pain and surprise. His mouth still hung agape, but Bill’s eyes were now just as wide.
When Bill clenched his finger around his trigger, it was more out of reflex than anything else. Even so, he was close enough to Sol to draw blood with that single shot.
When he felt the touch of hot lead nipping at his ankle, Sol jumped back and fired his own gun again. His arm was held out rigidly in front of him, so his bullet wound up drilling a hole into Bill’s chest and dropping the other man like a sack of rocks.
Scrambling on the rocks, Sol fought to maintain his balance while getting away from the other two men. All the while, he couldn’t help but stare at Bill’s face. The bigger man’s natural ugliness was made worse by the random twitches and clenching that came as he spat out his final breath.
‘‘Bill?’’ one of the other men shouted.
Sol couldn’t take his eyes off of Bill. In the space of a few seconds, the man on the ground let one more breath slip away from him and gave up whatever it was that separated a man from a pile of bones. After that, he was nothing but a fleshy husk.
‘‘Hold on, Bill! We’re comin’!’’
Sol looked toward the campfire and saw the other two men running toward him. Just then, it seemed like years since he’d taken his first step onto that ridge. Whatever plan he may have had was gone. All that remained was the desperate struggle to keep from winding up like Bill.
‘‘He shot Bill!’’ one of the other men hollered. He was a young fellow who seemed vaguely familiar from the robbery back in town. With fear etched into his face, he looked more like a kid than anyone capable of doing any harm. Snapping his head back and forth between Sol and the other man closest to him, the kid shouted, ‘‘The law found us! I told you, Garver! I told you we wouldn’t get away with this!’’
Garver was on one knee with a rifle in his hands. He’d positioned himself at the edge of the flickering light being cast by the campfire. While his young partner stumbled around like a drunk, Garver remained still. ‘‘Shut up!’’ he snapped as he brought the rifle to his shoulder. ‘‘It’s just one of them up there.’’
‘‘How the hell do you know?’’
‘‘Because we would’a seen the rest by now. Just step aside so I can take my shot!’’
Once the kid stepped aside, Sol knew what would come next. Sure enough, Garver aimed and fired in short order. His rifle sent a round toward the ridge that sent a brief shower of sparks down upon Sol’s back.
Sol’s ribs still hurt from dropping and slamming himself against the rock just before Garver had taken his shot. Now that he’d heard Garver’s rifle, Sol wondered what had happened to his own Winchester. Before Sol could answer that question, Garver fired at him again.
‘‘Did you hit him?’’ the kid asked.
Garver didn’t move except to lever in a fresh round. ‘‘Why don’t you go see for yourself, ’stead of flapping your lips?’’
Although the kid did start working his way toward the ridge, he wasn’t quick about it.
Lying on his belly, Sol could see his Winchester lying within arm’s reach. When he started to extend his arm to retrieve the rifle, another bullet from Garver hissed close enough to make Sol reflexively swear under his breath as he pulled his hand back.
‘‘He’s still up there!’’ Garver said. ‘‘Go finish him off!’’
‘‘You still alive up there, Bill?’’ the kid asked.
Since Garver and Sol both chose to keep quiet, the kid didn’t get a reply. His footsteps echoed nicely against the rocks, however, as if the campfire were a stage and the ridge held the tiered seats at the edge of the theater.
Sol could feel his heart thumping within his chest. He swore he could even hear it slapping against the ground as he wriggled his way toward the rifle without lifting his chest from the dirt. Along the way, Sol’s foot nudged Bill’s body as if to remind him of what might await him if he didn’t get a move on. Steeling himself for the worst, Sol reached out for his rifle. Garver fired at him almost exactly when Sol had figured he would. Although he pulled back his arm out of reflex, Sol quickly reached forward again while Garver was working the lever on his own rifle.
There was no time to savor the victory when Sol finally did close his fingers around his Winchester. The kid had scampered up the rocks and was racing toward him like a runaway train. When he saw the body lying nearby, the kid got even more steam in his strides.
Now that he was closer, Sol could recognize the kid from the robbery. It wasn’t so much the kid’s face that jogged Sol’s memory, but the way he stood with his feet splayed and the way he held his gun in a tight, trembling fist. The kid had done some yelling back in town and he kept on hollering now that one of his partners had been dropped.
That kid took aim as Sol lifted his rifle and pulled his trigger. Both men fired and both of them missed. Although the kid was rattled by the lead that whipped past him, Sol took the opportunity to scramble back to his feet and rush toward the kid. Pushing through the biting pain in his ankle, Sol lowered his head and drove his shoulder into the kid’s midsection. Surprised by the impact, the kid pulled his trigger again. Sol didn’t feel a bullet hit him anywhere, but his ears definitely took some punishment from the close proximity of the shot.
Sol’s feet kept churning against the rock and he continued to drive the kid backward. As the kid lost more of his balance, both of them gained momentum and they rushed toward the edge of the ridge. After a brief fall, they landed a few yards away fr
om the campfire. The kid landed with both of his shoulders hitting the ground at the same time. Sol had most of his fall broken by the kid and absorbed the rest upon his knees and one outstretched arm. It turned out that didn’t help Sol very much as pain shot through all of his extremities and rippled throughout his body. At least that put the nick on his ankle out of his mind.
Sol caught a glimpse of the kid’s pained expression and took that opportunity to deliver a chopping blow to the kid’s jaw. The stock of Sol’s rifle snapped forward and caught the kid in the face with a loud crunch. Even as blood sprayed from his mouth, however, the kid grabbed hold of the rifle just in front of the trigger guard. Youthful strength and desperation kept Sol from moving the Winchester much more than an inch or so in any direction.
In the midst of struggling to reclaim his rifle, Sol caught a hint of movement in the corner of his eye.
He turned to look toward the campfire and saw Garver sighting along the top of his own rifle.
Without wasting another moment, Sol drew upon every ounce of strength he had to twist the rifle toward Garver. He pulled his trigger the moment he had it pointed in the proper direction. Not only did the shot startle the kid, but the heat from the barrel was enough to make him immediately release his grip.
Garver flinched as the shot was fired at him. Although he wasn’t hit by the hastily fired round, his aim was knocked well off of center and he fired several feet to Sol’s left. Snarling an obscenity through gritted teeth, Garver worked the lever of his rifle and fixed his eyes upon his target.
As he watched the rifleman, Sol hoped the other man would just turn tail and run. After all, he was a cowardly idiot, wasn’t he? Cowards ran. That’s what they did.
This one didn’t.
Garver held his ground and prepared to fire another shot.
Death of a Bad Man Page 5
