One Man's Shadow (The McCabes Book 2)

by Brad Dennison

  “But to pour it directly into the wound? I can’t imagine the pain.”

  “It’ll hurt like hell, but do it. We don’t have time to waste. Those men already have too much of a head start.”

  “I can’t believe you want me to do this. This goes against all of the medical training I’ve had.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, I’ve had two years of medical school, and it goes against all I’ve learned, too. But it works. I’ve seen it. My father has seen it. It’s what they did to him when he was shot up so bad last summer, and he’s still alive.”

  “How much? How much should I pour?”

  “A couple ounces. Wash the wound out really well.”

  She pulled the cork from the bottle. The last thought he had before she poured it was he doubted this was the use Darby had intended when he gave him the bottle.

  The whiskey went into the wound with blinding pain. But he refused to cry out. If nothing else, he would not give Carter Harding the satisfaction. There had been no pain from the wound at first, but now it was like a hot branding iron was being pushed into it. He had balled both hands into fists, and realized he was shuddering. But he would not cry out.

  He could not afford to pass out from the pain, he thought. He had to remain conscious. As soon as Mrs. Brewster was finished washing the wound with whiskey and wrapping it, he needed to be going after the girls.

  It was a few moments before he realized she had stopped pouring the whiskey. The fire in his wound began to subside a little.

  “I will say one thing,” she said. “The bleeding has stopped.”

  Jack looked to Age and said, his voice a little shaky, “Do you know how to saddle a horse?”

  The boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then, go have at it.”

  The boy looked to his father, who nodded.

  The boy said, “Yes sir,” and ran to where Jack’s horse was picketed.

  Mildred fetched her sewing kit from her tent, and said, “The thread I have is not ideal for stitching a wound shut, but it’ll have to do. I want to get this done before the bleeding starts up again.”

  While she was working on his shoulder, Jack watched Age saddling his horse. The boy knew what he was doing. The saddle was heavy, but he heaved it up onto the horse’s back. He then reached under the horse to grab the cinch. The horse stood, chomping on some grass and looking bored.

  Elizabeth Ford tore the bedsheet into long strips. Once Mildred was finished with the thread, she wrapped one strip of cloth over the shoulder and under Jack’s arm, then followed with another and then a third.

  “You gotta keep dirt out of this,” she said.

  “Believe me. I don’t want to do anything to make it necessary to wash it out again.”

  That got a small grin from her.

  Jack got to his feet, and snatched up his rifle.

  “How are you going to track them in this darkness?” Harding said.

  “I’m not. I have an idea where their camp is. They’re going to have a campfire just like we have here. It’ll be visible from a distance. They might not be inclined to be worried about that because they think I’m dead, and they don’t think any of you to be really a threat. No offense.”

  Brewster said, “I’m really sorry. I can’t believe Jessica went along with them willingly. I feel somehow responsible for this.”

  “You should be,” Harding said.

  His wife said, “Carter.”

  Jack put a hand on Brewster’s shoulder. “I’ll get them both back.”

  The horse was ready, and Jack pushed the rifle into the saddle boot. He buckled on his gunbelt, and Brewster handed him the pistol.

  Brewster said, “What do you want us to do?”

  “Sit tight. Don’t anyone come after me. Come morning, if I’m not back, make for the way station as fast as you can.”

  “Good luck to you, son.”

  Harding stepped forward. “You said you’d either bring them back or die trying.”

  “Yes sir,” Jack said and swung into the saddle.

  “If you can’t bring them back, make sure you die trying.”

  Jack gave him a long look. Nina had said this man had a kind heart beneath his angry exterior. Jack thought if this was true, his heart was apparently buried deep.

  Jack’s horse shifted its hooves restlessly. Despite having been ridden all day, it wanted to run.

  “Mister Harding,” he said, “we can continue this after I bring your daughter back.”

  And he turned his horse away from them and was off into the night.

  16

  Nina sat in the saddle ahead of the one called Two-Finger. The horse rode hard into the night, the hooves pounding the earth.

  Nina had never ridden a horse before and was jarred so severely she was trembling by the time Two-Finger reined up at the camp.

  A fire was blazing and a man stood by the fire. He carried himself in an upright, almost regal way.

  He said, “Where’s the McCabe boy?”

  “There was trouble,” Two-Finger said, sliding from the back of the horse. “He took a shot at us and I had to kill him. He hit Cade and he would’ve killed both of us.”

  He grabbed Nina with a hand at each side of the ribs and pulled her from the saddle. She landed in the grass on all fours, trying to catch her breath.

  Jack, she thought. Dead. She could not believe this was happening. And yet, she could not afford to allow herself tears. She had to keep her mind focused if she was to survive.

  Jack was gone, and none of the men back at the camp would be able to help. Of that she had no doubt. If any of them even approached this camp, she had no hope they could survive a gunfight with these men. She was on her own.

  She didn’t know what they had planned for her, but she could imagine. If she had any hope of escape, she would be able to depend only on herself. And she didn’t feel she could trust Jessica at all.

  The regal man’s attention was now on Cade, who had ridden with Jessica behind him in the saddle. A man with a scar across his face and a horrible white eye was helping Jessica slide from the horse. Cade was sitting slumped over a little, his arm folded over one side of his ribs.

  “How bad is it?” their leader said. Nina thought she remembered Jack saying to Mister Brewster the man’s name was Falcone.

  “Bad enough,” Cade said.

  He swung out of the saddle. Falcone and White-Eye were ready to catch him, but he managed to step down to the ground himself.

  “Come on over to the fire,” Falcone said. “We’ll have a look at it. Between White-Eye and myself, we’ve seen enough gunshot wounds.”

  “I don’t wanna die,” Cade said.

  Two-Finger said, “You should’a thought of that before you got into this business. Men like us, we live on the edge of life and death all the time.”

  Falcone looked at him curiously. “Poetry, Walker?”

  “Reality.”

  Falcone nodded. He turned toward the fire, and Cade and White-Eye followed him over.

  Nina got to her feet a little weakly. The ride had knocked a lot of strength from her.

  Falcone said, “Bring the girls to the fire.”

  Two-Finger grabbed Nina roughly by one arm and half pulled, half dragged her over to the fire. Jessica walked behind her.

  Walker said to a tall, spindly built man with a thin mustache, “Lane, go take care of the horses.”

  “Why do I have to do it?”

  “Because I told you to.”

  Lane turned away sulkily and went to the horses.

  Falcone told Cade to sit. Cade dropped onto a small hump of earth that allowed him to sit as though he were on a low stool. Falcone opened the man’s shirt. A woman was there, too. Jessica remembered her from the camp outside of Cheyenne.

  “Hello, Jessica,” she said.

  Jessica said, “Flossy.”

  Flossy said to Falcone, “How bad’s he hit?”

  “I think I’m dyin’,” Cade s
aid. “I don’t wanna die.”

  “I think we’ve all figured that out,” Falcone said. “Now if you’ll be still a moment, I’ll determine just how badly you’re hurt.”

  Flossy assisted him in getting the shirt open. Nina thought Cade looked dirty, like he had been in the same clothes for perhaps weeks. How Jessica could cavort with men like this was beyond her.

  Falcone poked a bit at Cade’s ribs. Cade howled in pain.

  “I need whiskey!” he called out.

  Walker said, “I could put him out of his pain right now.”

  “I’m tempted,” Falcone said. “But we’ll need all the guns we have for the job I have planned.”

  Flossy was now on her knees, peering at the wound. “I don’t think the bullet went all the way in. Looks like it hit his ribs and bounced away. Maybe cracked ‘em, and he’s losing some blood. But he’s gonna be all right.”

  Cade looked at her and Falcone curiously. “You mean, I ain’t gonna die?”

  Falcone said, “Disappointed, Cade?”

  Two-Finger smirked. “I know I am.”

  It was then that Falcone looked at Nina. “Why did you bring the second girl?”

  “Those was the orders,” Two-Finger said. “You said to bring both her and the McCabe boy. McCabe shot at us and I had to kill him.”

  Cade said, “We was just doin’ like we was told, Vic.”

  Falcone, clearly exasperated, looked off into the night a moment to hold his composure. He drew a deep breath, then looked to Cade.

  Falcone said, “I told you both the plan. I clearly explained it to you. We needed Jack McCabe as bait. We needed the girl to keep him in line. As long as a gun is pointed at her, he would be more easy to manage.”

  Cade glanced with puzzlement to Two-Finger, then back to Falcone. “McCabe had a rifle in his hand and was shooting. He hit me. Two-Finger had to kill him. It couldn’t be helped. McCabe would’ve killed both of us. But we still brought the girl.”

  “And why do we need the girl?”

  “To keep McCabe in line. Oh. I see.”

  Two-Finger said, “After I had to kill McCabe, we should’a left the girl behind.”

  Falcone nodded. Now they were seeing it. He said, “Tell me about how McCabe was killed.”

  Two-Finger shrugged and walked over to a pot of coffee. He grabbed a tin cup and filled it. “Just about the way Cade said it. He grabbed his rifle and shot Cade and I had to put a bullet in him.”

  “How exactly did he die? Details, Walker.”

  Jessica stepped forward. “Mister Walker shot Jack, and Jack spun around and landed on the ground. He didn’t get up.”

  “Did any of you go over and confirm he was dead?”

  Cade shrugged and looked at Walker. Cade said, “He looked dead from where we was standing. I’d been shot. We had to get out of there.”

  “So, you left the body there but didn’t confirm that he’s dead.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Walker said, standing by the fire with the tin cup in one hand. “Didn’t see the point. I aimed for his heart and I ain’t in the habit of missing.”

  Falcone sighed wearily. Why did nothing ever go easily? He said, “Do any of you know what a knight is?”

  Cade glanced about the darkness in confusion. “The night?”

  “A knight, Cade. The McCabes are knights. They always do the noble thing.”

  “If you say so, Boss.”

  “They will always do the noble thing, right down to their dying breath. If Jack McCabe’s wounded but not dead, then what do you think he’s going to do?”

  Cade shrugged. “Come after us?”

  “Very good, Cade.”

  Jessica said, “Mister Falcone, could you let Nina go? With Jack dead, you don’t really need her.”

  Cade said, “She’s got a point, Boss. She’ll just slow us down.”

  “It’s obvious I don’t pay you to think,” Falcone said. “You don’t know the McCabes. Until we have a body, I’m going to presume Jack McCabe is not dead. We might need her to use against him if he comes for us.”

  Nina was standing the furthest from the fire. All had their backs to her, as their attention was focused on their leader. His gaze was at one moment on the ground, and then looking off into the darkness philosophically. It was clear to her he liked to pontificate and he had an audience.

  Now, Nina thought. While they were paying no attention to her. Now was her chance, possibly the only one she would get.

  She turned and bolted away into the darkness.

  Behind her, Jessica called out. “Nina! No!”

  Falcone said, “Stop her!”

  Nina had always been able to run fast and long. As a child in school, she always outpaced the boys. Whenever they had a foot race, she always won.

  As she charged away from the fire, she broke into a long stride. She cursed the cumbersome skirt and petticoats which slowed her down, and the smooth soles of her shoes slipped against the grass. The terrain was a little uneven, and she had to make sure she didn’t step into a low area in the darkness and twist an ankle.

  She heard shouts behind her. They were pursuing her. Men who were tougher and stronger. If they caught her, she would never be able to fight her way free. Her only hope was to outrun them. These were men who spent much time in the saddle and might be a little out of their element trying to run. And running was one thing she could do.

  She didn’t know where she was running to. She wasn’t even exactly sure of the direction she was heading in. She knew only that she had to put as much distance as possible between herself and them. Once she was free of them, once she had run far enough that they might give up on her, she would try to find her way back to her family.

  She felt a hand from behind suddenly clamp onto her shoulder, and that was when the earth fell away before her in a low dip and she stumbled forward.

  The man grabbing her from behind hadn’t seen the dip either because of the darkness and he fell with her.

  She landed hard on her face, and the man’s knee was driven into her back as his momentum propelled him over her head.

  She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The wind had been knocked from her. But she knew she couldn’t afford the luxury of lying here trying to determine how badly she was hurt.

  She pushed herself to her hands and knees, gasping for air. Her forehead and one cheek burned from landing face first and sliding a bit in the grass, and she tasted blood. Yet she knew the sudden fall was all that kept her from being overpowered by the man.

  In the light of the crescent moon, she could see the man sitting up. It was the one called Lane. With one hand, he was tightly gripping his other wrist.

  “You little fool!” he shouted at her. “You done broke my wrist!”

  She could hear voices nearby. The rest of them were approaching. She pushed herself to her feet.

  “Hey, Missy,” Lane said. “Don’t you go nowhere. It’ll just make it harder on yourself. You don’t want to go makin’ Vic mad.”

  She was now fully able to breathe again, but her back hurt from where his knee had crunched into her. It was just off to one side of her backbone. She hoped she hadn’t broken a rib. But she had no intention of waiting around for Vic and the others.

  She took off in a sprint. Lane, sitting up, lunged at her with one hand but she was past his reach and charging away.

  “Hey, Vic!” Lane called out. “Hey! She’s over here!”

  She ran blindly into the night. She tried to control her panic, because when you panic you can’t breathe and if you can’t breathe you can’t run.

  She had to think strategically. The one called Lane had been the first to reach her, which meant he was their best runner. He was now out of commission with a broken wrist. Cade was probably not among them, because of his bullet wound. This left just Falcone and the one called Two-Finger and the one with the white eye. Probably the three most dangerous among them, but apparently not in her class when it came to running.
She thought her chances were reasonably good, as long as she didn’t run out of wind.

  When she was twelve, she had run the entire four miles from the school to her family’s farmhouse in half an hour, and it had barely left her winded. But she had been running along a dirt trail, not over uneven ground in the darkness with killers chasing her and possibly a broken rib in her back.

  She fell again, but not as severely this time. A finger got somehow jammed when she landed. She said a word she never thought she would hear herself say, but pushed herself to her feet ignoring the pain, and continued on.

  She didn’t see him until she was almost on top of him. He had been kneeling and suddenly stood, seeming to rise out of the darkness right in front of her. He grabbed her arm with one hand, spinning her around.

  “Nina! It’s me.” It was Jack.

  “Oh, Jack!” she squealed and wrapped her arms about him. He was somehow alive, and had been coming for her. But she dared not allow herself the luxury of feeling safe with him. “Jack, they’re right behind me.”

  “Get in back of me,” he said.

  She did so, and Jack drew his pistol.

  Within seconds, they were approaching. Two-Finger in a stumbling run. Vic Falcone was with them. Lane was there, too, holding onto one wrist as he ran.

  All three came to a sliding stop in the grass when they saw Jack. Lane lost his balance and had to reach down to keep from falling. Within seconds, White-Eye came huffing out of the darkness to join them.

  “My turn,” Jack said. “Make a move and you’re dead.”

  Two-Finger was staring at him with a cross between shock and outrage. “I shot you dead.”

  Falcone said, “Apparently not. Like I said, you should have checked to see if he was breathing.”

  Jack’s gun was pointing at Two-Finger. Jack said, “Now, why don’t you make this easy and go for your gun?”

  “Nope. I ain’t that stupid.”

  “Boss,” Lane said, holding his broken wrist. “There’s four of us. Only one of him.”

  “No,” Falcone said. “You have broken your gunhand, and won’t be much good. It’s just Walker, White-Eye and me, and I have no doubt Mister McCabe will get all three of us.”