He stopped at that and fired a shot. Someone, Milt probably, laughed and yelled, “Missed, Chink.”
Ketta saw Beaver, running fast, pass in front of the cabin and give a flaming torch a hefty toss. Whether his aim owed to skill or to luck, the torch sailed in through the open window and landed on the floor beside her, near enough to burn a hole in her skirt.
Shrieking, she started forward, only to have Kuo holler, “Don’t be stupid, child. Stay back. Don’t give ’em a target.”
Ketta barely heard, ignoring his advice as she beat out the torch with a wet towel. He left her to it, firing until his revolver was empty, then handed the gun to Ketta. Methodically, she ejected the spent cartridges and inserted new ones.
“Good girl,” Kuo said, smiling at her.
He looked awful; his eye swollen shut, his face bruised and bloody. She knew he hadn’t hit anyone with the shots. Wasted ammunition.
“Wahoo!” Somebody outside gleefully yelled, and a whole lot of shooting forced Kuo to keep his head down.
The next fire brand thudded against the door on the outside.
“Sonuva—” With a glance at Ketta, Kuo cut off the expletive. It didn’t matter, she thought. She knew just as well as he that there was nothing they could do about it. The fire was bound to catch eventually, and then they, if they were even still alive, would either burn or be forced out.
Where, oh where, had Yester gotten to? Why hadn’t she heard anything from him? Self doubt grew. Had she been mistaken in that quick glimpse? Was Yester a figment of her imagination?
Smoke seeped under the door, rising to flow through the cracks where the door met the casing.
“Kuo,” she cried. “Look!”
He barely spared the smoke a glance. “No surprise.” Snapping off a couple rifle shots, he passed the weapon to her, taking up the revolver in its stead.
Ketta’s hands shook as she forced cartridges into the rifle’s breech. She felt Kuo watching her.
Finishing her task, Ketta crawled over to where Kuo kept his ammunition. Maybe ten rifle cartridges remained. All the revolver shells were already at her station. It wouldn’t be much longer before all was spent, their defenses gone. She held up the ammunition box for his inspection. Face impassive, Kuo nodded.
“Guess it’s time,” he said.
“Time for what?”
“For you to get out of here.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: YESTER
Yester didn’t know but what Dunce was trying to wrench his head right off his shoulders. That’s what it felt like. Or maybe Dunce thought he had caught himself a chicken and planned on wringing its neck.
Truthfully, the idea didn’t sit all that well.
What Dunce hadn’t taken into account was Yester’s height. While Dunce, though strong and massive, was built along the lines of a sawed-off tree stump, Yester was just the opposite. Whereas a bit on the skinny side, along with being a six footer, he was still whipcord strong. Enough so that when he rose to his feet in an attempt to shake Dunce off, Dunce lost his grip on Yester’s ears.
Freed up Yester’s ability to fight back, is what it did. After all, he was considered the best wrestler in the county, unless you counted those university boys over to Moscow. And he didn’t. Yester didn’t figure they had much real experience. Not like him, who’d gotten quite a bit of practice in taking down steers and the cowboys who rode herd on them. And they were a rough bunch.
Yester knew how to fight dirty, and he didn’t hesitate.
Dunce stood directly behind him. Yester propelled himself backward, slamming hard against the clumsy fellow and forcing him into stumbling over his own feet. The downward pressure on Yester’s neck gave way, and Yester jerked his head backward. He knew he’d connected when the spray of blood from Dunce’s broken nose sent droplets flying everywhere.
“Ow!” Dunce yowled. “I’m a-gonna—”
Whatever he intended, the threat was lost as Yester spun around, shoved his knee between Dunce’s legs, and not only tried to emasculate him, but tripped him as well. Dunce fell heavily, with a few more “ow, ow, ows” added in.
“What the hell?” Milt bellowed. “Beaver, fer God’s sake go see what’s ailing your brother now.”
Evidently, none of them had actually caught sight of Yester. Not yet. Yester thought he wanted to keep the miracle going. Getting one last lick in, he thrust his boot in Dunce’s belly, which curled the man into a wooly-bug ball. He scooted off into the nearby woods just before Beaver came around the corner.
“Pa says to shut up,” Beaver was saying. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Ow, ow,” Dunce replied, clutching at the front of his pants.
It wasn’t until Yester got around to checking to see if his neck was broken that he remembered his rifle. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost it.
Goddamn.
KETTA
“Get out of here?” Ketta’s mouth dropped open. Had Kuo’s mind gone sideways, due maybe to breathing the smoke curling up from around the door? “They’ll shoot us the minute we step outside.”
A small smile touched his lips. “Not if they don’t see us. See you. You’re going first.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there’s a bolt-hole. An alternate route. You know what that means, don’t you? Seems like for a girl who’s never gone to school you’re plenty smart.”
“Of course I know what a bolt-hole is.” She had one of her very own at home, after all. Her very own cave. “Mama is a good teacher,” she added. “She was the school teacher for the district until she married Mr. Noonan.”
He waved this off. “Listen, child, this is what we’re going to do. First of all, I’m sending you out the bolt-hole.” He stopped and touched his swollen eye. “You sure you saw your brother? You weren’t just daydreaming?”
Ketta gave him a glare fit to peel paint off a wall. “I don’t daydream. Especially when the house is on fire and people are shooting.”
Kuo chuckled. “Good girl. Be best then if, as soon as you’re out, you go to where you last seen him. Try to meet up. I’ll give you what cover I can. When you’re clear, I’ll give those boneheads out there a volley and then get out myself. We’ll meet up over by the spring. You know where it is?”
She nodded and pointed, but he shook his head. “Not that one. There’s another, one Milt and his boys don’t know about. When it’s safe, you cross the meadow. The spring is about a half mile up the canyon. You can’t miss it. The green stuff will show you. Got it?”
“Yes.”
He turned to fire his rifle out the window. A yip of pain rewarded the effort. “Pinked him, by God,” he said.
Kuo’s attention came back to Ketta. “You stay at the spring until I come for you. You and your brother both, if he’s really out there. Or . . .” Narrowing his good eye, he stared hard at her. “Or, if I don’t get there, you wait either until Milt and the others leave, or you skedaddle under cover of darkness. Figure out the route beforehand so’s you can creep out without making a lot of noise. Understand?”
It sounded to Ketta an awful lot like he thought he might not make it out of the house. The burning house.
“I understand,” she said, her voice wobbling.
YESTER
Where the devil had Nat gotten to?
That was the question on Yester’s mind as he slipped into the woods behind the corral full of horses. It was the place he’d last seen Nat after giving him the pistol. To tell the truth, he kind of regretted the generosity. Nat at least had his long knife. All he had was a pocketknife with a blade as dull as one of his ma’s butter knives.
“Nat,” he called softly when a flurry of shots provided a diversion. “You here?”
He got no answer.
Disturbed by the smoke and gunshots, the horses milled about the corral in a mostly counter-clockwise direction. Every once in a while, one changed around, which set them all to neighing and biting at one another. Yester cast his eye ov
er them, choosing his moment before sliding between pole rails into the enclosure.
Over at the fire, the outlaws took no notice of the horses, being inured by now to their restlessness. The gunslinger and Milt had taken up a position almost out of Yester’s sight. The beaver-toothed fellow sped between one place and another, evidently to wherever he thought he had a clear shot. Or any kind of shot, come to think on it, considering Yester didn’t know if any of them had made a useful shot yet. Not even the gunslinger.
Meanwhile, Dunce was stretched out at the woodpile still nursing his private parts. He wasn’t seeing much of anything just now. Every once in a while, his feet drummed the ground as if enduring a surge of pain. “Ow, ow, ow,” he’d yell.
Yester had a hard time raising any sympathy, especially whenever he tried turning his head.
“Dunce,” one of the other outlaws yelled, “shut up that caterwauling.”
It worked for maybe ten seconds, then the “owing” started up again.
Yester ducked behind the pinto as the beaver-toothed feller approached. He came over and stared down at his brother.
“Pa says to shut the hell up. You’re getting on Heller’s nerves,” Bucktooth said. “And you know what that means.” Having delivered the message, he spun around and went to join the others.
There must’ve been a true threat in the words somewhere, because the yelling stopped. Even so, Dunce continued to writhe.
Disgusted, Yester trotted alongside one of the horses as it made a circuit of the corral. The outlaws, except for Dunce, were out of sight as Yester and the horse came even with the gate. The horse stopped, as if assessing his chance for escape.
Not so good, Yester figured, without a little help. He stepped around the horse and flipped up the wire holding the top of the gatepost. Then he ducked back under the horse’s chin and made another circuit of the corral.
This time when he got to the gate, he saw it sagging. Nothing more he could do at the moment, though, because Milt came into sight with another lighted torch just as Yester prepared to loosen the bottom catch of the gate. Jumping backward, Yester about got trampled underfoot by the outlaw’s pinto, stumbling between horses as, the firebrand tossed into the cabin, Milt turned and headed back to the fire.
Yester thought for sure his heart was failing him, it thumped so hard.
Determined now, Yester stuck with it. The way clear on the next round, he stomped down on the wire, releasing the gate bottom. At the same time, he grabbed onto the gatepost and yanked it around with him. He was in plain sight now, but he kept right on, dragging the gate back until it caught on higher ground.
He ran for cover, diving once more into the woods beyond the corral. He felt a little dizzy, like maybe he hadn’t had a full lung of air since he’d started this business. He gasped as the first horse found the way to freedom. Then another and another.
Over at the woodpile, Dunce had seen Yester clear the gate, and he called out.
“Hey.”
A change from his “ows,” but nobody seemed to be listening.
Yester faded farther back into the woods.
KETTA
Kuo fired off a couple shots “just to keep their heads down for a minute” and led Ketta into the bedroom. It was dark as night in there. Smoke swirled around their heads in great clouds. Both she and Kuo were coughing, and she, for one, had a hard time catching her breath.
“There’s no window,” she gasped out, her throat raw.
“Nope. No window.” Kuo found the handle of an old broom and started poking at the ceiling, a couple feet from the wall edge. Harder and harder, he thrust, finally saying, “Oof. There it is.”
“What?” Ketta asked.
“Come here,” he said. “Let me lift you up.”
“Wh—?” She had no chance to finish. Under the final thrust, a line of daylight appeared, and a trapdoor onto the roof dropped down. “Oh.”
“Hurry, child,” he said, and, as she came near, he scooped her up, holding her aloft until she could grab the edges of the opening and heave herself through. She gave a kick to propel herself all the way through. Beneath her, she heard him cough again.
“Is the roof on fire?” he called up to her.
“Yes, but not this corner.”
“Good. Edge on down to the eaves, where the cabin meets the hill. There are trees. Climb into one and use it as a ladder to work your way down. Run, then. Remember where I told you to go. We will meet at the spring.” He went into another spasm of coughing.
She lay on her belly and looked down at him. “You come, too,” she said impulsively. “Come now. You’ll burn up in there.” Tears filled her eyes. Silly girl. Hadn’t he kidnapped her, stolen her away from her mother, from her brother? Said he’d sell her to the highest bidder? Why should she care?
Ketta heard him wheezing, trying to breathe and choking on the boiling smoke. For herself, she sucked her lungs full of smoke-free air, which served to clear the strange dizzy feeling that had overtaken her.
“I’ll be right behind you. Go now. Hurry,” he said roughly and turned away. She heard him coughing even harder as the trapdoor slammed shut, hiding him from sight.
“Kuo?” she said. “Father?”
He didn’t answer.
Heat pierced through the rough shingles Kuo had told her he’d fashioned himself. Belly burning, Ketta squirmed to the edge of the roofline. She disliked heights, and the steep pitch of the roof threatened to roll her off. Being up this high frightened her. But not, she decided, as much as the thought of the flames licking at the wood beneath her.
Inside the cabin, the bark of Kuo’s cough carried to her. And then a couple gunshots. At least he was still alive. But for how much longer?
At the roof’s edge, she reached out—the distance between herself and the tree looming large—stretching until she finally grasped a limb and tugged it closer.
The limb, a whippy branch with a mind of its own, resisted. When she let up, it pulled her forward until her whole body, fingertip to toe, stretched across the span between her and safety. Maybe safety. As long as she could hold on. Ketta gritted her teeth, determined not to let go.
But then, probably because of the way her palms were chafing against the rough bark of the tree, rubbing her raw, she went into a slide. Her body dropped from the roof, slamming hard against the tree’s trunk.
Crying out, Ketta hung now by one hand, and that one was slipping.
“Ketta, let go. I’ll catch you.”
Was that God speaking to her?
No. The voice came from below.
CHAPTER NINETEEN: YESTER
Yester wormed his way between some bushes with fuzzy, pale-green leaves the moment he cleared the corral. Grinning, he watched it finally dawn on the outlaws what was happening.
“Hey,” Dunce yelled. “Hey.” The gasping tone of the last “hey” indicated one of the horses had probably stepped on him.
The idea didn’t break Yester’s heart, that’s for sure.
Neither Dunce’s family nor the gunslinger paid any attention to the man’s cries. Not until the pinto sped past in a flash of brown and white, and the gunslinger—what had Milt called him? Heller?—looked up from reloading his pistols again. Cartridges dropped from between his fingers.
“What the hell?” he said, then louder, “Who opened the corral gate?”
“Huh?” Beaver gave up his cavorting around the fire and watched, mouth open, as another horse trotted past. “Dunce?” It may have been an accusation.
“Where is he? I’ll kill the stupid son of a bitch myself.” Heller started toward the corral, which caused Yester to put his head down and flinch backward. The realization struck him that he had no weapon. Sadly, he figured he knew where his rifle had disappeared to, and it wasn’t where he could lay his hand on it.
Milt took the firebrand Beaver had nursed into flame and deftly tossed it atop the cabin roof. “What’s the matter with Dunce? What did he do now?”
“Le
t the goddamn horses loose.”
“You sure about that?” Milt started toward them. “Beaver said Dunce knocked hisself out. What if—”
Heller, with Beaver trotting along right behind, didn’t stop. “You don’t see anybody else, do you?”
A shot came from inside the cabin, tearing a hole through Milt’s filthy black hat. He ducked down and scrambled back to the fire.
“Sure wasn’t Kuo, nor his little girl. Got them penned up just fine.” Heller rounded the corner of the woodpile where Dunce, who’d finally stopped moaning, was just getting to his hands and knees. “Which means it had to be this one.”
He stared down at Dunce, who stared blankly back at him. Heller’s face twisted. “Witless good-for-nothing,” he said and shot him, a neat round hole in Dunce’s forehead.
“Hey.” Beaver’s jaw dropped. “Hey.” He sounded remarkably like his late brother.
Yester hardly believed his own eyes. A roaring in his ears, like the river in springtime as the ice went out, smothered all sound and sort of fogged his mind.
The gunslinger had just murdered Dunce. Shot him down like an animal for meat, without a care for the poor idiot’s family or bothering to find out if Dunce had done what Heller accused him of.
Dunce wasn’t a good guy, Yester reminded himself. He probably would’ve shot Heller the same way for the same reasons if he’d thought of it or if his pa had told him to. And only a few minutes ago he’d been ready to kill Yester. But still—
A fight wasn’t the same as this cold-blooded execution.
“Milt,” Heller bellowed, and Yester thought maybe he’d tried to get the older man’s attention before.
After a minute, Milt looked up. “You killed my son.”
“Waste of good food, keeping him alive.”
“That weren’t for you to judge. I’m the one paid for his food.”
Heller shrugged. “A load off your mind. You oughta be thanking me.”
“Well, I ain’t.” Milt appeared to think. “But—”
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