Moses Tucker rammed the end of his Winchester into Landers’s belly, and the man froze in shock, turning gray.
“What the—”
“You lost your mind, walkin’ into Tucker territory like this?” Moss asked. He gave the rifle a nudge, making Landers grunt. The man dropped his pistol, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead; Moss enjoyed looking at his crooked nose. But he was confused as to this sudden and brazen attack on the E.G.
“You!” Landers gasped. “You’re—you’re not supposed to be here!”
Moss wanted to laugh out loud. “You disappointed I didn’t die, Landers? Sorry. But I not only didn’t die, I can even use my arm—see?”
He shoved the rifle hard this time, remembering the hideous act the man had attempted on him in the jail cell, and realizing it was this man’s fault Moss took a beating afterward.
“You scummy pervert!” Moss sneered. “Speak up and tell your boys to sit tight. Tell them they’re surrounded. We might be outnumbered, Landers, but right now there’s thirteen guns on your men, and they’re gonna have a piss poor time decidin’ which one of your men to take down first! And there’s more help coming!”
“I…” Landers’ breath came in short gasps. Etta came from around the corner, smiling wickedly, enjoying the look on Ralph Landers’s face.
“Tell them!” Moss growled. “You and me are gonna talk about how you’re gonna clear my name and leave Etta alone!”
A trembling Ralph Landers moved a little closer to the door.
“Sit tight, boys!” he managed to holler out. “You’re surrounded. Something…went wrong.” His voice cracked slightly. Outside his men just looked at each other curiously.
“You heard him!” Moss roared. “Everybody stay real still. In a few minutes you can all go back to town, without nobody dying!”
Rifles seemed to be clicking everywhere, as Tucker men now made themselves visible from behind rooftops and barrels and wagons.
“What’s the word, boss?” Sooner shouted, holding a shotgun on a Landers’ man from a distance.
“I’m okay. We’re havin’ a little talk in here. Seems Landers figured Etta was all alone out here!”
“He figured that one wrong!” Sooner shouted back.
Moss grinned and looked at Landers. “Looks like you’re up to your ass in Tucker men, Landers. Why don’t you sit down to that table, and Etta will get you some paper and a pen. Then you can write down as to how I’m not guilty of killin’ that sheriff.”
“You bastard! What are you doing here! Why aren’t you with your wife!”
Moss’s face drained of all color, and Etta’s heart froze. Moss jammed his rifle into Landers’s chest and rammed the man up against a cupboard.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about!” he growled.
“Didn’t you get a telegram or something? Duncan wired me four days ago that he was—”
Moss began to tremble so bad he looked ready to fall apart. His jaw flexed and his finger seemed to tighten on the trigger.
“Duncan! Has he hurt my wife?” he roared. The men outside could hear, and Lonnie looked at Darrell.
“My God!” he said quietly.
Landers swallowed. “He—he was supposed to go down to your ranch and kidnap her, take her to Tucson. He wired me he was there. I even threatened the man at the telegraph office to find out you’d gotten a telegram telling you to come to Utah, so I knew the deed was done. That’s why I—I thought you’d all be gone. Duncan said you’d choose your wife over Etta! How could you—”
“I never got no telegram!” Moss growled.
“But he said he gave it to the Webster boy to bring out here.”
Moss moved back so that he could see Landers and Etta both. He shifted his eyes to Etta.
“Did I get a telegram?” he hissed.
“I—”
“You knew!” he roared. “I can see it on your face! You knew and you didn’t tell me!”
“Moss, I—I needed you here! You have men down there to look after her. I needed you here to protect me!”
“You bitch!” he hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes filling with tears. “You bitch!”
“Moss, don’t! Please don’t! Oh, God, Moss, I’m sorry!” She burst into tears. “I didn’t want you to go! I didn’t want you to go!”
Landers saw his opportunity. He pushed hard on the Winchester, shoving the barrel away from himself and toward Etta. The sudden movement caused just enough pressure on the trigger, where Moss already had his finger arched, and the gun went off. Etta screamed and fell to the floor, and Landers started running for the door. Moss stared at Etta, a black sorrow sweeping over him. What had happened to Mandy! This was all Ralph Landers’s fault. All of it! The door slammed, and Moss fired again, blowing a hole through it.
“Don’t let him get away!” he shouted, heading for the door. Outside all hell broke loose. Guns fired from every direction, horses whinnied and men screamed and fell from their horses. More Landers’ men dismounted and began running for cover. Moss threw down the Winchester and grabbed his shotgun, catching a glimpse of Ralph Landers ducking into the feed shed. Moss bolted outside, diving for the ground and rolling amid flying bullets, tasting dirt in his mouth and gripping the shotgun.
“Get the hell out of there, Moss!” he heard Darrell Hicks shouting. Something stung his left side, but he kept rolling until he reached the feed house, then ducked inside and plastered himself against the wall. He was certain he’d seen Landers enter the building. He could hear his own men moving around on the rooftop, where they held their positions and kept up the gun battle outside. But inside there was only Moss and Ralph Landers—somewhere. There was no other exit from the building.
An all-out war seemed to be taking place outside, as Moss raised his foot and pushed the wooden door, shoving it along its runner and closing it so that no one could leave. It creaked and banged shut with a thud; with the insulation of bales of hay, everything was suddenly quiet, except for the dull pinging sound of bullets hitting the side of the building.
“Come out now, Landers, and I might spare you!” Moss growled.
There was no sound or movement. Moss made his way around a tall stack of straw bales, his eyes taking in his surroundings, including the rafters. He was almost sure Landers was now unarmed.
“You don’t have a weapon, Landers! Don’t make me shoot an unarmed man. Come on out!”
Still nothing. Moss kept a tight grip on his shotgun, moving toward the back of the building. His side burned where a bullet had grazed it. But he ignored the pain and the blood that now stained his shirt. All he could think of was Amanda. He had to find Landers and he had to make the man tell him what Lloyd Duncan had done with her! Mandy! Mandy! His chest felt tight and painful. His head throbbed with the horrible realization that he had again failed the only person who had ever mattered to him besides his little girl. She’d never survive another abduction and rape. Her mind wouldn’t be able to take it.
“Landers!” he roared in desperation. He heard a noise behind him and whirled, just in time to feel the searing pain in his upper arm: pain caused by a heavy bale of hay shoved hard against him from a position to his right and slightly above him. The jolt knocked him to the floor and caused his gun to fire. But only one barrel went off. Moss rolled on the floor a moment, the pain in his arm excruciating, as delicate nerve ends had been reawakened by the blow. He groaned and grunted, having to use the same arm to help get himself back up. But when he reached a sitting position he caught Ralph Landers before him, poised with a pitchfork and ready to ram it into Moss’s middle.
There was no time to hesitate or to allow the awful pain in his arm to stop him. It all happened in a fraction of a second. Moss had kept hold of the shotgun, and now he managed to raise it with the almost useless arm and fire just as Landers threw the pitchfork. Moss rolled away at the same time he fired, not even sure if he hit Landers. The fork caught his shirt near the spot where he was already wounded in the si
de, one prong piercing the flesh. Moss cried out, literally pinned facedown to the dirt floor now, the pitchfork sticking out behind him. Then, all was silent.
Moss cursed himself for having shot Landers without getting the information; yet to fire had been his only recourse. He tried to rise, but fell facedown again, screaming out from the combined pain of his arm and his side. He lay flat, envisioning Etta lying in the kitchen—probably dead from his own bullet—and Amanda, desperate and alone somewhere in the deserts of Utah or Arizona. He cursed the cruel turns life often took, and cursed himself for ever having come to Wyoming. He gritted his teeth, growling in pain and desperation, wanting to let go and weep loudly over the thought of Amanda being hurt again.
The door finally slid open, amid gunfire, and Moss half expected to now take a bullet in the back. But in the next moment Sooner was bending over him.
“Jesus Christ!” the man mumbled. He yanked out the pitchfork, and Moss cried out again. Then he reached down and lifted Moss around the chest.
“Amanda!” Moss groaned. “Duncan’s got…Amanda.”
“Here, sit down on this bale of hay,” Sooner told him. Moss sat down, panting and putting a hand to his side, feeling more pain in his arm as he did so. He looked down at Landers, who lay on his back with half his neck blown away. Then he looked at Sooner, who was kicking at the body.
“He won’t be givin’ Etta no more problems,” the man said quietly.
“Etta’s…dead,” Moss moaned. Sooner looked at him in surprise. “Landers…pushed my gun. She’s dead…by my own gun.” Moss blinked back tears. “I know by where the bullet hit…she’s dead…or at least dyin’. And Mandy’s been kidnaped by Lloyd Duncan.” Moss bent over and groaned out her name.
“Take it easy, boss. We’ll finish cleanin’ out this mess and we’ll get that wound taken care of and get down to Utah. We’ll find her, Moss. We can find anything, you know that.”
“It’ll be too late,” Moss groaned. “Too late.”
Both men were brought back to matters at hand as two Landers’ men rushed inside for cover. Sooner raised his rifle and fired, and one man screamed out and fell. The other turned to fire back, but Moss’s handgun was out in a flash, in spite of the painful arm, and the quick bullet caught the man in the forehead before he could get off a shot. Seconds later there was the sound of galloping horses, as what was left of the Landers’ men rode off. Then silence.
Sooner grasped Moss about the waist and helped him walk outside. What they saw was nothing less than a virtual battlefield. Landers’ men and even some of their horses lay everywhere. Some of the windows of the house were broken from bullets. Moss looked around stunned, as some nearby ranchers rode in now, ready to do battle. Tucker men came out from hiding places, Lonnie Drake holding a wounded shoulder and Dwight Brady tying a neck scarf around his wounded thigh.
“We lost Max,” Johnny Pence said quietly. “Took a bullet right in the brisket.”
The ranchers and Pappy Lane dismounted, and the group of men were strangely quiet, all watching Moss, waiting for their next order. Moss swallowed, still holding his side.
“Etta’s dead, shot with my own rifle,” he told them brokenly. “Landers shoved the barrel. She’s in the kitchen.”
Slim Taggart rushed inside to check. Moss looked around at the neighbors who had come to help.
“It’s all over now,” he told them. “And I’ll be leavin’ right quick. Landers said—he said one of the men went down to Utah and they’ve taken my wife as bait to get me away from here.”
Several of the Tucker men cursed under their breath.
“We’re sorry, Tucker,” one rancher told him. “We don’t believe that about you shootin’ the sheriff neither.”
“Why didn’t they wire us about Amanda?” Pappy asked heatedly.
“They did,” Moss replied. “Etta took the wire. She never showed it to me. Didn’t want me to go.”
“Good God in heaven!” Johnny Pence hissed. “How could she—”
“I don’t want her cursed now,” Moss groaned. “She…had reasons for the way she was. I can’t curse her now. We’ll get things straightened around here, ride into town tonight, and get a confession out of Miles Randall. He’s gonna tell us who shot the sheriff and what Duncan’s done with Amanda! Then we’re ridin’ south!”
“We’re with you, Moss!” Tom Sorrells spoke up. “And we’ll find her! Don’t you worry about that! And Lloyd Duncan will scream for mercy before we get through with him!”
Moss eyed them all. “Some of you boys were with me before. I still owe you for that.”
“Ain’t nothin’ due us. Not when somebody like Amanda is involved,” Johnny Pence spoke up. “We rode with you once to find her and we’ll do it again, even if it means goin’ back down into Apache country!”
The statement brought a temporary silence. Moss had not even considered that going to Tucson would mean riding through Indian country. Most were on reservations now, but the hills were full of renegade Apache who refused reservation life. And Duncan would have to ride alone. He wouldn’t be able to stick to towns and trains until he got to Tucson—not when he had a prisoner along. He’d know the law and soldiers would be searching for him. Johnny immediately was sorry for presenting the obvious new danger there would be for Amanda.
“Hey, maybe Duncan didn’t even get away with it,” he suggested. “Maybe Amanda is alive and well right now, just sittin’ on the porch waitin’ for you. She is well guarded, you know.”
“We’ll check when we get into town,” Moss replied. “Maybe there’s another message. I don’t even know what the first wire said for sure. Maybe…” He blinked back tears and furiously wiped at his eyes with his shirt-sleeve, suddenly feeling tired and weak and desolate. “Maybe, uh—”
Taggart appeared at the kitchen door. “Moss, you’d better come in here. Etta’s not dead yet, but she’s in a bad way. She’s askin’ for you.”
Moss looked toward the door with mixed emotions. Etta Landers Graceland had betrayed him in the worst way; yet now she lay dying, and the fact remained it was his own bullet that had wounded her. The fact also remained that he’d loved her once. He walked wearily to the door, assisted by Sooner. Outside, men began checking bodies for life.
Moss stared down at the beautiful woman he’d once almost married. Her skin was even whiter now: pale, deathly. An ugly red hole gaped from between the deep cleavage, and blood ran profusely over the full breasts, trickling off her shoulders onto the floor. She looked up at him with blue, vacant eyes and blinked. He knelt down close to her, reaching behind her head with his hand and ignoring the pain in his arm. She tried to smile.
“It’s…yours now…” she gasped. “The ranch. My safe…in my bedroom…papers there. It’s all…legal. You…bring…Mandy here. She’d…like it here.”
“Etta,” he groaned, tears running down his face openly now.
“Not…your fault. Tell me…you loved me, Moss. You did…still love me…didn’t you?”
He choked in a sob and bent closer, pressing his face against hers.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.
“I…knew it,” she whimpered. “I knew it.”
She let out a pitiful gasp and grasped his arm.
“Moss!” Her body arched, and Moss clung to her, feeling the last breath of life against his neck as she exhaled. The hold on his arm weakened. Then her hand fell to the floor. He kept hold of her and wept, the broad shoulders shaking as he hunched over her, remembering for a moment another time and another place.
Slim and Sooner looked at each other in sorrow and resignation. The battle was over, and no one had really won.
Chapter Forty-One
Amanda strained at the rawhide that bound her wrists to the trunk of a tree, her arms stretched over her head. She closed her eyes and tried to control her panic, wriggling to get the sharp point of a rock away from her back where it poked into her and hurt her through her dress. She was weak, tired, and hun
gry, and worst of all, she was near insanity from the rough treatment Duncan had handed her.
So far he had not raped her, but only because he’d been in too much of a hurry. She was sore and feeling ill from the countless hours on horseback and the constant struggle to keep away from his prying hands; her wrists bled badly now from the leather straps that were never removed. The hair that had been in a bun when he captured her was now hanging long and loose, tangled and dirty.
They were somewhere in the deserts of Arizona, headed for the dreaded house of prostitution he had spoken of, and she continued her endless prayers to be rescued from such a fate. Always she tried to concentrate on Moss. Was he dead? Was he armless? What horrid thing had happened to him up in Wyoming? Had it been the day she awoke to the sound of his voice calling her? Perhaps she had been right after all to think then that something terrible had happened.
“Oh, Moss!” she whimpered, wondering where she found any more tears to cry, considering her terrible thirst. What horror it would be for him to feel someone cutting into the only good arm he had. It was almost a worse torture than the thought of being sold to a pimp in some house of filth in Tucson.
She pressed together lips that were cracked and swelling. Everything hurt, and she was grateful at least for the shade Duncan had managed to find for her. But she was also worried. He sat nearby, drinking. For some reason he had apparently decided it was time for a day of rest. But she didn’t want him to rest. It gave him too much time to sit and look at her, and think about his manly needs.
Duncan took another slug of whiskey, wiping his lips and watching her lie there whimpering. And then he pictured Moss in bed with Etta, taking what belonged to Lloyd Duncan. If not for her love for Moss, Etta would still be in love with Lloyd. Perhaps he’d have even been married to her by now, sharing the riches of the E.G. Instead, Moss Tucker had not only outdone him in a fist fight with only one arm, but he’d apparently outdone him in bed also; Lloyd Duncan burned with jealousy. He kept watching Amanda—young, still fresh. She’d never had a child yet. And she was Moses Tucker’s woman. Young, fresh, pretty, and Moses Tucker’s woman. And right now he needed a woman himself. What difference would it make to the man who would buy her in Tucson?
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