Mendoza and Mullens hadn't noticed—just kept eating as quickly as possible, shoveling the meat into their mouths and swallowing as they barely even chewed.
An hour later, they all felt sick to their stomachs, but Mendoza put it down to none of them having had a decent meal for so long, and to the greasiness of the meat.
Somehow, though, Trey didn't think that was it. "Who do you think shot that pig, anyhow?" he asked for the fourth time.
Mendoza gave him a black look. "Why do you keep asking that? Surely, it was Baker or Gilpen."
"Yeah, but—well, they were way back over yonder." He nodded in the easterly direction where earlier they had come upon the bodies.
"So?" Mullens asked in a querulous tone. "What about it? All this talk is making my head hurt."
"Well, ain't that a long way for a boar to run with a bullet in him, Randy? I mean, shitfire, I 'member huntin' boars where I grew up in Texas and none of 'em run near a mile with a bullet in their damn chest!"
"Why does this worry you so, amigo?" Mendoza put in. He waved a negligent hand. "Perhaps he had more strength than we are used to seeing from a boar his size, eh? Maybe he was angry from the pain—who knows?"
"Yeah," Trey muttered. "Who knows? Maybe—maybe he was… sick."
The other men were silent for a moment, then Mullens gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Sick?" he scoffed. "Sick how?"
Trey didn't answer right away. He raised his eyes to look straight into Mullens' laughing features, then to Mendoza. "What if … maybe it's—the hydrophobe?"
The smug smile immediately left Mullens' face, and Mendoza stiffened, sitting up warily.
"What are you talkin' about, Trey? Shit! That boar didn't have no hydrophobe! You are crazy." Mullens put his hand to his temple and massaged it quickly. He lay back against the tree trunk behind him. "Shouldn't of eat so much, though. God, I feel sick."
Mendoza's dark gaze was fearful now. "'M thirsty. Goin' back to that creek for a drink."
The small creek meandered back there in the woods behind them…somewhere. He could hear it. He stood up suddenly, his head pounding, and started for the sound. He'd wash his face, get a cool drink, and maybe this sickness would pass. Damn Trey Powell for ever mentioning hydrophobia!
But as he neared the water, his dread increased. He needed to wash his face and get a drink…but the thought of drinking made him want to retch…even though he was so incredibly thirsty…It was Powell and his scare-talk, was all.
He walked out on the creek bank and forced himself to lie down. With a shaking hand, he reached for the water, and his entire body broke into a cold sweat.
It's there, he told himself firmly. Reach for it. Splash it on your face and lips.
But as he lowered his fingers toward the cool promise of the water, his stomach revolted, and he barely managed to keep from puking. He lay there a long, long time, and his sickness steadily increased. Eventually, from the campsite, he heard a gunshot. It didn't startle him, nor did the steps behind him. He didn't even turn to look to see which of his compadres had come to do him the final favor.
"You want to do it yourself, or… you want me to do it?" Trey's voice was quiet behind him.
Mendoza smiled, in spite of himself. Trey had been right, after all, and Mullens had had to admit it, in the end. "I was going to ask you the same question, amigo."
"I—I'll do it myself."
Mendoza lowered his head slowly to the ground. He wished he could see his mother one last time. There was no one to leave a message with, and he didn't know how to write, even if he'd had paper and ink. "I'm afraid I'm not that strong." His voice was a low whisper. "Will you—"
The gunshot reverberated across the creek to the foothills, deafening in the enclosed space. Mendoza's body went limp, his hand dipping into the rushing water at last.
It was best this way, Trey thought as he turned away. Mendoza had died quickly, as had Mullens. He was glad of that. Glad at least those two wouldn't have to sit and think about how they were going to have to die any longer. He had been able to help them out of that fix—the only way open to him. His bullets had been given quickly and mercifully. Now, he was the only one left. The only one…
Trey started back to camp, then sat down under a big elm tree halfway between the creek and the fire. He'd always liked to climb trees when he was a boy. He looked up through the branches at the dark night sky. If only he hadn't of eat that pork. But, he had, and he knew what awaited him if he didn't do what he needed to do. He shuddered as the sickness washed over him, then touched the barrel of his gun to see if it was cool enough yet. He could always use Mendoza's gun, he reckoned, but he liked his Bass .44 best. It would certainly get the job done, and done right.
He didn't know how long he sat there in the cool autumn evening—the last one he'd ever know. He was very careful not to let himself fall asleep, and after a while, when he thought he could do it, he lifted the barrel of the gun and took it into his mouth.
The metallic, sulphurous taste of the gunpowder residue was welcome. It erased the flavor of tainted pork and his own stupidity for a brief moment, just before he pulled the trigger.
Chapter Thirty-Two
"Evenin', ma'am."
The stranger looked down the business end of Jessica's Henry repeater. It was cocked and ready for action.
She drew a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She stood just inside the cabin door, the muzzle of the rifle gleaming in the lamplight that spilled around her from the interior.
He raised his hands and gave her a sheepish grin. "Don't mean to startle you. Just hopin' for a meal. Settlers are few and far between in these here parts."
"Where's your horse?" She didn't lower the gun.
"Well, funny thing. I kinda hate to admit it." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. "I, uh, lost him. Playin' poker."
"Where?"
"Over to Tamaha."
"You're quite a ways from Tamaha," she said. "Even farther from where I expect you call home."
He gave a slow, white grin. "More recently, I hail from the Republic of Texas."
Jessica raised her chin a notch. It was almost as if this man invited dissension. She disliked the cool, unperturbed way he said it. The Republic of Texas. "Texas is a state, Mister. Has been for over twenty years."
"Well, now," he said, placing his booted foot on the bottom porch step. "I guess that all depends on who you're talkin' to."
Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped back to shut the door. "I think you better—"
"Ma'am, I'm awful hungry. I'd be glad for any crumb you could spare."
"What did you say your name was?" Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat to cover her nervousness. Most people had better manners than to show up right at dark.
"I didn't. But, it's Freeman. Andy Freeman."
"Are you related to Dave Freeman?"
"He's my brother." He gave her a sincere look. "Look, ma'am, I'd sure feel a heap better talkin' to you if I wasn't lookin' at you through that repeater. I been lookin' for Dave." There was an excited hopefulness in his tone. "You seen him? Ma, she sent me up here after him. She's just a-hankerin' for news of him. He ain't real good about letter-writin'."
Jessica sighed and lowered the rifle. "Come on in, Mr. Freeman. I'll see what I can find for you to eat, and give you what news I have of your brother."
"Thank you, Ma'am. I sure do appreciate your hospitality."
* * * * *
Tom Sellers had arrived too late. He found Andrew Fallon's horse ground-pegged in plain sight a half-mile from the little cabin, as if Fallon was certain his plan would not fail. There was no sign of any other mount, and Tom took a deep breath. Fallon had evidently come alone, but somehow Tom had beaten Kaed. He shook his head. There was only one explanation for that, he knew. Something bad had happened
Tom had half expected to ride right in and find Andrew Fallon laid out dead on the front porch. Had Fallon waylaid Kaed before he got here? Tom's heart was a r
ock in his chest. Was Kaed dead? He pushed that thought away before it could even form fully. He'd know it, if that had happened.
He left his own mount a few yards farther to the east of Fallon's, then made his way carefully through the darkness. When he came to the creek, he found a narrow place to cross close to where he and the other marshals had camped a few days ago.
Everything was quiet, so still it seemed he was making an awful lot of noise, just by walking. He'd never learned to move as silently as Kaed. None of them could. That was one of the advantages of being raised Injun, he guessed. His mind roved back over the past few days. The look on Frank's face when they'd discovered Kaed was alive. The way his own heart had fallen to the pit of his stomach when he'd seen Kaed and the brutal extent of his injuries. He'd tried not to show it, to just let relief fill his eyes, but he knew Kaed had seen it. The bond between them was strong, as if Kaed was blood to him. All the more reason to see this through to a satisfactory end. He set his mouth in grim determination. Andrew Fallon was not going to rob Kaed of his chance at happiness.
* * * * *
"I declare, Mrs. Turner, that was the best meal I've eaten in a good long while." The man reached to take Lexi from Jessica, surprising her. "Been a while since I helt a young 'un," he said. "She sure is a beauty."
"Thank you, Mr. Freeman." She reached to clear away the dishes, and his blue gaze pierced her.
"You and your man been together a while?"
A frown creased her brow. "A while."
He grinned, and Jessica could have sworn he was enjoying her discomfiture. She carried the dishes to the kitchen, setting them on the cabinet just as Lexi began to cry.
Jessica crossed the room to take the baby from him. He glanced up, and Jessica turned to glimpse what he'd seen. From outside the window, a sudden movement reflected in the shaving mirror hanging on the wall sent him diving for the floor just as Jessica pulled Lexi into her arms. Instinctively, she turned and crouched by the wall, sheltering Lexi with her own body. The gunfire that erupted both inside and outside the cabin was deafening, and Lexi began to wail louder.
Jessica heard a cry of surprise mingled with pain, followed by Freeman's low laugh as he slowly came to his feet.
"That you, Sellers?" he called.
There was no answer from outside.
Jessica cast him a glance from where she knelt over the baby. "Who are you?"
His lips quirked as he returned her look. "Well, now, Mrs. Turner, I'm the man who's going to kill you, eventually. You, and Kaedon Turner's brat."
Jessica's gaze darted to the far side of the room, where the repeater and the shotgun lay in the gun rack, away from crawling baby fingers. She leapt to her feet and made a desperate run for the guns, her palms closing around the smooth wooden stock and the cold metal barrel of the Henry. The cocking click of a revolver at her back made her shoulders tense, a tingle run up her spine.
"I don't care how I do it, either, Mrs. Turner. An' I don't mind shootin' a man, or a woman, in the back." His voice was soft, with a hint of laughter. "Now, let go of that rifle and turn around slow and easy."
With shaking fingers, she let the Henry rest back into the wooden rack. She moistened her lips, her heart pounding. She would not show fear. She rounded on him slowly. "Andrew Fallon."
The white grin spread across his face and he made a mocking bow. "At your service, ma'am." He snickered. "Actually, I'll be servicing you. Very soon, now. Soon's I go on out there and make sure ol' Tom's where I want him. I know I hit him, just don't know how bad. You shut that damn kid up. I hate a squallin' brat."
He turned for the door. Pausing, hand on the handle, he said, "By the way, Mrs. Turner, you try anything while I'm out there seein' to ol' Tom, I'll cut that baby girl's heart out, and then I'll feed it to you." He nodded and winked. "Sure hope we understand each other." The door closed behind him.
Jessica went to Lexi and picked her up from the floor, torn between putting her in her bed and trying to comfort her. She bit her lip, her mind racing. The gun was so close. Yet, what if he came back before she got it down? She shuddered. He would do just what he'd said. There was no doubt of that. His eyes were cruel, and she'd seen what he'd done to Billy… and to Kaed. She patted Lexi and quieted her, realizing there was no way she could do anything as long as she held the child.
The front door banged open, and Fallon shoved Tom ahead of him at gunpoint. Blood streamed from the marshal's right shoulder, his left hand planted firmly over the bullet hole, as he tried to stop the flow of bright red.
"You sit." Fallon's teeth were clenched, and his right eye sported the beginnings of a shiner. "Dammit, Tom, you didn't have no call to black my eye!"
Tom looked at him. "Crazy bastard. You tried to kill me!"
"Kill you?" Fallon's expression became incredulous. "Why, hell, Tom, I ain't gonna kill you. Not yet, anyways. You an' me are gonna have us a turn with Mrs. Turner first. Mrs. Kaedon Turner." He drew a chair close to the door and motioned for Jessica to sit beside Tom.
Jessica reluctantly put Lexi in her bed and found a canning jar ring for her to play with, then returned to sit where Fallon had indicated.
"Way I remember it, you and Kaed was awful close." Fallon's eyes locked with Sellers's. "So I don't guess he'd mind sharin' his missus with friends." He grinned and winked at them both. "When he shows up, why, I'll let Mrs. Turner explain right pretty to the marshal what happened. That you and I both done her, an' that if Kaed's real good, why, I'll think on lettin' him have one last time with her before I kill you all."
Jessica ignored Fallon's crude talk. She glanced at Tom, saw the pain in his face. The blood still flowed freely at his shoulder, showing no sign of stopping. "He needs a bandage," she said in a low voice.
"Hmmm. Hear that, Tom? Sounds like Mrs. Turner is worried 'bout you already. Maybe she won't mind so much—you takin' your turn at her." Fallon chuckled.
Sellers eyed him, not speaking for a moment. He took a deep breath, grimacing as he looked from Jessica to Fallon.
He had something to say, Jessica could tell, that was almost as painful for him as the lead he was carrying in his shoulder. He looked down, as if he needed to muster every ounce of strength he could.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Drew." He reached for Jessica's hand, and she felt the dread well up inside her as he went on. "Kaed won't be coming back. He took a bullet, just before your brother told me what you done, where you was headed. Kaed's dead."
Jessica gasped, and Tom gave her fingers a squeeze. Her hand felt numb, and the cozy room began to blacken.
Tears filled her eyes and her throat felt choked and tight. How could she face another day? She was dimly aware of Tom's large hand squeezing hers once more. She lowered her head, trying to stop the rushing sensation. She had never fainted, and she wasn't going to start now. She had to think of Lexi. And Kaed's unborn child.
"Mmmm. Mighty unfortunate for you, ain't it, Mrs. Turner? You've lost two husbands now, haven't you? Weren't you Billy Monroe's wife before you were Mrs. Kaed Turner?"
Tom's big hand stilled over hers, suddenly tense. When she finally raised her head, his dark eyes held hers, steadily, as if he were trying to tell her something.
"I ast you a question!" Fallon jumped to his feet angrily, striding to where she sat. "And you—" He knelt before her, his face just inches from hers. "—are going to answer me."
"You are a murdering bastard, Andrew Fallon."
The storm raged in his expression for a moment, then he came to his feet, his lips curving in a smile. "Well. I guess that there's my answer, ain't it? Miss Jessica Monroe. Jessica Turner." He laughed. "I like you. Maybe I'll just keep you with me a little while 'til I get tired of you. Bet I could get a pretty penny for a piece like you."
"A pretty penny like you got for those girls?" Tom asked.
"Naw." Fallon waved a dismissive hand. "I ain't got paid for them girls yet. An' to tell you the truth, Sellers, I've had a hell of a time tryin' to deliver."
He rubbed his stubbled jaw. "First, them two Injun gals." He shook his head. "My own men ruint 'em. Had to kill them boys for what they done." He crossed the room and peeked out of one of the curtained windows into the darkness.
"Couldn't believe our luck when we come up on the Kramers. Killed the pa and the boy, and we had us some goods again." He smiled at Jessica. "Although, the oldest girl's almost too old for Pritchard's tastes. She looks to be around your age, Jessi. Prime, from my point of view."
"What happened to the girls' mother?" Tom asked.
Fallon's expression turned dark. "Well, the boys got too rough. They was just havin' a little fun." He shrugged and turned back to face his captives. "The bitch wouldn't cooperate. My men, they needed a piece of ass and I told 'em not to touch them girls."
Jessica glared at him.
"What're you lookin' at, Miss High and Mighty?"
"A piece of maggotty horseshit."
In three strides, Fallon stood in front of her, his eyes blazing. He reached out and slapped her twice, making her ears ring.
Sellers started up out of his chair with a snarl, but Fallon wrapped his hand in Jessica's long, dark hair, yanking her head back. His gun was immediately in his other hand, and though Sellers might have seized the moment, he didn't.
"Come on, Tom," Fallon goaded. "You're a gambling man. Will I kill her? You're slow with that lead in you."
Sellers lowered himself slowly back into the chair. Fallon grinned, his penetrating gaze holding Sellers's dark unflinching stare.
Keeping his eyes on Sellers, Fallon lowered his head and put his wet mouth over Jessica's lips, his tongue thrusting insistently, revoltingly. Jessica's stomach rolled, and she fought back nausea.
He lifted his head at her resistance and smiled. "You and me are gonna have us some fun, Miss Jessi. Yessirree. An' you ain't gonna put up a fight."
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