“Not a chance in the world.”
“But he doesn’t know that.”
“It’s easier and simpler just to let him believe whatever he wants to believe,” Alexis said. “My father depends on him. I don’t want to do anything to ruin that . . . At least, not until I’m sure there would be someone else my father could depend on.”
Buckhorn looked at her for a long moment, then slowly shook his head. A humorless chuckle came from his lips.
“So you’re here to recruit me to take Madison’s place. What do you want me to do, kill him? Because that’s probably what it would take, you know. He won’t give up the power he has easily.”
“I didn’t say anything about killing him,” Alexis snapped.
As if she hadn’t responded, Buckhorn went on. “You must think you can control me better than you can Madison. Wrap me around your little finger with a vague promise of your lily-white body just because I’m a dirty half-breed who couldn’t get a woman like you any other way.”
Alexis’s lips thinned. Her nostrils flared with anger, and her breasts began to rise and fall faster as she breathed harder. She said, “You should shut your filthy mouth, Mr. Buckhorn. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t trust Yancy Madison, but I’m not offering you . . . anything.”
He moved a little closer to her and said, “I might just take it, whether you’re offering it or not.”
Her chin rose defiantly as she said, “You wouldn’t dare.”
He stared at her until she started to become visibly nervous.
“I see I made a mistake coming here—”
“No, you didn’t. You had me sized up right. I don’t trust Madison, either. I think he’s playing his own game, I just don’t know what it is yet.” Buckhorn paused. “Did you see Edward Garrett leaving here a few minutes ago?”
She frowned in evident confusion.
“Edward Garrett? The young man from the newspaper?”
“That’s right.”
“No, I didn’t see him.”
“The two of you must have just missed each other, then. He had some interesting things to tell me about the situation here in Crater City.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” Buckhorn mused. “Most of it was about your father.”
Alexis shook her head and said, “Whatever you’ve got to say about my father, you’re not going to shock me, Mr. Buckhorn. I’ve long since come to realize just the sort of man he really is.”
“Garrett thinks your father’s men tried to kill his uncle. He blames your father for the attack on the old man and the damage done to the printing press.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I figured you’d defend him,” Buckhorn said.
“I’m not defending him, but the accusation just doesn’t make sense. My father wouldn’t worry about anything that might be printed in some little newspaper that no one outside of Crater City reads anyway.”
“Matthew Garrett hadn’t run his big story yet. He had evidence that your father was stealing rights-of-way along the route for his rail line.”
“Stealing is an awfully strong word.”
“Well, call it forcing out the rightful owners, then,” Buckhorn said with a shrug. “And using rustling and night riding to do it.”
“If old Mr. Garrett had any proof of that, he should have gone to the law with it.”
“Maybe he would have—if he hadn’t been beaten so badly his mind may never work right again.”
“I’m . . . sorry . . . about that. But I don’t believe my father was behind it. He can be ruthless, no doubt about that. He might bend the law. But he’s not . . . a real criminal.”
“Maybe not,” Buckhorn said. “Maybe the really shady stuff was all Madison’s idea.”
Alexis seized on the possibility of a scapegoat and nodded eagerly as she said, “Now, that I wouldn’t doubt at all.”
“If it’s true, your father’s turning a blind eye to it.”
“I . . .” Evidently she couldn’t bring herself to argue that charge. Instead she said, “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve just muddled things up.”
“It never hurts to question what you think you know about somebody. Sometimes that’s how you learn the truth.”
“What should I question about you? What’s the truth about Joe Buckhorn?”
He spread his hands and said, “Hell, lady, I’m an open book.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” she snapped. “You go around town and talk to people and listen to what they have to say, and you don’t give anything back. Nobody really knows what’s going on in that brain of yours. You’re like some sort of... I don’t know . . . some sort of scientist who’s watching us all scurry around like we’re nothing more than bugs. You’re studying us, but you don’t really give a damn about us.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your face. And once you make up your mind, you’ll squash some of us . . . like bugs.”
“You’re wrong,” Buckhorn said. He moved a step closer to her. “I’ve known women like you before. Beautiful women—”
“Compliments?” She smiled. “I’m surprised. That doesn’t seem like your style.”
“Beautiful women,” Buckhorn went on as if she hadn’t interrupted him, “who pull the strings and use anybody and everybody to get what they want. And when somebody’s no use to you anymore . . . they’re the ones who get squashed.”
“You’ve been hurt,” she said, still smiling. “Some woman broke your heart.”
“She’d have to be able to find it to break it,” Buckhorn growled.
Alexis shook her head and said, “I see now I was wrong about you. I don’t think your heart would be difficult to find, not at all. It’s out there in the open for anybody to see who knows where to look. It’s right there on your sleeve.”
Another growl rumbled deep in Buckhorn’s throat. He reached out, took hold of her arms, and pulled her toward him. If she had a derringer or a pocket pistol in her bag, he was giving her a perfect chance to take it out, press it against his belly, and pull the trigger.
Instead she dropped the bag on the floor between them as she lifted her arms and closed them around his neck. His mouth came down hard on hers. Her lips responded urgently to his, and her embrace tightened. He slid his hands off her arms and slipped his arms around her waist.
She broke the kiss and moved her head back enough to whisper, “Are you sure I’m not just trying to bribe you with my lily-white body?”
“Right now I don’t give a damn if you are,” Buckhorn said.
* * *
Later, as she was straightening the hat she had just put back on and checking it in the mirror, she said, “Don’t get the wrong idea about this. You still work for my father.”
“I never figured otherwise,” Buckhorn said.
“Just . . . keep an eye on Yancy Madison. That’s all I ask of you. That’s the only reason I came here in the first place.”
Buckhorn just laughed softly.
Alexis swung around, her face flushing. She stepped closer to him and he was ready to catch her wrist if she tried to slap him, but if that was in her head she thought better of it.
“You’re an infuriating man,” she said. “But . . . I think I can trust you.”
“I work for your father. I’ll look out for his best interests, at least for now. If Madison’s trying to double-cross him somehow, I’ll find out about it.”
“Thank you. Just be careful. Madison really is fast with a gun, you know. As fast as anybody I’ve ever seen.”
Buckhorn nodded.
Alexis adjusted her hat one last time, came up on her toes for a second, and gave him a quick kiss. Then she told him, “Check the hall.”
Buckhorn cocked an eyebrow and said, “Don’t want to be seen leaving this room, eh?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t care about gossip.” She didn’t of
fer any other explanation for her caution, however.
Buckhorn opened the door, looked out, saw that the corridor was empty. He nodded to Alexis, who left quickly. Buckhorn closed the door behind her and shook his head.
This had been a surprising day, in more ways than one.
* * *
Night was settling down over Crater City when Buckhorn walked into the livery stable. The late lunch he’d eaten had been big enough that he didn’t want any supper yet.
One-eyed Sol Baker limped out of the office to meet him.
“You want your horse, Mr. Buckhorn?”
“No, I’ve ridden enough today. I thought maybe you could answer a question or two for me, Sol.”
The liveryman frowned, pursed his lips, and said, “I ain’t so sure about that. I don’t really know much o’ nothin’ except how to take care o’ horses.”
“And you do a good job of that,” Buckhorn said. “But I reckon you’d know the answer to what I want to ask. Yancy Madison and the rest of Conroy’s men all keep their horses here, right?”
“Sure. This is the only stable in Crater City.”
“Yeah, I heard the other one went out of business,” Buckhorn said dryly. “Do Madison and the others ever take their horses out in the middle of the night?”
“And wake me up to saddle ’em, you mean?”
“Or saddle the horses themselves, that doesn’t matter. I just want to know if they ride out in the middle of the night.”
Sol frowned and squinted at Buckhorn with his lone eye.
“Why in blazes would you want to know that?”
“I reckon I’m just curious.”
Sol shook his head and said, “Well, I don’t know nothin’ about that or anything else. If you want to know what Madison’s been doin’, you can go ask him yourself.”
“You’re not being very cooperative.”
Sol licked his lips. A couple of beads of sweat were visible on his forehead, even though the night wasn’t warm.
“I just take care o’ the horses,” he said. “I don’t know or care about nothin’ else.”
Buckhorn nodded.
“All right. Sorry I bothered you.”
“No bother. I just don’t mess in things that’re none o’ my concern.”
Buckhorn turned to leave the livery stable. Sol hadn’t told him anything—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten the answer he was after.
The old liveryman hadn’t lit any lamps yet. Shadows were thick inside the cavernous building. Buckhorn was almost to the big double doors when something moved to his left.
Instinct started turning him in that direction, and a split second later, flame lanced blindingly from the barrel of a gun.
CHAPTER 16
Buckhorn threw himself to the side as the Colt blazed in the darkness. He felt as much as heard the bullet sizzle past his ear. His gun seemed to leap into his hand from its holster as he fell to the hard-packed dirt of the barn’s center aisle.
His ears were ringing from the shot, but he heard Sol Baker grunt behind him. Then Buckhorn angled his revolver up and tripped the hammer. The gun blasted. He saw movement in the brief flare but couldn’t tell if he had hit the bushwhacker.
Either way, the man wasn’t out of the fight. He slammed another shot at Buckhorn, who was already rolling to his left. The bullet thudded into the dirt next to him, missing him by inches. Buckhorn triggered again, but he knew this shot went wild. More than anything else, he was trying to keep the would-be killer distracted until he could reach some cover.
He pushed himself up with his free hand and scrambled toward what he remembered was an empty stall. The gate stood open, just as Buckhorn hoped. He slid through it and pressed his back to the planks that formed a partition between this stall and the next one.
The gunfire had spooked the horses in the barn. Buckhorn heard them kicking and banging against their stalls. They made so much racket it was hard to hear anything else, so he couldn’t tell if the bushwhacker was moving around. He had to trust to his keen eyesight to spot any movement, but that was difficult, too, as dark as it was in the livery stable.
The lone advantage he had was time. Those shots would draw plenty of attention, and it wasn’t likely the gunman would want to hang around and be discovered. If Buckhorn could just stay alive for a few more minutes, there was a good chance the killer would light a shuck.
Then Buckhorn stiffened as he heard a miserable groan, followed by a gasping breath.
“I . . . I’m hit!” Sol Baker managed to say.
Buckhorn’s lips drew back from his teeth as he grimaced in the darkness. He peered into the center aisle and vaguely made out the shape of the old liveryman lying sprawled on the floor. Buckhorn had no way of knowing how badly Sol was wounded without going out there to him . . .
And if he stepped out of this stall it would put him in the open again, exposed to the shots of the man who must have slipped into the barn after him.
Someone was spying on him, and whoever it was didn’t like the questions he’d been asking Sol.
The liveryman groaned again. Buckhorn took half a step toward him, then stopped.
A creaking sound came from above him. Buckhorn’s head jerked back as he peered up. The hayloft overhung this stall. The bushwhacker could have climbed up there without Buckhorn knowing, or there could be a second man trying to kill him.
Either way, the decision of whether or not to stay here was suddenly taken away from him. Shots thundered above him. Bullets ripped through the hayloft floor and whipped all around Buckhorn.
He dived out of the stall, landed on his shoulder, and rolled over. As he came up, his gun rammed bullets toward the loft.
The muzzle flashes lit up the inside of the barn. Buckhorn caught a glimpse of his attacker in the glare, but the man was retreating rapidly from the onslaught of lead. Buckhorn couldn’t make out any details about him.
The Colt’s hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Buckhorn always carried a second gun, a smaller Smith & Wesson .38, in a holster at the small of his back where his coat concealed it. As he came up from the ground, he tossed the Colt from his right hand to his left and caught it despite not being able to see it. His right hand reached back and palmed out the .38.
Someone shouted outside. A shot roared, then another. Then Yancy Madison shouted, “There he goes! He jumped down from the hayloft!”
Boot leather slapped against the street as several men gave chase to the fleeing bushwhacker. A figure appeared in the double doors, staying cautiously to one side. Madison called, “Anybody still alive in there?”
“I am,” Buckhorn replied. “Sol Baker may be, too, but he’s wounded.”
Madison cursed as he stepped deeper into the barn.
“Who’d want to kill old Sol?” he asked. “He’s about as harmless as anybody in town!”
Buckhorn said, “The hombre wasn’t gunning for Sol. He was after me.”
Madison grunted and said, “Well, that makes more sense.”
He scratched a lucifer to life and in its glare looked around for a lantern. Seeing one hanging on a nail on one of the posts holding up the hayloft, he holstered his gun, lifted the lantern’s chimney, and lit the wick. Yellow light spilled over the center aisle as Madison lowered the chimney into place. The glow revealed the now unconscious Sol Baker, who lay there in a pool of crimson that had welled from the bullet hole in his shoulder.
“If we can get that bleeding stopped, he ought to be all right,” Madison said. He turned his head and yelled to the men outside, “Somebody fetch the doc!” He looked back at Buckhorn. “What were you doing here this late, Joe?”
“Just checking on my horse,” Buckhorn said. That was a lie and Sol could confirm that if he lived. He probably wouldn’t be in any shape to talk much for a while, though. “I’ve sort of gotten in the habit of doing that. I rest easier that way.”
Madison thumbed his hat back and said, “I know what you mean. A man’s horse is mighty important to hi
m. What happened?”
“I was just about to leave when somebody opened fire from the shadows over by the door. Sol hadn’t lit any lights in here yet, and my guess is that the bushwhacker slipped in behind me without either of us noticing.”
“Injuned up on you, eh?” Madison frowned. “Wait a minute. I didn’t mean—”
Buckhorn waved his left hand. He still held the Smith & Wesson in his right.
“Forget it,” he told Madison. “People have said a whole lot worse than that around me.”
A short, stocky, gray-haired man in a black suit hurried in, trailed by a couple of Dennis Conroy’s gunmen. The newcomer was hatless and carried a black leather bag, which announced who he was as well as a big sign would have.
“Doc Cranford, this is Joe Buckhorn,” Madison said as he jerked his head toward Buckhorn. “Doc’s the best pill pusher and sawbones in these parts.”
“I’m the only pill pusher and sawbones in this corner of the territory,” Cranford snapped. “Now get out of the way and let me see to my patient.”
The medico knelt beside Sol, took a pair of scissors from the bag, and cut away the liveryman’s shirt and overalls so he could examine the wound.
While Cranford was doing that, Buckhorn holstered the. 38 and started reloading his Colt. His movements were swift and efficient and he didn’t have to think about them.
“Did you get a look at the fella who did the shooting?” Madison asked Buckhorn.
“Nope. This one was too fast for me, too, and it was mighty dark in here.”
“You’re just not having much luck seeing the folks who are trying to kill you.”
“Seems to be working out that way,” Buckhorn said.
Madison grunted again and said, “Well, it doesn’t matter. We may not know exactly who pulled the trigger, but we sure as hell know who he was working for.”
“We do?”
“You bet. He was one of Thornton’s men. Maybe even Ernie Gratton. Although if I had to bet, I wouldn’t put any money on Gratton being in good enough shape to climb into that hayloft and then jump down from it out in the street. I think we’re talking about a younger, spryer man.”
“Sounds like it,” Buckhorn agreed. “You think Thornton sent somebody after me because of what happened today up at the Jim Dandy?”
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