by Неизвестный
“Open it,” Paul said.
“Ain’t addressed to me.” Sam and Lucifer started back up the bank, but a strange prickling sensation crept up the back of his neck that brought him to a halt. He turned slowly and looked across the river, where a man stood on the bank with a duster flapping in the breeze. His hair was long and shaggy. He stared hard at Sam, then disappeared into the trees.
“The Butcher.”
“Out in plain sight like this?” Paul looked where the man had been. “I don’t see anyone.”
“You won’t now.” Sam continued up the bank with the envelope. “He wanted to make sure I seen him.”
“He knows you’re here.”
“That he does.”
“Who’s the letter for, Sam?”
“Murphy.” Sam shook his head. “Who knows what’s got into Henry?” He stopped just before they reached the busy camp and handed Paul the reins. “Hold Lucifer for a minute.”
Paul seemed nervous. “Sure, but I want to get back as soon as — ”
“You left Winnie alone.”
“Security system’s on and Frank’s out in the stable.”
“The Butcher knows you’re here.” Sam grabbed the reins and swung himself into the saddle. “I’ll meet you at the ranch.”
“Winnie!” Paul ran to his car. The tires spewed gravel.
Lucifer reared up on his hind legs and trumpeted. Sam saw Murphy rushing out from her equipment. “Weathers, you’re about five seconds from going back where you came from.”
“That’s a fact, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me!”
“This is for you.” He passed her the envelope, and added, “The Butcher is heading to the Weathers’ place. Saw him across the river.”
“How do you — ”
“No time for jawin’.” He tipped his hat and gave Lucifer his head. Behind him he heard cars leaving the crime scene, and knew one of them was Murphy. Sam and Lucifer took off cross-country at full gallop.
Marshal Sam Weathers wasn’t going to let the Butcher kill again. No way in hell.
# #
Paul knew the moment he leapt out of the car that something was wrong. The front door was ajar. “Winnie?” He resisted the urge to charge inside until he heard a low moan from the far side of the porch. A second later, he saw Frank pulling himself up from the ground, blood leaking down his face from a gash on the side of his head.
He hurried to Frank’s side just as Lucifer came galloping up the drive. “Where’s Winnie?”
“Bastard snuck up on me,” Frank said while Paul pressed a handkerchief to his foreman’s wound. “Took Winnie.”
“Took her … ” Paul’s stomach pressed against his heart. He met Sam’s gaze. “The boat?”
Sam didn’t answer. He and Lucifer galloped away before Paul had a chance to suggest they go in the car. No matter. Paul had a gun and he knew how to use it. He went inside, grabbed his rifle and ammunition. By the time he returned, Agent Murphy was interrogating Frank.
“Weathers, I want to know what the hell is going on here, and what your brother is up to.”
“Did you get your letter?” Paul asked, heading for his car. “The Butcher has my wife. Sam has gone after them, and so am I.”
“Where?”
“My houseboat.”
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “We’ll take my car. You’re in no condition to drive. Help is coming,” she said to Frank.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am again,” she muttered.
In the car, she started with the questions again. “How do you two know so much about this case?”
Paul saw the letter from Henry sitting on her console. “Maybe that letter will have some answers for you.” He kept staring ahead. “Take the next left. It’s faster.”
She did and he saw the water up ahead. “My houseboat is the only one moored down there right now.”
Something dark came over the hill on their right. Sam was so low against Lucifer’s back that man and horse were practically one as they flew across the terrain.
“I don’t know if that man is insane or incredible,” Murphy said, darting glances between the road and the rider.
“Both.” Paul shaded his eyes and looked into the distance. “There’s the boat.” His throat tightened. Dear God, he couldn’t lose Winnie. They’d been through so much together …
“You didn’t answer me. How do you and Sam know so much about the Butcher?” Murphy repeated.
A bullet ricocheted off the hood of the car. Murphy hit the brakes and skidded to a stop. Paul reached for the door handle, but she grabbed his arm.
“Stay low and do as you’re told, Mr. District Attorney,” she said. “I’m the cop. Remember?”
Paul wrenched himself free and climbed out of the car, rifle in hand. Where the hell is Sam?
Agent Murphy crawled around the back of the vehicle and joined him. “The shot came from that direction,” she whispered, pointing toward the dock.
“My houseboat.” He shaded his eyes and scanned the area. “There’s a row of trees over the rise that goes down to the water. You game?”
She checked her weapon. “On three.”
They ran like hell over the hill and into the stand of scrub and cottonwood. A second shot took out the windshield.
Breathless, they waited in the trees. “Where the hell is Sam?” Murphy whispered.
Paul’s heart hammered and his mouth was desert-dry. He couldn’t lose Winnie. Sam wouldn’t let it happen, and neither would he.
“Not sure.” He saw a series of quick flashes across the clearing. Again. Sam! “I think he’s in those trees,” he said, pointing.
“I wonder if he knows enough to set his phone to vibrate.”
“No.” Paul swallowed hard. “But I did it because of Lucifer.”
“Lucifer?”
“His horse.”
“Funny. I could have sworn he would ride a white horse named Silver,” she mumbled while dialing Sam.
Paul wanted to be with Sam now — just like back in 1896. “Sam Weathers is the bravest US Marshal to ever wear a badge. Look him up sometime.”
Stealthily, Paul crept through the point where the two woody groves joined, just north of where they now hid.
Murphy, phone in hand, hissed, “Weathers, get your ass back here.”
Ignoring her orders, sweat trickling down his face, he continued his trek. He knew she was following, though neither of them spoke. When they finally started back to the south toward the lake again, she broke the silence.
“Your brother must have figured out how to turn off his phone.”
Paul pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. “No, I did after he said he wasn’t taking that ‘piece of shit’ with him to either Heaven or Hell.”
She grabbed his arm. “Weathers, is your brother on a suicide mission, or some kind of fucking martyr?”
Paul pulled his arm free and looked her right in the eye. “Not exactly. And he isn’t my brother.”
“Who the hell is he then, besides fired?”
“United States Marshal Sam Weathers.” Paul started walking again. “My great-great-grandfather.” He looked back at her openmouthed stare. “You really should have read that letter, Agent Murphy.”
# #
After Sam used his badge to reflect sunlight toward Paul, he figured he would have company soon. He heard them coming long before they stumbled into the small clearing where he and Lucifer sat watching the boat.
“About time my posse showed up,” he said without turning around. “Hope you don’t mind, Paul, but I borrowed your field glasses.”
“Binoculars?” Paul squatted down beside him. “See anything?”
“Here have a look for yourself.” He handed Paul the field glasses and saw Murphy glowering down at them. “You gonna stand there like a target, or hunker down here where you’re harder to see?”
She dropped to the ground, but the scowl never left her face. �
�You are both insane, and why the fuck can’t I get a satellite signal in this godforsaken place? Johnson won’t know where to find us if I — ”
“Don’t need him.”
“I don’t see them,” Paul said.
“They ain’t on the boat, Paul.”
“Not on the — ”
“To the left and down the water’s edge toward the trees.”
“I have to go — ”
“No you ain’t.”
“Sam, he has Winnie tied to a post.”
“She’s bait, Paul.” Sam’s voice was low but fierce. “If we go rushin’ down there like the cavalry, he’ll kill us and her, too.”
“He’s right, Paul,” Murphy said, no trace of mockery in her tone.
“No kiddin’, Murphy?” Sam shot her a glance and pointed a little behind Winnie. “Paul, has the lake changed much since … you know?”
“Yes, a lot. We haven’t had much rain the last decade or so, and the water level is a lot lower. Even had to build a new dock. Global warming.”
“Globawhat?”
“Where have you been, Sam?” Murphy asked. “Global warming. Climate change. Greenhouse gasses.”
“She didn’t read the letter,” Sam said.
“No, but I told her who you are,” Paul said, adjusting the field glasses. “Is that a — it’s a cave. My God, Sam — a cave. That small bluff must have been under water when we went back.”
“That’s my thinkin’.”
“And the Butcher found it.”
“Yep.”
“Speak English?” Murphy asked. “No comprendo Insanish.”
“She’s a laugh-a-minute,” Paul said. “You going to explain it to her, or am I? And how are we going to stop him before he … ”
Sam gave Paul’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll stop him, son. That’s why I’m here. Remember? He can’t hurt me. I’m already dead.”
“Oh. My. God.” Murphy punched buttons harder. “This must be genetic.”
“Shut up,” Paul and Sam said in unison. Lucifer nickered softly.
“I reckon that makes it unanimous,” Sam said. “Here, I’m in charge, Agent Murphy. You follow my orders.” He tapped the badge on his chest and grinned. “I’ve worn this badge since 1888, and my last assignment was Indian Territory. Right where we’re standin’.”
She stared in stunned silence, her eyes round with disbelief.
“That bastard down there started murderin’ wives, mothers, and daughters back in 1890, near as we can tell.” He drew a deep breath. “One of those was my missus. I tracked him like the animal he is, but I lost him here. Right here, because he slipped into some kind of hole in time.”
“Oh, now that’s just — ”
“True,” Paul said. “True. All of it. Winnie and I went through that time portal accidentally one night on my houseboat. That’s where we met Sam.”
She sat there, just staring. “I don’t want to hear any more of this.” She drew a deep breath and shifted to where Paul still stooped with the field glasses. “We’ll sort out the details later. Let’s just save your wife and catch this fucking killer.”
“Atta girl,” Sam said.
Murphy glowered at him.
“I didn’t say ‘ma’am.’”
She grabbed the field glasses and allowed Paul to guide her toward where Winnie was tied. “Have you seen any sign of — ” She gasped. “There he is.”
Sam grabbed the glasses and aimed them toward Winnie. The Butcher stood behind her, waving in their direction. “He knows where we are.”
“I’m going down there, Sam.” Paul rose and checked his rifle. “I’m heading down this grove of trees, then behind the boat if need be. I can swim.”
“If I could get a signal,” Murphy repeated fiercely, “I could get an amphibious team down there.”
“All right, Paul.” Sam gripped his great-great-grandson’s arm. “Be careful. I’ll meet you down there, and we’ll rescue Winnie and send the Butcher straight to Hell.”
Sam watched Paul disappear into the dark trees, quietly like Sam had taught him back in 1896. He was going to miss Paul and Winnie. With any luck, though, he’d soon be with his own wife and son again.
Sam checked his pistols and tightened the cinch on Lucifer’s saddle. He whispered, “This is probably it, old boy.” He rested his forehead against the horse’s warm neck. “We gotta save Winnie. You and me.”
Sam swung himself into the saddle. He turned to tell Murphy to stay put, but there was no sign of the spitfire. “Ah, hell.” No telling what kind of trouble she might cause.
# #
What the hell did Murphy ever do to deserve this? She had worked her way up the ranks in the Bureau, and minded her Ps and Qs. Despite her shitty childhood, she had never been in trouble with the law, and was relatively clean-cut when push came to shove. Okay, so she had a potty mouth and could drink like a sailor, but that sort of went with the job.
And now this. Two crazy, drop-dead handsome men who thought they were great-great-grandfather and great-great-grandson in the same place at the same time. To make matters worse, they believed in time travel. Oh, and the “old timer” thought he was a US Marshal on a mission to find his wife’s killer.
“My kingdom for a fucking signal,” she muttered as she stumbled around in the sweaty Oklahoma woods holding the worthless phone toward the sky.
“That you, Murph?” A staticky voice said over the line.
“Johnson? Come in, Johnson,” she said quietly.
“I’m trying to track your location now. Ah, got you.”
“Send back-up,” she said. “Lots of back-up. DA has a private dock down here. Can you get a stealth amphibious team? Butcher has Mrs. DA hostage.”
“Shit.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
# #
Paul slipped into the water at the end of the trees. There was no way he could swim and keep his rifle dry, so he stashed it. Now his only weapons were his bare hands and a hunting knife strapped to his belt.
Careful not to splash, he eased his way along the dock beneath the prow of the Sooner Sunset. He couldn’t quite see Winnie yet, but he knew approximately how far he was from the cave. Unfortunately, he had no idea where the Butcher was. All he could do was stay low, stay quiet, and pray.
Dear God, please save Winnie.
He was finally close enough to see her red hair when he caught sight of the killer. He lingered near the cave entrance — prepared to flee, no doubt. Once Winnie was safe, Paul was going to seal that damned cave.
The Butcher looked like a crazed killer from any time. Unkempt, nervous but alert. He sat on a stump, whittling. After a moment, he shoved the stick onto the heart-shaped arrowhead that was his trademark.
Paul couldn’t breathe. The Butcher aimed to bury that stone in his wife’s heart. The hell he will.
The Butcher tensed and rose, looking toward the boat, almost directly at Paul. Then he turned to the north. The thunder of hooves came from over the rise. Sam and Lucifer were on the move, and so was Paul.
While the Butcher busied himself readying his rifle for Sam, Paul moved closer to his wife. Positioned directly behind her now, he could almost touch her. “Winnie, shhh. It’s Paul. Don’t move.”
She wiggled the fingers of her bound hands behind her. Good, she’d heard. The Butcher moved in front of her and Paul ducked lower.
The bastard showed her the heart-shaped arrowhead. “This is for you,” he said in a menacing whisper. “All women have hearts of stone. Two Weathers women. Maybe two Weathers men before the day is through.”
Lucifer and Sam appeared at the top of the rise. “Ready to meet your Maker?” Sam called.
“Are you?” The Butcher turned to face US Marshal Sam Weathers.
“Already did.” Sam and Lucifer waited. “Come out here and fight like a man, you filthy sidewinder.”
The Butcher started forward, and Sam took a shot. It struck the killer in the left shoulder. The wound inf
uriated the Butcher enough to make him howl, but he continued toward his target at the same deliberate pace.
Paul came up out of the water and sawed the ropes loose. “Hide on the boat.”
Winnie flung her freed arms around her husband. “Love you. Be careful.” She ran to the boat.
Paul might not have his rifle, but he was going to make damned sure the Butcher never took another life. And that bastard was never setting foot inside that cave again.
Why weren’t they shooting? Paul watched the two men. The Butcher walked slowly toward Sam, leaving behind him a trail of blood. The marshal waited, even though his stalker had a loaded rifle aimed in his general direction.
“Dammit, shoot him, Sam,” Paul whispered. Movement to his left grabbed his attention. Agent Murphy, weapon drawn, moved in on the men. Of course, she didn’t know that Sam was, well … already dead. She wasn’t. She just thought he was nuts and she was doing her job.
More movement — this time in the water behind him. What did she do, call out the Coast Guard? He faced the divers surfacing around the houseboat. In a fierce whisper, he said, “My wife — the hostage — is safe now and onboard. Stay out of the way.”
“Where’s Agent Murphy?” the closest diver asked quietly.
Paul pointed. He nodded. “And there’s your killer.” He pointed at the bleeding man with the rifle.
“Who’s the cowboy on the horse?”
“That is no cowboy, kid,” Paul said reverently. “He’s a US Marshal.”
“Is this a movie set or something?” a younger diver asked.
“Shut up,” another one said, “so we can hear what’s happening.”
The Butcher stopped about ten yards away from Sam. “Get down off that horse, Marshal. You won’t have so far to fall.”
“Nope.”
Sam leveled his six-shooter right at the Butcher’s head. “You know you’re done for.”
“I still got the woman.”
“Nope.”
“You’re just trying to make me turn around and look,” the Butcher said.
“Hey, Paul,” Sam called. “Tell the Butcher here how you cut your missus free.”
“That’s right. I cannot tell a lie, you swine. I cut my wife free while you were busy bleeding all over the place.” Paul was completely unafraid now that Winnie was safe. “So you’re dead meat, pal.”