Bob was torn. But only for a moment.
He was pressed against the outside of the cabin, halfway between the front corner to one side of him and the partially open window to the other. If he didn’t go to the corner and join in the confrontation of the Shaw sons when they came pouring out, he’d be leaving the task completely to Quirt—and maybe Vern and the other posse members if they’d worked their way in close enough. But if he joined there, he would surely be abandoning Consuela once again to the mercy of Moses.
No way he was willing to do that.
Pivoting sharply, drawing his .44 as he did so, he returned to the window. He poised there, gun gripped in one hand, the other partly raised, palm out, ready to shove open the unbolted shutter.
Tendrils of smoke were curling out through the propped-open gap along the bottom of the shutter. Bob’s breathing had quickened, making it unavoidable to inhale some of the acrid smoke. But he willed himself not to cough.
At the first crack of gunfire from out front of the building, Bob lunged into motion. He thrust the shutter back and up with his left hand while at the same time leaning in through the opening and extending his right arm with the .44 gripped in the fist at its end.
The room was small, no more than eight feet across. Moses and Consuela were in the doorway that led out to the main area, their shapes blurred by the increasingly heavy smoke. Consuela still held the lantern. Moses was pushing her ahead of him, gripping the rope around her neck in one hand, the case containing the prize guns in the other.
“Shaw!” Bob hollered.
The old man spun around, shifting his body so that it was no longer aligned with Consuela. Exactly what Bob wanted. He didn’t hesitate to trigger his .44, the bullet it spat smashing square into the center of Moses’s forehead. Moses was slammed back against the doorframe, immediately going limp. He started to slide down, as he did so letting go of both the rope and the case. Before he crumpled completely to the floor, Bob pumped two more rounds into him, his shots cracking in concert with the barrage of gunfire he could hear coming from the front of the cabin.
In the doorway, Consuela turned slowly, as if in a dream. The expression on her lovely face, no longer tightly controlled, was stunned, confused. Not even when her eyes found Bob through the smoke haze did it change. Not until he’d made it through the window, struggling somewhat awkwardly to keep the shutter shoved up even as he pulled himself in.
And then he was moving toward her in long, urgent strides. “It’s okay, ’Suela,” he said huskily. “I’m here now.”
CHAPTER 45
“I don’t understand . . . I thought you were dead,” Consuela kept repeating, even after Bob had her in his arms and, together, they were exiting the smoke-filled building.
“I’m a long way from dead. And so are you,” he assured her. “No matter what else, that’s the main thing.”
Outside, they found things pretty much as Bob was confident they would be. Even without him, Quirt had been more than a match for the Shaw sons—especially with some assistance from the other posse members, who’d accurately read the situation as it was unfolding and had moved in close enough to throw some lead to help ensure the outcome. The three bodies were sprawled lifeless only a few steps outside the door.
Alora Dane, wrapped in a jacket provided by Big George O’Farrow to cover what Cyrus and Harley had wasted no time exposing as soon as they got their hands on her, was standing several paces away, still being protectively steadied by Big George. Murmuring something that Bob didn’t quite catch, Consuela pulled away from his arms and rushed over to Alora. The two women embraced and then stood that way, holding each other, for some time. Big George respectfully backed off a few steps.
Quirt came over and stood beside Bob. “You’re a real generous fella, I got to give you that,” he said. “I asked you to leave me at least one of those Shaw rats to shoot—you gave me three.”
Bob grinned. “I always try to be accommodating. I knew you could handle it.”
“Not that I couldn’t have,” Quirt came back. “But, just to make sure, I also found me some reinforcements who showed up to lend a hand.”
Bob nodded. “I see that. Truth is, for my part I ran into some complications back around on the side that sort of delayed me.”
“From the way it looks,” said Quirt, gesturing toward Consuela, “I’d say it was worth it. And, judging from the shots I heard coming from inside, I’m guessing Daddy Shaw is headed for a warmer climate along with his sons?”
“Be a lot of disappointed people in this old world if it ever turns out that ain’t the way it works.”
Vern joined them, looking somber. “How do you want to dispose of the bodies, Marshal? You want to take ’em back into town for burial?”
Bob considered a moment, then heaved a sigh before replying, “Seems to me we’ve already got plenty of trash in the ground back on Boot Hill. How would the boys feel about doing a little digging right here?”
“Probably wouldn’t be thrilled about it. But they will, if that’s what you want.” The young deputy made a face. “Not exactly a picnic either way. Those Shaws stunk bad enough alive, they sure wouldn’t smell no better starting to ripen belly down over their saddles on a ride back. The more I think about it, I think burying ’em and doing it pronto is the best thing all the way around.”
“Then set a gang to digging,” Bob told him.
* * *
Following the tracks of the larger posse group, the one led by Vern after splitting away from Bob and Quirt, Clayton Delaney and his force of men reached the base of the slope that bordered the Shaw ranch on the north. Without ascending all the way up, they rose high enough to be able to look down on the ranch buildings and the activity taking place mostly in front of the cabin. Several lanterns were in evidence, along with the illumination from a small campfire and the silvery wash from the moon and stars overhead, to provide a good view of the scene.
Aiding the view, for Delaney himself, was a pair of high-powered binoculars that had been handed to him by Iron Tom. Lowering these now, Delaney smiled as he said to the group of horsemen gathered around him, “Gentlemen, you will be pleased to know we have succeeded in our undertaking. Which is to say that the posse we’ve been following has also succeeded in theirs, and have led us straight to the scurvy dogs—or their remains, to be more accurate, from the way it looks—who took the item I so badly want back in my possession.”
“Meaning,” Iron Tom added, the lower half of his face split by a wide smile of its own, “it’s just a matter of time before it soon will be.”
“I sincerely hope so,” said Delaney. “The only question is, what’s the best way for us to make that happen?”
Frowning, Iron Tom said, “Guess I’m missin’ where any question comes in. Back in town, after that Eames polecat tried to ventilate you and you got all worked up over it, you swore you was ready to return to the old ways. No more pussyfootin’ around something you wanted bad, you said. We’d just haul off and take it.”
Delaney cocked a brow somewhat dubiously. “Yeah, I guess I did say that, didn’t I?”
“For a fact. So what you want is down there for the takin’. Why, then, is there any question about ridin’ hell-for-leather smack over the top of those who got it and claimin’ it away from ’em?”
“How about,” Delaney responded, “for the sake of not exposing ourselves unnecessarily to the injuries that would surely be suffered by some of us if we went about it that way? We’d have the element of surprise and we’d be catching most of them on foot, true, so there’s little doubt we would prevail. But it would still be at a cost. Why pay that toll if we don’t have to?”
Iron Tom’s frown turned into an uncertain scowl.
“I think I’ve got a better idea, that’s all I’m saying,” urged Delaney. “Hear me out. If you think it amounts to too much ‘pussyfooting,’ then we’ll do it your way.”
* * *
Bob and Consuela had separated themselves
somewhat from the others. They were seated on a pair of sawn-off stumps back by the woodpile. They hadn’t brought a lantern with them but there was still plenty of light for Bob to drink in the finely chiseled features of Consuela’s face. She had never looked lovelier. And he, damn fool that he was, was finally getting around to appreciating the full impact of that.
Consuela reached up and pushed back the wide brim of his hat, exposing the lumpy bandage that Doc Tibbs had applied seemingly so long ago back in Rattlesnake Wells. Her fingers gently touched the sweat-damp gauze. “I still can hardly believe it,” she murmured.
Bob grinned. “What? That a bullet bounced off my skull? You, of all people, should know how danged hardheaded I can be.”
“This is true.” Her lips spread in an alluring smile.
“In the past I haven’t always found that a feature to be appreciated. But now, thank God, what a blessing it is.”
“Be careful. I’m gonna remember you said that.”
“Be my guest. There is much about this day, this night, it will be best to try and forget. But that needn’t be part of it.”
Bob let his gaze drift past her for a moment and swept it across the others scattered in front of the cabin. The bodies were in the ground now and his jacket had been pulled down from the roof, leaving the cabin dark and mostly thinned of smoke. But nobody had shown any interest in going back in there. Somebody had built a small campfire while the two cowhands, Earl Wells and Heck Hembrow, went to fetch the horses down off the slopes. Their saddlebags provided the makings for strong, hot coffee, a couple pots of which were bubbling on the edge of the fire now. It hadn’t been decided yet whether or not they’d stay the night here and then return to town in the morning, or if they’d go ahead and strike out within the next half hour or so. But, either way, bellies would always welcome some hot coffee.
As he scanned the members of his party, Bob could see enough signs of exhaustion to make him inclined—even though he was as eager to get back as anybody, mainly so Bucky could see that both he and Consuela were all right—toward finishing out the night here, grabbing some rest, and starting out fresh at sunup. The night was going to be plenty cool, but not unbearably so. The men could handle a few hours of cold wrapped in their bedrolls; they’d come more or less prepared for it. And they’d be certain to make sure the women were properly cared for. There was always the interior of the Shaw cabin, but Bob was pretty sure nobody would be interested in that option. Ultimately, he was thinking, he might leave the choice between riding out or waiting the night up to the women.
“Bob,” Consuela said, drawing him out of his reverie.
His gaze returned to her. “Yes? What is it, ’Suela?”
“I was wondering if you would like for me to get you a cup of coffee?”
So like her. Even after her own harsh ordeal, here she was still ready to think of his needs. How big a fool was he for having had this lovely creature in his life for so long yet, in his mind, keeping her pushed off to one side?
“I think,” he said softly, “that after all you’ve been through, the last thing you need to be worrying about is waiting on me.” Bob reached out and placed one hand gently on each of her shoulders. “In fact, I think it’s time for the two of us to start making a lot of changes. It took the horrible thought of possibly losing you for me to finally open my stupid eyes. But now that I have—”
This time it was Bob’s words that got cut short.
“Hey, Marshal! Marshal, you’d better come see this,” called Vern, an urgent tone in his voice. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
CHAPTER 46
After calling ahead the standard “Hello, the camp!” announcement, Clayton Delaney nudged his pinto forward until he came within the splashes of illumination thrown by the campfire and lanterns. In front of him, he saw those spread out before the cabin draw together as he got closer. He noted once again, as he’d done when looking through the binoculars, that there was no sign of any of the Shaws—other than the women they’d taken as hostages—while at the same time all members of the posse were present and accounted for.
Further evidence that the robbers had been dispatched, in addition to the freed women, came in the form of an accumulation of firearms lying in a pile near the campfire. Since the posse men were all still armed, the only logical conclusion was that the pile of guns had been taken from the Shaws. Nor was it missed by Delaney that accomplishment of all this against the ruthless clan, while suffering no losses of their own, spoke highly of the posse’s competence. He hoped that Iron Tom and others of his gang who’d initially been in favor of simply charging down on these men were also taking this into consideration.
But, above all, what Delaney’s appraisal did not miss, was the leather case resting on the ground beside the pile of confiscated guns. The case containing the prize guns that were at the heart of all the other pieces.
“Delaney,” said Bob, stepping to the head of his group and then fully recognizing the visitor who reined up before him. “What in blazes brings you out here?”
Delaney smiled. “Seems we have a way of running into one another whenever we venture out into the wilderness, eh, Marshal?”
“Maybe,” Bob allowed. “But I’ve got a hunch that you showing up this time amounts to more than just us ‘running into one another.’ Why don’t you light down, then you can fill me in more. There’s not something wrong in town, is there?”
“No, not in the way you mean,” Delaney said, shaking his head. “Which isn’t to say there haven’t been some incidents. That’s what brings me here, actually, but it’s really more a matter of personal concern to me than to you. As far as your offer to light, thanks but no thanks. I’m good right here in the saddle and I expect to be riding off again in very short order.”
Bob nodded toward the pillow he was resting on. “I can see you’re right comfortable. But it don’t make good sense to have ridden all this way and not want to stretch your legs a mite. Plus, we’ve got some good, strong coffee brewed and ready.”
“Again, I must say thanks but no thanks. What I will accept from you, and what I came here expressly to resolve, is the retrieval of my property.” Delaney pointed. “In other words, that case over there—the one containing the prize guns you all saw me win fair and square at the conclusion of Gafford’s shooting contest.”
Bob’s brows furrowed. “Wait a minute. You rode all the way out here for that? You couldn’t wait until we brought them back to town?”
“Something about this seems mighty fishy, Marshal,” said Vern, who had moved up on Bob’s left. “How did he even know where to find us?”
“You and your deputy have a right to your suspicions. I’ll grant you that much, although I would advise strongly against offending me,” said Delaney. “I really owe you no explanation for my motives or methods. Those guns are legally mine. Everybody here knows that. All I want is to take possession of what belongs to me and then be left to ride away. You will never see me after that.”
Quirt moved up on Bob’s right, keeping a respectful distance away from the marshal’s gun hand and holstered .44. “What he’s saying might be technically right,” the gunman said in a low voice. “But I got to go along with your deputy—something about it is damned fishy.”
“Careful not to listen to bad advice, Marshal,” advised Delaney calmly. “This is really a very simple matter. Don’t make it more troublesome than it has to be.”
“I’m all for keeping things untroublesome,” said Bob, the tone in his voice as flat as the gaze from his eyes. “So you can have your precious guns. Like you said, they’re rightfully yours. Hell, you can take that case and keep it hugged tight against yourself if you want . . . while you ride with us on back to town.”
Delaney’s expression didn’t change, but a muscle twitched faintly under his left eye. He gave it a beat before saying, “Sorry, Marshal, but I’m afraid that would be taking me out of my way. I’m headed east, you see. The business opportunity I’m l
ooking to invest in, like I told you about the other day? I’ve decided on one in particular, but I need to move fast in order to make the best deal on it. Going back to Rattlesnake Wells, I’m afraid, would cost me time I simply can’t afford.”
“That’s a real shame,” said Bob. “Because not going back to Rattlesnake Wells with us is gonna cost getting those guns handed over to you. At least for now. I’m unwilling to do that until I’m satisfied everything is okay in town.”
“Your precious town is fine! I told you it was.”
“Then tell me the rest—what brought about the way you’re behaving, this wild sense of urgency you’re showing? And don’t try to feed me some crap about it being a matter of personal concern that I don’t need to worry about.”
“You stubborn damned fool, you’re making it something you have to worry about,” Delaney said with exasperation. “You want the rest of it? Here it is.” He slowly raised his left arm and pointed at the wooded north slope where Vern and the posse had been just over an hour ago. “Up on that slope are a dozen men with rifles trained on you and your group right this minute. They may not be quite the marksmen you or I are, but they’re plenty good enough to riddle you and yours to pieces if I give the signal. It will be over before you have any chance to retaliate, and the carnage will regrettably include the women you just went to so much trouble rescuing.”
“You’re crazy! You’re bluffing.”
“A demonstration, then, if you insist.”
Delaney swung his arm down suddenly. The next instant, by prearrangement, a shot boomed up on the slope and simultaneously one of the coffeepots on the edge of the fire hopped into the air and fell back, clattering and rolling across the ground with a thumb-sized hole punched through it.
“That could have just as easily been somebody’s head,” Delaney said as the sound of the shot faded in the night. “If I signal again, it will be.”
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