Red River Ruse
Page 20
Dove took the knife away from Nacho's throat, and a second later, he felt it slice through the cords holding him to the chair. "Stand up," she said.
He sagged forward, fighting off the pain and weariness that were trying to claim him. "I . . . I don't know if I can walk."
"You'd damn well better be able to, if you want to live a little while longer. You're coming with me."
Nacho put his hands on his knees and forced himself up. While he was doing that, Dove pried up a loose board from the floor and took out a large canvas bag that appeared to be stuffed full. She slung it over her shoulder by a rawhide strap that was attached to it. The loot from the gang's holdups, Nacho thought. He staggered toward the doorway, biting his lip against the agony every time his lacerated feet came down on the rough planks of the floor. The point of Dove's knife pricked the middle of his back, right above his heart, and stayed there.
When they reached the porch, Dove said, "Wait a minute." He glanced back over his shoulder and saw her looking at the sprawled body of John Livingston. There was no remorse, no grief on her face, only the faintest hint of a smile.
Those soldiers back at Fort Griffin had been responsible for more than the death of Dove's mother, Nacho realized. The girl's soul had died that day, too.
She stepped away from him but didn't give him a chance to try to escape. Scooping up Livingston's fallen six-gun, she trained the barrel on him and said, "Keep going. Grab a couple of those horses."
Several saddled horses were milling around in front of the cabin, no doubt belonging to the handful of outlaws who had been killed in the attack. Nacho saw the bodies lying here and there around the outside of the cabin, including Graham's. He felt sick at the sight and stepped down from the porch, calling softly to the nervous animals. In a matter of minutes, he had the reins of two of them.
"Mount up," Dove said, taking one of the horses from him. He put a bare foot in the stirrup, gripped the saddle horn tightly, and clenched his teeth. It hurt like hell as he swung up into the saddle.
Dove was ready to go. She took the canvas bag from her shoulder and hung it from the horn. With her other hand, she kept the gun pointed in Nacho's general direction. She glanced back at the cabin and said, "It wasn't a bad hide-out. I'll miss it. But there'll be another one."
"And another gang?" Nacho asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked around for any sign of Cambridge and the others, certain that they hadn't deserted him.
"Of course. There's plenty more like Graham. The West is full of them."
"What about Livingston?"
"I'm not going to waste any tears over him, if that's what you mean. He said he loved me, but he didn't mean it. He'd have left someday . . . just like my mother left. Just like my father . . ." She spat on the ground. "People who say they love you always leave."
"Dove . . . when I first saw you . . . I loved you, too."
Her features twisted with hate and he knew he shouldn't have said it. As she brought the gun up and eared back the hammer, she said, "Well, that's just too damned bad for you."
The slug drove her out of the saddle, spinning her to the ground. She didn't even cry out as she died.
Nacho looked toward the sound of the shot. It had come from a rise a good three hundred yards away. A hell of a shot. A shot that Billy Cambridge couldn't have made on his best day, and Nacho had a feeling Jake Maxwell couldn't have, either.
That only left one man—Seamus O'Shea.
Nacho reached out and lifted the bag of stolen money from Dove's horse. He didn't look at her as he turned his own mount and urged it into motion, riding out to meet the other men.
It was a long way and he hurt, but he felt pretty sure he could make it.
About the Authors
Lifelong Texans, James Reasoner and L.J. Washburn have been husband and wife, and professional writers for more than thirty years. In that time, they have authored several hundred novels and short stories in numerous genres.
James is best known for his Westerns, historical novels, and war novels, he is also the author of two mystery novels that have achieved cult classic status, TEXAS WIND and DUST DEVILS. Writing under his own name and various pseudonyms, his novels have garnered praise from Publishers Weekly, Booklist, and the Los Angeles Times, as well as appearing on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists. He recently won the Peacemaker award for his novel Redemption, Kansas. His website is www.jamesreasoner.com.
Livia J. (L.J.) Washburn has been writing professionally for over 30 years. Washburn received the Private Eye Writers of America award and the American Mystery award for the first Lucas Hallam mystery, WILD NIGHT. Her story “Panhandle Freight” a Hallam story, in The Traditional West anthology, was nominated for a Peacemaker award. Her website is www.liviajwashburn.com. They live in the small Texas town they grew up in.
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