by Dani Amore
“How many men are up at Parker’s place?”
“Too many to count,” Chesser said.
“And they’re looking for Frannie?” Tower asked.
“Frannie? Who the hell is Frannie?”
“The girl,” Tower said.
“Look, here’s what—”
Before Chesser could continue, his head exploded in a cloud of pink mist. He fell off the horse to his right, indicating to Bird that the rifle shot had come from Chesser’s left. She and Tower bent low and charged up the remainder of the trail, aiming for the cover of a stand of rocks, expecting more shots.
None came.
“Any guesses on who’s up there and would want to shoot Chesser?” Tower asked, looking at the hill from which the rifleman most likely took his shot.
“You met the man,” Bird said. “Who wouldn’t want to shoot the jackass?”
Eighty-One
“I’m upset someone else shot him,” Bird said. “I really wanted to.”
“The question is,” Tower asked, “Why him and not us? You’re the biggest threat. They would have started with you, then shot Chesser, then me. And if it’s Parker’s men, why shoot Chesser at all?”
Bird drank some whiskey from the bottle and licked her lips.
“I think they’re gone,” she said.
“Maybe,” Tower said. He peeked his head over the rock, saw no sign of movement, and ducked back.
Bird shoved the bottle back into her saddlebag and swung into the saddle. Both she and Tower waited for a shot, but none came.
“That wasn’t one of Parker’s men. It was someone else.”
They rode toward the hill and circled it, but found no one and no tracks.
“I tell you, we’re chasing a ghost,” Bird said.
“I’ve had that feeling all along,” Tower responded. “And I don’t think we’re the only ones.”
They continued their course toward Joseph Parker’s ranch. Bird figured they’d been on it for the last few miles.
It took them another hour of hard riding to reach the building that constituted the heart of Parker’s spread. The sun had disappeared behind a wall of thick black clouds, and a cool wind had picked up speed.
He took in the sight of the Parker ranch. The main house was impressive, as he had expected. A sprawling log home with multiple wings and gables, a wide porch that ran the width of the structure, and a host of flower beds bordering the property.
Most striking to Tower, however, was the complete absence of people, which made the ranch seem just as deserted as Big River. He had figured there would be a meeting out here and it would be busy.
The corrals were empty, the doors to all of the barns were closed. Even the cowboys’ bunkhouse was deserted, the doors and windows shut and no sign of men or horses.
“They’re all out looking, aren’t they?” Bird asked.
“It would seem so.”
Tower rode directly to the main house, climbed the porch, and knocked on the door. After several minutes without an answer, Tower knocked again.
He was about to leave when the door creaked on its hinges and an older black man dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt looked out at Tower.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Mr. Parker.”
“I’m sorry but he is not here.”
If that was true, Tower was surprised. He hadn’t figured Joseph Parker to be the kind of man who would join the hunt. Tower pictured the man seated in front of a roaring fire with a snifter of brandy in hand, waiting for word from his men that the job was done.
“Do you know where he is?” Tower asked.
“No sir, I don’t.”
“Do you know when he’s expected to return?”
“No sir, I don’t.”
“What do you know?” Bird called out from behind Tower.
The black man didn’t answer.
Tower thanked him, and the door was shut firmly.
He went back to his horse and looked at Bird, who sat in the saddle on her Appaloosa, a whiskey bottle resting on the pommel.
“Well, they’re not in Big River. And they’re not here,” he said. “So, where are they?”
“They could be anywhere. This ranch is huge. Hundreds of men could get lost on this land and we’d never find them.”
“Maybe we should wait here,” Tower said. “Looks like a storm is moving in. I’m guessing Parker and his men are used to the comforts of shelter. They’re not going to want to spend much time out there in the rain. I mean look at this place. Who wouldn’t come racing back here once the weather lets loose.”
“That’s an option. I just wonder how much time that girl has out there alone, with every man in Big River hunting her.”
Tower leaned forward, patted his horse on the neck, and looked up at the sky.
“I have an idea of what we can do.”
“Let’s hear it,” Bird said.
“Odds are the Rectifiers are going to find her.”
“I agree.”
“And if they do, we both know where she’s going to end up.”
Bird nodded, took a last pull from the whiskey bottle, and slid it back into her saddlebag.
“Time to head to Killer’s Draw,” she said.
Eighty-Two
The Appaloosa realized it an instant before Bird.
Tower passed through a narrow gap between two slabs of towering rock, with Bird right behind him. Just as she reached the other side of the opening, her horse hesitated. It was the kind of movement that had no natural cause and Bird immediately reached for her gun.
For the first time in her life, however, she was too slow.
The sound of a lever-action rifle being cocked is unmistakable, and it reached Bird’s ears before her pistol moved a fraction.
“Don’t go for your guns, Bird,” a voice said. It was a soft, feminine voice, eerily calm, almost friendly.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Bird said. She had no intention of going for her guns. As good as she was, there was no time to draw, turn, find the target above and behind her, and fire. The whole process, even for her, would take too long. She’d be dead before she turned around.
She lifted her hands away from her pistols and she couldn’t help but think of Chesser doing the exact same thing not too long ago. And look how it turned out for him.
Ahead of her, Tower stopped his horse. He had heard everything and decided not to move, or even turn around. Bird appreciated his calm. Any sudden action on his part and she would be the first to die.
“That’s good,” the voice said. “But I need you to reach down, draw your guns, and drop them on the ground next to you. The trail is soft enough they won’t fire. I know you don’t like to keep an empty chamber.”
Bird thought, How the hell did she know that? And then she did as she was told. Another first for her. This was turning out to be a day with all kinds of new things. The pistols landed on the trail next to the Appaloosa without going off.
“Now do the same thing with your rifle.”
Bird complied.
“Mr. Tower, stay right there,” the voice said. “Bird, walk your horse forward very slowly until you’re next to the preacher, then turn around.”
Again, Bird followed her instructions without fail.
She walked the Appaloosa up to Tower, then they both turned to face the trail opening and rock ledge.
“Hello, Frannie,” Tower said.
The young woman who served as the doctor’s assistant sat perched on the ledge, a rifle in her hands and a small smile on her face.
The Winchester in her hands did not waver, and it stayed aimed directly at Bird’s chest. She also had a pistol jammed behind the belt that went around her waist.
“Frannie, don’t do this,” Tower said.
Bird looked closely at the girl. What she saw was an expression that had been worn by some of the most notorious gunfighters she’d ever encountered. Men who had killed so many
people that they’d lost something inside. Something they knew they would never get back.
Bird would know. It was an expression she saw every time she looked in the mirror.
“I already have done it,” the girl said. “I just have to finish it.”
“What is your real name?” Bird asked.
“That’s a great question,” the girl said. “As far as I know, my mother used to call me Paige.”
“Before she was murdered,” Tower said. “By the Rectifiers.”
The girl ignored him and held out a bundle of pegging strips, long pieces of rawhide cowboys used for all sorts of different tasks. She tossed them on the ground in front of Tower.
“The first thing I want to tell you is that I’m a crack shot and there’s no way I could miss either one of you from this distance,” the girl said. “The second thing is that I want you, preacher, to tie up Bird, and don’t do a sloppy job of it, because I’m going to check.”
Tower and Bird both dismounted from their horses. Bird tried to think of a way out of this.
“Killing them isn’t going to solve anything,” she said. “I’m speaking from experience. Every time you kill someone—”
“Let me guess,” the girl interrupted. “Something inside you dies, too? Is that what you were going to say?”
Bird didn’t respond, because that was exactly what she was going to say.
“Even if that was true, which it isn’t, it’s too late now.” She lifted her chin toward the pegging strips in front of Tower. “Tie her up, quickly. I don’t have a lot of time.”
Bird turned her back and let Tower tie her hands. She sat down against a rock and Tower tied her feet. Then he turned and faced the girl.
The girl climbed down from the rocks, all while keeping her rifle on Bird and Tower. Bird noted that the plain cotton dress she’d worn at the doctor’s office was now gone, replaced by denims, a dark shirt, and a leather vest. Bird could see the pockets were bulging with extra ammunition.
“You’ve been planning this war for some time, haven’t you?” Tower asked.
The girl walked past Bird’s pistols without picking them up.
“Turn around,” the girl said.
Tower did so, and Bird could tell he was tempted to make his move right then and there, but he didn’t. It was the right decision. Bird could tell this girl would step back, snatch out her gun, and drill Tower before he could get his hands on her.
The girl tied Tower’s hands, then his feet, and nudged him toward Bird.
“Stand up, Bird,” she said. Bird struggled to her feet, so much so that the girl grabbed Bird by the elbow and helped her up. Paige checked Bird’s wrists, seemed satisfied with Tower’s work, then guided Bird back down next to Tower.
The girl walked back to Bird’s gun belt, picked it up, slung it around her waist, and tied down the guns.
“What do you know, we’re the same size,” the girl said. She opened the pistol’s gate and spun the cylinder, making sure each was loaded.
Bird knew they were.
The girl, Paige, looked at Bird and Tower.
“Someone will be along shortly, I’m sure. But I didn’t want you to interfere with me finishing this. I’ll leave your horses about a mile up the trail.”
“Don’t—” Tower started to say, but Paige was already walking away. Bird could tell she wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone.
The girl grabbed the reins of their horses, then walked ahead, down the trail, and Bird heard her climb into a saddle, followed by the sound of hooves pounding down the trail.
Bird leaned her head back against the rock and sighed.
“I think you liked tying me up,” she said.
Eighty-Three
“Can’t believe you let a youngster like her get the better of us,” Bird said.
“I made it through just fine,” Tower answered. “You’re the one who got caught.”
He struggled against the leather strips holding his wrists together. It seemed like with every effort to make them looser, they actually tightened.
“She waited for me to come through because she knew I’m tougher than you.”
“She knew you were armed and that I wasn’t,” he countered.
“Speaking of that, how the hell do you suppose she knew so much about us? Our names? The fact that I keep all six bullets in my gun instead of five, like most?”
Tower looked down the trail in the direction the girl had gone.
“Clearly, she’s wise beyond her years. I think she’s been studying and planning this whole thing for a long time. She had a chance to study us because we didn’t know who she was, but she knew exactly what we were doing, and why.”
Tower heard Bird trying to get to her feet, but she slipped and fell back down next to him.
“We’ve got to get free. She’s never going to survive this,” Tower said. “Frannie. I should have known.”
“Should have known what?” Bird asked.
“When the doctor reminded us of her name, I knew it meant something, but not until now. Francine Pascal was the name of the Baltimore prostitute in the article Jeffire had hidden.”
“Frannie P.,” Bird said.
“I should have realized,” Tower said.
Bird struggled against her restraints. “Look, we’ve got time to help her. You tied me up, so you should know how to untie me,” she said. They struggled to their feet, leaned against each other to gain leverage. Then they stood, back-to-back. Tower bent at his knees to lower himself so his hands were at the same level as Bird’s.
She shifted her weight.
“Hold still,” he said.
In the distance, they heard gunfire. One report, followed by a volley of shots.
“Hurry,” Bird said.
Tower struggled, then finally managed to get his fingers on the end of one of the rawhide strips wrapped around Bird’s wrists.
Holding it tight, he walked his fingers back to the knot he knew was less than an inch away. His fingers found it, and scraped at it with his thumbnail, until he was able to work the edge of his nail inside the loop. Tower felt the knot give slightly, and his thumbnail pushed through the knot. He twisted his thumb back and forth until the knot loosened.
“Try it,” he said. “Go slowly, though.”
Bird pulled her hands apart slowly, and Tower felt the knot loosen as she pulled and then his thumb was free.
“That’s much better,” Bird said. Tower turned, saw her untying the rawhide strips around her feet, then she was in front of him, working his hands free first, then his feet.
They turned and ran up the trail toward where Paige had gone. Ahead, they heard more gunfire.
“I hope we’re not too late,” Tower said.
Eighty-Four
The girl had been true to her word; they found the horses grazing under a stand of trees. Tower spotted Bird’s rifle a stone’s throw away, retrieved it, and handed it to her.
“Well, it’s one more gun than I had a minute ago,” she said. “Sure wish I had my pistols, though. Feel naked without them.”
She checked the magazine, saw it hadn’t been emptied, and then checked her saddlebags for extra cartridges. She jammed some into her pockets, then swung up into the saddle.
Tower got onto his horse, and together they took off toward the sound of gunfire.
They rode hard, Bird leading the way on the Appaloosa, which was faster than Tower’s roan. She wanted to make use of what little light remained. The sun was gone, either sunk below the horizon or buried beneath the black wall of the approaching storm.
The skies were going to open up with a hellish fury at any moment. Bird dug her heels into the sides of her horse and charged ahead.
As she rode, she thought about the girl. How old had she been when her mother had come out West? Had she been there at the murder? How had she managed to find out what happened?
The trail wound its way around a hill and they splashed through a shallow stream as lightning lit
up the sky and a thunderclap rattled Bird’s teeth. The first huge drops began to fall.
Bird, still holding the rifle, slid it into the leather scabbard. No sense holding up a piece of metal during a lighting storm.
The Appaloosa crested a rise and shied from the trail. Bird snatched the rifle back out, knowing there was something ahead that spooked her horse. That usually meant the scent of an animal, man, or blood.
Bird was betting on blood.
They pounded down the other side of the rise, and a flash of lightning lit up the trail ahead where two bodies lay in disarray.
They were men, and Bird breathed a sigh of relief.
There were two flour sacks off to the side, and no sign of the girl.
Bird rode up to the bodies and looked down.
The men were clearly dead, their eyes wide open, pooling the fresh rainwater as it plopped down on their faces. Sections of each man’s head had been blown off, but she would have recognized them anywhere.
The Conway brothers.
Tower circled around the bodies while Bird swung down from her horse and searched the bodies for guns, but found none. She bent down and rolled the first one over. All that was revealed was blood and dirt. Bird repeated the maneuver with the second brother. This time she came up with a pistol. She snapped open the cylinder and ejected two empty shells.
“I’m surprised he even got a shot off,” she said. She pulled some shells from the dead man’s gun belt and filled the cylinder, then snapped it into place. Bird added some more ammunition to her pocket and got back onto the Appaloosa.
“This girl is taking no prisoners,” Tower said.
“I don’t blame her,” Bird answered.
Tower looked up at the sky, and shook his head.
“I don’t either.”
Eighty-Five
The darkness was painted with a flickering orange glow. Lightning split the black sky, and the rain came in waves.
“When the hell are you going to start carrying a gun?” Bird asked him.
“Same time you quit drinking whiskey,” he said.
She ignored him and handed the dead lawyer’s gun to him.