* * * *
Hours later, Hobbs stopped, and answered a questioning voice from a sentinel.
"It's Ben Hobbs. I got a wounded man here and thought you might want him."
"You are alone, Hobbs?” Cruz had come up silently behind him, holding his short M-16 level with Hobbs’ belly.
"I am."
"And who is this man?"
"Trent."
With a curse, Cruz grabbed the reins of Trent's horse, leading him toward the house, shouting rapidly in Spanish as he went. The front door slammed open like a shot and Consuelo rushed out. Together, she and Cruz pulled Trent from the saddle.
Hobbs watched as Chico Cruz put his hand gently on Trent's head, and said, “Ah, compadre. It is a poor end. Someone will die for this."
Consuelo looked strangely at Cruz, apparently never before having seen this kind of gentleness in him. Suddenly, Katie shoved her aside.
"John?” Her voice quavered, as her hands covered him, helplessly, touching and probing as tears welled in her eyes. “God, I've never seen so much blood. How can he still be alive?"
Suddenly, Katie gasped, talking to herself. “Oh, thank you, Lord."
"Get Murdock. He is going to make it. Look at this.” She laughed and sobbed at the same time. Her strong hands ripped the front of Trent's shirt open to reveal his back and side. “One of the bullets just cut through the meat on his side. It went straight through. The second must have hit a rib as he was turning. The bullet followed the rib around his body and came out the front. I can tell by the trail it left. If we can keep out the infection, he'll make it."
Cruz was at once skeptical. “He has lost a lot of blood."
"I know, but he's strong. He will make it. He has to.” Katie turned back to Trent. “You crazy, wonderful man,” she sobbed. “You weren't shot with bullets, you were shot with luck!” She was still crying and laughing when she turned to the others. “Come on, let's go. He will be all right. Go. Go!"
Cruz sent one of his riders for Murdock, with a stern order to hurry, then helped carry Trent inside.
Hobbs watched as the rider ignored the regular trail and went bursting through the brush heading for the backside of the Springs. He'll kill that horse, he thought.
He watched a moment more, marveling as the confusion turned into order, then clucked at his horse. It was time to go.
Cruz walked out on the porch. “A moment."
Hobbs reined in.
"Who did this?"
"Reeves and Seaver.” Hobbs was not about to hold anything back from this man. He did not think it would be healthy.
Cruz held his gaze. “You were with them."
"I didn't shoot. Chico, I'm not much good, but this I just couldn't do.” He paused thoughtfully. “But then, I didn't stop it either."
"Then, why did you bring him back?"
"We had kind of a face off at the Army Base Camp awhile back. One of my men pulled a gun on him. A dumb kid. Trent killed him. I had my own gun half out of the holster when Trent turned on me. He could have killed me right then. No one would have said a word. He let me go. I never knew why."
Chico slowly nodded. “It is because he is not the killer most people think.” He glanced up. “Are you leaving?"
"Damn right I am. I do not want to be around when he gets up. That man is gonna’ be mad."
"I will thank you for him, since he cannot do it himself. I am sure he will not forget your actions. But, Hobbs...” Chico's voice turned cold and brittle. “Ride far from this place."
Hobbs walked his horse as far as the edge of the clearing surrounding the ranch house, then cantered down the trail.
* * * *
It was late. The moon had come and gone, and the night breeze stirring through the open windows was soft and fragrant. Occasionally, a whippoorwill would call into the night, an echoing answer coming later from another valley.
Murdock had patched Trent up as best she could, then gone back to town. Consuelo had retired to bed. Chico Cruz was somewhere around, but Katie did not know where. He was always around.
She sat next to Trent, her hands idly playing with his hair, careful not to touch the crease on his scalp. He was naked under the blanket; his head wrapped in white cloth, along with his shoulder and hip. On his side, and in the middle of his back, were bruises that were getting blacker by the moment. He had been wounded four times, but with luck he would make it. Thank God, she thought as she bent to kiss him on the lips.
* * * *
It was dark and warm. There was a fragrance, bringing memories of sweat and passion, something soft and yielding...
Trent woke with a start, a jagged edge of pain slicing behind his eyes.
"This can't be heaven. It hurts too much.” His voice was hoarse and halting.
Katie leaned over and kissed him, not surprised he was awake. She had been noticing signs of him waking up for an hour. “Welcome back."
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she leaned back to keep from dripping on his face. As Trent tried to move, she said, “Shush. Be still. You'll start the bleeding again."
"Where am I?"
"Connie's ranch. Cruz is keeping watch."
"How'd I get here?"
"Hobbs brought you."
"Ben Hobbs?” Trent gazed at the ceiling, trying to digest that little piece of information.
"How bad am I?” he asked after a while.
Katie's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. “You took a beating, but you'll live. Lost some meat on your shoulder, and you will have one hell of a headache. You were grazed on the hip too, but that's not too bad."
"My chest feels like a horse stepped on it."
"You were hit in the side and back. I was afraid I would lose you. I don't think I could stand that."
"I have too much to live for to check out now. I'll be around."
A few minutes later, after Katie decided he had been kissed and pampered enough, Trent said, “I can't figure why they didn't come down and finish the job."
"Reeves and Seaver?” Katie's nose wrinkled in disgust. “Yellow streak, maybe?"
"It'll cost them,” he murmured.
"Not for a while, it won't,” she said in a stern voice. “You have to rest. You lost a lot of blood, and your shoulder may get infected if you're not careful. It's not too bad right now, but you don't want to break that wound open again."
"What do you hear from Big Springs?” he asked.
"I asked Murdock about the town when she came to look at you,” Katie said. “She said Pagan rode into the Springs right after he ambushed you. He was really bragging it up."
At the look in Trent's eyes, Katie continued quickly. “Whatever he is doing now can't be helped. The people will deal with it the best they can. It will not do any good for you to go after these men when you are not ready. Now, you would just make it easy for them to finish the job."
Trent contemplated that for a moment. Through the pain in his head, it seemed like he had to formulate each thought separately and move it to the next one.
"So, what do we do, nurse?” he finally asked.
"I know a place not far from here, an old cabin hidden back in the hills. We'll go there and let you mend."
"And then I'll deal with Reeves."
"No. Then we will deal with Reeves."
* * * *
The horse screamed as it hit the rope stretched across the trail, stumbling forward and pitching its rider headlong into the dust. When Hobbs came to, he was standing. How ... he tried to move and found himself lashed to a tree. Looking around, he saw a tall man in buckskins coming toward him.
"Who are you?” Hobbs stammered as he tried to control his fear.
"Doesn't matter, boy,” the man said.
"What ... what are you doing with that knife?"
"You shot up a good man, boy. You shouldn't have done that."
"I didn't, mister. I never shot him. It was Reeves and Seaver. They did it."
Hobbs struggled to get loose as th
e man came closer. “Please, it wasn't me!"
"You were there, boy. You were there."
* * * *
The screams lasted almost an hour. Hobbs was a strong man. A lot stronger than he should have been, or probably wanted to be. But that was the trouble. Sometimes you just couldn't die when you wanted to. The screams were shrill, panting things at the last, feeble and bubbling past bloody lips, but there was no one to hear them. Except for one, and he did not care.
The Watcher cleaned his knife on Hobbs’ shirt. It was hard to find a spot that was not bloody. He caught up Hobbs’ horse, took the saddle and bridle off, then slapped it on the rump.
As he watched the riderless horse limp down the trail, he thought of the girl. He could wait now. The killing of Hobbs had sated his thirst for the moment, but he wouldn't wait too long.
* * * *
Chico Cruz and one of his sentries stared and listened into the night.
"I thought I heard screams, Chico. They were faint, brought with the wind. Terrible screams."
An owl hooted in the distance as the wind rustled the leaves of the towering oaks surrounding the ranch yard. Both men stood silent for a few moments until Cruz broke the silence.
"I hear nothing, Gorge."
"But, I..."
"I don't doubt you,” Cruz said. “Whatever it was, it is gone."
As they walked back toward the house, Cruz said, “Keep a sharp eye. There is a demon feel to this night."
Gorge shuddered as he looked back toward the forest.
Chapter 15
PAGAN REEVES WAS furious. It was the day after they ambushed Trent, and no one was around. Most of the townspeople had disappeared. Even his men had left.
Flanked by Red Seaver, he stalked up and down the small street of the settlement, looking for someone to vent his wrath on. He found his catharsis in Reverend Stephens.
Standing in front of his church, the preacher saw them coming and waited.
"Well, if it isn't the Holy Man,” Pagan said.
The reverend did not seem impressed. “Leave this place, you are not welcome here."
Seaver edged around to the side of the reverend. When the preacher looked at Pagan, Seaver drew his pistol and whipped the barrel across the back of the reverend's head, turning the blond hair crimson. As the preacher fell, Seaver and Reeves kicked him repeatedly in the face and ribs. When they finished, he was barely alive, breathing shallowly through smashed and bleeding lips, arms wrapped around his belly, spitting up blood in a wheezing cough.
Pagan Reeves stood over the preacher. “That ought to keep you quiet for a while.” He looked at Seaver. “Kickin’ preachers is thirsty work. Let's go get some of Murdock's beer."
When they entered, the saloon had few patrons. Pagan noticed Murdock at the end of the bar, and he yelled, “How ‘bout bringing a man a drink, Murdock?"
The big woman raised her eyes and focused on Pagan. “When I see a man, I'll do that."
"You'll do it now ... or I'll burn this place down around your ears.” Pagan's voice was brittle with menace.
Handing bottles to each of them, she said, “You know he'll come for you. You gotta know that. This may be the last beer you boys will have."
"Trent?” Red Seaver guffawed loudly. “He never saw it coming. We hit him twice. He's dead."
"You shot him from ambush? I never figured you for a back shooter, Red."
Seaver's voice sounded proud, echoing from the bottle. “It don't matter how we get it done, Murdock. What matters is getting it done. And I never miss."
"You did this time."
"What?"
"I saw him last night. He will live a long time. That's more than I can say for you two."
Seaver could not believe it. “We hit him solid. There was blood everywhere!"
"Oh, you hit him all right, but you didn't hit him good enough. If I'm any judge, he'll come to see you boys, and right soon."
"Where?” Pagans voice was coldly furious. “Where is he, Murdock? We'll just go and finish the job."
"Sure. You go ahead, boys,” Murdock stated. “He's out at the Sanchez ranch. You do know Cruz, don't you? And the rest of his riders? You try anything out there and they'll hunt you down like coyotes."
The two men looked at each other and finished their drinks.
* * * *
They had just walked out, and Murdock was washing out their bottles, when the door opened again. Turning with a scowl on her face, she thought Reeves and Seaver had just come back in. She was surprised to see a total stranger standing in the room.
"I'm a thirsty man."
The newcomer looked her up and down, his eyes wide with amazement. “My name is Charley Walsh, and I think I'm in love."
Murdock straightened up a little, smoothing her hair. “It's been that kind of day."
Pouring a straight shot of skullbuster, she handed it to him.
Walsh knocked back the drink without a shudder, under Murdock's admiring gaze.
"Have you seen a long, tall galoot around?” Walsh said. “He's kinda’ short on brains, but a likable sort, and he'll be wearing a tin star for a target on his chest."
"Why do you want him?” Murdock asked guardedly.
"I'm the best friend he has in the world, that's why."
"Well, now...” Murdock walked over to the front door, locking it. “Maybe we should have us a talk."
* * * *
Two weeks later John Trent stood on the front porch of the earth home that had been carved into the mountainside years before. Katie's ‘hideout’ had turned into quite a place. The original owner had outfitted the home with the finest survival equipment money could buy. Unfortunately, it looked like it was never used. That is the bad part about survival. It is mostly luck, and luck is a fickle mistress.
A walk-in closet had revealed a treasure of weapons. The rifle rack had produced an SKS just like his, along with M-16s and a Colt Sportster that looked like an M-16, but chambered for the NATO round.
There were several handguns racked on the wall, mostly semi-automatics, but way in the back was a Smith & Wesson .357, similar in weight to his Ruger. The load was about like his 9mm, but the ammo was hard to find. Judging from the stash in the closet, ammo would not be a problem in the near future. He hefted the pistol and eared back the hammer. No. The frame was too large, and the gun too heavy. He put it back on the shelf. Maybe Chico could use it.
Trent straightened as he cast a worried look around the clearing. Katie had gone hunting that morning, and should have been back before now. He would give her a few more minutes.
Under her watchful care, his wounds were healing fast. Two days ago, when Katie was hunting, he had saddled his horse and tried to get into the saddle. The first step had brought sweat to his forehead from the pain, but he had made it. The thought of Pagan Reeves brought anger to Trent's face. Soon ... soon.
Glancing at the trail, he saw Katie striding up the path carrying a small whitetail deer across her shoulders.
"Another day, another feast,” Katie said when she was close enough to be heard. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her brow, and her breath was a little ragged from carrying the heavy deer. She apparently chose to ignore it ... he did not.
"What would you do if you shot a big one?” Trent asked chidingly.
"I don't shoot big ones."
Changing the subject, Trent asked, “Any sign?"
At once, she was serious. “None to speak of."
"I went up the bluff today.” He gestured at the peak behind the house.
She looked at him critically, apparently pacified when she saw no blood. “And?"
"With those high-powered binoculars we found, you can see this whole country. It looks like Starking is still in camp. I was worried he would go ahead and take over the town."
"Pagan still has it."
"How..."
"Bird told me,” Katie said mysteriously.
"Two legged?"
"Yeah.” She relented. “I
scouted up pretty close to town. Found little Tommy fishing the creek. He let me know. Most of the townspeople are hiding in the hills. Pagan and his bunch are just lying around. They seem to be waiting for something.” She looked at him worriedly. “If you go, they'll be all over you."
"I know."
Trent changed the subject. “Found out something about this place today when I was up on the hill."
Her raised eyebrows asked the question.
"Solar power."
She looked blankly at him. He had forgotten how young she was.
"Electricity,” Trent said. “You know how they generate it at the mill, by turning a generator? Years ago, they perfected a way of collecting the sun's energy and turning it into electricity. All I had to do was clean off the collectors and hook up the batteries.” He smiled at her. “Although the batteries are in bad shape, I think there's enough power for a small surprise tonight."
She gave him a puzzled look, and then said flatly, “Batteries."
"Yes. They're little..."
She dumped the deer at his feet. “Surprise me with this. If you can climb that bluff, you can skin a deer. I'll go clean up.” She paused to smile back at him; “I wouldn't want to miss anything tonight."
* * * *
Later, they were sitting contentedly on the floor of the living room, their backs against the couch, with venison steak nestled in their bellies. The pale glow of an illuminated dial washed over their features. Although they might still work, Trent had elected not to try the main lights in the house. The old car batteries were still weak and he wanted all their power for his surprise.
"What's this called again?"
"A CD player. Compact Disk.” He wrapped his arms around her, clasping his hands across her middle.
"And it's just music ... no words?"
Earlier he had tried to explain the concept. “This isn't some folk singer banging on a banjo and singing through his nose."
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