The Shadow of a Noose
Page 13
Swinging down from her saddle, Danielle called out to the black shadows on a hillside to her right, “Dunc, it’s me, Danny. I’m by myself. Don’t do nothing stupid.” Footprints on the ground wandered in a short circle, then led up into the brush on a steep slope.
Danielle gathered the reins of the limping horse, straightened the saddle hanging down on its side, and called out again, “I know you hear me, Dunc. Come on down. Nobody’s going to bother you.”
After a moment of silence, Duncan Grago’s voice came out of the purple darkness, saying, “Nobody is with you, Danny? Are you sure?”
“Damn it, Dunc, I told you I’m alone, didn’t I? Get down here right now, or I’m going to leave you behind. Why’d you keep me tracking you all night anyway?”
“I’m coming, Danny, all right?” Duncan Grago scurried down through sand and brush. “I was just afraid you’d taken their side against me.”
“You were in the right back there, Dunc, even Tuck Carlyle said so,” Danielle said to Duncan’s dark figure as he stepped out of the inky night. She didn’t mention the fact that he had provoked the fight, for it would do no good now. What she needed now was to get the two of them back on the trail, headed for the men who’d killed her father.
“I knew it was self-defense,” Duncan Grago said, stepping closer in the moonlight, his pistol hanging loose in his hand, “but I wasn’t sure that it would make any difference to your friends.”
Danielle shook her head, saying, “Holster your pistol, Dunc. Tuck saw how it happened. He didn’t like it, but he had to abide by it. He’s the trail boss. What he says goes with his cowhands.”
“It’s because you were with me, wasn’t it?” Duncan asked, slipping his pistol inside his holster. “If it hadn’t been for you, they’d have been right on my tail.”
“Maybe,” Danielle said. She leaned down beside Duncan’s horse as she spoke, and gently ran a hand along the swollen tendon in its right leg, then upward along the lumpiness in its knee. The horse whinnied low in pain. Letting out a tired breath, Danielle said as she straightened and dusted off her hands, “This poor animal’s done for out here. You should have known better than to push it so hard in the dark, on this kind of ground.”
“I—I wasn’t thinking as clear as I should have been,” Duncan said, his voice sounding ashamed. “That whiskey had me a little loco for a while. I drank it too fast, I reckon.”
“Yeah, I reckon,” Danielle said with a snap of sarcasm. “Now I have to decide whether or not I want you breathing on my back until we can find you a horse somewhere.”
“I don’t know what comes over me sometimes,” Duncan Grago said. Danielle took note of how much he sounded like a schoolboy caught in some kind of mischief. She almost felt sorry for him, were it not for the body of Clarence Martin lying dead in the distant darkness, and the countless others who’d suffered at Duncan Grago’s hand. Duncan continued, “It seems like something’s inside me that just busts out all of a sudden. I can’t help it.”
Danielle didn’t answer as she reached down, loosened the cinch from beneath his horse’s belly, and dropped the saddle to the ground. She dropped the bridle from around the horse’s muzzle and watched it wander for a moment on its shattered leg, nickering pitifully. “Finish it,” she said to Duncan in a low, solemn tone. Then she stepped away and turned to Sundown, holding on to the reins until the sound and flash of Duncan Grago’s pistol filled the night, and the pain-filled nickering of his horse was cut short into silence.
When they’d both stepped atop Sundown, Duncan Grago adjusted himself against Danielle’s back, his saddle and bridle resting down along his leg. “I’ve never liked thanking a person,” Duncan said, “and the fact is I’ve never had much reason to.” His voice softened, “But I’m obliged to you, Danny Duggin. Nobody has ever befriended me this way. I kind of wished they had over the years. You’ve been straight with me.”
Danielle felt the slightest twinge of guilt for a second and had to remind herself of what a low piece of work Duncan Grago really was. “Well, like I said, Dunc, you were in the right back there. Once I side with a person, I try to stick with them.” She gave the chestnut mare a slight nudge, letting the mare make her own pace at a walk. “From now on, though, you’re going to have to act like you’ve got some sense,” she added.
“I will, Danny . . . I’ll try,” Duncan said.
In the clammy coolness before dawn, Danielle became more and more aware of the heat of Duncan Grago against her back. The feel of him evoked an uncomfortable urge inside her that she didn’t want to admit to. She had no passion for the likes of Duncan Grago, yet the closeness of a man stirred something inside her that she could not deny. As the first thin reef of sunlight spread across the horizon, she felt Duncan Grago slumber against her, his head lying over her shoulder and his warm breath caressing the side of her throat. She shifted uneasily in her saddle. Unable to escape the closeness of him, she finally gigged him gently with her elbow and said, “Wake up, Dunc. You hear me? Wake up, it’s daylight.”
“Huh?” As he stirred from his sleep, he became unsteady and threw his arm around her chest to keep from slipping off the mare’s rump. Duncan noticed nothing out of the ordinary when his hand clutched the binder she used to flatten her breasts, but she did, and her natural impulse was the shove his hand away. Her reaction stunned him from his drowsiness for a second, and he said, “Oh sorry, Danny,” before he even realized why he’d said it.
“It’s time we got down and rested the mare,” Danielle said, her cheeks feeling flushed. Yet, Duncan had slumped forward against her again, and seemed to have relaxed back to sleep.
“Just a few more minutes,” he whispered, dreamily, too drowsy to notice the warm comfortable feeling that sleeping against Danny Duggin induced in him.
Danielle prodded him again, harder this time, saying, “Hey, what the hell is wrong with you? Wake up, I’m not your pillow!”
The shock of the situation struck a sharp note in Duncan Grago’s mind, and he flung himself off the mare, looking confused and embarrassed as he staggered in place. “Oh, Danny! Damn it! I—I’m sorry! I must have been dreaming.”
“Forget it,” Danielle snapped. Unable to face him directly for a moment, she looked back along the trail, then at Duncan’s empty hands. “Where’s your saddle and tack?”
Duncan shook sleep from his eyes, and lowered his head. “Damn it, I must’ve dropped them both somewhere.”
Danielle slumped a bit in disgust, saying, “Well, hell. You’ve just about lost everything but your boots.” Then she swung down from her saddle and stretched her legs. “We’re going to have to take turns on this mare, to not wear her out. We’ll also have to rest her in the hottest part of the day.”
“I’ll ride the first hour,” Danielle continued. “Then you take the next hour. How much farther is it to your brother and his men?”
“Not far,” Duncan Grago said. “We should be there tomorrow sometime. There’s an old relay station thirty miles ahead. If I’m lucky, I can pick up a horse there.”
Salt Fork of Red River, Indian Territory, July 22, 1871
Traveling with Arno Dunne, Jed and Tim Strange had kept ever mindful of what they told him about themselves. Dunne had a way of trying to pry information out of them in what appeared to be normal conversation. But the twins had revealed little to him. When Dunne had asked them what their last name was, Tim told him it was Faulkner, their mother’s maiden name being the first name that had popped into his mind. They had been riding their horses at a walk along a winding ridgeline when Dunne asked, and looking back and forth at their faces as he stopped his horse and let the twins drift past him, he couldn’t judge whether or not they were telling him the truth.
“Faulkner, huh? Well, that’s good enough for now,” Dunne whispered to himself, watching the twins turn their bays on the thin trail and sit looking back at him.
“What’s the holdup?” Tim asked, his hand relaxed and comfortable on his lap near
the butt of his Colt. Jed Strange let his bay take a sidelong step, putting a couple of feet between him and his brother.
“Nothing,” said Arno Dunne with a shrug. “Just got tired of riding lead. Thought I’d drop back for a while.” He caught the look of distrust in their eyes, and shook his head. “Boys, I’ve never saw two young men so full of suspicion in my life.”
Tim offered a faint smile and spoke in a polite manner. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, Dunne. It’s just that you’re the only one who knows the way we’re going.”
“Oh, I see.” Arno Dunne chuckled, nudging his horse forward. “I’m glad you cleared that up for me. I was about to think you didn’t trust me behind your backs.” He passed between them, tipping his fingers to his hat brim, once more taking the lead.
As Dunne rode a few yards ahead of the twins, Tim looked at Jed, saying, “See how easily he does things? We let down for a second and he puts us right at his advantage.”
“I know,” Jed replied, watching Arno Dunne’s back. “But it won’t happen again.” As he spoke, he toyed with the miniature noose hanging from his saddle horn. “How’s your leg feeling?”
Tim patted his healing wound gently. “It’s mending right along,” he said. “How about your arm?”
“It’s almost good as new,” Jed said, stretching his arm, working his fingers open and shut. “I’m ready for whatever’s ahead.”
“Good.” Tim nodded, the two of them heeling their bays closer behind Arno Dunne.
Dunne looked back over his shoulder at them, saying, “Did you ever stop to think what a big chance I’m taking? Why should I be so sure I can trust you two behind me?”
“You invited us, Dunne,” Tim said. “If it’s not to your liking, just let us know.”
Dunne let out a short laugh. “Naw, I’m only joshing with you. If I had any doubts, we wouldn’t have come this far. The truth is, I can see you two haven’t had as much experience as you let on. But that’s okay by me,” he added quickly. “I saw how handy you are with those Colts.” He paused as if thinking something over, then said without turning to them, “Tell me something, though. How would you feel about an ol’ fashioned duel?”
“What do you mean?” Jed asked, the two of them moving their bays up closer as the trail broadened.
“You know,” said Dunne, “stepping off ten paces, looking a man in the eyes until somebody gives a signal, then trying your best to blow the hell out of him before he does the same thing to you? Think either one of you can handle that?”
“You sound like you’re talking about a sporting event,” Jed responded.
“Yeah,” Tim interjected, “and gunfighting is not a sport, Dunne. Why would any man consider doing something like that?”
“Why, for money, of course.” Dunne chuckled. “I mean serious money, the kind you can unroll onto your palm and feel the weight of it. The kind of money that makes women swoon, and makes men green with envy.” He tossed them a glance over his shoulder, smiling slyly. “Think about it, boys. I’m talking about the kind of money that instead of pinching a nickel for a beer and a free lunch, you’d be setting up the house and leaning with your thumbs hooked under your arms.”
“You’re talking to the wrong men, Dunne,” Jed replied. “That kind of money has blood all over it.”
“Just making conversation is all,” Dunne said, stepping his horse off the trail toward a ridge overlooking a wide stretch of flatland. “But in case you don’t know it, blood washes right off of money. The bigger the money, the less of a stain blood leaves on it.”
“But still,” Jed said, “we were taught that the only time to use our Colts is in self-defense. It ain’t right, what you’re talking about—”
“Exactly how much money are you talking about, Dunne?” Tim Strange asked, cutting his twin brother off.
Arno Dunne had stopped his horse close to the edge of the ridge. He rose up in his stirrups, gazed out across the flatland, then backed his horse so it faced the twins. He smiled, tapping a finger to his forehead. “Now there’s the proper question—how much money?” He winked, and looked back and forth between them. “For twins, you two sure have some different ways of looking at things, don’t you?” He gestured his hand toward Jed, saying, “Jed’s only concern is whether something is right or wrong. But you”—he pointed his finger at Tim—“you go right to the business end of it. You want to know what it’s worth to you in dollars and cents. I like that.” Arno Dunne’s smile broadened, staring at Tim Strange.
Tim shrugged. “What’s the harm in asking? You said you were only making conversation. That’s true, ain’t it?”
“What’s the difference whether or not I was just making conversation?” Arno Dunne asked. “The question is still on the table—would you fight a duel like that or not?”
“It depends on the kind of man I was up against,” Tim replied, his gaze fixed right on Arno Dunne.
“Hell, boy, we already know what kind of man he is. He’s the kind of man who would kill you for money, or else he wouldn’t be standing there. Now that we’ve settled that, would you do it or not?”
Tim looked away from Dunne, saying, “You’re talking crazy. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
Dunne laughed and shook his head. “Then let me ask you both this. Are you tired of riding those lank-sided bays? Because if you are, we’ve got a fresh change of horse coming.” He jerked his head toward that flatland below the ridgeline. “They should be getting here most anytime.”
“What are you talking about?” Jed stepped his bay forward and peered out ahead. At a distance of less than three hundred yards, he noticed seven men moving toward them across the flatlands, leading a ten-horse string stretched out between them.
“He’s right,” Jed said to Tim, stepping his bay back from the ridgeline. “It looks like a group of seven cowhands coming up from the Red.”
“You counted seven,” said Dunne, “but unless I’ve missed my guess, there’s two more you didn’t see.”
“Seven or nine, what’s the difference?” Tim said to Dunne. “We’re not trading these bays. They’re good horses. They’re just a little bit off their weight right now. But they’ll fill out once we get them on some steady grain.”
“Trade?” Dunne chuckled. “Who the hell is talking about a trade? I swear, boys, do I have to spell everything out for yas? You don’t trade for nothing out here, not if you’ve got any guts at all.”
“Hold it, Dunne,” Jed cut in. “We’re not horse thieves and bushwhackers. Those are just some hard-working drovers down there.”
“Oh, you think so? Well, you’re wrong.” Arno Dunne’s face turned solemn, and he added, “Maybe it’s time both of you decide exactly what you are. So far all I’ve heard is what the two of you won’t do.” Dunne stepped down, pulling his rifle from his saddle boot. “You can either side with me or stay out of my way. There’s a fight coming up out of that draw.”
“Not for me and Tim, there ain’t,” Jed said.
Arno Dunne turned to Tim, wiped a hand along his rifle barrel, and checked it. “What about it, Tim? You with me on this or not?”
“What are you saying, Dunne?” Tim asked. “That those men aren’t drovers at all?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Arno Dunne levered a round into his rifle chamber. “They’re headed this way because their two scouts spotted us and gave them a signal from somewhere, probably from behind us. Now you both best get to deciding where you stand on this.”
“Like hell!” Jed swung his horse to the edge of the ridge, his pistol streaking up from his holster.
Seeing what his twin bother was about to do, Tim shouted, “Wait, Jed!”
But it was too late. Jed fired three warning shots into the air, the sound of them echoing out across the basin below as he yelled down, “Hello, the basin!”
“You damned fool!” Arno Dunne hissed. “Now you’ve done it! Get back from that edge, you’ve got yourself skylighted!”
“Then like as not, you’ve gotten us all killed,” Dunne said. Paying no attention to Jed’s pistol pointing at him, Dunne stepped away, taking a position behind a small cluster of rock and gazing down onto the flatland.
At the edge of the ridge, dirt and chips of rock suddenly sprang up at the hooves of Jed’s bay beneath the sound of the rifle fire from below them. The horse shied back. “Get down, Jed!” Tim shouted. He didn’t have to shout twice. A bullet whistled past Jed’s head as he ducked, jerking his horse back from the edge.
From his position behind the rocks, Arno Dunne returned fire into the basin, already seeing the men moving into a widening circle around them. He tossed a quick glance at Jed and Tim Strange, watching them jerking their horses farther back out of the rifle fire. “You boys have a lot to learn,” he shouted to them. “Too bad you ain’t going to live long enough to learn it.”
“Never mind about us, Dunne,” Tim called out to him as Dunne raised his rifle and continued firing, “we’ll live through this. How’d you know they weren’t drovers?”
Arno Dunne shook his head in disgust. “There’s some things you just know, boys, if you want to see the next sunrise.”
Chapter 10
From their position in the rocks along the ridgeline, Tim turned to Dunne as the rifle fire drew closer around them. “Maybe there’s still enough time for us to make a run back along the trail we came up on.”