Malone rubbed the fingers of his left hand over his beard. “Well, I ain’t so sure that’d be a good idea. We got all the people we need in the valley right now.”
“It’s a public road, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly. There’s supposed to be a marker here so folks will know they’re enterin’ Trident range, and they’d be better off turnin’ around.”
“That’s not true,” Diana said with a sudden flare of anger. “The boundaries of your ranch don’t extend this far, Malone. You’re claiming range that doesn’t belong to you.”
He turned a baleful stare on her. “I don’t like bein’ called a liar, even by a pretty girl like you, Miss Starbird.”
The Kid had noticed the brand on the horses the men rode. It was a line that branched and curved into three points. Now he said, “Neptune’s trident.”
That distracted Malone from the young woman named Diana Starbird. He looked at The Kid again and asked, “You know of it?”
“Neptune was the Roman god of the sea, and he was usually depicted carrying a trident like the one you’re using as a brand. The Greeks called him Poseidon.”
“Didn’t expect to run into a man who knows the classics out here in the middle of this godforsaken wilderness,” Malone said.
The Kid didn’t waste time explaining about his education. He knew that he and Diana were still balanced on the knife-edge of danger from these men.
And yet there was something about Malone, something about the way he looked at Diana, that told The Kid he didn’t want to hurt the young woman. The Kid’s own fate was another story, though. He had a hunch Malone would kill him without blinking an eye, if the whim struck him to do so.
“Is there a town in the valley?”
Malone looked a little surprised by the question. “Aye. Bristol, about fifteen miles east of here.”
“I need to replenish my supplies, and my horse could use a little rest before I ride on. I’m not looking for trouble from you or anyone else, Malone. Just let me ride on to the settlement and in a few days I’ll be gone.”
Malone frowned. “Are you sure Owen Starbird didn’t send for you?”
That would be Diana’s uncle, The Kid recalled. “Never heard of him until now,” he replied honestly.
“Well . . .” Malone scratched at his beard and hesitated as if he were considering what The Kid had said.
While that was going on, the little man in gray turned his horse from the trail and started riding around the area, his eyes directed toward the ground as if he were searching for something. After a moment, he found it. He reined in, dismounted, and reached into the brush to pick up the skull. He turned and held it up to show the others.
“Look at this, Terence.”
“My marker,” Malone rumbled angrily. “Part of it, anyway.”
The baldheaded man pointed toward the trail. “Only one set o’ fresh tracks comin’ from the west, Terence,” he said. “And the bones were there earlier. I seen ’em with my own eyes.”
Malone glared at The Kid. “That means you disturbed my marker, mister . . . What is your name, anyway?”
“It’s Morgan.”
Malone smiled, but his eyes were flintier than ever. “Like Henry Morgan, God rest his soul.”
He recognized the name Henry Morgan, though. He had no doubt that Malone was referring to the infamous English buccaneer from the Seventeenth Century who had led a fleet of pirate ships against the Spaniards in the Caribbean and Central America and captured Panama City. The skull and crossbones that had been planted in the trail left no doubt about Malone’s interest in pirates and piracy.
“I’ve been known to let travelers use this trail, Mr. Morgan,” Malone went on, “if they can pay tribute. I’m afraid I can’t do that with you, though.”
“Just as well . . . because I don’t intend to pay you one red cent.”
Malone’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Destroyin’ my marker is like a slap in the face, Morgan, and I can’t allow you to go unpunished for that. You can go on down the trail . . . but you’ll have go past either Greavy”—he nodded to the small, gray-clad gunman—“or Wolfram.” A jerk of the bearded chin indicated the baldheaded man. “Guns or fists, Morgan. It’s up to you.”
Wolfram held up his right hand and opened and closed it into a fist as he grinned at The Kid. He flexed those strong, knobby-knuckled fingers and chuckled.
Greavy’s face was cold and expressionless. He was clearly the fast gun of this bunch. The Kid was confident that he could beat Greavy to the draw, but if he did, that didn’t mean the others would let him pass. They might just use the shooting as an excuse to kill him.
But if he took on the bruiser called Wolfram and bested him in single combat, that might be different. The rest of them might be impressed enough by such a victory to let him go. More importantly, such an outcome wouldn’t expose Diana Starbird to the danger of flying bullets.
And the anger that was always seething not far below the surface of The Kid’s mind would have an outlet again.
The Kid looked at Malone and said, “I have your word of honor that if I defeat one of them, you’ll allow me to ride on to Bristol?”
