“How is Bernard?” she asked when she could get the words out.
“He’s a goner,” Longarm had to tell her. “The bank is closed and everyone is upset.”
Victoria began to cry, so Longarm held her even tighter. “Are you sure you don’t want to try and get out of here before the fireworks?”
“No!”
“Then you’ve got to get a grip on yourself,” Longarm told her. “Just as soon as Hank Bass rejoins those men, we’re going to end their little party once and for all. And no matter what, if they won’t surrender, I’m going to shoot Bass first.”
But even as Longarm was making this solemn pledge, one of the outlaws came to his feet, glanced at the cabin door, and then rubbed his crotch in a way that caused the others to burst into coarse laughter.
“Think I’ve got another itch for that woman that I’m going to take care of right now!”
Longarm stepped in front of Victoria and his words were deadly. “I don’t think so, you raping son of a bitch!”
The man’s jaw dropped in amazement, and he was ridiculously slow in making a stab for his gun. Longarm pulled one of the triggers of the shotgun and it exploded like a Civil War cannon. The outlaw with the “itch” was lifted completely off the ground and nearly torn apart by the blast. Longarm shifted the barrels and fired again, and two more of the outlaws were knocked down like wheat in a high wind.
Victoria shot the last one. Her rifle thundered and the man took the bullet in the groin. He screamed, grabbed himself, and then began to writhe around in the dirt. Longarm knew that the man didn’t have a chance of surviving the wound. He hurried over to him, knelt on one knee, and shouted, “Where’s Bass?!”
The dying outlaw tried to speak but instead died in a pool of his own blood.
A bullet out of the dark clipped Longarm’s rib cage, and he spun around just in time to see a mounted horseman fire again before galloping away.
“That’s Hank Bass!” Victoria cried.
Longarm ran to the corral, and the already spooky horses began to mill about in fear. They could probably smell the gunpowder and blood and associated it with past frightening experiences.
“Whoa!” Longarm called.
But the outlaw horses were crazed and nearly trampled Longarm as they bolted through the open gate and went flying down the canyon after Hank Bass.
“Dammit!” Longarm shouted in angry frustration before getting a hold of himself and realizing that, even though Hank Bass had escaped, everything had turned out quite well. Hank Bass might still be free, but now he was alone and on the run.
Longarm dragged the bodies into the cabin and found some blankets. He wrapped Victoria up like a baby and held her close. Neither of them slept a wink, but when the sun finally peeked over the canyon’s rim, Longarm was pleased to see that the young woman was composed.
“What are we going to do now?” Victoria asked.
“I’ll inspect the cabin for any bounty that they haven’t yet spent in Mexico,” he replied. “After that, I’ll just set the damn thing on fire and cremate the lot of them.”
“You can do that?”
“There’s no law in Prescott that could take over the case, and I doubt that any citizens would want to come clear down here and bury these men out of the kindness of their hearts.”
“Yeah,” she said, taking Longarm’s hand, then gazing up into his eyes and saying, “I thought a lot about you last night, Custis. I owe you my life but …”
Victoria broke down and began to cry, so Longarm put his arms around her awhile until she regained her composure. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Everyone will know what these animals did to me.”
“Oh, I don’t know if …”
“Yes, they will! And, if there were any doubts, Bass will brag and tell them.”
Longarm supposed she was right. Most everyone would assume that a pretty young woman abducted by a band of cutthroats and outlaws would most likely be violated in the most unspeakable manner. Imaginations would run wild.
“What am I going to do, Custis?!”
“You’re going to have to be very strong,” he said, knowing how feeble this advice would sound but unable to think of anything better to say. “You did nothing wrong. If there is sin, it’s on their unholy souls, not yours.”
She nodded, chin quivering. “But …”
“Victoria,” he interrupted, “I don’t know you real well, but we became quite close on the train, didn’t we?”
“Very close.”
“Then my advice would be that, unless you have some compelling reason to remain in Prescott, you should relocate. Just go someplace new and give yourself a little time and space to heal. Maybe you’ll come back, but maybe not. Either way, time will heal.”
“You sound like a man who speaks from experience.”
“I do,” he said, not wishing to elaborate on the many sorrows in his own past.
