'Possibly,' she admitted. 'If the Society learns you have opened the grave of one of their gods…'
He sighed. 'Then I'd better get him before he gets me.'
There was no more to be said.
Longtree pulled Moonwind to him and kissed her forcefully. She didn't refuse his advance, her strong arms pulled him closer and held him in a tight embrace. She pulled open her buffalo robe and pushed his lips onto her jutting breasts. Before the fire, he made love to her with his mouth, teasing out her secrets and passions with his lips and tongue. Then she did the same for him. When he entered her, he did it slowly with a gentle rocking motion, urging moans and cries from her. As he pushed into her harder, faster, her legs locked around his hips, she panted in his ear, whispering her desires, and biting at him tenderly. They were like two animals at the end, lost in the heat and need, swimming burning seas, their hips slamming together with raw hunger. The beast with two backs, as it was known.
When it was over, she said, 'I'm your woman now.'
They held each other before the fire, their lips brushing in soft kisses and caresses. Moonwind stayed with him until just before dawn. When she left, she kissed him and rode off quietly, so as not to disturb his sleep.
With what came next, it was better she wasn't there.
38
Just before first light, Longtree heard a horse coming. He was half awake at the time and the slow trod of the horse's hoofs told him danger was near. Whoever was coming, was coming very slowly. Longtree worked himself quietly from his bedroll, donning his coat and strapping on his pistols.
The rider stopped just outside the weave of trees that ringed the little arroyo. The horse was tethered and the rider approached now on foot. He was being very quiet, pushing his booted feet down in the snow very slowly so as to make little sound.
But Longtree heard him, all right. He'd been a scout and he knew all the tricks of stealth-how to use them and how to know when someone else was using them. This fellow wasn't especially good. If he had been, he would've picketed his horse a half a mile away and come on foot, sneaking into camp to do whatever it was he'd come to do.
But he hadn't. Longtree decided this man was no professional, much as he thought he was.
Longtree hid in the same outcropping of rocks he'd hid in the night Lauters and his posse had come. It was an excellent place to hide during the night, but now with day breaking…it was less than desirable. It was defendable, all right, but there was no escape route from it if things turned bad. Behind him was sheer rock rising twenty feet and much the same to either side. Longtree didn't like it. He always sought a place with cover and a backdoor to slip through if it came to that.
In the grainy, pre-dawn light, he saw the man ease through the trees into camp. He suspected it could only be Lauters or Gantz.
It was the latter.
Gantz carried a shotgun and pistols on either hip. There was no question as to why he'd come. He approached Longtree's bedroll cautiously and, when it was in plain sight, aimed the shotgun at it. Cursing, he lowered the barrel, realizing it was empty.
'Drop it, Jacko!' Longtree called out, knowing it was a mistake.
Gantz threw himself to the ground and fired in the direction of the marshal's voice. The blast loosened some debris over Longtree's head, but did no real damage. Longtree shot back, his own bullet kicking up snow and dirt inches from Gantz' head. Gantz rolled away behind a tree.
'Give it up, Jacko,' Longtree called out, 'before this gets any worse.'
Gantz' only reply was another round from the shotgun that exploded more debris from the outcropping. Longtree didn't shoot back. He wasn't going to waste the ammunition until he had a clear shot at the man. This was about to become a lethal cat and mouse game, a waiting game. Longtree wasn't going to say anything else; let Gantz believe he'd been hit if the man was fool enough to think that.
'Throw out your weapons, Marshal,' he said. 'I just wanna talk…'
Somehow, Longtree didn't believe that.
He kept quiet and said nothing.
This affair could end only one way and both men knew it. If Gantz was taken alive he'd be going back to prison and Longtree knew he wouldn't let that happen. So, one of them had to die. It was an ugly situation. Gantz had the upper hand here. He was in the treeline and he could move around in there at will, under heavy cover, while Longtree could go nowhere. And there was nothing stopping Gantz from slipping around the other side of the arroyo and shooting down on Longtree. Nothing at all. But if Longtree tried to escape, there was no cover until he reached the trees. Easy pickings either way it seemed.
It all depended on how smart Gantz was.
Longtree could see part of the man's elbow sticking out from behind the tree. At this distance, hitting it was unlikely, but worth a chance. At the very least, it might scare the bounty hunter out into the open for a split second…long enough to put a bullet in him.
Longtree took aim and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet missed its mark by a few inches, gouging free bark and making Gantz dart for fresh cover. The next bullet Longtree fired caught Gantz in the leg and solicited a howl of pain from him. It probably wasn't much more than a flesh wound, but it was something.
Within seconds after the bullet had hit, Longtree came charging from his hiding place, both pistols drawn and firing, slugs ripping apart the brush Gantz was hiding in.
But Gantz was no fool.
He saw what the marshal was doing and he wasn't about to let it happen.
Dragging his injured leg, he hobbled from the trees, bullets zinging past him, shotgun held out and firing. Longtree hit the dirt, felt the first burst of buckshot scream over his head, the second erupt snow and dirt in his face. He rolled and came up firing. The first and second bullets punched holes in Gantz' stomach, blood gushing from the wounds. The third and final bullet ripped into his chest.
Gantz staggered forward, dropping the shotgun, trembling fingers reaching for the pistols at each hip. His bearded face was pale, compressed into a rictus of agony and hatred. He tried to speak, but blood sprayed from his mouth and froze on his beard, his gasping breath frosted in the air. He staggered and went down on one knee, his eyes rolling back white. With a final coughing, gagging wet gasp of air, he fell forward into the snow. His blood steamed in the chill temperature.
He was dead when Longtree reached him, the crunchy snow red with his fluids.
'Shit,' Longtree said, flipping the dead man over with his boot.
He'd wanted very much to take Gantz alive. He wanted to ask him why he'd let this happen, why he'd been pushed into such action. These were questions Longtree never tired of asking and the answers were often less than satisfying. But he always asked them, good or bad.
With a sigh, Longtree turned away.
He'd killed more men in his time than he liked to think about. And each time, death left him feeling the same-empty, hopeless, physically ill. There was never anything to be gained from violent death, only pain and suffering and guilt. But that was the way of this land; it respected nothing else.
Longtree went up into the treeline and retrieved Gantz' horse. He slung the dead man over the saddle and roped a blanket over him. That done, he broke camp and packed up all his things and led Gantz' horse into town.
He wouldn't be coming back here again. Tonight he would stay in town and every night after. Next time when a gunman came after him, he might not be so lucky.
But, ultimately, it wasn't men that worried him.
