door with both barrels of these shoulder cannons of ours. That’ll blow us a pathway inside. Once we get inside, we’ll kill the hell out of Cutner and save the girl. That about it, Lucius?”
I flashed him a tight grin then said, “Sounds right to me.”
Lavender shook his head and took several steps backward. “Done all the killin’ as I ever intend to do, gents. Already in too deep with God over my past killin’s as it is. Jus’ cain’t go bein’ a party to this ’un.”
A look of surprised confusion on his face, Glo said, “What you mean, Honus? That man inside there is the worst we’ve ever encountered. Ain’t no arguin’ the point. And he has a defensless young girl in there with ’im. We gotta go on down there and get ’er out. Whatever it takes.”
Lavender took another step backward, then moved to his animal’s side. He jumped into a stirrup and quickly threw a leg over the beast’s broad back. The horse shook its head, rattled the metallic pieces of the California headstall and curb bit against one another.
“Got you mens up here like I said I would. But ain’t gonna be party to no more killings, ’less it’s done to save my own life. Y’all go on and do what you has to do. I completely understand. Trust me, I do. Just count me out of it.”
Then, God as my witness, he wheeled that big ole gray of his around and kicked for home. Seconds later, Honus Lavender didn’t amount to any more than fleeting memories and a cloud of swirling dust headed for safer climes.
Glo stared at his feet as though dumbfounded. “Hadn’t seen it myself, wouldn’t of believed it, Mistuh Dodge. Never knew the man to have a craven bone in his body. ’Fore now anyway.”
Boz turned and gazed down at Duvall’s stone dwelling. And, in that strange, philosophical way he often assumed, said, “Well, ain’t nothin’ cowardly ’bout the man, Glo. Of late, must admit I’ve come to understand his position completely. Like a lot of others I’ve known, ’pears as how, at some point, Honus Lavender has simply reached that point where killin’ another man is as foreign to his way of thinking as payin’ to watch a troup of armadillos play banjos and square dance.”
“Doesn’t matter whether he’s with us or not,” I said, “the job’s still the same. Ain’t nothin’ more ’n a day’s worth of gun work fellers.”
And with that, and a quick nod of agreement to one another, we struck out. Heeled it for Duvall’s derelict strong-hold like a trio of men on a deadly mission. Clementine Webb’s piteous screeching rang in our ears every step of the way.
23
“SCREW YOU LAW-BRINGIN’ BASTARDS . . .”
I CANNOT IMAGINE what kept us from being discovered as we hoofed our way down that treeless, barren hillside. We sure as hell didn’t attempt anything in the way of concealing our approach. No point. Nothing to hide behind. Perhaps the worst part of the deadly stroll was that Clementine Webb’s noisy, tortuous treatment became louder, more real, and more difficult to stomach the closer we got to our objective.
Suppose we couldn’t have been more than ten feet from the rock-bound chamber of horror’s sturdy-looking front entrance when we came to a huffing, puffing stop. I turned to Glo. Locked him in a narrow-eyed glare and said, “Boz and I’ll take the door down, then go inside. Want you to wait out here. If ole Mad Dog makes it past us alive, don’t you dare hesitate, Glo. Drop both hammers on his sorry, woman-stealin’, murderin’ ass. You assume he’s already shot hell out of the two of us and most probably sent the girl to Jesus as well. Kill ’im graveyard dead.”
Boz let out a derisive snort, then added, “Damn right, Glo. That son of a bitch manages to eleminate the both of us, once you’ve put ’im down, drag his corpse out into the middle of nowhere and let the coyotes have him.”
Glo pawed at the sandy ground with one booted foot. “My, oh, my, Mistuh Dodge. Sho’ do hope ain’t nothin’ like that’s in the cards today. Sho’ don’t want this dance to end in such a terrible tragedy. Cain’t begin to imagine what I’d do if’n y’all men went and got kilt.”
“You’ll do what’s necessary,” Boz said. “Same as we would do. Same as always.”
Raised my weapon and aimed for the hinged side of the door. “You ready to start this ride, Boz?”
“Screwed down and sittin’ deep in the saddle, Lucius.” He brought his weapon up on the opposite side of the rugged entryway, then said, “Turn ’er loose and let ’er buck. Let’s see which way she jumps.”
Thunderous report from four barrels of heavy-gauge buckshot rendered the weather-shriveled door, the frame, and goodly parts of the stone and mortar wall on either side of it to nothing more than a cyclone of flying splinters and roiling dust. An ear-thumping roar from our blasting still hung in the air, when we cast those big poppers aside. Filled our hands with cocked pistols and stormed through the run-down building’s newly fashioned front opening like a pair of mad men running toward the worst of a moonless midnight’s bad dreams.
I darted for the right corner. Boz hoofed it to the left. I’m fairly certain no more than two or three seconds passed once we crossed over that shattered threshold before I could truly see anything of life-saving importance.
Appeared as how Cutner might have moved what remained of the bed Honus Lavender described for us. The rickety piece of junk sat in the middle of the unkept, nigh-on-empty room. The sagging metal frame and springs were but a few feet from the door we’d just reduced to a fog-like mist of black-powder gun smoke and toothpick sized kindling. Covered by our pistols, Cutner had dragged Clementine to the back wall near one side of an enormous fireplace. The massive hearth appeared fully capable of accommodating entire trees.
The pair of them were as naked as glory-be-to-God jay-birds. Near as I could tell, in the half-light of inner darkness and still swirling clouds of grit, Clementine Webb had either totally lost consciousness or already walked amongst the dead.
The girl’s appearance bordered on the hideous. Finger-shaped smears of crusted blood painted her beautiful, child’s face in a hellish, demonic mask. They decorated her boyish body in weird, fiendish, wavelike curlicues, and peculiar patterns in the manner of painted-on lightning bolts.
The totality of the bloodcurdling scene sent me to the edge of retching like a man coming off a month-long drunk. Realization of what that animal might have done to her made me mad enough to bite a chunk out of the head of a double-bit ax.
That bastard, Eagle Cutner, had one stringy-muscled arm clamped around the skinny girl’s neck. She dangled in front of the bug-eyed killer like a kid’s corn-shuck doll held up by nothing more than raw strength, propelled by fear. The murderous despoiler’s free hand gripped a short-barreled Smith & Wesson .44, the muzzle tightly pressed against Clem’s temple.
Sounded like a kicked dog when Cutner yelped, “Who’n the bloody hell ’er you sons a bitches? And what’n the blue-eyed hell you want from me, for the love of sweet Jaysus?”
An ominous, peculiar, creeping silence ran around the room on cat’s paws. Several seconds of striking stillness passed before Boz near whispered, “We’re the angels of death—your worst nightmares come to life, outlaw.”
“Horseshit,” Cutner snorted. “Angels of death, my ass.”
“We’re the men placed on this earth to protect little children and especially defenseless girls. A benevolent God has sent us to erase your sorry, woman-defiling self from the face of the earth,” Boz added. “You don’t drop that pistol, I can guarantee you’ll end this day a-beggin’ for death to come for you like a blind, one-armed, no- legged Civil War vet shaking a tin cup.”
All I could see was the top of Cutner’s head and a pair of darting eyes when he let out another derisive grunt. He spoke into Clem’s shoulder when he growled, “The hell you say. If you bastards think Mad Dog Cutner’s afeared of a pair of blatherin’, smart-mouthed jackasses, who just happen to be wavin’ pistols around, well, the two of you’ve got a couple more thinks a-comin’, by God.”
“We’re Texas Rangers, you ignorant wretch,” I called out. “We came for the girl. You don’t give her over, then I’ll go a bit further than my partner. Warrant as how your time amongst the living is just about up.”
Then, in an effort to get a better eye on the situation, I slowly sidestepped a shade to my right.
Surprised me a mite when Cutner twisted his head the opposite direction. With a stubble-covered cheek pressed against the girl’s back, he spit on the wall, then snarled, “Texas Rangers, my cankered ass. Doan give a single hoot in hell or a paper sack fulla dog shit who you sons a bitches
