“Now? It’s the middle of the night! We won’t be able to see anything.”
“We’ll be able to see a campfire burning or a group of armed men between here and there. If there’s a gang like that near my town, I don’t want them riding loose and unaccounted for. I don’t give a damn where they’re headed.”
“It doesn’t sound like a job for two,” Miguel grunted.
“All right, then,” Stilson said as he took the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “You check that graveyard on your own.”
Miguel froze and muttered under his breath. Still shaking his head, he climbed onto his horse. “With the both of us working on it, we shouldn’t be gone for more than half an hour. If anyone’s out there, we’ll know. If they’re camping out between here and that ranch, it’ll take all night and day to search that much ground.”
“You got anything better to do?” Stilson asked in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t kidding around.
Miguel slowly shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Stilson reached out to slap his deputy on the back. “There’s no need to search between here and the ranch. If there was a gang of bandits riding to the Van Meter place, one of those hands would have seen them. They ride back and forth so many times, they’d probably know if a tree was missing a few of its branches.
“And if you’re worried about that lady getting bored while you’re gone, just tell her the next time you see her how you got wrapped up chasing down a desperate band of killers. She might even throw you one for free.”
It wasn’t long before Miguel smirked and nodded. “Good idea!”
They rode to the graveyard at a quick pace and arrived in good time. The trickle of moonlight was just enough for the headstones to stand out like giant nails in an old piece of wood.
Both lawmen did a quick circle of the graveyard and stopped once they reached their starting point. Eventually, Stilson looked over to his deputy and asked, “Are you Mexican?”
“My father is. No, wait. My father’s half-brother was. I’m named after him.”
Stilson nodded and fished for another cigarette. As he struck it, he saw Miguel’s eyes widen and his jaw drop open.
“What is it?” Stilson asked.
Raising a trembling finger, Miguel pointed to a figure crawling out from the surrounding trees and moaning softly. “Wh—what the hell is THAT?”
EIGHT
Joseph woke to the crack of a gunshot followed by shattering glass. He strained to open his eyes and was immediately rewarded for his efforts by a healthy dose of pain, which flooded through every inch of him.
Men shouted and hollered as horses thundered to and fro. There was more breaking glass, which was now joined by the crackle of flames.
When Joseph heard that crackling, his senses came back to him in a rush. He pulled in a deep breath and immediately choked on it. The acrid taste of smoke filled his nose and stuck to the back of his throat. He could hear wood splintering and more windows being broken. He could also hear a familiar voice raised in a terrified scream.
“Leave us alone!” Anne shouted.
Although he couldn’t make out the words that followed, Joseph could tell they were being spoken by angry men. The night was then split apart by the blast of a rifle.
Joseph wanted to shout to his wife. He wanted to see if she was all right or at least still alive. He wanted her to know he was nearby and would help her, but he couldn’t do a damn thing. He still couldn’t even see.
Another voice drifted nearby, growing clearer as a door slammed open. “Bitch shot me!” he said. “She’s got a damn gun.”
The reply came from much closer than Joseph had been expecting. “Then take the gun away from her,” Dutch shouted. “Or is handling one woman too hard for you?”
Joseph struggled to open his eyes. Finally, he realized that his eyes had come open the first time he’d tried. The only problem was that he was laying face down over the back of a horse and was staring at the animal’s flank.
Thankfully, the spots where he’d been shot had mostly gone numb. Gritting his teeth, Joseph got his arms moving and pushed himself back until he felt his weight sliding along the curve of the horse’s back.
When his boots touched against the ground, Joseph expected to crumple over, but he managed to keep his balance and hold onto the horse for support. Now that he didn’t have a face full of horse-hair, he could take in his surroundings.
Like a nightmare, shadows clung to the sky like thick tar. The bunkhouse was on fire and the flames roared up even higher as Joseph watched. Men were going in and out of the stables, taking what horses were there and lining them up next to Dutch and one of the other riders.
Dutch sat on his horse less than ten paces from Joseph. He nodded in appreciation of the scene in front of him, but most of his attention was focused upon the main house, where several men were headed for the front door.
“The money’s in there,” George said, pointing to the ranch house.
“You sure about that?” Dutch asked.
“Yeah. I know it’s in there somewhere! Try under the floor.”
“You hear that?” Dutch shouted to the men near the house. “Look under the floor. Pull the damn thing up if you have to.”
The man that had stumbled out the front door took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair before stuffing his hat back on. “That bitch with the gun’s in the big bedroom.”
“Then pull her outta there. If we don’t get that money, this whole damn trip’s for nothing!”
The man nodded and then marched back into the house.
Joseph could picture Anne and the children with their backs to a wall and one old hunting rifle separating them from the unthinkable. He balled up his fists and started to lunge forward, but was stopped suddenly by what felt like a lead weight dropped onto his shoulder. Joseph wheeled around to take a swing at whoever had stopped him. His fist made it about halfway around before it was stopped by a callused hand sporting four and a half fingers.
The weathered man who fixed his eyes upon Joseph placed a finger from his free hand up to his lips. Just the fact that this other man was crouched and hiding right along with him made Joseph trust him a bit. He felt even better when the man’s face struck a chord in his memory.
“You’re…the undertaker?” Joseph whispered. “Nicolai Graves, wasn’t it?”
Nick nodded, glancing around to make sure that Joseph’s question hadn’t been heard through all the other noise. Seeing that the closest horsemen were still looking away, Nick turned toward an outhouse and motioned for Joseph to follow.
It pained him to move away from the house rather than toward it, but anyplace was better than the spot he’d been. Both men kept low and scurried around the outhouse. Once they were behind that small bit of cover, Joseph leaned back against the shack and took a moment to collect himself.
“How bad are you hurt?” Nick asked.
Joseph shook his head quickly as if he was just waking up. “What are you doing here? How’d you get to me so easily?”
“It wasn’t easy, trust me. Do you have any weapons stashed?”
“I need to get to the house. There’s other men around. Lots more.” Just then, Joseph caught sight of a shape spread out on the ground a few paces from where he was standing. After squinting a bit, he saw two men piled on top of each other. Neither of them was moving.
“Did you…?”
Nick interrupted Joseph’s question by repeating his own. “Do you have any weapons stashed? Anything at all we can use?”
“There’s an old pistol in the house. Oh, and a few more pistols behind the bunkhouse. That’s where my hired
