burnt as soon as they leave.”
Knowing it wouldn’t do any good to refuse the man’s help, Nick nodded and shook Doug’s hand in earnest. Although he felt the familiar burning pain shoot through his hand, his grip was stronger than it had been even earlier that same day. “I won’t ever forget you folks,” he said.
“Take care of yourself,” Doug told him.
Sue rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Nick. “Just run,” she whispered into his ear. “That’s all you need to do. Everything else will sort itself out whether you fight for it or not.”
Nick didn’t say anything. He just savored the warmth of her hug and stopped asking himself why the hell these people would do so much for an outlaw they’d scraped off the ground a matter of days ago.
When he stepped outside and helped himself to one of the Hemphills’ horses, Nick vowed that those folks wouldn’t suffer because of their generosity.
Nick didn’t have much doubt as to where he should go next. The only thing that concerned him was getting there in time.
TWENTY-ONE
The deputy’s fist slammed into Mather’s face, sending a spray of blood into the air. Marshal Bagley stood nearby with his thumbs hooked in his belt, watching as if he was getting bored of the sight.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Mather grunted.
Marshal Bagley shook his head impatiently. “You know damn well. The man we’re after was wounded. Wounded real bad. We know he came this way, so that only leaves three choices. If he was dead,” Bagley said while ticking off one finger, “we would’a found a body by now.”
Ticking off another finger, Bagley said, “He might’ve gotten away, but he would’a had to steal a horse or walk faster than any man could, or we would’a spotted him. And three, he got patched up somewhere. Let me tell you, there are men in Virginia City who don’t like that third one very much at all.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Mather said.
Leaning down to snarl in the old medic’s face, the deputy asked, “Then how come I seen you coming back in here carrying that case a while back?”
“I treat a lot of folks around here.”
“But none of them
“They’re good people,” Mather said as he spat out a wad of blood.
“Who are?” Bagley asked. “All we want is the fugitive. We get him and we’ll forgive the rest.”
Mather reflexively glanced to the right-hand window of his front room. “None of the folks around here deserve any trouble,” he said.
“And they won’t get it from me, just so long as I have something to pass along.”
Hanging his head low, Mather said, “I heard mention of a name. It may be the man you’re looking for.”
“What was the name?”
“Nick Graves.”
“That’s better,” Bagley said with a smile. “Now, just tell me where you heard that name.” Seeing the old man turn to look the other way, Bagley glanced to his deputy and told him, “Make this old buzzard spit out who was hiding that fugitive. Remember, he don’t need his teeth to say it.”
Grinning like a kid that had been given the keys to a candy store, the deputy grabbed Mather by the shirt collar and hauled him over to the dining room. Weathering more than a few blows from the medic, the deputy threw the older man into a straight-backed chair and started pounding his fist into Mather’s face again and again.
Bagley remained in the living room and sat on the padded arm of the medic’s sofa. As he lit a cigarette, Bagley heard a horse racing toward the front of the house. Without disturbing his deputy, Bagley moved to a window and pulled the curtain to one side. He spotted the horse and recognized it as one of the animals that had been tied to the front of the Hemphill place.
The man climbing down from the horse wore a jacket that was just a bit too small for him and a hat that looked as if it had been trampled by an entire team of mules. His hands were bandaged and the ferocity in his eyes could have been seen from a mile away.
Walking to the front door, Bagley pulled it open and stepped outside. He clenched his cigarette between his teeth and rested his hand upon the grip of his holstered .45. He couldn’t see much more than the young rider’s face as he walked around his horse. “What can I do for you, boy?”
“You’re Marshal Bagley?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Nick Graves. I hear you’re looking for me.”
Bagley’s eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from his mouth as he quickly drew his pistol.
Unfortunately for Nick, the years of throwing hot lead for a living overpowered what had happened in the last few days. His instinct to shoot first won out and he brought up the shotgun that had been wedged under his arm. Although Nick managed to get his left hand under the barrel, his right hand fumbled at the trigger guard. He knew he would have trouble working the trigger, but he had no way of knowing how badly his aim would be compromised. In fact, Nick was barely able to hold onto the shotgun when it roared and bucked in his grasp. The fresh blood that had soaked through his bandages and smeared along the surface of the weapon didn’t help matters either.
Marshal Bagley dropped to one knee and hunkered down as the shotgun went off.
Nick moved forward and forced himself to aim the shotgun one more time. He got his left hand back into place and then situated his right as well. For a moment, he swore he could feel his missing fingers gripping the weapon tightly. The subtle motions of aiming weren’t right, however. He could feel that the moment he tried to sight along the barrel.
Bagley fired a quick shot at Nick, which only missed by an inch or two. “Get out here!” he hollered to his deputy. “Right now, goddammit!!”
Seeing the uncertainty flicker through Nick’s eyes, the marshal dove to one side and swung his .45 toward the younger man.
Nick dropped to the ground just as the marshal’s shot blazed over his head.
The front door swung open to reveal a surprised man with bloodstained fists. “Jesus!” the deputy said as he lifted the gun that was already in his hand. “You all right, Marshal?”
Sweat poured from Nick’s brow. It was the most rattled he’d ever been in a gunfight since the first time he’d fired at another man. His hands felt as if he was being forced, arms first, into a vat of melted iron. The panic in his heart mixed with the pain to fill his entire body.
Nick saw the deputy, but also saw Marshal Bagley in his line of fire. All but choking on his next breath, Nick fought through the pain and aimed the shotgun. The moment he pulled the trigger, he could feel the gun sliding through his hands. Without a firm grip on the stock or barrel, the shotgun tilted downward just before the hammer dropped.
The thunder of the shotgun blended in with the gut-wrenching scream from the marshal as a load of buckshot ripped through his leg just above the knee. Bagley dropped and pulled his trigger as quickly as he could until the .45 was empty.
Amid the flurry of return fire, Nick ran for the first piece of hard cover he saw. He dove behind the corner of Mather’s front porch and scooted down as far as he could. The porch was only about a foot and a half high, but Nick was able to get most of himself behind it while frantically digging for the extra shells he’d stuffed into his pocket.
Still firing at the porch, the deputy dragged Marshal Bagley toward his horse.
“Holy shit,” the deputy gasped. “Your fucking leg—”
“Just kill that son of a bitch,” Bagley snarled.
The deputy straightened up and took another shot at the edge of the porch. He then climbed up onto the porch and strained his neck to get a look along the other side of it. “I think he’s gone. Probably went back to them
