Hook nodded. Silent in the moonlight.

Then something struck Shad, and his eyes opened a bit wider in its recognition. “This is the one Pipe Woman told us about when she come back to the lodge tonight—”

“He was about to rape her, Shad,” Hook explained, his voice emotionless.

Sweete looked back at the man. “She’s my daughter.” He snagged hold of the man’s throat himself, fingers on one side of the trachea, a big, powerful thumb pinching the other.

Gurgling with some feeble, small animal sound, he flailed with his arms at the grip the big mountain man had on him.

“She came running back here from the sutler’s all worked up, Jonah. I never made much sense of it, from the way she was going on about something happened up there while you and me was over talking to Maynadier at post headquarters. I just figured it had something to do with you—a fight of some kind you got into when I headed back here and you said you’d mosey over to the sutler’s to walk her back to camp.”

“What else she try to tell you?”

“Something about a fight. Toote finally got her calmed down. Talking about guns and blood and you and somebody hurting her. Figured we’d find out come morning. It didn’t make no sense—till now.”

“That ain’t but the start of it, Shad,” Hook said. “I brung him here for us both to hear him talk before I gut him.”

“Bad medicine. Not near the lodge, Jonah.”

“No. I’ll take him off a ways when I do it.” Hook paused, his head coming up, ear cocking as if listening.

Shad heard it too.

A shadow stood ten yards off, a dark monolith punching a hole out of the nightsky, the outline of a riflestock very plain.

“Gimme your pistol, Jonah,” Shad whispered.

“You won’t need it, Shad,” came the voice.

“Fordham?”

“It’s me. Now, just let me come on in, easy.”

“What business you got down here this time of night?” Shad asked.

“Got business with Jonah.”

The deserter came up and stopped as Sweete stood, watching the man’s eyes, and his hand on the action of that rifle. In the moonlight, Fordham gazed down on Hook, his rifle pointed in the Confederate’s direction.

Shad saw Jonah’s pistol pointed right at Fordham’s belly.

“You know ’im, don’t you, Riley?” Jonah inquired at last, in a quiet whisper.

He took another step up, slowly moving the rifle barrel toward the stranger as the bleeding man’s eyes grew bigger. Fordham jammed the rifle muzzle against the man’s jawbone and pushed the face more into the light.

“Yeah. Now I’m sure.”

“You gonna help me, aincha, Riley?” the man begged.

“And he sure as hell knows you, don’t he?” Jonah asked, his eyes narrowing.

Fordham finally dropped the angle of the rifle. “Yes.”

Shad began, “What’s this all about?”

“They worked together,” Jonah interrupted, not taking his eyes off Riley Fordham’s face. “Tell ’im, Riley.”

“What he says is right. This bastard being here can only mean one thing: they’re tracking me. He’s found me. Meaning that the others can too. I’d best be going, fellas. Pushing on to make the trail cold as I can before the rest come.”

Shad snagged Fordham’s arm as the deserter started to turn away. “You’re staying—least till this makes sense.”

“That man there,” Fordham said, pointing his rifle at the bleeding man. “He’s got two of Hook’s bullets in him. And near as I tell, Jonah’s likely got one of this bastard’s in him.”

“You hit, Jonah?” Shad asked.

Hook pulled aside his coat to show a dark stain at his right side, just above his hip. “Grazed me. A wild shot he got off when I hit him the first time.”

“How you two ever work together, Riley?” Shad asked. “Unless this one was with Usher’s bunch.”

“That’s what I tried to tell you. Now I gotta go. No telling how many out there now—coming.”

“There’s a way to find out.” Jonah handed his pistol up to Shad then and pulled out his skinning knife, laying the edge against the stranger’s jawline. “You remember his name, Riley?”

“Called Laughing Jack. Never knew his last name.”

“All right, Jack. S’pose you tell us how many there are here at Laramie.”

“O-only me,” Jack coughed his answer. “God! Don’t—”

Hook dragged the knife across the skin, opening a thin laceration that beaded with dark blood in the silver light.

“Goddammit—I beg you!”

Hook yanked back on the man’s head. “I’m gonna keep cutting down, slow … real slow—while you tell me who all came with you.”

“No one, for the love of God!” he sputtered, coughing up a little black fluid. “I’m alone. Though I am in the presence of mine enemies, may my hand be strong to smite the—”

“You believe him, Riley?”

“You gotta believe me, Riley!” the man pleaded. “Usher and Wiser—sent out a few of us they trusted. Some went on north, into Nebraska country. Others down sniffing around for you at Denver City … out to the forts in Kansas. You was there months back—they figured you’d … so some are asking around the railroad. I’m alone, goddammit! You can’t let this Gentile … get this crazy bastard off me and find me a doctor—I’m bleeding to death!”

Fordham knelt beside Laughing Jack. “What’s Usher gonna give the man who finds me?”

Jack’s eyes grew even more frightened. He swallowed, realizing now, then gurgled some on the blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “Usher’s gonna give ’im the girl. She’s a virgin—”

Fordham drove the back of his hand across Jack’s jaw. “Hattie—”

Hook yanked Jack’s head back, bringing the blade down in that heartbeat until Fordham put a hand against Jonah that stayed the Confederate’s. “All right, Jack. How ’bout you telling me and Hattie’s papa just where we can find them.”

“I don’t know where now—” Jack started, then screeched as Jonah dragged the knife blade deeper into the flesh of the man’s throat. It was pink and white, the neck turning bloody now, right across the rings of cartilage that formed the windpipe.

“Get back in the lodge!” Shad hollered as the two women started out the door with a rustle of frozen hides. They obeyed without question in a swirl of blankets. He heard their voices whispering in fear between themselves.

“Take the son of a bitch someplace else, Jonah. Away from this lodge—my family.”

“I’m leaving now,” Fordham said, rising to his feet.

“You’re coming with me, Riley,” Hook said firmly.

Fordham looked down at his rifle, then at Sweete with the pistol, and finally back at Hook.

“All right. I owe Hattie that much.”

“You owe me that much for not killing you the first time I found out back there in Kansas.”

Hook yanked on the front of Jack’s shirt, straining to pull the man. Sweete at last saw the two holes: one in the chest, the other low in the belly. Bleeders—both of them. A man drowns in his own juices, gut-shot that way, Shad thought.

“I’ll be back, this is over, Shad,” Hook said quietly as he started off, dragging Jack, with Fordham bringing up the rear.

Sweete watched them hobble through the snow toward the nearby cottonwoods and willow, listening to the whining of the dogs sniffing the blood on the snow where Jack had lain, hearing the whimpering of the man as he begged Riley for his life, begged his God for help, begged for anyone to put him out of his pain—quickly.

“Soon enough.”

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