peaks.
Timmy absorbed that while marshaling his strength. “You’re the one behind all this!” Another insight jolted him. “It was you who murdered Mrs. Tovey!”
“That I did, boy. But it’s not my brainstorm. I’m followin’ orders, just like Hijino.”
“The two of you are workin’ together? Why? What do you hope to get out of it?”
“Don’t strain your brain, boy,” Dunn said.
“Quit callin’ me that! I’m not no boy!” Timmy bristled. “I do a man’s work. I’m entitled to some respect.”
“All any of us are entitled to,
Timmy considered wrenching the reins from the big man’s grasp and racing to the ranch, but Dunn could easily shoot him before he went a hundred yards. Nor did jumping Dunn and trying to wrest a weapon from him promise much success. Dunn outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds, and was built like a stone wall.
Hours rolled by. Once, to the northeast, Timmy thought he spied riders, but they vanished moments after he set eyes on them, and might have only been cattle.
By late afternoon, the foothills were near enough that Timmy was seized by a sense of imminent danger. Something told him that Dunn would stop soon, and when Dunn did, Timmy wouldn’t like it. If he was going to do something, he must act soon, but for the life of him, Timmy could not choose the best course. He wished Jesco was there. Jesco would know what to do.
The foothills rose in arid contrast to the lush, irrigated grassland. Largely barren except for a few isolated springs, they were shunned by cattle and most everything else. Dunn climbed the first one, and rode over its crest to the other side. “Here will do.” He drew reins. “It’s where I’m to meet the others.”
“Who?” Timmy asked, not really caring. Staying alive was all he could think about. He must not give up, not so long as breath remained.
Dunn did not answer. Dismounting, he palmed Timmy’s Colt, which he had wedged under his belt, and pointed it at Timmy. “Get down. Nice and slow, if you don’t mind, and even if you do.”
Awkward because of his bound wrists, Timmy did as he was instructed. He tried to swallow, but had no spit. “What do you aim to do to me?”
“Need you ask?” Bending down, Dunn slid his other hand into his left boot and produced a knife. “If you’re wonderin’ how, don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to shoot you. Not right away, anyhow.” Smirking, he hefted the knife. “I like to whittle some first.”
Chapter 21
Saber watched Twitch splash kerosene on the front wall of the Wolf Pass Saloon. “Hurry it up, slowpoke. We have a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.” The long, hard ride would do them good, he reflected, after the easy spell they had enjoyed.
Careful not to get any on his boots, Twitch upended the last of the kerosene. “Dunn won’t mind if we’re late, cousin.”
“I will,” Saber said. “By now, the cowboys and the vaqueros will be at each other’s throats, and we need to be there to pick up the pieces.”
Creed came out of the saloon holding a full bottle of whiskey. “I’m takin’ this along.”
Saber’s lips pinched together. He had given explicit orders. No liquor from here on out. Everyone else had heeded. If he let Creed go unchallenged, the others might brand him as weak. “You can’t survive a few days without coffin varnish?”
“Killin’ always gives me a powerful thirst,” the black said, “and we have a heap of killin’ to do.”
“How much of a heap depends on how many of that cow crowd are still breathin’ after the gun smoke settles,” Saber said. “With any luck, there won’t be but a few.”
“You call that luck?” Creed opened his saddlebags, and shoved the bottle in. “There better be more than a measly few. I have the itch.”
Saber looked away. That was what Creed called it when the need to kill came over him. “The itch.” Like it was a rash, and blood the only salve.
Twitch was set to light the kerosene. “Seems an awful waste to me, burnin’ all the tarantula juice we haven’t drunk yet.”
No one else grumbled. They knew better. Saber climbed on his chestnut, saying, “Everyone will reckon it was an Injun raid. They killed the owner and burned the place down.”
“You always were clever,” Twitch tittered.
“More clever than most. It’s why I ain’t never been caught, and why I never will be,” Saber boasted. He patted his hogleg. “Lead has its uses, but savvy is what keeps us from havin’ our necks stretched, or rottin’ behind bars.”
Flames flared to vivid red and orange. Snickering, Twitch stepped back as they licked at the porch and climbed to the overhang. “Fire is almost as pretty as a naked dove.”
“Almost,” Saber said. As a boy, he had delighted in setting toads and lizards and frogs ablaze, after cutting their legs off so they could not get away. A few years ago, for the thrill, he had burned a drummer alive. To this day, he fondly recalled the shrieks and screams.
“Fire does nothin’ for me,” Creed said.
Some of the others, though, were as fascinated as Saber and Twitch. The flames reached the roof and spread rapidly, spawning thick columns of smoke that spiraled skyward.
“What if they see it down in the valley?” one of the men asked.
“So?” Saber rejoined. “They have too much on their minds. No one will come.”
The heat was terrific. Saber reined a safe distance from the crackling inferno, as much for his skittish mount as for himself. Inside, bottles were bursting. Something went up with a loud
Saber was almost to the trees when the saloon exploded. A man-made volcano of flame and wood spewed fiery pieces and bits in a trillion trajectories. The slowest of the gang, a burly hardcase named Caleb, howled when burning bits seared his neck and cheek. Fritz’s mare pranced in fright.
Cackling merrily, Saber came to a stop. He half hoped the mare would throw Fritz, but no such luck. Everyone reached the woods, singed but alive. “We should burn more places down. It beats playin’ poker all hollow.”
“If you say so,” Creed said.
“I say so.” Saber grew suspicious. This made twice in the past few minutes that the black man had stepped on his toes. Had it finally come? Was Creed about to make a bid to become the new leader?
“I like playin’ poker when I win,” Twitch remarked.
“Who doesn’t?” Saber sometimes wondered if they truly were kin. No relative of his could be so dumb. He tore his gaze from the conflagration, and used his spurs.
That high up, they were afforded a spectacular vista. Lower slopes, dappled with color, merged into the foothills, which in turn merged into the green of the valley floor. Saber was not much for admiring scenery, but he had to admit New Mexico Territory could hold its own with the likes of Colorado and Utah. He was trying to recollect where he had come across acre after acre of the most amazing rock formations, when he acquired a shadow. Instantly he lowered his right hand to his revolver. “What do you want?”
“To talk,” Creed said, so quietly that Saber barely heard him.
“About what?” Saber asked, and tensed to draw.
“Cows.”
Saber let some of the tension drain out of him. “Since when are you interested in the critters?”
“Since you told us that we could sell the two herds for hundreds of thousands of dollars split eight ways.”
“Seven ways. I shot Hank, remember?”
