could be just what he pretended, a rider with a lame mount.
The cowhand led the way toward the horses tied on the other side of a dying campfire. “Mine’s tied near the other end,” he said as he seemed to hurry Wes toward his horse.
“Couldn’t this wait till morning?” Wes complained.
“I figured we’d be too busy come daylight.” The cowhand pointed toward his horse. “This is him.”
Wes patted the animal on the rump so he wouldn’t startle the horse as he knelt. Nick watched as Wes ran his hand down the hind leg of the paint.
As Wes tightened his grip and lifted the horses hoof, Nick saw a blade slip from the center back of the cowhand’s belt and rise high in the air.
In a heartbeat, she closed the distance. Before he had time to lower his knife toward Wes, hers pressed across his throat hard enough to draw a blood line.
“Move,” she whispered, “and air no longer reaches your lungs.”
Turning, Wes stood slowly. With the light of the distant fire, he could see the man’s eyes were wild with anger and fear. His knife was still held high, flickering in the light like a fractured moonbeam. Another moment and he would have sunk the weapon into Wes.
Wes took the knife from the man’s grip, then pulled a leather strap from his back pocket and bound the outlaw’s hands. He used the man’s own bandanna as a gag.
Silently, Nick and Wes worked together until the man was safely deposited in the trees.
As they moved away from him, Wes grabbed her by the shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, kid, for saving my life. I’d about convinced myself that you were wrong about the raid. I was half-asleep when I looked at that horse.”
Nick rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re not supposed to kiss a Shadow. Show a little respect.”
Wes laughed. “Respect isn’t enough of a word for you, lady. I owe you my life.”
“I’m sure you’ll pay me back in time. Right now, we may have two more men to catch. If the others think you’re out of the way, they may already be working. We’ve got to find them before one has time to call in backup.”
“But couldn’t he have acted alone? Maybe he was going to kill me, then signal the others to move in,” Wes whispered as they reached the edge of the trees. “There’s no reason to believe there were three.”
Without answering, she lowered her body into the shadow of the supplies piled in one place.
Wes stayed close beside her, frustrated that she wouldn’t talk to him.
A man stood on a small rise, watching away from the cattle. The silver disks on his belt reflected the firelight. Every few minutes he glanced toward the horses as if waiting for a signal.
Nick pulled a few rocks from her pocket and began tossing them in the water ten feet from the watcher. After a few plops, he moved down off the rise and walked cautiously over to the stream.
They were on him with little more than the sound of air rushing from his body. Nick shoved him to the ground and Wes tied him. Within five minutes, he sat beside his friend in the total blackness of the trees.
“Now what?” Wes asked as Nick circled along the tree line.
“I don’t know. I figured there would be an assassin, and a lookout, but your guess is as good as mine where the third man might be.”
“If there is a third man,” Wes added as he followed her along the tree line toward the campfire.
Nick froze in place with her head high in the air. Listening. Smelling.
Wes took another step, then tried to stop. But he was too slow. He stumbled over something, almost falling face forward.
Nick knelt as he regained his balance and then joined her.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Blood.” Her word floated on the air as her hands moved slowly into the undergrowth without making a single leaf rustle. “I smell blood.”
Wes extended his fingers in the direction of what had tripped him. His hand brushed over Nick’s as hers rested on something warm.
His fingers spread wider, covering hers and more. The feel of material. The warmth of a body. The wet stickiness of blood.
She slowly raised a towel that had been tucked around the body’s waist like an apron.
Suddenly Wes was pulling the injured man into the light.
“Wait,” Nick warned, knowing that all he cared about was that a man of his was down. “Don’t go into the light!”
Wes wasn’t listening. Carrying the body, Wes ran toward the campfire.
She hung back in the shadows as she watched Wes pull the man close to the light.
“Lloyd,” he said as he shook the lifeless body. “Lloyd!” Wes’s voice was hard as though he could order the cook to breathe once more.
Nick fought all her training not to step into view. Wes needed her comfort as he tried to awaken his friend from a sleep that would never end. But she was a Shadow. She knew both their lives might depend on her ability to keep her head.
She watched as Wes pulled the shirt away from Lloyd’s chest and listened for a heartbeat. When he turned the body to the light, Nick saw the two deep cuts on either side of the Irishman’s throat. A savage way to kill someone, sliding a sharp blade into one side and out the other in a second before the victim could move. Either side might kill a man, but both cuts would bleed him dry in a matter of heartbeats while it sliced through his voice box so that the victim couldn’t even whisper a death cry.
Wes slowly closed Lloyd’s eyes and lowered him to the ground. “There’s one more,” he whispered to himself as he raised his bloody hands toward heaven. “One we haven’t found.”
A stocky man stepped around the boxes and growled like an animal protecting his fresh kill. Wes had only time to glance in his direction before the man flew at him.
For several seconds they rolled, slugging, fighting wildly.
Nick drew her gun. She couldn’t help Wes, but if he lost, she cared nothing for stampeding the herd. If the stranger proved the victor, he’d feel her bullet as he stood.
The men rolled near the fire, kicking and swinging wildly. Several men in bedrolls were awakened and drew near. But like Nick, they didn’t know how to stop the fight.
Finally, Wes rolled on top and pinned the man down. “Get some rope!” he yelled at one of the men. “We’re taking Lloyd’s killer into town to the law.”
All at once the camp was alive with movement and voices. Several men looked at Lloyd’s body, then suggested justice be carried out “trail-court” style. A few men helped Wes tie and gag the third outlaw.
After watching awhile to make sure it was safe, Nick stepped from the shadows of the trees and listened to the men talk. She blended in among them as easily as she’d blended with the trees… a part of the whole, yet unto herself.
When Wes calmed down, he told his men what had happened. No one thought of sleep as they sat around the fire discussing what had taken place and all that might happen farther on down the trail. A few thought it a bad omen that even before the long drive started there should be a killing. Others suggested it might help keep everyone on their toes. Each took a turn saying how grand old Lloyd was and how sad it would be for his family.
Every two hours men came in off guard and the stories were revisited.
Nichole listened to campfire stories, feeling at home with the men as she had during the war. No one said much to her, a few slaps on the back, a few nods of approval. The group hadn’t yet bonded to one another and she seemed no more a stranger than most.
When dawn washed over the land, Wes told everyone to settle in. They’d be camped here for a time while he took the men into town and waited for the rest of the herd. A few decided to make breakfast while several returned to their bedrolls until the next shift change.
Following Wes to the stream, Nichole watched as he tried to wash off Lloyd’s blood.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered when he looked up at her. “I wish we could have found the third man before he got to Lloyd. I should have guessed. A cook moves around too much checking the fire. He would be a man the outlaws would have wanted out of the way.”
