Our eyes held for an agonized heartbeat before Malcolm, with a measured lack of speed, returned his attention to Vole; from this point forward it was up to him to retain Vole’s focus and it was up to me to fetch that gun.
Malcolm squared his shoulders, studying Vole with open defiance. “I heard how you shot Miles from a distance of a good half-mile. Ain’t a bit of cowardice in that, is there? Never mind that he’d have sent you straight to hell before you could draw, you ugly rodent.”
Vole spit a thick plug of saliva toward Malcolm, who did not flinch.
Keeping my belly on the ground, edging perhaps an inch, I made the first small move in the direction of the gun. Malcolm did not dare look my way. Vole was positioned with his back to me and the second man, Turnbull, had ridden after Aces; no way to judge how long Turnbull would be out of sight but I had to assume only minutes. Probably less. I crept forward another inch; I could have grabbed the gun with one good lunge, but I didn’t dare draw attention to my intent.
“Get your sorry self on your feet, Carter. Much as I’d like to see the light fade from your eyes this very day, I got orders. Fallon wants to hang you. Said he intends to see to it you’re hung proper this time.”
Malcolm stood, clutching his right arm near the elbow, applying pressure to his wound. I kept belly-crawling and he kept talking. “Fallon tried to hang me once before. No dice. But I figure he’ll be in hell before too long. Devil has a spot reserved, special-like, for the Yancys, I’d bet my last dollar. And one for you, Vole. You know you two’ll rendezvous there before long.”
“Shut your goddamn mouth. You’ll be dangling from a tree by tomorrow morning and I’ll be the first to piss on your sorry corpse.”
I was maybe eighteen inches from Malcolm’s gun. One good stretch with my right arm and it would be in my grasp; sweat burned my eyes and I spared a flickering glance toward Malcolm and Vole. In the distance, fast approaching, was the sudden vibrating thud of hoof beats.
Turnbull.
Fuck!
And just that fast Vole, alerted by the sound of the returning horses, turned my way; I watched shock flatten his broad, sunburned face. Without warning he swung his gun my direction, aiming at my spine – granting Malcolm the necessary distraction to lunge, grabbing Vole’s right wrist and dragging him straight to the ground. Vole’s horse whinnied and sidestepped, kicking its back legs as the men grappled almost beneath its hooves.
I scrambled forward, clutching the pistol in a two-handed grip. It was long-barreled and heavy and somewhere in the tiny, non-panicking part of my mind I realized I had no idea how to fire it – there was more to it than a simple trigger pull, right?
Isn’t there a hammer? Something needs to be cocked!
Frantic thoughts, a whirlwind of desperate decisions and no time to consider any of them.
Shit, shit, shit! Camille, do something!
I flew to my feet in time to spy Malcolm roll atop Vole and straddle his waist to deliver rapid-fire punches, one fist after the other, directly to Vole’s head. Teeth bared, blood flowing from his forehead and grunting with the extremity of his effort to destroy, Malcolm was a far cry from the tender, passionate lover of last night; I understood at a deep, visceral level there were parts of this man I had no hope of fully understanding, depths I could sense but never touch. Only Cora Lawson was capable of meeting him equally, of filling the chasm in his heart.
But Cora isn’t here. You are.
And no matter what else happened, I refused to let violence claim my life as it had Cora’s and further destroy Malcolm. It was the least I could do for the man both she and I loved with the entirety of our souls.
Vole bucked upward with a hard, vicious movement, throwing Malcolm sideways; I saw the gun still clenched in Vole’s right hand and there was nothing else to do but scream, “Freeze!”
I aimed at Vole’s head with both arms outstretched, sweating and shaking but resolute with purpose.
It happened in the flicker of an eyelid, the beat of a bird’s wing; the soft expulsion of a held breath – the last thing I expected in that instant.
Vole twisted to the left and fired his gun at me.
I saw the spark of fire in the barrel and the round passed so close to my head I heard its whine, felt the energy of a bullet that, had it flown another inch to the right, would have split my forehead.
So fast it was almost a blur, Malcolm extracted a knife from his boot and sliced open Vole’s throat. Blood bloomed like an exotic flower, a bright scarlet waterfall of draining life. Vole’s limbs twitched and danced like a wooden puppet’s. I heard nothing but my own frantic breath, watching in a stupor as Malcolm grabbed Vole’s gun, leaped over his body, flew to my side and clenched my arm, hauling me backward with the force of a steam engine. He shouted something but I couldn’t hear – I could hardly will my legs to hold my weight. Malcolm dragged me with him, catching hold of Vole’s horse’s abandoned reins. The animal kicked, wild-eyed with distress at the chaos, but Malcolm held fast.
He’s using the horse as cover, I realized.
Oh God – because –
Turnbull rode in hard, firing at us from horseback. Vole’s horse jerked and bucked, fighting Malcolm’s death-grip. Malcolm put his body in front of mine and leaned over
