Bloody Sunday (17 page)

“I'm going to see to it that Mrs. MacCrae gets back to her ranch safely,” Luke said. “That's as far into the future as my plans extend.”

“All right. Just remember what I said.”

Whittaker turned and stalked out of the room.

Downstairs, the sheriff apologized to Mrs. Miles for the mess she was going to have to clean up in Singletary's room.

“My goodness,” the woman said as her eyes widened and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Do you think the deputy is all right?”

“Well, he made it to his room and then back out,” Whittaker said. “Does he still keep his horse in that shed of yours?”

“As far as I know.”

“I'll have a look.” Whittaker tugged on the brim of his hat. “Ma'am.”

They left the worried landlady and went outside. Whittaker walked around the house to look in the shed. Glory, who had listened with great interest to what Whittaker told Mrs. Miles, said, “Do you think Singletary headed for Elston's ranch after he failed to kill us?”

“That's what I told the sheriff,” Luke replied with a nod. “I don't know where else he would go. Whittaker plans to ride out there and look for him.”

“At least that's what he said he was going to do. Whittaker may be in Elston's pocket, too.”

“I can't prove it one way or the other,” Luke mused, “but I don't think he is. He wants to believe that Elston isn't behind all the trouble, but it strikes me as misguided support, rather than Whittaker being out and out crooked.”

“Either way, he's no friend of mine.”

“I think you're safe in saying that,” Luke agreed.

Whittaker came back around the house. He said, “Whitey's horse isn't in the shed. Wherever he went, he's left town, I don't reckon there's any doubt about that.”

“And that's what we're going to do,” Luke said. “If you don't need us for anything else, Sheriff . . .”

Whittaker waved a hand and said, “Go ahead. I know where to find you.”

Luke and Glory returned to the livery stable, where their saddled horses stood waiting. They said good-bye to Cramer and rode out of town on the Sabado Valley road.

They left the settlement behind and had ridden for a couple of miles when Glory asked, “Was what Sheriff Whittaker said true, Luke?”

“Which part? The man said a lot of things.”

“About knowing where to find us. Are you still going to be at the MC if he comes looking for you, or are you going to leave once we get back there? You never did answer my question about your plans. Or about whether you . . .”

“Whether I believe your story about what happened with Alfred Jennings? I think I'm going to reserve judgment on that. There's one thing I know for sure, though: Harry Elston is a snake, and he's not to be trusted. Out here you never leave a dangerous snake alive. It might come back later to bite you.”

“So you're going to help me save Sam's ranch?”

“It's your ranch now,” Luke pointed out. “I don't want to see you lose it to a man like Elston.”

A faint smile curved her lips. She said, “I'm glad to hear you say that, Luke. I really am. And when this is all over . . .”

“Then we'll figure out what to do about your other problem,” he said. “Your five-thousand-dollar problem.”

They hadn't gotten an early start from Painted Post, so by midday they still hadn't gotten back to the MacCrae ranch headquarters, although Glory commented that they were already on her range again.

“We should have had Mrs. Anderson pack a lunch for us,” she said as they rode. “That way we could have stopped and eaten.”

“I could probably kill a jackrabbit and skin and cook it, if you're starving,” Luke offered. “The meat's a little stringy and tough, but better than nothing.”

She looked over at him and said, “You've really eaten jackrabbit?”

“And squirrel and prairie dog. True, none of them are what you'd expect to find in a fine restaurant in San Francisco, but when your belly is empty for long enough you'd be surprised what you might eat. The only thing I think I'd starve before I ate it again is armadillo.” Luke shook his head. “That's just not good.”

“I take it there have been times when your belly was empty?”

“Plenty of them.”

“Bounty hunting isn't always a lucrative profession?”

“Not always. But it's always dangerous. That never changes.”

They rode along in silence for a few minutes, then Glory said, “You're an unusual man. So cultured at times, so violent at others. But I suppose you're what life made you.”

“I'd like to think I made my own life, instead of the other way around,” Luke said.

“Yes, I suppose we'd all like to think that, but sometimes I wonder just how much control we're able to wrestle away from fate. Do we make our own choices, or do we just unwittingly follow the paths that some other force has laid out for us?”

“Free will or predestination, you mean?”

“Exactly!” Glory said.

It was one of the more bizarre moments of his life, Luke thought, riding across this rugged West Texas range with a stunningly beautiful fugitive who was wanted for murder, discussing theology and philosophy. His work had led him into some odd situations in the past, but this one was right up there.

Then everything got yanked back to normal by the crack of a gunshot and the whine of a bullet passing just over his head.

Luke reached over, slapped the rump of Glory's horse to send the animal leaping ahead, and heeled his dun into a gallop at the same time. He leaned forward in the saddle to make himself a smaller target as more shots blasted somewhere behind them. Glory cried out, but he was watching her and didn't see any sign that she was hit. He figured the cry was one of surprise and fear.

Ever since they had left Painted Post, Luke had been watching all around them, including their back trail. It bothered him that he'd let their enemies get behind him, but this country was covered with arroyos and little canyons, plenty of places for somebody to hide.

To tell the truth, he would have been a little surprised if they had made it all the way back to the MC
without
being jumped.

Part of him wished that Glory hadn't sent those three cowboys back to the ranch the day before. Her reasoning had been sound, though. Under the circumstances, it was entirely possible that Elston might launch a new offensive against the ranch. The new foreman needed the full crew on hand to protect the MC.

But that left Luke and Glory to make the return trip alone. Not sitting ducks, exactly, but tempting targets to be sure.

Luke twisted his neck to look over his shoulder. He saw three riders back there, pounding after them, smoke spurting from the muzzles of their guns as they fired wildly. They were too far back for handguns to do any good, a couple of hundred yards at least, but the excitement of the chase prompted them to burn some powder anyway.

The men on horseback hadn't fired those first shots. Those had come from a rifleman hidden on top of a small, rocky knoll Luke and Glory had passed a couple of minutes earlier. Luke knew that because when he looked back he saw the sun reflect from something up there, most likely a rifle barrel. When the bushwhacker had missed, then the other men had given chase.

Luke knew he was lucky the rifleman hadn't shot him out of the saddle. But was it really luck, he thought . . . or predestination?

A grim smile tugged at his lips under the mustache as he told himself not to worry about such things now. For the moment he had to concentrate on keeping himself and Glory alive.

“Up there to the left!” he shouted to her over the thundering hoofbeats. “That canyon!”

He had spotted the opening in the escarpmentlike bluff that formed the western edge of the valley, just below the rising hills. Boulders littered the mouth of the canyon. He and Glory could fort up in those rocks. They probably wouldn't have to hold off the attackers for long. Some of the MC cowboys were probably within earshot, and they would hurry to investigate the gunfire.

The big white horse was fast, but it lacked the stamina of Luke's dun and quickly began to falter at top speed. Glory urged the animal on, but Luke could tell it was already slowing. He pulled his Winchester from its sheath and called to Glory, “Keep going! Get behind those boulders and keep your head down!”

He hauled back on the reins and brought the dun around in a tight turn, then came to a stop. The Winchester flashed to his shoulder and he fired several rounds as fast as he could work the rifle's lever. He sprayed the lead toward the pursuers, who had cut down the gap between them and their quarry. Luke didn't expect to hit anything, but he came close enough to make the riders spread out and slow down a little.

That ought to give Glory enough time to reach the shelter of the boulders at the canyon mouth, Luke thought. Still holding the Winchester in his right hand, he yanked the dun's head around and jabbed his heels into its flanks. The chase was on again.

Glory was about fifty yards ahead of him now, and about fifty yards from the canyon as well. Another few moments was all she needed.

Without any warning, the white horse went down, its legs folding up beneath it. For a horrifying split second, Luke thought Glory was going to be crushed underneath the big horse. Then he saw her fly free from the saddle and crash to the ground several yards away from her fallen mount. She rolled over and the dust roiling in the air hid her from Luke's view.

“Glory!” he shouted. The dun never broke stride as he raced toward her.

Fear for her safety surged through him. Even though the horse hadn't landed on top of her, a tumble like that could easily break an arm or a leg . . . or a neck. He peered anxiously through the swirling dust, searching for a glimpse of her.

Then the dust parted and he saw her as she staggered to her feet and started stumbling around, obviously shaken but evidently not badly hurt. He veered the dun a little to approach at a better angle and shouted her name again.

This time she turned toward him and lifted her arms as the horse bore down on her. Luke slowed just enough that the impact wouldn't knock him out of the saddle as he leaned down to throw an arm around her and lift her off her feet. Glory flung her arms around his neck as he hauled her onto the dun in front of him.

“I've got you!” he told her.

But the incident had given the pursuers the opportunity to make up the ground they had lost a minute earlier when Luke opened fire on them. Now they were only a hundred yards behind, maybe less.

That wasn't close enough. Gallantly, the dun called on its remaining strength and dashed toward the boulder-littered canyon mouth. Luke galloped through a gap between two of the big slabs of rock.

He slowed the horse and swung Glory to the ground. She stumbled but stayed on her feet. Luke leaped from the saddle and landed running. He caught himself and turned to motion urgently at Glory.

“Get behind cover and stay there!” he told her. He cranked the Winchester's lever again as he ran toward the gap through which they had just ridden.

Pressing himself against the rock, he leaned out and drew a bead on one of the riders thundering toward them. The men realized their danger and tried to peel off to the sides, but they were too late. Luke tracked the man he had targeted and pressed the trigger.

The rifle cracked as it kicked against his shoulder. The man flung his arms in the air and slipped out of the saddle, but one foot was still caught in the stirrup. The horse dragged him across the rough ground.

If the bullet hadn't killed the pursuer, being dragged like that would finish the job. Luke worked the Winchester's lever and shifted his aim. He fired at one of the other two men, who had split up rather than staying bunched together. As far as Luke could tell, the shot missed. Both riders kept going without their horses breaking stride. They rode off at different angles, and he couldn't see them anymore from where he was.

As the echoes of the shots rolled across the prairie, Luke levered the rifle again and called, “Glory! Are you all right?”

Sounding a little breathless, she replied, “Yes, I . . . I think so.” Then, as if it had just occurred to her, “Oh! My poor horse! Was he shot?”

“He's fine,” Luke told her. From where he was, he could see that the big white horse had gotten up and wandered off to graze on some bunch grass. “He must've just lost his footing. He's moving around all right.”

“Thank God. Where are Elston's men now?”

“Don't know. I can't see them from here. But I'm sure they're still out there. We'd find that out fast enough if we tried to leave this canyon.”

“What are we going to do? We can't just stay here.”

“We can for a while,” Luke told her. “You said we were on your range, so some of your men might be within hearing of those shots. They'll come to see what it's all about.”

Glory moved up closer beside him and said, “You're right. We just have to wait. There were only a few of Elston's men.”

“Yeah,” Luke said slowly. “Seems like he would have sent more. . . .”

The skin on the back of his neck prickled, a warning sign that something was wrong. Why had Elston's men picked this particular place to jump them? he asked himself. There had been other spots along the trail from Painted Post that might have been better. And was it an accident that those first couple of shots from the rifleman hidden on the knoll had missed?

The hunch grew stronger in Luke that they had been trapped somehow, and what happened next confirmed that. A couple of horsemen raced into view, carrying blazing torches. It was like the attack on the ranch, Luke realized. Elston's men were trying to use fire to do their job for them.

He snapped the Winchester to his shoulder and fired, but it was too late. The men threw the torches toward the canyon mouth and hauled their horses around. One of them twisted in the saddle as Luke's bullet drilled his shoulder, but he had already done what he'd set out to do. The torches landed in clumps of dry grass and set them on fire.

“What are they doing?” Glory asked in a strained voice.

Luke didn't answer her question. He asked one of his own.

“Do you know if there's a way out at the other end of this canyon?”

“No, I . . . I don't. I'm sure I've been down here on this part of the ranch, but I don't remember. . . .”

Luke was willing to bet this was a box canyon. He looked around where they were and saw that the sides were too steep to climb. That went right along with what he suspected. Elston's men had herded him and Glory in here, like cattle going to the slaughtering pen.

The wind carried the first sharp tang of smoke to his nostrils. The flames were spreading quickly across the grassy flats in front of the canyon. They were about a hundred yards from the boulders where Luke and Glory had taken cover, and they advanced in that direction.

The wind wasn't blowing extremely hard, but it was strong enough to push the fire steadily toward them. The smoke began to thicken as the flames caught hold more and more. Gray and white masses of it billowed toward the canyon.

Glory coughed and said, “We'd better get out of here.”

“They're waiting out there,” Luke told her. “If we try to make a run for it, they'll throw enough lead to force us back in here. This is where they wanted us all along.”

“But why?”

“Elston's being clever, or at least somebody is. It wouldn't surprise me if this was Verne Finn's idea. They want us dead, but they don't want it coming back on Elston. So they chase us in here and then start a fire to cut off our escape. We can't get out the other end of the canyon, so all we can do is sit here and wait.”

“And burn to death?” Glory's voice held a note of panic. “I can't do that.”

“We probably won't burn to death,” Luke said. “The smoke will get us before the flames do. But either way, when somebody finds us later there won't be any bullet holes in us. Nobody will be able to say that Elston had us killed. Some folks may suspect otherwise, but as far as anybody will be able to prove, our deaths will be accidental. It'll look like we took shelter from a prairie fire in the wrong place.”

The smoke was starting to sting his nose and eyes now. Glory coughed again. Her eyes watered.

Luke pulled a bandanna from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Tie that over your nose and mouth,” he told her. “It'll help a little. It'd be better if we had some water to soak it in, but we don't.”

“Luke, what are we going to do?”

“We'll start by making sure there's no other way out of this canyon,” he said. “Maybe they overlooked something.”

Even as he spoke, he knew how high the odds were against that. Elston's hired killers would have checked it out themselves. This whole thing had been carefully planned to get rid of him and Glory in such a way that nothing could be proven against Harry Elston. Finn and the other gun-wolves would shoot them if they had to, but they really wanted the smoke and flames to take care of that chore for them.

Luke turned to the dun. He wasn't a cowboy by any stretch of the imagination, but he carried a rope on his saddle anyway. Sometimes he had to tie up prisoners, and he'd been known to tether them behind his horse and make them walk when he was bringing them in to the law. He untied the loop holding the coiled rope in place and then swung the rope hard against the dun's rump as he shouted at the horse. The dun bolted away, heading toward the canyon mouth.