Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter (19 page)

The razor-sharp blade went into the man's belly like a hot knife into butter. Luke ripped it to the side and felt a hot flood spill over his hand. The wound was a mortal one, but Luke wasn't going to wait for the man to die. He pulled the knife free and plunged it into the hardcase's chest, again and again.

The man went limp.

As Luke rolled him to the side, a grimace of distaste tugged at his mouth. He had done plenty of grim, ugly work in the past, but had never grown completely hardened to the killing, even when the men who died richly deserved their fate.

But when you got right down to it, he told himself, the man was one less he'd have to kill later.

One less man who might kill
him
.

Luke started after Dietrich again.

Luke hadn't seen any horses so far, and the reason for that became apparent as he closed in on the boulders where Dietrich was holed up. He heard several whinnies and the stamping of hooves as the mounts shifted around among the big slabs and chunks of rock. The gunmen had brought their horses into cover to keep them safe from any stray slugs.

At least one of the hired killers . . . and maybe one or two others . . . would be posted with Dietrich to tend to the horses. The businessman could have as few as five or six men left overall, Luke realized. He might be able to get the drop on half of them at once. He wasn't going to count on being that fortunate, however. In a deadly struggle, it was always smart to expect the worst.

A man who did that was seldom taken by surprise. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.

Luke paused at the outer edge of the boulders and listened intently. In addition to the small sounds coming from the horses, he heard voices muttering.

Then Dietrich's eastern-accented tones said clearly, “Build a fire, Pardee. There's no reason for us to sit here shivering all night. Put some coffee on to boil, too.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea, boss,” another man said. “Even if they can't see the flames from where they are in that canyon, they'll see the glow and know we're here. It'll give 'em something to aim at.”

“These rocks provide excellent shelter. You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but when a slug goes to bouncin' around, you never know for sure where it's gonna go.”

“Build the fire, anyway,” Dietrich ordered. “I'm already chilled to the bone, and it'll be even colder by morning.”

He was right about that. Even in summer, the temperature dropped quite a bit at night in the high, dry country.

Luke stayed where he was, motionless in deep shadow next to one of the boulders, while he listened to the hired gun build the fire as Dietrich had ordered. He heard the man moving around, heard the rasp of a match, and a moment later caught the faint crackle of flames and smelled wood smoke. After a few more minutes went by, the scent of coffee brewing was added to the mix.

The gunman was right that Hobie and the others in the canyon would be able to see the reflected glow from the fire, but that didn't mean much. They didn't have an endless amount of ammunition, so firing in the general direction of the rocks in the hope that a ricochet might find one of the enemy was too risky. It would just exhaust their supply of bullets that much quicker.

Luke had already sheathed his knife. He drew one of the Remingtons and began slipping around the boulders, staying in the shadows and working his way closer to the fire.

He could hear Dietrich and the other man talking in low tones, discussing what they would do in the morning. A feint toward the canyon would draw the fire of the defenders and determine whether they still had any ammunition. If not, the men could ride in and take Jessica. If the defenders continued to put up a fight, Dietrich's men would withdraw and continue the siege.

Luke came to a huge slab of rock that rose at a slant. It was steep, but not so steep that he couldn't climb it, he thought. He holstered the gun and started the ascent, leaning far forward to rest both hands against the rock.

The surface was rough enough to provide handholds and footholds. As he began to climb, he hoped the noises coming from the restless horses would cover up any small sounds he made.

When Luke reached the crest of the rock about fifteen feet off the ground, he took off his hat, went to his belly, and edged forward so he could look over the far edge. The rock dropped off sheer. Dietrich's hired gun had built the fire against its base.

By the flickering light of the flames, Luke saw three men standing near the fire. He had heard only two voices, so he knew one of the gun wolves had to be the taciturn sort.

He didn't have any trouble figuring out which one was Milton Dietrich. The man from Boston wore a gray suit and a homburg hat. He was a little below medium height and of average build. His hair was steely gray and his face had a slightly pinched look about it, as if he were used to disapproving of just about everything. He was about as ordinary-looking a gent as Luke had ever seen.

And yet his evil was far from ordinary. Dietrich was responsible for the deaths of at least three innocent people, as well as for terrorizing a young woman and endangering a number of other folks.

Luke knew that from where he was, he could put a bullet through the man's brain, and he was sorely tempted to do just that. The only thing stopping him was knowing that if Dietrich was dead, the men he had hired might go on a killing spree. They wouldn't have anything to lose. As long as Dietrich was alive, even if he was a prisoner, there would still be a chance the gunmen might get the money he owed them.

One of the men filled a tin cup with coffee and handed it to Dietrich. The easterner swallowed a sip of the brew and grimaced, but he took another sip. Whether it tasted good or not, coffee would have a bracing effect on the cool night.

“Pardee, we need to talk about what's going to happen once we have Miss Wheeler in our custody,” Dietrich said, making it sound like they were lawmen of some sort, rather than the worst kind of trigger-happy scum. “I don't want anyone coming after us or trying to set the law on us.”

“That's what I figured, boss,” replied the man who had handed Dietrich the cup. He was a stocky hombre with a ragged black mustache. He wore a black hat and a cowhide vest. “Don't worry, we'll take care of cleanin' up.”

“I'll promise her that if she surrenders, the others won't be harmed, but I think we both know what needs to happen in the long run.”

Pardee chuckled. “We don't want to leave any witnesses behind, that's for sure. They know we killed those fellas back at the way station.”

“It's very important that nothing happens until Miss Wheeler and I are gone,” Dietrich went on. “I still have hopes of winning her affections, so she needs to believe that I kept my word and her new friends weren't hurt.”

“We'll handle it,” Pardee assured him. “You can tell her we'll just hold 'em prisoner here until y'all are gone and then let 'em go.”

“But as soon as we're well out of earshot—”

“No need to spell it out, boss. We'll bury the bodies all the way up in that canyon where nobody's likely to find the graves for a long time. Maybe never.”

Luke's anger grew as he listened to them callously plotting the slaughter of Hobie, Jim Pierce, and the Langstons. From his vantage point he could see the horses and knew there wasn't anyone with them. He figured the third man by the fire was responsible for them.

Luke had to take care of two men—three if he counted Dietrich—but he didn't figure the older man represented much of a threat. He drew both guns, knowing he would have to shoot swift and sure to bring down both hardcases. Once that was done, he could drop down and take Dietrich prisoner.

Before he could make his move, a harsh voice suddenly yelled from behind him, “Look out, boys! One of 'em's up there on that rock!”

The shout was followed immediately by the roar of a gun.

Instinct sent Luke twisting around. A bullet spanged off the slab beside him, sending dust and rock chips flying into the air. Being spotted was a stroke of bad luck and the one thing he couldn't plan for.

The gunman behind him let fly with another shot, but the slug whistled past Luke's ear.

Luke aimed at the muzzle flash and triggered twice. A howl of pain split the night, telling him that at least one of the shots had scored.

He would be a good target as long as he was up there on top of the boulder, so he got down the quickest way he knew how. He rolled over, came up in a crouch, and leaped off the rock, aiming at the camp below.

Pardee and the other hardcase had their guns out, but they didn't know exactly where Luke was and certainly didn't expect him to come diving out of the night sky at them. As professional gunmen, though, their reactions were quick, and each man got a shot off as Luke plummeted toward them. Neither bullet came close to him.

Chance aimed Luke's dive at the second man. He landed feet-first, his boot heels smashing into the man's chest and driving him to the ground. Bones snapped and splintered under the impact.

Luke's momentum carried him forward in a roll as he hit the ground. He came up on one knee, twisting toward Pardee as the man fired again. The slug whipped over Luke's left shoulder and past his ear.

Both Remingtons spewed flame as he fired. The pair of .36 caliber slugs pounded into Pardee's chest and drove him backward in a jittering dance. His gun sagged toward the ground and boomed again as a spasm made his finger jerk the trigger. He lost his balance and fell into the fire, landing on his back and causing an explosion of sparks in the air around him. He screamed as his clothes and hair started to burn, but he was too weakened by his wounds to escape the flames.

Luke bounded to his feet and lunged toward Milton Dietrich, who stood there with the cup of coffee still in his hand, looking stunned and dumbfounded by the sudden violent turn of events. Too late, he dropped the cup and tried to turn and run, but Luke's left-hand gun came crashing down on his head, denting the fancy hat and sending Dietrich stumbling to his knees.

Luke holstered that Remington, reached down, grabbed the collar of Dietrich's coat, and hauled the man to his feet again. He pressed the barrel of the other revolver against Dietrich's back. “It wouldn't take a hell of a lot to convince me to blow your guts out, Dietrich. So you better listen and listen good.”

“Don't kill me!” Dietrich babbled. “Please don't kill me!”

That was typical, Luke thought. Like most men drunk on their own power and arrogance and accustomed to riding roughshod over anyone who opposed them, once his own life was threatened Dietrich turned into a pathetic, mewling coward. Luke turned him toward the fire, where Pardee still whimpered and thrashed around weakly. The stomach-turning smell of burning flesh filled the air.

As Pardee's moans faded away, Luke said to Dietrich, “I ought to throw you in the fire with him. It's just what you deserve.”

“No, no, I'll pay you. I swear to God I'll give you anything you want—”

“Shut up!” Luke heard footsteps pounding quickly toward them and knew the rest of the gunnies were coming to see what all the shooting and yelling was about. “Tell your men to back off. Now!”

“Stop!” Dietrich shouted. “Stop where you are! Don't come any closer!”

“Boss?” one of the gunman called tentatively. “What's going on over there?”

“Don't come any closer,” Dietrich said again. “This . . . this madman will kill me!”

“Damn right I will!” Luke said, lifting his voice so the other men could hear him and know that he wasn't bluffing.

He prodded the gun barrel harder into Dietrich's back. “You know how a revolver like this works, Mr. Dietrich?” Luke's voice dripped with scorn as he asked the question. “I've already tripped the trigger. My thumb on the hammer is all that's keeping it from firing. It would behoove you to keep that from happening.”

“You . . . you sound like an educated man. Surely we can come to some sort of agreement, work out an arrangement—”

“I like money as much as the next fella, Dietrich, but I wouldn't touch any of yours. It's too dirty even for me.” Luke hauled him toward the edge of the cluster of boulders. “Now, you and I are going to walk over to that canyon, and if your men get any bright ideas about shooting me, this gun will go off when I let go of the hammer and you'll die, too. So what do you think you should tell them?”

“Hold your fire!” Dietrich practically screamed. “Whatever you do, for God's sake don't shoot!”

Although Dietrich had given that order, the skin on the back of Luke's neck crawled as he stepped out of the cover of the boulders and forced Dietrich ahead of him. Even with just starlight to aim by, those gunmen were probably good enough shots to ventilate him. He hoped they would follow the orders of the man paying them and hold their fire.

No shots sounded as Luke strode out into the open. He whistled for his horse, knowing the animal would respond. Sure enough, the horse trotted up out of the darkness a moment later and gave Luke a friendly nudge on the shoulder with his nose.

Luke kept a tight grip on Dietrich's collar as the man stumbled along in front of him. The horse walked along easily behind them. The open ground between them and the canyon mouth seemed a hundred miles wide, rather than a few hundred yards.

As he pushed Dietrich along, Luke wondered what Hobie and the others were thinking about all the shooting a few minutes earlier. They had to be curious, especially once they realized the bullets weren't coming toward them. It must have sounded like a battle had broken out among Dietrich's men. He wondered if they had spotted him and Dietrich walking toward the canyon mouth.

When he was about fifty yards away, Luke stopped and called, “Hobie! Hey, Hobie, can you hear me?”

“Luke?” the young man's voice came back instantly. “That's you?”

“Yeah, so hold your fire! I've got Dietrich with me.”

“My God!” That was Jessica. “You've taken him prisoner?”

“I have a gun in his back,” Luke replied. “He's ordered his men not to shoot. We're coming in.”

“You're never going to get away with this,” Dietrich said in a low, furious voice. His immense pride asserted itself as he seemed to have gotten over being scared. “I'll see to it that you're hunted down and killed.” His voice shook a little from the depths of his rage as he added, “I don't care how long it takes, you're a dead man.”