Longhorn Country (12 page)

‘Well, what we gonna do?'

‘Stick to our story – we left Morg and Blaine alone, heard Morg shouting and soon after there was the gunfire. We ran back, found Morg dead – and saw Blaine lightin'-out towards town. We don't change that for anything! Marsh'll have to believe us then…. We're lucky, it looks bad, Blaine leavin' the trail crew
in town, then sending the rest of the hands in for a booze-up. Like he
wanted
to get Morg alone.'

Waco was willing to go along: he knew he could prise a lot more than two hundred bucks out of Lucas now. If Lucas could get rid of Blaine he'd have the ranch all to himself. And as Waco had opened the door for him to claim Broken Wheel, surely he would be justly rewarded.

These were the thoughts he had as he crossed a creek on the south side of the river. Then suddenly something hissed and he started to turn his head. Next instant he was gasping for breath, clawing at his throat and some unseen force dragged him violently from his saddle….

Lucas, expecting to meet Waco by the big beech just opposite the smaller set of rapids in the creek, wondered what was keeping the man. He started cussing Waco in his mind and then the brush behind him rustled gently, although there was no breeze at all, and his head seemed to explode like a firework going off behind his eyes….

Both men came round at about the same time. Waco rubbed at his throat and the raw rope welt that
encircled
his neck. The back of his head throbbed, too, where he had landed on it after being dragged out of his saddle. Lucas felt sick and his eyes seemed crossed, everything he looked at appearing double and blurred. He retched painfully.

‘Take your time.'

They snapped their heads up at the quiet voice, and immediately regretted the unwise motion.

They saw Blaine, sitting on a rock by a small fire in a trench with a line of rocks around the edges, effectively shielding any glow.

‘I've just finished my supper – left a little coffee warming on a nice set of coals,
hot
coals – you fellers interested?'

‘The posse'll nail you before morning, Blaine!' grated Lucas, still feeling sick.

‘They do, you won't know anything about it, Lucas – how about you, Waco? You want to gamble on the posse getting here in time?'

Waco swallowed – it hurt his throat. ‘In time for – what?'

‘To save you.'

Both men stared.

Lucas stammered, ‘S-save us? From – what?'

‘Me.'

Lucas felt his eyes widen and his mouth was suddenly very dry. He couldn't force out any words.

Waco frowned and his harsh voice was taut with concern as he said, ‘You ain't gonna do anythin' with the posse so close!'

‘How close you reckon they are?' Neither man hazarded a guess and Blaine said, ‘They're way over in Fool's Canyon wondering where you are – miles from here.'

‘W-what d'you want?'

Blaine swivelled his one eye to Lucas. ‘Give it some thought. No hurry.'

Waco scowled. ‘Gimme my gun and I'll …'

‘You'll die, Waco – I'll put a bullet in you the moment you try for your gun. Mightn't kill you then,
but you'll die eventually.'

Lucas felt really sick now. After Alamo and Blaine had gone to Mexico, Clay Winton had found some human remains half-unearthed by coyotes back in the hills where some rocks were splashed with what looked like blood. The dogs hadn't left much but had apparently been disturbed before they had finished their gruesome feast. There was enough left to see how horribly the men had died: they had been scalped, mutilated. There was a battered religious medal in the pocket of one corpse's shirt, one that Clay knew had been carried by Clem Hardesty – no churchgoer, but a man who cared for his mother who had given him the medal on her death bed.

Although it had never been proved and no one had asked Blaine, it was generally accepted that the remains were those of Hardesty and Clint Rendell, that Blaine had caught up with them, taken his revenge and buried the bodies before Alamo had whisked him away to Mexico.

Lucas somehow now knew for sure that Blaine had tortured these men who had caused him to lose an eye and almost his life. He began to shake
uncontrollably
. Blaine glanced at him, turned his attention back to Waco.

‘Which one of you shot Morg?' No reply, of course. Blaine pointed at Waco. ‘I favour you, Waco – you're the hothead…. You all figured I hated Morgan O'Day and one day planned to destroy him. Nope – can't say I liked the man much, for he really wasn't much of a man. But he gave me a life even if he hated doing it, and he kept his word to my mother – I
figured I owed him and I aimed to pay him back all the money he'd spent raising me. Then I aimed to move on and make a life of my own. He could've shot me but I wouldn't have drawn against him or shot back … And I sure wouldn't've put three bullets into his back and then run for it and thrown only the second real drunk in my entire life….'

‘You can't prove nothin'!' Waco said. ‘That knife's the clincher – most of the Broken Wheel crew knew you'd kept it from Alamo's things – you're the one gonna hang, breed! You got no chance with a white jury.'

Blaine stood slowly, stretching a little. ‘You could be right, Waco – So I don't aim to take my chances,' He went to his saddle leaning against the rock and took his lariat, shaking out a loop. ‘I reckon that cottonwood just across the fire ought to be good, Waco – branch is just high enough for your feet to clear the ground.'

‘Christ!' breathed Lucas in horror. ‘You – you're not gonna hang him –
now
!'

Blaine said nothing, shook out his loop and turned to Waco. The man was breathing hard through distended nostrils, crouching – and then suddenly he was launching himself in a headlong dive for a smaller rock where Blaine had piled Waco's and Lucas' guns.

Blaine tossed his loop and it settled over Waco's head and the man twisted violently sideways, getting one arm through the rope so it couldn't tighten on his neck. But Blaine yanked hard and pulled the man back in a violent move that brought Waco almost
upright and then he fell backwards.

But he had managed to snatch his Colt and he fired wildly and then Blaine put tension on the rope again. And for the first time, Waco realised they were on the side of a steep slope. As he brought the Colt around again, shooting, Blaine hitched the rope up over his shoulder and started to run down the dark slope. Waco was snapped off his feet and he yelled as he crashed face down on the stony ground.

Blaine's leg muscles strained and his teeth bared with effort as he lunged down the slope at reckless speed, hauling the wildly twisting and somersaulting Waco after him. The man hit his head on a rock, smashed a collar bone against another, screamed long and loud as the sharp gravel tore and shredded his clothes, then did the same to his flesh. He had still managed to hold on to the gun but was sobbing in pain and fear now as Blaine plunged into the creek shallows, spun, and his hands on the rope worked in a blur as he dragged Waco the last few yards over broken rock.

The man lay there, slobbering, snorting, gagging, a bloody mess, little better off than if he had been dragged by a horse. But he managed to focus on Blaine as the man waded ashore and with a roar, driven by pure hatred, he reared to his knees, clasped his Colt bloody handed and fired.

Blaine staggered, drawing and shooting
instinctively
.

Two bullets ended Waco's misery and the man sagged slowly, fell over the edge of the bank with his
torn face submerged in the muddy waters. Blaine held a hand to his right side, awkwardly waded ashore, tangled his legs in the floating rope. He floundered – and it saved his life.

Lucas came skidding down the hill, with the butt of a rifle braced into his hip, and blazed at least four shots. They zipped into the water and passed over Blaine's head as he twisted on to his wounded side, actually afloat in the water. His gun hand broke through the surface, trailing silver.

He triggered, saw Lucas' right leg kick out from under him and the man fall. Blaine waited until he had stopped sliding and was beginning to sit up. Then he fired again and Lucas slammed over on his back. Blaine dragged himself out on to the bank, breathing hard, feeling the hot pain starting in his right side now. He pulled himself up and crawled to where Lucas lay.

He was sitting beside the man, right hand on Lucas' bloody chest, when Marsh Kilgour and his men rode in.

Blaine looked up with gaunt, wolfish face. ‘He's still alive – ought to last long enough to tell you what really happened with Morg….'

Or
, Blaine thought to himself as Lucky and Calico came running down the slope towards him,
Lucas might still have the last laugh and tell the sheriff and everyone else who could hear that Morg's death had happened just the way he'd told it
….

And that's what Lucas did. Then, as the life-light faded from his eyes, he gave Blaine one last twisted smile, gasping,

‘G-get outta – this one – if you can, you lousy – breed!'

It was enough to make Marsh Kilgour frown thoughtfully but he still arrested Blaine after having his wound attended to and locked him up in his jail to await trial….

A man Blaine knew was named Calvin Eastbrook and who handled Morgan's legal affairs, came to see him three days before the trial was to begin.

‘I have in my possession a letter from Morgan O'Day marked “To Be Opened Immediately Upon My Death” – I opened this, of course, as soon as I heard about his murder a couple of weeks ago. There was another letter inside to be mailed to his daughter, Kitty, who apparently is staying or working at some kind of Mission near Monterrey. He professed to disown her, but I know from his Will that this was only an outward appearance. Privately, Morgan was very concerned for her welfare and, I suspect, loved her as much as he ever did. He was really a lot softer than he allowed the world to see.'

Blaine made no comment although the lawyer waited, clearly expecting one.

‘Well, to cut it short, he left Kitty a quite large sum of money to be used as she sees fit.' Eastbrook, a dour man with a thin moustache that had waxed ends, looked steadily at the wounded man. ‘He left half of Broken Wheel to Lucas, if he still lived at the time of Morgan's death – if not it went to Kitty – and the other half was to be sold off – except for Fool's Canyon and six hundred acres surrounding it, including that coat-hanger bend of the big river.
That, my friend, was to be your legacy – providing, also, that you were still alive at the time of Morgan's death – perhaps you'd care to comment now?'

Blaine, his face blank, said, ‘I can't believe he thought that much of me.'

The lawyer snorted. ‘You were too busy being the injured party, the half-breed no one fully accepted, with a chip on your shoulder – you probably didn't notice yourself what was going on around you – Morgan was a man who spoke his mind, often in haste. The number of times I've had to change his Will, then change it
back
again simply because in a fit of pique he cut this beneficiary or that out, or gave them more, then changed his mind—' He sighed and shook his head. ‘You confused him, Blaine: he hated the half of you that was Yellow Wolf, the man who destroyed his Katy, but he cared about
her
blood that still flowed in your veins. I believe his Will shows the truth of that.'

Blaine shook his head slowly. ‘This has really floored me, counsellor – but it's not going to do me much good, is it? Marsh Kilgour's already contracted with Benny Calhoun and his sons to build the gallows.'

‘Linus tell you that?' As Blaine nodded, Eastbrook almost smiled. ‘He just wanted to give you something to worry about. Oh, I'm not saying the gallows will not yet be needed but no such contracts have been signed or even offered – in any case, I don't think you have to worry.'

‘Why's that? Lucas made his death-bed statement that I murdered Morg. A dozen men heard him….'

‘Ah, yes, but Marsh Kilgour is not as weary or as dull as some folk think – just because he's old and ailing. He still is a lawman through-and-through and he's made his investigation and he's convinced that there is considerable doubt as to the veracity of Lucas' dying statement, or even the lucidity of Lucas' mind at the time he made it….'

‘Don't give me any false hopes, counsellor,' Blaine told the lawyer quietly.

‘That is not my intention. In any case, Miss Kitty O'Day, hearing about your predicament – I took the liberty of making her aware of this – has engaged me to defend you, entirely at her expense, of course – I have a very efficient investigative team, Blaine, and I assure you that when we go into that Court Room, we will do so quite confidently….'

‘You'll hurt your arm, patting yourself on the back like that, Eastbrook,' Blaine said, but he felt giddy with the news the lawyer had given him.

Kitty still cared for him! She had hired this smug lawyer to defend him – surely that meant something, something – special!

‘Like that feeling I had down at the Mission,' he murmured, unaware that his words could be heard by Eastbrook. ‘I
knew
we'd be together again some day – with a little luck….'

Calvin Eastbrook's waxed moustache twitched at the ends – whatever that meant – and he said, ‘Luck does not enter into it, Blaine – Be assured that Miss Kitty has hired the best defence lawyer in the land to act for you – the
very
best!'

Blaine lifted his head and stared at the lawyer.

Eastbrook arched his eyebrows, began to gather his things, preparing to leave.

‘By the way, she'll be arriving here on the
morning
's stage….'

Blaine continued to stare, said nothing.