Texas Drive (19 page)

The man didn’t look back as Ted closed on the house. By the time he reached the door to the barn, Ted was only twenty yards from the house. He sprinted to the right, getting the house between him and the barn. The man was certain to find his dead compatriot on the floor of the barn. Whether he would realize someone other than Kevin O’Hara had shot him was a close call, and Ted couldn’t trust the possibility.

Ted left the saddlebags leaning against the house. It sounded quiet inside, and he debated charging in, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to narrow the odds a little more. Slipping around the rear of the house, he ducked under a window, tiptoed to the next, and pressed his ear against the window frame. The house was deathly still, and he dropped to his knees to crawl under the second window.

He watched the barn for a moment, just long enough to see whether the raider was visible. When he didn’t see him, Ted glanced at the side of the house. There was a single narrow window on that wall, and it was open. He could see the curtains shifting in a slight breeze. It was risky, but he’d have to chance it.

Making a wide loop, Ted sprinted for the side of the barn, running on his toes to muffle his footsteps. He reached the corner of the front wall just as a dull thump sounded inside. A moment later, he heard a horse whinny. He caught the first whiff of smoke as an orange glow suddenly mushroomed deep in the barn. A ball of black smoke rolled out of the door, tumbling over itself in its haste to get out of the barn, then began to disintegrate.

Ted leaned the Winchester against the wall, propping it against the edge of the open door. He crept along the front wall of the barn and pulled the Bowie knife from its sheath. He peered into the barn, expecting the arsonist to dash outside any second.

Flattening his back against the splintery wood, he tiptoed closer. He heard another subdued whoosh, and then hurried footsteps approached the door. Ted steeled himself, ignoring his sweaty grip on the knife. He saw a shadow spill out of the barn, backlit by the orange flame and partially wreathed in acrid black smoke as the hay inside began to burn.

The man stepped through the doorway and Ted sprang, locking his left arm around the man’s neck and dragging him back into the barn. The man struggled, and he outweighed Ted by a good twenty pounds. The pain in his shoulder was fierce as Ted struggled to haul the man back and out of sight.

Tightening his grip around the throat, trying to shut down the man’s air with his forearm, he brought the knife up and hesitated for just a second. The man mumbled something through his compressed larynx and Ted slashed once, sweeping the blade across the throat just below his arm. He felt a gush of sticky warmth splatter his sleeve. The blood soaked in, and the sleeve quickly stuck to his skin.

A horrible gurgle sounded as the man tried to breathe through his severed windpipe. Ted squeezed a little tighter as the man’s struggles grew more feeble. One foot kicked at him twice, then seemed to dangle. Suddenly the stench of voided bowels swirled around him, and Ted was back in Farley’s Field. He thought for a moment of how white and still the steeple of Shiloh Church had looked in a burst of sunlight. He remembered thinking then how obscene it was that a church should be forced to bear witness to such slaughter.

He had no such misgivings this time. He welcomed the stench. He relished the sticky warmth soaking his sleeve. It had come to this, and it
seemed at last as if he was within sight of an answer to his questions. No matter what happened, they would not torment him again when this was all over. If he died, so be it, and if not, at least he would know that he was capable of doing what had to be done, no matter how merciless that knowledge might be.

The last gurgle died and the body collapsed against him. He shoved the man to one side, not even bothering to watch the body crumble into a heap against the wall.

Ted walked to the door of the barn. He retrieved the Winchester and started across the broad yard. Then, remembering the horses, he changed course and shooed them away, hacking at the reins of those hitched to the corral and flapping his hat to chase them all.

He had just started back toward the front porch when the first scream seemed to tear the house open. The curtains billowed in the solitary window as if the house itself were screaming. Ted wiped the blade of the knife on his thigh as he started to run.

A second scream echoed across the yard, and Ted tossed away the Winchester. He headed straight for the open window, picking up speed as he closed on it. At the inside of the house, he slowed and crept to the glass. It was dark inside, and he could barely see. He blinked away the sunlight, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

When they did, he gasped. Millie O’Hara, the
bodice torn from her dress, struggled to free herself from the grasp of two men, one of whom pawed at her breasts while the other wound her hair around his fist and dragged her to the floor. Little Margaret lay on the floor, bleeding from an ugly wound on her right temple. And as Ted watched, Ralph Conlee lowered himself and covered the frail body with his own.

TED BACKED AWAY
a few steps and sprinted for the window. Gathering his legs under him like coiling springs, he launched himself through the air and covered his head with his arms. He narrowly missed the window frame, felt it graze his left shoulder, and landed on his stomach. He slid across the rough boards of the floor and skidded to a halt.

He rolled to one side, swinging the Colt around, and fired once, then again. In the closed room, the gunshots sounded like sticks of dynamite. The first bullet caught one of the raiders grappling with Millie. The man clutched at his left shoulder until the second bullet smashed through his collarbone, breaking it with a loud crack. Blood smeared the wall behind him as he slid to the floor.

Millie stared at Ted for a long moment, as stunned
as everyone else in the room, then covered her mouth with her hands. Everything seemed to move so slowly. Ted saw things clearly, sharply, as if the room had suddenly been bathed in brilliant light.

Millie’s second captor turned as Ted got to his feet. The man shoved Millie away and she slammed into the wall beside the fireplace. Her head cracked against the rough stone and she slid to the floor. The guerrilla, a man squat as a toad, with bulging blue eyes that looked watery even in the dim light, growled as he reached for his gun.

Ted swung the muzzle of the Colt around and squeezed the trigger again. The hammer fell on a dead round and Ted fanned the hammer back again, squeezed just as the man dove to one side. The Colt jerked in Ted’s hand and the bullet just missed. Firing again, he nailed the man as he tried to roll away from the gun and pinned himself against a table leg. He groaned and tried to sit up. Ted took two quick steps, bringing his leg back and snapping it forward. His boot caught the toad-like man under the chin, snapping his head back and into the thick edge of the oaken tabletop.

Ted whirled as Conlee scrambled to his feet. The guerrilla leader found himself covered by Ted’s gun. Conlee backed away, reaching for Margaret, but the girl crabbed away from the clutching fingers. It was suddenly quiet in the room. Conlee wavered a bit, almost like a drunk trying to convince the world he was sober.

“So,” he said. The big man’s voice was loud in the confined space. “I reckon you think you got me. That right?”

Ted ignored him. He bent at the knees and grabbed a revolver from the floor.

“Because you better know this,” Conlee continued, his raspy baritone scraping the silence from the walls and echoing from one high corner of the room. “I don’t kill easily, cowboy. Not at all.”

Ted still kept silent. Margaret crawled into a corner. She started to whimper, and Ted remembered his promise that she would be safe, that she no longer had to worry about Conlee or anyone like him.

“You’re an animal, Conlee, a fucking animal.”

“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, cowboy. You know my name and I don’t know yours.”

“No need,” Ted said.

“Man always needs to know who tries to kill him. It ain’t natural, otherwise.”

“Did you tell my brother that before you killed him?”

Conlee shrugged. “Depends. Who are you?”

“Ted Cotton. You killed my brother a few weeks back.”

“Sorry, don’t know no Cottons.”

Ted was getting worried. He could almost see the wheels turning in Conlee’s head. The man was angling for something, trying to stall, but why?

He did a quick tally, then he knew, and his blood
flash froze in his veins, his heart skipped a beat, then another. There had been six strange horses outside. He could only account for five men. Where was the sixth?

And where was Cookie?

Conlee smiled as if he’d been reading Ted’s mind. “That’s right, cowboy. You ain’t home yet, not by a damn sight.”

Ted waved the barrel of his own Colt toward the door. “Outside,” he said.

Conlee tilted his head, and the grin seemed to slide that way as if it were a mask thrown out of kilter by gravity. He shook his head agreeably. “Whatever you say, Cotton.”

“Don’t talk,” Ted snapped. “Just walk. Double quick.”

“Army man, was you? Secesh bastard, to be sure. But I respect that, a man fighting for what he believes in.”

“I told you to shut up. You open your mouth for anything but air and I swear to God, I’ll kill you. You understand me?”

Conlee nodded, but the grin widened. “Sure thing, cowboy. Whatever you say.”

He stepped toward the door, and Ted watched him, moving around the table to keep the big man’s hands in plain sight. Where the hell was Cookie?

And where was the sixth man?

“Alright, Conlee, turn around.”

Conlee stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly,
and Ted snapped, “Hurry up. Get your hands up on your shoulders. And keep ‘em there.”

Conlee complied slowly. Ted heard a stirring in a corner, but didn’t dare take his eyes off the big man. “Now, back through the door. One step at a time. Take it slow. Take two and I’ll shoot you.”

“You’re not the type, Reb. You ain’t got the sand to shoot a man like me.”

“What sort of man is that?” He knew Conlee was trying to slow things down, to drag it out until something happened, but there was a serpentine fascination to the man. Ted couldn’t help himself. And he couldn’t bring himself to gun the man down in cold blood, not in front of Millie and the girl. Conlee backed through the door, step by step, just as he was told. He never lost his grin. As he backed into the morning sunlight, he blinked until his eyes adjusted. When he stopped fluttering his lids, the eyes sat in his face glittering like two black marbles. They were devoid of feeling. Snake eyes. They pinned Ted and never left him.

Ted stepped through the doorway and Conlee backed up a step, nearly losing his footing as he stepped off the porch onto the ground. “You should have warned me about that, cowboy. What’s wrong with you? I coulda broke my neck.” The grin widened, but the eyes never changed.

“Soon enough for that, Conlee.”

The big man laughed. “You ain’t got a prayer, you know that?”

“Yes,” Ted said. “I do know that. But you don’t either, so I guess we’re evenly matched.”

“Not exactly,” Conlee said. “Not exactly.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t make any difference. I know there’s another savage here somewhere, but it won’t help you none, Conlee. None at all.”

Conlee laughed again. It was surprisingly rich laughter, welling up from somewhere deep in his gut and echoing through the barrel chest as it rushed out of him like a spring flood.

Ted smiled, in spite of himself. “Over there,” he said, waving the captured revolver toward the ruins of the mess wagon.

Conlee turned to see where Ted was pointing. “Oh, forget about that, my friend. The old man ain’t gonna help you, neither.”

“Move.” The single word cracked like a bull-whip, and Conlee seemed startled for the first time, as if he was beginning to lose his confidence. He started to turn, but Ted stopped him. “Backward …”

Conlee nodded. “You’re the man with the gun, hoss.”

They were halfway across the yard when he heard the scream. Ted jerked his head around for a split second and Conlee started to move, but Ted pulled the hammer back and waved the pistol.

“Stay right there!”

“Tide’s changin’, hoss.”

“We’ll see.”

Glancing toward the door, Ted saw Millie in the shadows. She stumbled through the doorway and behind her was the sixth man. He snaked an arm around Millie’s neck and held a revolver up where Ted could see it for a moment. Then he pressed the muzzle against Millie’s head.

“Look’s like time’s up, cowboy,” Conlee said.

The man on the porch shouted, “Drop the gun.”

“You won’t shoot her,” Ted said. His voice trembled, but he tried to tough it out. “Or I’ll shoot Conlee.”

“You think I give a damn, cowboy? Try me.”

He cocked the pistol and forced Millie off the step. She was naked from the waist up, and it was that violation, more than the gun, that enraged Ted. “Let her go, damn you.”

“Can’t do that. I’ll kill her. I mean it, now.”

“You’ll kill her anyway,” Ted said.

“Now that’s just the chance you have to take, hoss,” Conlee said.

Ted moved to the side a bit, trying to keep both men in sight. Conlee took a step and Ted shook his head. “Don’t …”

Conlee waved a hand. “No hurry. I got all day, cowboy.”

It crossed Ted’s mind that he should shoot Conlee first, but he knew the man on the porch would kill Millie. He was beaten, but he couldn’t accept it. Not yet.

Conlee took another step, and Ted shouted, “Back up, God damn you. Back up! Now!”

Conlee stood his ground. Millie started to cry, and the man on the porch tightened his grip around her neck. “Shut up, damn you.” Millie continued to sob, but she tried to swallow the sound.

“Make you a deal, hoss,” Conlee said.

“No deals.”

“Now, don’t make up your mind until you hear it. How about you take the woman and the girl? You take our guns, and you ride out of here. That way, nobody gets hurt. How’s that sound?”