Sabotage on the Cattle Drive (Preview)

Chapter One

“There it is.” Frank Kerrigan put a stack of bills on his desk and slid it forward. “Feel free to count it.”

“You know I will.” The corner of Bill Farmer’s mouth curled up wryly as he took the payment and quickly flicked through it. His fingers were dry and rough from the last couple of weeks on the drive, but that was all right. It was a sign of honest work.

“I’d think less of you if you didn’t.” Frank opened his desk drawer and pulled out a cigar. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” A flash of lightning burst through the open curtains, illuminating the deeper recesses of Frank’s study that the small oil lamp burning on his desk didn’t quite reach. For just a moment, there were some portraits on the wall and books on the shelf. Just as quickly, they receded into the growing darkness inside the house. “Looks like my men and I had better get going. That thunderstorm isn’t going to wait for us.”

As if on cue, the wind howled around the corners of the house, trying to find a way under the siding. Frank whistled, echoing the sound. “It’s going to be a doozy.”

“Not as though we won’t deal with it on the next drive, anyway.” Bill pocketed the money, already doling it out among his men in his mind. It’d be a good cut for each of them, even though they were a big team this time. Frank was generous, and Bill always made sure his cattle were delivered. It was a good setup.

The flickering flame from a match illuminated Frank’s narrow face as he lit his cigar. He pulled in a couple of puffs and sent a thin wisp of smoke curling up toward the ceiling. “You might want to be careful, and I don’t mean from the storm.”

Bill glanced out the window again as another flash of lightning illuminated the pastures of the Kerrigan ranch and the prairie around it. He was close to the Indian Territories here, a place where the land was cheap, but the risk was high. “Having issues with the Natives again?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. No, it’s white men this time.” He inhaled deeply and coughed a little. “I hear they’re former cavalrymen, ones who didn’t get enough of shooting and fighting during the war. They’ve taken to robbing people on the roads after dark. They’ve been terrorizing the county for a few weeks now.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Several drops of rain hit the window like nails.

“You know, the barn has plenty of room,” Frank suggested. “I could put you and your men up for the night. It wouldn’t be a bad idea with both a storm and robbers to contend with. After all, I don’t want to lose my best cattle driver.”

“You flatter me, but no thanks.” Bill picked up his hat and adjusted his belt. Frank was a good guy, but he talked and worried too much. He had this nice home to shelter in, where he could be afraid of everything outside. “It’s only about an hour’s ride into town. We’ll hole up at the inn instead of burdening you.”

At least Frank knew better than to argue. “Have it your way, Bill.” Frank stood and walked with him toward the front door. “I’ll be in touch.”

Bill nodded politely and donned his hat as he stepped out into the night.

A familiar whistle pierced the air despite the wind. “Let’s go,” Diego Valdez directed the other men, moving them into action with only a couple of words.

The ten men that’d helped him with this drive had already saddled up, anticipating the storm. Leather creaked and horses stirred as they mounted up. Bill himself barely had his feet in the stirrups before he turned his horse’s head toward the road. “We’ll have to move quickly tonight,” he told Diego.

The old vaquero was watching the sky. The next flash of light illuminated his gaunt cheeks. “We should make it.”

“I agree, and we’ll be glad for it when we get into town.” The rain was picking up, but Bill smiled under the brim of his hat as he remembered what Frank had told him earlier. The inn had good food, good women, and good whiskey. They’d get some rooms, divvy up the money, and enjoy themselves a little before it was time to head out once again. He had a good crew, men who knew how to find the best route through rough territory and keep the cattle in check.

His daydreams of an actual bed instead of a bedroll were interrupted about twenty minutes later when the wind picked up. They’d had a few gusts back at Kerrigan’s place, but now it blew so hard at their backs that Bill swore it was pushing them faster down the road. The horses felt it, too, tossing back their heads and prancing to the side, eager to shelter from this storm.

“Easy there,” Bill grunted. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

Diego, just to Bill’s left, pulled his mount to a halt.

“What is it?” Pulling back on the reins, Bill turned to his old friend. The last thing he wanted to do was stop when cold rain started pelting down on the back of his neck, but Diego’s instincts were impeccable.

“There.” Diego lifted his chin, ever so slightly to the north. “Wait.”

It didn’t take long before the storm revealed the true danger of the road. A bold flash illuminated the plains as though it was day. The trail was flat and smooth in front of them. His horse’s ears were pricked high, listening. Off to his right was a large group of men heading straight toward them.

“Son of a bitch.” Bill dug in with his spurs, sending his horse leaping forward. “Let’s go, boys! Hard and fast, like the devil himself is chasing us.”

Might as well have been the devil, considering their intentions. Bill gave his horse his head, trusting the animal to stay with the rest of the herd as he kept watch on the approaching men. The bastards had used the weather to disguise their presence. If it hadn’t been for Diego, they might never have seen the bandits until they were already upon them.

It took several more streaks of lightning to get a good idea of how many there were. At least ten, and every time he recounted them, they were moving closer. The only thunder he could hear now was the beat of their horses’ hooves against the ground and the pounding of his own heart. Bill searched the road ahead of them. A copse of trees would be enough to shelter them from the storm and confuse their pursuers, but they wouldn’t have that kind of luck out here. The plains were flat and barren. There was no place to go, no help that would even the odds.

The next flash wasn’t lightning, and it sent the zing of a bullet splitting the air just over Bill’s head. The horses went wild as the bandits reached the road. Bill reached for his gun, but it was too damn dark to see. He risked a shot into the group and was satisfied to hear the grunt of whoever it’d made contact with.

A man pressed his horse into the road, surging directly in front of Bill’s mount. There was no time to stop, and he didn’t bother. Bill rammed straight into him, bracing against the horn. His foe fired a blast directly at him, but Bill had ducked to the side. He could only hope it hadn’t hit someone else.

There was no running away now. The outlaws had surrounded them. Now the flash of guns and the brilliance of the lightning strobed through the night. Blinding lights and equally blinding darkness reigned. Bill watched the fight unfold around him like a series of daguerreotypes.

Diego peeled off to the side before he could be boxed in. The night shrouded him, and when he could be seen again he’d turned back toward the group. Two flares from his gun sent two of the robbers flying from their saddles, held in midair for a moment by the quickness of the light before they fell heavily to the ground.

The man Bill had rammed was trying to grab his horse’s reins. His mount let out a terrified shriek and reeled back. Bill felt the movement more than saw it, the world tipping underneath him. He kept his legs tight, and his boots pressed hard into the stirrups. The other man’s grip slipped, and Bill was free.

The motion sent him surging back into the center of the action. Gunfire buzzed and cracked all around him. His targets changed in the dark, making it difficult to fight and know he wasn’t shooting one of his own. There. A man with a mask. Bill fired as the darkness closed in again. Then the man in the mask was gone.

He turned in search of another good target. Diego shouted something unintelligible. Hands slid against his leg before their owner fell to the ground. He had no idea if they belonged to a friend or foe. Tucker fired. Jim fell. Nelson fought to gain control of his horse. Alonzo was down. Ollie took revenge for his brother’s death and shot a man square in the face. Dark blood slicked the ground.

One final crack of a gun sent the earth sliding sideways out from underneath Bill. For a moment, he thought his horse had slipped into a small ravine that he hadn’t seen in the darkness, but it was worse. His mount went down, dropping like a rock. He felt the heavy weight of the beast pinning his left leg to the ground. A dark figure stood over him. Grateful that at least he’d managed to keep a hold of his gun, Bill fired. His opponent reeled back but didn’t fall.

Then, just as quickly as it’d all begun, it was over. Bill’s ears rang as he swiveled his head, looking for more enemies to come out of the night. Two strong hands gripped his arm, but it was only Diego. The older man pulled hard, helping Bill free his pinned leg.

“They shot my damn horse,” Bill grumbled. It was a terrible thing to happen, but the true outcome of the battle was much worse. His men lay on the ground around him, their coats flapping in the wind. Blood pooled with the rain. Though the storm still raged all around them, it felt oddly quiet.

“You okay?” Diego asked.

“Hell, no.” Bill shook his head. Ernest lay tangled with his horse, but there was no point in trying to get either of them up. Lucky hadn’t been so lucky after all. Gregory was on his back, his eyes wide as they stared up at the sky. It’d only been a matter of minutes, but the robbers had killed most of the horses and all of his men.

Only he and Diego survived.

Chapter Two

A year later, Bill sat in a tub behind the Dodge City Inn. He was only surrounded by a few gallons of water, but in his mind he was lost at sea. With each flip of the page, he was hoisting a sail, checking the rigging, or running from terrifying Natives on some faraway island.

A cough sounded behind him, gentle and restrained at first. It was followed by another, and then the coughs grew violent and wet as they drew closer.

“Good morning, Diego,” Bill said.

His friend stumbled over, nearly bent in half by the coughing fit and pressing a black handkerchief to his mouth. “What’s good about it?”

Bill chuckled as he put his thumb in his book to mark his page. “You might not be fluent in English, but you sure know how to convey a thought. Having a rough one?”

“Must be what I drank last night,” Diego said, turning his head to the side and spitting on the ground.

That was doubtful. Sure, the other man reeked of whiskey and looked like he’d been dragged through a knothole backward. But Diego’s hacking fits had been getting worse lately, and Bill was pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with alcohol. It worried him, not only because he’d known Diego for most of his life but also because it made him think all the more about his own mortality.

“What you reading?” Diego asked before Bill had a chance to prod him about his health.

Turning the book so that Diego could see the cover, he replied, “The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket by Edgar Allen Poe. It’s pretty interesting stuff.”

This earned him a grin and a shake of Diego’s head. “Nantucket? Is that where you go after this job?”

“Well, maybe.” Bill put his book down on a small table next to the tub. “I just might. It doesn’t have to be Nantucket, though. Maybe I’ll find some place in Cape Cod, or I’ll go all the way up to Maine. I hear there’s some beautiful land up there.”

“You hear,” Diego pointed out, “but you never see.”

Flicking the side of his hand at the top of the water, Bill sent a splash of water in Diego’s direction. “What’s that matter? People come out West all the time without seeing it first. They just hang their hopes on a dream and a few tall tales. If they don’t know the reality of it out here, then I don’t have to know the reality of it out there.”

Diego shrugged. “If you say.” He pulled off his hat just long enough to slick back his hair. It was all silvery gray now.

Just like his own, although Bill remembered when it was jet black. Was that so long ago now? “I do say. Can you just imagine how nice it’d be to live out your last days surrounded by the woods? With rivers that never go dry, and lakes so big you can barely see across them? I may not have seen it yet, but I’d love to. It’d be so much better than all this hard, dried earth and grass that can barely stand the heat of the sun. I want to be someplace where everything is living, not just surviving.”

“Could be nice,” Diego acquiesced.

“You know,” Bill said, clearing his throat and looking his old friend directly in the eyes, “you can come with me. Wherever I end up, there’s always going to be a place for you.” It was the least he could do, considering all that Diego had done for him.

Diego laughed. “Thank you. We’ll see. When your meeting?”

“Eight.” Bill frowned. He’d been enjoying his bath and his book so much that he wasn’t even sure how long he’d been out here. “What time is it, anyway?”

Pulling out a gold pocket watch, Diego flicked it open. His brows lifted. “Seven forty-five.”

“You’re kidding me!”

When Diego turned the pocket watch around, Bill saw that he definitely wasn’t. He shot up out of the tub, sending cascades of water down the sides. “Damn! I can’t be late!”

He reached for the strip of clean linen that hung near his clothes before he’d even gotten out of the water. His foot caught on the edge of the tub, sending him pitching forward. Bill caught the clothesline. It was bound between two trees, and their limbs bowed and flexed under the weight. That sent him on a slow, miserable bend forward before the line sprang up again and he got his feet under him.

Hearing a burst of laughter behind him, Bill turned to see a group of local kids that’d come around the corner of the building. They’d seen the whole thing, including his backside. “Go on, now!” he yelled back as he wrapped the linen around him. It didn’t bother him that anyone might see what was under his clothes, unless of course he was hanging like a monkey from a vine at the moment.

Diego, though, was laughing as well. “You’re good entertainment, Bill.”

“Very funny.” Still damp, Bill struggled with his trousers. “Hey, did you have any luck finding the Turner brothers?”

The three Turner boys were experienced cattle drivers that called Dodge City home. Bill had worked with them once or twice before, and they had a good reputation. If he was going to pull off this job, he’d need good help.

“Not here,” Diego told him. “Lady said they’re in Oklahoma.”

“Damn again.” Yanking on his shirt and buttoning it as quickly as he could, Bill was starting to worry. This was supposed to be the last big run before he hung up his spurs. “Any idea when they’ll be back?”

“They just left.”

“Well, doesn’t that just beat all?” He sat down to pull on his boots. “I’ll get to this meeting, and then we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, maybe you should use up the last of that bathwater. I paid good money for it.” Bill stomped off toward the main street.

Dodge City was bustling, as always. He threaded his way between men and women of all kinds, from those who lived and worked here to those who were just using it as a stopover. His career meant that he’d never really settled down anywhere, but Dodge City was where Bill spent most of his time. He knew the streets well, and he quickly made his way to The Watering Trough.

It was a good thing, too, since he heard the church clock chiming away as he approached the front door. Bill eyed the two large men on either side of it. Deauchamp’s personal guards, he was sure. A hotshot like him never traveled without a bit of security. A successful man was a good target for anyone desperate enough. Bill nodded at the men. They didn’t nod back or say a word. They merely let him pass.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark interior, but right away Bill could tell that it was too quiet. His vision cleared, revealing Harry Deauchamp seated by himself at the far table with a glass of whiskey in front of him. He was the only customer.

“I think your goons outside chased everyone else off,” Bill quipped, thumbing over his shoulder toward the door.

The big man chuckled. “That’s the idea, isn’t it? Have a seat, Bill. I’ve got one helluva job for you this time.”

“That so?”

“Yessir.” Harry turned to look for the serving girl, who was already rushing over. “Bring my guest here the finest whiskey you’ve got. Need anything to eat, Bill?”

“No, thank you.” He’d already eaten at the inn, and the food here wasn’t much better. Bill didn’t particularly need the drink this early, either, but he knew he needed to play the game.

“Here you are. Anything else?” The girl set the glass of whiskey on the table in front of Bill.

“That’ll be all.” Harry waved her away, watching her retreating backside as she went. “Now then, I’ve got a good job for you, Bill.”

“That’s what your man said when he came to find me.” Bill had been surprised when the tired and disheveled messenger had tracked him down. He’d worked with Harry a few times before, but that was when Deauchamp was just starting out. He hadn’t yet become the richest cattle baron in Colorado. “What brings you all the way out to Kansas?”

Deauchamp grinned under his enormous white mustache, twirling the end of it in his fingers. His dark eyes glittered. “I’ve made a very special purchase recently from James Calhoun. Five hundred head. I need them brought to Denver for me, and I’ll pay you double your normal fee.”

Bill had barely sipped his whiskey, but it was good quality and was already starting to make his muscles relax. That last sentence, though, made him stiffen up again. “Why’s that?”

“A few reasons,” Harry hedged casually. “The first is that these are Black Angus cattle. I presume you’ve heard about them?”

Now that caught his attention. “The ones from Scotland? And you managed to get that many?”

Harry’s grin widened, making his mustache tweak up as though it were alive. “When you’re a wealthy man with plenty of money to invest, you can make all sorts of things happen.”

“You’d be the expert on that.” Bill took another sip of whiskey, letting the burning liquid slide slowly over his tongue and down his throat. Harry really had gotten the highest quality stuff from the proprietor. He really did know how to make things happen.

“These cattle are like nothing else I’ve seen, and I think they’re going to change the future of American cattle breeding,” Deauchamp said, sitting back a little and unbuttoning the jacket of his linen suit. “Good tempered. Fast growers. They were bred to handle the winters in Scotland, so there’s no problem with them making it here. You can cross them with, say, Longhorns and get all the benefits of both breeds. And the meat! If you haven’t had a steak from a Black Angus, Bill, then you haven’t lived yet.”

Bill put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “You tell quite a story, but I’d like to hear the rest of it. So the cattle are valuable. I get that. Why else are you paying so much?”

Harry tapped a thick finger on the table. “Bill, I won’t mess around with you. Bringing a rather expensive herd of cattle almost four hundred miles to Denver is no walk in the park. It’s going to be a bit of an extra challenge, though, because I believe Leonard Wilhelm has gotten wind of what I’m doing.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met him,” Bill said cautiously.

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Harry said with a laugh. “He’s got this idea in his head that he can’t be successful until he makes more money than I do. He’s a driven son-of-a-bitch, but he’s not interested in playing fair. It’s a solid bet that he’ll do whatever he can to ruin this drive. And the truth is that I’ve sunk a lot of money into these Angus. It wouldn’t bankrupt me if I lost these cattle, but it’d hurt.”

“I see.” Bill mulled it over, but the truth was that there wasn’t much to think about. He’d made the run from here to Denver before. He’d certainly run into his share of trouble before, too. The hefty fee sure didn’t hurt, either. This would be Bill’s last ride, and he could go out with a bang.

“What do you say?” Harry asked, extending his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“We do.” Bill clasped his hand and shook, surprised that Harry’s grip was still so strong after so many years of pointing his finger instead of doing the job for himself.

“Wonderful! I’ve got a small ranch outside of town for just this kind of situation, and the cattle are being held there. You can pick them up there in the morning, and then I’ll see you in Denver.”

When they had all the details worked out, Bill stepped back out onto the street feeling a little lighter than he had earlier in the day. All those years of dreaming were about to work out just the way he wanted them to.

He found Diego back in his room at the Dodge City Inn and told him the details. The older man was usually eager for any work, but this time he looked doubtful. “All those expensive ganado, and just the two of us?”

“We’ll be sitting ducks,” Bill agreed, “but we’ll be very rich sitting ducks by the end of it. We’ve got the rest of the day and tonight to find some help. We might as well get started.”

Chapter Three

“It’s just five hundred head,” Bill promised. He held his cards in front of him, but he wasn’t watching them. Losing the game was fine as long as it earned him some good drivers to accompany him. These men looked able-bodied enough, and when he’d asked, they’d said they had some experience.

A muscular man to his left gestured to the dealer to give him another card, but he kept his eyes on Bill. “How many other men are there?”

Bill smiled, hoping it was charming. “That’s what I’m trying to establish. There’s myself and my friend, Diego. We’ve been doing this for years. If the four of you join in, then we’re good to go.”

“Maybe.” A slightly slimmer man sat on the other side of him.

That made hope rise in Bill’s chest. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to round up some help, after all.

“What kind of cattle are we talking?” the skinny one said carefully.

The truth could either reel them in or scare them away. They’d see the cattle with their own eyes in the morning, anyway. “Black Angus, if you can believe it. Just imagine what it’ll look like, all those dark hides riding into Denver!”

“I’m out.” The muscular guy wasn’t referring to his cards, which he still held in his hands. “As soon as word gets out that we’ve got cattle like that, every rustler from here to the Rockies will be trying to get their hands on them.”

“Every drive has a little bit of risk,” Bill countered, “and the pay is good.”

“It’s not worth dying for,” the skinny one said.

The rest of them agreed, and Bill excused himself from the game. He was frustrated that he’d already wasted so much time talking to men who weren’t willing to come on the drive.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked when he came by.

“Just whiskey. The cheap stuff,” he amended. That liquid gold that Harry had bought for him had been delicious, but right now Bill had no guarantee that he’d ever be able to buy some for himself. The money wasn’t in his pocket until he delivered the cattle to Denver, and right now that was looking impossible.

Not that he could really blame the dozen men who’d already turned him down that day. Nobody in their right mind would take the job. You’d have to pay a man an awful lot to be a moving target, and even Deauchamp’s big bucks wouldn’t cut it for most. No, the only men who’d take him up on the position were those truly desperate for a payday, desperate enough to risk their lives.

He supposed that meant he was pretty damn desperate, too.

Bill’s eyes drifted to the wanted posters hanging behind the bar. Some of them had been there a long time, the paper curling and turning brown around the edges. A new one had been tacked up in the lower corner for a man by the name of Randal Valentine. Even in the sketch, he had dark, hard eyes.

“Here you are.” The server put the drink in front of him and started to turn away.

“Thanks.” Bill looked up at the barkeep, truly looking at him for the first time. He was a bit younger than Bill, but he’d been around for a minute. He probably knew most of the regulars. “Say, do you know anybody with cattle driving experience?”

“Drivers, eh?” The barkeep scratched his jaw. “The Turner brothers are well-known, but you’d have to catch them.”

“Unfortunately that good reputation of theirs makes them pretty scarce.” Disheartened, Bill took a big sip of whiskey and pulled a face. That good stuff had spoiled him. “It doesn’t seem like it should be that hard to find a few able-bodied men who are willing to work for good pay.”

“I can help.” The oddly deep voice came from a slim young man two barstools away.

Bill had barely noticed him when he’d stepped up to the bar, but now he turned toward him. “You done a drive before?”

“I haven’t.” Dark brown eyes flicked to Bill’s then back down at the bar.

The closer Bill looked, the more he realized that this wasn’t going to work out any better than anyone else he’d asked. The young man was hardly more than a boy. His cheeks were still smooth, and the toes of his boots barely reached the rail.

“You look like you’re still wet behind the ears. I need men, not boys, for this drive.”

“How do you tell a man from a boy?” the stranger challenged.

The kid’s gall made him laugh. “That’s a good question, and I suppose there’s no solid answer. What’s your name, son?”

“Tom. I might not look like much, but I’ve been riding since before I could walk. I worked on my uncle’s ranch until he sold out to one of the big barons and went back East.”

“I see.” Bill leaned back a little. He took another sip of whiskey out of habit. It made his eye twitch. “That sounds good, but I’m not sure. I can’t have anyone who’s a liability.”

“Sounds to me like you don’t have anyone at all,” Tom replied, glancing over his shoulder at the table of card players Bill had been speaking to a few minutes ago. “Beggars can’t be choosers, my uncle always used to say.”

Huh. So the kid was sharp. Well, there was something to that. “All right, then. You’re in, if you’re sure.”

“I am. When do we start?”

Bill opened his mouth to answer.

“Stop it!” someone yelled. This voice was also deep, but it had a resonance that Tom’s didn’t.

Both Bill and Tom turned to see a large young man standing in the corner of the bar. He had his hands up, palms out, toward a group of four other men.

“I don’t want to fight you!” the big guy said, his back pressing into the bar.

“Then why did you shove me?” one of the other men snarled. The front of his shirt was soaked with beer, and Bill could guess what happened.

“I didn’t mean to! I said I was sorry!”

It was none of Bill’s business, but the oddity of the situation made him keep watching. This guy was huge. Plenty of barroom brawls started for less, but most fellas would take one look at this mountain of a man and move on. Why were they trying to start something?

“Well, nobody soaks my clothes and gets away with it. Especially some dullard like you.” The wet guy poked the big guy in the chest.

If he thought it was going to be enough to make Mountain Man throw the first punch, he was wrong.

“But I’m sorry!” The big guy was practically shaking now.

One of the aggressor’s compatriots elbowed him. “Doesn’t even have enough sense to offer to buy you a new beer. I think someone like this needs to learn a lesson.”

“Damn straight.” The smaller man reeled back and threw a punch. It landed solidly on the big guy’s jaw.

Bill winced a little, expecting the four to pummel this poor sucker. But that blow didn’t even turn the big guy’s head. Instead, he took his meaty paws and wrapped them around the other man’s upper arms. With seemingly little effort, he hoisted him off his feet and tossed him away. The beer-soaked man tumbled to the ground like an old man.

“Hey!” One of the other fellows hurried forward, ready to continue the fight on his friend’s behalf, but the big guy easily pulled the same stunt on him. He went sailing through the air.

When the third crashed into a table, the barkeep got involved. “That’s about enough! Take it outside or I’m calling the sheriff!”

The big man startled at hearing the barkeep get on his case, and he ran out the door. Unfortunately, the other men followed. They wanted their fight, and they were going to get it. It wasn’t Bill’s business, but he followed as well. He wanted to see just how this would go down.

He burst through the door to see that the fight was continuing in the street. Clouds of dust were getting kicked up into the early afternoon sunlight.

“Just stop!” The colossus put his hands up and tried to run away, but the others weren’t having it. He resorted once again to tossing them aside, either grabbing them bodily and throwing them or shoving them back with a mere flick of his arm.

Getting frustrated, the first man got on his feet and pulled his gun. “Fine, we’ll settle this the hard way.”

The crack of gunfire split the air, but it was the man with the gun who had blood pouring from his shoulder instead of the big guy.

Bill looked around, expecting to see the sheriff. Instead he found a lone man whose sandy blond hair was the same color as the dust around his feet. He kept his pistol steady, smoke rising from the barrel, as he moved slowly forward. There was no badge on his jacket.

“Who’s that?”

Bill looked over his shoulder, somewhat surprised to see that Tom had followed him outside.

“He asked you to leave him alone,” the blond man said, still keeping that resolute pace forward. “I suggest you do as he says.”

Grumbling, the men grabbed their leader under the arms and dragged him off down the street. A couple of them glanced over their shoulders every now and then to see if the blond guy was still serious. They were met with his steady gaze and moved on.

“You all right?” Bill approached the big guy, who was now standing in the street and looking completely confused.

He must not have been right in the head, because all he did was look at Bill with terror in his eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bill promised, talking to him like a spooked horse. He held out his hand. “My name is Bill.”

“This is Michael Cortland,” the gunman said as he approached, tucking his gun back in its holster. “I’m Christian Montgomery.”

“You’re a crack shot, is what you are,” Bill replied. “I think your friend here could’ve used you a few minutes earlier.”

“I’m Tom.” The young man boldly stepped up next to Bill and stuck out his hand, shoehorning in his own introduction even though nobody had asked him.

Christian’s lips pursed slightly as he looked in the direction the other men had gone. “I had a few things I needed to take care of while I’m in town. I thought he’d be all right for a few minutes.”

“In town? Where are you from?” The odd pair had caught Bill’s attention and so had their strength and skill.

“Colorado, actually,” Christian replied. “I’ve got a cattle ranch there, but I’m in town to do some business.”

“And your friend here?” he gestured to Michael, who didn’t seem big on words.

“We met on the train,” Christian said simply.

“Well, can I buy you two a drink? Seems like you might need it. Or at least he does. And I’ve got a business proposal for you.”

Poor Michael’s eyes were wide, and he kept looking around as though he thought the bad guys might come jumping out of nowhere.

“A business proposal?” Christian echoed. “Well, hell. Sure. I wouldn’t mind getting out of the sun for a minute.”

They retreated into the saloon, where the barkeep eyed Michael warily. “I don’t want any fights in here. I mean it.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Bill promised, finding an empty table and pulling out a chair. He hollered over his shoulder to the barkeep. “Whiskeys all around, and give me something a little better than that rotgut you gave me last time.”

“It must be quite the business proposal,” Christian noted.

“Well, it’s not the kind you get every day.” Bill fell into the same speech he’d been giving all day, although he made sure it applied to Christian. After all, he was already heading to Colorado. He might as well get paid to make the trip. Bill felt a little like a tonic salesman, trying to convince these men that their lives would be all the better if they were only smart enough to buy in. There was, of course, one big caveat. “So you see, I can’t just bring anyone with me,” Bill concluded. “I need someone who understands the risk and is going to do everything possible to get these cattle there on time.”

Christian shrugged a little. “I’m in. Like you said, I’m heading that direction, anyhow. I’ve been interested in getting into Black Angus myself, so it’ll be good to see how they behave.”

“How about you?” Bill nodded toward Michael.

The poor man looked back and forth between Bill and Christian uncertainly.

“It’ll be good for you,” Christian told him, patting Michael on the arm. “You’ll have something to do, and the money will help your grandmother.”

At that, Michael’s face relaxed. “Okay.”

“We’ll meet up tomorrow morning, then.” Bill shook their hands and smiled. Not long ago, he’d been convinced that he’d have to go back to Deauchamp, hat in hand, and tell him that he’d have to turn the job down, after all. Bill and Diego couldn’t do it on their own. But now he had three more men to his crew, and things were looking up. A little shingle home on the bay was getting closer and closer.

Chapter Four

“Yer hair is lovely, but not as lovely as yer neck.” John Brennan nuzzled the whore’s hair out of the way so that he could kiss her smooth white neck just under her earlobe.

She giggled, her body writhing excitingly against his under the covers, but she didn’t pull away. “That tickles!”

“And ya like it, don’t ya?” he asked, slipping his hand around her waist and pulling her closer.

She turned to him, her blue eyes gazing sweetly into his. “I like anything you like, honey.”

Well, of course she did. He’d paid well enough for her. But John wanted more. He wanted to know that she wanted him. Some men might find it difficult to pick a single girl out from the lineup downstairs. They were all pretty, in their way. John had been searching for more than the way their hair had been done or the way their dresses draped off their shoulders. It was the look in their eyes that he studied, passing over the ones who looked bored or indifferent. He’d picked this one because she looked as though she’d want him whether there was money involved or not.

“I’m rather a famous man. Did ye know that, lass?” John asked. “I mean somethin’ in this world.”

“Is that so?” She pouted her lips a little as she ran her finger along his jawline.

“Aye. I used to run with none other than Randal Valentine, himself.”

“My goodness,” she purred, putting her leg over his and rubbing her calf up and down along his leg. “That’s something.”

“When we’re done here tonight, ya can tell all the other women that ya were with John Brennan. Some of ‘em will be jealous, and some of ‘em will be terrified.” He rolled over on top of her, ready to see that fear and elation mixing in her eyes.

But she still had that same look he’d seen when she was downstairs. Interested, yes, but not intrigued. Her hands reached up to either side of his face. “It’s hard to believe someone like you could be a villain.”

John pulled back. “Is that right?”

“You’re rugged and handsome, but you’re a real sweetheart, too. I think you’re the type of man a girl could take home to her mother.” Her hands ran down his neck and across his chest.

“The fuck are ya on about?” John flung her hands away and got off the bed.

“What’s the matter?” She sat up, pulling the covers over her breasts as though she had some sense of modesty.

“What do ya know about my mother?” he growled. The room was dimly lit, and he cursed the fact as he yanked his clothes off a nearby chair and they tumbled to the floor.

The woman shook her head. “I didn’t say anything about her!”

Shoving his shirttails into his trousers, John glared at her. “You’re no better than the other ones, are ya?”

“I think you should go!” She had the audacity to point at the door.

“Oh, I’ll be goin’, all right.” John grabbed his right boot, pulling out the knife he always kept there before he put it on. “But first, I’ll be showin’ ya the results of a mother’s love!” He rushed to the bed, pushing his hand over her mouth so that nobody could hear her scream.

A few minutes later, John casually emerged from the room. Though there were plenty of private rooms, the upstairs hallway was bustling and busy. A working girl in a blue dress escorted an older Mexican man, pulling him along by one hand while he coughed into a black handkerchief with the other. A door opened as a woman stepped out, briefly revealing behind her several other whores in various states of undress. Some men were waiting for their turn, and others were having a cigar to top off the pleasure of what they’d just done. Somewhere down below, somebody played a piano. It was all lively and fun, and it would continue to be until someone found what John had left behind.

Discreetly wiping the blood from his knife on the bottom of his jacket, he whistled to himself as he strolled down the hall, the picture of a pleased man. He ambled down the stairs.

The lobby of the brothel was just as busy. This wasn’t where the madam let the men make their selections. No, that happened in another room behind this one. If a person strode in off the street, unsure of just what kind of business Madam Greene’s Boarding House was, they might not know the truth until they tried to get a room.

The crowd was just as thick down here, and so was the fog of smoke overhead. Drink glasses clinked, served from a small bar over on the right, and the piano music was nearly deafening. It would be too obvious to just run away, and that wasn’t John’s style. He moved over toward one of the sofas, intending to light a cigar of his own, when he spotted a man slumped in the corner.

He was wealthy, by the looks of him, the kind that could afford any of Madam Greene’s top girls. He was also passed out drunk. Giving a quick glance around, John made his move. He slipped around behind the sofa and knelt next to the man, quickly checking through his pockets. The watch was an easy nick. The man thought he was being clever by putting his money in an inside pocket of his jacket, but that was one of the first that John checked. Judging by the fat wad of cash, this dumb sod had gotten drunk before he’d gotten himself a woman.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

John looked up to find a rather wide-shouldered man standing over him. “I was checkin’ to see if he was all right,” John instantly lied. He reached over and patted the unconscious man’s cheeks as though trying to slap him awake.

“Of course he’s not all right! Billy! Hugh! This Irishman is trying to rob Ben!” the big man hollered.

That was John’s cue to get the hell out of the place. He shot to his feet, but he didn’t go out the front door. Instead, he bolted for the back room.

Madam Greene swept around to give him an angry glare as he slammed the door behind him. “Done so soon, sir? If you want another one, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

John tipped his hat. “I got everythin’ I wanted.”

Ben’s friends came crashing through the door after him. John headed straight for the line of prostitutes, shoving a couple of them aside to make way for himself. They screamed and cursed at him as he went out the back door.

His boots splashed into something unpleasant as he entered the alley, but John didn’t pause to see what it was. He took off to the right.

“There he goes!” one of his pursuers bellowed.

John risked a glance back. There’d been three of them a moment ago, but their numbers had doubled. They’d picked up some extras along the way. That was too much for John to take alone, even with his skills, and he dug his heels harder into the ground.

“You go that way,” he heard one of them giving orders. “We’ll cut him off over here.”

John grinned as he ran, the dusty breeze on his face. These idiots thought they could outsmart him, but they had no idea just how many lawmen and angry citizens he’d given the slip to back in Kerry. There were probably still some rather flustered husbands hoping to come around a corner and find him, but they’d be sorely disappointed to find out that he wasn’t even in the country anymore.

He took another right and then an immediate left. This alley was short and narrow, but that was fine. It opened into another tee. John ducked under a line of washing and then took another right. Now he was heading in the complete opposite direction he’d been when they’d chased him out of the cathouse.

As a matter of fact, he was coming up on the front of it. The timing was perfect, too, as screams emanated from the upper windows. Someone had probably slipped into the room he’d been in only a few minutes ago. Perhaps it was even Madam Greene herself, wondering why the little harlot hadn’t cleaned herself up and come back downstairs for the next go-round. John dashed past and into the night.

He turned the next corner and immediately slowed down, listening. There were no shouts or pounding footsteps. He’d shaken the drunken man’s friends, and he’d disappeared before anyone had the chance to associate him with the girl’s death.

Still, it was time to keep moving. John moved slowly and kept to the shadows. A grungy saloon on the edge of town was tempting, especially the women who lingered in the upstairs window as advertisements, but he’d have his fun another time.

Continuing on until he reached the edge of town, where the stench of cattle manure reigned supreme, he shuffled on down the road until he spotted a barn. Trying the door, he slipped inside. It was as good a place as any to hide out until the coast was clear.