Black Hills (9781101559116) (43 page)

He watched Shank and his riders go by. His horse sent a whinnied hello at the other horses, but the sound was masked by the noise of the river. The rapids were less than in the pass, but still substantial.

Lambert was embittered over most everything since being thrown off the L-Bar. He hated Lainey Nayle for doing it to him and making him look bad, and he hated Shank for not joining him.

“He thinks he is so righteous,” he thought, “but I'll take care of him before this is over.”

Shank had a fast gun, but so did he. It was just that he didn't advertise it and few knew about it. When someone needed killing, he did it away from the eyes of others, preferably from ambush; but just as easily face to face. He practiced drawing regularly in private and had become surprisingly quick.

After Shank had turned him down, Burnell Lambert had brought in J.B. Sanderson when his efforts to locate Mackle had failed. Mackle had been his first choice, but nobody had known how to reach him, and rumors placed him somewhere in Texas. Sanderson was said to have shot seventeen people. Lambert had seen one of the shootings and knew himself to be faster. Sanderson would never learn Lambert hadn't the money to pay him; Lambert would kill him after he had gained control of the L-Bar. Lambert couldn't help smiling—when he took the L-Bar, he would also take the woman. She wouldn't ignore him again.

After the men had passed, Lambert rode up to the clearing but stopped at the edge; the stench was horrible. This is where the explosion had taken place, but why? What had set it off? He wet his bandana with water from his canteen and tied it over his nose and mouth. Stopping frequently to re-wet it, Lambert searched the clearing for clues as to what had happened, coming to the same conclusion as Shank Williams and Candy Johnson. Someone had shot into the dynamite, and the only place from where a shot like that could have been made was high above the trees on the other side of the river.

That must have been what Shank and his men had been doing. Somehow, they must have realized what was about to happen and placed a man on the mountain where he could get a clean shot at the clearing. He stared up at the peak. It must have been Shank, or maybe Candy Johnson, up there with the rifle. Lambert doubted anyone else could have made that shot.

With the help of the two hands, Lainey was just finishing loading the wagon when Shank and the other men rode up to the house. Shank Williams agreed that it was a good plan and told the men to make themselves bedrolls. He knew of the cabin. The only other building up there was a small stable. He and the men rolled their bedrolls out onto the ground as soon as they arrived.

The next day was uneventful, and Lainey breathed a little easier. It was tempting to think that something had happened to Lambert and that it was all over. Maybe he had been killed in the explosion, but in her heart she knew better. She wondered, too, about who had fired the shot that had set off the explosion. She would like to thank him, whatever his reason had been.

The small kitchen area of the cabin was too constricting, and Lainey had taken to cooking outside over a campfire using Dutch ovens. After breakfast, Shank had gone with the men to check on the stock and returned to tell Lainey what he had been thinking about. He and Lainey sat down on a blanket for another cup of coffee under a tree handy to the site.

Shank opened the conversation. “I still can't get a handle on who fired the dynamite. I would sure like the chance to tell him thank you. But I wonder if somehow we have a friend working for Lambert. How else would he have known about it in time to be just at the right place to make that shot when they got there?”

“I have thought and thought about that and couldn't come up with anything,” answered Lainey. “Your idea is the only one that makes sense. We haven't had the chance to get word out to anybody, but I would sure like to meet him, too. I'd cook him a dinner that would make his eyes bug out.”

“You know,” Shank said thoughtfully, “I doubt that Lambert was caught in the explosion. We just ain't that lucky. I don't think he would have gone along to do it himself; he would have sent his flunkies to do the dirty work.” He paused while Lainey refilled his coffee cup. Having her do for him was pleasurable. He had fantasized about her being his wife, but he was just a hand on her ranch, and he knew it was just a fantasy, nice to think about, but a fantasy, nonetheless. A man had a right to dream, and Lainey Nayle was certainly a dream worth having.

“We can't just let him continue to do whatever he wants to do, whenever he wants to do it,” Shank went on. “I think we should take it to him, this sitting and waiting goes against the grain. It gives him time to plan.”

Lainey brushed away a fly that was pestering her. “I was thinking along the same lines. What do you have in mind?”

“I believe we should start searching and see can we locate his base of operations. He has no ranch to work from; it's got to be someplace in the hills, and not too far away at that. My guess is somewhere to the Southeast, not more than a half-day's ride: probably closer. I think we should find where he is and take it to him.”

“You can do that? After losing Ray and the others, we only have fourteen men plus yourself. We're spread pretty thin.”

“That's why we have to do something now, before we lose more. Lambert has the advantage because he has us outnumbered and can pick and choose when and where to hit us. I think his plan is to cut us down one or two at a time until we don't have enough men left to protect the ranch, then he'll just move in and take over. Yesterday, I ran into a fella I used to be kind of friendly with who works for Lambert. He warned me that Lambert was going to bring in the Mackle gun.”

“What's a Mackle gun?”

Shank smiled. “It's not a what, it's a who: a gun fighter named Mackle. He's said to be fast as hell, pardon me, ma'am. He's really quick, and they say whoever he points his gun at, dies.”

“Oh, Lord,” Lainey responded. “That's not good. Now that you mention it, I have heard of him once or twice. And I understand he has killed a lot of people.”

“Well, to be fair, I've never heard of him killin' anyone who didn't need killin'. I think all he does is push back.”

Lainey was sitting on a blanket on the ground and leaning back against a fallen tree with her legs extended. She slid one foot back, with a piece of rolled packing paper in her hand held in readiness above her knee. She had set a trap for the pesky fly. If he fell for it and landed on her knee, he was a goner. Raising her knee had exposed a nicely turned ankle that had Shank failing in his attempt to ignore it.

“What do you mean, push back?” she asked, glancing at him. Shank averted his eyes quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed.

“Civilization is gradually comin'. It's the trend of things for everyone to live peaceful, non-violent lives. Everyone is supposed to follow the rules of society, be kind to your neighbor, and turn the other cheek, as the preachers are fond of saying. Even now, to city folk, fighting and violence are terrible things, to be avoided at all costs; that's the idea of civilization.” Lainey smiled slightly when Shank paused to pour himself another cup of coffee, always the storyteller. With a motion of the coffee pot, Shank offered to refill her cup, but she declined with a shake of her head.

When he was once more comfortably seated, Shank continued. “This is all fine and dandy when everyone plays by the same rules. Having no violence in the world would be a nice thing, and someday it might happen, but in the meantime, somebody needs to take a stand against the people who don't follow the rules, them that have no regard for the rights of other's. Someone needs to show them that there are still people around that are simply not going to take it and will strike back. I think Mackle is one of those someones, another example would be Lynch. Instead of turning the other cheek, they both strike back . . . and strike back hard. But some feel that everyone has a price; maybe a lot of dollars might convince Mackle that we need killin'. If it does, God help us.”

Lainey Nayle caught her breath when Shank said Lynch.
Was he talking about Cormie?
Were there any other Lynches?

Struggling to keep her voice steady, she said, “Tell me about this Lynch.”

Shank glanced at her. Something in the way she said Lynch caught his attention.

“Mack Lynch . . . another fella who takes no nonsense from anyone. When he's pushed, I've heard he explodes all over whoever is doing the pushin'. From what I hear, he's about as fast as Mackle. Say, there's an idea. Lynch and Mackle, now there's a pair to reckon with. Even one of them is quite a few. Let's send for Lynch to come take care of Mackle.”

Mack Lynch . . . Cormac Lynch. Shank was talking about Cormie. Cormie was fast all right—surefire, blistering fast. She had heard it said he could outdraw a lightning bolt. Lainey remembered Cormie saving her life by shooting a snake that was getting ready to strike at her. No, that was wrong, she realized, the snake had already begun its strike. If only they could get him to come—but that was never going to happen. She had taken care of that. It occurred to her that she was still holding her breath and let it go. Shank noticed and looked at her sharply.

“Are you alright, Miss Nayle?”

Lainey smiled. “Yes, Shank, I'm fine. Thank you.”

“Anyway,” Shank went on, watching her closely. “I was joking about getting Lynch to take care of Mackle. I've never heard of him hiring out his gun to anyone . . . of course, I've never heard that Mackle did, either, for that matter, until my friend told me Lambert was getting him. There's a first time for everything, and once they get to ridin' the owlhoot trail, who knows how far they will go.”

Lainey looked at him sharply. “But you've never heard of Lynch doing that?”

Shank was surprised at her interest. “No. I don't think so,” he answered, shaking his head. “Actually, I've never heard that of either of them. I was just using that as an example. Although, if they did, and if they ever did meet, I'd ride a hundred miles and pay money to see that shootout.”

Shank finished his plan. “We have to hope Lambert doesn't get Mackle, and we need to deal with the situation as we know it. That's why I think it's time to take the fight to Lambert, not wait for him to control the circumstances.”

“Do what you think best, Shank, I trust your judgment.”

The fly landed on her knee.

“Ha!” Lainey exclaimed with satisfaction as she swatted it. “Got you!”

Shank got to his feet. “I'll take Candy and do some scouting around today, see what I can find out.”

“Shouldn't you take more men?”

“No, I don't think so. Two can move less noticeably than four or five.”

“Like I said, you do what you think best. By the time you get saddled up, I'll have some food for you to take along.”

With amused affection, she watched his slightly bowed legs walk away. Sometimes, the legs of cowboys who had spent the greater part of their lives in the saddle took on the shape of the horses they had spent so many years wrapped around. She had noticed his eyes on her ankle. “I could do a lot worse,” she thought briefly, but the thought died for lack of interest.

As she stood up to go into the house, Shank stopped and looked back with a chuckle. “I can't get away from that idea of a Mackle-Lynch shootout. That would sure be something.”

“If Mackle has a lick of sense,” Lainey answered emphatically over her shoulder as she went inside. “He'll stay just as far away from Lynch as he can get!”

“Now what the hell was that all about?” Shank wondered, watching the door close.

A
fter dispatching Lambert's men and their dynamite, Cormac Lynch returned to his previously chosen campsite. Closer inspection proved it to be sitting on a steep-sloped four-foot rise, but that wasn't insurmountable. It still looked good to him, but discovering a small moss-covered stone basin continually filled by a natural water seep hidden in the brush sealed the deal.

A rider on the trail had given him the location of the L-Bar N. “You can't miss the L-Bar,” he said with a smile, pointing at one of the higher sections of mountains. “You just ride up that mountain in that direction until you see the prettiest sight you ever seen . . . then look around her. She's got the best ranch in Colorado.”

Cormac had smiled at the reference to Lainey. She seemed to be creatin' quite a stir.

“But don't let her looks fool you none, pardner,” the cowboy had added. “I worked for her for a short time when she first bought the ranch. When she gets her dander up, that's one tough lady.”

Cormac knew all about that. When Lainey got her Irish up, she'd hunt grizzly bear with a willow switch . . . and if the grizzly had any sense, he'd run.