Diamond Buckow (24 page)

He faced forward again, his arm working up and down as he lashed the black to a higher speed. A grim, humorless laugh broke from between Diamond's set lips. Yocum would kill that animal yet, but, by God, he would not get away.

The sides of the ravine flashed by in a solid wall. The footing was good, and the well-matched mounts ran on and on. Newt began to think he was slowly losing the race when he couldn't get any more speed out of the black. He pulled a sixgun and fired out behind him.

Diamond saw the smoke, but had no idea where the bullet went. At that distance a hand weapon had but little accuracy, he knew, especially shooting from a moving horse at an object that was also in motion. Newt's likelihood of hitting Diamond was slight, but he didn't want to chance much, since Bones was such a large target.

He reached for his own gun, but his hand came down on an empty holster. He guessed the iron must have fallen out when Bones went down. Reaching for the longer gun in the boot tied to his saddle, his hand slid off. He got a better hold, but the carbine wouldn't budge. Somehow it had gotten jammed tight in the sheath. Diamond recalled that Bones had come down hard on that side when he fell.

Damn it, he swore in silence. Now what?

The chestnut horse ran on, head pointed, mane flying. Large hooves pounded the hard earth until it sounded like rolling thunder. The wind of their speed parted Diamond's beard and brought tears to his eyes.

He thought he probably couldn't hit the bastard even if he
had
gotten a gun out. Just as damned well—he'd rope and drag-hang the rustling killer, let him know how it felt to have a noose tighten around his neck.

The two mounts ran. Bones slowly gained, but Diamond asked, at what cost? If it kept up, both horses would go until they dropped. Diamond decided he had to do something. The gelding's stride hadn't shortened, he'd lost none of his trememdous speed. But now every hoof hit the ground with a shock that Diamond could feel all the way up his backbone.

Twenty-five feet marked the distance between the racers.

“A little closer.” The words escaped Diamond's mouth as he uncoiled his riata.

Twenty feet. Eighteen. Fifteen. Yocum turned to look, his face gray. His pursuer wondered whether it was due to fear or dust.

Newt's hands shook as he tried to load his gun, but he soon gave up and threw it at Diamond. It missed and bounced away. But the panic on the former lawman's face said he at last realized fully who it was gaining on him.

The ravine floor was smooth hard rock. The only sound above the ringing of steel-shod hooves was the harsh rasp of each breath the black sucked into his lungs.

When Bones's head drew even with the other's tail, Diamond shook out his riata. As he whirled it twice to open the loop, Yocum turned to look again. Newt realized what was in store for him, and tried to make his horse cut to the left in front of Bones. But at the same time he leaned too far to the right as he tried to dodge the noose that streaked toward him. The black's head pulled one way and the considerable bulk of his rider, leaning the other, made the horse go down with a jarring thud.

Bones's sure-footedness kept him and Diamond from tangling up and falling as well. As they raced past, Diamond saw a confused picture of the big stud somersaulting on the hard rock. His rider sailed through the air in an arc that shook him free of the horse.

When Diamond brought Bones to a safe stop, he turned and went back slowly. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't feel much like viewing the remains. The chestnut snorted and shied off from moving closer. His owner slid out of the saddle, surprised to find his legs weak.

Diamond ground-hitched his horse, wishing to no avail that there would have been a shady spot. He didn't have to get close to know that Newt was dead. Yocum had been thrown some twenty feet, landing head-first on the ravine floor. His skull had shattered, spilling brain matter out to sizzle on the hot rock.

Looking down at his old enemy, a convulsive sigh shuddered through Diamond. He had to feel thankful, at least, that he'd not had to go back on himself and hang somebody. Now that Yocum was gone, he'd never have to worry about that again. Maybe now, he told himself, maybe now he could stop remembering and hating.

Diamond stood lost in thought until a sound brought him to. He looked over at the black. Newt's horse was gamely trying to struggle to his feet. But at last he gave up and sank back onto the ravine floor. Diamond got halfway to him before he stopped for a sharp look. He could see the bone protruding through the skin of the right foreleg.

Yocum's saddle had been smashed, Diamond saw. He wondered if that meant the black stud's back was hurt along with the broken leg. Turning wearily, he trudged back to Bones and reached for his saddle gun. Then he remembered he hadn't been able to budge it during the chase. It was still stuck fast in the leather.

Behind his back he heard a thud. He wheeled to see the downed black try once more to get up, and fall again. The horse's shoulders resounding on the solid rock snapped Diamond's patience.

He took out his knife, slashed the boot, and caught the carbine as it fell free. As he walked toward the animal he worked the mechanism. Sand grated, and he was forced to unload it just so that the weapon wouldn't explode in his face.

Diamond reloaded, talking softly to the stud. “Sorry, big boy. You're too good a horse to end this way. But I got to do it.”

The sound of his voice seemed to quiet the black. In the one second that he got still, Diamond shot him between the eyes. Killing that horse seemed to be the last straw. Diamond felt a revulsion he hadn't experienced in years. He wasn't even sure how many
men
he'd done away with this day. How, he asked himself, could he learn to live with that?

Diamond was numb as he mounted Bones and rode slowly back over all the ground they'd raced. When they reached the spot where he'd first waited for Newt Yocum, and where the black had knocked Bones down, he slid out of the saddle. He crawled around on all fours looking to retrieve his sixgun.

With the afternoon sun beating down, he felt sick. He started to heave, but there was nothing to come up. Diamond hadn't eaten all day. But even worse was the lack of water. He and Bones both would surely welcome a drink. The only water he knew of was back at the box canyon.

Diamond decided to head back for Jake and Russ, taking his time. No matter how thirsty, he'd hold up longer and so would his gelding if they didn't push. Jake could manage Russ alone as long as he had to. And at this point Diamond couldn't do anything about his cattle until tomorrow. At least, he knew, the critters had been running in the direction of Kansas and home.

Late in the day man and horse came upon a little shade and some grass. Diamond stretched out for better than an hour while Bones nibbled on the sparse graze.

Then they moved on. It was full dark when they rode into the box canyon. Diamond saw a fire where the outlaws had made their camp. Suddenly he just didn't want to face any other human being.

Diamond dismounted and led Bones quietly to the water. While the horse drank, his rider looked toward the fire. Startled, he realized that too many men were in the camp.

He doubted Russ would be on his feet. But even if he was, he and Strickland made two. In the flickering light, Diamond saw three men. The sight shocked him right out of his heavy thoughtful mood.

His fatigue and hunger forgotten, he dropped Bones's reins on the ground and walked toward the fire. The men there obviously didn't expect anyone else. Although Diamond couldn't make out their words, their tone spoke disagreement. Because they were busy with that, he slipped up until he was just out of the light of the flames.

The first person he recognized was Sean O'Malley. The breed stood across the fire facing Diamond, and to Sean's right was a short heavy-set man in his mid-twenties. Diamond didn't know him. The other was in the shadows to Sean's left. Something about this last man bothered Diamond.

Jake and Russ were on the ground behind the half-breed as he talked.

“Mister, I don't know who you are. But I sure as hell wouldn't want to be in your shoes when my boss finds out what you want. Come here planning to buy his cattle from the dead men that stole 'em.”

The man in the shadows answered, and Diamond knew at once what had bothered him.

Glenn Saltwell said, “I'm not very concerned. I've never seen a rancher I couldn't handle. Just who is your boss, anyway?”

Sean opened his mouth, but Diamond beat him to a response. “His boss is right here, Glenn. You got any other questions?”

The people around the fire froze, then Saltwell broke the spell by taking a step forward toward the newcomer.

Glenn's stance said his curiosity would hold him but a short space. That he was ready, even eager, for a draw.

Around the same lazy smile that Diamond remembered all too well, Saltwell said, “I'll stick by my first question—you got a name? I don't recall seeing your face before.”

Something about the balance in this little fireside scene picked at Diamond. What did Glenn know that he didn't? Strange, too, that Jake Strickland was on the ground. With a fight coming, he'd be on his feet and fast, if he could. His injury alone wasn't bad enough to keep him down.

Diamond also wondered whose side Russ would be on. A quick glance showed him that O'Malley's holster was empty. Jake must have been disarmed as well. Now even more unsure of Russ, he darted a look at him and found him awake and alert.

He said to Saltwell in a dry tone, “I'm hurt you don't know me, Glenn. I sure remember you.”

Diamond's brain worked all the while. The odds were two to one against him. His own position wasn't the best, either. He was fronting Saltwell, all right, but he could hardly see the other man out of the corner of his left eye.

He addressed the old rustler chief again. “You're the son-of-a-bitch that made me into an outlaw.”

Diamond watched the expression on Glenn's face. He couldn't detect any sign of recognition, but he wanted his former boss to remember. With persistence he supplied the details in order.

Glenn's look changed from disbelief to questioning as Diamond hurried on.

”Then you talked me into helping you drive a bunch of stolen cattle up to Dodge. Only I didn't know the herd wasn't yours until we were in The Strip.”

Glenn's face suddenly showed his certainty. “Christ!” he laughed with a short, gruff bark.

”You were so green, I knew you were running from something. If it was the law, I could've told you they never looked outside of town in those days. Hell, if you'd told me that back then, I'd never have believed you had guts enough to kill a man.”

”I didn't know Red Pierce was dead then. Found it out later, much later.”

Diamond tried to keep track of the other rustler without dulling his awareness of Saltwell. He figured he had to make his play now.

“That kid got the green knocked out of him,” Diamond said. “But nothing's changed what I feel about you, Glenn. I still hate your guts. I don't have to take water from any man these days, and I think I can beat you to a gun. You once said you could give me a head start and still get two slugs in me before I cleared leather. Well, here's your chance to prove it. You tell your friend over there to hold off, and we'll find out.”

The slow snakelike grin wriggled over Glenn's features. “Any time you're ready. Only don't count on Harve to stay out. He'll do whatever he thinks best, like jumping in to help me even if I don't need it. Nothing wrong with insurance, is there? But even if he stays put, I can still take you.”

”Don't be too sure,” Diamond gritted out. “I've not been wet behind the ears for a long time. I told you way back in Dodge that some day I'd cut you down. That day has come, Glenn. Even if you and Harve
both
clear leather before me, I'll still kill you.”

His eyes were treacherous, like an iced-over stream. “I shot three or four men and one damned good horse today already. If I die taking you out, it won't be more than I got coming.”

Saltwell's smile dropped away and his face went a little pale.

“By God!” he gasped. “Somebody poured sand in where the green used to be.”

All four men who were standing started their move at the same time. Sean launched himself at Harve, but the first shot came from Diamond's left, and behind the half-breed.

Diamond triggered next. The lead entered Saltwell's chest half an inch to the left of the middle button on his vest. Glenn's slower shot kicked dust up between Diamond's feet. The fourth, like an afterthought, came from Harve's forty-five. It split the night air without harm.

Diamond watched a play of emotions alter Glenn's face. First, the quick stab of pain, then surprise followed by disbelief. He fell forward and lay still. As the accompanying black and heavy feeling threatened to engulf Diamond, he knew he had to do something.

He thought of Sean, unarmed, hurling himself at Harve, and he turned to make sure the breed was all right. O'Malley sat on the ground, staring up at his boss with astonishment. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he swallowed hard and tried again.

“Mr. Diamond, I—uh—how'd you ever draw that fast?”

Diamond ignored him and demanded, “Are you hurt?”

Sean shook his head, speechless again.

“Then disarm Harve, here, and see if you can bandage his shoulder. He seems to be losing some blood.”

He reached to give Sean a hand up. Their eyes met, the dwindling camp flame reflecting in them. Cold fire glittered in Diamond's.

“And while you work on him, you'd better think up a good excuse to give me. I told you to stay at the ranch and take care of things while we were gone.”

O'Malley started to sputter, but Diamond turned away and went to the two still on the ground. Even now Russ hung onto the sixgun that had started the fray, wounding Harve and saving his former riding mate. But it was Strickland who spoke first.