Diamond Buckow (28 page)

Out of the corner of his eye Diamond saw Nancy Blough flinch against Tom, and heard her sharp intake of breath. But Wide Loop Thompson broke in, his voice loud and angry.

“Strickland, you climb that hoss and ride. I'm leaving orders from now on, any man on my or Henry's ranch who finds you on this range is to shoot on sight.”

Jake looked at Daniel Thompson, his gray eyes still as stone.

“I know you don't believe me, Wide Loop. Never did and most like never will. But I never in my life stole cattle, nor dealt any with those that did.”

His partner shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he watched Thompson and Blough.

“You two might not remember me,” Diamond said. “But I sure remember you, and that so-called deputy sheriff you sicked onto me. My name was Peter D. Buckow. Him that hanged me, Newt Yocum, is dead. We caught him red-handed with rustled cattle over across the Colorado line.”

Henry Blough's face was purple. Ropy blue veins stood out on his temples. He sputtered like a hissing cat, but before he said anything his wife moved three or four steps forward, into his line of view.

“Calm down, Henry,” she ordered with soft firmness. “You know what the doctor told you about your heart.”

If anything, his agitation worsened. He swung to face her, shouting.

“What in tarnation are you doing here? This is no place for you, Nancy. Get back. Get off the street.”

Her blazing brown eyes riveted him. “I'm here to take charge of your affairs, Henry, and I won't go away. You've let Mr. Thompson lead you around as is if you were blind. He's had innocent men hanged. When you do nothing to stop it, you're as guilty as he is.”

“Blough.” Diamond's voice cut through, focusing all attention on him.

“Do you and Thompson want to see what kind of a mark a hanging rope makes on an innocent man?”

He ripped the bandana off his throat, baring the diamond necklace of white scars.

Wide Loop was the first to recover. “There! More proof, Marshal. What are you waitin' for? Shove 'em both in jail! I'll swear out a warrant, we'll have us a real quicklike trial, and hang 'em in the morning.”

He wilted slightly before the clear-eyed patience of the lawman's look.

“Mr. Thompson. That mark around the gentleman's neck proves only that he was hanged, and lived. Not that he's guilty. According to what I've been hearing from Mrs. Blough and Tom Dobbins, he was probably no more guilty than a man with the nickname of Wide Loop.”

Daniel Thompson started up, but the marshal continued, a frigid warning in his voice.

“In fact, I understand another man or two was hanged just the other day. Suppose I look into their alleged guilt?”

“Damn,” Wide Loop groaned, sounding strangled. He reached to where his gun normally rested on his hip, then realized it wasn't there.

“All cow thieves should die!” he shouted.

As he feinted, then dived to one knee to grab a weapon off the ground in front of him, Henry Blough cried out in pain. The old man grabbed his chest and doubled over, crumpling into the dust.

“Henry!” Nancy screamed, running to him.

Her action put her between Thompson and the marshal, preventing the lawman from stopping Wide Loop's quick chance to aim and fire at his accused rustlers.

But another shot rang out at the same time. Jake Strickland's forty-five slug drove Thompson's body back and down with its force. Wide Loop's shot went wild, thudding into the support post of a store across the way.

The town marshal leaped from the sidewalk into the street, his own guns ready. But he saw in a moment that Wide Loop was out of action and that Strickland stood quietly.

“All right,” the lawman conceded. “I'll certify it was self-defense, but you better give me your iron for the time being.”

Jake stiffened, but handed it over.

The marshal gave him a steady look. “When the paperwork's done and the judge OK's it, you'll get it back.”

“I didn't want to kill him,” Strickland said. “I only wanted him to admit I never stole anything, from him, nor anybody.”

Tom Dobbins came forward slowly to look down on Thompson's corpse, and to check with his friend, who was hunched over her husband.

“Nancy,” he asked gently, “how is Henry?”

She rose tall, her burning eyes on Diamond and her voice colorless.

“He's dead. The doctor told him to avoid any excitement.”

As if in a trance, she moved back to Henry. She looked down, and hesitantly leaned over to lay a soft hand on his waxy forehead. After a moment Nancy straightened to confront the other men. The strange silence grew long.

The marshal fidgeted. “Mrs. Blough,” he asked cautiously, “I don't know quite how to word this. But, ah, well, there's a lot of death here and all, and gonna be plenty of legal things for you to see to. How will all this land claim business work out now? Do you know what to do?”

“I do,” she said promptly, with an unexpected smile. “It all falls to me now. To Buck—I mean, to Diamond—and to myself.”

Nancy walked, a little too brightly, to Diamond's side. “It's all complicated, you see, but it will be perfectly legal. It will be all—”

She suddenly went pale and fainted at his feet.

He bent to cradle her in his arms, as he knew he could do now whenever he chose. Now that his ranch and his name would be totally cleared, and he could soon call Nancy Mrs. Diamond Buckow.