Hard Ride to Wichita (5 page)

“They don't know everything,” Kyle insisted. “But they live under the same roof as me. They're bound to know something. All that matters to you or anyone else is that they're no danger to anyone.”

“You willing to stake your life on it?” Scott asked.

Without hesitation, Kyle said, “Yeah. If you hadn't stormed in here the way you did, they wouldn't know much of anything at all.”

“Stormed in here?” Scott asked with a humorless laugh. “You were told to expect me.”

Virginia eased her way across the room toward her son. “We can just leave you men be,” she said. “No need for all of this fuss on our account.”

Stopping her with a sharp glare, Scott asked, “What do you know about what your husband does for a living?”

“I know he's gone for weeks at a time every now and then,” she said. “I also know he provides what we need. The rest is none of my concern.”

Scott nodded and shifted his gaze to Luke. “What about you?”

Unable to meet the man's predatory stare, Luke replied, “I don't care what he does. I prefer it when he's away.”

“Doesn't sound like a lot of loyalty to me, Kyle,” Scott mused. “You call this a family?”

“Ain't nobody's perfect,” Kyle said.

As Scott's hand drifted toward his holster, he said, “Even so, what did Granger say about how we're to conduct ourselves between jobs?”

“Like we was nothin' more than ordinary folks . . . which is just what I've done.”

“Ordinary folks don't have this kind of thing stashed under their bed,” Scott said as he held the valise so it fell open enough for Luke to get a look at the bundles of money inside. His heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat as his mother's hand tightened around his arm. She pulled him toward the door, but Luke's feet were rooted to the spot.

“Damn it,” Kyle sighed. “They never knew that bag was under there and they surely didn't know what was inside!”

“Your woman knew the bag was there,” Scott said in a voice that sent chills beneath Luke's skin. “She's the one who fetched it for us. Did you think I forgot about that so soon?” His eyes narrowed and his hand came to a rest upon one of his holstered pistols. “Is that the problem here? You think I'm stupid?”

A silence fell upon the entire house that was so complete, Luke couldn't even hear any noise from the world beyond its walls. He stood there with his mother hanging on his arm, waiting for Kyle to turn the situation around, praying that he wasn't making a mistake in choosing this moment to put the first lick of trust in the man.

Holding both hands out, Kyle spoke in a voice that was so soft it could barely be heard. “You know that ain't true. You're just making a big thing out of this.”

“Am I?” Scott asked.

“Yes. I swear on everything that's holy . . . you are. Everything that's supposed to be in that bag is there. Take it. Send my regards to our mutual friend and come see me when there's another job to do.”

“Maybe you've outlived your usefulness.”

“And maybe you're wound too tight today.” Putting on a shaky grin, Kyle added, “Or maybe you've had a nip of whiskey with your supper? Lord knows you wouldn't be the only one to indulge that way. Tends to make a man cross, though.”

Scott moved his hand away from his holster. “Maybe you're right. I could have been making too much of this.”

“That's right,” Kyle sighed. “We've worked together long enough to know where each other stands.”

“Perhaps you did pick some good folks as a family.”

“I sure did.”

And as quickly as Scott's relaxed demeanor had come, it was gone. “The matter still stands that this here woman knew more than she should have and now so does the boy.”

Kyle gritted his teeth and said, “If that's anyone's fault, it's yours! Everything was fine before now.”

“Maybe it was my fault to put you on the spot,” Scott admitted. “But we're in something of a bind here. It's got to be set straight. You want to do it or should I?”

Shaking his head, Kyle said, “You're mistaken. Nothing needs to be set straight.”

Luke's pulse sped up and he suddenly regained control of his legs. When he tried to get his mother moving with a gentle tug on her arm, he found she was now the one frozen in fear. He tugged a bit harder, which was enough to snap her out of the spell that had come over her.

“This ain't the first time you've put us all at risk,” Scott said. “But I can tell you it'll be the last.”

“Don't do this!” Kyle yelled.

“Too late,” the stranger said. “It's already done.”

When Scott drew a pistol from his holster, it was in a motion so fast that Luke barely saw it. The thunder that followed would follow him for the rest of his life.

Luke thought his stepfather was dead after the first pair of shots blasted through the house. But Kyle had jumped to one side, grunting as he hit the floor. The moment all four limbs were beneath him, Kyle crawled toward the wall where his hunting rifle was set upon two pegs above the kitchen door.

“You've got to get out of here!” Virginia said to her son.

All Luke could do was nod and hurry with her toward the front door.

Without a word of warning, Scott turned and fired a round at them. Even compared to the gunshot itself, the thump of lead drilling into flesh was deafening to Luke's ears. He felt his mother's entire body jerk as her steps became a falling stagger toward salvation. She reached toward the door leading outside, only to push Luke toward it in front of her.

“Go on,” she gasped. “Get the sheriff.”

Another shot caught her in the back. Her eyes glazed over and she fell into Luke's waiting arms.

Luke stared down at her as she grew heavy and limp. From the corner of his eye, he could see Scott coming toward him. He knew the other man had more bullets to fire, but he simply didn't care. The only thing that surprised him was the bellowing sound of Kyle's voice before another torrent of gunfire was unleashed.

Pivoting smoothly, Scott fired the gun in his right hand while drawing the second pistol with his left. All the while, the familiar bark of the hunting rifle exploded within the house. Glass shattered. Furniture was overturned. Lanterns were knocked from the wall and tabletops. The room that was so familiar to Luke, unchanged throughout most of his life, was destroyed in seconds. A storm raged around him and a large part of him didn't care to get out of its way. If he was to be stricken down by the chaos, then so be it.

What the boy felt wasn't bravery.

It wasn't even anger.

What Luke felt was a vast, clawing cold stretching out from his stomach to claim every inch of his body.

His eyes absorbed the unfolding horror without focusing on one thing for more than a fraction of a second. He saw blind rage written across Kyle's face as he fired the hunting rifle and levered in another round. He saw smoke bellow into the air between the two men. He saw Scott toss an empty gun from his right hand to calmly replace it with the second one he'd drawn a few moments ago. After moving to one side, Scott dropped to one knee before firing the round that put an end to Kyle's fight.

Falling backward, Kyle was swallowed up by the gritty smoke that had filled the air. Although Luke's ears were ringing too badly to hear the body hit the floor, he felt the impact through the boards. He felt the sudden need to get away from his mother's body, so Luke backed toward the door.

Scott walked toward the spot where Kyle had fallen and fired another round into him. He then scooped up the valise and turned toward the front portion of the house. “What are you fixing to do with that, boy?” he asked.

It wasn't until that moment that Luke realized he had the old Colt in his hand. The gun no longer felt heavy or comfortable in his grasp. His body was still too numb to feel itself.

“Shame this had to happen,” Scott said. “But it's your daddy's fault. You probably know he wasn't a very good man.”

Although he had some vague ideas of what line of work Kyle was in, he never much cared to hear any details. Kyle kept his business to himself, making it clear that he preferred it that way and Luke was only interested in the next time Kyle would be leaving town. That had always been the way of things, which suited Luke just fine.

“I can see you're frightened,” Scott said. “No one can blame you for that. What happened here wasn't your fault. It's over now, though. We can part ways here and you won't never see me again.”

Luke believed that as much as he believed pigs could fly. He brought his gun up and fired before he had a chance to take proper aim. To his clouded ears, the shot sounded muffled and far away. The stranger wasn't trying to talk any longer. Also, there was something written in his features that hadn't been there before.

Surprise.

Still holding his pistol the way he'd practiced when trying to knock bottles from a fence or empty cans from hitching posts, Luke pulled his trigger again and again. The Colt spat fire and smoke while sending shock waves all the way up his arm. Scott got a shot off as well, but Luke didn't care much about that. He paused just long enough to finally look at the other man through his sights and continued sending rounds through the air.

Scott's arms splayed out to one side and he twisted around in a tight circle. He jerked again, folded over, and squatted in place with his weapon dangling from a shaking hand.

Luke's finger tightened around the trigger, but the Colt no longer bucked against his palm. He turned his hand over to inspect the gun as if something was wrong. All he could see was blurred iron and his own hand as if it had been drawn in smeared paint. Every breath was filled with acrid scents mingled with a bitter, coppery odor he could not place. Scott still squatted where he was, so Luke pointed the Colt at him and pulled its trigger again.

The hammer slapped against another empty casing. His gun was empty. It seemed like a simple revelation, but Luke had just now figured it out. Instead of trying to reload the Colt, he held it as if he'd just forgotten what he'd learned a second ago. Unwilling to let the gun go or even lower it, Luke walked toward the stranger.

Scott let out a grunting breath, like a piston that had expelled its last gout of steam, and collapsed. He didn't fall like Kyle or Virginia. Instead he lowered himself to the floor and leaned back against something that allowed him to sit upright. The gun slipped from his right hand to clamp tightly against his chest. His other hand reached down to the floor to support his weight. “I guess,” he grunted, “ . . . I had that coming.”

Staring down at him, Luke felt his muscles tighten. It was unfair that this man got to speak while his mother's voice would never be heard again. Even Kyle deserved to say his hurtful things more than this piece of filth. As he thought that over, Luke found himself pulling his trigger again. He knew the gun was empty and felt embarrassed that he was so out of sorts.

Scott's next breath came out in a haggard laugh. “Don't worry. You done . . . all you needed to do. You ever . . . fire that gun before?”

Luke nodded. His mouth opened and the words “Yes, sir” escaped his lips before he could stop them.

The stranger's nod was an awkward up-and-down motion similar to a toy in need of grease. “You . . . you'll fire it again, I reckon.”

At that moment, every part of Luke's body came back to life. He could feel the gun in his hand, the pain in his chest, and the weight on his shoulders. His vision was swiftly clearing.

The front of Scott's shirt was wet with blood, most of it centered in his midsection. Every time he tried to draw a breath, tremors rocked his frame. “Next time,” he wheezed. His hands scraped at the floor and his legs stretched out as if they were trying to move on their own to get the rest of him moving. “Next time . . . it'll be . . . easier.”

And then the house became silent once again.

This was a silence unlike the one that had come before when everyone was alive and hoping not to spark anything. The silence surrounding Luke now was thick enough to suffocate him and strong enough to crush him beneath its mass.

Now that his body was awakened, Luke's mind started to churn with dozens of random thoughts.

There could be more gunmen waiting to hear from Scott.

Someone could have heard the shots.

The law might be on its way.

His mother . . .

That last thought stopped all the others.

Luke allowed the gun to fall from his hand and staggered over to the spot where Virginia was lying. His steps blended together until he found himself hunched over her body. She was quiet and peaceful. Instead of trying to lift her into his arms, Luke bent down to gently place a kiss on her forehead. In his mind, he could see the warm smile that she usually gave him when he showed her affection and he turned away from the body on the floor before he saw something that would rob him of that gleaming memory.

There wasn't much time. As he worked his way through the house, Luke kept that at the front of his mind. It kept him going and gave him something else to think about other than the haze of gun smoke and the stench of death in the air. He went to his bed and collected as many clothes as he could stuff into the old carpetbag that Kyle used when he went away for so long. He rounded up all the food that was fit to toss into the bag and then made his way back to the carnage in the front room.

Luke kept his eyes above the bodies and didn't think about the reason the floor was slick beneath his boots. He gathered up all three pistols: the old Colt and both of Scott's guns. When he tried tucking them under his belt, Luke stopped and looked down at the gunman's body. He took a breath to steel himself and then hunkered down to unbuckle the gun belt from around Scott's waist. All of those things, guns and all, were stuffed into the carpetbag, which was now too full to be properly closed.

Finally Luke found himself staring down at the valise that had been at the heart of this terrible storm. He picked it up, looked inside, and shook it to see if he could get a rough estimate of how much money was in there. His brain was spinning in too many circles for him to count, but he knew it was a lot. Taking both bags with him, he started toward the front door. Instead of walking past his mother and Kyle to step through that door, he turned around and walked through the kitchen to leave through the back.

As soon as he was outside, Luke felt as if he'd rejoined the world. Voices were hollering back and forth. There was a commotion in the street near the front of the house. Luke knew most of that was probably in response to the sounds of shooting, but his most powerful instinct told him to take what was his and put some distance between himself and that house.

It wasn't his house any longer. He didn't want to step foot inside or set eyes on it ever again, and there wasn't anything strong enough to make him change his mind. He'd been given a horse that Kyle had bought from Cam Eberhauser, an old farmer who worked a plot of land a few miles to the north of town. That horse waited for him now and was always grateful to be saddled up for a ride. Luke hurried through the motions and loaded that horse with everything he'd lugged away from the place that used to be home. Instead of hopping onto her back and riding away, he led her out to the shed behind the Croft home and tethered her there.

“Don't you worry, Missy,” Luke said to the horse. “I won't leave you here for long. When I come back, you'll get to stretch your legs for a good long while.”

The horse nuzzled him gently and looked at him with eyes that seemed to know more than they possibly could. He rubbed her neck for a bit longer and then headed back to the house. Rather than go inside, he ran around to the street where a small herd of folks was gathering.

“Luke!” one of his neighbors said. “Where's your ma and pa? Was there a shooting?'

More of his neighbors swarmed toward him, each of them asking question after question.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“What happened?”

“What was that noise?”

“Who was that man that rode up to your house?”

“Where did that blood come from?”

When he heard that last question, Luke looked down at himself to find dark red stains on his hands, shirt, pants, and boots. His vision had been so clouded by smoke that he hadn't noticed the gruesome filth until that moment.

The neighbor lady who'd started the cascade of questions grabbed hold of him and looked him in the eye when she asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said in a meek tone. “I wasn't shot or nothing.”

“So those were gunshots?”

“Of course they were gunshots!” the lady's husband snapped. “What else could they be? What happened, son? Where's Kyle and Virginia?”

“They're . . . inside,” Luke said.

“Are they all right? Were they shot?”

Luke knew the answers and meant to say them, but suddenly he couldn't form the words. It was as if his brain was a machine that had just popped a spring and ground to a halt. Some of the other men who lived nearby were approaching the front door, and when Luke tried to stop them, he was held back and wrapped up in the neighbor lady's arms.

Luke had lived in the house next to her for as long as he'd been in Maconville, and just now he couldn't recall her name. He recognized all the faces surrounding him, but only as familiar shapes from another life. One of those shapes was a star made of dented tin.

“I heard there was a shooting here,” the sheriff said as he and two deputies approached the house. “What happened?”

“I think the Crofts are hurt,” the neighbor lady said. “Except for Luke Croft here. I'll keep an eye on him.”

The sheriff nodded and looked over to Luke. He was only an inch or so taller than the young man, but he looked down at him as if he were speaking to a child. “Anything we should know before going in there, son?”

Absently, Luke shook his head.

The lawmen drew their weapons. “Stay put and don't worry,” the sheriff said. “Everything's gonna be all right.”