Lone Star 04 (12 page)

Ki waited, hearing the panicked, receding hoofbeats of his horse as it raced away, probably back to its nice, safe stall in the Roster livery stable.

He let his breath and heartbeat slow to a manageable pace. A hard knot settled in his stomach, and he knew exactly what had happened. While he was tracking the wolf, someone had tracked him as well. Someone so good at what he was doing that none of Ki's senses had picked up an inkling of the person's presence. He'd been deliberately herded into the island of stone. Herded in alive. Whoever the hunter was, Ki knew any of the bullets that had passed him could have just as easily hit its mark. The tracker liked his work. He enjoyed teasing his prey before he came in for the kill ...

Chapter 9

Ki quickly explored the wide circle of stones, and decided the place was both a fair sanctuary and an excellent trap. Unless his pursuer was a fool, which he didn't appear to be, it wasn't at all likely he'd leave the perfect cover of the wheatfield to hunt his quarry down. Why should he? If Ki didn't know by now that the man was a deadly shot, then
he
was a fool as well. If he so much as stuck his nose out of the rocky island, the hunter would shoot it off without blinking an eye.

Ki wasted no time in wondering who the man might be. Exactly what he intended was more important. Ki's mind moved rapidly over the possibilities, discarding those that seemed implausible or unlikely.

The man would not come in and get him; there was no need for that. Ki, in turn, would not bolt from cover. The hunter must know him, and understand his prey was not a frightened hare.

Assuming the man was alone, he could see at least half the perimeter of the circle at one time, without moving from cover. Which meant that Ki
could
try to escape—if he dared to risk his life on fifty-fifty odds.

He cursed himself for not thinking fast enough in the beginning. That had been an inexcusable error. Instead of using the rockpile for cover, he should have run right through it to the wheatfields beyond. Go in a hole and come out the other side. Leave the pursuer sniffing at the entry while you bound freely away. It was the basic ploy of any number of wild creatures—including, he reminded himself glumly, that supposedly frightened hare.

Ki leaned back and listened a long moment, then stared at the sun. It was a stalemate, then, or almost. He didn't have a gun, which his pursuer might or might not know. There was one in his saddlebag, along with several other weapons, including the corded
nunchaku
sticks, and a hardwood
bo
staff jointed in three sections. At the moment, of course, none of them would do him any good at all.

He still had the two
sai
tucked in his belt, and he could kill the man with them easily—if he could ever get to him. The
sai,
because of their great versatility, came close to being his favorite weapons. Essentially, they were blunted swords, roughly eighteen inches long, with two short prongs curling out from the hilt. He could drive the
sai
right through a man at any point on the body he chose, or throw it like a missile and stop a foe in his tracks.

Ki hefted one of the
sai,
and from the pocket of his leather jacket he selected several of the star-shaped
shuriken
throwing blades. He kept the
shuriken
in his left hand and the sai in his right, and moved out of his perch on his belly.

Resting on his haunches, Ki shifted his body in a slow circle, letting his eyes sweep the edge of the rocky wall that separated him from his enemy. Using his excellent ears and another sense that had no name, he searched for what he could not see. He waited, crouching under the sun. A hawk circled above. A snake caught a mouse in the wheat and cut off its squeal ...

Ki watched the slow arc of the sun stretch the shadow of a small twig by his feet. An angry green fly sought him out and stung his cheek, but Ki didn't move. If the hunter was trying to unnerve him, Ki could play that game just as well. The man was good, but Ki knew for certain he could
not
get close to the circle of rocks unheard. Ki would know he was there. Before he could jerk up from behind the boulders and bring his rifle to bear, Ki would take him. Kill him with the
sai,
or send one of the deadly throwing stars whirring into his throat. The man might keep his prey holed up in the trap, but he'd best not come in for a look at what he'd caught...

Sweat poured off his brow and stung his eyes, rolled down his chest and under his arms. Ki glanced at the twig and measured another long arc of the sun.

Gradually a new sound began to intrude on his senses. Ki listened, then came suddenly alert, straining to catch its meaning. It was a soft, rustling sound, almost a murmur like the wind. At first it came from one direction only, then gradually moved around him until it surrounded the stony isle. Suddenly, Ki knew exactly what it was. Raising slowly, he stretched his stiff muscles and moved silently to the edge of the rocks. Peering carefully between two slabs of stone, he saw them. Hundreds of prairie chickens were making their way through the wheatfield, busily plucking seeds and bugs from the soil.

He was almost certainly alone, then. If the shy, sensitive birds had seen the other man there, they would never have settled down to feed in such numbers. The hunter would have to be a stone. Ki was certain
he
could do it, but doubted the other man could. Still, there was no sense in being foolhardy now.

Bracing himself on the balls of his feet, he leaped over the protective stones, cut a low path for the high stalks of wheat, and rolled into cover. The birds scattered in fear, disappearing as quickly as they'd come.

Ki listened a long moment, then circled the stone island, weapons at the ready. He found the man's mark, saw how he'd watched him ride into the clearing, and knelt and fired the rifle. Ki bent to the earth and studied it carefully. What he saw didn't surprise him, but the discovery flooded him with shame and anger. He'd already suspected it might be true. Now he knew it was so. As soon as Ki had taken cover, the man had simply turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his prey to sweat it out alone. Ki had little choice in the matter, and the hunter well knew it. He'd had no intention of killing him. It was a joke, a deliberate humiliation, and something Ki swore he would not soon forget...

 

 

On the way to town, later that day, Ki sat silently in the saddle of his recovered horse, and glared into the late-afternoon sun.

“You're going to let that business get to you, aren't you?” said Jessie. “Don't guess I blame you, but there's nothing you can do about it now. You ought to know that.”

“Yes,” Ki said evenly, “I do know that, Jessie. And yes, I
am
going to let it get to me. Probably a great deal.”

Jessie grinned, but not in Ki's direction. “What happened to your samurai calm, your, uh ... acceptance of the karmic path?”

“Please...” Ki looked pained. “No Oriental wisdom right now. I am only half samurai, remember? The other half is Western. That is the half that is mad as hell because the Japanese half has been humiliated. I
know
it was Zascha who penned me in like a rabbit out there. I don't need any proof.”

Jessie was silent a long moment. Behind the low rise ahead, she could see the small cluster of buildings that was Roster, and beyond that, the black smudge of the railroad drawn straight across the plain.

“Look,” she said finally, “are you trying to tag something else on this? Besides a sorehead's bad joke?”

Ki gazed straight ahead.

Ki shrugged. “True enough. I don't know, Jessie. Zascha is a troublemaker. He was stirring up the villagers against us last night, but before we got here, I'm sure it was something else. He is against everything. And he's not the only man in the settlement who's ready to sell out. Just the loudest.” Ki paused a moment, then went on, “I neglected to mention that he sent a couple of his friends after me last night.”

“I noticed the bruise on your mouth,” Jessie said. “I figured you'd tell me about it sooner or later.” She shook her head and sighed.
“Someone's
involved in this business. I don't mean Zascha or any of the villagers. Just someone. And whoever it is, he knows exactly what goes on out there.” She'd already told Ki what Feodor had to say about when the trouble with wolves had started. “That little girl was killed after the cartel started sniffing around after land. I don't know how they're doing it, Ki, but our old friends from Europe have got a hand in this.”

 

 

The Morgan Dollar was going strong, but there was little sign of other activity on Main. Jessie and Ki left their horses at the livery, then walked across the street to the marshal's office before going to the hotel. Marshal Gaiter was reading a week-old Kansas City paper by a kerosene lamp when the pair walked in. He looked up from the yellow pool of light as if something had just died and he'd gotten a good whiff of it.

“Like to help you folks,” he said too quickly, reaching for his hat. “Just closin' up to go to supper.”

“Wouldn't think of keeping you long,” said Jessie. “Just need a little help, is all.”

“Yeah, well ...” Gaiter took a quick glance at Ki's casual stance in the doorway and settled back in the chair with a frown. “I got a minute, I guess. What can I do for you?”

“We want to talk to Lucy Jordan,” said Jessie.

Gaiter's eyes narrowed. “Wh-what for?”

“She tried to kill me on the train. Remember? There are a couple of things I'd like to ask her.”

“Well, it's gettin' kinda late. Might be in the morning'd be better.”

“Right now would be fine, though, wouldn't it?” Ki gave him his friendliest smile. It stretched the skin as taut as new leather over his cheekbones, narrowed the dark almond eyes, and scared the hell out of Gaiter.

“Sure, I guess it's all right ...” He wet his lips and looked nervously at Jessie. “‘Course,
I
gotta be there if you do. Talk to her, I mean.”

Jessie raised an eyebrow and tipped back the brim of her Stetson. “Suits me, Marshal. Can't see why you'd want to, though.”

“The girl's got rights, you know. She, ah ... ain't been tried and convicted.”

Jessie glanced quickly at Ki and smiled at Gaiter. “Lucy's real lucky to have a lawman like you around, Marshal.”

“Well, I'm just doin' my job...” he muttered darkly.

“I understand that, and I appreciate it. Maybe you're right.”

“About what?”

“Talking to Lucy Jordan. We can always get with her later.” Jessie perched one hip on Gaiter's desk. “Why don't you and me talk some first?”

“Uh, what about?” Gaiter flushed and chewed on his beard. The nearby curve of Jessie's thigh in snug-fitting denim made him decidedly uneasy.

“How about land buying?”

“Don't know a lot about it.” The marshal's watery eyes flicked quickly down to his hands.

“That's funny. We heard you did. Old Gustolf, out at the settlement, came into town a while back looking for someone who might be interested in buying land. You were the one who found someone he could talk to.”

“Don't remember a thing about anything like—” Gaiter caught himself and grinned. “Oh, yeah, maybe I did. See a lot of people in my job.”

“I thought you didn't know any of the settlers,” Ki put in.

“Don‘t!” snapped Gaiter. “Maybe talked to one of 'em once. Hell, I don't know.” He clamped his jaw shut and glared at them both. “Listen, what the hell is this?”

“Who did you tell Gustolf to talk to?”

“Don't recall. That was some time ago.”

Jessie widened her eyes in surprise. “You mean there are
that
many land buyers in Roster? I wouldn't have guessed!”

“Now listen, Miss Starbuck—”

“No,
you
listen.” Gaiter started to get up but Jessie stopped him with a finger cocked like a pistol. “You and I can play games if you like, but it might be better for both of us if we don't. I can't prove anything right yet, but I have an idea you
might
be mixed up in something a little too big for you to swallow. If I'm right—”

Gaiter shot to his feet. “Just—get out of here. Both of you! I've took just about all of this business I want to. I'm the law in this town, Miss High-an‘-Mighty Starbuck, and it don't make no difference who you are or how much money you got. You can't just stomp in and insult whoever you please!”

The old man was shaking, and Jessie knew there was more to it than anger. “I can, you know,” she said softly, “you're wrong.”