Lone Star 05 (19 page)

“Oh, Marshal!” She couldn't hold back now, putting his hand to her face and bathing it in tears. “God knows, I didn't mean for it to turn out this way. Please don't give up!”

“Jessie,” Thad said quietly. He stood behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder. He looked into the marshal's wide-open, haunting eyes.

“Take—care—of her,” he rasped. Then to Ki he said, “Thank you—you‘re—best man with—that bow—”

Ulysses Scott's mouth hung slackly open, but no more words came out. He was dead.

Ki stood, wiping the blood from his slender hands. He too grieved for the honorable deputy U.S. marshal who had gone along with them even though he didn't fully believe in what they were doing.

Jessie clutched Thad's hand, her eyes stinging from the salt tears. She stood and wrapped her arms around him. She needed his strength now. With Scott dead—because of her—she felt as if she had lost a brother. What would they do without him to guide them through the mountain wilderness to Provo?

“Hang on, gal,” Thad whispered to her. “Everything's going to be all right. Just you hang on to me.”

“I'll go see to Thomas,” said Ki, slipping away. He would not show his own grief—a part of the discipline he practiced. He would mourn in private, at night, when no one could see him weep for a fallen warrior.

Thomas Starbuck had listened to the battle from where he was handcuffed and gagged. But he did not know who had won until he saw Ki coming toward him. At the sight of the Japanese, the kid wanted to spit. At least with the Mormons, he had a chance of being released to Mueller. He wanted that chance. He'd kill to get it.

Ki said not a word as he pulled the bandanna from around Starbuck's mouth. Then he unknotted the ropes that bound his arms and legs, leaving only the handcuffs. He brought the boy roughly to his feet. Starbuck staggered a bit, but gained his balance—and his voice.

“You kill all them Mormons?” he asked. And when Ki did not answer, he went on, “It would've been a lot easier if you'd let me help. I'm a damned good shot.”

Then he saw the blood on Ki's hands. “You butcher a pig or something?” he asked smartly.

“For one so young, you have an evil mouth,” said Ki. “I did not butcher a pig. I dressed the wounds of a dying man.”

“Who? That bounty hunter?”

“Marshal Scott. He was shot in the chest.”

“Christ Almighty! The Mormon bastards shot themselves a lawdog!”

Ki was disgusted at the kid's words. This young outlaw had no discipline, no code, no training in the way of the true warrior. He knew only bloodlust and greed. He was a half-formed human being, not a man at all. In a way, Ki felt sorry for him, for a life completely misspent.

The kid's circulation was restored as he stood and walked in small circles like a hobbled horse. He shook his head and muttered to himself about how he wished he had been there to do some of the shooting. He looked at Ki suspiciously and spat on the ground. “So all them Mormons are dead now?”

“Yes,” Ki replied. “They are all dead.”

“Any sign of Mueller and his boys?”

“Not yet.”

“I wonder where the hell they are.”

Jessie and Thad had returned, the bounty hunter carrying Scott's body. He laid the dead lawman on the ground. The kid came over to take a closer look at the corpse. “Gee!” he said with a whistle.

“What are you staring at?” demanded Thad.

“Never seen a dead lawdog close up before.”

Thad slapped the kid hard in the face. Starbuck's head snapped around and he fell to the ground, whining. “What'd you go and do that for? Why, for God's sake?”

“I've had enough of your lip, you little bastard.” He hadn't been able to hold it in any longer. He wouldn't stand by and let the kid ridicule the dead marshal without punishing him for it.

“My sister don't like people slapping me around. If you don't be careful, she'll quit treating you so nice—like she did the other night.”

“Why, you—” Thad moved to kick the boy, but Jessie intervened.

“Thad, don‘t,” she admonished him quietly. Her face was still streaked with bitter tears. “Leave him alone.”

“I'll kill him, Jessie. I swear I will if he opens his mouth again.”

“You'll do no such thing,” she insisted.

Thad glared at her. He choked off the angry words that rose inside him, and stalked off, shaking his head.

“Thad,” she whispered, but he did not hear her. She turned to the boy who lay writhing in the dust. “Get up,” she said sharply. “Maybe I ought to let him do what he wants. You're the cause of all this trouble, all this killing.”

Holding him by his shirt, she helped him up. “Here, let me wash your face. It's filthy.” Dipping water from her canteen, she cleaned the dirt away, letting some skin show through. She wished she could cut through his resistance as easily as she washed away the trail grit from his face.

The kid, though, did not show a sign of gratitude; he was mad, his wrists were bloody and painful, and he wanted someone else to share his misery. He looked at Jessie Starbuck, her fine form in tight denim pants and a partly unbottoned blouse. The way she wore her .38 Colt, her scuffed boots. Even with her fiery hair a wild mess, she was beautiful. At times like this, he wished he could get her down and show her what a real man could do for her. But he couldn‘t, trussed up like a turkey—and he hated her for that. Damn, sometimes his head felt like it was going to explode; his eyes felt ready to burst from the pain. He had to let off some steam, to ease the pressure.

The men were off burying Marshal Scott and the others. Jessie sat, saddened and stunned. The battle was not nearly over yet, and she knew it.

“Having second thoughts?” the kid taunted her.

“I don't want to listen to you right now,” she said.

“Well, you don't have to, but I'm gonna talk. That's how my ma used to deal with her troubles. She always said, ‘Tommy, I gotta have somebody to talk to, and since your daddy ain't here, I'll talk to you.' So I listened to her. Every goddamned day and night. She used to talk about a lot of things. Especially my daddy—I should say
our
daddy.”

“What did she say about him, Thomas?” She couldn't conceal her curiosity.

Starbuck chortled. “Sometimes she used to say how handsome he was, how much a man he was, how rich he was. Like he was a god or something. She used to say, ‘I never met a man like Alex Starbuck before, and don't expect to ever again. He was everything I want you to be, Tommy.'”

The dry coolness in the air gripped Jessie. The kid's words, too, drove icy barbs into her. She wanted to shut the boy up, but instead she listened to his rantings.

“He must have been a real skunk to leave her flat. These rich bastards don't give a damn about the women they screw or the kids they scatter around. And he was a killer—a back-shooter. You wonder where I got the need to kill? Where I got the blood that runs in my veins? Well, it's the same blood that runs through yours, girl. The same bad blood. You've done your share of killing, haven't you? Just like him—and just like me. Only you've had money to back you up, to make it all right. While I ain't had nothing. Never. Just a dirt-poor drifter—until I made a name for myself. I'm the most wanted man in four territories.”

“Shut up,” Jessie said, unable to bear any more.

“Naw, I'm gonna tell you everything—every smelly detail. You've gotta know it's true—that I am your brother.” He spat a wad of gritty saliva onto the ground. “You saved me from a hanging—so you must feel something for me.”

“Yes, I saved you. But a jury will convict you. You can't defend yourself to them. Even if I wanted to keep you alive, I can't. And it doesn't matter if you're my brother or not.”

They were an unhappy crew as they faced the dawn after a quiet night haunted by memories of the battle and of Ulysses Scott's death. The men had buried him on the hill where they had fought. Now they were without a guide through these beautiful but treacherous foothills.

Once saddled up, with the traces of their camp hastily disguised, they were off, heading west. Each of them knew that the previous day's attack was not the last they'd hear of Skyler; and Thad had said it was possible the posse was only a small part of the contingent sent from the town to bring back Thomas Starbuck.

“The way I figure it,” he had said, “they'd probably send twice as many men, anybody able to handle a gun and ride a horse. With Mueller stirring them up, promising them money, Carpenter preaching vengeance, and Fagan and McKittrick egging them on—hell, they had their pride wounded and they'll go pretty far to win it back. But how far ahead of the others was this bunch? And how much time did the main body give them before setting out themselves? My guess is that they're less than a day behind. So we've got to ride fast in the morning.”

Jessie agreed with Thad, but added, “What do we do with the horses of the dead men? If we take them along, they'll just slow us down. And it wouldn't be right to shoot them.”

“We'll let them run free. There's a lot of good horseflesh there.”

At least, thought Jessie, there would not be more waste. “I just hope our own animals can stand up to the punishment ahead.”

Ki, who had recovered his spent arrows and cleaned and repaired the ones he could, nodded. “After tonight, man and beast will know no rest. We must ride without stopping until we reach Provo.” The memory of the blonde girl, Barbara, flashed across his mind. “Only then can we rest.”

So they spent the night fitfully, each taking his or her turn standing watch. There was not sign of pursuit—not yet, anyhow. And when the new day broke on them, they were already on their way. They rode silently, warily, their ears trained in all directions to pick up the slightest sound of enemy movement.

They gave their attention fully to the trail. By noon, the landscape through which they rode was dazzling and unutter ably clean in the bright glare of the sun. As they rode across the lip of a jutting wall high above the river, they could see for several miles in every direction. The wild and twisted canyons and dark hills stretched out before them. And in the distance to the north, the great gray mountains swept away from them in herds, like old buffaloes lumbering across the land. It was a spectacle from which the presence of the boy killer could not detract—though they all felt him there, as heavy as any burden they had ever carried. And beneath smoky, scudding clouds, the party rode on.

For Jessie, the vast land, the ocean of sky, the brightness of the day were unwelcome reminders of a more peaceful time in her life. As a girl, she had always considered the possibilities of life limitless; now, though, she had turned her back on those possibilities. Now she had assumed the Starbuck legacy. That legacy, that heritage of wealth and responsibility, demanded all from her; rarely was she able to stop and ponder and enjoy the beauty of the present moment. There was so much work and worry to occupy her, so much bleak and demanding business to attend to—especially this business of revenge. And often she wondered if she could go on much longer like this, riding the vengeance trail.

She was startled from her private thoughts. It was Ki who, as they crossed a narrow gully, sent up the alarm that alerted Thad and Jessie. He gave a guttural shout in Japanese, not a
kiai
shout but a warning cry. But it came too late. Above them, on the other side of the gully, Heinrich Mueller and five other men waited for them on horseback. Ki recognized one of the men as Solomon Morris, the red-bearded Mormon.

Thad looked up and registered his surprise with a quick command to the others. “Move out!” He whirled, reining his mount to the right, plunging up the dry streambed. There was little chance to escape, but he had to give it a try. He looked back to see Jessie and Ki pounding after him, with the kid bent low in his saddle, ducking the bullets that now whizzed over his head.

Thad knew Fagan and McKittrick to be expert shots, and he figured that the lead they threw now was just to scare them. If they'd wanted to, the bounty hunters could have quite easily shot him and the others out of their saddles. Mueller wanted to play with them a bit, to tease them before executing them.

Their horses dug into the sandy soil, galloping away from the gunfire. The kid's mount, feeling the hot breath of the bullets on its behind, nosed up toward Ki and tried to pass him. The samurai loosened his grip on the rear animal's reins and let it edge ahead of him. That put the kid between him and Jessie, and away from direct fire. Ki looked back and saw the pursuers now moving along the wall of the gully. He dropped his own horse's reins and swung his bow from around his shoulders. One hand found an arrow and nocked it and, without pausing to take aim, released the shaft.