Tracker’s Sin (31 page)

always there.

Don’t let him die.

“Shadow!”

“Get him home, Tracker.”

That came from below. His brother was heading back down.

“What the hel are you doing, Shadow?”

His cry of “Evening the score” was almost lost beneath a vol ey of shots, the sudden acceleration of violence that always happened when

men final y spotted their target.

“Shadow!”

No response.

Zach moaned and shifted. For a moment, Tracker was torn. He had two choices. Leave Zach and fol ow Shadow. Or leave Shadow and

get Zach to safety.

That bullet was meant for me.

Shit.
He didn’t have a choice. He left his gun and started up the trail, knees aching under the weight, pushing himself past the pain,

climbing faster than he thought possible.

“Damn you, don’t you die!”

“Who are you talking to?” Ace asked, coming down the path.

“No one, apparently, who’s listening.”

Tracker eased Zach off his shoulder. Ace caught him.

“He took a bul et for Shadow.”

“He’s a tough one.”

“He’s Hel ’s Eight.” Tracker wanted that understood.

“We’l take care of him.”

“Good.” Tracker spun on his heel and headed down the path, twice as fast as he’d come up it.

“Where are you going?” Ace cal ed.

“To get my brother before it’s too late.”

Tracker was too late. By the time he’d worked his way past the sentries to a smal rock fal , dawn was breaking on the horizon,

il uminating the yard of the stage stop in a feeble light. Fifteen soldiers surrounded Shadow. The commander stood in front, hands locked behind his back,

the stripes on his sleeve catching what light there was.

“It’s a hel of a pickle you’ve got yourself into, brother.” Tracker trained his gun sight on the colonel. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Such an easy shot, but wasted. The officer was too far away from Shadow to be an immediate threat. Tracker angled the barrel an inch to the right and a

quarter inch down. Al he had to do was pul the trigger in quick succession and the soldiers on either side of Shadow would go down. He sighed and

tipped the barrel up. For al the good it would do. Tracker eased his finger off the trigger. Bul ets weren’t going to get Shadow out of this situation. They

were outnumbered.

Amboy was very wel connected if he warranted a detail with a colonel. Tracker couldn’t see al of Shadow’s face because of his position,

but from the set of his chin, he was giving the colonel hel . Tracker could almost feel sorry for the man. There was nothing more aggravating than Shadow

in a mood.

Tracker slid a little to the left. Shadow didn’t appear to be injured. He stil had his hat and he wasn’t shackled. How the hel had they

caught him without a fight?

The colonel barked an order. One of the soldiers snapped off a salute and went into the stage house. Tracker tensed. The door opened.

Distinguished. That was the only word that came to Tracker’s mind to describe the man who stepped out. He was tal , with smoothly

combed hair, a neat handlebar mustache, an impeccably fitted suit. He didn’t have an ounce of fat, and it wasn’t likely he had an ounce of muscle, but

there was something about the man that said he wielded power.

The soldier directed him to the colonel. Amboy crossed the yard with a measured stride. Everything about the man was measured and

control ed. The colonel asked him a question. Amboy pul ed a watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. It was a blatant display of power. One that

didn’t sit wel with the colonel. After putting the watch away, he answered. Tracker was too far away to hear the words, but he could read expressions. The

colonel hadn’t liked what he heard. He turned to Shadow, likely to ask him the same question. This had al the earmarks of a get-to-the-bottom-of-things

discussion.

Amboy stood, legs slightly apart, and surveyed the crowd of men. The colonel was dwarfed by the Easterner’s height and presence. The

smal est of smiles touched Amboy’s lips when he saw Shadow. He locked his hands behind his back and turned to face Tracker’s brother. His attitude

said he didn’t appreciate the colonel disturbing his morning. The colonel’s attitude said he didn’t give a shit.

The hairs on the back of Tracker’s neck stood up as Shadow shifted his weight to the bal s of his feet. It was a subtle transition from

waiting
to
ready.
Fighting beside a man for twenty years made him easy to read.

Tracker took a step forward and breathed, “No.”

It was suicide to attack Amboy.

This time it was Shadow who asked a question. Amboy didn’t flinch, but he also didn’t answer right away. The colonel looked

uncomfortably from Shadow to Amboy. It couldn’t be easy for the officer to be the caught between a Texas Ranger and a high-placed Easterner.

The colonel motioned sharply. Two soldiers came forward, the clank of metal accompanying every step. Irons. They were going to put

Shadow in irons. No way in hel .

Shadow glanced over his shoulder. Behind his back he made a sign. Tracker squinted against the sun.

Only one.

He was tel ing Tracker that Amboy was the man in charge. That they didn’t have anyone else to worry about.

Tracker’s fingers itched to sign back. It wouldn’t matter if he did. Shadow was turned away, couldn’t see.

Shadow’s fingers moved again. This time the sign was chil ingly clear.

Ride to Hell’s Eight.

Amboy had sent assassins to Hel ’s Eight. Damn him to hel . It didn’t matter that they’d anticipated an attack. Or that the place was rigged

for defense and guarded by three of his best men and seven of Zach’s. There was always a chance for the unexpected to sway the outcome.

The soldiers were getting closer. Whatever Shadow planned, he’d have to act soon. Tracker took aim. He might not be able to save his

twin right now, but he could help him. Shadow took off his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Rifles came up, and he held his hands wide. The colonel

nodded. Shadow straightened the brim before settling his hat back onto his head. The soldiers moved in. Either Shadow used that smal hidden knife

he’d just taken from his hat now, or the opportunity would be lost forever.

Evening up the score.

Don’t.

Shadow’s hand whipped forward. Silver flashed in the sunlight tracing the knife’s lethal path. Amboy grabbed at his neck. Blood sprayed

red as he dropped to his knees, clutching the knife buried in his throat.

Four soldiers jumped Shadow, dragging him to the ground. As Tracker watched them put the shackles on his brother he had his answer

as to how the army had managed to capture Shadow without a fight.

He hadn’t ever planned on giving them one.

Tracker backed up slowly, inching his way to the ravine. Rage burned like fire in his gut, burning out reason, burning out caution, giving

him strength. Which was more than he could say for that crazy son of a bitch Amboy had sent to Hel ’s Eight.

Tracker made it to the ravine. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he started running. A war cry ripped from his throat, fil ing the morning air

with the promise of death. From the station came an answering cry. From above, the Hel ’s Eight battle cry began with Caine, joined in by Caden, Ace,

and Sam. It rose in volume and strength, building in unity, getting louder and louder until the promise it contained was the only thing to be heard.

Whoever Amboy had sent to Hel ’s Eight was going to be in for a hel of a fight.

16

T
here
had
been a hel of a fight.

Tracker slowed Buster and picked his way with the others through the yard. To his left a man lay on the ground, his throat slit, his

expression almost peaceful. Tracker recognized Tucker’s work in the efficiency of the kil . To his right, two men sprawled. The neck of one was broken.

The other had a stab wound to the throat. For such a big man, Tucker could move as silently as a ghost, and when he caught up with his victims, al that

muscle pretty much guaranteed it wasn’t going to be a fair fight.

“Doesn’t look like they were caught by surprise,” Caine said, his expression grim. Tracker knew how he felt. His woman and child were

here, too.

“No. But it’s damn quiet.”

It was that. No hounds bayed a warning. No one stepped out of the house to greet them.

“Where the hel is everyone?”

More bodies littered the ground. None of them Hel ’s Eight or Montoya. From his pen, the rooster, Cantankerous, crowed.

“Stay here with Zach,” Caine told Ace. “I’l check the place out.”

“Wil do.”

Sam reached for his smokes, reconsidered and laid his rifle across his lap, pul ing his pistol instead. Tracker did the same. A pistol or

knife was better for up-close fighting.

“I’l check the barn,” Caden said.

Caine nodded.

“They’re fine,” Sam said.

“What makes you so sure?”

“None of these bodies are our men,” Tracker pointed out.

“And none of them have holes as big as Texas blown in their guts.” Sam smiled. “Bel a’s grown right fond of her shotgun.”

“Would she be out here?”

“I’d like to think she’d stay put when I told her too, but…” He shook his head. “With the babies, I don’t think she’d be able to let them get

that close.” He smiled a smile that didn’t reach the blue of his eyes. “Bel a’s right fond of babies.”

“Bel a’s right fond of
you,
” Tracker countered. “She knows to wait for you.”

As she had before. Hanging on until her Sam came, and when an explosion would have sent him over the cliff, she’d been there to catch

him, holding on, pitting her determination against gravity and the fate that would have taken her Sam from her.

“Yeah, she does.” Sam’s smile faded. “When she remembers.”

“She’s a hel of a woman. Have some faith.”

“Working on it.”

There were more bodies near the main house. These were less uniform in placement. There had been an extended battle there. A closer

inspection revealed the windows had been shot out, and bul et holes peppered the wood.

Tracker swore and turned his horse to the right, where Ari’s little house sat.

The front door of the main house opened. Maddie stood there, her hair loose about her shoulders, her sheer wrapper barely covering her

impressive breasts. Maddie was sweet but not quite right in the head. She’d been raised in a whorehouse and it was al she knew. Her mental problems

and complacent ways made her the perfect whore, always doing what she was told, never understanding that not everyone was nice. Never understanding

why she got hurt. Always coming back for more. She hadn’t asked Tracker to save her, but Tracker couldn’t have left her behind to be continual y abused.

The saying “God looks out for fools and idiots” hadn’t held for her. Tracker didn’t know how God could have overlooked Maddie.

No matter. Though she was near twenty by her count, she was like a sweet child trapped perpetual y in the optimism of youth. Ever since

Tracker had brought her in from Alguiero, Tia had been trying to teach her proper manners. The result was that Maddie stil greeted everyone as if she

were the hostess at a cathouse, though she did it with impeccable correctness.

“Hel o, gentlemen.”

No one said anything. The moment stretched out.

“Is this your first time to Hel ’s Eight?”

Maddie was having one of her flighty days. Anxiety did that to her.

“There’s no need to be shy. Our ladies are the finest in the state and guaranteed to make a man feel welcome.”

Caine swore. “Shit.”

“Easy,” Tracker warned. “She’s the only one who knows what happened here.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Make time,” Sam snapped.

Tracker nudged Buster closer. “Hel o, Maddie.”

Her round face melted into a genuine smile. “Tracker, how wonderful to see you again. I assume you’l be wanting time with Ari.” Her voice

dropped to a conspiratorial half whisper. “She’s one of our favorites. Very much in demand. Why, just last night several of her suitors got into a tussle as to

who would win her favor.”

Translated, the first part meant Maddie knew he’d been with Ari, and that Maddie liked Ari. The last made his stomach sink. For the first

time in his life he felt true fear.

“So I see.”

Maddie glanced around. “They did make a mess. Tia wasn’t happy. She hit one over the head with her rol ing pin.”

A wave of fresh unease went through the men. The attackers had gotten into the house.

“Hurry it up, Tracker,” Caine hissed.

“Where is the one Tia hit?” Tracker asked.

Maddie looked concerned. “He hasn’t woken up yet.”

Tracker wasn’t surprised. Tia’s rol ing pin was made of stone.

“I’m sure he wil soon. Could you let Ari know I’m here?”

Maddie’s face fel . She hated to disappoint anyone. “I’m sorry, but al our ladies are currently occupied.”

“The hel you say.” Caine kneed his horse forward up onto the steps. Maddie screamed and fel back. Tracker jumped down and grabbed

her before she could run. His own impatience made it nearly impossible to hold a civilized tone.

“Sal y Mae isn’t going to like that,” Maddie whispered, holding on to Tracker’s arm while Caine hol ered for Desi. “She told me horses

don’t belong in the house, ever.”

Tracker didn’t want to know what had brought up that discussion.

“Where is Sal y Mae?”

Maddie shook her head. “She’s at the cemetery with everyone else.” She blinked, wide-eyed, as if surprised he didn’t know. “Today’s the

funeral.”