Bloody Sunday (22 page)

“Of course.” She worked the ropes off her hands and hurried to get to work on the knots. “I should have done this as soon as they left us alone. I was just so shaken by what you said about Deputy Singletary.”

“At least now you know what happened to Sam, and why,” Luke said, making his words as gentle as possible. “That's probably scant comfort, but better than nothing, maybe.”

“Yes, it is.” Glory muttered something under her breath, “These knots are stubborn.”

“Take your time. We've got all night.”

Glory kept working at the bonds, and eventually Luke felt them loosen slightly. Glory's efforts went faster then, and a few moments later the ropes fell away from his wrists. He groaned a little from the stiffness and soreness in his shoulder muscles as he brought his arms around in front of him again. His hands were so numb they were like lumps of wood. He couldn't even get them to work well enough that they could rub each other.

Glory took on that task as well, catching hold of his right hand with both of hers. She began massaging it. Pins and needles quickly turned into a rush of heat that felt like Luke had plunged his hand into a pot of boiling water. His lips drew back from his teeth as the blood flowed and feeling came into his hand, bringing with it pain.

“I'm sorry,” Glory said.

“Don't be,” he told her. “I'd rather it hurt now and be able to use it later.”

Once enough feeling had returned that he was able to flex his fingers, she moved over to the other hand and worked on it. Soon Luke was able to use both hands again.

He used them to draw Glory into his arms. She started trembling, and he held her until the shaking finally stopped.

She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, saying, “Elston's going to kill us, isn't he? No matter what he promised, no matter whether I do what he wants or not, he's still going to kill us?”

“That's what he's planning,” Luke said, “but before this is all over, I think we're going to have something to say about that.”

Luke blew out the oil lamp that burned on the table and went over to the window. He edged the curtain back to look out. As Finn had told them, there was a good view of the bunkhouse from here. One of the hired killers sat just outside the building's door in a ladder-back chair. He had a rifle across his knees, and he was watching the window. Luke didn't doubt that he was a crack shot with that Winchester, too.

“What do you see?” Glory asked from behind him.

“Finn wasn't lying. He's got a marksman keeping an eye on the window. Climbing out wouldn't be a problem, especially with that porch roof running all the way around the house. But that rifleman would drill me as soon as I threw a leg over the sill.”

“Then we have to think of some other way to get out of here. The guards in the hall . . .”

“They probably have orders to shoot to kill, too.” Luke sighed wearily and massaged his temples for a few seconds. His head still hurt from being knocked out earlier. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and the past couple of days had taken a toll.

He went on: “Elston is trying to set things up so that it would be impossible for the law to ever prove anything against him, even if the Rangers came in and investigated him. Your signature on that bill of sale takes care of that. If you just disappear, either by him giving you to Hugh Jennings or by . . .”

“Winding up in a shallow grave somewhere out on the prairie,” Glory finished. “You can say it, Luke. I know how much danger we're in.”

“If you just disappear, Gabe Pendleton will make a stink about it,” Luke said. “Judge Marbright will insist that the sheriff look into it. Like I said, he might even call in the Rangers. Elston can ride it out as long as there's no proof that you're dead, but that's a complication he evidently doesn't want. So forcing you to sign is his best bet. But he can kill you and still get the ranch in the long run, so we can't underestimate what he'll do.”

“Don't worry, I wouldn't put anything beyond that snake.”

Luke was still looking out the window but not really paying much attention to what was going on out there. But then movement caught his eye. The rifleman outside the bunkhouse door had stood up. The man half-turned and appeared to call through the open door. A second later, two more of Elston's hired killers appeared. One of them ran toward the house.

“Something's going on,” Luke said quietly.

Glory came up close behind him and asked, “What is it?”

“I don't know yet. Something seems to have spooked Elston's crew.”

A moment later, a rider came into view, approaching the house. The guard must have heard the hoofbeats. As the man on horseback came closer, deeper into the light from the house, Luke recognized him.

Sheriff Jared Whittaker.

Maybe he'd been wrong about Whittaker, Luke thought. Maybe the sheriff was just as crooked as the deputy and had come to Elston's ranch to check in and find out if his boss had any new orders for him.

A door closed somewhere below. Harry Elston strode out into Luke's line of sight, accompanied by Verne Finn. Luke reached down to the sill and eased the windowpane up so he could hear what was being said below.

“Sheriff,” Elston greeted Whittaker. “What brings you out here so late?”

“I'm looking for somebody,” Whittaker replied.

“That deputy of yours? I haven't seen him.”

Whittaker frowned. He said, “No, actually I'm looking for Mrs. MacCrae and that fella Jensen. They left Painted Post earlier today bound for the MacCrae ranch, but they never showed up.”

Elston shook his head and said, “That's no concern of mine. I'm not the woman's keeper.”

Whittaker thumbed his hat back. Elston hadn't invited him to step down from his horse, and Whittaker didn't make any move to do so.

“Here's the thing,” the sheriff said. “Some of Mrs. MacCrae's hands heard a lot of shooting this afternoon. They went to have a look and didn't find anything except a burned-out stretch of prairie. It was pretty obvious
something
had happened.”

“Still none of my concern,” Elston insisted.

“Then a while later Mrs. MacCrae's horse showed up at the ranch, and so did Jensen's dun. The dun had some burns, like it had galloped through flames, so it's likely the two of them were there.”

Glory was close by Luke's shoulder, listening to the conversation, too. She clutched Luke's arm and whispered, “Thank God the horses got out all right.”

Luke was relieved to hear that, too.

Whittaker went on: “Rusty Gimple is acting as Mrs. MacCrae's foreman while Gabe Pendleton is laid up. He rode to town and told me about Mrs. MacCrae and Jensen being missing, the shooting, the fire, and the horses showing up. He wanted me to look into it. He said he thought you might have something to do with everything.”

“Why didn't you just tell him to go away?” Elston asked impatiently.

“Because I'm the law in these parts, Mr. Elston,” Whittaker said. “And I'm getting a little tired of some people acting like that really doesn't matter.”

“Good Lord,” Glory breathed. “Is the sheriff finally trying to do his job?”

“It looks like it,” Luke said.

Unfortunately, Whittaker's decision to be an honest lawman might have come too late.

“I have no idea about any of this,” Elston said. “You've had a long ride out here in the dark for nothing, Sheriff. I haven't laid eyes on Mrs. MacCrae or Jensen since I left Painted Post.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I'm not in the habit of having my word disputed,” Elston said angrily.

“Then you won't mind if I take a look around.”

Elston hesitated for a second, then shrugged. He waved a hand and said, “Be my guest.”

As Whittaker swung down from the saddle and the men started toward the house, Glory whispered, “We could call out to him, let him know we're here.”

“If we do that, Finn will gun down Whittaker,” Luke warned.

Whittaker stopped abruptly, which forced Elston and Finn to do likewise. The sheriff turned to them.

“Something you said struck me as wrong, Mr. Elston, and I just figured out what it is.”

“No,” Luke whispered. “Don't give it away, Whittaker.”

The lawman didn't hear him, of course. Whittaker said, “When I rode in you thought I was looking for Whitey. If you've been gone from town since yesterday, how'd you know
he
was missing?”

The question seemed to take Elston by surprise. He didn't answer.

“Unless you'd seen him yourself,” Whittaker went on. “Unless he's been here . . . or is here now. Unless he really works for you.”

Elston sighed and shook his head.

“It's a shame you figured that out, Sheriff,” he said. “Luckily, there'll be somebody else to step in and take over for you.”

“What're you—”

“Whitey!” Elston called.

Singletary stepped out of the bunkhouse and rasped, “You always were a damn fool, Whittaker.”

The sheriff spun toward Singletary and clawed at the gun on his hip. In a blur of swift motion, Verne Finn got behind him. The gun in Finn's hand came up and chopped down in a vicious blow that slammed into the back of Whittaker's head and drove the lawman to his knees. Finn kicked him between the shoulder blades and knocked him to the ground on his face.

Singletary came over and pointed the gun in his hand at the unconscious Whittaker.

“Let me kill him, boss,” he growled to Elston.

“Not yet,” Elston said. “We might be able to make some use of him. That bill of sale would carry even more weight if we force him to sign it as a witness. Put him in the smokehouse where we had Jensen earlier.”

“We'll have to get rid of him sooner or later if I'm gonna be sheriff,” Singletary argued.

“You'll never be sheriff if you don't do what I tell you,” Elston responded sharply.

Singletary didn't look happy about it, but he bent and took hold of Whittaker's collar. He started dragging the senseless man toward the smokehouse. Everybody in the yard between the main house and the bunkhouse had been watching the confrontation.

Including the rifleman assigned to keep an eye on the window of the room where Luke and Glory were being held.

That was why Luke was no longer there. He had taken advantage of the distraction a moment earlier and slipped out the window after telling Glory to stay put, and now he was stretched out on top of the roof. With his black clothes and dark hair, he was almost invisible in the shadows, free for the moment.

Free . . . but surrounded by a score of enemies who would like nothing better than to see him dead.

There was no point in thinking about that. Quickly, so that he could get out of sight before the rifleman spotted him, he wriggled backwards, deeper into the darkness, and then climbed up and over the roof 's peak.

When he was safely out of sight, he paused to consider his next move. A memory of that little balcony shaped like a widow's walk came into his mind. With Elston's background as a sea captain, it was likely he was the one who'd had the balcony built onto the house. That meant it was probably outside the room where he slept. Luke thought the chances were good enough that it was worth checking out, anyway.

He made his way along the roofline, checking over the peak now and then, until he was even with the place where the balcony was. Even though the delay chafed at him, he knew it would be better to wait until the house had settled down and everyone had gone to sleep before he acted on the plan that was forming in his mind.

He hoped Glory wasn't going crazy with worry. There hadn't been any shouts or gunfire, so she probably figured that he was still all right and on the loose.

The lamps on the porch were still burning. That was actually a good thing for him, Luke thought. The light down below made the roof above the porch seem even darker. When an hour or so had passed and he hadn't heard any sounds from below for a while, he eased over the roof peak and started down toward the widow's walk.

He moved slowly, an inch or so at a time. The room where Glory was being held captive was at the other end of the house, so that helped his chances of reaching the balcony without being seen. The guard, who had resumed his chair by the bunkhouse, would have his attention focused on that other window. As long as his movements didn't catch the rifleman's eye, Luke knew he was safe from discovery.

Eventually, he reached the little cupola above the widow's walk. He leaned over the edge and studied what lay below it. The window that had been there originally had been replaced by a door. If it was locked, that might be trouble . . . but what would be the point of locking a door like that? Here in his own stronghold, Elston would be so confident of his safety that such a thing might never occur to him.

Luke twisted around, let his legs hang off the cupola's roof, then lowered himself and dangled from his hands for a second before he let go and dropped lightly to the balcony. His landing made enough noise that someone inside the room who was awake might have heard it, but there was a good chance it wouldn't disturb the slumber of anyone who was asleep.

As Luke leaned closer to the door, he knew the room's inhabitant
was
asleep. He heard loud snoring on the other side of the panel. He reached down to the doorknob, grasped it, twisted it.

It turned. With a faint click, the door came open.

The snoring continued as Luke stepped into the darkened room. He couldn't be sure the man sleeping here was Harry Elston, but he still thought that was a good bet. As silent as an Apache, Luke let the snores guide him toward the bed.

His leg bumped against the mattress, and the snoring abruptly stopped. Luke didn't wait any longer to make his move. He struck fast and hard, slamming a fist into the spot where he judged the sleeper's head to be.

That was only partially successful. His fist glanced off the man's head. Luke lunged on top of him and shot out his left hand. It found and closed around the man's throat, stifling a shout as it tried to escape.

The man wasn't going to give up easily. He bucked up from the bed in an attempt to throw off Luke's weight. A wildly thrown fist painfully scraped Luke's left ear. He tightened his grip on the man's throat and tried to choke him into submission.

That wasn't going to work. The man was strong and evidently had experience at brawling, another indication that he was Harry Elston. He jerked a leg up, hooked a calf across Luke's throat, and levered him to the side.

Luke hung on to Elston's neck, though, and dragged the rancher with him. Both men rolled off the bed and thudded to the floor beside it. Luke landed on the bottom. Anticipating Elston's next move, he twisted to the side so that the knee Elston tried to drive into his groin struck him on the thigh instead.

Even so, the impact was painful, and Luke's leg refused to work for a moment. He clung to Elston's throat with one hand, which wasn't easy because it was so thick and Elston's head was set low on his shoulders. With his other first, Luke hammered at his opponent's face.

Elston's hands were free, so he was able to strike at Luke with both of them. Sensing the blows more than seeing them, Luke jerked his head out of the way, but there were too many to keep dodging them. One of Elston's fists crashed into his jaw and made red rockets explode across his vision.

Luke knew that his life depended on winning this fight. Not just his life, either, but Glory's as well. He heaved himself up, rolled, and threw Elston to the side. Luke risked letting go for a second as he scrambled to get behind the rancher. His left arm looped around Elston's throat and he clamped down with it, grabbing that wrist with his right hand and adding even more strength to the grip.

Elston bucked and rolled, jabbed at Luke with his elbows, clawed at the forearm locked across his throat like an iron bar. But as the seconds ticked past, his struggles grew weaker. Luke kept the pressure on him anyway, just in case Elston was trying to trick him.