“Hell, no,” Ransom said, throwing up both of his huge hands. “I'm out of it!”
“Smart man.”
The half-breed quickly rummaged through the pockets of the three bodies, pulling out cash, and then he jammed their pistols under his gun belt and snatched up the store owner's fine shotgun.
“Big man, tell these Mormon assholes that if they come after me, a lot more white-eyes will die before the sun goes down!”
“I'll tell them,” Holt promised.
The breed shook his head and his long, black hair waved. “And . . . and tell them it was self-defense. You saw it, mister! I
had
to kill them all or they'd have killed me.”
“I'll tell them exactly what I saw. It was self-defense and there is no question about it.”
“Sure it was . . . but you're one of them, so I expect they'll try to track me down and kill me,” the half-breed hissed a moment before he took off running down the street headed west into the desert.
Within five minutes, most of the population of Perdition was standing around the three dead men and Holt was retelling for the third time how the half-breed had been forced to kill these men in self-defense.
“I had already paid the store owner for supplies and was coming back to pick them up with this wagon I just bought from Micah,” Ransom smoothly lied. “And now, if you people don't mind, I'm going to collect the supplies that I paid for and leave this godforsaken town of Perdition.”
There was some arguing that maybe Holt was not telling the whole truth, but when Holt turned his hard eyes on those who spoke such foolish words, that kind of talk fell silent.
Holt marched into the general store like he had bought the whole place, and quickly filled three feed sacks of supplies including five boxes of ammunition. He would have emptied the cash drawer, too, if there hadn't been sullen townsmen watching his every move.
“So long,” Holt said to no one in particular.
A thin, pocked-faced man blocked his path and demanded, “Stranger, how do we know you paid for all those goods?”
Holt knew you could never run just a half bluff, so he leaned over the man and hissed, “You're just gonna have to take my word for it or else call me a liar, and then Perdition will have
four
gawddamn Mormon funerals in one day. Which is it to be, mister?”
The pocked-faced man looked into Holt's black, pitiless eyes and nervously licked his thin lips, saying, “No offense, stranger. Come to think of it, I reckon you're tellin' the truth after all.”
“I reckon I am,” Holt growled as he bulled his way past the men while hauling his three heavy feed sacks of supplies over his shoulder. He swung the sacks up into the buckboard, climbed into the wagon, and took a second to study the dead men.
Holt raised his eyes to the sullen, suspicious crowd and hollered, “If I were you folks, I'd not try to go after the half-breed kid. I'm the only witness and I tell you it was a case of self-defense.”
“But he's a damn Cheyenne!” someone swore.
“Half Cheyenne,” Holt corrected. “And I say one more time that he's innocent of all these deaths.”
“Who the hell are
you
?” someone from the angry-faced crowd demanded.
Holt sought out the speaker and replied, “I'm the man who is just about damn good and ready to jump down from this buckboard and kick your ass up between your shoulder blades!”
The man shut up and the crowd parted as Holt drove his wagon and his supplies over to the big tree where Eli was guarding Joe and Fiona Moss.
“Did you see what happened just now in front of the log cabin?” Holt asked.
“I seen it,” Eli said with wonder in his voice. “But then I swear, it's hard for me to believe what I actually did see. That half-breed has the fastest hands I ever saw in my life. Faster than poor Dalton's hands even.”
“Joe Moss, did you see those three killings?” Holt asked.
“I saw them, and the half-breed was only trying to save his life. He didn't want to kill the store owner, and he wouldn't have done it 'cept he could see that the fool was going to blow a hole through him.”
“Yeah, that's the way I saw it, too,” Holt agreed. “Self-defense in all three cases. That half-breed is a born killer as gawd is my witness.”
Eli said, “That half-breed was not only fast with a gun and a knifeâhe was fast on his feet. Why, he flew down this street past us and out into the desert like he had wings on his moccasins.”
“When I was his age, I could run like that one,” Joe said to himself. “But he's fast. Real fast.”
“Let's get out of here while the crowd is still fascinated with the three dead men,” Holt suggested.
“Did you buy all the supplies we need?” Eli asked.
“I didn't buy anything,” Holt said with a smirk and a wink. “But how could any of those Jack Mormons know that I was lying?”
“You mean that you just went in and filled those three sacks for free?” Eli asked with admiration filling his voice.
“That's right. Why should you pay for something when you can have it for nothing?”
Eli helped Fiona up onto her little sorrel mare, and then chained her ankles together under the horse before he did the same thing to Joe Moss.
“Fiona, I got you a couple of dresses,” said Holt. “There was no time to look at the sizes, so they're probably going to be too big.”
“Any whiskey?” Eli asked.
“Naw,” Holt said, “I was moving too fast and it must have been hidden somewhere.”
“Damn,” Eli swore.
“We'll find us some on the road to Reno,” Holt promised. “Now let's get out of this town,” he ordered, slapping a whip over his new team of Missouri mules and hurrying west out of Perdition.
11
“HEY, BOSS, IT'S gettin' pretty dark,” Eli called. “Don't you think we should pull up and make camp?”
“Let's try to push it a couple of more miles,” Holt said. “I want to get as much distance between ourselves and Perdition as we can this evening.”
Eli grumbled, “But in the dark we could drive that buckboard into a pothole or deep rut and bust a wagon wheel. Or there could be Paiutes skulkin' around out here in the brush! Hellfire, if we keep movin' in the dark, we're just askin' for trouble.”
“All right, another mile,” Holt said, not wanting to cave in to the man's sound logic. “Another mile and then we'll make camp. But no fire! Not tonight anyway.”
“You think we've got enough barrels filled with water to get all the way to the Humboldt River?” Eli asked. “Five barrels don't seem like that much to me, given us and all the livestock we've got.”
“Micah said five barrels would get us all the way to a place called Salt Springs.”
“Salt Springs! Shit! That doesn't sound like good water to me!” Eli complained.
“Shut up and let's keep movin'.”
Joe and Fiona were once more shackled by the ankles with chains running under the bellies of their horses. And their horses were now securely halter-tied to the back of the buckboard that Ransom Holt was driving. Joe's spirits were even lower than they had been the day before entering Perdition. Now it seemed like they were in even tougher circumstances. And if Eli's worst fears materialized and they were jumped by Paiutes, well, Joe and Fiona were as good as butchered beef.
“All right,” Holt called after they'd plodded along for another hour. “Let's pull up here and make camp.”
“It ain't much of a place to camp, Mr. Holt. Right here in the middle of the road with sagebrush crowdin' us.”
“It will do,” Holt said, sounding testy. “Eli, just quit your bitchin' and unsaddle the horses and unhitch the mules. Make sure that you tie them to the wagon and grain them at least a pound apiece. And give them a full bucket of water apiece, too.”
“How come I got to do all the work?” Eli groused. “What are you gonna do, Mr. Holt?”
“I'm going to rest and keep watch over Joe and Fiona until about three in the morning, at which time I'll wake your lazy ass and you'll keep watch over them until dawn.”
“Damn, how come we gotta do that?”
“Because those Paiutes you worry about so much would love to catch us all sleeping. Isn't that right, Joe?”
“I reckon so,” Joe said.
“And you'd be as helpless as a kitten if the Paiutes came to lift your scalp,” Holt said with a yawn as he unshackled Joe and Fiona and then watched them dismount before he reshackled them again to the wagon. “I got some sour-dough bread and salt pork. We'll eat and then sleep.”
“How do we sleep standing up?” Fiona asked with unconcealed sarcasm.
“I'll chain you to opposite sides of the wagon on the wheels,” Holt decided. “Now let's just get settled in and everybody shut the hell up. It's been a long day . . . but a profitable one.”
“I'm still thinkin' about that half-breed and how he could draw that pistol and fire, and then how he throw'd that big hunting knife and got the storekeeper right in the guts,” Eli said as he unhitched the mules. “That fella was somethin' to watch!”
“He took off running this way,” Holt told the man. “So that's another reason why we have to keep a watch out all night.”
“I don't think he would have anything to do with us,” Eli said, his voice lacking conviction. “I mean, that Cheyenne Injun kid was just trying to save his own neck.”
“Yeah,” Holt agreed. “And he might just decide to kill us and steal everything.”
“Maybe you're right at that,” Eli said. “We'll have to watch out for that one.”
Â
It was almost dawn when the young half-breed who called himself Johnny Redman crept up on the sleeping camp of whites. He had watched the giant hand over the guard to the one with the Sharps rifle, and then within an hour, they were both sound asleep.
Johnny needed a horse, and several horses would be even better. And he would like to have the Sharps rifle that was leaning up beside the wagon. For that matter, he'd like to steal the buckboard, mules, and all those supplies. And the barrels of water would take him all the way across the deserts, if he was able to find the Paiute water holes that few people except Indians knew about.
Now, with the first gray light of a new day creeping up on the eastern horizon, Johnny Redman moved into the camp on moccasins that allowed him to step as silent as a ghost. One of the horses jerked its head around to watch Johnny, but then it lost interest. Fortunately, these people had no dogs.
Redman slipped into camp and took the Sharps rifle, and then he went to the horses and mules and began to untie them one by one. He was doing just fine when a low voice said, “If you steal our livestock, we'll have to hunt you down and kill you.”
Redman whirled and faced the tall man chained to the wagon wheel. “Oh, it's just you,” he said. “You're not like the giant and the other one.”
“No,” Joe Moss said, keeping his voice real quiet. “I'm not.”
“I could kill you easy,” Johnny declared.
“Not before I shouted and woke up Ransom Holt and Eli. And they won't be as easy to kill as those you put down back in Perdition.”
Redman considered this. “What do you want?”
Joe didn't have to think twice before answering. “I want to be free. The key to the locks are in the big man's pants pocket.”
“I can't get those keys without waking him.”
“Then kill him and take the keys,” Joe said.
“Uh-uh,” Johnny Redman said. “I don't kill sleeping people unless they are my enemy. And I don't know that big man or the other one you call Eli.”
“They are my enemies,” Joe explained. “And I will pay you well to kill them.”
“No,” the half-breed decided after a moment of consideration. “But if you yell, then I will kill you quick.”
Joe knew the half-breed would do exactly as he said and that there sure wasn't much point in dying for giving Holt and Eli a warning. “All right, I won't yell. But I saw you take guns from those two dead men. How about giving me one of those guns?”
“I can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you might decide to shoot me.”
“Hmmm,” Joe said. “I ain't seein' myself gettin' anything for keepin' quiet and lettin' you steal our livestock.”
“You get to keep your life,” Johnny told him. “And that's plenty good enough.”
Joe nodded in silent resignation, then whispered, “They're takin' me and my wife, Fiona, to Virginia City for a bounty of at least three thousand dollars.”
Johnny stopped what he was doing. “Three thousand dollars!”
“Yep.”>
Johnny grinned. “You must have done something very bad for them to pay that much for your necks.”
“I killed some rich mine owners in a place called Gold Hill right next to Virginia City. They were brothers and the last one alive is willin' to pay most anything to have me hang before a Comstock crowd.”
“Why are you telling me this now and why should I even care?”
“Because the big man badly needs help getting us across this desert alive,” Joe whispered. “And I don't think we have much of a chance without some help.”
“And?” Johnny asked.
“Why steal a few guns and horses worth so little when you could get a thousand dollars for helping the big man deliver us and collect a bounty on the Comstock Lode?”
“Would he pay me well to help?”
“Sure as hell he would,” Joe told the young half-breed. “But I have to tell you that I mean to get free and kill that pair. Maybe, if you treated my woman kindly, I would let you keep your half-breed Cheyenne scalp.”