Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (25 page)

“You don’t say?”
Spencer cocked one eyebrow as he leisurely appraised her body. “Well, I happen to think that the trip would be a helluva lot more ‘pleasant’ if we did less talking and more fucking.”

Mercy gasped,
appalled by his vulgar remark.

“You fiend!”

“Hey, you’re the one who had the bright idea to trade her body for—”

“I did no such thing!”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

Just then, a horse whinnied nearby
. The sudden noise startled a flock of birds roosting in a nearby tree, their wings frantically flapping in their haste to depart the leafy perch. Spencer quickly whipped a revolver out of his holster, his body defensively crouched.

“Take cover,” he hissed, motioning
her towards a tree trunk.

Propelled by fear, Mercy wordlessly obeyed. Digging her fingers into the scaly tree bark, she scanned the wooded ravine, unnerved by the ominous silence
that all of a sudden had descended upon them. Her breath caught in her throat when, a few moments later, Bloody Ned Sykes came into view, a dozen armed riders following close behind him.

Spencer straightened to his full height, seemingly unperturbed.
Standing his ground, he cocked his pistol, the loud, distinctive
click
serving notice of his intent.

“I wouldn’t do it if I was you,” Sykes warned, reining his horse to halt. “You’re outgunned and outmanned.”

“What do you want?” Spencer gruffly called out.

“I just want to talk.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Sykes pursed his lips as he spit
out a brown stream of tobacco juice. “How about you puttin’ down that pistol before Kid Mooney accidentally shoots that lil’ blond-headed gal hidin’ behind the tree. He’s real anxious to try out his new sixteen-shot Henry rifle. Isn’t that right, Kid?”

As if on cue, Mooney pulled the lever on his rifle, a malicious grin on his face.

Several moments passed in tense silence.

Taking
a deep breath, Spencer uncocked his pistol and dangled the weapon from his fingertip. Mooney dismounted and walked toward him, yanking the gun out his hand and tossing it to the ground. With the exception of Bloody Ned, everyone dismounted.

Although inundated with fear, Mercy stepped out from behind the tree
; since her whereabouts were known, it was pointless to remain there. She stared at the assembled group of men before nervously glancing up the hill.
Did anyone back at their camp have even an inkling of what was happening?

Sykes nudged his horse toward her
. His movements slow and deliberate, he removed a pistol from his gun holster. “Recognize this?” he asked as he spun the gun several times on his forefinger.

Mercy
fearfully swallowed a mouthful of stomach bile as she stared at the gun that she’d given to the German prisoners. Because Spencer’s initials were carved into the handle, she had no way of explaining the incriminating evidence.

The guerrilla chieftain leaned forward in his saddle, the leather creaking under his weight. “
Now how about telling me why this pistol was found in the possession of those Dutchmen that we recaptured?”

“Don’t you mean those Dutchmen we killed?” one of his men quipped.

Kid Mooney cackled, his boyish face suffused with malicious glee. “Yeah, we gutted ‘em and hung ‘em out to dry, didn’t we, boys?”

Spencer took a step toward Sykes, a fierce look in his eye
s. “I’m the one who gave that gun to the Germans.”

Mercy spun around
in Spencer’s direction, too stunned to speak.

“You sure about that?” Sykes
asked him, his gaze narrowed.

Spencer shrugged. “I cut them free
. Then I gave them my pistol. End of story.”

“That’s what I always liked about you, McCabe. No blubbering. No yammering. Just the straight scoop.” Sykes noisily sp
at out another wad of tobacco juice. “Of course, you know this means that I’m gonna have to kill you.”

Hearing that, Mercy quickly found her voice. “But Spencer did
n’t have anything to do with it!” she exclaimed, unwilling to let Spencer McCabe take the blame for her actions. “I waited until Spencer was asleep. Then I . . . I stole his pistol and gave it to the prisoners.”

“She’s lying,” Spencer snarled, shooting
Mercy a quelling glance. “Do you really think that I’d let some woman steal a pistol from me while I was sleeping?”

Bloody Ned treated them both to a
crooked, tobacco-stained smile.

“Well, ain’t this tender? A couple of love birds lying themselves blue in the face to save each other.” He scratched his bearded chin, thoughtfully considering them each in turn. “Problem is, I just can’t figure out which one to believe
. So, I guess I’ll just have to shoot you both.”

Mercy rushed toward Sykes
. Grabbing him by the leg, she said, “You’re right! Spencer is lying! I’m the one who freed those men.
Me
, and me alone.”

“Godd
ammit, Mercy! Will you shut your—”

Just then, Kid Mooney viciously knocked Spencer in the jaw with his rifle butt, effectively silencing him. When Spencer took a menacing step toward
Mooney, the juvenile raised the rifle to his shoulder, silently daring him to take another step. Spencer stood rooted, his chest heaving furiously.

“Where’s the rest of your family?” Sykes suddenly asked, his gray eyes scouring the wooded hillside.

“They’re b-back at . . . at the wagon,” Mercy stammered, pointing to the top of the hill.

“Go and fetch ‘em. I got me hankering to see that lil’ angel-faced sister of yours.” Sykes turned to one of his men
and ordered him to accompany her.

Mercy stole a quick glance at Spencer, her heart catching in her throat at
the sight of his bloodied jaw.

This was her fault.
All of it.
And now, because of her actions, they would more than likely end up dead, their corpses left for the vultures.

Reluctant to leave
Spencer with the armed band of cutthroats, Mercy was given no choice in the matter; the bushwhacker assigned to escort duty clamped a hand on her shoulder, shoving her toward the hillside.

Grasping her homespun skirt in her hand, Mercy scrambled up the rocky incline
. Her heart hammered in her chest as she frantically tried to think of some way to forestall the inevitable. As she and the bushwhacker crested the top of the hill, she heard several startled gasps emanate from Pru and her mother, both of them still seated on the quilt. Dewey immediately vaulted to his feet and kicked the edge of the quilt over top of something.

He’d been cleaning one
of Spencer’s revolvers when she left them to go down to the creek!

None too gently, the bushwhacker prodded
Mercy with the muzzle of his gun, issuing an order for everyone to stay where they were and not make any sudden moves. Spying Spencer’s horse hitched nearby, he stomped over to it. While he rummaged through the saddle bags, Mercy joined her family. She and Dewey quickly exchanged several meaningful glances.

As unobtrusively as possible, Mercy bent at the waist, reaching for the revolver hidde
n under the edge of the quilt.

“Is it loaded?” she whispered, audibly sighing with relief when Dewey nodded his head. Wrapping her fingers around the pistol butt, she slid the revolver out from under the quilt
and deposited it in her skirt pocket.

Finished
ransacking Spencer’s saddlebag, the bushwhacker sauntered over to them. Clearly amused at seeing them huddled together, he grinned broadly.

“All right. Let’s get going.” He
jutted his chin at Dewey. “I want you and the young blondie to help the old lady down the hill.”

As bidden,
Pru and Dewey assisted Temperance to her feet, each of them holding one of her arms as everyone slowly trooped down the hill. They were halfway down the slope when Gabriel tripped over a rock, skinning his knee. Scrambling to his feet, he valiantly held back his tears. The child’s brave show of courage inspired Mercy, her own courage having started to flag.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, they were
corralled in front of Bloody Ned.

The southern chieftain nodded approvingly.
“Move the family over there by that clump of bushes,” he instructed. “They don’t need to be a witness to this. Everyone except for
her
.” He pointed his pistol at Mercy, a sinister gleam in his eyes. “I want you to stand over there next to McCabe. I got something special planned for you.”

Mercy walked over to
where Spencer stood. Intuiting that something horrific was about to happen, she slid her hand into her skirt pocket. While Spencer seemed stoically resigned to his fate, she caught the look of regret that momentarily flashed across his face. Inundated with fearful remorse, Mercy trembled. The thought of Spencer being shot and killed before her very eyes was more than she could bear.

As God
is my witness, I love this man
.

Her heart on the verge of exploding,
Mercy tightened her grip on the wooden pistol butt.

In the next instant,
Sykes cocked his revolver. With a villain’s grin plastered on his face, he took aim at Spencer’s forehead. “Say good-bye to your lady love. And don’t forget to give my regards to the devil.”

“No!” Mercy screamed
.

Yanking
the pistol out of her skirt pocket, she held the weapon with both hands and aimed it Sykes’ chest. Driven by a fierce desire to save the man she loved, she cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger. The explosive force of the gunshot flung her backwards onto the ground.

After that, everything
happened in rapid-fire motion.

Bloody Ned Sykes thrown from his saddle, his lifeless eyes wide open as he hit the ground
. Spencer ramming his elbow into Kid Mooney’s face as he grabbed the Henry rifle. Her sister and mother shrieking with terror as Spencer fired multiple shots into the throng of bushwhackers.

“Hold your fire!” Spencer bellowed
at his former comrades, the deadly repeating rifle tucked against his shoulder. “The next one who moves is a dead man!” Given that he’d just shot three bushwhackers in quick succession, there wasn’t a man present who didn’t take heed.

Scrambling to her knees, Mercy again cocked her pistol, determined to shoot anyon
e who dared fire their weapon.

“
Are you all right, Mercy?” Spencer called over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she croaked, still trying to catch her breath.

“You can’t kill us all,” Kid Mooney sneered, his face mottled with enraged fury.

Spencer turned the rifle on him. “True. But before I’m laid low, I can blow a hole through your gut, sure enough.” He swung the rifle toward another man in the crowd. “Yours, too, Earl.” Then,
ruthlessly smiling, he took aim at yet another man in the crowd. “And I reckon I can also hit you, Chaney.”

The man named E
arl held up a conciliatory hand. “Hell, I always liked you Spence. And I don’t see why, um –” his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he furtively glanced at the powerful rifle – “why we can’t come to some, er, peaceful resolution.”

“I’m with Earl.
” Chaney uncocked his pistol with an ingratiating smile. “Let’s just shake hands and call it a day.”

Several other men voiced their opinion, appearing to be of similar mind.

Spencer tersely nodded. “Fine by me.” He looked each of the bushwhackers in the eye, his gaze resolute. “But if I so much as lay eyes on any of you again, I’ll kill you. And that goes double for you, Mooney.”

Sniggering
, the youthful cutthroat puffed out his scrawny chest. “Shit, I got bigger fish to fry than you.”

“And not a one of ‘em totin’ a
repeating rifle,” someone in the crowd wisecracked, the remark helping to leaven the tense mood.

Mercy’s body sagged with relief as, one by one, the bushwhackers holstered their drawn pistols and remounted their horses. Kid Mooney
headed straight for Bloody Ned’s mount, not so much as glancing at the slain guerrilla chieftain as he swung himself into the dead man’s saddle.

“Just you wait and see. I can run this outfit a damned sight better than Ned ever did,” Mooney boasted before he spurred the horse forward, the other bushwhackers following his lead.

As soon as they were out of sight, Spencer turned to his brother. “Take Mrs. Hibbert and the rest of the family back to the wagon.”

Dewey stepped over to where Temperance Hibbert lay huddled on the ground
. Gently taking hold of her elbow, he helped her to her feet.

“
Are you okay, ma’am?” he solicitously inquired.

Temperance nodded, averting her gaze from the dead man sprawled
a few feet away from them. Pru and Gabriel, their arms wrapped around each other’s waist, led the way up the wooded hillside.