He pulled his pistol, the thong was off, and smiled as several of the men tensed, and then relaxed. He was just checking the loads. “Do me a favor, then?”
If Starking noticed the byplay, he didn’t let on. “If I can.”
“Pagan still has several men. If I go down, make sure they don’t take over the town. There’s a future here. If you and your people merge with the settlers, you’ll be strong enough that you won’t have to worry about the Pagan Reeves of this world.”
Starking didn’t answer, just clucked to his horse and led his people toward town.
4
Trent stood in the center of the street, with the sun warm on his shoulders. The morning breeze gently ruffled his shirt, and carried a hint of lilac and cedar. At times like these, every sense is incredibly alive and each breath is pure and sweet, as if the body is trying to savor the last feelings it will ever have. He mentally shook himself. Take care of business. This was all for show. The townsmen needed to see the outlaws, or badmen, vanquished. The outlaws needed to show everyone who was in charge. It may have an Old West look to it—but it was necessary.
Pagan Reeves stepped smiling out of the saloon where he had been filling up on liquid courage. Two men flanked him. He felt his blood run cold. One of the men was a small time merc for hire, always wearing an idiot smile. Trent had seen him around but could not remember his name. The other man was Dake Priest. Priest, the ex-courier gone bad, was now a gun for hire. His mouth turned dry with tension and adrenalin, as he willed the knot in his belly to go away. No one said it would be easy. “You’re running in rough company, Priest. I should’ve taken you down last night.” His voice echoed between the buildings as he purposefully ignored Pagan.
“I like it rough, Trent.” Of them all, Priest was the most dangerous. He’d already figured his odds and planned his moves. Standing slightly behind the other two, Priest knew he was in the best position to get a shot off.
“Way I’ve got it figured, Priest, my first two shots will be for you. At this range, I won’t miss. The next shot will be for smiley, there. I’ll save Pagan for last.”
As he kept staring at Priest and steadily advancing toward them, the gunman began to sweat, eyes darting side to side. This wasn’t going the way it should. They should stop. Square off. They should taunt each other. This way, and at this range, they would all be killed.
Pagan could not stand it anymore.
“What about me, Trent? Ain’t you worried about me? Don’t you want me?”
When his left foot hit the ground, he pulled his pistol. “How about now, Pagan?” His gun was up and firing. Priest took one in the shoulder as he dove for cover. The other, his hand on his gun, was looking down at the hole in his chest. Bright red blood was pumping out of his shirt. He started to say something, but ran out of time. He folded up and fell in the dust.
Trent brought his gun to bear on Pagan. Pagan’s hand was on his gun, but he hadn’t drawn it. It was too late.
“Don’t shoot, Trent.” Pagan’s eyes were ferreting from side to side, desperately looking for help.
Trent just stared at him, while keeping track of Priest at the same time. A sudden shot rang out, and Priest flopped from behind a boardwalk.
The musical voice of Chico Cruz said, “We’ll watch your back, compadre. You have a trial to do, yes?”
A trial. Yes. “How many people have you killed in these hills, Pagan? How much grief and pain have you caused?”
Sweat dripped from Pagan’s face, his eyes locked on Trent in a vain hope of reprieve. “I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.”
“No, Pagan, you’ll not be leaving. It’s too late. You have Reverend Stephens to answer for, and the McCracken family. God knows how many others.”
“You’re the law, Trent. You have rules. You can’t just….”
Knowing the man was a coward, Trent glanced to the side. Instantly Pagan’s hand streaked for his gun.
5
The Watcher stood looking at the girl in the print dress. Beautiful and willowy, blond hair and large breasts, skin soft and unblemished. Not now. It was too soon. There were too many people. But she was worthy. He could taste her—feel her flesh under his hands. The Watcher drew in a shaky breath. And what of the man? The man he’d come to see fight with Pagan Reeves. He’d known it would be no contest, but three men? And the man was close. He would come for her, come hard! The hero would come for the killer. The Watcher laughed to himself. The hero would not return. So be it. Maybe it was time for that, too.
Silently, the Watcher moved up behind the girl. She had come in with Starking, but had separated and was walking toward the church and Katie. The girl flinched as shots rang out in the street below, and the Watcher glanced disdainfully in that direction. It would be no contest. The man would win. Would he always win?
The Watcher mentally shrugged his shoulders as he advanced on the girl. It didn’t matter. It’s the girl that matters. The one who is worthy.
6
Chico and Trent walked back up the hill toward the church, Chico leading his horse by the reins.
“I used to think I was very fast with my guns. Even in this day and age, it is important in some circles. I used to do some of those cowboy shooting contests. It was fun.” He shook his head ruefully. “Now, I think I’ll throw them away. I saw Reeves kill a man on that very street, and I thought he was fast. It’s not so. And then, when you looked away from him… on purpose?”
“I had to bait him. Otherwise, he would have crawled away. I just couldn’t shoot him in cold blood. Not even him.” Trent palmed his gun and held it up. “You know, this isn’t something I asked for, or ever wanted. I was born with quick hands. Seems to me there should be something better to use them for.”
“You did a good thing, today, my friend. If you had shown him mercy, he wouldn’t have stopped killing. He would not have changed.”
He thought of all the situations he’d been in, the things he’d done in the name of survival. It was a long list. “In my heart, I know. But in my mind, sometimes I don’t know.”
A scream snapped their heads up in unison. A girl was struggling with someone in front of the church. As they watched they saw the man swing, and her head snap back. Katie came rushing around the building, but was knocked sprawling by a sweep of the man’s arm. Almost in the same motion, the man swung the girl to his shoulders and disappeared into the forest behind the church.
Cruz was trying to line up a rifle shot when Trent pushed down the barrel. “Too risky.”
They both mounted Cruz’s horse and arrived at the church in moments, scattering divots of grass and dirt around the porch. A faint trail led away in the wet grass toward the forest beyond.
He wrapped Katie in his arms. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” she answered groggily.
Trent ran to his horse that was tied to the porch. He pulled out his knee-length moccasins, dropped to the ground, shucked his boots, and pulled them on. Pulling his Bowie, he threaded his belt through the loop in the scabbard. Donning a long-tailed hunting shirt, he stuffed trail mix in the pouches. Strapping a Velcro strip over his revolver, to keep it tight against his leg, he reached up and took out his rifle.
“Let me come with you.” Cruz was already turning away to remount.
“No time. I’m going to run him, Cruz. He will have a horse back in the brush. If I push hard enough, he won’t have time to stop and hurt the girl. On rough ground, I can make better time on foot. I might even be able to outrun his horse. But above all, I’ve got to keep him running.”