“Reckon everybody’s that way sometimes,” Stovepipe said.
Elizabeth started to hug Juan Pablo’s wife, but the woman turned away with her face as stoic as ever.
“Thank you anyway,” Elizabeth told her. “Thank you for everything. Gracias.”
The woman relented in her stiffness enough to give her a curt nod.
Sam, Stovepipe, and Elizabeth stepped outside. Sam stiffened as he saw Caballo Rojo standing there with a grim look on his face.
The headman leveled an arm toward the canyon mouth.
“Go,” he said simply.
“That’s where we’re headed,” Sam said. “You won’t see us again after this, Caballo Rojo.”
The Navajo looked like that would be just fine with him.
Chapter 37
The more Matt thought about it, the more he knew that he had to get to Flat Rock. He couldn’t afford to wait for Sam and Stovepipe to return. The ringleader of that gang was going to try something else.
“I’m gonna take one of those horses from the wagon team and head for town,” he told Wilbur. “You can stay here and keep an eye on those rifles.”
“You’re loco,” Wilbur responded heatedly. “Stovepipe and Two Wolves told us to stay here.”
“Once it gets light, you can fort up in these rocks and keep anybody who comes along away from the guns,” Matt argued. “My gut tells me the varmint behind all this isn’t finished yet.”
“Yeah, well, my gut tells me the same thing, and you’re hurt worse’n I am. If anybody goes, it ought to be me.”
“No offense, Wilbur, but you’re not exactly a gunfighter.”
Wilbur glared at him.
“You ever notice, when somebody says ‘no offense,’ they’re about to say somethin’ damned offensive?”
Matt was already unhitching one of the horses. He didn’t answer.
“Besides, you never even been to Flat Rock,” Wilbur went on. “You don’t even know how to get there.”
“Tell me the general direction. I can find it.”
“Why should I?”
Matt looked at his companion intently and said, “Because I’m the only one who stand a chance right now of stoppin’ that bunch from raising more hell.”
Wilbur glared, but he finally said with obvious reluctance, “Oh, all right.” He told Matt how to find the settlement. “But you’re gonna be outnumbered at least three to one. Don’t come complainin’ to me when you get yourself killed.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Matt said.
He cut lengths of rein off the wagon’s lines and attached them to the bit in the horse’s mouth. Then he climbed onto the animal and set off bareback toward Flat Rock, steering by the stars that were still bright in the night sky.
He couldn’t hope to reach the settlement before the members of the gang, since they had a good lead on him, but he pushed the horse as hard as he could so that maybe they wouldn’t have time to get up to too much mischief before he got there.
After an hour or so, the eastern sky began to lighten. Matt knew dawn wasn’t too far away. If he had still been a prisoner back in the canyon, the sands of his life would be running out right about now, since Juan Pablo had intended to execute all four captives when the sun came up.
But they had foiled that idea, and Matt hoped Sam and Stovepipe had been able to rescue Elizabeth as well. He was going to worry about her until he saw her again with his own eyes.
He spotted a few scattered lights up ahead. It was too early for very many people to be up and about in Flat Rock, but clearly some of the citizens were awake. Matt pushed his horse harder, anxious to get there.
He was still at least half a mile from the settlement when he spotted the three riders. They were just shadows in the graying light at first, but then he was able to make them out better.
He recognized the big, brawny shape of the man in the lead, who was carrying something draped over the saddle in front of him. Sensing that this was trouble in the offing, Matt veered his horse to intercept them.
Even over the pounding hoofbeats, he heard a shout of alarm from one of the men. They split up, the leader angling to the north, the other two charging straight at Matt with their guns spitting flame.
The big draft horse he was riding was slow and ungainly, but the animal had sand, Matt had to give it that. The horse didn’t spook from the racket of gunshots and the smell of powdersmoke, even when he filled his hands with both of his irons and cut loose.
Bullets sang around his head as he thundered toward the two would-be killers. His Colts roared and bucked. One of the outlaws suddenly cried out and slewed around in the saddle before toppling off his mount. The other rocked back as one of Matt’s slugs drove into his chest but stayed upright and kept firing. Matt triggered again as they swept past each other, and this time the man’s head jerked as a bullet tore through his throat and angled up into his brain. He had to be dead when he hit the ground.
Matt wheeled the horse and looked after the leader. He didn’t know if his horse could catch up to the man.
But then the boss outlaw’s horse broke stride, and as the dawn light spread over the landscape even more, Matt realized there were two people on the horse, not one.
And those two people were engaged in a desperate struggle.
Matt started after them, urging the horse underneath him to surrender every bit of speed and strength it possessed. The animal responded gallantly. As Matt closed the gap between him and his quarry, the second figure on the other horse suddenly broke free and either fell or jumped off.
The leader of the gun-runners hauled his mount around, but instead of going after the person who had escaped from him, he drew his gun and threw a shot at Matt. As Matt leaned forward over his horse’s neck, he barely took note of the fact that the person on the ground was a woman. Her long auburn hair was in disarray.
The boss outlaw fired again. Matt’s horse stumbled. He didn’t know how badly the animal was wounded, but the horse didn’t go down. It charged ahead, and now Matt straightened from his crouch with both Colts leveled.
The guns roared as he emptied them, and the hammerblows of the bullets striking the ringleader of the gang drove the man out of the saddle. He hit the ground hard, rolled over a couple of times, and lay still.
Using the makeshift reins, Matt pulled his horse to a stop and slid down from its back. He saw the crease on the horse’s shoulder and was glad that the animal wasn’t hurt any worse than that.
His right-hand Colt was empty, but the left-hand gun still had one round in it. Out of long habit, Matt had kept track of the shots he had fired. He pouched the right-hand iron but kept the other one ready as he approached the fallen ringleader.
The man wasn’t a threat anymore. He had dropped his gun, and the front of his shirt was sodden with blood from several bullet wounds. He pawed feebly at the crimson flow as he gasped for breath.
The man looked up at Matt and managed to say, “Who ... who ...?”
The two of them had never seen each other before close-up, Matt realized.
“I’m Matt Bodine,” he said. “Who’re you?”
“King ... king ...”
Matt thought that was the dying man’s name.
But then he said, “King ... of the ... Four Corners ...”
“Not hardly,” Matt said as the man’s final breath rattled in his throat.
Matt left the body there and turned back toward the woman. She ran to meet him, but before she could get there, his strength abruptly deserted him. His guns slipped from his fingers, and he fell to his knees.
“My God!” the woman exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”
Matt looked up at her, thinking that she was beautiful even in her disheveled state, and said, “You’ve got ... a British accent.”