Whirling, Jeeter aimed at the belly of a third and put a slug into it. The logical thing to do was finish him with another shot, but there was a fourth rider to deal with, and the man was wheeling his mount and unlimbering a revolver while cursing a mean streak. Jeeter aimed for the neck since a neck shot nearly always killed outright or slowed them enough that they were easy to dispatch, but with the rider moving and with the dark his aim was off and the slug caught the rider in the side of the head, which worked just as well.
Jeeter turned, thumbing back the hammer. The man he had shot in the belly was clinging to the saddle horn, ink that was not ink spreading down his leg and over his saddle. Jeeter raised the Lightning.
“Why us?” the man asked hoarsely, his voice quavering. “Why in hell did you do this to us?”
“You should have left well enough be,” Jeeter said.
“But—”
Jeeter shot him between the eyes, a nice shot that made up for missing the other one’s neck. The man pitched from the saddle and the horse ran off. Jeeter did not try to stop it. They did not need another horse.
In the quiet that followed, Jeeter commenced reloading. He thought they were all dead until the one he had shot in the spine groaned and went on groaning. He went over. The man was on his back, paralyzed, unable to move anything but his lips. Out came flecks of blood.
“You done killed me.”
“That was the general idea.”
“You are him, aren’t you? Frost?”
“I am him.”
The man was fading, his face ungodly pale. “You are a hellion. But if I have to die, it might as well be someone famous who kills me.”
Jeeter squatted and remarked, “You are the politest hombre I ever shot. I would like to remember your name. What is it?”
“Happy,” the man said, and smiled, and died.
The eyes bothered Jeeter. He reached down and closed them.
“Did I hear correctly?” Ernestine asked. She had come up behind him. “He told you that he died happy?”
“You should not look at this,” Jeeter said, unfurling and facing her. “It ain’t fitting.”
“Isn’t,” Ernestine said. “And I was the bait, wasn’t I? If I don’t have the right, who does?” She went from body to body, glad the dark hid the worst of it. “Only four? I thought the posse would be bigger.”
“They must be spread out,” Jeeter said. “Groups of them across the prairie, the better to catch me. Which is why we can’t dawdle.”
“Four lives snuffed like candles,” Ernestine said softly. “Tell me how you feel, if you don’t mind.”
“I am glad it was them and not me.” Jeeter sought sign of more riders out on the benighted sea of grass, but he might as well have peered into the depths of a well.
“That is all?”
“What else is there?” Jeeter said. “It was them or me and as long as I am breathing it will not be me.”
“I must say,” Ernestine commented, “this is a night of revelations. You are more than the man I thought you were.”
“Is that good or bad?” Jeeter asked. Her attitude was grating on him. She could nitpick a thing to death, this woman.
“I honestly don’t know yet,” Ernestine admitted. It was all too new, too disturbing. She glanced at the dead man at their feet. “Why isn’t he wearing a badge?”
“Eh?” Jeeter looked, and shrugged. “Most sheriffs don’t have a lot of badges to pass out. They swear in those who join, and that’s enough.”
“Do we bury them?”
“Only if you want the rest of the posse to catch me,” Jeeter said. The shots were bound to bring them. He clasped her hand and started toward his mount and the packhorse, but abruptly stopped and turned around. “Where is my head tonight?” Quickly, he bent and searched the dead man’s pockets.
“What are you doing?” Ernestine asked, although she had guessed. But she was too horrified to admit it.
“They might have money on them.” Jeeter found several coins, and chuckled. “Look here. A half eagle and some half dimes. I will treat you to a meal in Coffin Varnish.”
“I will not eat food bought with stolen money,” Ernestine said.
“Taking from a corpse isn’t stealing,” Jeeter argued. “A corpse can’t own anything.”
“Your logic never fails to astound me. Next you will say this wasn’t murder since they were out to murder you.”
“Self-defense, I call it. It is their fault for coming after me. If they had let me be, they wouldn’t be lying here.”
Ernestine gazed at the other bodies. “They were only doing what they thought was right. The people in Dodge City think you have abducted me. This is what comes of you not letting me explain the situation to them.”
“You want me behind bars, is that it? Say so now and we can part company with no hard feelings.” Jeeter moved to the second man.
Stunned, Ernestine said, “How can you say that with our vows so fresh? Is that all I am to you? The same as a new shirt?”
Jeeter sensed the answer was important to her. He stopped frisking and met her gaze. “You are everything to me, and I want you by my side the rest of my born days.”
“Then forget playing the vulture and let’s ride,” Ernestine said, adding as an afterthought, “Please.”
“Fetch your horse,” Jeeter said. He figured that would buy him time to finish searching, but her animal was only a few yards away. He gave her a boost, then did something he would never have done if he had been by himself: He walked away from dead men and the money they had on them.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Why would you think that?” Jeeter smiled to hide his feelings. Sometimes talking to her was like playing poker; he had to wear a poker face so she would not guess the truth.
“A woman has her intuition. You are not one of those who wears his sentiments on his sleeve, but you give enough away with how you talk and act.” Ernestine smiled. “I am sorry if I nag you.”
“I don’t think that.” Jeeter had told another falsehood. He was about to say more, but his keen hearing had detected the distant drum of more hooves. A lot more.
“What is it?”
“More of the posse, just like I reckoned,” Jeeter said. “Enough jabber for a spell. We have to fan the breeze.”
Fan it they did, at a gallop for a quarter of a mile, then a canter, then a walk. By then Jeeter could no longer hear their pursuers, and so long as he couldn’t hear them, they did not pose an immediate threat.
“What if they follow us all the way to Coffin Varnish?” Ernestine asked.
“It will just be too bad for them.”
Ernestine shook her head. “Why must you always talk like that? Why are you always so ready to kill?” She did not understand. She just did not understand. He had so many good traits, yet he shot people as if he were squashing flies. What was she missing that would explain it? she asked herself.
“I like breathing,” Jeeter said.
“It is more than that. It has to be.”
Jeeter pondered long and hard but still could not think of a way to satisfactorily explain to her. Then squat shapes and a few lights hove out of the gloom to the north. “Coffin Varnish,” he said.
“How far behind would you say that posse is?” Ernestine wanted to know. It was beginning to look to her as if her marriage would be one of the shortest in history.
“Far enough,” Jeeter Frost said. “Don’t you worry. When they get here they are in for a surprise.”