Lightning lit up the clouds ahead of them and, despite the rain, the hunting coyotes were calling.
‘‘Saul, you’re the feller who doesn’t shoot straight up and down like a city detective,’’ McBride said. ‘‘Maybe you’re the one to have inspiration.’’
Remorse’s laughter was a soft sound in the darkness. ‘‘You’re so easy to tease, John. I’ll have to ask forgiveness for that.’’ He fell silent for a few moments, considering, then said, ‘‘Is there a back door to the ranch house?’’
‘‘As far as I can recall, yes.’’
‘‘Then one of us hits them from the back, one from the front.’’
‘‘You mean just blindly charge inside?’’
‘‘Yes, with guns blazing.’’
‘‘That’s your inspiration?’’
‘‘It’s all I’ve got. You?’’
McBride thought it through, but could find no better plan, at least right there and then. ‘‘Very well, that’s how we’ll play it,’’ he said.
‘‘You’re wise, John, very wise. My way is the only way.’’
Lightning flashed directly above them, a firebolt of searing white. Under his low hat brim, Remorse’s eyes were suddenly sockets of shadow, the cheekbones prominent and yellow. For one fleeting moment, McBride saw the face of a grinning skull, surrounded by floating white hair. It was there. Then it was gone.
Remorse leaned closer to McBride. ‘‘What’s the matter, John?’’
‘‘Nothing,’’ McBride said quickly. Too quickly. He shivered.
It had been a trick of the light, nothing more. It had to have been.
Chapter 31
The darkness was above and around them, the wind blowing hard, the rain cold. In the distance glowed the lights of the O’Neil cabin, like dying stars hung in a black sky.
‘‘Over there, John,’’ Remorse said, indicating a nearby thicket of juniper and piñon. ‘‘Our horses will be sheltered from the worst of the weather.’’
The two riders swung out of the saddle and led their mounts into the trees. Here they were protected from the worst of the wind and the rain was less.
Earlier Remorse had removed his clergyman’s collar. Now he pinned it back in place and opened the top button of his slicker so it could be seen.
‘‘We’ve waited awhile for this, John,’’ he said. ‘‘Now the reckoning is at hand.’’
McBride nodded, the tree branches stirring behind him. He reached into his pocket, found a .45 round and thumbed it into the empty chamber that had been under the hammer of his Colt. He shoved the gun back in his waistband under his slicker.
Remorse nodded his approval. ‘‘Yes, no rifles this night. We’ll get our work done well with the revolver.’’ He took a step closer to McBride, his eyes penetrating the rain-dripping gloom. ‘‘John, remember this: in the dark, our minds play tricks with us and we imagine all kinds of strange things that are not there. A child remembers these strange things and is afraid, but an adult quickly forgets them, knowing that they were only a figment of his imagination.’’ He smiled. ‘‘Do you understand me?’’
McBride returned the smile. ‘‘Saul, I’ll say only one thing—you’re a mighty strange reverend.’’
‘‘Maybe that’s because God works in mysterious ways.’’
‘‘Right. And maybe, just like you say, I’m seeing things.’’
‘‘Good, that is an adult talking, not a child,’’ Remorse said. His gaze moved to the lights of the cabin. ‘‘Now, shall we visit destruction on the philistine Jared Josephine and his minions? Are you ready?’’
‘‘As I’ll ever be, I guess.’’
‘‘Then, John, we cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!’’
The two men moved through the darkness toward the cabin. The rain had grown even heavier, yammering loudly around them, giving them no peace.
When they were twenty yards from the cabin, McBride motioned Remorse to stop where he was. He stepped close to the man and whispered, ‘‘I want to take a closer look first.’’
Remorse nodded and McBride, crouching low, made his way to the most brightly lit window. He removed his hat, and on bent knees rose high enough to look inside.
What he saw dismayed him.
Clare O’Neil was suspended from the rafters of the room by ropes knotted around her wrists. Her dress had been stripped from her upper body and fell in tatters around her hips. The skin of her back, cut to shreds by the riding crop in Thad Harlan’s hand, looked like blood-streaked milk.
Loud enough for McBride to hear, Jared Josephine screamed, ‘‘Now will you sign, you damned slut?’’
Clare shook her head and whispered something that McBride could not hear. Josephine nodded to Harlan and the crop, wielded with all of the man’s strength, cut into the woman’s back again and again. Blood streamed from the livid welts and stained her white dress scarlet.
Harlan stopped and cursed loudly. ‘‘She’s fainted,’’ he said, frustration in his tone.
Lance Josephine stepped in front of Clare, grabbed her hair and lifted her head, looking intently into her face. ‘‘She’s out, Pa,’’ he said. Lance’s eyes were shining with sadistic pleasure. ‘‘Want me to take her down and revive her? Maybe I should cut off one of her—’’
McBride had heard enough. He faded into the darkness and rejoined Remorse. ‘‘Ready?’’ he said. ‘‘We got it to do. I’ll take the front of the cabin, you the rear.’’
‘‘Give me about a minute to get around back,’’ Remorse said. His face was close to McBride’s and his breath smelled of damp earth. ‘‘Then kick in the door and start shooting.’’
McBride nodded and retraced his steps to the cabin. He straightened up when he reached the door, mentally ticked off sixty seconds, then raised his foot for the kick.
With a loud crash the door splintered into the cabin. A moment later the window to McBride’s left exploded outward in an earsplitting shower of shattered glass and shivered wood. A man wearing a slicker thumped on the ground, glinting shards of glass all over his back. He rolled and sprang to his feet.
Taken by surprise, McBride hesitated, unsure of the man’s identity. Only when Thad Harlan glanced over his shoulder, her face twisted in rage and fear, did he recognize him.
McBride fired at Harlan, fired again, but he was shooting at shadows. The fleeing marshal had disappeared into darkness and rain.
Panic gripped McBride. What had happened inside? He had heard no shots.
Aware that the element of surprise was gone, he walked to the door, opened it with his left hand, the Colt in his right, and stepped into the corridor. He walked through the open door to his left, his gun up and ready.
Saul Remorse stood, straddle-legged in the middle of the room, Remingtons in hand. Jared and Lance Josephine had retreated to the far wall. Jared’s face showed anger, shock, but no fear. Lance’s eyes above his battered nose were cool, calculating, a man waiting his chance. Both men were wearing holstered guns.