Blood Gold (6 page)

She stared at Gideon, then slowly closed her eyes.

Gideon watched her drift into sleep, then rolled on to his back. ‘That’s one word for him,’ he
whispered
.

Throughout the remainder of the night, Patrick and Rusty took turns to watch the fort and follow the guards’ movements as they patrolled the raised
look-out
platform.

But for the last hours before sun-up Rusty was asleep and left Patrick to his brooding vigil.

As the approaching sun reddened the eastern horizon, Rusty was snoring, but Patrick had now accepted that the information Gideon had relayed to him about the fort’s defences was correct.

He rolled to his feet and flexed his legs, freeing the cramps that his hours of sitting on watch had induced.

One careful pace at a time, Patrick edged from their position towards the fort. At the end of the
tree-line
he paused a moment, confirming that nobody was looking over the stockade, then dashed to the ditch. Again, he paused, then hurried to the
stockade
. With his back to the fence, he edged to the gap in the stockade and rolled over the broken logs.

A sharp pain ripped through his chest as he folded
over the timbers, but he gritted his teeth and crawled past the powder magazine until he reached the parade ground entrance. He peered round the side of the stable.

In the parade ground, seven men were asleep before him. Gideon and Hannah lay to the side.

The powder magazine was at his side. Although Gideon hadn’t seen where Jack had hidden the gold, Patrick guessed that it would be close to Jack.

He rolled to his feet and edged back along the stable wall, then paced into the open towards the magazine, but each pace grated on his ribs. He slipped his hand to his chest and felt dampness. He winced, reckoning that his rolling over the broken stockade and crawling on his belly had caused the damage.

He took a shallow, grating breath and continued his steady progress. Five yards from the powder magazine, he unholstered his gun and held the cold metal pressed against his cheek.

Loud footfalls sounded, approaching from behind.

Patrick flinched and peered around. He saw a shadow-filled indentation in the stable wall. Seeing no other choices, Patrick scurried back ten paces and slipped into the darkness. There, he listened to the guard’s footsteps clump towards him.

Patrick closed his eyes and slipped his gun beneath his jacket to reduce the reflections he was providing in the dark. To his relief, the footsteps paced past his position and continued round the
powder magazine.

For long moments he stood, breathing shallowly, but when the footfalls had receded to silence, he wheezed in a long gasp of air, which grated through his lungs.

He slipped from the indentation, but then swayed and fell back against the stable wall. Nausea blasted into his guts. He threw his head back and wheezed deep breaths, forcing down the urge to vomit. By degrees the nausea subsided, but it left his skin with a cold, clammy sheen.

He passed his gun to his other hand and flexed his fingers, freeing the cramps, then stood tall.

With his head held high, he stumbled to the powder magazine and stood beside the doorway. He listened for snoring or heavy breathing from within, but only heard the other men shifting in their sleep in the parade ground.

He moved to slip into the powder magazine, but another wave of dizziness knocked him back against the wall. He gripped his hand so tightly his
fingernails
bit into his palm, and moment by moment the nausea and the buzzing in his ears subsided. Then he swung round the doorway and inside.

In a series of frantic darting movements, he aimed his gun into each corner of the room, but aside from a turned-back blanket set before a saddle, the room was empty.

Another doorway led into a second room.

He stalked across the first room to this doorway and peered around the side. Stacked against the
back wall was the pile of bags that until a few days ago had been his and Rusty’s property.

This sight blasted all thoughts of caution from his mind and he strode into the room. When he reached the opposite wall, he slammed his hands on his hips and glared down at the bags.

‘They’re all there,’ a voice said from the side.

Patrick swung to the side, arcing his gun towards the voice, but a gunshot ripped his gun from his hand, the sound deafening in the small room. He wrung his hand, then stood tall, peering into the darkness.

The voice had come from the shadows in the corner.

‘Show yourself,’ Patrick muttered. ‘So that I …’

Sharp pain ripped into his chest again and Patrick staggered forward a pace, clutching his guts.

‘So that you can see the man who kills you?’

‘I …’ Patrick fell to his knees.

He looked up. Jack emerged from the shadows, his gun appearing first as it caught a stray early-morning beam of light. His wide grin appeared next, then his solitary gleaming right eye.

In his left hand Jack clutched a card – the jack of diamonds.

‘A one-eyed card said you’d get the gold. A
non-face
card said you’d get another bullet in the guts, but you got reasonably lucky.’ Jack grinned and slipped the card into his top pocket. ‘We get to fight it out.’

Jack hefted his gun, then hurled it into the
shadows
.
As it clattered to a standstill, he raised his fists and advanced a long pace on Patrick.

With still staring at Jack, Patrick ensured he noted where the gun had landed. He couldn’t see it, but it was roughly in the corner of the room.

He took a deep breath and staggered to his feet. With his feet planted wide, he stood as tall as he could.

‘Come on,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve suffered enough. I’m ready to hand out punishment.’

Jack chuckled. ‘You ain’t suffered nearly as much as you will.’

With an arrogant flexing of a fist, Jack beckoned Patrick towards him.

Anger abated Patrick’s pain and he raised his fists, then advanced three measured paces and hurled a left jab at Jack’s chin.

Easily, Jack swayed back and with Patrick
off-balance
, slammed a round-armed punch into Patrick’s jaw.

Patrick’s head snapped back, but he shrugged off the blow and stormed in, flailing his fists.

Again Jack swayed from the blows, but when Patrick moved in closer, he blasted a short-armed jab into Patrick’s guts.

Patrick saw the blow coming and tried to roll with it. But it still ripped the air from his lungs.

Ruptured flesh and muscle tore as Patrick folded over the punch. Jack held his fist tight against Patrick’s guts, his one eye bright.

Through pain-racked eyes, Patrick watched Jack
grin and thrust his fist in even deeper. Then, with no control of his movements, he staggered back, doubled over. He fell to his knees, then keeled over on to his back.

For long moments he lay on his back, his guts sticky. Then, gathering all his strength, he rolled on to his front and slammed both hands to the ground. He tried to stand, but his weak arms couldn’t lift his body an inch.

Jack wandered around him, grinning.

‘You ain’t got much fight in you.’ He shrugged. ‘Guess that’s why you lost your showdown with Rusty Anderton.’

Jack advanced a long pace and kicked Patrick in the chest.

Patrick rolled with the kick and kept rolling, trying to head towards the direction Jack had thrown his gun, but a firm foot slammed down on his chest,
halting
him.

Jack looked down at him a moment, then lifted his other leg and walked over him, grinding his foot deep into his guts.

This time, Patrick only heard the crunch of bone and felt nothing more as merciful oblivion overcame him.

Gideon watched the group of men gather round the powder-magazine doorway at the side of the parade ground. They peered inside and gibbered as they slapped each other on their backs.

A gunshot had awoken Gideon, but as he now reckoned that the noise didn’t come from Salvador attacking at sun-up, he used the distraction and rolled closer to Hannah to quiz her about what she’d told Jack. He confirmed that aside from Hannah’s relaying the tale that they were kin, Jack had shown no interest in why he was here.

Then Gideon shrugged his blanket to his chin and tried to ignore the noise. Then from out of the hubbub he heard Strang shout: ‘Patrick’. He lowered the blanket and glanced at Hannah.

She shrugged. ‘Surely not.’

Gideon winced. ‘That bull-headed idiot is capable of anything.’

He jumped to his feet and dashed to the powder magazine. He couldn’t see into the building, but he
shoved the gathered men aside until he could slip into the doorway.

In the doorway to the second room, Jack stood over Patrick’s body. He was grinning as he ripped back his foot ready to slam yet another kick into Patrick’s prostrate form.

‘What are you doing?’ Gideon shouted.

Jack lowered his foot and glanced over his
shoulder
. He shrugged.

‘This man tried to sneak in here and kill me.’

Gideon dragged himself free to stand before Jack.

‘And what are you doing now?’

‘Teaching him that he made a mistake.’

Gideon glanced down at Patrick. Blood coated his chest. His swollen face was slack.

Gideon winced and shook his head.

‘I reckon you’ve done that. He looks dead already.’

Jack grabbed Patrick’s collar and dragged his limp body up.

‘You dead yet?’ he roared, but when Patrick’s head lolled back in his grip, he turned back to Gideon, his one eye wide and wild. ‘He says he’s still alive and he ain’t learnt his lesson yet.’

Jack bunched a fist and hurled back his arm.

‘Don’t do that,’ Gideon muttered.

Jack glanced at Gideon’s waist, as always lacking a gunbelt, then at the semicircle of men standing behind him beyond the doorway.

‘How will
you
stop me?’

‘Hannah said that you’re a decent man. I wasn’t
sure if she was right, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt. But if she sees what you’re doing, she’ll lose her doubts, and even if she doesn’t, I will.’

Jack glanced away a moment, breathing deeply. Then, with a snap of his wrist, he released Patrick for him to slump on his back.

He reached into his top pocket and extracted his pack of cards. As he hefted them in his right hand, he mouthed to himself, then nodded.

Several men behind Gideon started a low mutter.

‘Cards, cards, cards.’

With his gaze set firmly on Gideon, Jack ripped a card from the pack and showed it to him.

Gideon glanced at the king of clubs.

‘What does that mean?’

With a flick of the wrist, Jack turned the card over and chuckled.

‘It says Patrick lives.’ He moved to leave the powder magazine, then turned and jabbed a firm finger at Gideon. ‘Once you’ve doctored him, tell him that if he annoys me again, I’ll ask another card. And I’ve learnt one thing about random chance – a man can’t beat the odds for ever.’

Jack brushed past Gideon. His men cleared a path for him, then followed him into the parade ground.

While the men cleared away, Gideon dashed across the room and knelt beside Patrick. He checked that he was still breathing, then rolled back on his haunches, shaking his head.

The faint light darkened and Gideon glanced to the side.

Hannah stood in the doorway watching Jack’s receding back, then turned to face Gideon.

‘Did you hear any of what happened in here?’ Gideon asked.

‘No,’ she said, ‘but …’

‘But you can see that Patrick needs help.’

She glanced at Patrick’s body and winced, then hitched her skirts and dashed into the powder
magazine
to kneel beside Patrick.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

Gideon glanced over his shoulder at the pile of bags lying in the second room.

‘Patrick tried to reclaim the gold Jack stole from him, I guess.’

Gideon levered Patrick’s jacket aside and appraised the blood-soaked bandages beneath. ‘Then your fascinating man reversed the good work we’d done for Patrick.’

Hannah gulped. ‘Jack had to defend himself.’

‘Yeah, but he had no right to enjoy himself while he did that.’ Gideon stared at Hannah, but as she met his gaze, he levered his hands under Patrick’s shoulders. ‘Come on. Help me get Patrick
somewhere
more comfortable.’

To avoid yet another irritating shake of the shoulder from Gideon, Patrick opened his eyes. He blinked away his blurred vision to see that Gideon was
peering
down at him. Hannah was at his side.

‘This is getting to be a habit,’ Patrick whispered.

Gideon nodded. ‘And not one I enjoy.’

Gideon passed a bandage to Hannah, who held it up by the only corner that wasn’t soaked in blood.

Patrick gulped. ‘How bad?’

‘How bad do you reckon it should be after that escapade?’

‘Just tell me,’ Patrick snapped.

‘You’ll live. But you’ll answer my question. What do you think you were doing?’

Patrick glanced away from Gideon’s accusing glare to look around the bare room, then through the doorway into the parade ground beyond. From this angle, he guessed that he was in the officers’ quarters beside the gate. And as the few men he could see sauntering around weren’t looking his way, he guessed that nobody considered him
dangerous
.

He turned back to face Gideon.

‘I was getting back my gold.’

‘You were badly injured even before you burst in here. You could barely move around, never mind take on the men in here and Salvador’s men.’

‘I run from no man.’

‘I know. And now you can barely walk.’

Patrick glared at Gideon, then produced a low chuckle.

‘Perhaps you’re right. I wasn’t thinking too clearly.’

‘That pretty much sums up your life. But perhaps it was worth it just so you could learn some sense.’ Gideon prodded Patrick’s bruised cheek. ‘Where’s Rusty?’

Patrick bunched his jaw as he suppressed a wince.

‘Don’t know and I don’t care.’

With Hannah’s help, Gideon levered Patrick up and wrapped a fresh blanket around his chest.

‘You two must have sorted out your differences enough to work together, surely?’

‘I never said that,’ spat Patrick as Gideon lowered him to the ground. He bit his bottom lip as Gideon pulled the bandage tight. ‘I tried to forgive him, but every time I looked at him I saw someone I can’t trust any more.’

‘He saved your life.’ Gideon slipped a finger under a bandage to confirm it was tight enough. ‘And you should trust someone who does that.’

‘I might have done, eventually, but at gunpoint he told me the truth.’ Patrick forced his lips into a grim smile. ‘Rusty shot me accidentally while he was aiming at someone else.’

Gideon leaned back, his eyebrows raised.

‘That isn’t too bad. Can’t blame a man for having poor aim.’

‘I can’t. And if Rusty had told me that straight away, I’d have forgiven him without thinking, but he hid that mistake with a stupid lie, and after he did that, I can never trust him again.’

Gideon nodded and glanced at Hannah.

‘Fetch me some more water, please,’ he said with a smile.

Hannah glanced at the bulging skin of water at her feet. She shrugged, then grabbed it and scurried to the door.

Patrick watched her leave, then turned back to Gideon.

‘You still intent on rescuing the whore?’

‘Her name is Hannah,’ Gideon snapped, ‘and she’s helped to nurse you back to health – twice.’

‘All right. I’m sorry. You still intent on rescuing Hannah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re wasting your time. She ain’t—’

Gideon pulled hard on Patrick’s bandage,
dragging
a wince from him.

‘I’m not questioning your desire to get your gold, and I’m not looking for advice on my motivations.’

Patrick nodded, but for long moments he
contemplated
Gideon.

‘But do I really need water?’

‘No.’ Gideon provided a thin smile. ‘But at the moment I don’t know where her loyalties lie.’

Patrick edged up on to one elbow.

‘Does that mean you have a plan?’

Gideon laid a hand on Patrick’s .shoulder and pushed him down.

‘Not yet. But Jack is staying here, so we have time.’

‘What about Salvador? From the sound of it, he has even less patience than I have.’

‘I hope to delay him attacking until the right time.’

Patrick nodded. ‘And when is the right time?’

Gideon rolled back on his haunches and blew out his cheeks.

‘Two minutes after I’ve devised a plan to get me
and Hannah out of here.’ He patted Patrick’s
shoulder
. ‘Now I need to think, so lie back and pretend you’re in plenty of pain and that you’re too weak to do anything.’

Patrick rubbed his chest and winced.

‘I reckon I can do that.’

‘Why did you beat Patrick that badly?’ Hannah muttered as she walked into the powder magazine.

Jack glanced up, his one eye now tired and cold.

‘Because he tried to kill me.’

Hannah placed the skin of water at her feet.

‘But you were vicious. That ain’t your way.’

‘You don’t know me well enough to say that.’

‘But I know you do nothing without careful consideration. And beating Patrick like that required real anger. Why did he annoy you that much?’

Jack rolled to his feet and stalked across the room to face Hannah.

‘I hate people who double-cross me.’ Jack extracted the pack of cards from his top pocket and fanned them out. ‘So I took a card and it told me to beat him. Later, I took another card and it told me to stop beating him.’

‘The cards. It always comes down to those damn cards.’ Hannah slammed a fist against her thigh, but then closed her eyes a moment to abate her anger. ‘You’re the most resolute man I’ve ever met. Why do you let the cards rule your life?’

Jack extracted a card from the pack and glanced at it. He smiled.

‘You can’t control random chance. To win at the rest, you need to constantly check that you’re still a winner.’

Jack extracted a second card, but when he moved to turn it over, Hannah thrust out a hand and held the card down, away from his gaze.

‘But why do you decide on matters of love by asking the cards? Surely you must know what’s in your own heart.’

Jack snorted and ripped his hand from Hannah’s grip, but he still held the card face down.

‘For matters of the heart, the cards are the only way.’ Jack thrust the other cards into his top pocket and lowered his voice to a whisper as his one eye darted away from its intense appraisal of Hannah. ‘Every woman I’ve ever cared for left me on the turn of a card.’

Hannah gulped. ‘Have there been many others?’

Jack chuckled as he licked his lips and returned his gaze to Hannah.

‘Two.’

‘Including me?’ Hannah forced a smile. She searched Jack’s one eye, but it was blank. ‘But it can’t include me. You’ve already asked the cards and they said I’d stay.’

‘Really?’ Jack lifted the card, showing her the six of spades, then returned it to his pocket.

Hannah bit her bottom lip, then stood tall.

‘What was the other woman’s name?’

Jack swung round and stalked to the back wall. He thrust up both hands and laid them flat on the wall,
then swung his weight down as he hung his head.

‘Amber,’ he whispered.

‘Is she still—’

‘Don’t go there,’ Jack snapped. He took long, deep breaths and when he spoke his voice was tired. ‘Amber went to a man called Wilton Knox.’

With a hand lifted to place it on Jack’s shoulder, Hannah edged two paces closer to Jack, then stopped and slipped her hand down to her side.

‘And do you still care for—’

‘Enough of this,’ Jack snapped, slamming his fist against the wall. ‘You now know something about me. And I ain’t sure if I’m happy that another woman knows my weakness.’

Hannah smiled and tiptoed to Jack’s side. She extracted the pack of cards from his top pocket.

‘Then I’ll see what the cards say you’ll do with me,’ she whispered.