Diablo (44 page)

Taking another gulp of water, he peered down the sight of his rifle again. It was more difficult to see the outlaws now, either because they'd taken better cover or the afternoon shadows curtained them. The pain in his arm was beginning to bother him, too, and he felt blood trickling down his skin. The wounds weren't bad enough, though, to hurt his aim.

Sensing a movement to his right, he shot at it. There was a scream and thrashing sound, and he felt sick. He heard the sound of a rifle coming from where Evers or Thompson had settled, and knew that one of them, at least, was still alive. He shot again, just to let them know he was still alive and in relatively one piece.

The shot was returned, just missing his head, and he ducked down. He wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead and dripping into his eyes, then reloaded with his rifle. Kane thought he should move back to the other spot, but he was tired. So damned tired. How long since he'd had a full night's sleep? Not since he'd left Sanctuary that first time. A week ago? It seemed a year.

“Nicky,” he whispered. He hoped with all his heart she was safe. He hoped she would find a good man to love. Have ten children. He smiled at the thought of small replicas of her. He wished he could be the father.

There was a scraping sound to the side of him, and he swung his rifle around just as a man came in view. He fired and the man went tumbling down, yelling as he rolled over and over and landed in a heap at the bottom. Kane peered around, and, as he did, a bullet whizzed by him, then another from the opposite direction. They were bracketing him. This was a hell of a way to die, but preferable to a noose. He wondered how his companions were doing, who had been hit, and how Thompson was holding up. Hell, he wondered if either was still alive.

There was movement below again, another strategy session apparently, then Hildebrand's voice. “We just want the money, Thompson, and you can go.”

There was no answer, and Kane knew a loneliness even deeper than the one he'd experienced those nights before his scheduled hanging.

“Go to hell,” he yelled, not wanting them to think they were all dead.

Then there was another voice. “That's a damn good suggestion.” It was Thompson's. Kane hoped only he heard the weakness of it.

“You can't hold out forever,” Hildebrand said, but then he seemed to stiffen.

Another one of the attacking outlaws stood up from behind a boulder as if listening to something. Then a third bolted for his horse standing not far away. Kane heard a scrambling in the rocks beneath him and saw several men race for their mounts. Suddenly, the outlaws were all scrambling for the horses as riders approached. Kane saw a small black mare at the front, a slight form atop her back, then he recognized Masters. He swore softly at Nicky's recklessness just before he collapsed down among the rocks, too tired now to do anything but wait. Hell, let Masters do some work for a change.

But then he heard a rifle shot come from his right, and he glanced over to see Nat Thompson. He was standing, firing steadily down at the last straggling outlaws. Kane wanted to yell to him to sit, to duck back behind the rocks, but then he realized what Thompson was doing. He was going to end his life his own way.

Almost fatalistically, Kane watched, motionless for a moment, as Yancy paused before mounting his horse and then swung his rifle toward Thompson. Kane came to life, aimed his own rifle, fired, and watched Yancy go down, but he was too late. Yancy's bullet had caught Thompson. Sanctuary's founder swayed on his feet for what seemed eternity, then slowly sank to the ground.

Kane watched as the newcomers fired at the outlaws who weren't able to mount, either because they were too far from their horses or because the horses had bolted. Another group of riders took off after Hildebrand and those few outlaws who had been able to mount and follow him.

Kane stood and scrambled his way over to where Nat Thompson lay, his body covering Evers's. Kane checked the pulses in their necks. Both were dead. He stood there for a moment, wishing he had a hat to take off, but that was up somewhere in the rocks. No matter what the two men had been or done, they both had died protecting Nicky and her brother.

For a moment, he thought about standing up, as Nat had, with his gun drawn, inviting the posse to shoot. It would be easier in some ways than facing his sentence. But he couldn't do that to Nicky. She'd lost enough for one day. So instead, he tossed the rifle aside, raised his hands and started the torturous climb down.

When he reached the bottom, Nicky was there, waiting, her heart in her eyes. Masters was beside her, and Kane looked at him for permission to lower his hands. He didn't want to be shot now by some trigger-happy deputy. Masters nodded, and Kane lowered his arms. The minute he did, Nicky flew into his embrace. He held her tight for a moment as her hands seemed to grasp at every part of him, as if she didn't believe he was whole. After a moment she looked up. “Uncle Nat?”

Kane met her gaze, was aware that Robin was now standing next to them. “He's … dead,” Kane said slowly. “He and Evers.” He hesitated a moment. “You know he was dying. He went the way he wanted to.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and he pulled her closer to him again, while his gaze went to Robin. The boy was valiantly trying to keep his face straight, his eyes dry.

“Where is he?” Robin finally asked.

Kane thought about telling him not to go look, but it was Robin's decision. He was becoming a man. He would have to be a strong one in the next few months, the next few years. There would only be him and his sister. Kane's hands tightened around her, not ever wanting to let her go. “Straight up,” he said to Robin. “Behind those two large boulders about halfway to the peak.”

It was only then that Nicky moved slightly, her eyes searching his face and then moving to his arm. “You're hurt,” she said.

“A scratch.”

That didn't satisfy her. She untied the cloth he'd wrapped around his arm, wincing when she saw the raw gashes. “More than a scratch.”

“I've survived a lot worse,” he said dryly. Then he hesitated. “I'm sorry about your uncle. But I think he died the way he wanted to. He wasn't the kind of man who could tolerate wasting away.”

“I know,” she said. “I knew that when I left. I knew he wouldn't be alive when I got back. I think Robin did, too. And Mitch wouldn't have known what to do without Uncle Nat.” There was a sad fatalism in her words.

His hand touched her face. So much wisdom. So much compassion. She had known, and she had left. And he also knew, now, that she had done it only because he'd asked her to.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he memorized the feel of her. In some ways, her slender body seemed fragile next to his, but he knew she was made of a special kind of steel.

“O'Brien?” Masters's voice jerked him back to reality.

He looked up. Six or seven “guests” and guards from Sanctuary had been rounded up and were being handcuffed. He saw another eight bodies lying on the ground. Some of the outlaws had escaped, but Kane had seen a number of deputies making chase. A few might get through, but not many. He hoped like hell Hildebrand would be taken.

Kane finally acknowledged Masters, who was standing several feet away. “This what you wanted?” he asked bitterly as one arm held on to Nicky, the other swept the death-littered landscape.

Masters merely looked at him, his eyes sliding from him to Nicky and back again.

“Davy?” Kane asked.

“He's alive,” Masters said.

“Sanctuary's about thirty miles north. What's left of it. The man who operated it is up in those rocks. Dead.”

Masters looked around. His eyes lingered for a moment on Yancy, and Kane saw strong emotion replace his usual imperturbable expression. “I recognize a lot of faces.”

“A bonus,” Kane said. “I want something in return.”

Masters's eyes turned wary. “What?”

“Safety for Miss Thompson and her brother.”

“Still looking out for everyone but yourself?” Kane was startled to see the slightest twinkle in his eyes.

“I want your word,” he insisted.

“Who is Miss Thompson?” the marshal asked.

Nicky straightened and shook loose of Kane's arm, although her hand dropped to his and clutched it tightly. “Nat Thompson was my uncle. Sanctuary was his.”

“But she didn't have anything to do with it,” Kane said.

Masters was looking her over carefully, taking notice of the trousers and shirt. “She's why you left Gooden in such a hurry, isn't she?” he asked.

Kane hesitated before answering. “She saved my life on the way to Gooden. I never would have made it if it hadn't been for her. And then she heard part of our conversation …”

“And you saw her leave?” Masters said.

Kane felt Masters's eyes bore through him, then fall to where his and Nicky's hands were locked together. “I want your promise to look after them,” Kane reiterated.

“No,” Nicky exploded. “I don't need anyone looking after me. I don't need anyone. Neither Robin or I, except …” She looked at him, pleading, hope still alive in her gaze.

Kane's heart trembled. After everything he'd done, she still wanted him, loved him. It seemed a miracle. But it was too late. He had promised to go back.

“Promise, damn you,” he demanded of Masters, even knowing he had no leverage.

Masters grinned suddenly. “I think you should do it yourself.”

Kane went stiff with astonishment, even anger. He didn't like being toyed with. He wanted to hit Masters. He wanted it very badly. If Nicky hadn't been holding on to his arm …

“Hell,” Masters said, “from everything I knew, I expected to lose half my men going into Sanctuary. Not only did I not lose one, I suspect we've just taken some of the most wanted hombres in the country. You're right, O'Brien. It does deserves a bonus. I don't think I'll have any trouble convincing the Texas governor that you've become a valuable citizen.”

Kane was too astonished—and cynical—to believe what Masters was suggesting. He knew the reputation of the governor, and how badly he'd been wanted. The doubt must have shone in his eyes.

“The governor's under a lot of pressure to stop some of the lawlessness,” Masters said. “He can't afford to fight me, not and risk being associated with those land grabbers. The federal authorities wanted Sanctuary closed down a damn sight more than they wanted to make a martyr out of you. They decided that weeks ago. I was going to tell you in Gooden, but—”

Kane listened. Absorbed. Then comprehended. With calculated intent, he took his hand from Nicky's and, totally disregarding the pain in his arm, hit Masters in the chin as hard as he could. Immediately four men were swarming around him, pinning his arms behind him, but Kane didn't take his eyes from Masters, who had fallen to the ground.

The marshal shook himself, looked at Kane ruefully, then rubbed his chin and looked at the blood on his fingers from the cut lip.

“You let me believe there was no chance,” Kane said.

Masters got up slowly. “I didn't think you would do what I needed you to do if you thought it was
your
life on the line. You obviously don't value it enough,” he said. He turned to the men holding him. “Let him go. I had that one coming.”

Kane took another step toward him.

“That
one,” Masters said, warningly.

“You're a bastard.”

Masters didn't reply to that statement, only shrugged, then turned away and started to oversee the roundup of prisoners.

Nicky looked up at Kane. “Does that mean …?”

“I don't know what it means,” he said, unable yet to accept Masters's statement. Nicky was looking up at him so hopefully, he was afraid to believe.

He and Nicky watched as Robin started back down. The boy hit a soft spot and started tumbling. Kane caught him just before he hit the ground, and held his shoulders for a moment.

“I'm sorry, Robin,” he said. “So damn sorry.”

Robin looked up at him. “You told me I had to learn when to let go.”

Kane nodded.

“But it hurts.”

“It always hurts, Robin, when you lose someone.”

“Then I won't care about anybody,” he said defiantly as he angrily wiped a tear from his eye.

Kane had to smile. He could tell Robin it wasn't that easy. He'd tried during the war. He'd tried during the past few months. Life didn't work that way.

“It's far better to care and lose,” he said softly, “than never to care and never lose. I know. I tried both.”

Robin looked dubious.

“Would you rather not have had your Uncle Nat at all?” Kane asked.

Another tear came out of Robin's eye and this time the boy ignored it. “No.”

Kane knew how he felt. He hadn't known Nat Thompson well, but he'd felt grief that moment Thompson fell. Since his early childhood—and all the failures to please his father—he'd tried not to care too much about anything, but now he knew those attempts had been as useless as trying to hold back an ocean.

Nicky reached a hand up and touched his face. Her fingers ran over the scar. “The marshal was right, you know,” she said.

He hesitated, unsure of what she meant.

“You're looking out for everyone but yourself,” she explained. “Do you always do that?”

Kane was nonplussed for a moment.

“Yes,” Ben Masters said, having returned to hear the end of the question. “He saved my life during the war. A Reb saving a Yank, and he ended up in prison for doing it.”

“I told you it was a mistake,” Kane growled.

“I know what you told me,” Masters said. He looked at Nicky. “The only way I could recruit him was to offer his friend's life. He wouldn't do it for his own.” Masters smiled sympathetically at Nicky. “He's a stubborn man.”