13

Wade held the six-shooter with his left hand, aimed and pulled the trigger. The bullet went to the right of his target. Considerably right.

He cursed his clumsiness. And he cursed the damn gun. He hated the damn thing. At one time, he thought he would never use a weapon against a human being again, but then he had killed three men. Coldly. Purposely. And he had learned he hadn’t truly escaped his past, that the devil had continued to hover inside his soul, waiting for the right opportunity to show him self.

He had taken up shooting again to avenge his wife and child, telling himself that anyone who had killed an innocent child deserved to die, that they would do it again and again. But it had really been revenge, the return of a blood lust he thought he had purged years ago.

And with the death of that final miner and the injury to his right arm, he’d thought it over at last, the killing. But then he’d seen Clay Kelly, and he knew it wasn’t. Death followed Clay just as it followed Wade, and the moment Mary Jo had mentioned the bank in Last Chance, he suspected he knew why Clay was in the area.

The bank held Mary Jo’s future. And Jeff’s.

And their future was now vitally important to him, even if he had no place in it.

But he could say nothing without revealing his own past, and seeing the horror in the woman’s and boy’s eyes, without sentencing himself to an ignominious death. There was only one solution. Find Clay Kelly. He was out here someplace. The slaughtered heifers and Jake’s bullet wound had been Kelly’s work. Wade felt it, just as he’d learned to sense danger years ago. That instinct had been dulled in the mountains, when he’d found a measure of peace, but it’d returned now.

Wade had only a few minutes of dim light remaining. He glared at the offending tin can that continued to sit rakishly on a rotting log.

He aimed again, concentrating with all his power, willing his left fingers to do what his right had been able to do such a short time before. Wade slowly squeezed the trigger. The can remained in place, mocking him.

He didn’t know if practice would ever help. He’d known men who could shoot with both hands, but during the war one fast one had been enough. More than enough.

Wade aimed one more time. The gun clicked. Out of bullets, and it was damn hard reloading with one hand. Damn hard doing anything with one hand. He holstered his gun in an awkward movement. The holster still rested on his right thigh, and there was no easy way to get to it.

If he had to face Clay Kelly, he had few doubts about the outcome. How long did he have, he wondered, before Kelly struck? He was waiting for something or he would have hit the bank that day Wade and Mary Jo were in Last Chance. More men? A gold shipment of some kind?

Wade returned to his horse, running his good hand down its shoulder and feeling the animal shudder in contentment. He wondered whether he would ever know contentment again.

After going to the Abbots to buy cattle tomorrow, he would go looking for Clay Kelly. Perhaps he could convince him that Last Chance could be exactly that. Wade knew how to look for him. He knew what Kelly required in a camp. They had made one together enough times.

The thought was not a pleasing one. Somehow he didn’t think that summoning back memories of old times would work. They hadn’t parted the best of friends.

But as he mounted Jeff’s horse, Wade could think of no reasonable alternative. He could ask Mary Jo to withdraw her money from the bank, but she would want to know why. And he would have no reason, none he could give her.

The three of them—Wade, Mary Jo, and Jeff—rode to Joe Abbot’s the next day. Mary Jo wore a split skirt and green blouse and looked uncommonly pretty to Wade. Unlike most women, she had the sense to ride astride rather than use a sidesaddle, something he’d always considered dangerous in this country.

To Mary Jo’s obvious surprise, Wade had urged both her and Jeff to go. “It’s your cattle, your ranch,” he said, “and Jeff can learn something about herding cattle.”

He tried not to notice Jeff’s face, the delighted grin that spread across it, the freckles that appeared to pop out as he did so.

He also tried to dismiss Mary Jo’s smile, the sudden brightness of those green eyes.

“It won’t be easy,” he warned them, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. But if Mary Jo and Jeff were to stay here, and he was becoming more and more convinced they would, they had to learn to move cattle. They could farm all right, and they weren’t shirkers. He had seen the garden, what was left of it after the rains. But Mary Jo had been right; they couldn’t make it farming. Not the two of them. They had an even chance with ranching if they could keep a couple of good men.

Jeff nodded. “I know,” he said. “You can take King Arthur,” he added generously. “I’ll take old Seth.” Old Seth was one of the wagon horses, broad and steady and slow.

Wade nodded, feeling guilty as hell. He hadn’t explained his reasons, that he would leave soon, and Mary Jo and Jeff needed to watch him bargain for cattle and to help him drive them back to the ranch. He had herded cattle back on the farm and later during the war when Anderson was raiding the pro-North farmers. He’d read enough about cattle prices to bargain adequately enough.

Wade had always been charmed by Mary Jo’s smile, by the quiet humor that usually hovered in her eyes, but on the way to the Abbots, her smile was open and happy, and his own spirits lightened. She was so confident everything was going to work out exactly as she planned, so pleased with him. She almost made him feel he could accomplish anything. Almost.

She was one reason, he knew, they reached such a good bargain with Joe Abbot. Once the rancher believed she was here to stay, he couldn’t say no to her any easier than Wade had been able to.

They picked out forty head at four dollars each, all that Mary Jo and Wade had decided they could purchase.

Abbot watched how carefully they chose, then grinned at the end of the haggling. “I’ll throw in a couple of them young heifers. And I got a damn good bull. I’ll loan him to you for a month.”

Mary Jo flashed him that smile that had always set Wade’s nerve endings on fire.

At the end of the bargaining, Joe Abbot held out his hand. “Been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Smith. Hope you stay around a while.”

Wade felt the firm grip, the friendliness in the man’s manner, and he was surprised at his own reaction. A measure of pride was creeping back into him, pride that had been missing for a very long time. But then he tamped it. Joe Abbot didn’t know who the hell he was talking to. He sure as hell wouldn’t reach out a hand to one of Anderson’s raiders or to a man who’d lived with the Utes for years and had taken a Ute wife.

He nodded. “We’re indebted.”

He watched as Abbot’s men cut the animals out of the herd, and they started back to the ranch without more conversation.

Wade was hard-pressed on the way back to keep them together. Neither King Arthur nor old Seth had been trained for herding and cutting stock. But Wade had always had a way with horses, and King Arthur was a fast learner. So was Mary Jo, on her neat little mare, and young Jeff, despite his obstinately slow mount.

Still, it was late when they arrived back at the ranch. Ed and Tuck had repaired the fence, and they would keep the cattle in the corral until the new branding iron was ready.

The two new hired men admired the stock. They’d found eight head with the old Callaway brand on them, and had brought them in. Fifty animals.

“The beginning of the Circle J,” Mary Jo said proudly when they’d finished.

Wade tried to ignore the glow in her face. As ranches went, hers ranked near the bottom, but he was aware of her sense of accomplishment and it warmed him. She was building something. So was he. He swallowed hard, admitting for the first time the emptiness of the past years, even when he’d had Drew. He’d been avoiding life, avoiding people, avoiding real commitments. He’d grown close to the Utes for many reasons, not the least because they were nomadic people, picking up an entire camp at a day’s notice. But now he yearned for something more.

“What’s wrong?” Mary Jo asked, her face crinkling with concern, some of the pleasure in her eyes fading.

He was surprised at the question. She asked so few of them. “Nothing,” he said shortly, turning away from her to unsaddle the horse. Tuck and Ed had disappeared into the bunkhouse and Jeff had hurriedly unsaddled his horse and gone to see about Jake, who’d been left behind.

Wade hated Mary Jo seeing him try to unsaddle King Arthur, hated her seeing his awkwardness, his difficulty in doing so simple a task. But when he turned back to her, she had moved away, and was unsaddling her mare. He didn’t know whether to resent that thoughtfulness or appreciate it. He chose to resent it.

When he’d finished, he stalked across the yard toward the barn. He’d moved back into the small room now that the hired men were using the bunkhouse. He’d wanted the privacy.

Her voice was soft but it carried. He turned.

“Will you be up for supper?”

“No,” he replied.

Disappointment spread over her face but was quickly gone, hidden with a blankness of her own. The rebuff had hurt, he could see that, but he wasn’t going to apologize. He was suddenly angry. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but it had something to do with that brief surge of pride, and the realization that he had no right to that pride. He couldn’t afford to feel that, or feel anything else where Mary Jo Williams was concerned.

He started toward the barn.

“Thank you, Wade. Thank you for today.”

He didn’t move. Not toward her, not toward the barn. He felt rooted to the ground with no safe place to turn. “No need to thank me. I’m repaying a debt, that’s all.” His voice would have frozen most people where they stood.

“Maybe,” Mary Jo said. “Not everyone would have done it so well.”

“Buying cattle when you have money isn’t that hard, Mrs. Williams. Tuck could have done it just as well.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Joe Abbot liked you. He trusted you from the beginning. And I wouldn’t have Tuck or Ed without you.”

“You have them now, and that’s all you need.”

There was a silence, long and painful. He wanted to tell his feet to move, but they were still fastened to the ground. He felt, rather than saw, her move closer. Smelled her. The scent of flowers still clung to her despite the long day, the dust, the hard ride. Flowers and woman. Moisture had plastered her blouse to her body, outlining the swell of firm breasts, the trim line of her waist. A curl had escaped the long braid that had confined that fine auburn hair, falling alongside her cheek.

He felt his loins tighten with need. He wanted to touch that hair, rub his hand down the slightly flushed cheek, lock his arm around the damp body. He wanted to feel her and taste her and revel in her womanliness. Christ, he wanted to bury himself in her.

Her gaze held his. “Does that mean you’re leaving?”

“I never intended to stay. You know that.”

“But so soon?”

“You don’t need me any longer.”

But she did. In more ways than one. “Tucker and Ed won’t stay if you leave.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“A month,” she bargained.

He couldn’t take a month of this, and he knew it. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her that long. His eyes met hers. “I’m going up to Ute country for a couple of days. There’s things I need to do.”

“When?”

“I want to check out the country tomorrow. If everything looks all right, I’ll leave the next day. I’ll have to borrow Jeff’s horse.”

She stood there, biting her lip, looking vulnerable. She rarely looked vulnerable, but now she did, and tenderness swept through Wade like a tidal wave. He softened his voice. “You have to have more horses. I’ll bring some down.”

“That’s not the only reason,” she said. There was the barest note of accusation in her voice. And something else he couldn’t define.

“No,” he replied. “I owe them, too.”

“They’re Indians,” she said flatly. “They’re burning out farmers, ranches. The paper—”

Wade felt her words like a blow to the stomach. He’d never met a woman as compassionate, as accepting, as Mary Jo Williams. If she felt this way, there was damn little hope for his friends.

He turned back to the barn, walking away from her.

“Wade!” He ignored her voice, but then her hand was on his arm, and he couldn’t stand her touch. It burned him. He turned back, and he knew he looked angry. He could almost see her flinch.

“I want to understand,” she said. Her face was earnest, pleading. But he recalled the abhorrence on her face when she’d first seen his eagle necklace. His son’s treasure. Wade’s one memento.

“Then go with me,” he said recklessly, the words leaving his lips before he’d considered them. “See these … savages for yourselves. Isn’t that what you called them?”

A stunned look crossed her face, and he immediately regretted that strange impulse. Why in hell did he care what she thought?

But he did. It astounded him how much.

He watched her struggle with herself. He remembered her telling him about her sister, the neighbors in Texas. Part of him understood. God knew, he had certainly reacted when someone had killed those he loved. But another part of him kept thinking about Chivita’s gentleness, Manchez’s fairness and generosity. Manchez, who was like his own brother, who was his brother.

“All Indians are not alike. Just like all whites aren’t alike,” he said softly. “I’ve seen whites that put Indians to shame in their ferocity.” And I was one of them.

I am one of them. He couldn’t forget the last months, his deliberate hunting of the miners.

“What about Jeff?” Mary Jo finally said.

“He’ll enjoy it.”

She stepped back, fear flitting across her face. “I … can’t.”

“The Utes love children.”

“He’s all I have, Wade.”

“And he’ll grow up hating people he doesn’t understand just like everyone else around here,” Wade said bitterly. “It was a bad idea, Mrs. Williams. Forget I mentioned it.”

He started toward the barn and this time he didn’t turn around and she didn’t stop him.

“Where’s Wade?”

Mary Jo wondered when her reluctant foreman had become Wade to Jeff.

“He needed some rest,” she said, as she put beans and bacon in a skillet. It wasn’t much, particularly for the two new men, but she would add some fresh bread and preserves, and a pie she’d baked yesterday.

It was an effort to cook. She wasn’t hungry. In fact, the thought of food made her ill. She tried to believe it was the meal she’d had earlier at the Abbots. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

She kept seeing that last expression on Wade’s face. A mixture of resignation, disappointment, and even something close to rejection. The disappointment had hurt the most. But she couldn’t help her feelings toward Indians. She couldn’t put Jeff in danger.

“He was great today, wasn’t he?” Jeff said. “I’ve never seen anyone ride like that before. King Arthur never did those things for me.”

“King Arthur has to learn, just like you need to learn your sums,” she said.

“Aw, Ma.”

“Off to your books,” she said.

“I want to go see Wade.”

“No,” she said sharply. Too sharply. He looked as if she’d just hit him.

She went over to him, put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jeff, but he needs some rest. This has been a hard day for him. His shoulder still pains him a lot.”

“Jake will cheer him up.”

“I think Jake would rather eat.”

“No he wouldn’t,” Jeff demurred. “He missed Wade.”

Jake’s tail thumped heartily as if in agreement.

“When did he become Wade?”

Jeff shrugged, just as Wade always did, and a pang struck Mary Jo anew. Consciously or unconsciously, her son was picking up Wade Foster’s mannerisms.

“In the morning,” she said with finality, and Jeff reluctantly dropped the subject.

Wade left at daybreak, before anyone else was stirring. He didn’t want to answer questions.

He saddled King Arthur and led him out of the barn, then mounted and walked him out the worn gate just as the first rays of sun hit the hills and bathed them in golden glory. Ordinarily, he might have appreciated it, but right now he had only one thing in mind: finding Clay Kelly.

Kelly would be camping near water, he knew that. He didn’t like dry camps. Kelly was a man who enjoyed comforts, and that meant coffee in the morning, plenty of fresh, cold water to drink, and a place to bathe. Kelly was somewhat of a dandy.

Jake had been shot downstream, and so had the calves. That meant Kelly was probably upstream, closer to Last Chance. He wouldn’t have left evidence close to his camp but would have killed, taken what he could carry, and then gone back to his camp using the Cimarron to cover his tracks. Kelly had always been careful.

Perhaps, Wade thought, he had just moved on. Maybe he’d just stayed a few days on his way farther west. Maybe he had no plans for Last Chance or the people of Cimarron Valley. Wade’s instinct, though, told him otherwise. He felt trouble deep in his bones.

Over the years, Wade had left his mountain lair occasionally and gone into small towns for supplies. He’d always listened to gossip, listened for the sake of the Utes, and for his own safety. He’d read newspapers, though often they were a week, even a month old. It was through the newspapers—and wanted posters—that he kept abreast of Clay Kelly, as well as the James gang.

He’d liked Frank and Jesse James and Cole Younger. Perhaps because they’d taken up arms for the same reasons he had. But Kelly had gone to war for the gold and booty and women. When Wade had ridden with him, they’d seldom exchanged words. Wade had avoided him, except for one occasion in Lawrence when he’d stopped Kelly from rape. Kelly might have killed him then. Sometimes, Wade had wished he had done just that.

The sun climbed in the sky, and Wade stopped briefly to water his horse. Kelly would have picked a heavily wooded site on a hill or incline where he could more effectively look for intruders. One near the Cimarron, or another nearby stream.

It was noon before he saw a likely-looking place. A hill with a ridge of trees. If Wade knew Kelly at all, there would be a trail on the other side. Kelly never trapped himself.

He stared at the hill for a long time. There was no sound. No wisp of smoke. No movement in the brush. Yet he felt human presence.

Wade had left his gun at the barn. He was still too ineffective to use it, so he figured it was better to leave it, and the threat or challenge it carried, back at the Circle J. He hesitated a moment longer. But he had come this far, and he might as well play out the hand. He whistled, a long, clear note, then two short ones. He waited. Then repeated the signal.

The very air seemed to still with tension. The few lone buzzards visible in the sky circled, as if waiting for a particularly tasty dinner.

Then he heard a return whistle. Two long notes, a short one. He answered with three short ones.

A rider appeared on the crest of the hill, a rifle in his hands. He rode slowly toward Wade, pointing the barrel at him. Wade raised his one good hand, keeping the reins in them, and using his legs to control King Arthur, who was now skittish.

As the rider approached, Wade saw he was the man with Kelly the other day in town. But he didn’t recognize him from the war days. The man drew abreast. The gun was leveled at Wade.

“I don’t have a gun,” Wade said.

The man leaned over and patted his saddlebags, then eyed Wade’s arm in a sling. “Who in hell are you and what do you want?”

“I want to see Clay Kelly.”

“Don’t know no Kelly.”

“Then whoever it was you were riding with in town.”

Dark soulless eyes stared at him. “You tell anyone what you saw? Or thought you saw?”

Wade shook his head. “No.”

“What do you want with … him?”

“We used to ride together eleven, twelve years ago.”

“Do tell,” the man said. “What name you go by?”

“I’ve changed names,”

The man chuckled. “Haven’t we all.” He lowered the gun slightly but it would take only a slight movement to bring it back up. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“It’s between him and me.”

“And me. He told me to check you out.”

Wade sighed. Kelly was as cautious as ever. No doubt he had a rifle aimed at his heart right now. Would he remember Wade’s face? He doubted it. Wade had sported a youthful beard then. “Allen. Tell him it’s Sergeant Brad Allen.”

“I’ll do that. In the meantime, you stay right here and don’t move a finger. There’s several rifles pointed at you right now.”

Wade nodded. He lifted one of his legs and hooked it around the saddle horn. He wished he knew what in hell he was doing. Maybe he should have gone for the sheriff when he’d spied that hill, but then he would have a lot to explain. How he had recognized Kelly. Why he hadn’t gone directly to the sheriff. Too many things.

If Clay Kelly was just passing through, this would be the end of it. They would drink to old times and old comrades, though it would curdle his stomach to do so. If Kelly had plans for the bank, then Wade would face more difficult decisions. If, indeed, he rode away alive.

He waited for what seemed hours. And then he heard the whistle again, and a man on a bay horse appeared and signaled him to ride up.

Wade tightened his knees, and King Arthur started up the incline. Wade made sure his good hand was visible. The climb was short but rough, and it took several minutes before he reached the lone rider at the top.

Clay Kelly looked older, gray flecking his dark hair, but he wore the same jaunty smile that Wade remembered. “Allen?”

“It’s Smith now,” Wade said. He endured Kelly’s searching gaze, the sardonic twist to his lips, as he noted the arm in the sling.

“There’s a lot of Smiths around. What happened?”

“Someone was a better shot than I was.”

“Is that someone still alive?”

“No.”

“Then I guess he wasn’t a better shot.”

Wade shrugged.

“How did you find me?” Kelly asked.

“I saw you in town. I remembered how you used to think.”

“For old times’ sake?” Kelly said with a trace of a sneer.

“No,” Wade said. “Self-preservation. Something happens in this valley, the law will come looking for newcomers. I can’t afford that. The sheriff found a body not too far away from here, but they haven’t associated it with me. I don’t want them to. Not until I’m ready to leave.”

“In other words, don’t hunt your woods.”

“Something like that.”

“Brave words from a cripple.”

“I could have turned you in, and rode away before they knew who I was.”

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you, Allen? You’re too damn squeamish.”

Wade felt the fingers of his left hand tense as he struggled to keep emotion from his face. “No one with Anderson was squeamish.”

Kelly shrugged, and Wade wondered whether he even remembered the episode in Lawrence. Kelly had been drunk that day. A lot of them had been.

“What happened to you after Centralia? We thought you were dead.”

“I was injured,” Wade said. It was no lie. He’d been badly injured that day, though not physically.

“I wondered,” Kelly said. “There were posters out on you. But you just seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. The rest of us were hunted.” He eyed Wade suspiciously. “You wouldn’t have your eye out for a reward?”

“And exactly how would I collect it,” Wade asked, “without swinging next to you?”

“That’s right,” Kelly said, and some of the hostility left his eyes and his legendary charm appeared. But Wade knew the charm went skin-deep and no further. “Come have a drink to old times and Bloody Bill. He was killed, you know, not long after Centralia.”

“I heard,” Wade said.

“Rode right into the midst of Union Cavalry. He had guts.”

“Where were you?”

“Running like hell. I never pretended to be a martyr.”

Kelly had already turned his horse, and Wade followed him up through the brush to a stand of trees. Two men, one of them the man who had come down to meet Wade, were standing there with rifles in their hands.

“Meet Perry Jones and Johnnie Kay,” Kelly said. “This is Brad Allen, used to ride with Quantrill and Anderson.”

Wade was glad he didn’t have to shake hands with them. They both looked as if they would sell their very mother to the devil. Kelly didn’t, but he was just as apt to do that very thing.

“Kay, you keep watch.” Kay was the one who had escorted Wade. He was too young to have ridden with Anderson, though his hard eyes looked ageless. Young and dangerous as hell.

Kelly dismounted and went to a rotting log under a tree. As Wade dismounted, Kelly leaned down to poke around in some saddlebags and came up with a bottle in his hand. Kelly threw the bottle to Wade, who caught it with his good hand.

“Still good reflexes,” Kelly said wryly. “I think I would like to see that wound.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone, not with a price on my head. Maybe you got a pardon, turned to the other side of the law.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t. I’m hoping Brad Allen is dead.” He leaned against a tree. “Go ahead and look.”

Kelly gave him a cold, mirthless smile. He took the few steps to Wade’s side and his hands applied pressure to the still bandaged wound and splint. Wade had to swallow deep to keep from crying out. It had been three weeks since the episode in the creek, when the wound had been reopened, but it still hurt where the bone had been hit. “Goddamn you, Clay,” he said.

“Just making sure,” Kelly said, apparently satisfied. “Good place to carry a gun.”

“I was also hit in my leg. Want me to drop my britches?”

“I don’t think I can stand such an ugly sight. Sit down and have a drink.”

Wade gave him back the bottle, watching as Kelly sat down, cross-legged. Kelly took a long pull from the bottle. “Not many of us left, you know,” he said, apparently nostalgic now.

Wade felt absolutely no nostalgia for those days, only abhorrence and self-disgust.

“Can’t find men like that anymore,” Kelly was saying. “These two … they would betray me in a minute.” He didn’t bother lowering his voice.

“Why don’t you get rid of them?”

“I’m on the run. I get who I can.” He looked at Wade speculatively. “What are you doing in these parts?”

Wade decided to tell the truth, without telling too much of it. “Someone took something from me. I evened the score, but got a couple of bullets doing it. I’m just resting here before going back up in the mountains.”

“Want to join us?”

“With this arm? I’ll never be any good with a gun now.”

“You could do other things.”

Wade debated his answer. He didn’t want to antagonize Kelly or alert him. “I’m tired, Clay. I know a place up in the mountains. I plan to lay low up there for a while.”

“Where you staying?”

Wade knew that question was coming. If Kelly had any idea that someone with Mary Jo’s looks was within fifty miles, and had so little protection, he’d be at the ranch in a split-second.

“Squatter took me in,” he said. “Hasn’t been feeling too well, and I promised to stay on a few days, look after him.”

“Always did have a conscience, didn’t you?”

“No skin off my back. I don’t have anything to get back to, and it was as good a place as any. But I’ll be heading out if you have plans here. I can’t afford to stay.”

Kelly shrugged. “Relax. I’m just waiting for an old friend who’s being released from prison. Should be here next week. It was too hot for us to wait down in Texas, so we agreed to meet here.”

Why here? Wade wanted to ask the question but hesitated. Curiosity was not usually welcomed among Kelly’s acquaintances. His acquaintances, Wade reminded himself. He’d been no better than any of them.

“Anyone I know?”

“Barry Shepherd. He says he has a debt to pay someone around here.”

Wade remembered Shepherd. Like Kelly, he’d been a man without conscience, a man who enjoyed hurting. “How long has he been in prison?”

“Five years.”

Wade quietly sighed. Couldn’t have anything to do with Mary Jo. He hoped the same applied to the ranchers who had helped her several days ago. The thought surprised him. A few weeks ago, he could have cared less about people like the Abbots.

He wanted to ask more about Shepherd, but questions would raise suspicions. He had the information he needed. There were apparently no plans to rob a bank, not here, not now. He took another draw on the bottle. “Guess I’d better be getting back before dark. I’m not all that familiar with this ground.”

“Sure you won’t consider riding with us?”

Wade shook his head. “I can’t shoot anymore. I’d get us all killed.” He got up, half expecting a bullet to go ripping through him.

“Allen,” Kelly said, stopping him in mid-stride. “We won’t be here after today.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

Wade hesitated. “My word mean anything to you?”

“No.”

Wade smiled. “What do you want?”

Kelly smiled, but it was a chilling smile. “Don’t cross me, old friend. A lot of people think Brad Allen’s dead. They would be happy to know otherwise.”

Wade nodded. He’d gotten what he wanted. He walked slowly to his horse and mounted. He turned to Kelly and nodded again. It was all the civility he could manage. He turned King Arthur and started slowly down the hill, still surprised he was leaving alive. Kelly had mellowed in the past years.

Or had he?

The doubt stayed with him. What did Clay Kelly want? He turned upstream, away from the Circle J, aware that a man on horseback was following at a careful distance. He would have to lose him.

He wasn’t particularly proud that old survival instincts were resurfacing again, that his mind was working as it had years earlier, that Clay Kelly wanted him, and saw in him a man like himself.

In fact, it scared the hell out of him.