Dace Halston’s boots crunched in the dirt as he and Harriet walked across the farmyard in the moonlight. When Dace reached a point some twenty feet from the barn door he halted and motioned Harriet to move away from him.
“George!” he called.
There was no answer from the barn.
“George! It’s me—Dace!”
Still no response could be heard.
“I’m here to give you a hand, George,” Dace said. “Look. I’m dropping my gunbelt. See?”
A few moments passed but finally the door eased open a crack and George McClary stepped through it. “Howdy, Dace.”
“How’re you doing?”
“Tolerable.”
Dace smiled a little. “I’ve spent a hell of a lot o’ time looking for you.”
“I heard about that,” George said.
“Did you hear I got Shorty and Spalding?”
“Nope,” George replied. “But I ain’t surprised.”
“I think we better talk,” Dace said.
“I ain’t going to no damn jail,” George said with the hint of a threat in his voice.
“I ain’t planning on taking you to one,” Dace said. “Have you talked with Harriet?”
“Yeah,” George answered. “She said you was willing to help me get to Californy.”
“You and her—the kids too,” Dace said.
“I figger it’s better if I go alone,” George said.
“Wouldn’t be worth my trouble to help you then,” Dace said. “I pictured you as going straight once you got out there. You know what I mean—build a new life.”
“The owlhoot trail is fine with me,” George said. “All I need is a hand getting outta here. Then I can run free. I figgered that since we was pards once and all that, you might help out.”
Dace shook his head. “That ain’t the way it should be.”
George’s face was grim in the moonlight. “That’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“Not with my help,” Dace said.
George stood thoughtfully for several long moments. “It’ll have to be your way then. How you gonna do it?”
“I know a better place than this for you to hide a spell,” Dace said. “You can cool off down in the Cherokee Strip for about six months. In the meantime, Harriet and the young’uns can head west and wait for you—and me—to join ’em.”
“You gonna live with us or something?” George asked.
“Nope,” Dace answered. “But I’m staying out there too. I cain’t help you and wear this here badge too. I’m gonna give up being a U.S. marshal.”
“You take that job perty serious, don’t you?” George asked derisively.
“I suppose,” Dace said. “Well? What do you say?”
The carbine shot exploded through the night air like the crack of a bullwhip.
George, his face contorted in pain and shock, staggered sideways into the barn door. He grabbed the handle and held on.
Dace dove for his Colt on the ground as the second bullet spun George around and dumped him to the dirt.
Harriet finally screamed in fear and surprise as Ward Stormwell stepped into view with his Winchester pointed dead on Dace’s crouching form. The detective displayed his crooked grin. “Aiding a fugitive, hey, Halston? Well, it’s your turn now.”
Dace rolled with his pistol in one hand, but the slug from the Pinkerton man’s carbine slammed into his body. He felt like he’d been kicked by a wild horse, but Dace was still able to react. He brought up the Colt and fired once.
That was enough.
The bullet split Stormwell’s nose and carried a good deal of his face into the large cavity it created in his skull.
Dace’s senses and instincts told him he was hurt bad. He rolled over and grasped the wound where hot blood seeped unchecked through his shirt.
Harriet ran up to Dace and knelt down beside him. “Oh, Dace! Is it bad?”
Dace tried to answer, but the effort was too much.
She gently lifted his head and cradled him in her arms. “Oh, Dace, my poor sweet darling! Please don’t die! I couldn’t stand it if I lost you.”
Dace again tried to say something, but couldn’t seem to get enough breath to make any sound for words.
Harriet gently stroked his face and wept. Her tears fell on his dry skin as she lovingly rocked him back and forth. “Dace, oh, Dace, I love you. Can you hear me, darling? I love you so.”
The words penetrated Dace’s fading consciousness and he could understand them. He looked up at her and finally managed to speak. “I love you dearly—”
Then he sank into nothingness, his final sensations being Harriet’s arms around him.