CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Don’t worry, Dave Shannon will find you before you find him,” Clay Kyle said.
“Suppose he just hauls off and shoots me,” Arlo Palmer said.
“He won’t,” Kyle said. “Even Shannon respects a white flag.”
Arlo looked helplessly at his brother. “Zack, tell me again what I have to do,” he said.
“It’s simple, Arlo,” Zack said. “You just speak your piece. You tell Shannon that Clay wants to meet and powwow. Tell him we want free passage out of the mountains and tell him Clay has a gift for him, a fresh young gal who hasn’t even been broken in yet.” Zack slapped his brother on the shoulder. “That’s what you tell him.”
“He’ll kill me, Zack, I know he will,” Arlo said. He stood in morning sunlight, dirty and unkempt, the heat making him smell even worse.
Susan Stanton, after slapping the girl into near unconsciousness, had pulled off what remained of Jenny Calthrop’s petticoat and tied it to the barrel of Arlo’s rifle. “Here, you’ll carry this,” she said. “Hold it upright so it can be seen.”
“Why don’t you do it?” Arlo said. “Shannon won’t shoot a woman.”
“Because if he kills a sorry piece of rat crap like you, it’s no great loss,” Susan said. “It’s a question of priorities, understand?”
“Then I ain’t doing it,” Arlo said.
“Arlo,” Kyle said, “you got a choice to make . . . you either make big talk with Dave Shannon”—his Colt flashed from the holster—“or I’ll shoot you in the belly right now and then we’ll all sit around and drink whiskey and listen to you die.” Kyle smiled. “It may take hours, maybe a whole day and a night.”
“Why does this always happen to me?” Arlo said. “And never to any of you?”
Susan Stanton smiled. “I told you why, Arlo,” she said. “In a word, you’re expendable. That means disposable.”
“Suzie, don’t tease him,” Kyle said. “Go now, and get the job done, Arlo. I’ll see you get a big reward later.”
“I’ll do it,” Arlo said. He turned a menacing glance on Susan. “Lady, if I was you, I wouldn’t sleep easy at nights. One time, you’re gonna wake up and I’ll be there at your bedside, your worst nightmare.”
“I look forward to it,” the woman said. “Killing a man always makes me sleep better.”
* * *
The Kiowa watched the man leave Clay Kyle’s camp under a flag of truce.
For a moment, he thought the rider was headed for Dan Caine and the others, but he swung his horse around and headed south. That puzzled the Indian, but then it occurred to him that Kyle’s man was probably looking for a peace parley with the outlaw called Dave Shannon. Kyle and Shannon now shared a common enemy, the vigilantes, and it made sense for them to act together. At least, as far as the Kiowa was concerned, that was the answer to the white flag.
In the meantime, he would watch and wait and earn his wages.
* * *
The hot day wore on, and the sun dropped lower in the sky. Once a small, whitetail deer, seldom encountered on the flat, tiptoed to within twenty feet of the well-hidden Kiowa. A slight change in the direction of the breeze and the little animal scampered away, its bobbing tail signaling the alarm. A pair of buzzards lazily quartered the sky on the scout for dying things. And then there were two more . . . and three more . . . and then too many to count . . . and that made the Kiowa anxious . . .
There were dead men in the Sierra del Carmen.