It was the distant flicker of the outlaws’ campfire that drew the two hunters to the cliff side cave. Right at their feet, a creek surged and on the opposite bank they could see the cavern-mouth and the hunched shapes of horses tied below the overhang.
Shane’s lean hand delved beneath his poncho and found his gun. He heard rough laughter coming from the cave, and thumbed back his gun-hammer as Jonah checked out his own weapon. They tied their horses and carefully made their way forward on foot.
The rain had stopped but they could still hear distant thunder rumbling in the hills.
Shane waded into the creek. The chocolate colored water swirled at his knees. He held his gun high as he waded across. Shane turned to see Jonah floundering. Being shorter than his companion gave him a hard trip but the old-timer gamely plunged across. Shane held out a hand to assist him out. He half-pulled, half-dragged Jonah Jones out, and they crouched for a moment in the lee of the hill. They heard more coarse laughter.
“I reckon they figure it’s safe for them up there,” Shane whispered to his pard. “There’s no one guarding the entrance to the cave.”
Together, they headed up the slope, boots squelching in the soft mud. Shane pulled himself up onto the ledge, flattening his body to the rock-face just beyond the gaping mouth of the cavern. The old gun hawk levered himself up and stood side by side with Shane.
Clutching his gun, Shane inched towards the mouth of the cave. Slowly he edged along until he could peer inside. At first all he could see was the campfire. Two logs were burning furiously, casting grotesque shadows on the cavern walls. Then he spotted the body. A man was sprawled close to the fire and he was as still as a stone. The tall gunslinger squinted as a log shifted in the fire and a shooting flame threw out more light. He drew in his breath as he saw the degrading scene. Brumby was towering over the crouching girl, and the firelight glimmered on the white bareness of her flesh where her blouse hung in shreds.
Shane didn’t waste time.
He leveled his six-shooter, aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger.
The blast shook the cave with its sudden violence, and the hot lead burned from Shane Preston’s gun to thud into Brumby’s naked chest. The outlaw threw up his arms. He staggered to the rock wall, clawing his wound with raking, bloodied fingers.
Shane fired again, and Duke Brumby stumbled forward like a crazy drunk, walking right into the slug that opened up a third eye in the middle of his forehead.
Cursing, McCabe grabbed the girl to use her as a human shield. April fought him desperately, but he was too strong for her, and his gun boomed twice as he backed into the darkest depths of the cavern with his hostage.
Shane ducked low as one of McCabe’s bullets chipped rock inches from his face.
Shane slipped right inside the cave. He could hear the sounds April was making as she struggled with McCabe.
Suddenly, Clint Docker decided to make a run for it. He charged towards the mouth of the cave.
“Jonah!” Shane called out.
The oldster was waiting right outside on the ledge. Docker bounded to the entrance, right into the muzzle of Jonah’s gun. Too late, Docker wheeled around, and Jonah’s six-shooter bucked at point-blank range. The bullet’s impact carried Clint Docker right back into the cave and he was plastered against the rock side, dead on his feet.
The gun echoes died.
“Who in hell are you?” McCabe’s voice came out of the darkness.
Shane lifted his gun.
“Being in the pen, you probably haven’t heard of me, McCabe,” the gunfighter said, easing his frame a little closer. “Name’s Shane Preston.”
McCabe’s laugh was hollow.
“Preston and Jones!” he mimicked. “Sure, we’ve heard of you. And from what the Quinns told us, you were hired by Judas Eckert to protect him from us.”
Jonah was standing in the entrance of the cave.
Looking around sharply, Shane motioned him over to the other wall. The oldster loped across the pine needles and crouched down in the gloom.
“You didn’t exactly do a good job of protecting Eckert,” McCabe mocked.
Shane inched closer.
“Dan Eckert’s dead,” Shane snapped. “We’ve come for the girl, and we want her alive.”
Shane Preston was closer to the fire now, and momentarily, the glow lit him. McCabe blasted at him, and the bullet whined past his head and bounced off a rock. The gunfighter dropped low as another bullet sang. Shane wormed back on his belly and the outlaw’s third shot carved a chunk of flesh out of his left shoulder. The tall man rolled over, seeking the shadows to hide him. His hand was steady on his gun, but sweat was blinding him.
“Figured you for being smarter than that, Preston!” Evan McCabe mocked. “You can’t see me back here, but the moment you go near that fire, I sure as hell can see you! Quit being a hero!” He waited, but Shane was silent. “Hear me good, Preston. You can have the girl safe an’ sound—if you play along with me.”
Shane gripped his six-shooter as his eyes searched the darkness. Then he spotted movement, and could just make out two figures standing close together.
He got to his feet. The figures came towards him, slowly, tentatively, and Shane drew in his breath. April’s head was jerked back, tilted at an unnatural angle, and McCabe’s gun muzzle was right under her jaw. The outlaw thumbed back the hammer.
“I reckon you two boys have got the idea,” the owlhoot grinned. “My finger’s right on this trigger. If anyone plugs me, my finger will close on this trigger and I’ll blow Miss April to hell!”
“Okay, McCabe,” Shane conceded. “What’s your deal?”
“Tell the old buzzard to fetch a horse and bring it right out front of the cave,” Evan McCabe ordered. “You’ll find our horses staked out there—”
“We’ve seen ’em,” snapped Shane, and called out to Jonah to get the horse.
Reluctantly, Jonah Jones stepped out of the shadows, holstered his gun and walked slowly out.
“Now, Preston,” McCabe said as he forced the girl forward, “you’re kinda making me nervous holdin’ that hardware in your hand. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to get too nervous and pull this trigger by mistake. It’d sure make one goddamn mess of her pretty face.”
Shane let his fingers relax around the notched six-shooter and it slithered down to the ground.
“Now, April,” McCabe wheezed, “we walk outside nice and slow.”
The outlaw worked his hostage out of the darkness and into the firelight. Nobody moved for a few minutes, then they heard the sound of hooves outside.
“Your horse is here,” Jonah called.
“Right,” McCabe snarled. “I’ll say this just once, and April’s life depends on you hearing it real good. I want the old buzzard to take off his gun rig, then go right down to the creek. Preston—you’ll stay right where you are, except that we’ll just kick this gun well outa your reach …”
McCabe’s boot lashed at Shane’s six-shooter and it spun across the floor of the cave.
“... that’s better. I’m gonna keep walking with the girl right to the horse. Then I’m gonna mount up and let her go, and because you boys will be well away from your hardware, that’ll give me the start I need. Old buzzard—shed your gun!”
Jonah’s face was grim as he took off his gun rig. He held it in his hand and dropped it to the ledge. McCabe waited as the old-timer went off into the darkness, cussing loudly. For a moment, there was silence.
“Let’s walk, April,” McCabe murmured.
“McCabe!”
The voice exploded right at the outlaw’s feet. For a moment, McCabe was too startled to move. Then he threw the girl to one side and aimed at Matt Spavin, who was up on one knee. Matt made a grab at McCabe’s leg, but McCabe fired.
The bullet found Matt’s chest and he fell back. Whipping around, McCabe bounded for his horse.
Shane Preston was searching frantically for his gun. He found it and jumped for the cave-mouth. McCabe was clawing at his horse’s back. At the last minute, he heard the sound of Shane’s boots on the rock and swung round to face him. It was gun against gun.
But the black-notched six-shooter fired first.
The bullet smashed two of McCabe’s ribs, driving him against his plunging horse. Then Shane’s gun spoke again. The slug found the outlaw’s heart, and Evan McCabe dropped like a stone.
U.S. Marshal Jim Bentley stood discreetly aside as the two visitors came into the room to see his prisoner.
“Just figured we’d call in to see you, Matt,” Shane smiled as he sat down on the side of his bed. “In just a few minutes Jonah and me are leaving town.”
Matt Spavin tried to sit up but the effort was too much for him. His chest was heavily bandaged, as was his face. But his eyes were bright.
“You’re the—uh—gunslinger who brought Matt Spavin in,” Marshal Bentley said and introduced himself. “I’ve been assigned to take Spavin back to the State Penitentiary when the doctor figures he’s well enough for the journey.”
Matt’s other visitor, April Quinn, swallowed.
“I hope, Bentley, that when you get there, you’ll tell them how Matt helped save this girl,” Shane stated bluntly.
Bentley nodded. “Of course, Spavin committed a felony by escaping from lawful custody, but I intend to put in a full report. I’m not making any promises, but I reckon the judge will treat him kindly. Could be he’ll still be released next Christmas.”
“Best of luck, Matt,” Shane said simply.
Acting on impulse, April leaned over and planted a swift kiss on Matt’s forehead.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Spavin said with a gulp.
“I’m going back to the way-station, Matt—my way-station,” April told him. “If you’ve a mind to, why don’t you drop by when you’re finally released?”
Spavin grinned.
“It’ll be my first stop, April,” he promised. “I’ll be heading due south the moment they open those gates and let me outside.”
April stood up and walked outside with Shane.
The gunfighter looked up the sun-baked street of Sweetwater. Folks were going about their business as if nothing had happened. Lafe Dinning was strutting outside his Last Chance Saloon, two men were pasting up posters urging folks to re-elect Mayor Ames next week on polling day, and over in the law office, the same man still wore the badge. Maybe Madigan was all this town deserved.
Shane glanced down-street.
His pard was waiting with their horses.
“April,” Shane said, “we want you to have this.”
“What is it?” She stared at the envelope Shane had just placed in her hand.
“Jonah and me were hired for a fee,” the gunfighter explained. “After what happened to Dan Eckert, we don’t feel like banking the five hundred bucks.”
“Five hundred!” she gasped.
“Might help you at the way-station—setting up in business.”
“But, Shane—I couldn’t!” the girl protested. “What about you?”
“There was a reward out for the capture of the outlaws, dead or alive. Madigan wired the County Capitol, and Jonah and I are eight hundred bucks better off. Now, the bank closes in a few minutes, so I guess you’d better run along. You can’t walk around with five hundred bucks on you!”
She gasped out her thanks and hurried away. Shane joined Jonah.
“Where to now?” Jonah Jones snorted.
“Lodge City,” Shane said. “I seem to recall that was the last forwarding address we gave for letters.”
“Then let’s hit the trail,” Jonah suggested.
Shane swung into the saddle.
The two gunfighters headed up Main Street. There was no deputation to give them a send-off. In fact, most folks deliberately stayed inside. As far as the men of Sweetwater were concerned, the sooner Shane and Jonah left, the better. Then the town could forget about Dan Eckert and the Quinns.
Right at the end of the street was the stage depot.
The stage was being boarded by a number of people, and one of them was Dolores Reid. To his credit, Lafe Dinning had persuaded a reluctant Madigan to release her, but even this failed to change the saloon girl’s mind.
Dolores waved as the riders passed, and they saluted her gravely.
Moments later they were heading out of Sweetwater and riding into open country. They rode until dusk, and when sundown stained the alkali with crimson, they made camp. Jonah made a fire from the sparse sticks lying around, and after supper, he spoke about Dolores.
“You know, Shane,” Jonah ventured, “she might have been a saloon girl, but she was a mighty fine person. And I reckon she’d taken a real fancy to you.”
Shane drew on his cigarette, then grinned good-naturedly. “You want to know why I didn’t stop for a long goodbye with Dolores?”
“Well—yeah,” the oldster grunted, poking at the fire with a long stick.
“Dolores knew why,” Shane informed him. “And I reckon you should know why, too.”
“I can only guess,” Jonah said seriously. “But—hell, Shane, you can’t live in the past forever.”
Shane stared into the flames.
Jonah Jones was wrong. He wasn’t living in the past, but in the future. He was living and riding and hiring out his gun for the day he knew would come.
The day his trail crossed the trail made by the man he knew only as Scarface.
Then, and only then, could he forget about the past and the future, and live in the present. And maybe he’d be sharing that present with a woman like Dolores. Nestling in his hip pocket was a piece of paper she’d handed to him just before he’d checked out of the rooming house. Written on it was an address, her mother’s in Silver City. Dolores herself wouldn’t be there, but it was a contact should he ever want to follow her up. And some day he might.
But until then, there were trails to ride, and there was a man to hunt down and kill.
“You make good coffee, old-timer,” Shane said, changing the subject. “Reckon it’s time for you to brew a second pot.”