HE CAME OUT of the shadows, a tall man with hate in his eyes and death riding the Colt in his hand. Dried blood caked one side of his face, and his long, pale hair was a sticky mixture of blood and dust. Abrams stood behind and to one side of him, a cocked Colt pointed at Christie’s belly.
Nolan didn’t turn.
‘I got two barrels pointed at these men.’ His voice was almost casual. ‘Both o’ them got a full load o’ ten-gauge shot. You try anythin’, an’ most o’ them are gonna be suddenly dead.’
‘So?’ Gunn’s voice was as dismissive as Nolan’s. ‘I don’t know them. You’re the one I want. You and Christie. And you’re dead whatever.’
‘No!’ Abrams’ voice was harsh in the silent room. ‘You can’t Gunn.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘Jesus Christ! What are you? You’d trade all o’ those men fer them two?’
‘Sure.’ Gunn’s voice was cold, certain. ‘I came a long way to find them. Now I got them, I’m going to kill them.’
‘Not while I’m here.’ Abrams sounded torn, but his gun still swung to cover the half-breed. ‘You fire an’ I’ll kill you.’
‘Well now, ain’t that nice.’ Nolan’s voice was mocking. ‘What you gonna do boy? Drop me an’ die yoreself? Or you gonna let me walk outta here an’ chance findin’ me later?’
Gunn’s finger took up trigger slack. His Colt held rocksteady on the base of Nolan’s spine, where the column of bone tags on to the pelvic girdle.
‘You’re a dead man, Nolan.’ He ignored the gun he could feel at his own back. ‘I can get you and Christie before anyone stops me. That’s the difference: I’m ready to take the gamble.’
‘Don’t make me do it!’ Abrams’ voice was a harsh plea. ‘Fer God’s sake, Gunn, don’t force me to kill you.’
‘Sorry Abrams.’ The man called Gunn sounded calm as a preacher at a Sunday picnic. ‘But I made a promise a long time ago. I’m not about to forget it.’
‘Oh, fuck.’ Abrams’ tone was abruptly despairing, divided between friendship and duty. ‘You loose off an’ I’m bounden to kill you.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Gunn. ‘You can’t do it fast enough to stop me.’
He tensed, readying himself for the bullet in the back, calculating that he could down Nolan and spin to take Christie before Abrams’ shot killed him. He had no doubt but that the Ranger would carry out his unwilling promise any more than he had doubts about his own determination to kill the scalp hunters. It wasn’t the way he wanted it: he had hoped to take them singly, slowly, the way he had killed the others. He wanted them to know why they were dying, to think about it as they suffered. But now, with both in killing range, he could no more let them go than he could stop hunting them.
He took a deep breath and prepared to die.
Eleanor Dalton ended the stand-off with a wild shriek and a sudden movement.
Since getting back to the ranch, she had stood quiet, gazing vacantly around her as though seeking some familiar landmark that was no longer there. Now—madly—she recognized Nolan and went to him.
She shoved Abrams aside with the strength of the demented, pushed Gunn off balance, and threw herself on Nolan, Her arms swung round to hold him as she buried her face against his back, weeping and mumbling as she clutched at him. Her arms encircled him, pushing the shotgun down, and Nolan cursed, spinning to drag her loose. The crazy woman clung like a limpet, interposing her body between Gunn and her lover.
‘Nolan, Nolan!’ her voice was a frantic wail. ‘I’ve come back. Darling, we can go away. We’ll leave here. Together. You and me. No-one else.’
Christie made to move, but Abrams’ gun swung to cover him, and the Texas Ranger’s eyes said no as clearly as words.
Around the courtyard, the cowhands found cover faster than jackrabbits with a hawk in the air. They disappeared into the rooms like gophers hitting their burrows, glad to be clear of the scattergun and its menacing promise.
Matthew Gunn stood, angry and frustrated, watching his quarry try to shake the woman loose.
Nolan kept hold of the shotgun and backed hard against a wall. Eleanor Dalton took the force of the blow and gasped, her arms falling away from the dark man’s shoulders. Nolan dropped to a crouch, leveling the shotgun at the blond-haired half-breed, and reached back to grab the woman. He dragged her across his chest and tilted the shotgun so that it pointed at her skull.
‘Alright, Breed. You want me, you come an’ get me.’
Gunn’s Colt lifted. His arm extended out in a straight, rocksteady line, from his chest. The hammer was back on full cock and his eyes were pale and blue and cold as they sighted down the barrel. Most of Nolan’s body was covered by the woman, and Gunn’s aim held the Colt on her chest. At that range the .45 caliber bullet would penetrate her body and still kill Nolan.
‘Well?’ The dark man grinned, confident of his advantage. ‘You gonna kill the woman to get me?’
‘Yes,’ said Matthew Gunn. And squeezed the trigger.