That would take days, long days that he didn’t have. He had to escape now.

  One of the other outlaws came closer to him. The man’s name was Zeb; he had his bullet-broken arm hanging in front of him in a crude sling. He said, “Ben, what are you doin’ there—”

  Mallory whipped around and lashed out with the broken piece of stump, raking it across Zeb’s throat. The wood wasn’t very sharp, but the jagged end was sharp enough to rip through the soft flesh and tear veins. Blood gushed from Zeb’s ruined throat as he gave a gurgling scream, staggered back, and collapsed. The blood looked black instead of red in the faint glow of the candle.

  Only two of the other men were relatively able-bodied; the remaining outlaws had been wounded in the battles in which they had been captured. Mallory went for the two who were still on their feet, taking them by surprise. He rammed the makeshift stake into the throat of one man and grabbed the other one, strangling him and slamming his head against one of the thick beams supporting the building’s floor, which formed the ceiling of the cellar. The other two men, one of whom was shot through the leg and the other who had been caught in the dynamite blast at the hideout cabin, started screaming in horror.

  “Help!” bleated the man with the wounded leg as he tried to scramble away from Mallory and fell. “Mallory’s gone crazy! He’s gonna kill us all!”

  Mallory was screaming, too, howling in insane rage. He drove the head of the man he was struggling with against the support beam until the outlaw’s skull was grotesquely misshapen and his eyes had rolled up in his head. Mallory let go of the man and let him fall, then whirled around toward the others. The second man he had stabbed with the jagged piece of wood had managed to pull the crude weapon free, but that might have been a mistake, because it allowed the blood to flow that much faster from his throat. The front of his shirt was a gruesome mess as Mallory slammed into him and knocked him backward. The two wounded men screamed louder.

  With all the yelling going on, Mallory didn’t hear the bolts being pulled back on the trapdoor, but he knew it when strong arms grabbed him from behind. “Damn it, get away from those men!” yelled George.

  Mallory drove an elbow backward into George’s midsection, knocking the breath out of the guard. He twisted like an eel and got his hands on the rifle that George was carrying. George tried to pull it away, but Mallory’s berserk strength was too much. Mallory twisted the rifle loose and brought it up sharply, cracking the butt against George’s jaw. George went over backward, the knowledge of his own imminent death in his eyes.

  Mallory shot him twice in the face, firing as quickly as he could pull the trigger and work the Winchester’s lever.

  He left the other two outlaws cringing in the cellar, not wanting to waste the bullets it would require to kill them.

  Well, that plan, crude and impulsive though it had been, had worked out about as well as he could have hoped, thought Mallory as he kicked open the front door of the hardware store and raced out into the night. The store was closed at this hour, of course, as were most of the businesses in Galena City. Several horses were tied up at a hitch rack less than a block away, though. Mallory ran toward them.

  The shots had been muffled by the thick walls of the cellar, but a few men were stepping out onto the boardwalks to investigate what they thought they had heard. One of them called to Mallory, “Hey! What are you—”

  Mallory snapped a shot at the man, making him dive back into the building from which he had emerged.

  Then Mallory was at the hitch rack, jerking loose the reins of the nearest horse and swinging up into its saddle. He slammed his heels into the horse’s flanks and hauled its head around almost before he hit the leather. The horse lunged into a gallop.

  Mallory raced out of Galena City, and as he rode, three thoughts filled his mind: Nola, that damned lawman ... and all that silver. His silver...

  Chapter 19

  Dawn found Longarm on the southern bank of the Truckee River. He had stopped there to rest his horse—and his own aching body—and to ponder the question of which way Nola, Angie, Rafaela, and Mickey might have gone from here.

  To the north, across the river, was rugged, mostly unsettled country. That Paiute burial ground Mallory had been using as a hideout was up there, along with Virginia Peak and Pyramid Lake, but there wasn’t much to attract four women, even four women on the run from the law.

  To the west was Reno, a good-sized settlement. That was a definite possibility, thought Longarm. Reno was big enough so that four strangers wouldn’t stand out too much, and Nola and her friends could catch a train there and head for San Francisco.

  But trains ran east as well as west, and Longarm recalled that about fifteen miles east of his current location; the Truckee Valley also intersected the railroad, at a place called Two Mile Station. Longarm wasn’t sure how the place had gotten its name, but it wasn’t much of a settlement, little more than a flag stop depot, a water tank, a trading post, and a few cabins.

  If Nola and her companions went there and caught an eastbound train, they would be beyond Longarm’s reach in a matter of hours. In a few days, they could be in Chicago; a few days after that, New York or Lord only knew where else. The law would never find them, and that stolen silver would allow them to establish themselves in any kind of life they might choose.

  For a lengthy moment, Longarm stood there on the bank of the river and thought about saying the hell with it. They hadn’t really hurt anybody or anything—except his pride—and considering the lives they had led so far, maybe they deserved something better.

  On the other hand, they didn’t have any right to get that something better with somebody else’s money, and if they used that stolen silver to finance their getaway, that was exactly what it would be. The law was still the law, after all.

  “Damn,” said Longarm. The word was quiet but heartfelt.

  Then he swung up into his horse’s saddle and turned the animal east, following the hunch his lawman’s instincts had given him.

  The old granny who was the closest thing Galena City had to a doctor had been roused from sleep and brought to the Silver Slipper to tend to his wounds. She had cleaned and rebandaged the bullet holes, then advised him, “Was I you, I’d go to bed for three or four days, sonny. You’ve bled too much here lately.”

  Longarm had shaken his head regretfully. “Afraid there’s no time for that. I’ve got to get on the trail, or I won’t catch up to the folks I’m after.”

  The old woman had just shaken her head. “It’s your funeral, I reckon.”

  Longarm wasn’t convinced that he was in that bad a shape, but he had to admit now as he rode alongside the river that he was mighty tired and even a little light-headed. He was confident he would be a match for the women when he caught up to them, though.

  Unless he had gone in the wrong direction and never found them. He wasn’t going to think about that...

  Ben Mallory reined in when he reached the river. The sun was up now, making glints of light sparkle and dance on the swiftly flowing water. Before the winter was over, a sheet of ice might form over the river, but now, despite the cold air that made Mallory’s breath fog in front of his face, the Truckee was still clear. Another man might have found the scenery to be downright beautiful.

  Mallory paid no attention to anything except the hoofprints he spotted on the bank. Someone had ridden up here, paused, and then turned east, following the river upstream.

  That damned star packer, thought Mallory. Had to be.

  “I’m comin’ to get you, lawman!” Mallory said with a cackle of laughter. He shook the stolen rifle over his head.

  “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch! Then I’ll kill those damned whores!”

  Viciously, he jabbed the heels of his boots into the flanks of his mount and started east, following the tracks left by Longarm’s horse.

  Longarm rode through the morning, gnawing on a stale biscuit he had stuck in the pocket of his coat before leaving Galena City and wishing he had a cup of hot coffee with a healthy slug of Maryland rye in it. That would go a long way toward making a fella feel human again, he knew. But he would have to wait until he got to a settlement again before he could have any coffee, let alone any laced with Tom Moore.

  Now that the sun was up and shining brightly, he could see faint indications that a wagon had passed this way recently: crushed grass, overturned pebbles, even an occasional wheel track. Of course, there was no guarantee it was the right wagon, the one carrying Nola and the other women and the stolen silver, but Longarm’s gut told him he was on their trail. He had no idea what the railroad schedule was or when the next eastbound train was due to roll in to Two Mile Station.

  But Nola might know. She would have had plenty of time to check that out while he was recuperating from his injuries.

  His mouth tightened grimly at that thought.

  By mid-morning, he was riding into a huge, mostly barren sink ringed by mountain ranges that almost totally surrounded it. The river turned northward behind him, where the foothills ran out. The hard, rocky ground had a little downward slope to it, but not much, just enough so that he could see several miles to the east. That was why he could see the elevated water tank at Two Mile Station before he spotted any of the buildings themselves.

  What made him lean forward in the saddle with interest, though, was the small dark shape moving rapidly in the same direction he was. Dust spiraled into the clear blue sky, kicked up by the wheels of the distant wagon and the hooves of the horses pulling it.

  Longarm felt satisfaction but not any joy. The wagon was about halfway between him and Two Mile Station. He would catch up to it not long after it arrived at the flag stop.

  That was when he saw something else from the corner of his eye that made him bite off a curse. Angling toward the settlement from the west, which meant it was off to his left as he rode northeast, was a tendril of smoke. The way it was moving, it had to be coming from the stack of a locomotive.

  Nola had timed things close, all right. That was an eastbound train, and it would arrive in Two Mile Station right after the women drove up in the wagon.

  According to Nola’s plan, however, Longarm was still supposed to be back in Galena City, being freed right about now by the bartender for whom she had left a note the night before. She hadn’t counted on him being less than a mile and a half behind them.

  “Come on, horse,” Longarm urged as he heeled the dun into a faster gait. “If you’ve got a run in you, now’s the time to make it!”

  The rangy animal leaped forward, stretching its legs as it broke into a gallop.

  Longarm was so intent on what was ahead of him that he never looked back, never saw the rider emerging from the foothills and entering the sink hot on his trail.

  That was Long up ahead, thought Mallory exultantly. For a moment, he considered reining in and getting off the stolen horse to try a long-distance shot with the rifle.

  Then he discarded the idea. For one thing, that was too impersonal. He didn’t want to kill the marshal from long range with a bullet that would slam into his back and knock him out of the saddle with no idea of where his fate had come from. Mallory wanted to see the terror in Long’s eyes, wanted to witness the exquisite moment when life faded from those eyes forever.

  Besides, it was too chancy, and for another thing, the lawman had just kicked his horse into a run. If Long was in a hurry, that could mean he was about to catch up to Nola and the other women. Mallory liked the idea of catching all of them together. Then he could make Long and Nola watch while he killed the other whores, before he moved on to them.

  Mallory urged his own mount into a run. He had ridden the stolen horse hard all night and into the morning, but the animal would hold up a little while longer. Mallory was sure of it.

  Nothing was going to prevent him from getting his revenge—and his silver.

  Angie leaned forward and tapped Nola on the shoulder. She and Mickey were riding in the back of the wagon, while Nola and Rafaela were on the seat. Nola was handling the reins. She looked back and asked, “What is it?”

  “Somebody on our back trail!” Angie said over the rumble of the iron-rimmed wheels on the hard ground.

  Nola twisted her head more and stared back over the ground they had just covered. Less than a mile behind them, a rider was moving, the dark form fairly visible against the light-colored earth.

  “Damn it, Custis!” exclaimed Nola. “Why couldn’t you have stayed in Galena City?”

  “How do you know that’s Marshal Long following us?” asked Rafaela.

  “Who else could it be? Who else is stubborn enough?”

  “But how did he get loose so quick?” asked Angie, lifting a hand to shade her eyes as she tried to get a better look at their pursuer.

  Nola shook her head and said, “I don’t know. But after the past couple of weeks, I wouldn’t put anything past that man.” She slapped the reins against the backs of the horses pulling the wagon and shouted at them, urging them on to greater speed.

  “We’ll still get to Two Mile Station ahead of him,” said Rafaela. “If the train isn’t stopped for too long, it might pull out before he gets there.”

  “He can wire the next town,” Nola said bitterly. “He can have the law waiting for us. Blast it, things weren’t supposed to happen like this!”

  “We can still get away,” Angie said, a note of desperation edging into her voice. “Can’t we?”

  Abruptly, without any warning, Nola hauled on the reins and turned the horses due east. The sudden lurch made Angie and Mickey grab on to the sideboards of the wagon. “What are you doing?” screamed Rafaela, who had come close to being unseated by the move.

  “We can’t get away by boarding the train here,” replied Nola as she prodded the team into a faster run. “We have to shake Custis off our trail first.”

  “But you’re heading right into the middle of the sink!” protested Rafaela. “There’s nothing out there—no settlements, no roads, nothing!”

  “We can lose Custis and make it to Rock Creek,” Nola insisted. “A spur line runs through there. We’ll catch a train and be in Chicago before you know it!”

  “Rock Creek is over a hundred miles away!”

  “We can make it,” said Nola. “We can make it!”

  They weren’t going to make it, Longarm thought. He had been surprised when the wagon turned away from Two Mile Station, but once he thought about it, he realized why Nola had made that decision. He was confident that it was Nola herself handling the reins; she wasn’t the sort to turn the responsibility for their getaway over to any of the other women.

  They must have spotted him, and Nola was trying to shake the pursuit before they boarded the train. The same thought had surely occurred to her that had come to him: even if they got away from him now, he could just wire ahead to the sheriff in Winnemucca and have the law waiting for them there.

  What Nola ought to do was stop the wagon and surrender, Longarm told himself. She was heading now into some of the most desolate country on God’s green earth. Only there was no green out there, just the brown and gray of sand and rock and mountains. He doubted very seriously if those women were prepared for the hardships that would face them on a trek through that barren wilderness. They would have to have a wagon full of food and water instead of silver if they were going to have any hope of making it alive.

  Well, it wasn’t going to come to that. He would catch up to them before they got very far. There was no way they could outrun him in the wagon. He had already closed the distance to a little under a mile, and the dun’s long-legged, easy stride was closing the gap even more with every minute that passed.

  Three-quarters of a mile... half a mile... less than a quarter of a mile separated them now. Longarm could see the women plainly. Their hats had come off, and their hair was streaming in the wind. He leaned forward in the saddle. When he rode alongside the wagon, he would try to catch the harness of one of the leaders and bring the team to a halt...

  Smoke puffed from the back of the wagon, and he saw the faint flare of fire from the muzzle of a rifle, the flash washed out by the bright sunlight. They were shooting at him!

  Angie worked the lever of the Winchester and blinked away the tears that welled up in her eyes. “I don’t want to kill him!” she cried over the pounding of hooves.

  “Just shoot over his head, I told you!” shouted Nola. “Scare him off!”

  “Custis ain’t going to scare off that easy,” Angie muttered as she settled her cheek against the stock of the rifle and rested the butt of the weapon against her shoulder. She tilted the barrel skyward and pulled the trigger again.

  The bullets weren’t coming anywhere close to him, Longarm realized. The women were just trying to spook him and make him give up the chase. That wasn’t going to happen.

  They would have to kill him to stop him now.

  Mallory was close enough that he could have risked a shot, but he was too caught up in the thrill of the chase. He had been surprised when the wagon turned away from the flag stop, but he recognized desperation when he saw it. He had felt it enough in himself when all the bastards in the world, the men with the money and power, conspired to keep him down, to deny him his due.