This was the one thing Slocum feared would happen before she could ride away. Given the amount of time and their position, he could have just had her hide in the trees until everyone moved along. He also could have set an ambush of his own to take both of the outlaws down that way, but there was no guarantee they weren’t ready for such a thing. Any wanted man tended to grow eyes in the back of his head in order to stay alive.

  Slocum had come up with this course of action on the spur of the moment. It was dangerous, but could potentially yield the biggest reward. He didn’t like the thought of using Leanne for bait, which was why he kept his hand on the Colt Navy at all times. If Darrel eyed the trees for too much longer or decided to check Slocum’s claim firsthand, it would come down to a simple test of speed and accuracy with a shooting iron. At this range and with only two targets directly in front of him, Slocum liked his odds.

  “So we just leave her?” Mark asked.

  Darrel looked over to his partner and then to Slocum. “We ain’t got time for a burial.”

  “Nobody’ll find her out here,” Slocum said. “And if they do, there’s no reason anyone would suspect what happened. Just another woman who shouldn’t have been on her own and crossed paths with the wrong bunch of men.”

  “Around these parts, we’re the only bunch of men that people think of when someone turns up dead,” Mark pointed out.

  Slocum shrugged. “That’s not my doing. From everything I ever saw, you men do everything you can to keep spreading that sort of word. If you were so worried about putting a bad foot forward, I’d suggest getting rid of . . . what’s his name? Yancy?”

  Mark eyed him suspiciously. “If she’s only wounded, she may crawl out of them trees. If she crawls out of them trees, someone might find her.”

  The muscles in Slocum’s arm tensed and the ones in his gun hand relaxed. It wasn’t his intention to drop these men just yet, but he could do it easily enough if they didn’t go along the way he wanted them to. “I put a round through her face,” he said evenly. “Then kicked some dirt over her. She won’t crawl anywhere and the only ones to find her anytime soon will be a pack of hungry coyotes.”

  “Damn, Slocum,” Darrel chuckled. “You’re colder than I thought.”

  15

  Darrel led them to a camp that had been set up several miles east of the one where Slocum and Leanne had parted ways. They rode in a formation that kept Darrel and Slocum mostly side by side with Mark lagging behind. Every time Slocum peeked over his shoulder at the other man, he found Mark back there with his rifle cradled in one arm and the reins in an easy grip. He rode like a man who’d been hunting from the back of a running horse his entire life, wiping away any doubt in Slocum’s mind that he wouldn’t live to make one wrong move. If the outlaws had meant to kill him, Slocum couldn’t think of a reason why they wouldn’t have tried to do so already. At least, that settled his thoughts for the next several miles.

  He spotted the figure on a rise ahead and to the left of the trail. Darrel barely even had to look in that direction before raising his hand and waving. Upon seeing that, the figure stood up straight, raised an arm, and waved back. The terrain had flattened out a bit, but was still covered with a sparse scattering of trees that had obviously barely managed to survive a hell of a dry season. Slocum didn’t spot the camp until Darrel led him around a clump of boulders that were the right height and covered with just the right amount of scrub to blend in with the horizon from a distance. Either the outlaws had used that spot several times before or they knew their county well enough to be able to blend in with the scenery at will. Considering how long the gang had been at large, either choice was possible.

  The man tending to the horses at the perimeter of the camp was the skinny fellow with long hair who carried his .38 in a shoulder rig. Now that he had a chance to see him up close, Slocum pegged the pistol under his arm as a well-cared-for Smith & Wesson.

  “What the hell’s he doin’ here?”

  The question hadn’t come from the skinny fellow. Instead, it had been snarled by Yancy as he stormed toward the camp from the direction of the rise that Darrel had waved to a little earlier.

  Looking at the skinny fellow, Darrel said, “Ackerman, get Mr. Slocum here a drink.”

  “I asked a question, damn you,” the redhead snarled as he charged forward until he was almost close enough to bump his barrel chest against one of the horses. “Did he follow us? Is he the one that let that damn courier slip away?”

  “Slipped away, did he?” Darrel asked.

  As mad as he may have been at that moment, Yancy backed down when he saw the expression etched onto Darrel’s face. Apparently, the gang’s pecking order was still firmly set in place. “We know which way he headed,” Yancy explained. “Lost his tracks about a quarter mile from here. That only leaves a couple different towns he could have gone to.”

  “And you know which one for certain?”

  As much as he plainly wanted to say otherwise, Yancy lowered his head and replied, “No.”

  “Then maybe you should stop acting so high and mighty to someone who may be able to turn the tide in our favor.”

  “You’re talking about him?” Yancy asked, while practically spitting the words at the men while they dismounted and stretched their legs. “We got more reason to shoot this son of a bitch.”

  Once again, Slocum prepared himself for a fight. Although he knew better than to make any moves that could easily be seen, he lined up his shots and picked out who would die in what order if things went to hell. He was mostly certain that Yancy hadn’t seen him before getting knocked unconscious back at the Jackrabbit, but cemeteries were full of men who gambled their lives when they were only mostly certain about something.

  “He’s on the side of that horse trader,” Yancy said. “And that asshole ain’t on anyone’s side.”

  “That asshole is a cheat and owes me money,” Slocum said. When Darrel looked at him, he added, “If you want someone to put that one below ground for being a lying prick, I’m the man for the job.”

  That was the nice thing about the truth. It was a lot easier to pass along convincingly than a bluff. Judging by the look on Darrel’s face, he wasn’t having any trouble accepting what he’d been told.

  “You got any better reason than that to wanna see this man dead, Yancy?” Darrel asked.

  Once again, Slocum prepared himself to skin his Colt. And the more prepared he got, the harder he had to try to keep from showing it.

  Ackerman stood on the side of the group so he could keep them all in front of his wide eyes. Big hands dangled from gangly arms that were bent in a way that put his .38 in easy reach. Slocum doubted the gang member was scared, but he was definitely working with frayed nerves.

  Mark Landry held his Winchester so the stock was near his shoulder and the barrel was pointed at the ground. All it would take was a good enough provocation or word from Darrel to snap that barrel up and fire a shot.

  Darrel watched patiently, which didn’t mean much. As far as Slocum could tell, that one was always ready to pull his six-shooter and put it to work.

  Yancy gnashed his teeth together with so much force that Slocum was surprised he couldn’t hear a grinding sound. Although he balled his thick fists, he kept them down. A section of his face twitched, probably at a bit of pain that flared up from where he’d been knocked around back in Reno, and there was still a section of his neck that looked mighty tender. Since he didn’t say anything to that regard or make another move against Slocum, it seemed he truly hadn’t gotten a look at the man who’d put him down outside of Mr. Mason’s room.

  “Long as he gets out of my sight,” the redhead grumbled, “I suppose I don’t mind letting him live.”

  “Well then,” Darrel chuckled, “I have a bit of news that you may not like to hear. Mr. Slocum’s riding with us for a spell.”

  “As what?” Yancy asked. “A cook?”

  “He ain’t one of the gang, but you can consider him a partner for the time being.”

  “Damn right he ain’t one of the gang. As for him weighing us down,” Yancy growled as he drew one of the Peacemakers from his double rig, “I’ll put a stop to that.”

  Mark and Ackerman seemed content to stand back and see what happened. Darrel, on the other hand, responded as if he were settling down a petulant child. “Do you really want to do that?” he asked.

  Without allowing his gun hand to waver, Yancy said, “We’re a gang, damn it. You may point us in the right direction sometimes, but that don’t mean you get to call every shot there is. Especially when you might be lining us up for a bullet in the back.”

  “Maybe you should hear me out.”

  “Maybe I should tell you to go to—”

  Darrel drew his .44 in a motion that was so smooth and quick that the iron of the barrel hardly scraped against the leather of his holster. Even Yancy was taken aback when he suddenly found himself staring down the wrong end of that smoke wagon. “I honestly think you should hear me out,” Darrel warned.

  Grudgingly, Yancy lowered his gun. “All right, then. Say your piece.”

  “Do you know who this man is?” Darrel asked.

  “John Slocum. I heard the name before. What of it?”

  “He’s ridden with a few posses and done plenty of favors for important people. Even though I’ve heard about him putting more men in the ground than settin’ them right, he’s got some pull that may help us get into where we need to be.”

  “Oh, so we’re just gonna stroll into them banks and ask politely for what we’re after?”

  Darrel dropped his arm and lunged forward to clap a hand around the back of Yancy’s neck. Gripping him tightly, he shoved the redhead back a few paces and continued to speak in a snarling whisper. “You know what your problem is? You talk too damn much when you should be listenin’ ! Since you let that courier slip away, we’re gonna have to make a few stops instead of just one. You know what that means?”

  “Sure, but it ain’t nothin’ new to us.”

  “We can’t afford to go on another tear through this county,” Mark Landry said. Since he hadn’t done much talking of late, his words carried more weight when he did parcel them out. “Folks around here know us on sight.”

  Shifting his eyes toward the rifleman, Yancy said, “That means they put up less of a fight.”

  “Not if they know we’re comin’.”

  “So we won’t send word ahead of us.”

  “After we hit the first place, it won’t matter,” Landry said. “We been through these parts too many times. Soon as we hit one town, word spreads and folks in all the nearby towns get ready for us. Remember when we almost got shot to pieces in that two-street settlement out west? They were ready for us and nearly shot us to pieces with hunting rifles out their windows.”

  “That was one damn town,” Yancy said. “They got lucky.”

  “And we almost got killed,” Ackerman added.

  Yancy looked over to the skinny outlaw and told him, “If you’re so skittish, maybe you should find another line of work.”

  “What about what happened to Carl? He’s dead!” The more he talked, the wider Ackerman’s eyes became. “For all we know,” he added while nodding toward Slocum, “he’s the man that killed him.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Yancy studied Slocum like a wolf surveying a rodent that had been hiding in a corner. “The kid’s got a point. That courier got away on account of us getting jumped back in Reno. That’s also how that banker got out from under our noses.”

  “So you’re saying this is the man that accomplished those things?” Darrel asked. “He got the drop on you, killed Carl, and got that banker out of the Jackrabbit? Single-handed?”

  “And don’t forget,” Slocum said with a smile. “I did all that and had the good sense to ride back after that courier and stroll right up to you men asking to lend a hand with this job of yours. I’ll be damned. Maybe some of those stories I’ve heard about myself are true. I truly would have to have balls of cast iron to pull off something like that.”

  “Ain’t no man could have gotten the drop on both of us,” Yancy said. “You must’ve been working with an accomplice. Where is he?”

  “Take a look around. See any accomplices?”

  Ackerman was the only one to look anywhere. He glanced about anxiously, only to seem confused when he didn’t find anything.

  “Just because he ain’t here don’t mean you didn’t have someone with you back in Reno,” Yancy said. “I say this is the son of a bitch that bushwhacked me and killed Carl. Even if we’re wrong, we should still kill him and dump his carcass in the middle of the biggest town we can find. Word gets out that we killed John Slocum, we’ll be known well outside of Nevada.”

  Keeping his hand closed around the back of Yancy’s neck, Darrel gave him a shake before letting him go with a shove. “Already thought of that on the way into camp. For the time being, I’m willing to take Mr. Slocum at his word. If he had accomplices, we would’ve seen them in Reno. And if he did manage to take out two of my men so easily back at the Jackrabbit, I’d rather have him in my gang than you or Carl.”

  “That’s fine talk from someone that’s been ridin’ with us for so long.”

  “This gang ain’t about friendship,” Darrel replied. “It’s about earning money and this job we got set up will earn us plenty. When we’re through, we’ll be able to branch out and use our name to expand our horizons. Maybe we could attract some men that are looking for a home. I can think of a few gangs in New Mex and Colorado that got broken up. We could gather up some of the finer prospects, strike out into some new territory, and make enough money to retire to any place we like.”

  Nodding toward Slocum, Ackerman asked, “So where’s he fit in?”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Yancy snapped. “There’s too big of a chance that he was involved in jumping me and Carl in Reno. Plus I don’t like the look of his fucking face.”

  “Yours ain’t so pretty either, you know,” Slocum said.

  “That’s it!” Yancy shoved away from Darrel and started to bring up his pistol.

  Even though Slocum still had his Colt Navy, he knew damn well that the outlaws had only allowed him to keep it to see if he’d give them an excuse to gun him down. Rather than make his move right away, he stepped back, held his hands out, and waited to see what would happen inside the next few seconds.

  As Slocum had suspected, Darrel stepped in before things got uglier. He practically knocked the redhead off his feet as he pinned Yancy’s shoulders to a tree. “What did I say about you runnin’ your goddamn mouth?” the gang leader asked. Before Yancy could say anything in his defense, Darrel continued, “I’m the one that says who gets into this gang! Don’t ever forget it. If this prick had anything to do with what happened in Reno, I’ll let you gut him like a fish. Until then, he’s coming along with us on this ride, whether you like it or not.”

  In a lower voice, Darrel added, “He’s bringin’ something to this job that could make up for you allowing that courier to get away from us.”

  “But that wasn’t my fault!” Yancy whined. “He left early!” His next breath was knocked from his lungs when Darrel slammed him once more against the tree.

  “I don’t give a shit why it happened anymore,” Darrel said. “It did and we’re still going after those deeds. If Slocum’s trying to mislead us, he’ll still be useful as a way to throw the law off our trails. We’ll leave his body behind just to give everyone something to think about while we move along to the next spot. Folks will think they slowed us down. They’ll think they hurt us and they’ll drop their guard. If this job goes half as well as I’m thinking by having Slocum along for the ride, we’ll get somethin’ a lot better than that.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  Perhaps it was the tone in Darrel’s voice or the certainty in his nod, but something went a long way in getting Yancy to cool his heels. “Mind tellin’ us what that is?” the redhead asked.

  Darrel let Yancy go and backed away. “Slocum, tell him what you’re bringing to the table.”

  “That courier that slipped away is headed to the Fifth Bank of White Pine,” Slocum replied.

  “We could have figured that much out on our own,” Ackerman pointed out.

  “Eventually, but I also know it’s in a town called McCord. And,” Slocum added with just enough of a flair, “I know plenty about the manager of that bank. He’s a fellow named Emberson and he owes me one hell of a favor. If he won’t pay up by letting us at those documents or whatever that courier is holding, I know how to get to his family and friends. That should convince him to play along.”

  The outlaws all looked around at each other, but none of them could come up with a way to remove the smirk from Darrel Teach’s face.

  16

  The next few days were a strain on every last one of Slocum’s nerves. Although the gang was more or less on board with Darrel’s decision, Yancy never got the murderous glint out of his eyes when he looked at the newest addition to their ranks. Every time Slocum went out for firewood, he wondered if he might be in the redhead’s sights. Every mile they rode, he wondered if Yancy might be plotting a way to knock him from his saddle just to prove who stood on the higher rung. And when he slept . . . well, Slocum didn’t really allow himself to get much sleep. Yancy didn’t try anything in the darkest hours of the night, but there was no way of telling if that was just because he knew Slocum had one eye open.

  Ackerman was always fidgeting, but that seemed to be his normal way of going about things. He looked at Slocum with darting eyes and twitched when one of the outlaws sneezed too loudly. If anything, he seemed relieved to have someone else relegated to doing the tedious chores around camp since he must have been the whipping boy until Slocum’s arrival.

  Landry remained cautious and silent when Slocum was nearby. His voice could be heard in the distance whenever Slocum was away from the others, but never quite loud enough for him to make out what was being said. His Winchester was always within easy reach and his gaze was focused upon Slocum as if he was always looking at him along the top of the rifle’s barrel. Slocum didn’t mistake that one’s silence as a reason to worry about him any less. Just because Yancy was the loudest of the bunch, that didn’t mean the others were any less of a threat. On the contrary, Slocum did not like the fact that he couldn’t accurately judge what was going through Landry’s mind. At a time like this, any wild card was a dangerous one.