“He ever share any of his take with you?” Carson sucked in a deep breath. The smoke hanging in the air burned his throat and filled his lungs. It made him a little more alert. He started to ask for Lemuel to share the tobacco and rolling papers but perked up when he heard what Lemuel said.

  “I admit it. I had some of the gold from the bank robbery with me. Not much. A couple hundred. Five or six double eagles. That’s how I got by. It vanished pretty quick when I started coughing up a lung. None of the expensive snake oil remedies I tried worked worth a damn.”

  Emphasizing his point, he spat into the pond. More blood than mucus expanded from the gob of phlegm.

  “Tell me what happened back there in the arroyo. To Sam.”

  “Why do you think I know?”

  “You didn’t kill him. That leaves three who could have—and one that must have.”

  “No, I didn’t kill him. All the time me and him and Billy were together, I came to know him a lot better. Working in that bank for a year turned Sam closemouthed. Now and then, what spilled out was enlightening. There was a river of bitterness flowing through him from when he rode with us. It overflowed its banks eventually because he felt cheated.”

  “You never told him where you hid the gold?”

  “Nope. Same with Billy.” Lemuel shuddered. Carson reached over to steady him. A bony hand pressed down onto Carson’s. Another quake passed through him. “Billy musta shot Sam.”

  “I’d come to the same conclusion. Joe’s not the type, and his brother’s wild, but he looks up to Joe. The notion of honor—facing a man when you kill him—has to have rubbed off on Daniel. Neither’s a backshooter.”

  “He said he was scouting. If he only went a few yards away, we’d’ve never seen him come creeping back.”

  “To increase his share?”

  “That’s the way I see it.”

  They sat silently, staring across the watering pond. Insects darted about, skimming the surface. Now and then, a fish arced up and snared the more incautious bugs. Carson tried to decide if he was more like a flying insect or a fish.

  Carson finally asked, “What do you want to do about it?”

  “Bury Sam.”

  “I think Joe’s taken care of that. He wants to set a good example for his brother and do the right thing.”

  “Tying Billy up and leaving him behind wouldn’t be a good idea, would it?”

  “Either he’d starve to death all hog-tied, or he’d get free and come after us,” Carson said. “It’s better to eliminate the problem entirely. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.” At this, he had to smile ruefully. That was exactly the way he’d spent every waking minute since throwing in with Lemuel again.

  And before. He had experienced the feeling of someone walking on his grave ever since Fort Worth.

  The click of a hammer pulling back caused him to catch his breath. Sitting a little straighter let him catch a reflection in the pond. He and Lemuel sat, all wavy as ripples moved from one side of the pond to the other, with Billy Turner behind them. The gun in his hand was equally rippling, but Carson knew it fired a bullet straight and true.

  Carson said loudly, “Are you going to shoot us in the back, like you did Sam?”

  “Only you, Clay. Lemuel’s got to tell me where he squirreled away the gold.”

  “I’m nowhere near as fast as I used to be, Billy, but if you backshoot Clay, I’ll have a chance to plug you.”

  “Won’t matter a whit to Carson. He’ll be dead.”

  Carson tensed. He had to make an impossible draw, spin, home in on Turner, and shoot if he wanted to stay alive.

  Then he heard something he didn’t understand. The loud metallic click of a six-gun cocking sounded like thunder in the still air.

  CHAPTER 28

  “You’re in a world of trouble, Turner,” Clay Carson said, figuring out what the sound meant. He tensed, ready to move. “You heard it.”

  “Yeah, he heard it, Clay,” said Simon Potter. “I’ve got my gun cocked and aimed straight at the back of his head. If he doesn’t drop his pistol, I’m going to blow his head clean off.”

  “Quit talking like I ain’t here,” Turner said. “You never respected me. I hate you for that.”

  The quaver in his voice told Carson he wasn’t in danger. Billy Turner worked it out how to keep from getting killed—and that meant not trying to take out either of the men by the pond. Move on one and the other gunned him down like a mad dog.

  “You wouldn’t shoot me in the back, would you, Potter?” Turner changed tactics. Going from threats using his gun to persuasive words was an improvement. There was less chance any of them would die.

  “You know the answer to that. You shot Wylie in the back. I never much liked you. Or him, if that matters. But Sam was one of the gang and he never crossed any of us. That’s a crime worse than horse stealing.”

  “I’ll shoot Lemuel!” Turner’s voice rose to a shriek.

  That’s when all hell broke loose.

  Carson whipped out his pistol and dived to the side, moving away from Lemuel Jones. The sharp crack of gunfire split the air, echoing across the scrubland like a thunderclap. He brought up his gun, ready to shoot, but there wasn’t any need. Turner fired, but the slug went astray because Potter smashed his six-shooter down hard on the back of the backshooter’s head.

  In the midst of all this, Lemuel was moving with surprising speed.

  He yanked out his gun and stumbled to his feet. With a loud shout, he raised his aim and fired.

  Potter fired.

  Carson fired.

  Lemuel fired again.

  And someone else opened fire.

  A bullet splashed into the pond just beyond Carson, sending up a fan of muddy water.

  That confused him. Billy Turner lay on the ground, moaning and clutching at the back of his head where Potter had slugged him.

  “Who else is shooting?” Carson called. He turned to see Lemuel take another shot.

  For an instant, he thought Lemuel shot at Potter. But he fired at someone in hiding behind him.

  “Dang it, you punctured me,” came the complaint.

  Carson and Potter both moved together, bracketing Lemuel.

  “Who’d you wing?” Potter asked.

  “Danged if I know. I saw someone moving behind you and I fired.”

  Without a word, both Carson and Potter split, going off to either flank, to catch whoever ambushed them in a cross fire. The shooter was shrouded in shadow near a clump of scrubby brush. When the limbs rustled, both of them fired. The movement stopped. Both men rushed forward, ready to finish off their assailant.

  Nothing.

  No man. No blood. Not even a boot print in the dry earth.

  They looked at each other, then spun back toward the pond.

  A hulking figure stood over Lemuel. The steel-blue gun barrel pressed to his head gleamed in the dim light. Neither Carson nor Potter hesitated. They raised their guns and began firing. This produced a loud curse.

  “You stay back, or I’ll put a bullet in your boss’s head.”

  “N-no, don’t. N-need him,” came Turner’s weak command. He thrashed about a few feet away, got his knees under him, and lurched forward.

  Both Potter and Carson tried to stop him. Turner grabbed Lemuel and whirled him about as a shield. Working together as they had done so often, Carson dashed right and Potter ducked and bobbed about behind the brush, causing a commotion designed to distract.

  Carson got in another shot. He winged his target again. This time, he recognized who had interrupted them dealing with Turner.

  “Brody!”

  The bounty hunter moved fast. He tried to support Lemuel, but the man wasn’t able to stand. He sank bonelessly and then rolled into the water. Brody let him go.

  “Leave him. Clear out!” Turner scuttled along the bank of the pond, his stride uneven. In spite of Turner’s warning, Brody started to save Lemuel, then whirled around and ran. Seeing how uneven Turner’s stride was, Brody grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him along.

  “After them, Clay.”

  “Lemuel, he’s drowning. Gotta get him.” Carson splashed into the shallow pond and pulled the drowning man upright. The water was only a couple feet deep here. Lemuel sat up and vomited water and blood.

  Potter helped him drag Lemuel to the shoreline, where he gasped for breath. He looked up and smiled at them.

  “You boys done saved my hide. What happened? Billy tried to kill me, but …” He shuddered and drifted away.

  “He’ll be all right,” Carson said. “We should go after Brody and Turner.”

  “Who’d have thought those two scoundrels would partner up?” Potter started after them, but Carson grabbed his arm.

  “Wait. What’s happened with Joe and his brother?”

  “They went to bury Wylie. And tend the horses.”

  They exchanged apprehensive looks, then rushed off to find their partners. Both men were tied to a tree and gagged with their own bandannas. Carson drew his knife and cut through the ropes binding them.

  “It was that bounty hunter!” blurted Joe Easterly. “He got the drop on us when we finished planting Sam.”

  “He moved like a ghost. I swear, I never heard him put his foot onto the ground once. He—” Daniel began sputtering in his fury. He looked bad in his brother’s eyes. With Carson and Potter rescuing him, he looked bad in their eyes, too.

  “We ran him and Turner off.” Potter helped Daniel to his feet. “Where’d you stake the horses?”

  “Over yonder. We got—”

  “Show him,” snapped Carson. He inclined his head in the direction of the pond. Joe kept abreast of him as they returned.

  Lemuel Jones was curled up in a tight ball. It took Carson a few seconds to determine he was unconscious rather than dead. His breath came in short, tiny gasps that hardly raised and lowered his chest.

  “We need to get him to town. It’s a few miles off. There must be a doctor there.” Carson heaved the unconscious man to a sitting position, then draped him over his shoulder. Lemuel Jones was as light as a feather.

  “I remember the town. Silverwood Springs. You reckon it’s got a sawbones?”

  Carson only knew they had exhausted everything they could do for Jones. When Daniel brought the horses around, Carson settled Lemuel in the saddle. The man was half conscious, murmuring to himself, but not making much sense.

  The sun had begun to sink behind the hills, painting the sky in streaks of crimson and amber. Coyotes barked somewhere in the distance, their yips echoing like ghostly laughter. Every shadow felt longer. Every breath, heavier.

  “We’re not going to get anything out of him,” Daniel said anxiously. “What are you gonna do, Clay? Any way of makin’ him talk?”

  Carson glared at the boy. What angered him was that Daniel put into words what he was thinking. Everything they’d been through so far was futile if Lemuel died.

  “No, don’t t-take me to a town.”

  “You know the place, Lemuel. Silverwood Springs. We stayed there a few days on the way to Fort Worth. There must be a doctor there who can help you.”

  “Help me die, you mean.” He coughed, then weakly wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  “You’re dying,” Carson said harshly. “You’re dying and you led us on a wild-goose chase. Sam’s dead and Billy’s turned on us. All for nothing.”

  Jones motioned Carson closer.

  “The mouth of the canyon, three rocks, stacked ’em up. By a hot spring. Smells of gunpowder. Then—”

  “Sulfur, you mean?”

  Lemuel nodded.

  “Gotta show you, need to lead the gang once more. Gotta.” He turned unfocused eyes on Carson. “You unnerstan—”

  Carson caught him before he fell off his horse.

  “You’re in no condition to ride much farther. You might not even make it to town.”

  “Head of the Dirty Creek Gang. Proud of you boys. You done me proud. Had to hide the gold. Sheriff was after me. Three rocks on side of canyon mouth. Hole in the wall …”

  “Which side?”

  “North. Head north.”

  “What’s he going on about, Clay?” Potter trotted up.

  “I’ve got some directions to find the gold. It’d be better if he had that map he mentioned.”

  “Clay, don’t bury me with my boots on. You can’t.”

  Carson grabbed him as he almost toppled to the ground.

  “Hey, Simon, Clay! There’s the town!” Daniel waved his hat in the air and bounced around.

  “Let’s get Lemuel settled in.”

  “Do I need to remind you, Clay, old son, that we don’t have money? Unless you’re hiding a pot of gold in those saddlebags of yours.”

  “We’ve got plenty of spare horses. If we sell them, we can get several hundred dollars.” Carson wondered if that would be all they saw in the way of money on this crazy treasure hunt.

  “We need to sell them to someone who doesn’t care the horses all carry different brands. We’ve collected a string of horses that’d mark us as thieves from here all the way to the Rio Grande.”

  “Let Joe sell them. He’s got an honest face. Him and Daniel must know how to sell stolen animals, since they were rustling cattle,” Potter said.

  “What they did was swap sick cattle for healthy ones, even if they ran the brands to make the switch.” Carson considered the matter, then agreed with his partner. The Easterly brothers were perfect for finding an unscrupulous buyer.

  A more plausible lie was that the horses were mavericks caught running wild on the prairie. Most mustangs cavorted about without brands, but some horses had escaped from ranches all across North Texas. Riders died and their mounts ran off. There were lies that an unscrupulous horse trader would accept—and buy the horses for absurdly low prices.

  By noon the next day, they’d left Lemuel Jones in the care of a sawbones fresh to town from back East, and the Easterlys had sold their small herd of horses for two hundred dollars.

  The four rode out at dawn the following day to retrieve the bag of gold coins from the bank robbery.

  CHAPTER 29

  “We shouldn’t have left him back there.” Joe Easterly stared straight ahead as he rode between Clay Carson and Simon Potter. “He’s all alone. That’ll make him think we abandoned him.”

  “We did,” Carson said harshly. “He wasn’t playing fair with us. All he wanted was one last ride at the head of the gang. He got that.”

  “But he wanted us to share in the take from the bank.”

  “Joe, he told me he had spent some of the gold while he was in Hidetown. A ‘little bit’ might be all of it. He said five or six twenty-dollar pieces, but in his condition, he might have forgotten a hundred more.”

  They rode slowly through a narrowing trail, the red cliffs of Palo Duro looming like rust-streaked cathedrals. Scattered scrub cedar and mesquite clung to the stone like stubborn ghosts of green. The air was thick with heat and silence—only the creak of saddles and the scuff of hooves disturbed it. Vultures rode the thermals above, casting slow, circling shadows across the canyon mouth.

  Carson considered breaking away from the remainder of the gang and finding his own trail, but he had come this far. He wanted to see if Lemuel was still in possession of his faculties. And these were his partners.

  Partners in crime—but, still, partners. They had been friends once. He shared the strange attraction to that feeling with Lemuel Jones.

  They had done the best they could for Lemuel. It was time for them to get their reward, delayed as it was by a full year of living as wranglers and road agents and … as a cotton farmhand. He hoped they had enough information to find the hiding place.

  Consumption ate away at the brain, as well as the lungs. Turning plumb loco was a possibility. Another was that a pot of gold waited for them where Lemuel Jones had claimed.

  “Joe?” Daniel Easterly joined up, riding alongside his brother. “We got company.”

  Carson cursed. He didn’t want to be head of the gang. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be in the gang any longer, but the boy voicing his concerns to his brother—rather than to him—rankled. He looked back, expecting to see the horizon blackened by a long line of furious posse members led by Marshal Sutcliff.

  All he saw was a dust devil swirling along. They were the only riders in sight. But he didn’t like how the wind curled through the canyon, stirring grit and whispering in voices only the desperate could hear.

  “Honest, Joe,” Daniel said. “I saw them.”

  “You’ve got good eyes,” his brother said, “but being on the run like this is making every shadow and every bush shaking its leaves into a threat.”

  “I saw them. Two men. They fell back when they knew I’d spotted them.”

  Carson cut off Joe’s reply. “He’s been sharp as a lookout. There’s no cause to think he’s wrong now.”

  “You don’t have any idea what to do, do you, Clay?”

  “If you don’t want to ride with us, head in some other direction, Easterly.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’ll take all the gold for yourself, you and Potter.”

  Simon Potter snorted in contempt. He started to add his two cents, then clamped his mouth shut. Getting in between the two if the argument turned deadly was a bit of foolishness he wanted to avoid.

  “You know as much as I do about where Lemuel hid the gold. You heard him give the directions.”

  “I don’t know this country. You and Jones obviously do.”

  “Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Potter said, finally jumping into the fray. “Let me and the kid fetch the gold and you two can shoot it out.”

  The suggestion brought them all to a halt. The three stared at Potter. Carson laughed.

  “I have a better idea. Let’s all four of us find the gold.” Carson appreciated the way Potter had defused the growing tension, but it was time to plan how they’d all profit, not just some of them. Potter had couched the suggestion as a joke, but even this small humor began to chafe Carson.

  “Then what?” demanded Joe.