Part 40 (1/2)

Then he was still.

Tracker shook his head. ”Ah, Don,” he said, grimacing.

So he had been followed.

Perhaps they'd been careless in the graveyard, or perhaps Don had been watching him for days. Either way, the message was clear: he'd learned too much to stay alive.

After setting his revolver on the table, Tracker pulled Don's gun off his hip and then reached for his knife.

It was gone.

He checked Don's s.h.i.+rtsleeves, his boots. It didn't make sense. He didn't go anywhere without that knife. He slept with it. He took it to the jakes.

As Tracker stared at the empty sheath, he recalled a metallic glint in the moonlight, followed by the hiss of something flying past his ear.

Suddenly, a warm liquid trickled into the hollow of his collarbone.

Tracker reached up and touched it. His fingers came away b.l.o.o.d.y.

”Tom?”

Tracker turned and looked.

Caroline was sitting up in bed, drenched in blood. She stared, horrified, at the blade of a bone handle knife buried in her shoulder. ”What ... what...” she said.

Tracker rushed to her side.

The knife had sunk deep. If he tried to remove it, she would bleed out. ”Don't fret,” he said. ”I'll get you to the Doc's.”

Caroline let out a yelp of pain and shut her eyes. ”Oh no,” she said. ”We have to hurry.”

”We will.”

”No, it's not just that,” she said, touching her belly. ”I think it's time.”

It took Tracker a moment to understand what his wife was saying. Time? Of course it's time to get you help, you've been stabbed!

And then it dawned on him.

”No,” he said, staring at her belly.

”Yes.”

”Now?”

”Now.”

”Why now?”

”How in h.e.l.l's bells should I know!” she shouted. ”It's just-uh...”

Her eyes rolled up, and she fainted.

Careful of the knife, Tracker scooped her into his arms. ”Everything's going to be okay,” he said. He lifted her up, his wrists screaming. He kicked the door open and moved out into the chilly night. It started to rain. He struggled through the darkness, slipping on the gra.s.s, focusing on the gaslights of Main Street. Another few minutes and he'd be at the Doc's. He'd fix her. She'd be fine.

”Wake up,” he said. ”Wake up and talk to me, Caroline.”

She said nothing for few moments, then: ”Tom ... don't.”

Her voice was faint.

”Don't what,” he said. ”You stay awake, you hear me? What don't you want me to do.”

”Don't ... let it happen.”

”I won't,” Tracker said. ”I won't let you die.”

”No,” she whispered. ”Don't let ... our baby ... die...”

Her head rolled against his chest, and she was unconscious again.

”No one is dying tonight,” Tracker said.

He doubled his efforts, but it felt as if his knees would buckle at any moment. His arms screamed for relief, but he pushed on. Thankfully, the Doc's house was still lit. He was awake, and no wonder. The Ram's celebrations had spilled out into the street. The crowd sang and roared. A shotgun blast tore into the sky.

Looking at the second floor of The Ram, Tracker imagined Andy in there with a big grin on his face, thinking all his problems were over now.

But Don had missed.

And he'd hit Caroline.

Swallowing his anger, Tracker reached the Doc's and yelled, ”Doc, it's me, Tom!”

There was no answer from inside. ”Doc!” he cried. ”Open the G.o.dd.a.m.n door!”

Nothing.

Holding Caroline as tight as he could, Tracker lifted his foot and kicked the door. It didn't budge. Clearly, the Doc took his advice to bolt his doors. Cursing, he tried again. This time he heard a crack, but still the door held.

”Hey,” called a voice from the street, ”just what do you think you're-Sheriff!”

Ben ran toward him. Seeing Caroline, he gasped and said, ”Great gosh almighty, what happened?”

”Don tried to kill me,” Tracker said.

”Where is he?”

”Ben, the Doc isn't answering and I need to get Caroline inside. If I don't, she'll die.”

”Stand back, Sheriff,” Ben said. He backed up, charged, and hit the door with such force that it exploded inward and took him with it. Tracker followed. Inside, Ben lay sprawled on the floor. ”I'm all right,” he said.