Part 50 (2/2)

Scanning the ground, he looked for a rock large enough to crush a skull. There had to be something, anything he could- Beside a stinging nettle, that something glinted. It was the thing Jack had seen in the sheriff's hand. He moved over and plunged his hand into the thick of the gra.s.s, expecting to touch the cold blade of a knife. Instead, he found the ivory grip of a gun. He lifted out a silver-plated revolver. It felt incredibly light.

”Devlin,” Tracker gasped.

Jack turned to look at him.

”I know you're innocent. Don't destroy your life by-ach!”

The coyote dug its claws into his shoulders.

Jack turned back and stared at the squirming ma.s.s of pulp that used to be Andy Dupois. ”I am innocent,” he said. ”That's been my foolishness.” He knelt and touched the barrel to Andy's forehead. ”You misused me. You thought you could drown me in your mud.”

Andy mumbled something.

”But that don't matter,” Jack said. ”I reckon I'm used to folks misusing me. What does matter is that you killed Sally. You let Cole hurt her. You let him touch her and she didn't ask for that. Jeanie didn't ask for that!”

”Devlin,” Tracker pleaded, ”no.”

”Sally can't stand,” Jack said, slipping his finger over the trigger. ”Jeanie can't stand. Charlie can't stand. But I sure as h.e.l.l can stand. Yes, I can.”

You're no monster...

Andy stared up at him, his eyes wide and b.l.o.o.d.y. He was such a pathetic creature, a prisoner of that d.a.m.ned wh.o.r.ehouse in Gasher Creek. As far as Jack knew, he'd never even left town before, always at the beck and call of his pa, always- He shook off the thoughts. They didn't help. All it did was buy Andy the precious few moments he didn't deserve. A roach wasn't granted extra moments; a roach was crushed.

Jack applied the slightest amount of pressure to the trigger- I'll never get it back.

The coyote growled- Tracker shouted, ”Devlin, don't!”

Jack, you listen to me. You listen real hard. A man shows his goodness not by what he says or thinks, but by what he does. I don't know what you did in Gasher Creek; curses man, even you don't know. But I've seen what you've done since then. I'm not sure who this raping, killing, Jack Devlin is, but he's not sitting across this table from me.

The gun slipped from Jack's grip and fell into the gra.s.s.

Beneath him, Andy gurgled and pa.s.sed out.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't shoot Andy. He wanted to, G.o.d help him he wanted to pull the trigger, but- ”Devlin, watch out!”

Jack turned to see the black coyote lunge at him. It struck him in the chest and pinned him to the ground.

”I can't do it!” Jack shouted.

The coyote howled into his face and the world turned black. In the darkness, he saw Jeanie drop to the floor, her neck crushed.

Charlie's head exploded in the blast of the carbine.

Sally rotted in the bed beside him.

Jack could feel the coyote's desire. It needed him to kill Andy. Jeanie and Sally and Charlie were morsels of guilt compared to the feast of a murderer's conscience.

”That's it, isn't it?” Jack said. ”All this time, I've been feeding you.”

The coyote snarled.

And it wouldn't stop. He was haunted by it. He would always think of Jeanie. He would always dream of Sally and Charlie, unless- Jack reached out and groped in the gra.s.s around him. It had to be close, if he could only find it- He touched the grip of the gun, pulled it out of the gra.s.s, and jammed the barrel against his temple. The coyote yelped as if struck. It slunk away, its head low, its ears back.

Jack sat up and stood, the gun still held to his head.

”Devlin,” Tracker said. ”What are you doing?”

”I won't feed this beast any more.”

”Put the gun down.”

”When I die, it dies.”

”What are you talking about?”

Slipping his finger over the trigger, Jack said, ”It's the only way.”

He closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw all his loved ones: His mother, his sister, Charlie...

A bite of peace.

Jack pulled the trigger.

Chapter Fifty-Two.

When a man sees one strange event happen, it tends to stick in his mind for a long time. When he sees two strange events happen simultaneously, it can become a guaranteed cure for sleep.

Even as he witnessed them, Tracker knew the events of that day would return to him in the quiet moments of his later years. And he knew, no matter what the weather, that he'd always feel a chill.

Devlin held the gun to his head, babbling about feeding the coyote. Tracker didn't know what he was on about, but he did look determined to pull the trigger. He tried reasoning with him, but Jack looked like a man about to fall of a horse. It was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.

The hammer was c.o.c.ked.

The finger was on the trigger.

And then Jack Devlin pulled the trigger.

And the Lightfeather revolver, famed gun of Oscar Matthews, the cost of a wagon, dependable firearm for the dainty gentleman and exclusively manufactured in Seaview-misfired. Tracker winced reflexively, but the blast never came.

Devlin stood still, his eyes clenched shut. After a moment, he opened them and looked at Tracker. Then he looked at the coyote.

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