Part 19 (1/2)
Her laugh was bitter. ”You always could screw up every plan I ever made.”
”Don't you care what Richards did to your pa and brother?” he asked.
”h.e.l.l, no!”
He remembered his pa's letter. ”I guess Pa was right, Janey. He said you were trash.”
”Rich trash, baby brother. Doesn't that bother you?”
”Money rich, sis. That's all.”
”And you don't think that's sufficient?”
”If you do, I feel sorry for you.”
”Then that makes you a fool, Kirby!”
He shrugged. ”One hour, Janey. That's all the time I'm giving you. Pack up and clear out.”
She nodded and turned her back to him. She stopped and turned around. She gave him an obscene gesture, spat on the porch, and walked into the house.
”You rat sure there wasn't some mixup in babies when she were birthed?” Preacher asked. ”You sure she's your sis?”
”I'm sure.”
Janey left riding like a man and holding the rope of the pack animal.
”Aren't you the least bit worried about your man?” Smoke had asked her.
”Shoot the son of a b.i.t.c.h as far as I'm concerned,” had been her reply. She had spurred her horse and ridden off without looking back.
”What a delightful young woman,” Audie said, the crust about an inch thick in his voice.
Smoke watched his only living relative-that he knew of-ride away. He knew he should feel something-but he didn't.
Yes, he did, he corrected.
Relief in the fact that he had found her alive and had offered her a chance to live and she had taken it.
He shook his head.
So he still felt something for her.
But d.a.m.n little.
”Burn the house to the ground,” he said. He looked around him. Deadlead and Matt were gone. His eyes met Preacher's gaze.
”They gone to buy us some time,” the mountain man said. ”They won't be back.”
Smoke nodded his head.
”I tole 'em not to kill Stratton, Potter, or Richards,” Preacher said. ”You wanted them yourself.”
”I do. Thanks.”
”Think nuttin' of it. I give 'em to you fer your birthday. Rest of us be takin' off shortly. You know what I mean.”
Smoke knew.
Two riders left their saddles before the sounds of the rifle fire reached the column of outlaws. The two men were dead before they hit the ground.
”What the h.e.l.l?” Reese yelled.
”Ambus.h.!.+” Stratton screamed.
Two more men were flung backward and to the ground, dead and dying.
”There they are!” Rogers hollered, pointing to a ridge. ”Come on, let's get 'em!”
A dozen riders looked at each other, nodded minutely, and slowly wheeled their horses, riding in the opposite direction.
”Come back here, you cowards!” Potter screamed.
”Let them go,” Richards said calmly. ”n.o.body fire at them.”
His partners looked at him strangely.
”It's over,” Richards said. ”We're walking-around dead men and don't even know it.”
”What do you mean?” Stratton's scream was tinted with hysteria.
”Look,” Richards said, pointing toward his ranch house.
A huge cloud of black smoke was filling the air.
”The PSR house!” Reese yelled.
”Yeah,” Richards said. He smiled. ”And you can bet my darling Janey has taken all the cash in the house-which was considerable; she'd need a pack animal to carry it off-and is gone. Her brother wouldn't kill her.”
”Well, you're taking it d.a.m.ned calm,” Potter said.
”No reason to get upset. What is done is done.”
One of the dying gunhawks on the ground moaned.
”Hosses comin' at us,” a gunnie said. ”Holy c.r.a.p!” he yelled. ”We're being charged!”