"The bullet didn't go clean through. You're goin' to have to take it out."
Conchita did not reply.
"I know what you're thinkin'." Morgan's face twisted into a savage mask. "You aren't deaf. You heard everythin' that's been said around here, and you know who this woman is. Well, she doesn't know it yet, but she's
my
woman now. I took care of her husband the same way I took care of Turner, and I'll take care of you the same way… if I need to."
Conchita winced as Morgan gripped her chin with a bloody hand. "Take the bullet out, Conchita. I know about you, and I know it isn't the first time you fished a bullet out of somebody. But I'm tellin' you now just so's you understand take care how you do it, because if she dies, you die."
Morgan allowed enough time for his words to register, then rasped, "But I'm promisin' you somethin' else, too. If she lives, you'll be leavin' this cabin with enough money in your pocket to get you home, or anywhere else you want to go, in style.
Comprendes?
"
"
S
?.
" His words cutting deep, Conchita replied,
"
Comprendo
."
Conchita drew back, her mouth twisting when she felt the dampness of blood on her face. She walked back into the main room, leaving Morgan standing beside the unconscious woman. She poured water into a basin and washed away the blood, then threw the water into the bucket nearby. She carried the empty basin back into the room, snatching a bottle of red-eye and a cloth from the corner as she passed.
Back in the room, aware that Morgan watched her every move, she poured the liquor into the basin,
then
lifted the hem of her skirt to draw her knife from the sheath on her thigh.
Morgan snapped, "You're not goin' to use that filthy thing to get the bullet out, are you?"
"My blade is sharp. It cuts clean and deep." Conchita dropped it into the basin, waiting in silent challenge for him to reply.
"Go ahead then! You waited long enough!"
Conchita picked up the knife. The woman was young. Her skin was white and smooth, her features delicate. The bright hair Morgan so much admired curled into ringlets around her still face. Morgan did not call her
puta
. Nor would he leave her side. He was consumed with desire for her.
Conchita dipped the cloth into the amber liquid,
then
rubbed the blood from the surface of the wound. The woman groaned softly.
Bueno
.
She would not fully escape the pain.
Conchita applied her blade sharply.
It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Walker rode along the trail, scowling. Morgan and the wagon had disappeared from sight in the darkness. He was left behind to do Morgan's dirty work again. He supposed he should be accustomed to it by now, but he still didn't like it. He also supposed he should have walked out on Morgan a long time ago. But Morgan was smart smarter than anybody he had ever ridden with. It had never made any difference to him that Morgan was also more deadly as long as Walker wasn't on the receiving end of his anger.
A familiar agitation tugged at Walker's thoughts. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but he knew Turner was right. The parson's wife was making Morgan crazy. He had known he had to do something about her before Morgan got them all killed, just like Turner said. There was no way to trace a stray bullet… so he took a chance. But his bullet was a little too high. His only consolation was that judging from the amount of blood the woman had
lost,
Morgan was only putting off the inevitable by taking her back to the cabin. But he'd learned a long time ago not to argue with Morgan when he was determined to do something.
it
was too bad that Turner didn't.
Pulling the reins of Simmons's horse sharply as the animal lagged behind his own mount, Walker looked up at the night sky. Clouds moved over the moon, plunging the trail into darkness. Simmons hadn't liked the idea of his mount being used to carry Farrell's body back. He considered it bad luck. But he hadn't protested. He knew better.
Walker scanned the edge of the trail. The search was senseless. He had already been back and forth over that section several times without finding Farrell. The wagon had been traveling so
fast,
there was no way he could pinpoint exactly where Farrell fell. He could be anywhere in that heavy foliage. It would take most of the night to locate him in the dark.
A gust of wind stirred the shadows into a sudden burst of movement. Walker's mount shied, rearing so unexpectedly that he was almost thrown. Bringing him under control at last, Walker realized that Simmons's horse had spooked as well and had disappeared into the darkness.
All right! He had had enough. He didn't care what Morgan said, he was going back to the cabin!
Walker turned his mount resolutely. He'd handle Morgan. He knew how. That red-haired witch might be dead by the time he reached the cabin anyway, and finding Farrell's body wouldn't really matter if she was.
Walker considered that thought. Morgan might even thank him one day for saving him from that woman if he ever found out.
Walker's wiry mustache twitched. But he wasn't fool enough to tell him. He valued his life.
That thought lingering, Walker dug his heels into his mount's sides and headed back.
Sharp whinnies and trampling hooves nearby… muttered curses… hoofbeats disappearing into the distance…
Reed groaned. Pain struck sharply in his temple as he attempted to move. He groaned again, his head spinning. He opened his eyes slowly.
Darkness.
He felt the ground underneath him, the foliage waving in the brisk breeze around him.
Where was he?
His body ached. The pounding in his head worsened as he attempted to clear his mind. He touched a hand to his temple and felt the stickiness of blood there.
Chastity… the wagon…
Reed struggled to a seated position. He looked around him. The trail was only a short distance away, and the wagon was gone.
Recall swept his mind in a sudden rush that set his heart pounding. The gunfire and wild yelling behind them a farce intended to make them think Indians were attacking them.
Reed swayed uncertainly, Morgan's plan suddenly clear. Morgan had warned them about an Indian problem, then orchestrated an attack to get rid of Chastity's ''husband" so that she would turn to him for protection.
But where had everyone gone? Chastity would never leave with Morgan without trying to find him.
Something had gone wrong.
Dizziness again assaulting him, Reed fought to clear his mind. He had been driving the wagon at a frantic pace. Chastity had come to the front of the wagon. Chastity was directly behind him when everything went blank.
Oh, God, no!
Reed struggled to stand. He had to find her! He had to make sure she was all right.
On his feet, Reed took a staggering step, then another. But the darkness whirled around him. The ground swayed beneath his feet. He realized he was no longer standing the second before his head hit the ground with a stunning crack.
"She's opening her eyes. She's conscious."
"No, she ain't. She's driftin' off again."
"Conchita, get some water for her to drink!"
"She can't drink nothin'!
She ain't conscious yet!"
"Mind your business! She isn't your concern!"
The angry voices swirled in Chastity's mind, punctuated by a stabbing pain in her shoulder that would not relent. She struggled to open her eyes, but her lids were so heavy.
"Chastity… how are you feelin'?"
That voice…
"Can you open your eyes? Look at me, Chastity."
Chastity recognized it. She forced her eyes open. She groaned as the pain seared more hotly.
"Those damn Injuns…" Morgan's face hovered over her. "We heard the shootin'. We got there just in time to run those drunken renegades off." Morgan's face moved closer. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek when he whispered, "Can you hear me, Chastity?"
"Yes…" She felt so sick. It took all her strength to hold her eyes open as she rasped, "Reed… where is he?"
Morgan's expression softened to compassion. "He was shot."
"Where is he?"
Morgan's hand closed around hers. "I'm so sorry. We got there too late. He's dead."
"No!" Chastity's instinctive protest was a hoarse, grating sound that made Morgan snap, "Get her some water!"
Chastity averted her head from the cup that was held to her lips. "Drink, Chastity." Morgan whispered gently, "I know you feel bad, but you need to drink somethin' or you'll get the fever."
Chastity allowed a drop of moisture past her lips, grateful that her voice was stronger as she rasped, "Where is he? I want to see him."
"The boys carried him into the barn. You're too weak to go to see him now. You're lucky you're alive. An inch or so lower and…" He squeezed her hand tightly. "But don't worry. You're goin' to be all right. I'm goin' to see to that."
"Morgan…" A male voice called out, "Walker's here. He wants to talk to you."
"Morgan…" Chastity closed her eyes, not realizing the name had passed her lips. Reed was right. There had been no Indians… only Morgan. And Reed was dead.
Reed was dead.
Reed was dead.
Chastity's eyes drooped closed.
Grabbing Simmons's arm, Morgan jerked him roughly into the outer room. He hissed, "You damned fool! Now you did it! I told her my name was Jefferson, remember?"
Releasing Simmons's arm with a shove, Morgan looked at Walker where he stood frowning nearby. "Did you find
him.?
"
Walker shrugged. "No."
"What?"
"I couldn't find him. I rode up and down that trail, but
I couldn't see nothin'
. It's too dark. I'll ride out first thing in the mornin' and bring him back."
"I told you to bring him back tonight."
"It's a waste of time! I couldn't see a thing. Take a look out there. It's black as pitch!"
Morgan glanced at the window, his lips tight.
"All right, tomorrow.
But I want you out of here as soon as it gets light. I don't want anybody else findin' that bastard but us. I already told Chastity that we put him in the barn."
"Next to Turner, huh?"
Morgan's youthful face twitched. "Get rid of Turner. I don't care what you do with him, but I want him out of the way."
Walker protested cautiously, "I don't mind draggin' Farrell back here, but I don't like dealin' with Turner. Hell, I rode with him for a year!"
"That bothers you, huh?" Morgan smiled unexpectedly. "But my guess is that you won't have an objection to splittin' his share of the take when the time comes."
Walker did not reply.
"That's what I thought. Just get rid of him, and make sure you do it before you bring Farrell back."
Turning, Morgan saw Conchita watching him intently. "What are you lookin' at?" he grated.
"Nothing, Morgan."
Morgan attempted to arrange his raging thoughts. He didn't like it when things didn't go as he planned… and he didn't like the look in the Mexican whore's eyes. He snapped, "Make somethin' for Chastity to eat. She has to get her strength back."
"She will not eat tonight. She is not well enough yet."
Morgan looked at Conchita in silence. He wondered what he had ever seen in the sullen witch.
He ordered, "Make sure you have somethin' ready for her when she wants it." He paused, adding with a note of
chill
warning, "And watch what you say to her. You know what's goin' on here. If you mess it up, you're done for."
Morgan walked back into the rear room and closed the door behind him.
Reed awakened slowly to the pale light of morning. His head was pounding, his vision blurred. He blinked, waiting long moments before he could see clearly and was able to draw himself to his feet.
The events of the previous night returned in a rush as he took a tentative step forward. The wagon was gone, and Chastity was gone with it. He needed to find out where she was, and if she was all right.
If Morgan had hurt her…
A rustling sound in the bushes turned Reed slowly. He reached down into his boot toward the derringer concealed there, his hand halting when he saw a chestnut gelding moving through the foliage nearby. The animal stopped still when he spotted him. The animal was saddled, his reins hanging.
Reed approached him slowly.
"Easy, boy."
Cursing his unsteady step, Reed continued his advance. He spoke softly past the throbbing ache in his head that would not relent. "They left you here, too, did they? I bet they'll be coming back for you. But they're not going to find either one of us."