Authors: Sarah McCarty
Two days wasn’t much time. “Do me a favor?”
“What makes you think I owe you a favor?”
“You don’t owe me, but you might want to do this one anyway.”
“What?”
“Send a telegram to my brother, Tracker Ochoa. Let him know where I am and what’s going on.”
“What? And bring Hell’s Eight down on my ass? I don’t think so.”
“My brother’s a law-abiding man. So are the rest of Hell’s Eight. Texas Rangers through and through. You don’t have much to worry about, but it’d mean a lot to Tracker to get a chance to say goodbye.”
“And why should I care whether your brother gets what he wants?”
Shadow leaned against the bars. “It’s always good to have Hell’s Eight in your debt.”
“You’re being awfully calm.”
“Sheriff, there comes a time in a man’s life where he just gets tired.”
“You’re damn young to be tired.”
“It’s been a damn life. I’m ready to have my trial, to stop running.”
“They’ll string you up.”
“Maybe. And maybe Caine Allen can pull some strings and I’ll go to jail.”
“That would take a hell of a lot of strings.”
“Hell’s Eight are owed favors by a lot of people. It’s not often it works the other way.”
The sheriff drummed his fingers on his thigh.
“I don’t think we should listen to him,” Ryan interrupted. “Hell’s Eight have got a reputation for taking care of their own. You don’t get much more ‘their own’ than a brother.”
“They’ve also got a hell of a reputation for upholding the law.” The sheriff pushed his hat back. “Where do you want me to send the telegram?”
Shadow gave him the address, then stuck his hand through the bar.
“Thank you, Sheriff. I’m in your debt.”
The sheriff took it. “A hell of a lot of good that’s gonna do me. You’re gonna be dancing at the end of a rope by the end of the month.”
“Maybe.”
“Of course, you could just get away with rotting in a jail cell.”
But it was also possible he’d escape. Stranger things had happened.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
H
E
’
D
RUN
OUT
OF
TIME
. Shadow looked out the window of his cell at the gallows, specially constructed for his hanging. He had to say, the town hadn’t spared any expense. The wood was solid, the rope thick, the height sufficient and the angles true. Leaflets had been passed around heralding the event. There was going to be a box social and dance afterward. Someone was trying to rustle up fireworks. His hanging was going to be the event of the season for Barren Ridge. Shopkeepers’ only complaint was the lack of time to order souvenirs. The speed of the trial was going to cost them money.
Shadow wasn’t sure what strings Colonel Daniels had pulled to get his trial run the way he had, but somehow the bastard had made it happen. Last Tuesday afternoon, right on schedule, the colonel had shown up at the jail. He’d walked through the door, in full uniform, not a speck of dirt on him. He’d stood in front of Shadow’s cell and grinned. Just long enough for Shadow to get close enough to reach him through the bars. Nothing more. Just gave him that one-sided grin that made him look like a ghoul, touched his hat with two fingers and left. Three days later, he’d been officiating at the trial that had convicted Shadow. Tomorrow, he’d be standing on the gallows, giving the call that would have Shadow hanged by the neck until dead, and the sanctimonious bastard would likely still be grinning. Shadow gripped the steel bars of the window. He should have gutted that crooked bastard right alongside Archie.
He ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the feel. One of the deputy’s petty tyrannies had been to deny him a bath. As a method of irritation, it was working. Shadow was pissed. And impatient.
The jail was deserted, as it always was this time of day. Shadow looked through the barred window, down the street. Nothing stirred in the shadows and the only movement in the alley was the meanderings of an old tomcat. No sign of any of Hell’s Eight. Not surprising. It would take a week of hard riding to get there from Hell’s Eight land. If the sheriff had sent his telegram as promised, on the day he’d promised, and if anyone had been at the ranch to receive it, and if the riders didn’t run into any difficulty along the way, Shadow could reasonably expect help to arrive about a day after they put his body in the ground. The rough metal of the bars cut into his fingers. Son of a bitch, the colonel was clever.
Just how clever, they hadn’t realized, when they’d been searching for the man who’d been hiring assassins to kill Desi and Ari—Caine’s and Tracker’s wives. They’d known Archie had accomplices. There was no way Archie could have known what he needed to do without some help, and they’d been sure some of those accomplices had to be high up. But they hadn’t suspected Colonel Daniels. He’d been that good at hiding his involvement. It was only after Shadow had killed Archie and been labeled an outlaw that his suspicions had been aroused. There’d been too many similarities between the attempts on Shadow’s life and the attempts on Desi. Colonel Daniels had been one of Archie’s accomplices, which explained why Desi and Ari’s wagon train, a train carrying a wealthy and influential family, had been so ill protected when crossing Indian territory. And why it had taken the army three weeks after the attack to even begin searching for the two abducted girls. Oh, the blame could be shifted through the layer of lower ranks to look like just “one of those things,” but it would be easy for Daniels to orchestrate the necessary scenarios. A miscommunication here. A delayed order there.
Shadow let go of the bars and wiped the rust from his hands. The colonel was clever, no doubt about it. But while Shadow was certain that his unorthodox trial would somehow be explained to the higher-ups, the colonel had to be getting nervous. Hell’s Eight might be Texas Rangers, but Daniels knew them well enough, or rather he knew Caine well enough, to know there wasn’t a prayer in hell that Caine was just going to sit back and let one of Hell’s Eight get strung up by a crooked son of a bitch posing as an upstanding member of the military. Rigging the trial would guarantee Shadow’s death, but it would also guarantee his own. There was no way Hell’s Eight would let that slide. Even if the other members were inclined to overlook the colonel’s actions, Tracker wouldn’t. Shadow might not be around to exact revenge, but Tracker would hunt Daniels down, no matter how long it took, and when he found him, no rank, no amount of political influence, would save him. Tracker would find him and Tracker would kill him. Slowly and painfully. Shadow smiled. This time the colonel’s arrogance was going to be his downfall.
The deputy came around the side of the building carrying a bulky sack in both arms. Shadow watched as Ryan struggled to haul the heavy load up the stairs to the gallows. He paused at the top, leaning back before dropping the sack. It hit with a loud thud. The tie came undone. Rocks spilled onto the freshly built wood. Ryan swore and quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Shadow shook his head. The deputy would do better finding employment in a mercantile. He wasn’t suited to the law. He quickly gathered up the rocks, stuffed them back in the sack and then tied the sack to the end of the rope dangling from the overhead arm. Standing by the lever he looked toward Shadow’s cell window and called, “You there, injun?”
Shadow didn’t answer.
“You aren’t going to want to miss this.”
Ryan pulled the lever. Slick as shit, the door opened and the rope snapped taut. Shadow winced as the sack swung on the end of the rope. No doubt he’d swing just as lively tomorrow. He took a breath, recalling vividly how it felt to have a rope slipped around his neck and the air choked from his lungs. He’d prepared himself to die at the end of a knife or at the point of a gun, but hanging had never been in his plans. And tomorrow he was going to do it a second time in one month. More proof God had a sick sense of humor.
“See that, injun?” Ryan crowed. “Tomorrow that’s gonna be you dancing and kicking at the end of this rope.”
The hell it was. God might have a sick sense of humor, but the devil was in the details and Shadow had a few details still left to see to. Like finding Fei. “I see.”
“The great Shadow Ochoa.” Ryan spat. The glob landed just behind where the hangman would stand. Where the colonel would likely stand. “Baddest man to ever come out of Texas. Just goes to prove talk is cheap when it comes to a man’s reputation. You’re nothing more than a drunk who doesn’t have enough common sense to stay out of trouble.”
A couple of passersby slowed at the exchange. Shadow waved. They hurried on, no doubt to embellish the exchange until it elevated to the level of him being a violent lunatic. The local newspaper did need its headlines.
“Hell, you didn’t even put up a fight.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
The pissant was enjoying gloating a bit too much. Shadow leaned against the bars and glanced up the street. Still no sign of life. “You planning on having a reputation after this, boy?”
“Sure do.” He hauled the bag of rocks back up through the opening to the floor of the platform. “I’m the one who caught the infamous Shadow Ochoa.”
Shadow shook his head. No doubt Ryan had already put that story out there, and no doubt how the capture had come about had nothing to do with the truth. “So you’re the one they’re going to come gunning for, then.”
Ryan froze in the process of untying the rope. “Who?”
The little pipsqueak deserved that spook. “All the men who were once gunning for me are now going to be gunning for you.”
“They don’t have anything against me.”
“Most of them don’t have anything against me, either, son. They just want my reputation, and once I’m gone, they’re going to want yours.”
Even from this distance, Shadow could see Ryan grow pale. “Didn’t think about that, did you, dumbass?”
“Shut up.”
“Rather than playing with those rocks, you’d better get to practicing your quick draw.”
Ryan drew his gun and pointed it at Shadow. “Shut up!”
“Scared?”
“Get away from the window and shut up!” It came out a screech. Shadow chuckled and stepped back.
“Fool.”
“Still scaring little children, Shadow?”
The deep baritone came from behind him. There was only one man with a voice so similar to his. Only one man who could get into the jail in broad daylight without the door scraping or the hinges squeaking, or someone calling a warning.
“Tracker.” Shadow turned around. His brother looked tired. More weary than a week’s ride warranted. “Good to see you. Thought you were going to miss the big event.”
Instead of pushing his hat back, Tracker settled it farther down on his head, the way he did when he was pissed. No anger sounded in his tone, though. “I missed your first hanging. Ari would never let me live it down if I missed the second.”
Tracker’s wife had been through hell and back. Last time Shadow had seen her, she’d been healing but still fragile. “How is she?”
“Doing a lot better.” Tracker walked over to the window that was perpendicular to the cell and looked out at the street. “She’s going to make you an uncle in a few months.”
An uncle. Shadow shook his head and smiled. Damn. “Well, now I know what took you so long to get here.”
“It would have helped if you’d had the good sense to get caught closer to home.”
“I wasn’t planning on getting caught at all.”
“How
did
you get caught?”
“A slight misunderstanding.”
“The same kind of misunderstanding that had your neck stretched just a couple weeks ago?” Tracker asked, looking pointedly at the fading bruising.
“How’d you hear about that?”
“I did some checking after I got the telegram you sent in regard to your
wife.
”
“Ah. So that’s what got your attention.”
“Yes. Considering I didn’t even know you were near the state, hearing you got married was quite a surprise.”
He hid the truth in sarcasm. “I got homesick.”
“Then you should have gotten your ass home,” Tracker retorted.
“You know I couldn’t do that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you should have.”
Tracker looked around the cell. Shadow knew what he saw. One threadbare blanket, a wooden bench and the remains of last night’s dinner rotting on a plate on the floor. Ryan was enjoying his role as king of the jail.
Coming back to the cell, Tracker asked, “So, where is your wife?”
“Gone.”
“Her doing, or yours?”
“She’s not the kind to cut and run.”
Tracker nodded, sending his long, black hair sliding over his shoulders. “So, your decision.”
“Hey, injun, you’re going to miss the next test,” Ryan called.
“Are you just planning on standing here and chatting all day until the sheriff and deputy come back in?” Shadow asked.
“No, I thought we’d bust you outta here in a spell.”
“You couldn’t have done that before the trial?”
The front door opened. Caine slipped in. Right behind him came Sam followed by Zacharias. Zacharias didn’t come into the cell area. Instead, he nodded to Shadow and took up a defensive position by the outer door. Of all the Hell’s Eight men, not counting his brother, Shadow felt the strongest kinship with Zach. They both had the same darkness inside. The same cold practicality when it came to getting the job done. The same drive to right all wrongs. The same drive to protect.