Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

Hobbs reined in.

“Who did this to Trent?” Cruz asked.

“Reeves and Seaver.”

Cruz held the man in his gaze. “You were with them.”

“I didn’t shoot. Chico, I’m not much good, but this I just couldn’t do.” He paused thoughtfully. “But then, I didn’t stop it, either.”

“Then why did you bring him back?”

“We had kind of a face off at the Army Base Camp a while back. One of my men pulled a gun on him. A dumb kid. Trent killed him. I had my own gun half out of the holster when he turned on me. He could have killed me right then. No one would have said a word. He let me go. I never knew why.”

Chico slowly nodded, “It’s because he is not the killer most people think.” He glanced up. “Are you leaving?”

“Damn right I am. I don’t want to be around when he gets up. That man is gonna be mad.”

“I’ll thank you for him, since he cannot do it himself. I’m sure he will not forget your actions. But Hobbs?” Chico’s voice turned cold and brittle. “Ride far from this place.”

Hobbs walked his horse as far as the edge of the clearing surrounding the ranch house, then went cantering down the trail.

Chico Cruz stood on the porch, foot up on the rail, smoking his little black cigarillo. He knew, with Trent out of the picture for a while, Pagan Reeves might make a move on the ranch. He turned to call his men together.

It was late. The moon had come and gone, and the night breeze coming through the open windows was soft and fragrant. Occasionally, a whippoorwill would call into the night, an echoing answer coming later from another valley.

Murdock had come and gone, and Consuelo had gone to bed. Chico Cruz was somewhere around, but Katie didn’t know where. He was always around.

She sat next to Trent, her hands idly playing with his hair, careful not to touch the crease on his scalp. He was lying naked under the blanket—head wrapped in white cloth, along with his shoulder, and hip. On his side, and in the middle of his back, were bruises that were getting blacker by the moment. He had been wounded four times, but with luck he would make it. Thank God, she thought as she bent to kiss his lips.

It was dark, and warm. There was a fragrance, bringing memories of sweat and passion, something soft and yielding—

Trent woke with a start, a jagged edge of pain slicing behind his eyes. “This can’t be heaven. It hurts too much.” His voice was hoarse, and halting.

Katie leaned over and kissed him, not surprised he was awake. She had been noticing signs of him waking up for an hour. “Welcome back.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears again, and she leaned back to keep from dripping on his face.

As he tried to move, she placed a hand on his chest. “Shh. Be still. You’ll start the bleeding again.”

His memory was coming back in bits and pieces, like looking through a fog. “Where am I?”

She watched him closely. “Connie’s ranch. Hobbs brought you here and Cruz is keeping watch.”

“Ben Hobbs?” He gazed at the ceiling, trying to digest that little piece of information. “How bad am I?”

Her hand rested lightly on his arm. “You took a beating, but you’ll live. Lost some meat on your shoulder, and you’ll have one hell of a headache. You were grazed on the hip, but that’s not bad.”

“My chest feels like a horse stepped on it.”

“You were hit in the side and back.” She moved so she could see his eyes. “I was afraid I was going to lose you. I don’t think I could stand that.”

He looked at her quizzically. “You’re not mad? The last time we talked, I didn’t think you thought much of me.”

“I’ve had an attitude adjustment.”

He sighed and looked at her for a few moments. “Good. I have too much to live for to check out now. I’ll be around.”

A few minutes later, after she decided he had been kissed and pampered enough, he posed another question. “I can’t figure why they didn’t come down and finish the job.”

“Reeves and Seaver?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Yellow streak, maybe?”

“It’ll cost them.” He said softly.

“Not for a while, it won’t.” Her voice was stern. “You lost a lot of blood, and your shoulder may get infected if you’re not careful. It’s not too bad, right now, but you don’t want to break that wound open again. You need your rest.”

He digested that thought a moment, but realized he was too tired to argue. “What do you hear from Big Springs?”

“I asked Murdock about the town when she came to look at your wounds. She said Pagan rode into the Springs right after he ambushed you. He was really bragging it up.” At the look in his eyes, she continued quickly. “Whatever he’s doing now can’t be helped. The people will deal with it the best they can. It won’t do any good for you to go after these men when you’re not ready. You would just make it easy for them to finish the job.”

He contemplated that for a moment. Through the pain in his head, it seemed like he had to formulate each thought separately and move it silently to the next one. “So, what do we do, nurse?”

“Connie told me of a place not far from here, an old cabin hidden back in the hills. We’ll go there and let you mend.”

He tried to sit up, but fell back. “Then I’ll deal with Reeves.”

“No. Then we will deal with Reeves.”

The Watcher heard the horse running down the trail toward him. He knew it would be the man who found the marshal. A foolish man to run his horse in the dark.

The horse screamed as it hit the rope stretched across the trail, stumbling forward and pitching its rider headlong into the dust.

When Hobbs came to, he was standing. How…? He tried to move and found himself lashed to a tree. Looking around, he saw a tall man in buckskins coming toward him.

“Who the hell are you?” Hobbs’s voice stammered as he tried to control his fear.

“Doesn’t matter, boy.”

“Wha— what are you doing with that knife?”

“You shot up a good man, boy. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I didn’t, mister. I never shot him. It was Reeves and Seaver. They did it.” Hobbs was struggling to get loose as the man came closer. “Please, it wasn’t me.”

“You were there, boy. You were there.”

The screams lasted almost an hour. Hobbs was a strong man. A lot stronger than he should have been, or wanted to be. But that’s the trouble. Sometimes you just can’t die when you want to. The screams were shrill, panting things at the last, feeble and bubbling past bloody lips, but there was no one to hear them. Except for one, and he didn’t care.

The Watcher cleaned his knife on Hobbs’ shirt. It was hard to find a spot that was not bloody. He caught up his horse, took the saddle and bridle off, and slapped it on the rump.

As he watched the rider-less horse limping down the trail, he thought of the girl. He could wait now. The killing of Hobbs had sated his thirst for the moment. But he wouldn’t wait too long.

Chico Cruz and one of his sentries stood staring and listening into the night.

“I thought I heard screams, Chico. They were faint, brought with the wind. Terrible screams.”

An owl hooted in the distance as the wind rustled the leaves of the towering oaks surrounding the ranch yard. Both men stood for minutes, until Cruz finally broke the silence.

“I hear nothing, Gorge.”

“But I—”

“I don’t doubt you.” Cruz reassured the man. “Whatever it was, it’s gone.”