Savage Thunder

Chapter Thirty-one

“This is purely a waste of time, if you ask me."

"So who's asking you?"

Pete Saunders glanced sideways at the new man. He was a strange son of a bitch. He went by the name of Angel, just Angel. It was supposed to be his last name and probably was. Who'd pick such a name if they had the choice? But he didn't look like an angel, not by any means. Oh, he was tidy enough in appearance. Shaved every morning, cut his own hair, and neatly too; cleaned his own clothes when there was no laundry around he could take them to. A real stickler about his appearance, Angel was, just like the boss.

But you didn't seem to notice such things about him, not right off anyway. First you'd see that scar he had running from his chin to his ear along the jaw-line, as if someone had tried to cut his throat but missed by a few inches. Then you'd see his eyes, black as sin, cold, ruthless, predatory even. You couldn't look into them for very long and not wonder if your days hadn't come to an end.

He wasn't all that tall, but that was another thing you didn't seem to notice, not right off. He always wore a long mackintosh slicker that nearly scraped the ground, and large silver spurs that warned he was coming and made mincemeat of his horse when he was in a hurry. But he rarely hurried about anything. Slow and easy were his movements, and his patience seemed boundless. You never knew what he was thinking either, for he was disturbingly quiet most of the time and never smiled. Even the cold, steely-eyed Englishman had been known to twitch his lips on oc-casion, but not this Angel.

He'd been picked up in Benson along with two ex-members of the Clanton bunch who didn't want any part of the ongoing feud with the Earps, especially after the Tombstone shoot-out and the new talk of revenge. De-wane had gone to Benson to find a tracker after they'd lost the duchess and her party between there and Tuc-son. They'd ridden all the way to Tucson first, however, before figuring out that they'd been duped somewhere along the way. With four days wasted, the boss had been pissed some, enough to backhand Pete right off his horse as if it were all his fault.

Pete hadn't forgotten that. well, how could he? The bruise on his butt-bone hadn't had a chance to fade with all the hard riding they'd done, and the pink spot on his lip where the scab had only recently fallen off was still tender. He'd almost parted company from this bunch then and there, except Dewane had pointed out where the blame really lay, with that wily half-breed the duchess had hired on. Pete wanted that bastard himself now for making him look bad, and figured the only way he'd get a chance at him was to stick with the Englishman a while more. But with the way things were going, and the boss's new plan— which didn't call for taking out the half-breed just yet, and did call for a helluva lot of patience — it didnt look like he'd get what he wanted.

Patience and revenge didn't mix, leastways not for him. He'd had two clean shots at that breed already, but had been warned off both times. They had to give the new plan a chance first, though Pete was of the opinion the plan had about as much going for it as a snowball in hell.

Revenge wasn't worth all this aggravation, it surely wasn't. He was already regretting not iaking off when he'd had the chance. Now they were in New Mexico, where he didn't know a soul, and it was a long ride back to Arizona. And Angel, whom he was unlucky enough to be riding with today, was getting sarcastic. If he too was losing patience, Pete could anticipate becoming buzzard fodder by sundown.

"Pull up, Saunders," Angel said suddenly.

Pete felt his heart trip over, considering what he'd just been thinking. But when he followed Angel's gaze, he saw what Angel did — two specks kicking up dust in the far-off distance.

"I don't believe it," Pete said. "You think he's finally come through after all this time?"

Angel didn't bother to answer, and Pete didn't press his luck by asking again; they'd know soon enough.

He followed the older man to a clump of sagebrush that would keep them from being noticed until they were ready to be noticed.

The deal had been that they'd be waiting with the money, day or night, about a quarter mile east of the road and a good three miles behind. The distance was necessary for them to avoid being spotted by anyone who might drop back, like the half-breed, to make a wide sweep of the area. The boss remained with the others even farther back, so that when they camped each night, there was at least a day's distance separating the two groups.

Each day two of their number would ride ahead for the rendezvous. Each day they returned empty-handed. The only reason the Englishman hadn't abandoned the plan after two weeks was that he was really savoring the idea of having the woman delivered to him, of seeing to her disposal personally.

Getting rid of the half-breed so one of his own men could be a replacement wasn't as desirable as long as he had this other option, since it was doubtful that whoever was sent in would be able to get her away from her guards, but would have to try to kill her in her own camp.

After ten minutes of hard squinting, Pete finally decided it wasn't a long coat he saw flapping on one of the riders approaching them, but a woman's green skirts. "It's really her, ain't it?"

He wasn't actually asking Angel for confirmation, but speaking aloud in surprise. He'd really figured they'd been wasting their time.

Angel answered, however. "That's red hair under that funny-looking hat."

Pete squinted even harder. "Jeeze, you got good eyes. I can't make out no hat, much less the hair under it." But it wasn't long before he could.

Jocelyn was beginning to wonder about this little jaunt that was taking her farther and farther away from her people. She and Miles had ridden several miles already, but there was still no sign of a meadow, valley, or any other scenic spot worth seeing. It came to her mind, belatedly, that Miles might have had some other motive for luring her away — like holding her for ransom. After all, she had dashed his plans for gain-ing her wealth legally. Mightn't he now think to do it illegally? And she had made it easy for him because of a foolish bit of guilt.

Once the doubt entered her mind, other possibili-ties sprang to light. What if he hadn't believed her about losing her wealth if she married? Could he be taking her away to get her to agree to a marriage?

She shuddered, refusing to think how he might manage that. Coercion came in many forms, none of them pleasant.

That was the thought that had her jerking back on her reins to bring Sir George to a prancing halt. Miles stopped beside her with more ease due to his less spirited mount.

"Is something wrong?"

The innocent inquiry, the concerned expression, had her feeling foolish, but not foolish enough to go on.

"Just a headache that's getting out of hand. I'm afraid I'll have to forgo this scenic wonder of yours."

"But it's not much farther," he protested.

So much for that concerned expression, she thought in disgust, annoyed enough to quirk a brow at him.

"Really? All I see ahead is. " Two men moving out from behind a bush not more than thirty feet in front of them made her finish with, "Friends of yours?"

Even as she said it she was reaching for her rifle. Miles' hand came down over hers on the stock, pinching her fingers against the wood. She glared at him, only to discover he had drawn his revolver, which was pointed at her chest.

"Don't do anything stupid, Duchess," he warned as he yanked the rifle out of its scabbard and tossed it away.

"You mean, more than I've already done?" she bit out furiously.

The two men were moving toward them. If Miles didn't have that blasted gun aimed at her at such close range, she would have put her heels to Sir George. But she knew when she was outmaneuvered. And to think that this possibility hadn't occurred to her even once. But how could it with Miles involved? It was simply inconceivable that Longnose had gotten to him. When? How? Yet there was no doubt in her mind whose men these were, or that Miles had led her di-rectly to them.

"You really gave me no choice with your unex-pected revelation, Duchess," Miles remarked in a low voice just before the two men reachedlhem. "I would have preferred to have it all, but the five thousand I've been promised will have to suffice."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry that you have to settle for so little? Good Lord, what an utter ass you are!"

He flushed nearly scarlet. "Whatever they want with you, they're welcome to you!"

It was more than galling that he didn't even know what his Judas money was for, but she didn't think it would have made any difference if he did. She knew, but fortunately, she was too enraged by his avarice and her own stupidity to worry about it just yet. Besides, she was almost certain she wouldn't be killed immediately, for she doubted either of the two men was her nemesis. As long as they had her, it was logical to suppose Longhose would want to be present for her execution. After all, he'd worked toward this end too long to be merely told about it.

"So they're welcome to me, are they? And how do you propose to explain my absence to my guards?

Did you merely misplace me, or have I met with some dire accident?"

"A fall into the river ought to do it," he replied sullenly.

"Ah, very convenient. But you'd better hope your performance is better than it's been these past weeks.

If even one of my people doubt your story, you can be certain you and your sister won't be riding off with your ill-gotten gains."

Suddenly he offered her a smug smile. "You were fooled that Maura was my sister, weren't you? She's actually my mistress."

That information threw her, but only for a moment. "Very clever, Mr. Dryden, but the only part of your scheme that was convincing."

"Bullshit!" he snapped. "You believed everything!"

"Just as you did?" It was her turn to smile. "I hate to disappoint you, you fortune-hunting miscre-ant, but I lied to you today. You don't really think I would have married someone as transparent as you, do you?"

Satisfied to see by his paling complexion that he understood what she meant, she turned her attention to the two men who had reached them by now, heard what she'd said — and also understood it. She didn't care. Dryden didn't deserve to ride away thinking he'd salvaged something from his thwarted schemes.

Now he knew his failure to win her was through no fault but his own.

"Didja hear that, Angel?" the younger of the two men asked his partner. "He keeps us waitin' all this time so he could court her. If you ask me, he don't deserve the money."

"So who asked you?" the darker, more dangerous-looking of the two replied. "I didn't figure to waste that much money on him anyway."

Before the others realized what that implied, the man calmly drew the Colt.45 from his hip and shot Miles Dryden right between the eyes, then just as calmly put the gun away.

Jocelyn had her opportunity to flee now that there weren't any weapons trained on her, but she was too shocked by this unexpected turn of events to take advantage of it. One glance at Miles had been enough to ascertain he was dead.

She didn't watch as he slowly slid off his horse and hit the ground, but kept her eyes on his killer, who showed no emotion at all over what he'd just done. She also didn't notice that his companion was nearly as shocked as she was, or that the green velvet of her riding habit was spotted with blood. All she could do was stare at the man, aware that she was at his mercy, aware that he had none. Perhaps he was Longnose after all.