Longarm suppressed a snort of disbelief. From what he had seen and heard of the man, Callahan wouldn't stop at anything to get what he wanted--and what he wanted now was the Mcentire Timber Company.
"Did I hear you say that Callahan and your husband used to be partners?"
"Years ago," Aurora replied with a nod. "Before I even married Angus, in fact. Then, when he and I became engaged, I think that Ben seemed to regard it as a... a betrayal of sorts. He said he was going to form his own company and go his own way. Angus tried to talk him out of it, but there was no persuading Ben to change his mind." She smiled wistfully. "I don't think Ben likes me very much, and I always felt a little guilty about driving a wedge between him and Angus. They were good friends, good partners, before that."
"Maybe you're letting that blind you to the fact that Callahan could be behind your troubles," Longarm told her. "Guilt can make you see things differently."
Aurora laughed quietly. "I don't feel that guilty. I loved Angus very much, and I've never regretted marrying him, no matter what other circumstances might have arisen from that. I just don't think Ben is capable of such violence."
Longarm wasn't convinced. He and Aurora might have to agree to disagree on that point for the time being, however. He couldn't make a move against either Kinsman or Callahan without coming up with some proof first, solid evidence that not even Aurora could dispute.
At least he had another lead now, despite his lack of progress so far on the Diamond K. And that was where he needed to go now. Kinsman, Traywick, and the others were expecting him to come straight back to the ranch after the inquest in Timber City, and he had already delayed long enough. It had been a mighty pleasurable delay, of course, and maybe informative as well.
"I've got to be riding," he told Aurora.
"Back to Kinsman's ranch?"
"That's right."
"Even though you don't believe he's guilty?"
"I never said that," Longarm pointed out. "I said I wasn't completely convinced, that I hadn't found any proof either way just yet. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking."
But he was going to be looking long and hard at Ben Callahan too, he added to himself.
As he started to turn away, Aurora stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. Her gaze was soft and warm as she looked at him and said, "Be careful, Custis. We may not agree about everything, but you've already done so much for me." She stepped forward and lifted her face to his for a brief kiss.
Longarm knew what she meant. He had reawakened a passion inside her that had been slumbering since the death of her husband. She had submerged herself in work, the business that had been built by Angus Mcentire. Longarm had brought her out of that for a few minutes, lifting her back to the surface so that she had emerged into the glorious sunlight of her own needs and desires. The hot urgency of her kiss made it clear that she was eagerly anticipating the next opportunity to repeat the experience--as was Longarm.
But for now he had his own business to tend to, so after a final embrace, he left the cabin without looking back and untied his horse's reins from the hitching post. Swinging up into the roan's saddle, he pointed the animal down the path that would take him back to the main trail. As he rode past the cookshack, the bald-headed old biscuit-shooter stepped out and lifted a hand in greeting. Longarm returned the wave, then put the lumber camp behind him.
He didn't see the sentries on his way back to the main trail. They had withdrawn into the timber to stand guard in case anyone bent on trouble tried to approach the camp. Of course, watching the trail was one thing, and Longarm didn't blame the loggers for posting sentries. But there were other ways to approach the camp, and they couldn't all be watched, not if any work had to get done. He felt a tingle of uneasiness. Other than the bushwhack attempt on his life, the last couple of days had been free of trouble.
That couldn't last, thought Longarm. Every instinct he had developed over a lot of dangerous years as a lawman told him SO.
Still, he wasn't expecting all hell to break loose quite so quickly.
He swung his mount back onto the main trail, then a few minutes later veered off it again when he came to the path leading to the headquarters of the Diamond K. This path led through a thick stand of timber, and though the day was sunny, the shadows were thick here underneath the boughs of the towering pines. Longarm breathed the fragrant air and thought about what he had learned today. He was convinced that Ben Callahan was a plausible suspect in Aurora's troubles.
The volley of shots that ripped out of the trees to his right drove those thoughts from his mind and replaced them with the need for sheer survival. The bullets drove him from the saddle too, as one of the slugs ripped across his back, plowing a shallow furrow in the flesh and clipping his left shoulder blade. With a cry of pain, he twisted and tumbled from the roan's back, barely thinking to kick his feet free of the stirrups as he fell.
The roan bolted forward, breaking into a startled gallop. Longarm heard the pounding of its hoofbeats mixed with the sharp crackle of gunfire as he thudded heavily to the ground. Even hurting as he was, he kept his wits about him and rolled toward the far side of the trail as fast as he could. He was aware of bullets smacking into the ground around him, but as far as he could tell, none of them struck him. So far, the wound he had suffered in the first volley was his only injury.
Of course, that was enough, he thought as he slid down the narrow grassy verge along the edge of the trail. The crease across his back burned like blazes, and pain shot through his upper torso every time he moved. Still, he knew he had to hunt some cover in a hurry, or within a few moments he wouldn't be hurting at all. He'd be too dead for that.
A deadfall lay some ten yards away. Longarm palmed out his Colt, which thankfully had not fallen from its holster when he tumbled off the horse, and began triggering as fast as he could as he came up in a crouch. The shots were directed toward the blank face of the woods across the trail, where the other shots had come from. He had no real hopes of hitting anything; he just wanted to distract the sons of bitches while he scampered for some shelter.
The strategy worked. A couple of shots came his way as he dashed for the fallen tree, but neither of them were close. Longarm threw himself forward and sprawled behind the log. The tree had been a good-sized one, with a trunk several feet in diameter. None of the bushwhackers' slugs were going to reach him as long as he stayed behind the deadfall.
There was more than one hidden rifleman this time. Longarm was convinced of that. He had heard the sound of at least three separate rifles. He grimaced as he began thumbing fresh shells into the Colt. Even though he was safe enough for the moment, they still had him in a damned bad spot. If they had plenty of ammunition, they could wait him out. Or some of them could just work around behind him and catch him in a cross fire. He was pinned down good and proper.
The gunmen were still firing--he could hear the crack of their rifles and the thud of bullets hitting the log--but their attack was more desultory now. They wanted him dead, but they weren't in any big hurry about it.
Longarm felt the sticky wetness of his blood soaking the shirt on his back. He didn't think he was losing blood fast enough for that to be a real concern. Chances were, the bushwhackers would get tired and rush him to get it over with before he ever had a chance to bleed to death.
He looked around, searching for something that might offer him a way out of this dilemma. The bushwhackers had picked the spot well for their ambush. In many places along this trail, the woods came almost right up to the path, so that a rider could have reached out and brushed his fingers along the rough bark of the trunks. On the other side of the trail, where the riflemen lurked, that was the case. On this side, however, there was a clearing behind the spot where Longarm lay. The edge of the pine forest was a good twenty feet away. If he tried to stand up and run into the shelter of the trees, or even attempted to crawl across the clearing, the would-be killers would have no trouble picking him off. It was pure luck that they hadn't done worse than wing him so far.