Belly-crawling, the going was slow, but the floor of the desert undulated on occasion and offered places where I could gain on the ranch without fear of giving myself away. At those times I came up to my hands and knees and moved rapidly to where it flattened out and I was forced back down. I made it to within four hundred yards of the buildings without raising the alarm. I had three options from there and lifted my face to check each in turn. Moving directly for the house was out. If Carson was spying from behind the tattered blinds he couldn’t fail to see me, even as the dusk spread like an ink stain across the land. The junk pile that I’d used when coming in from the north was the better route, but I was incredibly thirsty by then and thought that a trip down to the watering hole wouldn’t go amiss. From this angle, the corner of the house blocked much of the view that way and down by the water I determined that there’d be enough of an embankment to conceal me while I drank. I set off: a body length at a time, then a pause while I listened for movement. I didn’t want to twist my head to look around because my face would be detectable as a pale blur even through the shadows. Instead I kept my head down, concentrating on my peripheral vision, where even the slightest movement would be increased tenfold.
A stockade fence, where the dust had piled up against the lowest spar, offered easier passage, and I was able to move faster for the pool. Then I was on open ground and had to take it slow and easy again. It took me some time and by then night had fully dropped. The moon hadn’t come up yet, but the stars were vivid sparks in the heavens. A soft glow seemed to emanate from the surrounding plain, but here and there lay pockets of shadow where the ground undulated. Using each feature of the land I made it to the watering hole and slithered down to its edge. Thankfully, I slaked my thirst: if I happened to be killed in the next few minutes, I didn’t want to go to my grave parched. Not that it made much difference in the scheme of things, but I now had a bellyful of water, a comforting thought. It made me feel a little stronger, which helped dull the ache in my body from my earlier fight with Samuel.
I continued along the embankment so that I could come in towards the ranch from an unexpected angle. Out behind me was nothing but open desert and there’d be no way a launch would be anticipated from that direction. To keep my gun clean I’d carried it in my belt at the back with my shirt tucked around it. I drew it now and prepared myself for the last leg.
Continuing towards the house in the same fashion I got to within fifty yards of the right front corner. Here was the first of the outbuildings and I crouched against the back wall while I took a look around the corner. I was at an angle to the front of about forty-five degrees and couldn’t see into any of the windows, but I could make out flickering light from within. The ranch was so off the beaten track that it wasn’t served by the main grid and as I couldn’t hear a generator running the light must have come from a lantern. Ignoring the house, I turned my attention to the Dodge pick-up.
The thought crossed my mind: take the truck, go and pick up the girls and get them the hell out of there. The Logans would be stuck out here, sitting ducks for when I sent the police back for them. But that wasn’t going to happen. I was resolved to make them pay for what they’d done to their hostages. Watching the front of the house, I went to the pick-up and crouched down at the back wheel. From under the hem of my jeans I pulled the knife I’d earlier liberated from inside the house. It wasn’t a fighting knife, the type I usually employed, but it was sharp enough for what I intended. I jammed the tip into the tyre, twisted the blade to widen the puncture then moved on to the next wheel. I made a full circuit of the truck, slashing each tyre, and though it wouldn’t put the truck permanently out of commission it would definitely slow it down.
That done, I moved for the front of the house, my senses on high alert for anyone hiding in the darkness. I shoved away the knife and held my gun ready.
Kick the door in and go in blasting?
No, if Carson had readied himself for me I could be doing exactly as he hoped.
It was best that I take it easy.
I moved to the right of the front door, seeking a chink between the planks as I’d done during my first time here, all the while watching for the light from within to be disturbed by movement. There was nothing I could detect, possibly meaning that Carson was more disciplined than I’d given him credit for. I found a hole large enough to set an eye to, but thought better of it. Maybe Carson was waiting for me to do just that. It would be difficult for him to see me out here, but who knew what he was capable of?
I couldn’t keep putting things off for ever: I needed to get a position on the man. Inhaling, I leaned forward.
To my right I heard the softest scuff of boots in dirt.
Son of a bitch! Carson wasn’t inside the house. He’d made it look that way and had set me up with a trap. He’d been stalking me all along, I realised, waiting even as I disabled the vehicle before showing his hand. I couldn’t think why he’d waited as long as this, maybe just to be sure of his shot. But now I’d presented myself as a target he was making a move.
I dropped to my knee, swinging my revolver towards the sound.
That’s when I got my second surprise.
It wasn’t Carson attacking out of the darkness. In fact the man lumbering in my direction wasn’t even armed. And judging by the way he jerked, he hadn’t seen me on the front stoop until now. He reacted the way many do when faced by the barrel of a gun: he launched himself sideways out of the line of fire.
I wanted my rematch so much I could taste it. I wanted to meet him fist to fist and pay him back for the hurt he’d put my body through. But I’m not an idiot. I fired.
My bullet hit him and Samuel Logan spun with the impact, his arms flailing. He hit the ground and I lined up on him again. He had the sturdy body, the compact muscles, that one bullet might not be enough to finish. I would prefer a head or heart shot, but in the dark that wasn’t easy. I fired again and saw him jolt as my bullet struck.
Coming up for a better shot at his prone body, I levelled the gun on him again.
Suddenly it felt like my cheek was on fire, and I heard the crack of a gun an instant afterwards. Splinters of wood made a cloud within the scope of my vision and forced me to turn away. Natural instinct took over and I threw myself down on my right side to avoid the next bullet that slashed through the wall and into the space I’d just vacated.
From inside the house Carson continued to fire, unloading half a clip of ammunition through the planks. All of his bullets went overhead but it could be seconds before he adjusted his trajectory and shot me like I’d just shot Samuel. I scrambled away, dabbing a hand to the bloody spot on my face. I couldn’t stop to think about the wound, but was reassured not to find a huge hole where I’d been hit. Luckily his first bullet had missed and it was only the flying splinters from the wall that struck me. I’d been fortunate, but that could change with his next round.
While I was scrambling for my life I couldn’t get off a clean shot, so conserved my bullets. My escape took me back towards the pick-up I’d disabled. Carson was yelling now, raining curses down on me for slaying his son. A window was shattered and the barrel of his gun poked out. Carson was firing indiscriminately and couldn’t see me as I crouched alongside the pick-up. I aimed for his muzzle flash, then adjusted to the right where he was hiding behind the lintel. I returned fire.