'Shooting at shadows Tanner?'
He turns to the voice and his throat tightens. Frank Lake, the man he punched to the ground in the hotel is standing over him, gun in one hand, horse’s reins in the other. Somehow he has managed to lead his horse up the track without Logan noticing. He shakes his head in disbelief.
'Now, I thought the sheriff had you arrested. Just imagine my surprise when I saw you riding by. So you know, I said to myself, I bet that man is a fugitive and I could make me some money by capturing him. I lost your trail back aways but then with all your gunplay you did kind of signal your location.'
The calm way that he stands there, so proud of his tracking skills, he seems oblivious to the presence of the Mexican. Does he really think Logan was shooting at shadows?
'You have it wrong Lake. I'm not a fugitive.'
'You're not?' Frank shakes his head. 'I could swear I saw you taken out of the saloon by the deputies.'
'That wasn't an arrest.'
'Okay.' Frank is thinking hard.
Logan shuffles a little, slowly turning the gun in his hand so that it is pointing towards Frank.
'Don't move!' he barks.
Logan makes a show of freezing. His gun hand is starting to sting now. He can feel the blood running along his trigger finger.
'Damn it, stand up Tanner.' Frank says suddenly, coming to a decision. 'If you ain't a fugitive then I ain't going to make no money from catching you. So I might as well just shoot you right here, and I intend to shoot you standing up. So stand up, or God help me I'll shoot you where you sit like a scared old woman.'
Logan adjusts his hat, but stays crouched.
'Surely you're not going to kid yourself that you killed me in a fair fight now are you?'
The barrel of the gun still points at him, the dark circle of the muzzle as dark as death itself.
'You know I'm pretty sure the sheriff would be pleased with you if you brought me in.' Keep him talking, don't give him a reason to shoot.
'I ain't bringing you in if there's no money in it.'
'If you want money Frank, I know where there's a whole stash of money hidden.'
'How much? Where?'
'If I told you that, then there'd be no incentive for you to keep me alive now would there?'
'Tell me where it is or I'll shoot bits off you until you do.' The gun waves around as though Frank is trying to work out which bit to shoot off first.
Logan glances over his shoulder at the ruins of the house, and then instantly regrets it.
'So the money's in McLaren's house is it?'
Logan thinks for a moment before nodding, slowly. He doesn't want to give away the information that might keep him alive, but if he can persuade Lake to walk out into the ruins to look for the money, there's always the Mexican's rifle to consider.
'Why would there be money in McLaren's house? He ain't got no money. Nothing but what Humby gives him and he spends that every day. No, he has nothing. So if there's money there, then either you put it there, or someone else put it there for you.'
Logan remembers the gun in his hand. If he can turn it so it points at Lake then he can cut him down. Can he do it before Lake pulls the trigger?
'Damn, it was you with the dynamite wasn't it? Why didn't I realize? Of course the sheriff would be pleased I'd killed you. You blew up the house and now your payoff is in the ruins. Well, you ain't gonna be collecting today!'
Logan stands suddenly, fear and panic turning everything into slow motion clarity. He has to kill Frank Lake before he tells anyone else the truth about the dynamite in the cabin. He pulls himself to his feet, the gun raises and he plans to fire as soon as the bullet might hit any part of Frank. The legs would be fine, knock him over, just get the first shot away. He raises the gun and feels his grip slipping. The blood on his hand. The gun slips too far, he can't fire it, he can't even hold it. He watches in horror as the gun loops gently forwards in the air away from him.
Lake, surprised, fires.
Logan's right leg, strained from crouching for so long and sprained from jumping from Billy's window, doesn't respond when he plants his foot to stand up straight. As he drops the gun, his leg folds and he collapses to his right. The bullet hits high on his left arm near the shoulder and spins him round. He lands heavily on his back.
He knows he has been shot but feels no pain. Not yet. He looks up expecting the next shot to be the last thing he sees.
There is another bang, and then another, but curiously no smoke from Frank Lake's gun, just a red haze in the air. A sort of warm rain that seems out of place on such a hot bright day and then Frank Lake slowly folds up into the ground.
Wilson stands, gun in hand, a wisp of smoke drifting from the end of the barrel like the soul leaving Frank Lake's body.
First the Mexican tries to kill him, then Lake, and now Wilson. Logan closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, he has no fight left in him now, Wilson can shoot him if he wants, he doesn't care.
'The sheriff isn't going to like this. No he ain't. You damn fool Tanner. You wake up, d'you hear?'
Wilson is talking to him but it doesn't make sense. Why isn't he just killing him and leaving him in a ditch like he threatened to? His shoulder starts to throb and he remembers that he has been shot. The pain wakes him and he opens his eyes to see Wilson standing over him.
'Let go, that hurts,' Logan says, realizing that Wilson is the cause of the pain in his arm.
'Be quiet. I'm stopping the bleeding.'
'What? Who? Why?'
'That Lake character was about to stick a bullet in your head. A simple "Thank You" wouldn't be out of place.'
Logan looks over at where Lake stood. Now there is just a crumpled corpse and some blood. Lake's horse has wandered away and is grazing quietly in the open on the other side of the track.
'You killed him,' Logan says.
'Well that's not quite the kind of gratitude I had in mind but it'll have to do. You can't stay here. I'm going to have to move you.'
'The Mexican,' Logan says, tugging at Wilson's sleeve to get him to understand the importance. 'Keep down or he'll shoot us.'
'No, he ain't shooting. He ain't doing much of anything any more. You hit him with that last couple of shots you fired.'
'Who was he?'
'No idea, I didn't chase you here to go poking at dead Mexicans.'
At least the Mexican is dead. One less problem to worry about. Wilson has chased him down and saved his life. That makes no sense. No, it must just be the pain in his shoulder that's making it seem so muddled. Wilson is trying to catch him. Wilson is trying to keep him alive.
'Why don't you just kill me?'
'Hey, come on Tanner, I'm sure it doesn't hurt that much that you need me to put you out of your misery. If we can get someone to take a look at this wound I reckon you'll survive this one.'
He shakes his head to try to get the confusion out of it. This deputy is trying to look after him and to get him back to town. Why? To get him back to the sheriff? Why does the sheriff want him alive? He thought they wanted him free so they could follow him to find out who had paid him to dynamite the house. If that were true then surely Wilson would be more interested in the Mexican wouldn't he?
'Can you move?' Wilson asks.
'Of course I can move,' Logan says, grumpy with confusion, 'If you let go of my arm I can move just fine.'
He sits up and picks up his hat where it has fallen. He tries to knock some of the dust off it and notices that it is now smeared and spattered with spots of blood.