The fleeing man stopped, turned, revolver drawn. Jake fired, opening a hole in his chest. The man went down, and Jake walked out to the body, his .45 smoking. The man lay panting, staring up at him. He was not a big man, actually looked thin. His dark eyes were full of terror, and his black hair was wet with perspiration. Jake stood over him. “You’re Jube Latimer.”
“How did you…do it?” the man groaned.
“You underestimate what a man can do when he’s out to save his son. Where’s Lloyd?” Jake sneered.
“In the…shed. I hope…he’s dead. The sonofabitch killed two of my men…stole their horses.”
Jake knelt closer. “That isn’t why you went after him, Latimer. You went after him to lure me up here, after you heard I got out of prison. You just didn’t count on things happening the way they did. Maybe you thought I was too old and getting too soft to take on you and your bunch.” He placed the still-hot barrel of his revolver against the man’s forehead. “You hurt my son just to get to me, Latimer. That was a big mistake!”
He pulled the trigger, and Jube Latimer was instantly dead, his eyes still wide open. Jake just stared at him a moment, then wiped blood from the barrel of the revolver onto Latimer’s shirt before rising and holstering the gun. He called to Charlie and Miranda, and both came running. Miranda still carried the shotgun. She stopped short at the sight of Jube Latimer lying on the ground with a gaping hole in both his chest and his head. Jake turned to her, suddenly looking weary and spent. “He told me Lloyd’s in the shed. I don’t know if I can get my legs to move. I’m afraid of what we’ll find.”
A look of ruthless revenge still lurked in his eyes. Charlie took the shotgun from Miranda’s hand. “Where’s your rifle, Jake?”
Jake tore his eyes from Miranda’s and looked at the man, confusion in his eyes. “I don’t know. I think I left it at the other side of the house.” He put a hand to his head. “Do me a favor. There’s a dead man in there. Get him out of there. If Lloyd’s alive, I’ll bring him into the house so Miranda can tend to him. Then go check on Hank. I think he’s dead too. We’ll bury him later. To hell with the rest of them.”
“Sure, Jake.”
Jake noticed the man’s bloody sleeve. “You hurt bad?”
“You tend to Lloyd. Once you get him inside, your wife can tie somethin’ around the arm to stop the bleedin’. I think the bullet went clean through. I’ll be all right. What about you? What happened to your back?”
It was only then Jake began to feel the pain. “Pitchfork,” he answered. “Doesn’t really matter right now.” He took hold of Miranda’s arm. “Let’s go find Lloyd.”
Miranda put an arm around him, feeling him tremble. The gun battle and his pent-up fury had drained him. She knew he was terrified of what they would find, and so was she. She felt his weight, realized he was half leaning on her, suddenly weak. “He’s alive, Jake. I know he’s alive.”
He smiled bitterly. “My ever-faithful, ever-hopeful wife.”
They reached the shed, and Miranda gasped at the sight of Lloyd hanging from a beam, his wrists tied together. He wore only the bottom half of long johns, and his body and face were covered with bruises and cuts, his leg bleeding from what looked like a bullet wound, another similar wound at his upper left chest. “Lloyd!” she cried.
A new strength quickly returned to Jake’s body. He hastily dragged a stool over to Lloyd’s body and stood on it, taking a knife from his boot and cutting the boy down. He let the body slump over his shoulder.
“Oh, Jake, his back!” Miranda exclaimed. “They’ve whipped him!”
“I’ve got him. Let’s get him to the house!”
Miranda hurried beside him, struggling to stay in control. Her beautiful son, so battered and wounded! What kind of men strung another man up like that and just beat on him? She knew that killing two men would always haunt her, but she did not regret it now. She would never regret it.
Jake kept the boy hoisted over his shoulder and ignored his own pain as he hurriedly carried Lloyd from the shed into the house. Charlie was dragging the dead man out the back door. Jake headed for the one bedroom, and Miranda pulled the bedcovers back. “We can’t worry about his back right now,” Jake told her. “The bullet wounds come first.” He gently laid Lloyd onto the feather mattress, which was covered with a light cotton blanket.
Lloyd opened his eyes, focused them on the man hovering over him, expecting it to be one of Latimer’s men come to bring him more pain. He saw his father’s face.