Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss(77)
He shrugged. Hunter had learned Kincaid was not big on sharing. “Idiots generally all act the same. Isn’t that hard to figure them out.”
The horses plodded along side by side. “Then how about you tell me why you agreed to help Bill Yucton.”
“Told you. The man paid me to do a job.”
“Uh-huh. And what was that job again?” Hunter had an easier time dislodging a deeply embedded splinter than he did getting a straight answer from Kincaid.
“You aren’t the only one who’s got a beef with these men.”
“And what’s your beef with them?”
“Shh!” Kincaid held up a hand and shot him a sharp glare.
They reined in their horses and fell silent. He thought Kincaid was overreacting. They weren’t far from town at this point. It didn’t make sense the men who took Yucton would stop here. But he held his position and kept his mouth shut. If Kincaid had the right of it, then they weren’t looking to get away. They expected to be followed.
The only sound Hunter heard was the occasional hoot of an owl in the far distance and the deep breathing of the animals they rode. Then it came. A swift crack of a twig to his right from somewhere inside the dense thatch of trees where the moonlight couldn’t penetrate. Hunter drew his Colt and tried to see through the darkness, but there was nothing. He chanced a look toward Kincaid, but the bounty hunter was searching in the opposite direction.
A shot rang out and spooked the horses. His horse reared as Kincaid’s shimmied, its hindquarters slamming into his horse and throwing him off balance. Hunter jumped off amidst the sound of Kincaid’s answering shot. He hit the cold ground hard and rolled down the gradual slope leading toward the forest. That’s when he saw it. The shadowy movement about twenty feet away.
Shots sounded simultaneously. It happened in seconds, maybe even less than that, but time had lost meaning at that point, stretching out until everything slowed to a crawl. Hunter recognized the sickening sound of a bullet hitting flesh and a coinciding grunt. His or the shooter’s? Heat seared up his arm, the shock causing him to stumble and lose his footing.
His back hit the ground first, then his head. Pain exploded through his skull, then everything went black.
Chapter Twenty
Hunter’s head and arm throbbed fiercely, taking turns until it reminded him of a pendulum clock. He managed to stem the blood from the wound in his arm, but there wasn’t much to be done about his head. Near as he could tell the damage to his skull was minimal save for the egg-size lump where he’d hit the rock beneath him. At this rate, he and Jenkins would be sporting matching bandages. He wondered if his deputy’s brains felt as scrambled as his did at the moment. He’d tried twice to stand and both times his head swam and knocked the legs out from beneath him. Finally, he dragged himself over to rest against the thick trunk of a white-bark pine.
The shooter lay about a hundred yards away. It was Roddy Lewis, one of his father’s men. He hadn’t moved, twitched or groaned since Hunter had come to. If he wasn’t dead he was on his way there.
The quiet of the forest unnerved him. Kincaid was long gone—alive or dead, Hunter had no way of knowing, but it didn’t appear he would be returning any time soon. His own horse grazed nearby, making a meal of the moss scrambling over a large rock, apparently unconcerned his rider sat on the leaf-strewn ground, the cold soaking through his clothes until he forgot what warmth felt like.
“Don’t suppose you want to go for help?” The horse’s ears flickered but he continued with his meal. “No...didn’t think so.”
“This your idea of a rescue posse?”
The words came from the other side of the path beaten through the middle of the forest. Hunter drew his gun, thankful the bullet had hit his left arm. He couldn’t see through the darkness to find where the voice had come from, but he recognized it just the same. “Come out where I can see you,” he yelled. He didn’t want to take the chance Yucton was being used as bait to lure him out.
Yucton ambled out from behind a tree, a lantern swinging from his hand. He patted Hunter’s disloyal mount on the hindquarters as he walked past. The man moved as if he was out for an evening stroll. Hunter wondered if his head injury wasn’t more severe than he’d originally thought because there was no way on earth Yucton should be alive, let alone walking free.
He lowered his revolver when it was clear Yucton was alone. “How the hell—”
The outlaw crouched down next to him. “You took out one of ’em and Kincaid took off after the other two. Left me all by my lonesome. Just had to work myself free. Turns out not one of those three idiots could tie a decent knot.”