Silk and Shadows(123)

But it was too late to turn back. Every sense alert, Kane began to make his way across the ground to his victims.

* * *

The deafening crack of the rifle made it shatteringly clear to Peregrine that once again he had made a lethal miscalculation. Weldon wasn't waiting, he was going direct to the death stroke.

Peregrine could have retained his seat on the horse, but let himself be pulled off by Ross's falling body. Fueled by self-fury, his mind raced at top speed.

The shot must have come from the right of the trail, where Ross was watching and Peregrine wasn't. A single gunman or there would have been more than one shot. And Ross had taken the bullet intended for his friend.

Peregrine hit the ground hard, Ross landing half on top of him as the horses stampeded, panic-stricken by the blast of the gun and the scent of blood. Keeping his head below the edge of the sunken lane, Peregrine did a hasty examination of his friend, praying that the wound was minor. The bullet had struck in the upper left back. As he turned Ross over to see if there was an exit wound, his friend's eyelids flickered open.

"That was a bloody stupid bit of heroics," Peregrine swore in a furious whisper. "You had damned well better not die, or Sara will never forgive me."

Ross gave a ghost of a smile. His voice almost inaudible, he said, "Tell Sara that... I owed you... a life for a life." His eyes closed again.

Peregrine's mouth twisted savagely as he saw the brilliant scarlet stain spreading across the other man's white shirt. The bullet had gone right through him, which was good, and the wound was high enough so that possibly the lungs were not damaged. But even if the gunshot was not mortal in itself, Ross would bleed to death quickly without treatment.

Two impulses warred within Peregrine; he wanted desperately to stop the bleeding before it was too late, but he could not afford to take the time when there was a murderer within yards. If either of them were to survive, the gunman must be stopped.

The only weapon Peregrine had was the knife he always carried in his boot. It would have to be enough. He crouched below the edge of the lane, and swiftly moved fifty yards to the left. Then he peered over the edge of the lane in the direction he thought the shot had come from. There was a tumble of boulders in the right position.

He held absolutely still, listening. At first there was no sight or sound of the gunman. Then he heard a slight rustle of grass. He could see nothing, but from the sound guessed that a single man was moving carefully from the rocks to the trail.

The ground was covered with a mixture of trees, grass, and shrubs, which prevented Peregrine from seeing the sniper, but which also provided cover for his own movement. He slid the knife from his boot, and carried it in his right hand as he crawled over the lip of the lane and began to stalk his enemy.

Staying low, he chose an angle that should bring the two men together at the brink of the lane. His progress was slowed by the dryness of the early autumn vegetation, which made it hard to move silently. Fortunately the sniper was making enough noise to cover the faint sounds of Peregrine's passage.

A few feet from the lane, the gunman stood up, presenting his back to Peregrine, who was still a dozen feet away. His rifle at his shoulder, the sniper gazed down into the lane to discover how much damage he had wrought.

When he saw only one body below, the gunman instantly realized his danger. He whirled around, hands tightening on his weapon, his eyes narrow and dangerous. It was Kane, Weldon's chief jackal.

Seeing Peregrine, Kane snarled, "Now I have you!"

Simultaneously Peregrine hurled himself at the other man, covering the distance in three long strides. "Not yet, you bloody murderer!''

Kane made the mistake of pausing to aim. Peregrine dived under the rifle, knocking the other man backward. The gun fired, the bullet blazing perilously close as Peregrine knocked Kane to the ground. The fight was swift and deadly. A stream of profanity pouring from him, Kane fought with every savage trick he knew, but Peregrine knew more. It took less than ten seconds to pin the other man to the ground.

A distant, rational corner of his mind said that he should interrogate Kane because the other man might know something useful about Weldon's plans. But rationality had no chance against annihilating rage. "Die, you bastard!"

He slit Kane's throat in the middle of a curse. Blood spurted forth, and a hoarse, gurgling noise came from Kane's severed windpipe. Very quickly the flow of blood slowed, then stopped.

Peregrine stood and wiped his knife on Kane's coat before he dragged the body behind some shrubbery. He took a moment to peel off his victim's coat and shirt. Then, his face grim, he went to see if anything could be done for Ross.

His friend was still breathing, though shallowly, and his face was chalk-white from shock and blood loss. Peregrine had considerable experience with gunshot and knife wounds, and swiftly he improvised a bandage from strips of Kane's clothing, tying fabric pads over the wounds on both chest and back.