The Stranger from Abilene

A star blazed above him, bright in a dark part of the night sky that slowly spilled ink over the last pale remnants of the blue bowl of the day.

The darkness gave birth to a wind that sighed around Clayton, tugging at him, teasing him, mocking his weakness. The black horse stepped close, its reins trailing. Seeing no reaction from its rider, it turned away and Clayton heard the receding clop-clop of its hooves.

He tried to rise, failed, lay down again.

Why was he feeling no pain? Was that a good thing?

No, it was bad. Maybe his spine was shattered.

He closed his eyes and listened into the rustling night.

Then a darker darkness than the night took him.

Chapter 68

Cage Clayton opened his eyes.

The moon was high in the sky and had modestly drawn a gauzy veil of cloud over its nakedness. He heard whispers, a woman’s silvery laugh, the rustle of the wind.

He sat up, his eyes reaching into the night. They stood at the open door of the house, looking at him.

Suddenly Clayton was angry.

“Damn you both, you’re dead!” he said.

Lee Southwell smiled at him. She wore a white dress, a scarlet heart in front where her breasts swelled.

“We’ve come for you, Cage,” she said.

“Time to follow the buffalo, old fellow,” Shad Vestal said.

“And I don’t think I will. What do you think of that?” Clayton said.

He felt around him for his gun, his fingers flexing though the dirt.

“You’re one of us now, Cage,” Lee said. “You’re one of the dead.”

Vestal stepped out of the shadow of the door into the moonlight.

His head was a blackened dome of scorched flesh, bare, yellow bone showing, his eyes burned out.

“Parker Southwell is here, Cage,” he said. “Join us now. We don’t want to keep the colonel waiting.”

“Damn you, Vestal,” Clayton said. “You killed him.”

“Yes, and now I suffer for it,” Vestal said.

Lee stepped beside him, blood glistening on her breast.

“Would you like to sing, Cage?” she said. She looked at Vestal. “What shall we sing for Cage?”

She jumped up and down, then, gleefully, “Oh, I know. Listen, Cage. In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.”

“Shut the hell up!” Clayton yelled.

“In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.”

Clayton’s fingers closed on the handle of his gun.

He fired at Lee, then Vestal.

After the racketing echoes of the shots were silenced by the night, Clayton staggered to his feet, a man so soaked in blood he looked like a manikin covered in red rubies.

“I done for you!” he cried out. “I done for you both! And be damned to ye!”

The moonlight splashed the front of the house with mother-of-pearl light, deepening the shadows. The still body of John Quarrels lay close to the front door.

Clayton sobbed deep in his chest and dropped to his knees.

“I . . . done . . . for . . . you,” he said. “You came for me, and you rode my bullets back to hell.”

And he fell on his face, and gladly he let the darkness claim him again.

Chapter 69

For the first time in years, Mayor John Quarrels was not at his desk at eight sharp, fresh as the morning itself and eager to meet the challenges of the day.

Or so his clerk thought.

To a mousy little man like Clement Agnew, the mayor’s office was a hallowed spot, not to be intruded upon unless the business was urgent.

Agnew tapped on the door again. No answer. He rapped harder, with the same result.

Swallowing hard, he threw open the door and stepped inside.

From the doorway Agnew noticed a paper on the blotter. Perhaps it was a note of explanation for His Honor’s absence.

But dare he read it? Perhaps it was official town business and strictly confidential.

The clerk hesitated, then made his decision.

The mayor was missing, so this was an emergency.

Agnew rounded the desk and picked up the paper. As a summer rain rattled on the windows, he read and grew pale. Then, as though demons were chasing him, he ran out of the office and didn’t stop running until he reached the marshal’s office.

Nook Kelly listened to the clerk’s concerns about Quarrels and his horror and disbelief when he read what the mayor, a respected and much loved man, had written.

The marshal calmed Agnew and sent him on his way with the assurance that “All will be well.”

Then he read the note.

Marshal Kelly,

I’m sure you will be among the first ones to read this, and when you do I will already be dead.

There were three of us came up the trail from Texas: Colonel Parker Southwell, Lissome Terry, and me. We came with a stolen herd and a considerable amount of money, notes and gold coin, the spoils from the banks, trains, and stagecoaches we’d been robbing for years.

Just before we rode up on Bighorn Point, Park said me and Terry should use new names, since we were wanted men in Texas. The colonel, on account of him being the brains of the outfit, never took part in the robberies and was unknown to the Rangers. Besides, he had honorably worn the gray and was above suspicion.