Nick nodded as his face shifted into an expression that was the coldest thing the bounty hunter had ever seen. "Maybe it is," Nick said. "But I'll be d.a.m.ned if a b.a.s.t.a.r.d like you will be the one to collect."

Kinman's instincts were good enough to know what was coming. He just wasn't fast enough to do anything about it.

Nick brought up his gun, aimed, and fired from the hip in less time than it took to blink an eye. His modified Schofield barked once to send a round up into Kinman's chin that dug a tunnel that opened at the top of his skull.

The bounty hunter's arm was bent midway up to take a shot of his own, his finger clenching around the trigger, and that shot went into the soil near Nick's left boot. When his back slammed against the dirt, Kinman dropped the bundle and spilled several rough diamonds to the ground.

The deputy was so startled by Nick's lightning-quick shot that he nearly dropped the rope and his pistol. To his credit, he did manage to lift his gun and point it more or less in Nick's direction.

Ignoring the sound of approaching horses, Nick kept perfectly stillaperfectly quietaand watched until he finally saw the deputy's eyes flicker toward the jewels scattered upon the ground.

"I don't want to shoot you, boy," Nick warned.

"Butabut I saw what you did."

"Kinman was the murderer. He killed those women in that house. Ask your marshal what he found in there. Or, better yet, go see for yourself."

The deputy shook his head. "I know who you are. I saw what you did."

The other horses were getting closer. It had taken them a while to pinpoint the location of Nick and the deputy, but they seemed to have narrowed down the general direction.

"Well, now," Nick said with a sly grin. "Looks like we're going to have to work something out."

Less than a minute later, Marshal Eaves and his other two deputies rode up with their guns drawn. They surrounded Nick in a matter of seconds and took aim the moment they saw him standing amid the two bodies.

Eaves was a tall man in his early sixties who wore a battered felt hat that might have been older than his other two deputies put together. The gun he carried was a newer-model Colt, however, showing that the marshal at least had his priorities straight.

"Don't you move a muscle," Eaves said. "Where's my other deputy?"

"He's gone," Nick replied.

Eaves couldn't take his eyes off of Lester's body, which lay facedown in the dirt. Nodding to one of his deputies, he said, "Go check that one there. That other body looks like Alan Kinman."

The deputy climbed down from his horse without once taking his aim away from Nick. He circled his target cautiously until his boots nearly tapped the side of Lester's head. Kneeling down and taking a closer look at Lester's face, the deputy stood upright and got away from the corpse. "It ain't Jim."

"You know who it is?" Eaves asked.

After thinking for a moment, the deputy shook his head. "Don't think I've ever seen him."

Eaves looked to Nick. "Is that one of the boys who lived with Wesley and Pat?"

Nick nodded. "He was their cousin."

"Well, he's dead now. So's Kinman and everyone who lived in that house. Even the ladies were gunned down like dogs. What've you got to say about that?"

"Me and Kinman were after the bounty being offered for Wesley and his cousins," Nick replied with a shrug. "One of the men tried to kill me, so I shot him. Kinman shot up the rest of that house."

The marshal showed Nick a humorless grin. "That's mighty handy. What about that dead man lying there?"

"Kinman shot him, too." Looking up so his eyes met the marshal's, Nick added, "That bounty hunter was one h.e.l.l of a shot."

So far, both deputies had been content to keep their mouths shut and watch the marshal. When Eaves seemed to be at a loss, the deputy still on his horse said, "He's carrying a gun, Marshal."

"Go on and get it from him, Chuck."

Chuck climbed down to walk past the first deputy. Unlike the other deputies, Chuck held his gun in a steadier hand. His eyes didn't have the unchecked energy in them that made him look like he would act without thinking first. He stopped well out of Nick's reach and kept his gun trained on him.

Nick held up his hands, palms out, so everyone could get a good look at the mangled remains of his fingers. The deputies winced slightly, but the marshal didn't flinch. When Chuck s.n.a.t.c.hed the pistol away from Nick, he looked as if he'd been forced to pick up a cow pie.

"This thing's barely even a gun," Chuck said.

The marshal was quick to reply, "Take it from him anyway, and step back so we can tie his hands." Looking at Nick, he said, "You're coming with us, mister. What's your name?"

"Nicolai Petkus."

The marshal took the Schofield that was handed over to him, and the two deputies tied ropes around Nick's wrists and ankles. "I ain't never heard of a Nicolai Petkus."

"I suppose that's a good thing," Nick said.

"Yeah, well you're still gonna hang for killing these folks, Nicolai."

"Don't I get a trial?"

"Sure do."

Nick held his chin up and said, "Then I shouldn't hang. There's not one witness here who saw me kill anyone who wasn't shooting at me first."

The fact of the matter was that Nick would have staked every bit of that Reaper's Fee on the fact that there weren't any witnesses who could attest to his shooting anyone at all.

At least, he would have wagered those jewels if they were anywhere to be found.

The Reaper's Fee was gone. Every last bit of it had disappeared, along with the sole witness to Lester and Kinman's final seconds on this earth. In return for the Reaper's Fee, that deputy simply had to ride far away and forget what he'd seen. Jim had been just frightened enough and just greedy enough to take Nick's offer and start running. Nick's faith in lawmen was sent right back down to the cellar, but at least those jewels had done some good.

Somewhere, Nick was certain Barrett was laughing his a.s.s off at how that loot had been put to use.

Once Nick was bound tightly within those ropes, Marshal Eaves looked him in the eye and said, "I've got some bad news for you, Nicolai. I spoke to Kinman before and he never mentioned working with anyone. He did mention rounding up more than just Wesley and Pat, though. He must have had his sights set on someone real good, because the two dips.h.i.ts who lived here weren't even worth enough for me to come get 'em myself."

"He must have meant him," Nick replied, nodding toward Lester's body. "I hear he stole a horse from a man down in Texas."

Eaves winced at that and shook his head. "That could be. It ain't wise to take a Texan's horse." Raising his voice as he looked at his deputies, Eaves announced, "All right, boys. Let's take our prisoner to his cell."

"He's a d.a.m.n killer," Chuck said. "We should string him up for what he done to them ladies back there."

"We don't know who the h.e.l.l he shot," Eaves replied. "Wesley was a crazy a.s.shole, so he could have done it. This ain't ours to decide. That's what judges are for. This man'll get what's coming to him once he's on trial."

With that, Eaves snapped his reins and rode toward the trail that led back into Hackett.

Nick didn't put up much of a fuss as he was lifted up onto the horse that Kinman had been using. In fact, he did his best to make the deputies' job easier by going where he was pointed, sitting where he was supposed to sit and keeping his mouth shut. Part of his brain still raced with ways to get away from the lawmen, get out of his ropes or possibly get a weapon, but Nick set all of that to the side.

Once he was tied to the saddle and bound up like a prize calf in a rodeo, Nick's options had dwindled down far enough to put that unquiet part of his brain to rest.

The quiet did him some good.

TWENTY-NINE.

Ocean, California.

Three weeks later.

Mail was delivered to the Tin Pan Restaurant same as always. It arrived at the usual time, dropped off by the owner of the cigar shop across the street.

"Here you go," the cigar shop owner said. "Looks like there's some excitement for ya."

Catherine smiled and took the small bunch of letters. The man from the cigar shop always expected excitement when Catherine got a letter that wasn't from someone in her family or a notice from a distributor. When Catherine spotted the familiar, florid handwriting on the envelope, she nearly dropped over.

Since he wrote out most of his own burial notices and funeral invitations, Nick's handwriting was very distinct. She'd been sick with worry over the last few weeks, and she hadn't expected to hear from him in this manner. After pouring herself a gla.s.s of water, she sat at a table in the back of her place and carefully opened the envelope. She read the letter slowly, savoring each word, but also dreading the next.

My Dearest Catherine, First and foremost, I must insist that you do not worry about my safety or well-being. I have done what I set out to do and made certain that my friend can rest easy once again. I have, however, run into some trouble which finds me in a jail cell in a town called Hackett until I can be transferred to a larger prison. I am to be tried, although I do not know when. If you must know the particulars, you may request them from the Shannon County courthouse. I do not know my docket number, but it should be filed under P for Nicolai Petkus.

Catherine felt a coldness in her face. When she reached up to pat her cheek, her hand came away sweaty. A few drinks of water helped and she felt the liquid run through her system to chill her all the way down to her core. The name in the letter had struck her as odd, but only for a moment. Catherine recalled Nick telling her about someone in his family by the name of Petkus. Although there was some comfort to be had in that, it wasn't enough to keep her hands from shaking as she held the letter and read on.

I know you are upset, but please do not cry. You know how much I hate it when you cry. Unfortunately, this has been a long time coming. Honestly, I am glad it is finally here. In all my years, I have never spent more than four nights in a jail cell. My father would tell me that I deserve to serve my time. He would tell me that I have earned it. Perhaps he is right.

I have tried to put a great many things behind me, but that doesn't mean I have paid what is due. Plenty of folks who mourn for someone they have lost just need to do something, some little thing, to set things straight in their own heads. For me, this is it. I deserve to cool my heels in a jail cell and let the cards fall where they may. The only reason I have taken the shortcut that you know I have taken is because I wish to see you again.

Catherine took a few more sips of water. Her nerves had calmed down a bit, but they still threatened to overwhelm her. Despite that, she couldn't help but smile at Nick's way of putting things in his letter. His little shortcut was most definitely giving the law that false name. He was right about one thing, though. If they knew who was truly in their custody, those lawmen would have dumped Nick into a cell and thrown away the key.

Either that, or they would have taken him out anda Her next breath caught in her throat as Catherine knocked that thought straight out of her mind. Whatever Nick had done in his youth, she knew he'd been paying for it in his own way for plenty of years. Considering what he'd done to step in for her or plenty of other folks, she figured he'd already paid his debt. In Nick's mind, however, she knew that probably wasn't enough.

He never talked about it too much, but she could always see the haunted distraction in his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking at him. Catherine knew he still thought back to his wilder days as if the sting of gunpowder was still in his nose and all that blood was still on his hands.

To comfort herself, she continued reading. Every curve of every letter on that page put the sound of Nick's voice firmly in her thoughts.

I will try to write you as much as I can, but I don't know how reliable these deputies will be in mailing my letters. Just know I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone and I will do whatever is necessary to see you again. For now, though, please do not try to find me. I am putting my younger self to rest and that is not a man you would care to meet. Also, seeing you on the other side of these bars would only make me want to tear them from the ground before it is truly time for me to leave.

I told you not to cry and I mean it. You are a strong woman, Catherine, and will only grow stronger in my absence. When I return, we can start a new life together. I only apologize for not being able to start it sooner. Do not worry about me. I have been in much worse places than a cage.

Just so you know, I am content to stay here. They are transferring me to another jail, where I believe some old acquaintances of mine are residing. There are some things I'd like to straighten out with them as well.

If I do not return, do not be angry or sorrowful. I will have lived on my own terms and done my best to square away all of my debts. You will find some money stashed in my workshop. There isn't much, but it should be enough to get you anywhere you want to go. In the event such unfortunate events come to pa.s.s, keep that smile on your face because that is what I will want to see when I look in on you again.

This had to happen sooner or later, Catherine. Better now and on my own terms than later, when I wasn't prepared for it. Once this debt is paid, I can live the rest of my years content in the knowledge that I owe nothing to anybody.

Catherine smirked at that. She could practically hear Nick telling her that he could walk away from any jail cell as if the door were unlocked. In the past, it might have made her uneasy to know that it could be true. Now, it brought her some comfort. Not a lot, but some was better than none.

My trial is impending, but n.o.body seems to be in much of a rush. Things got messy here, leaving n.o.body but myself and the law to straighten things out. This is a first for me, so I have no predictions as to the outcome. I do not trust the law that has imprisoned me, but I owe a debt that is being paid in their currency. Things could have been a lot worse, but Barrett kept that noose from tightening around my neck. When I return, I will explain what that means to you over coffee and a big breakfast. Right now, I need to finish writing before the deputy leaves to send the day's mail.

I love you Catherine. I always have and I always will.

Yours,

Nicolai.

PSa"I told you not to cry.

Catherine wiped the tears from her face and looked around as if someone nearby was actually going to scold her. She folded the letter and tucked it away in her skirt pocket.

"Was that from Nick?" one of the girls who waited tables asked.

"Yes."

Wiping off the table next to Catherine's, the server nodded. "I could spot that fancy handwriting anywhere. Is he coming home soon?"

"No," Catherine replied. "Not for a while."

Nick stretched out on his cot, which required him to dangle one leg over the side. The ceiling of his cell wasn't much higher than the top of his head when he was standing, and it was built at a slope toward a window that wasn't much larger than a slice of toast.

The cot made his back ache. The food sat in a warm lump at the bottom of his belly. He desperately missed Catherine and would kill to ride Kazys for miles at a full gallop. But all of that would have to wait.

For now, Nick was home.

About the Author.

MARCUS GALLOWAY makes his home in Nebraska, where he is hard at work on his next novel.

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