Part 14 (1/2)

McCluskey grinned as he accepted them. ”If you boys will have me, I'd be proud to be one of you.”

”One of us, h.e.l.l!” Jurgenson looked around at the others, got several nods of encouragement, and went on. ”We want you to step in and be the boss, like you said.”

McCluskey nodded. ”I think that'll work out mighty fine for all of-”

”Look out!” one of the men yelled.

McCluskey's head jerked around, and to his surprise, he saw that Burroughs had regained consciousness and managed to climb up off the deck.

Not only was he on his feet, he had clawed his gun out of its holster.

McCluskey had figured he'd be out longer than that and slapped at his waist, only to realize that his guns must have slipped out while he and Burroughs were fighting in the river.

The sharp crack of a shot sounded, but it didn't come from Burroughs' gun.

Burroughs grunted in pain and hunched over as his own weapon sagged toward the deck. He squeezed the trigger and the gun roared, but the bullet went harmlessly into the planks at his feet. He fell to his knees, then toppled over onto his side.

McCluskey's grin came right back, wider than ever at the sight of Delia standing with a gun in her hand. She had plucked it from the holster of the outlaw standing next to her. A wisp of smoke curled from the revolver's barrel.

McCluskey whooped with laughter and flung up a hand, pointing at Delia. ”There's the one who ought to be in charge of your gang, boys! There's your gun-slinging outlaw queen. Right there!”

Delia shook her head and handed the gun back to the man she had taken it from. ”I just did it to save you, Frank. That's all I care about.”

McCluskey laughed and drew her into an embrace. He looked past her at Burroughs' body lying crumpled on the deck. ”Get rid of that.”

A couple outlaws bent down, grasped Burroughs by the shoulders and ankles, and heaved him into the river with a big splash.

The riverboat chugged on upstream, leaving him behind.

CHAPTER 23.

The sun helped dry Luke's long underwear, so by the time Winslow, Stinson, and Bolden started back to the train, the garments were still damp but not unbearable. Luke pulled on his trousers, put on his socks, and stamped his feet down in his boots.

His hat was back at the train, lost somewhere in all the commotion of the holdup. He would have liked to retrieve it but couldn't take the time to go back and search for it. He'd do without for the time being.

He had the two Colts and a Winchester that rode in a scabbard strapped to one of the horses. Those were the most important items he needed, anyway.

Winslow had complained some more about returning to the train instead of accompanying Luke on his pursuit of the outlaws, but in the end he had gone with Stinson and the wounded Bolden. The burly train engineer was tough, but not tough enough for a hazardous pursuit like Luke's was likely to be.

The job needed a professional manhunter-and that's what Luke Jensen was.

He took two horses-a leggy roan and a deep-chested bay. Both animals gave him the impression of having plenty of strength and stamina, which wasn't surprising since they'd been owned by outlaws. A man on the dodge had to have a dependable mount capable of speed for a fast getaway and the ability to go all day whenever there was a posse in pursuit.

Derek Burroughs hadn't named the settlement that he and his men were steaming up the river to and where more of his men would be waiting with the gang's horses. Although he had been through that part of Wyoming, Luke didn't remember a settlement in the area, so it had to be fairly new.

If he wanted to reach that town before the riverboat did, he needed to cross the river, find a way out of the mountains, and head north as fast as he could, keeping the peaks to his left. It would be a good race. The only reason he had a chance was because the river had to follow a twisting and turning course through the mountains and he could take a straight shot north once he was out on the flats again.

With that in mind, he kept an eye out for a good place to ford the stream as he rode the bay and led the roan along the gra.s.sy bank.

He had gone a couple miles when he caught sight of something up ahead, but it wasn't a gravel bar that would make crossing the river easier. It was a body sprawled at the edge of the stream, looking like a pile of discarded clothing.

Luke realized it was a man and urged his horse forward at a faster pace. He recognized the clothes.

When he got closer, he was sure of the man's ident.i.ty. He dismounted quickly and went to the man's side, dropping to one knee. He grasped the man's shoulders and rolled him onto his back.

Derek Burroughs' face was haggard and washed out, with lines of pain carved into it. The river water had diluted the crimson stain on his s.h.i.+rt, but it was still visible and showed how much blood he had lost. The bullet holes in his vest and s.h.i.+rt were mute testimony that he'd been shot.

Luke felt certain Burroughs was dead, but the man's eyes fluttered open. Breath rasped harsh and ragged in his throat. He had trouble focusing until his gaze settled on Luke, who lifted him and propped him against a knee.

”L-Luke . . . ?” Burroughs asked in a husky whisper, struggling to get the name out.

”That's right, Derek,” Luke said. ”Just take it easy. Don't try to move around.”

”Don't try to . . . tell me . . . I'm going to . . . be all right.”

”I wouldn't lie to you that way. You know as well as I do that you're gut shot.”

Somehow Burroughs managed to smile, although the expression could have been just a grimace of pain.

”Yeah, I'm . . . done for . . . Should've been dead . . . before now . . . but I hung on . . . managed to get out of the river . . . because I knew . . . you might be . . . coming along to find me. . . .”

”Who shot you, Derek? Was it during that fight back there?” Another possibility occurred to him. ”Or was it McCluskey?”

”No, it was . . . that blonde . . . McCluskey's woman. . . .”

”Delia?” That came as a bit of a surprise to Luke, although he knew it shouldn't have, considering everything she had done since he'd known her.

”Y-yeah . . . her. And Luke . . .” Burroughs found the strength to lift a hand and clutch feebly at Luke's arm. ”If you go after them . . . you should know . . . McCluskey's taken over . . . the gang. . . .”

Luke's jaw tightened. That news didn't change anything. He was going to have to face McCluskey and the rest of the outlaws anyway if he wanted to stop them from getting away with that gold. But he found it annoying that luck always seemed to break McCluskey's way.

Maybe there was some truth to that hogwash McCluskey had been spouting about having a vision....

Luke pushed that thought out of his mind. He wasn't going to waste time on something so ridiculous. ”Don't worry,” he told Burroughs. ”I'll settle up with both of them for you.”

”Be . . . careful.... After all this . . . I wouldn't want you to . . . get hurt . . .” His eyes remained open, but a long sigh eased out of him and he seemed to shrink in on himself.

Over the past twenty years, during the war and since then, Luke had seen plenty of men die-too many men-and he knew that Burroughs was gone.

He eased his old friend's head and shoulders back down on the ground, then closed Burroughs' eyes rather than leave him staring sightlessly at the sky. He knew he had more to do. Burroughs had to be laid to rest.

Yet it would take precious time Luke didn't have if he wanted to head off McCluskey and the other outlaws before they reached the settlement on the other side of the mountains, split up the gold, and scattered. He was sure that was what they had in mind, since it would make it more difficult to track them down. They could get together again later on to plan their next job.

With Frank McCluskey leading them.