Chapter Twenty-Two
Clay woke with his hand on the rifle.
For a moment, he did not know what had pulled him out of sleep. The wagon was black except for a thin bar of moonlight under the canvas flap. Sarah lay beside the far wall under Noah Granger’s old blanket, facing away from him. Her breathing came shallow and uneven.
There was another sound—groans as a man retched somewhere near the fire pit.
Clay pushed himself upright too fast. His head rolled on his shoulders. A sour heat climbed from his belly into his throat. He gripped the wagon side until the boards stopped moving beneath his hand.
Sarah stirred.
“What is it?” Her voice was rough.
“Stay here.”
She turned her face toward him. Even in the dark he could see the sweat shining at her temple. “Clay.”
“I’m only looking.”
He reached for his boots. His fingers missed one twice. The wagon seemed smaller than it had been when he lay down, its walls leaning in. Outside, the horses shifted and stamped. One gave a nervous whicker.
Clay pulled the canvas aside.
The camp had come apart.
Their fire had burned down to red coals. A lantern hung from the axle of Samuel’s wagon, swinging gently in the night wind. Its yellow light showed people crouched in the dirt, bent over buckets, blankets, and the thin scrub along the edge of camp.
Violet sat with her back against a wheel, holding Brady in her lap. The boy’s face was gray beneath his freckles. He made a weak sound and pressed both hands to his stomach.
Tucker stood nearby in his nightshirt, white as flour. He held a water cup in both hands but did not drink from it.
“Clay,” he said.
Clay climbed down from the wagon. His knees nearly folded when his boots hit the ground.
Tucker saw it. “You’re sick too.”
“I’m all right.”
“You ain’t.”
“I’m starving, but not sick.” Clay put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Tucker’s small bones felt sharp beneath the cloth. “Where’s Samuel?”
“Over there. He told me not to wake you. But everybody got bad.”
Clay followed Tucker’s pointing hand.
Samuel was kneeling beside Malcolm’s wagon with Lydia. Malcolm lay on a bedroll close by, one arm flung across his eyes. Lydia had the baby against her breast. Rose cried in thin, furious bursts between nursing. Lydia’s face was drawn, but she kept one hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.
“What happened?” Clay asked.
Samuel looked up.
His eyes were bloodshot. There was vomit on the front of his shirt.
“The meat,” he said.
Clay’s stomach clenched harder.
“Do we know how many ate?”
“Near everybody.”
Clay looked around. Charlotte sat alone by Noah’s empty wagon, a cup untouched in her hands.
She had eaten little since Noah died. Sarah had been with Clay, sharing the cold beans and cornbread left from the day before.
Tucker had spent supper with Violet and Brady, but Brady had begged for meat, and Tucker had given his own portion to him after claiming he was full.
Clay had believed him.
Tucker watched his face. “I didn’t eat none.”
“Good.”
“But Brady did.”
“I know.”
A cry rose from the west side of camp. Clay turned.
Everett stood beyond the lantern’s reach with three men behind him. Their horses were saddled.
Clay’s stomach turned over; this was the worst time he could have come. He was here. This was his nightmare in living flesh.
Everett wore his dark coat, though the night was not cold. His beard had been trimmed since they split from the group. He looked clean. He looked fed.
Clay’s hand went to the rifle slung across his back.
Samuel rose. “Clay.”
Everett smiled. “Ross.”
“You poisoned that meat,” Clay said.
Everett spread his hands. “That’s a grave charge from a boy who couldn’t tell spoiled game from good.”
“The way it was lying there.” Samuel’s voice was flat. “Waiting for us.”
“Then your scouts are fools for taking it.”
One of Everett’s men shifted his weight. Clay knew him by sight. Mick. He would not meet Clay’s eyes.
Sarah had come down from the wagon. Clay heard her behind him before he saw her. Her steps dragged in the dirt.
“You stay back,” he said.
“I will not.”
She moved past the wheel, one hand braced against it. Her hair had come loose from its braid. Her face was pale and damp, and she held herself stiffly, as if her own body had become an insult she meant to outlast.
Everett’s smile widened when he saw her.
“Well,” he said. “There she is.”
Clay stepped in front of her.
Everett leaned sideways to look around him. “You look hungry, miss. Not nearly so high and mighty when you’re skin and bones.”
Sarah’s hand found the pistol at her belt.
Clay caught her wrist.
Her blue eyes flashed at him. “Let go.”
“Not yet.”
Everett laughed under his breath. “Still playing husband, Clay? You’ve had a fine long courtship, I expect. Same wagon. Same blankets. A woman starves, and she soon learns what a man is worth.”
“Say what you came to say,” Clay told him.
Everett looked at Sarah again. “I came for her.”
The camp went quiet. Even Rose stopped crying.
Clay felt Sarah pull against his hand. He did not release her.
“No,” he said.
Everett’s men had guns. Most of his group were fighting men, the rest were trying to survive. But people lay sick all around them. Children. Women. Men who could barely lift their heads. Clay saw Violet clutching Brady closer. He saw Charlotte’s hand shake around her cup.
Everett knew it too.
“She came off the road alone,” Everett said. “No kin. No proper escort till this green pup made a story up. Whatever understanding she and I might reach is no concern of yours.”
“I’d sooner lie down with rattlesnakes,” Sarah said.
Everett’s face changed. Only a little. The smile stayed, but it no longer looked genuine.
“You’ve got spirit left,” he said. “That’s something.”
He took one step forward.
Clay brought his rifle down between them.
Everett’s hand went to his revolver.
Samuel said, “Don’t.”
Everett glanced at him. “You fixing to shoot me?”
“If I have cause.”
“You’ve got sick people behind you. You start shooting, there’ll be bodies by morning.”
Clay’s head throbbed. The camp swayed in his sight. He kept the rifle steady because there was nothing else to do.
Everett studied him. Then he gave a slow nod, as though an agreeable notion had come to him.
“All right,” he said. “No shooting from cover. You want to keep your woman, Clay, come and take her.”
Clay knew what he meant before Everett said it.
“Pistols,” Everett went on. “Out there. Man to man. You beat me, I ride away.”
“And if I don’t?”
Everett’s gaze slid to Sarah. “Then she rides with me.”
Sarah made a sound of disgust. “I am not a poker stake.”
“No,” Clay said.
Everett’s mouth bent. “Then I suppose I’ll take her now.”
Clay moved before Samuel could speak.
He passed his rifle to Tucker.
The boy’s hands flew up. “Clay—”
“Hold it by the stock. Don’t touch the trigger.”
Tucker swallowed and took it.
Samuel caught Clay’s arm. “You’re too weak; you ain’t eaten proper.”
“So is everybody.”
Clay looked toward Sarah. He could see fear in her face. Not only for herself. That was the worst part.
He laid his hand over Samuel’s.
“If I let him take her,” he said, “he’ll come back for whoever he wants next.”
Samuel held on another moment. Then he let go.
“Two paces apart,” he said to Everett. “Turn on my word. One shot each.”
Everett gave a soft laugh. “One shot’s plenty.”
Clay took his pistol from his belt. He checked the cylinder with numb hands. Five loaded chambers. He had cleaned the weapon that afternoon. He remembered doing it. He could not seem to remember why.
Sarah came close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.
“Clay,” she said.
He did not look at her. If he did, he feared he might listen when she told him not to go.
“I can shoot him,” she said.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
Her fingers closed around the back of his hand..
She looked furious with him. Tears stood in her eyes, but she did not let them fall.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” she said.
He wanted to tell her it was not proving. The truth was simpler. He could not stand there and watch Everett take her.
Clay touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
Sarah shut her eyes once and nodded.
Samuel led them past the last wagons to a bare patch of ground where the rain had packed the earth hard.
Everett walked easily, his pistol loose at his side.
Mick and the others followed him, keeping their distance.
The sick members of Clay’s party came where they could.
Some leaned against wagons. Some crawled out from under blankets to watch.
Clay saw Tucker standing with Violet. The rifle was too long for him. He held it against his chest with both arms.
“Ten paces,” Samuel said.
Clay and Everett faced away from each other.
The night air smelled of horse sweat and sickness. Clay stared into the dark. His heart struck hard against his ribs. His belly cramped. He thought he might be sick before Samuel gave the word.
Then he heard Jesse’s voice from years ago, plain as a hand on his shoulder.
Don’t hurry a shot. A hurried bullet belongs in the dirt.
“Walk,” Samuel said.
Clay counted.
One.
His boots dragged.
Two.
Everett’s steps sounded firm behind him.
Three.
Clay’s breath caught.
Four.
He saw the orphanage yard in summer—Jesse showing him how to sight down a battered rifle while boys shouted at a game near the fence.
Five.
Sarah’s hand in his.
Six.
Noah coughing in the storm.
Seven.
Tucker asleep against the wagon wheel.
Eight.
Clay’s legs felt unsteady. He set his jaw.
Nine.
It was time.
Ten.
“Turn.”
Clay turned.
Everett had turned fast. His revolver was already raised.
The flash came white in the dark.
Clay heard the shot before he understood it had missed. Dirt leaped near his left boot. He brought up his own pistol. Everett stood clear in the moonlight, broad and certain, drawing back the hammer for a second shot.
Clay saw the line of Everett’s body. The center of his chest. An easy target.
He could end it.
The thought did not feel like victory. It felt heavy and final.
Everett had poisoned their food. He had come for Sarah. He would do it again if he could.
Clay’s finger tightened.
Then he saw Sarah beyond Everett’s shoulder, one hand pressed over her mouth. Tucker stood beside her, small and rigid in the lantern light.
Clay lowered his aim by inches.
The pistol bucked in his hand.
Everett cried out and dropped hard onto one knee. His revolver fell beside him. He grabbed at his thigh. Blood ran between his fingers, black in the moonlight.
For a second nobody moved.
Then Mick raised his gun.
Samuel’s rifle cracked.
The shot struck the ground close enough to Mick’s boots that he staggered backward, cursing. Samuel stood braced beside the wagon wheel, face gray, rifle shouldered.
“Take him,” Samuel said. “And go.”
Everett glared up at Clay. His face had lost all color.
“You should’ve killed me,” he said.
Clay kept the pistol trained on him. His own arm shook now. “Get your men. Leave this camp.”
Everett laughed once through his teeth. “You think you’re some kind of judge?”
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
Clay looked past him at the people who had trusted him enough to stay. Violet with Brady. Lydia holding Rose. Charlotte alone in the dark. Sarah standing upright though hunger made it hard for her to stand at all.
“I’m the man telling you to go.”
Everett’s eyes fixed on Sarah one last time.
Clay cocked the hammer again.
Everett looked away.
Mick and another man hauled him to his feet. Everett put an arm across Dean’s shoulders. Blood marked the ground where his boot dragged. His men gathered the horses without another word. In a few minutes, they were riding west through the scrub, their shapes swallowed by the night.
Clay did not lower his pistol until the sound of hooves had faded.
The strength went out of him all at once.
Sarah reached him before he hit the ground. She caught his elbow. He bent over, one hand on his knee, fighting the sickness twisting through him.
“You fool,” she whispered.
“You ought to say thank you first.”
Her face crumpled for one quick second. Then she put both arms around him.
Clay held her. He could feel her shaking. He rested his cheek against her hair and shut his eyes.
Behind them, someone called Samuel’s name.
Clay looked up.
Samuel had lowered his rifle. He stood alone beside the wagon, swaying as though the earth had turned soft beneath him. He took one step toward the fire, then his knees gave way.
“Samuel,” Clay shouted.
He pushed away from Sarah and ran.