Reaper's Fee Part 17

"And were the stories true? I mean, was there some kind of treasure buried in there with him? The Reaper's Fee?"

Nick nodded solemnly as he looked back to the newly repaired grave. "Those stories were true, all right."

Kinman flinched and took a few steps toward the grave. "I suppose you reclaimed it?"

"No," Nick said as his hand drifted toward the gun at his side.

Snarling through clenched teeth, Kinman said, "f.u.c.king Lester. Who the h.e.l.l would have thought that little p.r.i.c.k had it in him to get those d.a.m.n jewels and actually get away from the both of us?" His head turned as he glanced around the area. When he turned back around to find Nick calmly sipping from his canteen, he added, "You're pretty calm for a man who lost all that money."

"It wasn't my money."

"I know. You and Cobb stole it. At least, that's how the story goes."

Nodding slowly, Nick admitted, "That story's right."

"And you're just willing to let it go after coming all this way to claim it?"

"I didn't come to claim the money. I came to make certain my friend's grave wasn't dug up so his body could be torn apart by a bunch of wolves. I've seen that happen before, and it ain't pretty."

Kinman stared at Nick as if he didn't know what to make of him. He looked at the grave and saw how the ground had been piled up and leveled off to an almost perfect slope. He then looked back to Nick, whose face was calm and wearing a subtle smile. Then, Kinman reached for his gun.

"You pick up that pistol and I'll finish the job I started," Nick said simply. "Since I know you're out to claim the price on my head, I don't have any problem with leaving you out here for the wolves. Like I said, that ain't pretty."

Freezing with his pistol inches from his grasp, Kinman asked, "Why'd you keep me alive?"

"Would you rather I didn't?"

"No, it's just peculiar. You're no fool, Graves. I know that much simply because a fool couldn't have walked through as much h.e.l.l as you have and still live to see another sunrise. We were shooting at each other a little while ago and now we're sitting and talking like neighbors. At the very least, I would have figured you'd keep my weapon from me."

"You can have them all back if you like," Nick said. "The rifle's bent to h.e.l.l, so it won't do you much good."

As he got to his feet, Kinman gritted his teeth and used the pain in his side to spur him on. Once standing, he pressed his hand against his wound to find it was pretty much as Nick had described it.

Kinman picked up his gun smoothly and quickly enough to get it in his hand before Nick could react. He wasn't quick enough to take aim, however, before Nick had drawn his modified Schofield and pointed it directly at him.

"d.a.m.n," Kinman said. "That's a h.e.l.l of a draw for a man with no fingers."

"Years of practice. Would you like to test my aim as well?"

"No," Kinman replied as he opened his hand and let his gun drop into its holster. "Not just yet."

"I did what I came to do, but you're right about one thing. I don't like the thought of Lester or his cousins running around with what belongs in that grave with Barrett. The reason I kept you alive and moving is because I'm pretty sure you can track Lester down without too much trouble. You'd get to a weapon sooner or later, so I figured I'd cut out that dance so we can get down to business."

"I would've had a much better time if you hadn't stayed here to fill in that hole."

"Then maybe you're not as useful as I thought."

There wasn't the first hint of panic on Kinman's face as he held up a hand and motioned for Nick to stay put. In fact, the bounty hunter seemed a bit weary as he nodded and said, "I can track him down. That won't be a problem. But why should I?"

"And you said I was the one wasting time?"

"Unless I'm getting something out of it, I'd be wasting time in tracking that a.s.shole down when I could save the effort and drop you right here and now."

Nick squared off with Kinman to make sure the bounty hunter could see the holster that had been repositioned across his belly. "You could sure as h.e.l.l try."

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds as the tension in the air s.h.i.+fted from cold to hot. Finally, Nick was the one to break the silence.

"You were after Lester at the start, right?"

Kinman nodded. "Yeah."

"Then you can have him. The price on his head must have been worth the trouble of coming after him and dragging him all the way back to Texas."

Although Kinman didn't try to deny that, he wasn't about to give Nick any encouragement, either.

"His cousins must be wanted, too," Nick continued. "At the very least, there's got to be one or two of them that have prices on their heads. Any group of thieves who are good enough to stay out of jail must have worked up some sort of bounty between them."

"True."

"When we find them, they're all yours."

"What about the Reaper's Fee?" Kinman asked. "I'd be earning a cut of that, too."

"I'll pay you five hundred dollars on top of whatever bounty you collect."

"Make it a thousand."

Nick narrowed his eyes and finally nodded. Before he could agree to it, Kinman spoke again.

"Two thousand," the bounty hunter snapped. "A s.h.i.+tload of jewels has gotta be worth plenty more than that."

"Sure," Nick said slyly. "If you can find a jeweler to buy them who doesn't already know they're stolen. After all this time, there's a list of those jewels posted in every shop that's carrying enough money to pay you off. Anyone else might just turn in whoever's trying to sell that many stolen jewels to collect the reward being offered for their return." Raising his eyebrows, Nick added, "It's not always fun to be on the other end of those rewards, now, is it?"

Kinman nodded and let out a sigh. "You're a sly one, Graves. No wonder I could never catch up to you all these years."

"How's fifteen hundred?" Nick asked.

"Sixteen."

"Deal."

Kinman offered his hand, but Nick didn't make a move to shake it.

"I'll take your word for it," Nick said.

"Come on, now. After all the fun we had in Rock Springs, you can't trust me enough to shake my hand?"

"That was before you shot at me."

"That was also before you were told what I do for a living."

"I knew about that back in Wyoming," Nick said. "I wouldn't have made it this long if I couldn't pick out a bounty hunter on sight."

"All right," Kinman replied, his hand still extended. "But shake it anyway. I can't have you going back on our deal due to some outlaw's loophole."

Nick stepped forward so that his right hand could reach out and grasp Kinman's. His body remained in a sideways stance as his left hand stayed within a few inches of his pistol. When he shook Kinman's hand, Nick kept his eyes locked on the bounty hunter. Although every muscle in his arm was ready to draw the modified Schofield, Nick wasn't given an excuse to follow through. The handshake was made and the deal was sealed.

"You're not planning on double-crossing me, now, are you?" Kinman asked.

Nick shrugged and stepped back. "I don't know. Are you planning to drag me in no matter how things turn out with Lester?"

Both men glared at each other uneasily, but neither gave an answer. Both of them already had all the answers they needed.

TWENTY-TWO.

Despite all his cursing and fuming when Lester had gotten away, Kinman would have been lying if he'd said that the escape came as a surprise. He'd dragged more than his share of prisoners from one place to another to know that every last one of them, no matter what they said or did, would always try to escape. It was human nature. It was the impulse that had put the prices on their heads in the first place.

Kinman had his tricks to keep prisoners in line, the least of which were the knots that kept their hands and feet bound to their saddles. One of the simplest and most effective of his tricks was to mark the horse being used by the prisoner when they were asleep or otherwise indisposed.

In Lester's case, Kinman had spent a bit of time on the first night they'd made camp chipping various patterns into two of the shoes worn by Lester's horse. All it took was a good knife and some quiet time, and Kinman carved a few marks that would show up just fine in the horse's tracks. One thing that always surprised Kinman was just how many times this trick had worked over the years. Then again, it was an outlaw's nature to charge forward without ever bothering to look back.

After putting on a bit of a show working to pick up Lester's trail, Kinman followed it down a steep ridge that could very well have broken the necks of both horse and rider with one misstep. After what appeared to be a lot of slipping and sliding, Lester's tracks took off in one direction.

"He's headed south," Kinman said.

Nick rode behind and to Kinman's left. "That's the only way he could have gone."

"You want to do the tracking, you be my guest."

Nick responded by dramatically waving Kinman along.

They didn't hit a snag until Lester's prints met up with some others that looked to have been set down within the last few days. Although the other tracks were older, there were enough of them crossing back and forth across Lester's to make Kinman stop and climb down from his saddle so he could take a closer look.

"Looks like the Sioux pa.s.s through here quite a bit," Nick said from his saddle.

Kinman didn't take his eyes off the ground as he grumbled, "No s.h.i.+t."

"What was that?"

"What else do you know about the Sioux around here?" Kinman asked as a way to steer the conversation into more fruitful territory. "You seemed to know all about their villages and burial grounds."

"I only know what I needed to know to keep from getting killed."

"You spoke their language."

"Not too much," Nick admitted, "but just enough. Where'd you catch up with Lester?"

"I roped him in Oregon."

"He ran that far after stealing a horse in Texas?"

Kinman nodded. "Never steal a horse from a Texan. They tend to take it a bit more personal than most. I think I found Lester's tracks," Kinman said, even though he'd spotted the specially marked prints some time ago. "He's still heading south and it looks as if he's picking up speed."

"Makes sense. He's got a lot to run from."

Kinman climbed back into his saddle and snapped the reins. His horse was accustomed to the speed that suited Kinman's tracking. Kinman himself rode slouched and hanging a bit to one side. Even though he looked as if he might be drunk or wounded, the bounty hunter was merely putting his eyes as close to the ground as possible. When he pulled himself upright again, he winced and pressed a hand to his side.

"How's the wound?" Nick asked.

"Stings like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but I can keep riding. I'll need to stop later on to tend to it."

"Shouldn't be a problem. Lester's gonna need to stop before we do."

"Yeah, but he won't," Kinman said. "I know that for a fact. He's a little f.u.c.king weasel who's been running for a good, long time. No matter how good I track him, he'll beat us to his cousin's place."

"We'll just have to take our chances."

Once Lester rode clear of the Badlands, he felt as if he'd been shot from a cannon. Suddenly, there weren't dozens of obstacles threatening to trip his horse or send it skidding down into a ravine. The land flattened out a bit and the ground was covered with less gravel and more packed dirt. Those things were mighty fine sights for Lester's weary eyes and he couldn't hold back a smile once he felt the wind flowing past his face as his horse picked up speed.

Lester didn't know if the other two had killed each other or if they were hot on his heels. a.s.suming the latter, he kept his horse racing down the narrow trail, which cut straight through Sioux territory.

Every now and then, Lester caught sight of an Indian rider or a few figures perched upon higher ground. Making sure to steer away from them, he got away without an arrow lodged in his back. After riding for a while longer, he guessed that he couldn't have been too far from the Nebraska border. He pulled back on his reins so he could take a moment to breathe and get his bearings.

As the sound of beating hooves faded from his ears, Lester filled his lungs and spat out some of the dirt that had collected in his mouth. Thinking back to how he'd gotten away from Nick, Lester cursed himself for not being able to get his hands on a gun or a knife during the struggle. As he thought about it some more, Lester was amazed that he'd managed to get away from the grave without being buried in it.

Craning his neck as he turned around in his saddle, Lester was shocked to find the jagged, multicolored landscape of the Badlands far behind him. The sun was lower in the sky than he'd originally thought, and the darkness was almost complete. Lester had only stopped for a minute, and he already wanted to climb down from his saddle and stretch his legs properly.

In fact, if he was climbing down anyway, he thought he might even find a spot where he could rest his eyes.

If he was resting his eyes, he might as wella""

Suddenly, Lester shook his head and slapped himself in the face. He hadn't allowed himself to leave the saddle just yet and he knew if he did, he'd give in to the rest of his weary thoughts as well. Wesley's place wasn't far from the Badlands. Maybe a day's ride, but Lester couldn't rest until he got there.

Feeling a dry pinch in his throat, Lester realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a drink of water. He checked his saddlebags for a canteen, and then realized he didn't have any saddlebags.

Lester snapped the reins and got moving again. He only hoped the old horse he was riding was up for a h.e.l.l of a long run.

The sun crawled back into the sky sometime later. He'd ridden through the entire day and most of the night without stopping for any longer than his horse needed to stay alive. He'd found a stream along the way, but had only sucked down a few mouthfuls of dirty water before saddling up and moving on.

Lester could feel the other two closing in on him. Sometimes, he swore he saw Kinman charging toward him with that devil's smile that was always plastered on his face. Other times, Lester nearly jumped out of his skin when he thought he'd seen Nick Graves lurking in some shadow like the ghoulish gravedigger he was.

All of those things nipped at the back of Lester's mind just as surely as the two men were nipping at his heels. Lester didn't allow himself to look away from the trail long enough to take a breath. He didn't look away long enough to try and guess the time of day. He barely allowed himself to think of anything apart from where he was headed and who was after him.