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“Want a cup?” Brennan called to him. “There’s about one left.”

Billy-Jack shook his head and turned the sawed-off shotgun on Brennan as he saw him approaching.

Brennan took a sip of the coffee. “Aren’t you going to look in on that?” He nodded toward the hut.

“What do you mean?”

“The woman,” Brennan said matter-of-factly. He took another sip of the coffee.

“What about her?” Billy-Jack asked.

Brennan shrugged. “I thought you were taking turns.”

“What?”

“Now, look, you can’t be so young, I got to draw you a map—” Brennan smiled. “Oh, I see. …Frank didn’t say anything to you. OrChink…. Keeping her for themselves….”

Billy-Jack’s eyes flicked to the hut, then back to Brennan. “They were with her?”

“Well, all I know is Frank went in there yesterday morning and Chink yesterday afternoon while you were gone.” He took another sip of the coffee and threw out what was left in the cup. Turning, he said, “No skin off my nose,” and walked slowly back to the lean-to.

He began scraping the tin plates, his head down, but watching Billy- Jack. Let it sink through that thick skull of yours. But do it quick! Come on, move, you animal!

There! He watched Billy-Jack walk slowly toward the hut. God, make him move faster! Billy-Jack was out of view then beyond the corner of the hut.

All right. Brennan put down the tin plate he was holding and moved quickly, noiselessly, to the side of the hut and edged along the rough logs until he reached the corner. He listened first before he looked around. Billy-Jack had gone inside.

He wanted to make sure, some way, that Billy-Jack would be looking at Doretta, but there was not time. And then he was moving again—along the front, and suddenly he was inside the hut, seeing the back of Billy- Jack’s head, seeing him turning, and a glimpse of Doretta’s face, and the sawed-off shotgun coming around. One of his hands shot out to grip the stubby barrel, pushing it, turning it up and back violently, and the other hand closed over the trigger guard before it jerked down on Billy-Jack’s wrist.

Deafeningly, a shot exploded, with the twin barrels jammed under the outlaw’s jaw. Smoke and a crimson smear, and Brennan was on top of him wrenching the shotgun from squeezed fingers, clutching Billy- Jack’s revolver as he came to his feet.

He heard Doretta gasp, still with the ringing in his ears, and he said, “Don’t look at him!” already turning to the doorway as he jammed the Colt into his empty holster.

Frank Usher was running across the clearing, his gun in his hand.

Brennan stepped into the doorway leveling the shotgun. “Frank, hold it there!”

Usher stopped dead, but in the next second he was aiming, his revolver coming up even with his face, and Brennan’s hand squeezed the second trigger of the shotgun.

Usher screamed and went down, grabbing his knees, and he rolled to his side as he hit the ground. His right hand came up, still holding the Colt.

“Don’t do it, Frank!” Brennan had dropped the scattergun and now Billy-Jack’s revolver was in his hand. He saw Usher’s gun coming in line, and he fired, aiming dead center at the half-reclined figure, hearing the sharp, heavy report, and seeing Usher’s gun hand raise straight up into the air as he slumped over on his back.

Brennan hesitated. Get him out of there, quick. Chink’s not deaf.

He ran out to Frank Usher and dragged him back to the hut, laying him next to Billy-Jack. He jammed Usher’s pistol into his belt. Then, “Come on!” he told Doretta, and took her hand and ran out of the hut and across the clearing toward the side where the horses were.

They moved into the denser pines, where he stopped and pulled her down next to him in the warm sand. Then he rolled over on his stomach and parted the branches to look back out across the clearing.

The hut was to the right. Straight across were more pines, but they were scattered thinly, and through them he could see the sand-colored expanse of the open grade. Chink would come that way, Brennan knew. There was no other way he could.

Chapter Seven

CLOSE TO HIM, Doretta said, “We could leave before he comes.