The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [31]
“Too dark.”
“This morning, then?”
“You went out to hunt up their sign.”
“So?”
“They want us together. Makes things a lot less messy.”
“But I’m here now.”
“Yep.”
Quantro stuck his fork into the first piece of bacon. With it halfway to his open mouth he stopped. He frowned, eyes going to Pete’s face, then down to Pete’s hand as it crawled casually toward the rifle on the ground beside him. Their eyes met.
“You got it,” Pete said under his breath.
“Oh, Christ,” Quantro muttered as a rifle barked and the tin plate was snatched from his hand by the bullet. The freshly cooked bacon was tipped on to the sandy floor of canyon before his horrified eyes.
He leapt sideways, grabbing his own Winchester from his knees. He came up running, dodging bullets. He slipped, cursing, skidding to the safety of a boulder by the pool.
He suddenly remembered the fork. The bacon was miraculously still on it. At least he hadn’t lost all his breakfast. A bullet chipped a sliver of rock from the boulder above his head as he put the fork to his mouth. The bacon was hot. It burned his tongue. Wincing as he cautiously chewed, he worked the Winchester’s action.
“Pete? You see where he’s shooting from?”
Pete loosed off a shot toward the top of the canyon. “See them two rocks, one shaped like a bear’s head? There’s one of them behind there. Saw me a flash of light up there a while back.”
“Okay, I’ve got him.”
“Hey, Quantro?” Pete called again, sighting down his rifle barrel.
“What?”
“Didn’t your ma never teach you not to speak with your mouth full?”
The reply was drowned by gunshot.
***
“Damn,” Upton cursed, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. It wasn’t yet hot, but the waiting had made him nervous. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Jeffers and Webster were still with him. He didn’t want any mistakes. He wanted Quantro dead and out of it. He knew nothing of Dobey’s capabilities, supposing of course that he had any. Yesterday he had just stood by stupidly during the gunfight with Jeffers and Webster.
Upton knew all too well Quantro’s skills. Apart from the story of his hunting down four killers, there was also the incident in Cananea when he had gunned down the two drifters who had tried to rape the Mexican woman. He had heard the sheriff comment on Quantro’s speedy and accurate shooting. In fact the lawman had been so impressed he had gone through all the wanted flyers to see if there was a price on Quantro’s head. There hadn’t been, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t wanted in the territories over on the American side of the border.
Riding away from the canyon last night, Upton had given some thought to what Jeffers had said before he died. About the border not stopping Quantro. It was true. When Upton had envisaged the robbery, the whole of the planning had been based on the assumption that if they were chased, it would be by the Mexican authorities, the red-shirted Federales. The nearness of the border had been an attraction. A short, hard ride and they would be safe.
Quantro had spoiled all that. Riding towards the border, Upton had suddenly had the chilling thought that Quantro would keep on following, no matter what, and that the rest of his life would be spent looking over his shoulder, waiting for the moment when Quantro would emerge out of the past. Listening to the doleful plodding of the packhorses behind him, Upton had come to the conclusion there was only one solution to the problem. Meet it head on. Let Quantro catch him and get it over with now.
Better still, meet Quantro on his own, Upton’s terms.
That’s why he was here now, sweating with fear as he peered down into the canyon. By the time they had doubled back on their tracks and reached the canyon it had been well after nightfall. They had made a halt on the top rather than brazen directly into the camp. Upton had scouted the rim, spying only the tiny pinpoint of light that was embers of what could only have been a very small cooking-fire, close to the