Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

He made a move as if he intended to bolt for the protection of the Model T and let the rifle fire drive him behind the outcropping of coal again. This time he watched for the stabs of red in the pines. They came through the branches of the lowest tree on the slope, brown and brittle n

eedles hiding the shooter behind their screen.

There hadn’t been a sound from the Model T, nothing to indicate Lilli had regained consciousness. His lips were dry with fear and he moistened them. He couldn’t risk thinking about her, not now when all his concentration had to be on this stalk.

As quietly as he could, Webb bellied down on the ground and left his hat by the coal ledge. Then he started out, crawling like a snake through the grass and using every available dip and crease in the land. It was all so open around him. Any minute he expected to hear a bullet whistling near his head. But it was the openness that was his protection. It lulled his attacker into believing there was no way he could be approached in this deceptively flat-looking land.

It seemed to take forever to crawl around to the side slope of the hill. His nose and throat were constantly tickled by the dust and the smell of dried grass. A persistent wind partially covered the rustling sounds he made. Webb paused, his shirt drenched with sweat, and tried to gauge how close he was to the trees. He flexed his fingers, tightening his grip on the long-barreled pistol.

The low, suspicious whicker of a horse came from his right, snapping Webb’s gaze in that direction. A tall, gaunt draft horse stood ground-tied on the back of the hill, eyeing the dark object in the grass with puzzled alarm. There was a second of shock as Webb recognized the animal as one of Kreuger’s plow horses. Kreuger! He was the attacker.

Webb cursed himself for not listening to Lilli’s warnings about the man. But even if he had, there was nothing he could have done about it. The law had tried Kreuger and turned him loose—to kill again.

The horse snorted. There was no more time to wonder about how things might have been different—or how close he was to Kreuger. Kreuger would have heard the horse and become suspicious about what was alarming it. He had to make his play now.

Pushing to his feet, he squared his body in the direction he expected to find Kreuger and cocked the hammer of his gun. Kreuger was backing away from a tree, half-turned to look up the hill instead of to the side where Webb stood.

“Throw down the rifle, Kreuger!” Webb had the gun leveled on him, his finger resting against the trigger.

Not even a split second passed between the sound of his voice and the whirling move of the drylander. He didn’t take time to bring the rifle to his shoulder, snapping off the shot as he came around. The bullet tugged at the sleeve of Webb’s shirt. In pure reflex, he squeezed the trigger and felt the revolver buck in his hand.

The impact of the shot hit Kreuger full in the chest. He staggered a step, but came on. This time he raised the rifle and took aim. Webb fired again, stepping to his left as the rifle barrel jumped with a stab of flame. He heard the whoosh of the bullet go by him. Kreuger’s left arm was hanging limp at his side, a crimson stain spreading down his sleeve. Still he tried to balance and aim the rifle with his good arm. Webb gritted his teeth and fired again, realizing the man wasn’t going to stop until he was dead.

The rifle was torn from his hand as Kreuger was spun around and knocked to the ground. Webb started forward, keeping the gun on the man as he would on an animal of prey that was downed but not dead. With almost superhuman effort, Kreuger was trying to drag himself to the rifle. Webb reached it first and picked it up. Kreuger twisted his head to look up at him. The hatred in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

“Dammit, Kreuger. Why?” Webb growled, hearing the gurgle of blood in the man’s lungs.

“You burned my place.” Blood was coming from his mouth, running red over his lip. “You sent your men to burn my place. Pettit warned me you might try, so . . .” His voice grew fainter, becoming unintelligible as the light in his eyes dimmed.

“Pettit?” A dark frown rimmed his hard features. Crouching on his heels, Webb grabbed the shoulder of Kreuger’s shirt. “What the hell do you mean—Pettit warned you?” But he was looking into sightless eyes.

Kreuger was dead and the cracked and thirsty ground was already drinking in the wetness of his blood. Webb let go of the shirt, the lifeless body slumping. His stomach felt queasy till he thought of Lilli. Then he was hurrying down the hill, spurred by his fear for her.

She was lying on the seat as he had left her, no sign of having stirred. Her pulse was weaker, her breath barely stirring against his hand. He had to clench his teeth together to hold back the sobs.

“Lilli. For God’s sake, don’t die. I need you.” His voice was a hoarse plea that vibrated above a whisper.

Reluctantly he moved away from her to inspect the damage to the auto. The right front fender was wedged against the embankment, making it impossible to change the flat tire. He tried to start the motor to reverse it onto open ground, but it wouldn’t turn over. As Webb started to raise the hood to locate the problem, hooves drummed the ground, signaling the approach of riders. He walked quickly to open the car door and gathered Lilli into the cradle of his arms.

When Ike Willis and Nate Moore rode into view, he was standing in the middle of the road, waiting for them. They reined their horses into a plunging halt.

“We heard shooting. What happened?” Nate asked, swinging out of the saddle, a worried eye darting to the limp woman in Webb’s arms.

“Kreuger. His body’s up there.” Webb jerked his head in the direction of the hill. “I’m going to take your horse, Nate. Ike, you ride for the doctor. It’s her head. She hit it—” He choked up, unable to finish the sentence. Nate held the reins to his horse while Webb climbed into the saddle with Lilli in his arms.

Nate was left standing in the road as the two riders took off in opposite directions. He was good at reading signs, so it didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened.

Simon had been standing helplessly beside the bed, watching life slip from Lilli’s body with each passing minute. There was nothing he could do except to monitor her vital signs of pulse and respiration. Webb was huddled on a chair pulled close to the bed, his big hands gripping her hand in a silent effort to will his strength into her body. There was a haunting bleakness in his dark eyes and a ghastly pallor about his sun-browned features.

Leaning over her, Simon searched again for a pulse with his stethoscope and found none. She had left them so quickly he couldn’t even say when the exact moment had come. There were tears in his eyes when he looked at Webb.

“I’ve lost her,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Simon braced himself for the disbelief, the denial, he expected from Webb, but it didn’t come. The dark head was bent. The pair of hands were wrapped so tightly around hers that the knuckles showed white. The silence was harder for Simon to endure than an outpouring of grief and protest.

When Webb spoke, his voice was unnaturally low and gruff. “Let me be alone with her.”

As Simon left the room, his chin was quivering and his eyes were so blurred with tears he could barely see the door. He closed it and leaned against it, breathing in shakily. From inside the room, there came the scrape of a chair leg moving.