Страница 51 из 52
Crying, Harland sat up. Blood seeped from a hole in his left shoulder. His back, A
The lion was gone.
Silently, her breath coming in gasps, A
Rage had taken the place of cu
A
Shoving the burning end into the earth, she stubbed out the flare like a gigantic cigarette. Cool white light returned and she saw the trails of black on her hands: blood. It seeped down from her throat, dripped to the ground. A
Free of the chemical glare of the fire, her eyes began to adjust again to the semi-darkness. The garish ghosts receded from her peripheral vision. Making her breathing as even and soundless as she could, A
She ran quickly twenty yards to her right, approached the edge of the ravine from an unexpected-she hoped-direction. Leading with the revolver, she looked down. The inky shadows were given unholy life by the guttering flare. First A
Crab-like, A
She slung Paulsen's Sako across her back on its strap. Her shoulder was aching. The collarbone, incompletely knit, had cracked again. Once more she started her slow descent. A dozen feet from Harland she stopped. The moonlight didn't penetrate this far and the flare, burning its way out in the arid soil, made little of Harland but a shadow darker than the rest.
"I'm not coming any closer, Harland," A
The lump never moved. A
"You can't win, A
She turned back but went no lower.
"You can't ever win, A
"Craig, Sheila-even in Texas that will be considered murder," A
"No murders. Just the ravings of a crazy lady ranger. Your word against mine."
The dull chopping of a helicopter engine sounded as it marched down the northern sky, toward the ravine.
"Jerimiah and I and every scrap of evidence will be gone in thirty minutes. Your word against mine. And you may not live long enough to talk too much. You don't win."
The helicopter was in the ravine, flying up from where the hills opened onto the salt flats to the west.
"He's coming, A
She unslung the hunting rifle, put it to her shoulder, and braced for the recoil. As the helicopter flew over, she fired four rounds. One sang off metal. There was a light tinkling sound as fragments of Plexiglas rained down onto the rocks.
The helicopter climbed abruptly, was silhouetted against the moon. A spotlight beneath the fuselage switched on and a white finger of light began probing back down the narrow canyon. A
The helicopter spun on its axis and flew north, straight over the hills, not even attempting to seek cover from prying eyes. The pounding noise of the blades receded.
"You can bring the law down on me, A
"You can beat the law," A
"You can't leave me here," he called after her and there was fear in his voice for the first time.
"Fence crew will find you in a couple of months," she returned without stopping. "What's left of you."
"I'll die of thirst. A
A
"Paulsen'll be back in the morning. He'll get me," Roberts cried.
A
Reaching the flat of the saddle, she unslung Paulsen's fancy rifle. Using the tail of her shirt, she smudged her prints from the stock and barrel but didn't wipe the stock clean. Half New Mexico knew Paulsen's gun, knew he never let anyone touch it. And it was the gun that shot Harland Roberts. A
"What're you doing, A
"Leaving."
"I'll die of thirst," he cried.
A
"Don't!" Harland screamed.
A
"Please!" she heard Harland yelling.
Maybe she'd saddle up Gideon, ride out tomorrow with water and bring Harland in. Then again, Gideon's hoof wasn't healing like she'd hoped.
Maybe she'd give him the day off.