Part II

Still, Dayton wasn't the only damn' fool abroad that day. As he finished his coffee, O'Brien decided to do something pretty foolish himself.

"If you're sure you won't ride into Kingfield for the night, I reckon you could use an extra hand here, just to be on the safe side," he said.

Dayton hesitated. "Well, I'd have to think about it..."

"What is there to think about?" asked Mary. "Link, if Mr O'Brien's right, and those Indians do decide to come out this way - "

"They won't!"

"But if they did - "

Dayton slammed one big fist against the tabletop to silence her. "All right, all right!? he snapped. To O'Brien he said, "You can bed down in the barn." And then, to Mary, "Are you happy, now?"

Night came fast to the West Texas plains. By seven the land was ink-splashed with shadow and washed silver-grey by a hunter's moon.

After the evening meal - a thin rabbit stew - Mary took Timmy off to bed and the two men sat by the hearth, listening to the lonely wind outside.

"I apologise," Dayton murmured at length. "For earlier, I mean. An' I'm obliged to you, for stayin' over. If I seemed ungrateful, it's just that ... well, we're not used to company, out here."

"Just being neighbourly is all," O'Brien replied, taking out the makings.

Dayton snorted, said, "Don't talk to me about neighbours."

"You're talking about this feller Bohannan, I take it?"

"I am," the big man said stiffly. "Sumbitch owns one of the biggest cattle-outfits in the Panhandle, an' like most of his kind, he's got no time for sheep, nor the men who raise 'em. He always made it clear I wasn't welcome hereabouts, him more than any of the others. Even tried to buy me out about a year ago, just to be rid of me. Said in so many words that if I didn't accept his offer, I'd be sorry. But I got my pride, O'Brien. I told him to go to hell."

O'Brien blew smoke. "What did he say to that?"

"Nothing," said Mary, coming back into the room. "He didn't say a word, Mr O'Brien, and he didn't do a thing. He just let it ride."

"What she means," Dayton amended, throwing his wife a murderous look, 'is that he ain?t done anythin' yet. But it's only a matter of time. Man like Bohannan, he's used to gettin' his own way, an' if he don't get it...well, you'll see. One day he'll make his move agin me - only I'll be ready for him."

"So now you know what Link does, besides raise sheep," said Mary, her voice high, tired, edgy. "He waits. For twelve months he's waited. And for twelve months we?ve shut ourselves away here, asking nothing, giving nothing - just waiting."

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room, into which O?Brien suggested, "Maybe you?ve called it wrong, then, Dayton. I mean, if this Bohannan was going to make a move against you, he'd have done it before this, wouldn't he?"

"That," said Dayton, 'is just what he wants me to think."

"Oh, for goodness" sake, Link," said Mary, clearly exasperated. "When will you - "

But before she could say more, O'Brien suddenly hissed, "Turn that lamp down!?

As Mary did as he said, he crossed to the far corner of the room, where he'd left his Winchester. Snatching up the rifle, he levered a shell into the breech and opened the front door.

The excited yapping of the dogs in the barn across the yard came to him clearly as he strained his eyes to pierce the gloom. Dayton filled the doorway behind him, his wife at his side, her breathing soft and anxious.

"What is it, man?" Dayton whispered.

O'Brien was about to reply when they all heard it.

A gunshot.

"What - ?"

Another couple of gunshots punctured the chilly night air, and without taking his eyes off the moon-washed land ahead, O'Brien reached out, grabbed hold of Mary's arm and pushed her back inside the room. "Get Timmy and the pair of you hunker right over there by the hearth," he instructed. "Make sure you stay low."

The woman hurried away as a new sound carried through the darkness.

War cries.

"My God," whispered Dayton.

A heartbeat later they saw him - a single rider painted silver by the moonlight, heading towards them at a flat-out gallop. He was slumped forward over the horse's neck, partly hidden by the animal's flying mane.

"White man," O'Brien said tightly. He glanced briefly at Dayton. "When he gets near enough, get him off that horse and inside. I'll give you as much cover as I can."

"But - "

"Just do it, Dayton!"

O'Brien moved out onto the porch and brought the rifle up to his shoulder in one fluid motion. The rider was no more than a hundred feet away now, the air behind him full of sound. The war cries grew louder, more insistent. There was another gunshot, two more. Over in the barn, the dogs were going crazy.

Then the newcomer's sorrel was in the front yard and the rider, more dead than alive from the look of him, hauled back on the reins.

The horse skidded to a halt, flecked with foam, an explosion of dust flying up around its stiff legs. The rider groaned and fell out of the saddle just as a bristling of arrows struck the animal's hind-quarters. The horse rose up, screamed, fell into its side with enough force to shake the ground.

"Now, Dayton!"

The big man leapt out into the yard just as the knot of pursuing Comanches thundered into sight. He grabbed the wounded man under the arms and started dragging him back to the house as arrows sliced the air around him.

O'Brien clenched his teeth and let them have a volley of lead in return. The war cries got louder, angrier, but the Comanches reined in about seventy, eighty feet away, taken aback by the unexpected fusillade.

Without taking his eyes off the Indians, O'Brien quickly thumbed reloads into the long gun. Then, just as Dayton hauled the wounded man into the house, the Comanches surged forward again, and O'Brien straightened up, firing his rifle from the hip.

Another horse went down in a tangle, crushing its squat, bare-chested rider beneath it. More arrows hit the wall above his head. O'Brien backed up, emptied the Winchester into the confusion and then threw himself back inside the house.

Timmy stood in the far corner, watching everything through wide, scared eyes. The room was illuminated only by what little moonlight filtered through the windows, and the only sounds came from the agitated dogs in the barn.

O'Brien stood to one side of the window near the door, reloading his rifle again. Beside him, Dayton looked like he badly wanted someone to tell him what to do next. And down on her knees in the centre of the room, Mary was turning the newcomer gently onto his back.

There was blood on the right shoulder of the man's plain cotton shirt, a lot of it.

"What are they doing?" Dayton asked in a whisper.

O'Brien shrugged. "We surprised 'em," he replied. "So they've backed off to get a better look at us."

And once they've done that, he thought, and seen how weak we are, they'll hit us again.

The wounded man moaned and Mary whispered something to quieten him down. "Link," she went on, "help me get his shirt off, so's I can look at the wound."

Dayton looked at O'Brien, who said, "Go on. I'll keep watch here."

Dayton crossed the room and knelt beside the wounded man. A moment later he let out a curse that made O?Brien turn sharply.

"What is it?"

Dayton's face was carved in grim lines as he looked up from the body. "I knew we should've kept out of this!" he rasped. "Now we're all gonna get ourselves killed, just on account of this worthless sonuver!"

O'Brien narrowed his eyes. "What" What are you talking about?"

"This here's Pete Bohannan," Dayton replied through gritted teeth. "My worst enemy?s God-damned son!"