Dakota Run

Chapter Ten

There were ninety of them in all, camped on the plain to the southwest of the Dead Zone. Most of them were sound asleep at this late hour. A dozen were on guard duty, patrolling the perimeter. Others tended the many fires intended to discourage any aggressive animals, or worse, in the area. A few were gazing up at the star-filled sky in silent contemplation.

And two of the ninety were standing by themselves in the middle of the encampment, engaged in antagonistic conversation.

“I still say we should have headed back for Red-field,” one of them was saying. “We’re wasting our time staying here.”

“You’re not thinking of countermanding my order, are you?” asked the second man in a flat, vaguely menacing way.

“You know better, Rory,” replied the first man.

“Do I, Boone?” Rory rejoined. “Do I really?”

Boone sighed and stared at the heavens, his mind uneasy, his hands resting on the 44 Magnum Hombre single-action revolvers in matching holsters on both hips. He was a tall man, over six feet, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, attired in the typical frontier garb of the post-war plains: buck-skins. His shoulder-length brown hair was stirred by the night wind.

Rory was staring at Boone’s hands and the Magnums. He was shorter than Boone, a squat, muscular, powerhouse of a man with a blond crew cut and green eyes. His brown pants and shirt, tailor made by his wife, Adrian, could scarcely conceal his impressive bulk. He too wore twin guns, but in his case they were Star BM automatic pistols. “You two were good friends once, weren’t you?” he asked Boone.

Boone’s brown eyes narrowed as he faced Rory.

“I know it for a fact,” Rory continued. “Admit it.”

“What if we were?” Boone countered testily.

“No need to get all bent out of shape,” Rory said quickly. “I only mention it to show I can understand how you feel. I’d feel the same way if it was one of my friends.”

Boone turned his back on Rory and resumed gazing at the sky. “Yeah. Kilrane and I were real close before the split. So what?”

Rory’s hands drifted toward his automatics. For several seconds he wavered, debating whether to shoot Boone in the back and fabricate a pretext later. He no longer trusted his second in command, sensing Boone was unhappy with the status quo. Rory knew many of his men were tired of the rift and wanted the two sides to be together again. Well, that would never happen! Not as long as Rolf was alive! There was only room for one top dog, and Rory was determined the head man of the Cavalry would be him!

Boone still had his back to him.

Rory’s fingers clenched and unclenched mere inches from his pistols.

Boone posed a threat to his leadership. Of all the men in the Cavalry, Boone was the most universally respected. Rory was undoubtedly the most feared, but he recognized respect could conquer fear in the long run. If enough of his men wanted to unite the feuding factions, they might turn to Boone for guidance and direction.

Rory couldn’t allow that.

Should he do it now? No. Two reasons dissuaded him. Boone had many friends, and some of them might seek revenge if Boone were gunned down in the back. The second reason was even more persuasive; Boone was fast with those revolvers, real fast, with a reputation almost as widespread as Kilrane’s. At this range, Boone might be able to get off a few shots before Rory finished him.

Rory couldn’t take the chance.

“Are you sure it was him?” Boone suddenly inquired.

“No doubt about it,” Rory confirmed. “I saw him through my binoculars.”

“Do you think the dust storm got them?” Boone questioned, glancing toward the Dead Zone.

“Who knows?” Rory replied. “Just thank your lucky stars it missed us!

If all goes well, those things in the Dead Zone will take care of Kilrane and company.”

“So if you expect those monsters in the Dead Zone to do your dirty work for you,” Boone commented, facing Rory, “why are we sitting here? Why aren’t we heading for home?”

“Because I need to be sure!” Rory declared. “If any of the Legion patrol survive the Dead Zone, odds are they’ll come this way. We’ll canvass this section for a few more days, then head for Redfield if nothing develops.”

Rory paused, musing. “We were lucky one of our boys spotted them shortly after they entered our territory and reported the word to us. It isn’t very often we catch a Legion patrol in the act.”

“We were lucky,” Boone conceded halfheartedly.

“Can you imagine it?” Rory went on. “The look on Rolf’s face when he learns I’ve killed his pet executioner, Kilrane? My dear brother might have a heart attack!” Rory threw back his head and laughed.

Boone stared at the Cavalry leader, barely able to suppress his contempt. He mentally castigated himself for not going with Rolf and Kilrane a decade ago. Why hadn’t he? Because he’d never understood the cause of the breakup, and at the time it transpired he wasn’t aware of Rory’s true nature. But now he was. Now he recognized the man for the devious, spiteful, evil person he really was. What should he do about it?

Gun Rory down? Challenge him to a gunfight? Would the rest of the Cavalry understand? Not many knew Rory as he did.

What to do? What to do?

“Maybe my darling brother will attempt to avenge Kilrane.” Rory was gloating. “Maybe he’ll enter our territory to find me for Kilrane’s death.

Wouldn’t that be great! I’d have that bastard right where I want him!”

Boone thoughtfully bit his lower lip.

“And after the Cavalry and the Legion are reunited, watch out!” Rory raved, his brow covered with sweat, his face flushed, and his eyes wide as he watched a nearby fire. “I have plans! Big plans! You’ll see!”

Yes, sir.

Something needed to be done about Rory, and the sooner, the better.

Boone walked away from Rory and melted into the night, contemplating the best answer to the question of the hour. Of the decade.

But what to do?