Dead Man's Gold. J.A. Johnstone

aside, pulled the shirt on over his head, and went to the nearest corpse. He bent over, grasped it by the feet, and dragged it to the grave. He sensed Father Jardine watching his actions with disapproval, but that didn’t stop him from dumping the body into the hole unceremoniously. The Kid wasn’t interested in deliberately offending the priest, but he wasn’t going to change his ways too much to placate Father Jardine, either.

      When he had dragged all five corpses to the grave and tossed them in, he asked, “Do you want to say words over them now, or wait until I’ve covered them up?”

      “It would be more fitting if the grave was covered,” Father Jardine replied stiffly.

      “All right.” The Kid picked up the shovel again.

      Getting the dirt back in the hole was a little easier than taking it out. The Kid worked steadily until he had a mound of sandy dirt and gravel that marked the final resting place of the five Apaches. Then he stepped back to lean on the shovel and catch his breath.

      Father Jardine brought a Bible from the wagon. As The Kid stood there next to Annabelle and listened to the priest reciting the Latin words, he realized that Father Jardine hadn’t been checking to see whether or not that hombre out on the flats was dead. He’d been praying over Fortunato’s henchman. He probably would have insisted that they bury both of those men, too, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Annabelle was wounded and they’d had to light a shuck out of there.

      When Father Jardine was finished with the ritual, The Kid took the Winchester back from Annabelle. “Both of you better turn in and get some rest,” he told them. “I’ll stand guard the rest of the night.”

      “You most certainly will not,” Annabelle said. “I can take my turn.”

      “As can I,” added Father Jardine.

      “You’ve already been awake all night,” Annabelle went on. “If you stay up the rest of the night, you’ll be utterly exhausted tomorrow.”

      The Kid grunted. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been tired.”

      “Yes, but it would be the first time you were that tired while we were depending on you to help keep us safe,” she pointed out.

      The Kid couldn’t argue with that logic. He said, “No more fires, all right?”

      “It’ll be awfully cold by morning.”

      He nodded toward the recently-dug mass grave. “Not as cold as those fellas over there are.”

      Annabelle glared at him for a couple of seconds, then nodded. “You’re right, of course. It was foolish to announce our presence like that, wasn’t it?”

      “Yep.”

      “No more fires. Except during the day when they can’t be seen as easily?”

      He nodded. “And I’ll show you how to build one that won’t give off much smoke, so you won’t likely be noticed that way, either.”

      “All right. That sounds like a good idea.”

      “I’ll stand the first watch and wake you up after four hours.”

      “What about me?” Father Jardine asked.

      “You let Dr. Dare and me worry about it tonight, padre,” The Kid said. “You can have a turn tomorrow night.”

      He figured he would try to find some other excuse by then to keep the priest from standing watch. He wasn’t sure Father Jardine would be able to pull the trigger, even if an Apache bent on scalping him was standing right in front of him. There was just too much goodness in the man. At least, that was the way some people would look at it.

      The Kid didn’t believe in that “turn the other cheek” business anymore. His days of being that meek were long since over.

      The way he saw it, the meek never inherited anything except trouble.

      Chapter 7

      Annabelle climbed into the wagon to sleep, while Father Jardine spread a bedroll underneath the vehicle. As The Kid stood nearby watching the preparations, he frowned.

      “You have a hair rope, padre?” he asked.

      “What?”

      “A rope made of horsehair, just like it sounds,” The Kid explained.

      “We only have the ropes we used with the horses.” Father Jardine shook his head. “I don’t know what they’re made of.”

      The Kid had placed his saddle on the ground. He had a lariat made of braided rawhide, the sort that the Mexicans called la reata, but he also had a coil of hair rope that he carried. He fetched it and played it out from its coil as he walked around the wagon, until he had a circle of rope completely enclosing the vehicle.

      By starlight, The Kid saw Father Jardine smile. “Is this supposed to be some sort of talisman to ward off evil spirits, my son?”

      “You could call it that,” The Kid said dryly. “A rattlesnake won’t crawl over a hair rope because the fibers tickle his belly too much. If you ever woke up with a nice fat diamondback rattler curled in your blankets with you because he was looking to get warm, you’d think he was an evil spirit, all right.”

      “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

      The Kid waved a hand. “Forget it, Father. Just get some sleep.”

      Father Jardine crawled into his blankets. The Kid walked over to a rock next to the spring-fed pool and sat down with the rifle across his lap. He sat still and quiet and sent his senses out to search for any sign of danger in the night. Everything seemed peaceful. Within a few minutes, he heard soft snores coming from the priest.

      There was silence from inside the wagon. The Kid thought about Annabelle Dare sleeping in there, if indeed she was actually asleep. He caught himself wondering how much of her clothing she removed before she turned in, then forced that thought out of his head. He hadn’t been a widower all that long and had no right thinking such things. Anyway, Annabelle Dare was opinionated almost to the point of obnoxiousness. She was clearly accustomed to always getting her own way, and she really wasn’t all that pretty. She was just…striking-looking, that was all.

      Maybe there would come a time when he was ready to move on with his life, when he could look at a pretty woman and have those sort of thoughts without feeling that it was wrong. But not yet. Not yet.

      Right now, all he really wanted where Annabelle was concerned was to keep her alive until she and Father Jardine could finish this loco quest they were on. If they succeeded, she could go back to Harvard or Yale or wherever she came from, and he wouldn’t ever have to think about her again.

      Time passed as the stars wheeled through their courses overhead. The Kid felt a little drowsy from time to time, but he was able to shake it off without any trouble. When he judged that four hours had passed, he went to the back of the wagon, stepped over the horsehair rope, and said quietly, “Dr. Dare.”

      He heard the sound of a gun being cocked, then Annabelle mumbled, “Who…?”

      The Kid stepped quickly to the side, just in case her finger got a mite too heavy on the trigger. He said, “Damn it, Doctor, there’s a time and a place when you need to wake up with a gun in your hand. This isn’t one of them.”

      “Oh. Mr. Morgan.” He heard her moving around. A moment later she stuck her head out the back of the wagon. “I’m sorry. I was sound asleep, and I didn’t know at first who you were.”

      The Kid nodded. “Your turn to stand guard, just like you wanted.”

      “Yes, of course.” She climbed out of the wagon. “If you could give me a moment first…”

      “Sure, go ahead.”

      He waited while she went off into the brush that grew along the base of the rocky outcropping. When she came back, he handed