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  But he’d forgotten the rifle.

  Using the long, heavy Sharps, Jed once hunted the lumbering buffalo. A gun like that could bring down one of the great beasts of the prairies at a half mile. El Capitan was a whole lot nearer than that.

  Taking his time, he strolled past the two bodies towards the long gun, bending over and checking it carefully. Finding it was still loaded, as he generally carried it. Blowing dust off the stock, and rubbing with a finger at a smear of grease near the trigger.

  ‘Hurry up. He’s going.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Parsons. The Mex isn’t going anywheres at all.’

  He glanced up at where the bandit was now better than halfway towards the top of the rocks. Scrambling upwards, the hat still stuck to the back of his head. A dark patch of sweat clearly visible on his shirt.

  Carefully, Jed adjusted the sights, estimating the range at two hundred and fifty yards. Not an easy shot aiming at such an angle. He licked the forefinger of his right hand, setting the bead of spit on the tip of the foresight to make it stand out more clearly. Eased back on the hammer and walked towards the jagged stump of an old barren tree, forked about five feet from the ground.

  ‘He’ll be away!’

  ‘Reckon not,’ he replied, ignoring the near hysteria of the woman.

  ‘Hurry up and kill him. Don’t let him get away, Jed! Don’t let him!’

  ‘Quiet down, Mrs. Parsons. Nobody’s gettin’ away from me. Nobody at all.’

  He settled the end of the barrel of the long gun in the notch in the tree, squinting along it. Changing the setting of the back sight a single click higher. Seeing the small figure of the Mexican, now almost within arm’s reach of the top of the cliff. If he missed El Capitan, there wouldn’t be a chance of a second shot.

  Gentle as rousing a woman, Herne laid his finger against the cool metal of the trigger. Cuddling the polished wooden stock against the shoulder, to avoid the heavy recoil of the Sharps. Firing with both eyes open, as many top marksmen always have.

  Squeezing.

  Squeezing.

  The crack of the shot echoed flatly around the canyon, speeding the bullet on its way. A cloud of powder obscured the man on the rock face for a moment, and when it had cleared, El Capitan had vanished.

  ‘You missed!’ screamed Emmie-Lou.

  ‘No.’

  Herne had seen the arms fly up, and heard the clatter of stones as the bandit slid down the arroyo wall, landing in a tangle of limbs a few feet out from the bottom of the splintered rock.

  ‘He’s still alive.’

  Herne put the gun down and walked unhurriedly across, unholstering the Colt as he went. He knew the shot had hit home, but it had been a difficult one, and he suspected the bullet might have missed the heart. El Capitan moved a little as he neared him, trying to lift his head to look at Jed.

  There was blood across his chest on the left side. A lot of blood. It might not have been a direct kill, but Herne had seen enough bullet wounds to know that El Capitan wouldn’t ever go raiding again.

  ‘Señor Herne. I think you kill me. No?’

  ‘Si. I think so.’

  The naval cap was missing, and the face looked old and very tired, the eyes blinking vaguely around, scarcely able to focus on Herne, The Mexican was clearly puzzled by something.

  ‘You came back…A man like you…For her…You came back…Why?’

  ‘Man’s got to live with himself.’

  The head nodded, and then the eyes blanked and the body relaxed in the unmistakable last sleep of death. Emmie-Lou had joined Herne and she stood by his side, looking down at the body.

  ‘What now?’

  He turned to face her. ‘Guess you know. I’m taking you home, Mrs. Parsons. Home.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  They took the high route back, riding the ridges and keeping clear of the valley trail. Nothing much happened, apart from seeing, several hundred feet below them, two Mexicans riding fast for the canyon, with leather bags slung across the pommels of their saddles.

  ‘That’s the half of the ransom. Ten thousand dollars. Why don’t you take that and let me go. You’ll finish a long way ahead.’

  ‘Wrong. I’d finish a long way behind.’

  ‘You’re going to let them get away with it.’

  ‘Like I said before, so I recollect, I got a contract with your husband and that’s for two and a half thousand to bring you back. Nothing in the deal about any ten thousand dollars that I had to bring back as well.’

  ‘My God, Jed Herne! You and my husband are both a couple of bastards.’

  ‘Maybe. But in my case you could say that it was a happening at birth, while I hear your husband has worked real hard at it.’

  The great black mausoleum still squatted blankly in the center of a couple of hundred miles of nothing, its windows all shuttered. There was a small group of vaqueros and their women near the main door, and they parted silently and let Jed and the girl walk in, closing the door behind them.

  Herne was in the house for less than five minutes, during which time Parsons said what he had to say, and Jed stopped him from saying more. The balance of the money was paid over and tucked firmly away. During all this, Emmie-Lou stood silent across the carved oak table in the dank gloom of the living-room. And said nothing.

  ‘You will be leaving, Mister Herne?’

  ‘Yeah. Got things to do. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure, but not much is.’

  ‘You have done well. I could find a use for a man like you.’

  ‘Guess I could find a use for you, Mister Parsons, but I figure I won’t tell you what. So long, Mrs. Parsons.’

  She ignored him, her finger tracing a pattern in the grey dust of the table. Her eyes only moved to look at the locked cupboard that Jed had seen inside on his last visit.

  ‘I am grateful to you, and you have been paid for returning to me the leavings from the table of the Indians and the Mexicans. I assure you my wife will never cause anyone that kind of trouble again.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘As long as she lives, she will never ever leave this house. Never.’

  Herne the Hunter walked from the big mansion, breathing in the clean dry air of New Mexico and the sun was shining. As the massive oak door swung shut, he thought he heard the rattling of chains and a scream. But it was probably only the bolts on the door clattering and squeaking. Probably.

  PICCADILLY PUBLISHING

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  If you have enjoyed this book others in the series are:

  HERNE 1 – WHITE DEATH

  HERNE 2: RIVER OF BLOOD

  HERNE 3: THE BLACK WIDOW

  HERNE 4: SHADOW OF THE VULTURE

  Available from Piccadilly Publishing