Page 6 of Follow the Lonesome Trail

Two For The Trail

Allison Tebo

T he snorting of Kane’s horse faded into silence while Molly was still crawling forward to get a better look.

Not good. She wanted Kane where she could see him.

She had finally tracked down the infamous killer to this tiny ghost town on the edge of the Mexican border, and she was determined to have him this time.

Her hat thumped against her back as she dug her gloved fingers into the dirt and shinnied along under the house. She peered out into the street, breath coming in quick hard pants as her mind swirled. She figured Kane was here to meet one of the many robbers he coordinated with along the border.

If all went well today, Kane would never reach that meeting.

She flinched as the soft sound of fabric sliding on dirt reached her from somewhere to her right.

Someone was under the house with her.

She twisted her head to one side but couldn’t see past a bricked support beam. Pulse quickening, she fumbled for the shotgun lying by her side. She wanted to see Kane tried and hanged—but if she was forced to, she’d shoot him dead.

But it wasn’t Kane who was under the house.

“ Molly ?” a familiar voice hissed.

“ Vaquero ?” Molly whispered, disbelieving.

The scruffy, grinning face that appeared confirmed her worst suspicions.

It was that ding-dang, jackleg bounty hunter! The smirking sidewinder had been sabotaging Molly’s attempts to catch Kane for weeks. ‘Course, she had pushed Vaquero into a ravine, but she had a right to spoil his efforts. Kane belonged to her .

“Well, well,” Vaquero remarked as he eyed her in surprise. “Hello again, nina .”

Molly bridled. She wasn’t a child: she was fifteen. She was old enough to sass this skunk good and proper.

“Get out of here or I’ll blast you out!” she snarled.

Vaquero wriggled closer. “First one to grab Kane gets to claim him, what do you say?”

“He’s mine . Can’t you understand that?”

“Understand what?” Vaquero asked, raising a dismissive eyebrow. “That a kid like you is too young to be a bounty hunter?”

Molly shook her head, frustrated, then finally blurted out the truth through gritted teeth. “He killed my grandpa!”

There was a short, sharp pause as Molly leaned forward to glance down the street. Still empty.

She worked up the nerve to look at Vaquero, and found that the bounty hunter’s eyes had softened. “Now why didn’t you tell me that when we first met?” He tilted his head, studying her. “So it’s revenge you seek?”

“Revenge be hanged,” Molly snapped. “I want justice.” But it was more than that: she didn’t want some other girl to lose her grandpa. Kane brought misery everywhere he went and it had to stop.

Something that might have been kindness crossed Vaquero’s face, but it was such an unfamiliar expression for the scoundrel that Molly couldn’t be sure. “How’s this; I’ll help you and we split the reward. Agreed?”

Molly hesitated, and peeked out from under the building again.

Down the long, hot street, she spotted Kane, standing in front of the stables—waiting for someone.

Who knew how many bandits were spread out across this ghost town?

And every one of them was an obstacle to capturing Kane.

Still, Molly had made it this far alone…

She grimaced and shot a glare at Vaquero, who was waiting with an expression of saintly patience for her to give up and accept his help.

It was awful tempting to shoot him—at least in the foot.

“Just stay out of my way!” she snarled.

She crawled out from under the building and leapt to her feet, shooting like all get-out down the street.

Kane whirled to face her, hitting the ground hard and returning fire, forcing Molly to take cover in an alley, bent double to avoid a hail of bullets.

“Is that you, girl?” Kane shouted furiously.

“It’s me!” Molly yelled. Her cheek was burning and there was red splattered across her jacket sleeve. She had been grazed. But the realization didn’t frighten her in the least: it only made her all the more furious. She fumbled in her pocket for more ammunition, heart pounding with fury.

Kane cursed. “I’m getting mighty tired of you following me around! This is the end of the line for you.”

“We’ll see about that!” Molly muttered, bending down to reload.

A gun cracked right behind her.

She whirled, and gaped as a man fell on his face a few feet away from her, his gun slipping from his limp hand. His hat rolled towards her, brushing against her boots.

Stunned, Molly stared at the corpse, shotgun loose in her hands. She hadn’t once looked over her shoulder; she had forgotten to. All she could focus on was Kane.

Blood dripped down her neck as she stared at the bandit, and a tremor shot through her body. She could have died. She had come so close to failing her sole purpose: catching Kane. Stupid, Molly! Really stupid!

She raised her blurred gaze to where Vaquero was standing at the end of the alley, his gun smoking. He smiled at her. “A word of advice, nina . Always look over your shoulder.”

The bounty hunter’s suggestion was all it took to sting Molly out of her shock. She bite her lip, not quite able to bring herself to glare at him, and bent her head to finish reloading her shotgun. “I told you already, I don’t need your help!” But her hands were shaking, calling her a liar.

Vaquero rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes you do. You should see your cheek. Listen, I’ll take care of Kane’s friends, you take care of Kane. Deal?”

Molly hesitated, then glanced at the dead man again—felt the blood still dripping down her jaw, its slick sensation reminding her of what was at stake—as Vaquero stepped over the body and stood before her.

She met his eyes, and decided to trust him. “All right, Vaquero. It’s a deal.”

Vaquero tilted his head in acknowledgement, and they both turned in unison and dove into the street.

Molly crawled for the opposite building as gunfire exploded from a rooftop. But she didn’t look behind her; not when she knew that, this time, Vaquero was watching her back.

It felt good.

Vaquero fired off a round and the gunfire on the rooftop fell silent as Molly took cover behind the tall shadow of the saloon and peered down another street.

As she suspected, Kane was running towards a hitching post and his waiting horse. Kane thought Molly was pinned down by his friends. He didn’t know Vaquero was there.

It was the advantage that Molly had needed all along.

Molly slid the butt of her shotgun up and pulled it snug against her shoulder. Her grandpa used to be so proud of her shooting: he would tell anyone that would listen that she could hit the eye out of a rabbit. Now was the time to prove that she had been worthy of his pride.

“Watch this, Grandpa,” Molly whispered as she brought her gun up and sighted down the barrel. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

The shot struck the rope that held the sign for the saloon.

The falling sign struck Kane square on the head and he dropped to the ground, unmoving.

Molly slumped forward. She had done it. She had finally caught her grandpa’s killer.

With some help.

“Vaquero?” she called, eyes still on Kane’s prone body.

She jumped as Vaquero appeared beside her.

“The others were taken care of,” he said complacently. He grinned at her. “Worried about me?”

Molly snorted. “Just wanted to be sure none of them slipped past you before I went over to Kane.”

They hurried towards the body, and stood looking down at the unconscious killer.

He had fallen with his head turned to one side. Molly stood over him and stared down at the face that had haunted her for weeks, and let the knowledge wash over her that it would never haunt her again.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Vaquero suddenly thrust his bandana at her.

Molly looked down at it blankly until Vaquero asked, in an oddly sober voice. “Hurt much?”

Molly had forgotten about her wound. She jerked away as Vaquero dabbed at her cheek and snatched the bandana from him.

“I can do it myself,” she mumbled, wiping her cheek and not looking at him, afraid that he would see that her eyes were wet, though not from pain. His gesture had reminded her of a moment, years ago, when her grandfather had carefully cleaned out a wound on her hand.

Which was ridiculous, since this scruffy, no-account bounty hunter was nothing like her grandpa. Not in the slightest.

“Cover him,” Molly said gruffly, cramming the bloody bandana in her pocket and untying the rope fastened to her belt.

“You’re quite bossy, aren’t you?” Vaquero remarked, standing with his thumbs in his gun belt, making no move to do as she asked.

“ Please ,” Molly said between gritted teeth, as she played out the rope.

Vaquero gave a little bow and complied, pulling his gun from his holster once more.

“Seems it took two to capture Kane,” he remarked.

Molly finished tying Kane up, pulling the rope tight with a surge of something that felt far more like relief than triumph as she rose slowly to her feet.

“I suppose it did. But it’s over now.” She glanced at him, half-surprised, half-leery that he was still standing there. “Where’s your horse?” she prompted, a broad hint that he could leave.

Vaquero smiled a little. “Hidden behind the old church, right next to yours. I was following you, remember?”

“Of course,” Molly muttered, chagrined by the reminder of how she had neglected to check her back trail. “Well, you’d better get him out of the sun,” she added pointedly. “You go on and clear out; I’ll see that your half of the reward gets to you.”

“What are you talking about? It isn’t over by a long shot,” Vaquero snapped. “You’ve still got fifty miles of open territory to cover before you can turn Kane over to a marshal—territory that’s full of Kane’s friends.”

Molly bit her lip, but didn’t respond.

Vaquero holstered his gun and tipped his hat back on his head, suddenly casual-like. “You’ll probably need some help. You’re not so bad with that shotgun.” He glanced at her, then down at Kane. “Perhaps we could work together again, one more time.”

Molly had to admit, the last five minutes of actually working with Vaquero instead of against him had been a heap easier.

She imagined trying to get Kane onto a horse by herself, imagined traveling those fifty miles alone again, with nothing between her and the wolves and bandits and a dozen other hazards.

“I . . . suppose we could work together,” she said at last. “Just one more time.” She tried to sound reluctant but, secretly, she already felt braver knowing Vaquero would be with her, though she’d sooner be shot than admit it.

Afraid that her relief showed on her face, she added grumpily, “I’ve been riding solo for a while, Vaquero. Don’t reckon on sharing a saddle with me for long.”

Vaquero smirked. “The feeling’s mutual, child.” He shrugged. “I’m just making sure I get my half of the reward.”

“Of course,” Molly snorted.

But when they shook hands, they were smiling.

However long this trail might be, at least Molly wasn’t on it alone anymore.