Chapter 12

Jeb MacPherson had come to Wainsford for the same reason as the others. Sick of earning a living wasting small-time crooks and cattle thieves, he was looking for a last big score to set him up for his future. At twenty-eight years old, he figured it was time to stop killing and find himself a real job.
Jeb had lot of smarts, a lot more than people usually gave him credit for. His quiet, shy-seeming exterior hid a keen mind and he knew from the moment he learned that Shane Ennis and Castor Buchanan were in town that he stood no chance of claiming his reward if he acted alone. And so Jeb had started rallying together a small group of men, thinking that there was strength in numbers.
Jeb MacPherson was dead now. Three shots rang out, splitting the midday calm and sending him staggering backwards on lifeless feet.
More shots followed, a blazing frenzy of blood-letting that left his comrades dead as well, and in the centre of this maelstrom of murder Shane Ennis walked with his guns spitting lead and fire, his coat tails billowing behind him like the tattered wings of the Angel of Death.
Legally appointed as town marshal and with Castor Buchanan newly deputised, he had wasted no time in introducing a new kind of law to the bounty hunters in Wainsford. His rules were simple: ‘Join me, or die.’
In just a few short hours the number of bounty hunters in town was reduced by half, leaving only those who agreed to Shane’s leadership. He deputised them accordingly and paid them fifty dollars each.
One man snubbed the money and spat on the floor in disgust. ‘That’s horseshit! I got offered a thousand dollars to kill Hunte. Ain’t no way I’m helping you for fifty.’
The other bounty hunters shuffled away from him, leaving him to face Shane alone.
‘How much do you want?’ Shane asked him. He spoke quietly and his voice sounded reasonable, but his hand had moved to rest on the butt of his revolver. The man glanced over his shoulder, looking for somebody to back him up.
‘Well?’ Shane said.
The man lost his nerve. ‘Fifty dollars is fine,’ he said.
Shane organised them into shifts so that there were three men covering the jailhouse at any given time. He had them set up firing positions behind barrels and crates, and had a cart wheeled out opposite the jailhouse door, where a man could crouch and fire. His men cleared out the surrounding buildings and smashed windows on the upper floors, so that every angle could be covered and there wasn’t a chance in hell that anybody could get out of the jailhouse, or take food and water in without getting shot down on the way.
If Fletcher wasn’t coming out then Shane would starve him into submission. And if that didn’t work then in a couple of days they’d set fire to the jailhouse and burn them out. Either way, Benedict Hunte was a dead man.
As nightfall settled that evening, Shane inspected his troops. The marshal was keeping his head down and the jailhouse was silent as a church, with no lights inside to reveal the occupants to Shane’s gunmen. Buchanan was keeping watch round the back, and he was sore at it. ‘I don’t see why you want a man here anyway,’ he argued. ‘Ain’t no way they’re coming out this way. Not unless they cut through the fucking wall.’
‘Town appointed me the new marshal.’ Shane said. ‘And I appointed you my deputy. That means you stand guard where I tell you to stand guard.’
‘Don’t let this shit get to your head.’ Buchanan snarled at him. ‘I’ve shot marshals before.’
‘And I’ve shot deputies.’
Shane returned to his hotel room. He laid himself out on the bed without even bothering to kick off his boots and stared up at the ceiling, waiting. For all the stories that had been told about him, it was rarely understood that Shane’s guns were the least of his weapons. Any fool could shoot a man and sooner or later any fool who did was bound to get himself either shot or hanged. That was the way of things. But Shane was smarter than that.
He had never seen other people the way normal folk did. He didn’t think of them as individuals but instead saw them each as cogs in a machine. Every person’s actions affected those of the people surrounding them, whose reactions affected others, and so on.
As a child with very few friends, Shane had used to amuse himself by provoking situations and trying to predict how the consequences would ripple through the small town society in which he had grown up. By the time he had reached adolescence, he had become adept at understanding people and manipulating them. A few words in the right places could do a lot more damage than an equal number of bullets.
Shane closed his eyes. He had set events in motion earlier that day, events that would have dire consequences, but consequences that would ultimately suit his needs. Now all he had do was bide his time and let it all play out.
He woke shortly after midnight, hearing the sound of violence outside his window. It was the noise of a door being kicked down some distance away, accompanied by shouting and a woman’s screaming. There were cries of protest that were answered by an animal snarl and the sound of a shot ringing out. Then silence, long and pregnant; a prelude to the horrors that were to come.
Shane did not think about what he had started. He felt neither joy nor sorrow or guilt. The crimes that Buchanan committed were of his own choosing, and Shane did not really consider that he was himself to blame. Not really. He closed his ears as the screams began in earnest, the sounds of two people being tortured by the man whose love of inflicting pain rivalled that of the Devil.
Shane rose from the bed and walked over to the window. He saw the curtains twitch in a house across the street and caught a brief glimpse of a frightened face as somebody looked out to see what the noise was about. All across town, people did the same. They looked and they listened but they did nothing to stop it. In time, an old man came running down the street. ‘Marshal Fletcher! Marshal Fletcher!’
The bounty hunters stationed around the front of the jailhouse took aim as he approached. Others, woken by the noise, flocked to their positions in anticipation of the killing that was to come. Shane did nothing.
As the old man drew close to the jailhouse, Fletcher called out to him from inside. ‘What the Hell’s going on out there, Ed?’
‘It’s Ben’s parents!’ The old man held back, reluctant to come any closer with the bounty hunters so near. ‘I’m sorry, Marshal. The bastard just kicked down the door!’
There came an almost bestial howl from within, a sound of purest human rage. Shane heard footsteps on the wooden floor inside, heard Fletcher’s voice cry out: ‘Don’t Ben, it’s a trap.’
Ben swore at him. From the sound of what got said, Shane guessed that the old lawman was trying to bar his path and keep him from opening the door. There was the sound of a fight, the hard smack of a fist against somebody’s jaw and, moments later, the bolts were drawn back.
The three bounty hunters stationed opposite put fingers to the triggers and took aim.
Fletcher cried out. ‘Ben. No!’
But it was too late. The door swung open and Ben ran out into the murderous night, brandishing his shotgun and a heartful of rage. He hadn’t gone a step when the three rifles gave fire and illuminated the scene in a brilliant white flash. The scene burned into Shane’s eyes like the image of a photograph. Ben’s chest imploded as the volley struck home, stopping him dead in his tracks. He staggered, eyes wide, as if uncertain what had happened. And then a second volley blew him backwards through the open door.
A couple of men ran out and charged the doorway but it slammed shut before they could reach it and the bolts were thrown. Guns appeared at the loopholes in the wall and fired, and one man was hit, falling wounded while the others fled back to take shelter behind the barrels and the crates. They fired in return but their shots did nothing but chip splinters out of the jailhouse wall. The night’s killing was over. The deed was done.
Shane slinked quietly back to his bed and Castor Buchanan played his games until late in the morning, when two gunshots brought an end to an old couple’s suffering and closed another dark chapter in his list of crimes.

Shane did not know if it was something about Covenant or whether it was just his state of mind that made his memories so vivid, but he could remember that night as if it had only just been.
He did not really feel guilty for what he had done, but he was not proud of it either. It rested on his heart with a heaviness that was hard to simply shrug off and forget.
It had been the lawyer, Boyd, who had told Shane that Ben’s parents lived in town and where they could be found. He had no doubt intended that Shane use them as leverage, although he had probably not anticipated that they would die in the process. Then again, it was equally as possible that Boyd simply hadn’t cared.
Shane had relayed the information on to Buchanan but had made a deliberate point of telling him to leave them alone. In the brief time that he had known him, Shane had come to understand a lot about the sort of things that motivated Buchanan, and he had known that the best way to get him to do something was to specifically tell him not to.
Having planted that particular seed of rebellion in Buchanan’s mind, he had then further nurtured it by giving him the most pointless assignment he could think of that night by posting him to cover the back of the jailhouse. He had anticipated that Buchanan would get bored and frustrated, and that he would abandon his post and go after Ben’s parents, partly to spite Shane but mostly for his own amusement.
What had happened next was not something that Shane had really given much thought to. He had just wanted Ben lured into the open so that he could be shot. Setting Buchanan onto his parents had simply been the easiest way of doing it.
Looking back, it was easy for Shane to see why he had done it. He had been afraid. He could have killed Fletcher the first day he arrived in town, shot Ben and Alan Grant and killed Hunte there and then instead of drawing things out the way he had. But he had been afraid to. After what had happened at the Babson ranch, he had not wanted to shoot anyone unless he was completely sure that his motives were his own and, perhaps because he had respect for him, he had decided from the start that he would not kill Fletcher, no matter what happened.
And so he had decided to wage a psychological war against the old lawman instead, to crush his spirit and wear him down. And he had started by killing Ben and Ben’s family.
Shane blinked the thoughts away. On the crossroads, the invigilators were busy cleaning up the mess that Chastity’s rampage had caused. Shane watched as they dragged the dead into a side street. They showed no particular regard for their own fallen brethren, treating them instead with the same casual disrespect that they showed the dead contestants. Their weapons were collected, their bodies stripped of anything valuable that could be kept or bartered.
The invigilators were hard men. They had few friends amongst each other so far as Shane could see, and viewed one another mostly as rivals, albeit rivals who were presently bound in a common cause. It was interesting because it suggested a weakness that Shane could take advantage of.
He had been thinking and he had decided that if he was going to escape from Covenant he would take Chastity with him.
He was a realistic man. He did not believe in atonement. Nothing that he did with the rest of his life could bring back the men and women he had killed, or undo the pain and suffering that he had helped to propagate. But he could not respect himself if he fled from this town and left a six year old child to suffer a fate that he himself was afraid to meet. Whatever else he had done wrong in his life, there was still a level past which he would not allow himself to sink.
The problem was how would he escape?
He dared not try shooting his way out. His soul was already balancing on a razor’s edge. He was halfway to Hell already and there was no way of telling how many more killings it would take to push him the rest of the way, straight into the arms of the Fastest Guns. It could be one; it could be twenty. He dared not take a chance.
But equally he did not think that he could slip past the invigilators without some kind of a fight. What he needed was an accomplice, somebody who could do his killing for him. He thought about it and, yes, there was someone who fitted his requirements. But it would all depend on who won the next match.

The crossroads shimmered beneath a watery heat haze as Vendetta and Nanache went out to face each other. The heat was sweltering and Vendetta’s long brown hair clung to the back of her neck in sweaty strands. Nanache’s blue army jacket was open and he played with his necklace of bones as he walked. He stroked specific joints between his finger and thumb and sang to them in a quiet voice. Shane got the impression that he was calling on their individual talents, readying himself for the battle to come.
Vendetta showed no sign of being intimidated by her opponent’s alleged supernatural powers. She stared at him, uncaring and unemotional, her expression fixed in a look of grim determination. Nanache held up his hand to her and mimed cutting off one of his fingers and putting it in his pocket. He pointed at her and laughed.
The invigilators regarded them both warily. Chastity’s rampage had left them twitchy and there was a palpable sense of hostility in the air.
Vendetta shook her head and rotated her shoulders, loosening them up. She adopted a three-quarters side-on stance with her left leg leading. Nanache stood square. They both glanced over at the Grande as Nathaniel rose to his feet. He held up his hands for silence.
The two contestants readied themselves.
And Nathaniel called it.
Vendetta snatched her gun from the holster, drawing and firing in rapid succession and blood splattered the dirt behind Nanache as her first shot ripped through his shoulder, snapping the tendons from his bones. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but no amount of bravery could get his ruined arm to work. He grabbed his revolver with his left hand but it cost him valuable seconds, leaving Vendetta with ample time to fire again.
She raised her gun in a two-handed grip and took aim, firing two shots that caught him in the chest and neck, and Nanache dropped to his knees. Left-handed, he fired, but the shot was the product of a delayed impulse running through his nerves. He was dead already and the shot hit the ground just six paces in front of him, kicking up a plume of dirt.
He hit the ground facedown, his last breath rattling in his throat. Vendetta regarded him coldly for a moment, her gun trained on him in case he so much as twitched, but when he did not move she turned away and holstered her revolver.
Shane watched her as she strode from the crossroads. With skills like hers, she was exactly the sort of person he needed if he was to get out of town. All he had to do was convince her to help him, and he already had an idea about how that could be achieved.
He began to think about how he would make his move.

In the topmost room of the Grande, Madison was also thinking of escape.
Covenant had turned into something of a disappointment for her. She had come expecting to meet some of the best gunfighters in the world but so far all of the really big names had failed to show and the best she’d seen were Shane Ennis and Castor Buchanan, both of whom were way past their prime. To make matters worse, Kip was dead and she had realised too late that she had really cared for him and now, in addition to being lonely, she was trapped in a ghost town in the middle of nowhere, forced to be a baby-sitter for the youngest mass-murderer in American history.
She had never felt so low.
Her one consolation was that at least Chastity had stopped screaming now. She sat quietly on the other side of the room, perched on the edge of a wicker peacock chair like a discarded ventriloquist’s dummy, legs hanging in empty space just a couple of inches off the floor.
It had taken ages for Madison to get her to calm down. Madison had never had any younger sisters growing up and she had no idea how you were supposed to deal with an upset child. She had begun by making a few ineffectual shushy noises, but when that had met with no immediate success she had fled to the opposite corner of the room and sat there with her hands over her ears, hoping that the child would settle down in her own time. Several minutes later it had become apparent that was not going to happen, and so she had plucked up the courage to go back to her and had bundled her into her arms and rocked and soothed her and, in time, she had coaxed her into being quiet. It had taken a lot out of her and Madison had finished up on the window seat, staring out through a circular window at the crossroads below, nursing her sore head and feeling sorry for herself.
The window gave her an excellent view of the gunfight between Vendetta and Nanache, and Madison was pleased to see Vendetta win. She took heart that the only other woman in town was kicking ass.
Women gunfighters were few and far between and seldom ever amounted to much. Inspired by the dime novels that she had used to read with her daddy when she was a little girl, Madison had once dreamed that she might become one, but the sad truth was that she had never turned out to be very good with a gun. Her talents lay elsewhere. She had been born with the double blessing of beauty and the wits to use it. The way she looked, the way she dressed and the way she spoke were her weapons of choice, and with them she could get a man to give her almost anything she wanted.
Nathaniel had caught her off guard earlier. If she hadn’t drunk so much the night before she would have had the sense to keep out of his way, but that was largely irrelevant now. The mistake had been made and now she was suffering for it. What she had to do now was find a way to turn things about and make the situation work to her advantage before she wound up like Bethan.
And that meant establishing some kind of hold over Nathaniel.
In another time and another place, she might have willingly done so anyway. Nathaniel was not bad looking. He was older than her but that was not a problem; she liked a little experience in a man. He was powerful and he had money; two things that Madison craved. But right here, right now, it was just too soon after Kip and she would not have even contemplated it if she didn’t think her survival depended on it. Nathaniel was an abusive bastard and he was dangerous. If Madison wanted to survive him and get out of Covenant intact then she needed him to be nice to her. Already, she had come up with a plan.
She prepared by smartening herself up. She twisted her hair into a couple of plaits to bring it under control and washed her face, cleaning away the marks where her tears had caused her eye make-up to run. With two hours before the next match was fought, she thought it likely that Nathaniel would want to come and check on her and Chastity and, sure enough, she heard the door bang downstairs as he entered the building. She quickly hurried over to position herself at Chastity’s side, grabbing one of the child’s dolls so that it looked as if she had been playing with her.
The key turned in the lock and Nathaniel entered. His expression softened when he saw Madison and Chastity together. ‘I had half expected to have to send my men to look for you,’ he admitted.
Madison gave him a shy smile and, ignoring his comment, said in a soft voice: ‘She’s quietened down now.’
‘I can see that.’
Nathaniel pushed her gently to one side and knelt before the girl. He examined her face and neck and rolled up her sleeves to take a look at her arms. While he did so, Whisperer came into the room and positioned himself at the doorway, blocking Madison’s escape. Nathaniel was looking for bruises, she realised, and was offended that he would think that she could be such a bitch. ‘I didn’t hit her,’ she protested.
‘No. You didn’t.’ Nathaniel said, finishing his examination. ‘And it would be a very bad idea if you ever did.’
‘I wouldn’t do anything like that.’ Madison said indignantly.
Nathaniel said nothing but rose to his feet again and took her by the arm. He steered her over to the one of the two beds in the room and bade her sit next to him. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.
Madison told him.
‘Yes, I remember now. Kutcher introduced you. My condolences, by the way. But nonetheless, the fact remains that he should not have brought you here. The Fastest Guns do not appreciate spectators.’
‘I understand that now, sir, and I’m sorry. I would never have come if I’d known I wouldn’t be welcome.’
Nathaniel patted her on the thigh. ‘It’s no matter. If you hadn’t come then Bethan’s death would have greatly inconvenienced me. As it stands, you will make an adequate replacement. Don’t you agree, Whisperer?’
‘She certainly has her qualities,’ the tall man replied.
‘That she most certainly does.’ Nathaniel said, giving Madison’s chest a lustful glance. ‘Although in future you will be well advised to bear them with a degree of modesty more befitting that of a lady. Kutcher may have tolerated you dressing like a whore but you’re mine now, and I will have you conduct yourself properly. If you do not have anything less brazen of your own to wear then I suggest you see if anything of Bethan’s will fit you. Lord knows she won’t be needing it any more.’
He went on to explain what Madison’s duties would be. Chastity was incapable of performing even the most basic functions without supervision. Madison would have to dress, feed and wash her. It was a lot more than Madison would have liked. But put up with it for now, she told herself. The time will come later when you can ditch the little bitch and get the fuck out of here, but for now you have to toe the line.
‘What is it that’s wrong with her?’ she said out loud.
‘She is special,’ Nathaniel explained. ‘Chastity cannot think for herself, not like you and I do at any rate.’
‘But she’s so good with a gun.’
Nathaniel smiled but didn’t offer any sort of an explanation. He cupped Madison’s chin in his palm. ‘You will find that I can be a very kind master,’ he told her. ‘Attend well to Chastity and you will be rewarded. Money, jewellery; I can give you whatever you desire. But do anything to hurt Chastity, or disobey me just once, and I will give you to Buchanan. And believe me, you wouldn’t want that.’
Madison knew all about Buchanan’s reputation. ‘I won’t let you down,’ she said quietly, biting her tongue to try and make the words sound sincere. In two days time, the tournament would come to an end and she was sure that the Fastest Guns would show up to watch the final bout. We’ll see how tough you are when I’ve got one of them to protect me, she thought to herself.
She had lost Kip and that was bad, but it was time to revert back to her original plan and bag herself a real gunfighter.