Chapter 17
By dawn, Shane had given up any hope of being
sprung from his cell. He did not know what had happened; all he
knew was that something had gone wrong. He had not heard any shots
in the night, nor any other sound of a commotion that might have
indicated Vendetta had been caught, but that silence only made
things worse.
He could only conclude that she had forsaken him.
Buchanan arrived with his breakfast shortly after sunrise. He was
in a bright mood and walked with a spring in his step that told
Shane immediately what must have happened.
‘You knew didn’t you?’ Shane said.
‘Knew that it was time for breakfast? Of course I knew, it happens
every morning.’
Shane scowled at him but said nothing more. He did not have long to
wait before Buchanan’s ego got the better of him and forced him to
confess. ‘I’ve been on to you from the start,’ he boasted. ‘You
think I’d let you walk away the other day not realising you were up
to something? You forget how well I know you Shane.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I didn’t have to do anything. Your girlfriend was only too willing
to turn her back on you once I’d told her what sort of gratitude
she could expect. She’s got a pretty low opinion of you, did you
know that?’
‘Must have, to have believed your word over mine.’
‘Sticks and stones, Shane. Sticks and stones.’
He slid the breakfast tray under the door but Shane had already
lost his appetite. The greasy smell of the food made his stomach
turn.
‘You’ll fight Tom Freeman today and then tomorrow you’ll fight
Chastity. I don’t know if you can beat her but I don’t think that
really matters. Either way, they’ll take you.’
‘Do you really think you can buy your way back into their favour?’
Shane snapped.
‘I think I know them better these days than you do.’ Buchanan
replied.
Shane wondered what he meant by that but Buchanan offered no
further clues. He left Shane alone and the solitude closed in
around him like an unwelcome embrace. He got to his feet and paced
back and forth in his cell, feeling restless. His anger formed a
tightness in his chest that he had no way of releasing and, in his
helplessness, that anger slowly turned into despair. He ignored the
breakfast tray and sat on the edge of his bunk and put his head in
his hands. He had pinned his hopes on having escaped by now, but
fate had slapped him down.
As the sun rose higher, it pierced through the bars of his window
and fell across his face. He blinked against the harshness of the
light and the memories that had been lurking behind his eyes came
forth to engulf him.
The sun was his enemy, but it was also his
friend.
It occupied a pale and cloudless sky, beneath which the desert
shimmered as if the ground was boiling in the heat, evaporating
into the scalding air. It was a hundred-and-thirty at least and
Shane’s throat was so dry that he almost choked on every breath he
took.
He had never known a thirst so bad.
The sun was his enemy, cooking him to death in the heat of its
radiation, but it was also his friend. For as long as it gave him
light to see by he could follow the tracks on the ground and hope
to catch up with Buchanan.
Buchanan: who had water and who would share it with him, one way or
another.
The trail had led him away from the place where he had abandoned
Fletcher and had taken him through a range of dry hills to a basin
valley on the opposite side. Once, from his vantage on the
hilltops, Shane had seen a figure in the distance, a man leading a
horse, but since then he had seen nothing but tracks in the dirt
and he knew that he was still behind by a couple of
hours.
The sun beat down on him, sapping him of his strength. His horse
was too tired to carry him and he abandoned much of the arsenal
that he had taken from Fletcher. He threw away all but the most
essential supplies, lightening the load to conserve his horse’s
stamina.
The miles disappeared underfoot. The sun was merciless and the
terrain blistering. Shane wondered how Appleby and his men were
holding up. A man used up four gallons of water a day in an
environment such as this and Appleby had six men. They could not be
carrying enough water to last them more than a couple of days each,
which meant that they had to be replenishing it from somewhere but,
wherever it was, Shane could not find it. He had heard that Appleby
had taught his men to recycle the water from their own urine and
might have tried it himself if only he was able to piss more than a
single, reluctant drop.
He crossed the basin valley and climbed into rocky hills once more.
The afternoon was fading rapidly and Shane knew that he had only a
few more hours of light left, after which he would be unable to
find Buchanan and would probably die. His thirst began to make him
weary with delirium and, as his mind faded, so he felt his guns
rise into his consciousness.
We can end this pain, they seemed to say. Join with us.
‘Never,’ Shane muttered. He was not fooled by the apparent
simplicity of their proposal. The succour they offered was not the
helping hand of a friend, but a swift and merciful bullet to the
head. He did not want help like that.
You belong to us, he fancied they told him. Do not deny that it is
so.
‘I don’t need you,’ he said aloud. ‘You need me.’
Save your lies for others; you cannot lie to yourself.
Shane snarled wordlessly, unable to answer them this time. He tried
to convince himself that it was just his thirst driving him crazy,
that the voices of his guns were all in his imagination. In his
delirium, he misread the tracks on the ground and unknowingly
struck out in the wrong direction.
Weary and dying of thirst, he wandered across the hillside until he
came to a steep gully that plunged between sheer rocks down into a
sheltered box canyon. The rocks had been warmed all day by the sun
and radiated that heat back out into the evening air, making the
canyon feel like the inside of an oven.
Natural wariness made Shane draw one of his revolvers. The canyon
was filled with an eerie, expectant silence. A fine white sand
covered its floor and the tracks of several horses were clearly
marked. For the first time, Shane realised his error. Instead of
following the tracks towards their source, he had gotten turned
around and followed them back along the route they had come from.
For reasons that did not immediately make sense to Shane’s
sun-baked brain, Appleby and his men had diverted from their course
to visit this canyon.
Curious to know why, Shane left his horse behind and proceeded
deeper into the canyon alone. In the shadow of the cliffside, he
spied a narrow crack in the rock into which several footprints
could be seen to have entered and returned. Shane got down on his
hands and knees and crawled inside. It was dark and he felt his way
with his hands, touching smooth, cool rocks. His fingertips came
away feeling wet.
There was a source of water near the back of the cave. Shane
pressed his lips to the surface of the rock and sucked at it. The
taste was brackish but it slaked his thirst and he pulled off his
neckerchief and used it to soak up the water, wringing it out into
his hat so that he could carry it back to his horse.
The animal was drinking from it when a shot rang out in the narrow
space of the canyon. Shane’s hat was plucked from his grasp and it
fell to the ground, spilling water from a hole that had been shot
neatly straight through it.
Shane’s gun was drawn and aimed before the hat landed, but he
checked his fire when he recognised the man who had shot at
him.
Castor Buchanan led his horse down through the gully. ‘Well, well,
well. Shane Ennis. We do have a nasty habit of running into each
other, don’t we?’
Sitting in his cell, Shane turned his hat over
in his hands. He should have killed Buchanan that day. Instead, he
had joined forces with him again and they had carried on the next
day in search of Appleby and his men. They had caught up with them
too, but that was a battle that Shane was not ready to remember
just yet and he turned his thoughts to the present
instead.
Despite all the passion with which he had sought to escape from
Covenant, he felt strangely resigned to being there now that his
hopes of leaving had been dashed. He contemplated fighting Tom
Freeman not with the trepidation with which he had faced John
Devlin and Valentino Rodrigues, but instead with a cool sense of
detachment such as he had known in his prime.
He no longer felt afraid of becoming one of the Fastest Guns and
that disturbed him faintly, but not as much as it would have a
couple of days ago. His emotions felt drained. His will to resist
had been broken.
Shane was all but ready to submit.
He was left in solitude until shortly before eleven when Buchanan
came to collect him. He observed the untouched breakfast tray and
the change in Shane’s demeanour and could not resist the urge to
gloat. ‘Cheer up,’ he said. ‘You’ll thank me when this is
over.’
Shane said nothing. He followed Buchanan out into the sunlight and
sat himself down on the edge of the boardwalk in his customary
spot. To his irritation, Buchanan chose to sit next to him. ‘I
don’t want to miss the look on your face when your girlfriend
dies,’ he said.
‘She might win.’
Buchanan laughed at him. ‘Are you still holding out a hope that she
might change her mind and rescue you? Naiveté is something for the
young, Shane.’
His words cut Shane’s pride, all the more so because they bore an
element of the truth. Across the street, the invigilators were
making ready for Chastity’s arrival. There were twice as many of
them as there had been yesterday and more than half of them were
taking up positions where they were partially shielded behind
cover. After her performance yesterday, they were taking no chances
this time.
Vendetta waited patiently on the opposite side of the road from
Shane. She caught him looking at her but turned her head and
pretended not to have seen him. Her expression shut him out, giving
him no clues as to what had passed between them. He might have been
a million miles from her for all she cared; her only thoughts now
were to the up-coming match.
It was clear that she was nervous. She checked and re-checked her
revolver, her holster, her boots. She got up and paced a few steps
before walking back to where she had started and sitting down
again, only to rise a few seconds later. There was nobody in
Covenant who expected her to win this fight and Shane suspected
that she entertained no illusions either. He did not pity her. She
had made her choices and now she would face the
consequences.
All eyes turned as the door of the Grande opened and Nathaniel
emerged, leading Chastity by the hand. The little girl moved
woodenly, eyes vacant, tripping as she was led across the porch.
Her new nanny, followed by Whisperer, came out after her and took
up position at the side of the porch. Madison had fixed her hair up
fancy with a few tight curls mixed among her black and blond
tresses and Buchanan whistled to himself in approval.
‘She’s a finer bit of pussy than Bethan, that’s for sure. And a
real screamer,’ he added, nudging Shane in the ribs. ‘You can see
why Nathaniel’s kept her.’
She had a healthy glow about her this morning, Shane noted. Her
cheeks looked rosy and her manner was similar to how it had been
when Kip had been alive. Money and power, Shane decided, could end
any sorrow.
He watched as Nathaniel walked Chastity onto the crossroads and set
her at her mark. Vendetta joined them, going to her position like a
convict walking to the gallows. Her lips were set in a hard, thin
line, her eyes fixed cold. Mary Elizabeth Becker had died already
that morning and all that was left was Vendetta, sworn to her
revenge. She marked out her place on the ground, kicking at the
dirt with her toes.
She nodded to Nathaniel to tell him she was ready.
‘Girl’s got nerve.’ Buchanan said. ‘Three-to-one she doesn’t even
clear the leather.’
Shane thought they were generous odds but he kept his silence. He
waited, feeling the tension as Nathaniel drew Chastity’s pocket
revolver and loaded it with a single bullet. He did it plainly and
in the open so that his invigilators could see it happen. Then he
snapped the loading gate closed and inserted the gun into
Chastity’s holster. She gave no sign of even noticing he was
there.
Nathaniel hurried to the side of the road.
He had barely gone three steps when Vendetta reached for her gun.
The shot rang out loud and clear.
It caught everyone by surprise. Nobody had
expected Vendetta to cheat. She stood shakily on legs that
trembled, her eyes fixed on her opponent in stunned amazement as
smoke poured from the barrel of Chastity’s gun.
Even Buchanan was shocked. ‘Fucking hell,’ he breathed.
Vendetta’s hand had scarcely reached the grip of her revolver when
Chastity had fired. The shot had caught her in the forehead and
Vendetta blinked as a line of blood ran down into the corner of her
eye. She dropped to her knees then slumped forward into the
dirt.
Fearing that the invigilators would jump to the wrong conclusions,
Nathaniel ran to Chastity’s side and held his hands up in the air
to signal that they should all stand down. He looked from Chastity
to Vendetta and back again and, as his eyes came to rest on her a
second time, the girl’s face turned red and she began to
scream.
She had realised that her gun was empty.
Her scream was a howl of frustrated rage and she erupted into a
tantrum. Flinging the gun to the ground, she stamped her feet and
snatched great handfuls of hair from her scalp. Nathaniel grabbed
her to stop her from hurting herself and weathered her kicks and
punches while he shouted for Madison to come and take her from
him.
Watching from the relative calm of the sidelines, Shane made a
quiet observation. ‘She’s gotten quicker,’ he said.
‘Ain’t she just.’ Buchanan agreed. ‘Nathaniel was right. She might
afford you some competition yet.’
Madison had arrived with one of the invigilators and together they
carried Chastity away to the hotel. A party of invigilators came
out to drag off Vendetta’s body.
‘I was never that quick.’ Shane said heavily.
‘That’s not how I remember it.’
They said nothing for a moment then: ‘Get me my gun,’ Shane said.
‘Don’t load it, just give it to me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I need to practice.’