Chapter Eight
The sheath was polished black magnolia; the oil from Mike’s fingertips left streaks on the wood’s fine finish. The oval hilt was silver, highly polished and composed of two horses twisted around each other.
“Well, it’s appropriate,” he said, lifting the weapon out of its box. It was heavier than it looked, but his arms quickly adjusted to the weight.
The sword was a new weapon, and an unfamiliar one. Without knowing how or why, he rocked back on his heels and stood, sliding the sword into his belt right above his left hip. It whispered as he drew it, holding it high over his head with both hands, standing ready in anticipation of an attack. Lowering his gaze, he allowed his eyes to unfocus, until the only thing he was aware of was the two feet of steel in his hands.
With a cry he lunged, slicing down as if to cleave a nonexistent enemy in two. At the bottom of his slice he turned, bringing it up over his head as he completed a graceful turn.
“Very good, Michael.” Mike turned; Kate was standing at the barn’s entrance, her hands crossed over her chest. There was still a look of mild disapproval on her face, but it was tempered somewhat by a wistful kind of affection. “You’re a natural.”
“This was in here,” Mike said apologetically, sheathing it. “It’s not mine.”
“I know,” she said, taking a few steps inside. “It’s your uncle’s. He brought that back from the war. I never let him bring it in the house, so I made him promise to get rid of it.”
Mike nodded. “He hid it pretty good, didn’t he?”
She snorted. “Not hardly. I knew it was in here all along. Just never said anything.”
“You really do hate everything Eastern, don’t you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know anymore. But no matter how I feel, this is who you boys are now, and if we’re ever to be rid of Black Bart, I guess we’ll have to do it your way.”
Mike tilted his head. “Do you believe us on who he is?”
“No. But you all seem to be sincere about it, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Kate.”
“Come on, boy. You and your friends need food.” Kate slid her arm around Mike’s shoulders and together they walked to the house.
~~~~~
Bart slid his shirt on as best he could. “Where are those horses?” he roared.
The lanky man with the thin mustache looked out the window. “They’re almost here, boss. We’ll get those freaks good,” he chuckled.
“Good. I want them gone and I want that oil!”
“I thought you had some oil, boss. Up north somewhere.”
“Yes, but I want hers. It’s closer and more convenient.”
The man nodded. “What’re we gonna do about Nesmith? The boy?”
“He’s brave, I’ll give him that. And they’ve got those fancy weapons . . . we’ll drive them off.”
“But how? I mean, they hit you in the shoulder last time.”
He glared. “You got guns. Use them. We’ll give Kate one more chance. Just one.”
“What if she won’t give over her ranch?”
“Then we take it. I’m tired of playing games!”’
“Right, boss.” The man peeked out the window. “Hey, here come the horses!”
“Good!” He smiled. “I’ll go in as Ben. Sweet talk her. You follow, but don’t let yourselves be seen!”
“And what if she says no?”
“Then I’ll signal you, imbeciles, and you come out!”
“Shooting?” The question was a hopeful one.
“If necessary.” He smiled.
The henchman’s face split into a wide, malicious grin as Bart led the way outside to the waiting horses. The other man was there, black-clad and masked, handing Bart a gun as he mounted.
He put on his hat and checked to make sure his red shirt was in place. there was little he could do about his stiff shoulder, but he prayed Kate was as dumb as she looked. They rode.
~~~~~
Lucy called out, “Riders comin’ in!”
Mike stood up. “Davy, you and Peter stay in the house! Micky, you’re with me!”
Peter stood up. “I’m coming with you guys, Mike.”
“Peter—”
“I’m coming. This is my fight too.”
“And mine,” Davy growled, standing up.
“It’s Cartwheel!” Lucy reported.
“Oh thank goodness!” Kate sighed. “Maybe he’s come to help us!” She went to the door, then turned, spearing Mike with a formidable glare. “I want you boys to be polite, hear?”
Mike nodded.
“Hello the house!” Ben called.
Kate threw open the door. “Ben Cartwheel are you a sight for sore eyes!”
He smiled. “Kate, good to see you! Heard you got a spot of trouble.”
“You could say that,” Kate said. Mike rolled his eyes.
“Katie,” Ben cajoled, leaning over the horn of his saddle and wincing as his arm pulled. “I told you, just sell the Bar N to me and I’ll make sure Bart doesn’t get it.”
“Peter, Micky,” Mike whispered, indicating the door with a nod of his head. “Go see if that’s him.”
“I don’t have to,” Peter snarled. “I recognize the voice. It’s him.”
Micky nodded grimly. “That’s him,” he confirmed.
Mike headed for the back door. “You guys stay here until the fun starts. Protect Kate at all costs.”
“When does the fun start?” Micky asked.
“You’ll know it when you hear it,” Mike said, disappearing out the door.
“Well, Katie?” Ben asked, shifting position to make his shoulder more comfortable.
“I thank you kindly, Ben, but I don’t aim to sell,” Kate said amiably. “Will you come in for a cup of coffee?”
“Ah, no, I don’t think I’d better.” His smile froze. “And just why won’t you be sensible, Katie? You and Lucy would be well provided for—and no more Bart to worry about—”
“Now how would turning over my ranch to you guarantee that Bart would leave us alone?” Kate’s voice was slowly becoming tinged with suspicion.
“I-I have influence,” Ben said, not noticing he’d stammered. He shifted again. Damn that boy’s metal star! Shoulder’s on fire . . . “I’m positive we could come to an agreement that would be . . . mutually beneficial.”
“Ben, do you have a burr in your butt or something?”
He forced a smile. “I’m just a little uncomfortable, Kate.”
Davy appeared behind Kate. “Is everything all right, Aunt Kate?”
Ben couldn’t stop the narrowing of his eyes as he saw the boy.
Davy speared Ben with a glare. “Is this man bothering you, Kate?”
“I’m not bothering her,” Ben snapped. “I’m trying to talk sense into her!”
“It’s not polite to take that tone with a lady,” Davy said stiffly.
Peter walked out on Kate’s other side. “Come down and have something to drink, Mister Cartwheel,” he said amicably.
“No, I— I’m not thirsty,” he shot back, looking at Peter with disbelief. He’d been beaten—how was he just standing there like nothing was wrong?
“You can’t get down, can you?” Peter asked, his voice cold. “Your left shoulder’s wrecked.”
“Ridiculous!”
“Then prove me wrong,” Peter replied calmly. “We won’t hurt you. Get down off your horse if you can.”
Ben just sat there and glared at Peter.
“I don’t have to prove a thing to you, boy.”
Peter stiffened at the word ‘boy.’ “I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be, Bart,” he said quietly.
“Why you uppity little—”
Kate’s eyes went wide and she stumbled backward. “It . . . it is!”
On to Chapter Nine
Back to Chapter Seven
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
