© copyright by Lorraine Kennedy, July 2008
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, July 2008
ISBN 978-1-60394-208-9
New Concepts Publishing
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, July 2008
ISBN 978-1-60394-208-9
New Concepts Publishing
Rating:
The daughter of gentleman-turned-gunslinger, Trent Beaumont, and the octoroon, Angeline, reared by her stepmother, May, a saloon girl, May had nevertheless done the best she could to raise Angel as a lady. But Angel wanted revenge and when Hunter Night showed up in Virginia City, she wasn’t about to lose her chance at avenging the death of her father.
Hunter had other ideas.
Hunter had other ideas.
Chapter One
Everyday for the past seven years, Angel had wondered what she would do if this moment ever came. What would she say? How would she control her violent hate for a man whom she had never laid eyes on ... before now?
The stench of unwashed bodies and stale smoke caused her to gag. She pushed the feeling away.
Angel pressed her way further into the crowded room of the Bucket of Blood Saloon. At least seven men stood around the gouged and scarred wooden bar, but Angel had known instantly which of these men was the infamous, Hunter Night.
Hunter stood apart from the others, but it was more than space that separated him from the other men in the room. There was something about him that was forbidden, as if the world was unwelcome to step into his personal space. He was a loner and liked it that way just fine. While practically every soul in the room stole glances at his back, curiosity was not enough for even the bravest present to intrude on the Hunter’s solitude.
With slow, determined steps, Angel crept closer to the bar, her eyes burning with fury.
Known as The Hunter, he was said to be one of the most dangerous men in the west, but at this moment that fact could do nothing to deter Angel. Hunter was her prey.
The man who she held captive in her sights leaned his tall frame against the bar while he nursed a bottle of whiskey. His leather pants and beaded vest molded to his muscular flesh. Long, black hair fell over his wide shoulder.
He took no notice of the young lady who sat on the stool beside him, or of how oddly out of place she was in her flower-print dress and bonnet.
“Hunter Night?” Though Angel phrased it as a question, she already knew who he was.
Slowly, he turned ice blue eyes in her direction, but he said nothing to confirm his identity. Hunter waited patiently for the woman beside him to state her business.
His casual indifference brought a flush of humiliation to Angel’s face. This spurred on her reckless intent. “My name is Angel Beaumont and I believe you were an acquaintance of my father, Trent Beaumont.” Angel waited for a reaction, but the man was completely unreadable.
Angel felt her temper seeping to the surface with each passing second. “I would like to ask you a few questions about my father if you don’t mind?”
Still Hunter said nothing, but he appeared to be looking at her with a touch more interest.
“My father disappeared eleven years ago while on his way to Santa Fe to meet you .... I demand that you tell me what happened to him!” Angel’s anger toward this man was causing her to lose sight of her good sense.
Finally he spoke to her. His deep voice carried his words softly so that no one close would overhear. “Sorry Miss, but I never had the pleasure of meeting Trent Beaumont in Santa Fe.” A hint of a smile played upon his lips.
"I believe you killed my father, Hunter Night!” Her voice quivered with barely controlled fury.
His smile only widened, making it very obvious that he found the conversation amusing. “Well, Miss, you would be wrong then.”
Angel tucked an irritating tawny ringlet back into her bonnet. “Mr. Night, I demand satisfaction on behalf of my father.” She spoke the words loud enough so that all could hear.
For a split second, Hunter was caught off guard and Angel felt a sliver of satisfaction at the startled look in his eyes.
The room had become so quiet that Angel felt sure he could hear her teeth grinding in nervous determination.
When Hunter realized that her challenge was not just mere words, he stood up to his full height and looked down on her with something between contempt and wonder.
“Miss, as much as I would like to give you the attention that you seem to be seeking, I have to get riding.” He touched the brim of his black hat in a gesture of mock respect.
The urge to smack the smile right off his face was almost uncontrollable, but instead, Angel spread her full, red lips into a dazzling smile of her own.
“As you wish, Mr. Night, but our next meeting might not be quite as pleasant as this one has been.” Angel turned away from him and strolled out of the Bucket of Blood. The other patrons parted to make way for her departure.
Angel’s stepmother burst out of the Silver Lady Saloon and ran to where Angel stood on the wooden plank sidewalk.
“Girl, have you gone plumb mad?” May Beaumont’s anger flared. “I just got word that my foolish stepdaughter was challenging the Hunter to a gun fight!”
May Beaumont wore a low-cut, blue silk gown that made her blue eyes look like sapphires in her tired, but pretty face. A gust of wind whipped through May’s golden ringlets.
“That man will not get away with killing pa.” Angel’s own anger returned to the surface.
“Hang up your fiddle girl. That man you speak of happens to be the Hunter, and there isn’t anyone who has been able to take him down yet.” May’s exasperation with her stepdaughter was apparent.
More from frustration than discomfort, Angel yanked her bonnet from her head, allowing a cascade of golden brown curls to fall to her waist. “I may be only a woman, but I am also Trent Beaumont’s daughter, and his murderer will have some reckoning to do.”
May shook her head sadly and gently clasped Angel’s arm, leading her toward the church where Angel had left the wagon.
When she had heard the whispers in church that the Hunter was in the Bucket of Blood, Angel had been able to think of little else but a confrontation. She had shamelessly walked out of Sunday services in the middle of Reverend Duncan’s sermon.
When they reached the wagon, May gently clasped Angel’s shoulders and peered into her stepdaughter’s determined face.
“I have failed you and your father if you go get yourself killed, Angel.” There were tears in May Beaumont’s eyes.
Angel was riddled with guilt for the anguish she knew her actions would cause her stepmother. “You are the only mother I have ever known, and you certainly have not failed me. What would have happened to me if you had not taken in Trent Beaumont’s daughter?” Angel hugged May before climbing into the wagon.
May put one hand on her hip and pointed a finger at Angel with the other. “You stay away from that savage, you understand girl?”
Angel didn’t answer. Instead she smiled and took hold of the reins with both hands. Waving to her stepmother, she led the wagon and their old roan down Virginia City’s main street.
A few moments later Angel’s wagon left the town behind and headed into the Comstock Mining District. Everywhere one looked, silver mines dotted the sage covered hills. Angel’s thoughts were in a whirlwind and she hardly noticed the break neck speed in which the wagon was taking the steep decline from Virginia City.
Hidden in Devil’s Canyon was the little two room cabin that Trent Beaumont had built for his family more than a decade before. Angel’s thoughts drifted as she expertly maneuvered the horse wagon onto the deeply rutted canyon road.
The words May had spoken to her on the day the sheriff had brought them the news of her father’s death replayed endlessly within her mind.
“Your father chose the way he lived and died the way he chose.” Tears rolled down May’s cheeks. “Trent was a good man, though most would probably dispute that fact. I know he would rather have died than admit it to me, but I think he never really stopped loving your mother. The day your mother died ... a part of him died. I believe he lived by the gun in hopes that some day ... someone would end his misery.”
May Beaumont - a saloon girl and the wife of an outlaw - reached out and pulled her husband’s only child to her bosom.
“Your pa was a very unhappy man and I believe he knew exactly what he was doing when he sought out the Hunter. You have been my baby since you were in the cradle, and that will never change. I’ll raise you to be a right young lady, I sure will.” May smiled at Angel and wiped the child’s tears away.
True to her word, May had continued to be a mother to her late husband’s child. She had insisted that Angel attend school on a regular basis and church every Sunday. Though May Beaumont was shunned, she dutifully took Angel to services every week, pretending that she did not hear the whispers and see the looks of disapproval. Eventually the town gained a grudging respect for May. After all she was attempting to raise Angel in a respectful way.
Once Angel was old enough to attend church alone, May let her off at the door and picked her up after services. Though there was always vicious talk, Angel had learned to ignore the clucking tongues of the town gossips.
Every day for the past eleven years, Angel had lived on the hope of one day finding the Hunter, and now that day had come and he would pay.
Angel quickly changed out of her Sunday best into pants and a loose fitting shirt. Securing her long hair in one thick braid, she tucked it into one of her father’s old hats. Underneath May’s bed lay one of the few things that remained of Trent Beaumont. Angel picked up the rifle.
Running her fingers along the cold steel of the barrel a knot formed in her stomach as uncertainty gripped her. Angel had never hurt another living thing in her life, and here she was preparing to shoot down the man who had killed her beloved father.
Reaching up to the pantry shelf, she grabbed her tin. This is where she had stored all the money she’d saved for the past few years while working as a seamstress in Cora’s Dress Shop. The bank notes amounted to approximately one hundred dollars. She felt sure it would be more than enough to hide out for a while after she’d done the deed she was setting out to do.
Quickly, Angel wrote a note to her stepmother, telling her how sorry she was to have slipped away, but it was something that had to be done.
Guilt gnawed at her for taking the old roan so she placed some money on the small wooden table with the note. Hopefully it would be enough to help May buy a new wagon horse. Angel knew that she would be gone for some time, for after she took care of the Hunter she would no doubt be wanted by the law. Outlaws throughout the west feared the half-breed bounty hunter, but Angel knew she could bring him down. She must.
* * * *
On a distant bluff, a lone rider watched Angel leaving the sanctuary of her home. His horse and clothing echoed the infinite blackness of his eyes, where not even a hint of white could be seen.
The sound emitting from the rider’s mouth was that of a hissing serpent. The Loa’s solitary purpose was to take her soul into the darkness ... into the bowels of misery. The child called Angel would be his ... soon.
* * * *
Angel lay on her stomach, peering down into the sage and rock of the canyon below. She knew Hunter would have to pass through this canyon when leaving Virginia City, if indeed he was headed north like the whispered gossip had suggested. The talk had hinted that Hunter was traveling to Wyoming.
The hours passed slowly until the setting sun of late afternoon cast shadows onto the canyon floor. Only one other person had passed through the remote canyon while Angel waited. Feeling drained and fatigued, Angel wondered if she had been mistaken, but just then, a slight movement caught her eye. True to his Lakota heritage, Hunter rode through the canyon silently, almost undetectable.
Positioning the rifle between two boulders, Angel patiently waited until he was within range. Her finger tensed against the trigger, but she found herself caught up in a moment of hesitation.
Her father’s face swam before her eyes and she squeezed hard. In the instant before the rifle erupted, Hunter leaned down, close to the horse’s neck, whispering something to the animal.
Hunter had his pistol drawn and returning fire before Angel had a chance to fire a second time. Bullets ricocheted off a nearby boulder, sending fragments of stone in all directions. Keeping low, Angle fired blindly into the rocks where Hunter had disappeared.
After nearly emptying the rifle, Angle realized there was no return gunfire. She held her breath, listening to the silence of the canyon. There was no sound but the screech of an eagle in the distance. Scanning the rocks and brush below, she searched for any movement that might hint at the scavenger’s hiding place. All was still.
Angel froze at the sound of a pistol’s hammer being drawn back. She didn’t have to look over at him to know he held the hot barrel of his Colt 45 close to her head.
“Drop it and get up slowly.” The fury in his smooth voice was like liquid fire.
She complied, turning to glare at him with rage filled eyes.
Angel detected a very brief moment of shock on his face, but it was quickly masked by fury. An eternity passed and still Hunter said nothing–he just glared at her with the intensity of a wolf that had just cornered a rabbit.
A little bit of her fire ebbed. She was sure that she was looking into the hard eyes of death. She would disappear, the same as her father had.
Hunter motioned to a path leading from the ridge down into the canyon. “Start walking,” he ordered.
Angel started down the trail, never looking back to see how close or far away he was. She knew that the slightest movement on her part and he would shoot her where she stood. Just before reaching the bottom of the canyon, her boot caught in a tangle of exposed roots and she was sent sprawling to the heat-baked earth.
Hunter made no move to help her up, instead he nodded his head indicating that he wanted her to get to her feet. Bruised and scraped, Angel rose. The sting of her wounded pride hurt much worse than the lacerations on her face and arms.
Following close behind, he never let her get more than a foot ahead of him. Soon they came to an outcropping of large boulders where Hunter had hid his paint. The horse stood quietly and nearly motionless awaiting the half-breed’s return. Reaching to the side of his saddlebag, Hunter grabbed hold of a tightly coiled rope.
Angel caught herself watching the way his muscles rippled beneath his copper-colored skin. He wore the sleeveless leather vest open, exposing the chiseled contours of his chest and arms.
Flustered, Angel looked away quickly when she realized that Hunter had caught her staring.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. Nevertheless, he grasped her wrists roughly and secured them with the rope.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“Back to town,” he told her, while he was securing the other end of the rope to the saddle horn.
“What about my horse?” Angel’s defiance reared up.
Hunter arched one brow and his mouth spread into a dazzling smile. “I do hope he knows his way home Miss Beaumont, because you’re going to be making the journey on foot.”
Refusing to give Hunter the satisfaction of whining over his harsh treatment, she compliantly followed behind his horse without a word of complaint.
He rode at a good pace, but not so fast that she would fall or become over exhausted. At least she could be thankful for this, and the fact that he apparently had no intention of killing her.
Angel pondered this fact for a brief moment, but brushed it off when she realized that he could not kill her. Too many people would suspect him because of their confrontation in the Bucket of Blood earlier. Her legs felt like rubber by the time they reached the top of the incline leading into Virginia City. All eyes turned to her as he led her into town and straight to the sheriff’s office.
Hunter removed the rope from his saddle horn, but Angel’s hands remained bound as she was led inside the building to face Sheriff Jackson.
The burly, gray-haired sheriff wore his white hat, day and night. Indoors or out, it didn’t matter. May would chastise the man for this shortcoming, but he would just click his tongue and declare that he would rather walk naked down Main Street at noon than go without his hat. Orley Jackson’s warm-brown eyes snapped up from the newspaper he was reading when they entered.
A look of utter astonishment passed over the sheriff’s features when he recognized Angel. “What in blazes is this about?”
“Miss Beaumont took it in her head to ambush me on my way out of town.” Hunter untied Angel’s wrists and led her by the arm to the sheriff’s desk.
“That the truth, Angel?” Sheriff Jackson asked in disbelief.
She confirmed the accusation with a nod of her head, but quickly spoke up to defend her actions. “He killed my father, sheriff.”
“Is that so?” He now looked at Hunter.
“It is not,” Hunter stated. “To tell the truth, I can’t rightly remember seeing Trent Beaumont, except for maybe his image on a wanted poster.”
Hunter’s reference to her father’s shady past stung Angel.
“Then explain this, Hunter Night.” Angel reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a letter. The paper had gone yellow with age. It was the last they had ever heard of her father, and Angel had made sure to bring it along when she had set out to bring the Hunter to justice.
Sheriff Jackson took the letter from Angel that contained the last words of Trent Beaumont. Sheriff Jackson struggled to read the faded writing.
Dearest May
I have gotten word from the Hunter. He speaks of a judge who will be lenient on me if I turn myself in. He says maybe a couple of years in jail and then I can rejoin my family. The messenger he sent talked of how I will meet him in Santa Fe and he will escort me to this Judge Morris whose district is somewhere in Texas. I will then be free of the law and we can go someplace where they will not make hell of our lives. We will no longer have to hide from them. I will get word to you as soon as I am able. Give Angel my love.
Trent
The sheriff read the letter again, this time out loud so that Hunter could hear what the contents were. When Sheriff Jackson had finished, he cast his eyes on Hunter and awaited an explanation.
“I have no knowledge of anything in that letter, and I am not personally acquainted with that judge or any other judge. I’m a bounty hunter, and I make no deals.”
“You talk fancy for a breed, son.” The sheriff stared hard at Hunter.
“My education is of no matter in this.” Hunter’s voice turned cold.
The sheriff contemplated the situation a moment before looking up at Angel. “As I recall, Miss Beaumont, your father had a bounty on his head, so even if this man did kill him, I couldn’t very well arrest him for murder, could I?” Orly was shaking his head.
“Am I to take it you want to press charges against the young lady?” he asked Hunter.
The Hunter surveyed her from head to toe. Angel unexpectedly felt self-conscious and wished her hands were free so that she could smooth the curls that had escaped her braid. She scowled at Hunter for his obvious scrutiny.
“Lock her up for the night. That should give me plenty of time to get out of here without being shot full of holes,” he said, smiling maliciously at Angel.
Sheriff Jackson rose and, taking Angel by the arm, led her to a back room where there were four barred cells. Angel looked back one last time at the vicious heathen.
Hunter tipped his hat to her. “Can’t say it’s been a pleasure ma’am, but it has been an experience.” He turned his back on her and walked out.
Sheriff Jackson whistled between the gaps in his teeth. “Angel Beaumont, you had to have been crazy as a loon to go after a man like Hunter Night.”
“I know he killed my father, Sheriff.”
The old man just kept shaking his head as he locked her in a cell. “I’m locking you up for your own good Miss Angel, and when I do let you out, I don’t want you anywhere near that savage.” The sheriff paused and waited for Angel to respond, but she said nothing.
“You hearing me?” he asked again, louder.
“Next time we might be having to burying you instead of locking you in here. I’ll be letting May know where you are,” he told her over his shoulder as he was leaving the room.
Everyday for the past seven years, Angel had wondered what she would do if this moment ever came. What would she say? How would she control her violent hate for a man whom she had never laid eyes on ... before now?
The stench of unwashed bodies and stale smoke caused her to gag. She pushed the feeling away.
Angel pressed her way further into the crowded room of the Bucket of Blood Saloon. At least seven men stood around the gouged and scarred wooden bar, but Angel had known instantly which of these men was the infamous, Hunter Night.
Hunter stood apart from the others, but it was more than space that separated him from the other men in the room. There was something about him that was forbidden, as if the world was unwelcome to step into his personal space. He was a loner and liked it that way just fine. While practically every soul in the room stole glances at his back, curiosity was not enough for even the bravest present to intrude on the Hunter’s solitude.
With slow, determined steps, Angel crept closer to the bar, her eyes burning with fury.
Known as The Hunter, he was said to be one of the most dangerous men in the west, but at this moment that fact could do nothing to deter Angel. Hunter was her prey.
The man who she held captive in her sights leaned his tall frame against the bar while he nursed a bottle of whiskey. His leather pants and beaded vest molded to his muscular flesh. Long, black hair fell over his wide shoulder.
He took no notice of the young lady who sat on the stool beside him, or of how oddly out of place she was in her flower-print dress and bonnet.
“Hunter Night?” Though Angel phrased it as a question, she already knew who he was.
Slowly, he turned ice blue eyes in her direction, but he said nothing to confirm his identity. Hunter waited patiently for the woman beside him to state her business.
His casual indifference brought a flush of humiliation to Angel’s face. This spurred on her reckless intent. “My name is Angel Beaumont and I believe you were an acquaintance of my father, Trent Beaumont.” Angel waited for a reaction, but the man was completely unreadable.
Angel felt her temper seeping to the surface with each passing second. “I would like to ask you a few questions about my father if you don’t mind?”
Still Hunter said nothing, but he appeared to be looking at her with a touch more interest.
“My father disappeared eleven years ago while on his way to Santa Fe to meet you .... I demand that you tell me what happened to him!” Angel’s anger toward this man was causing her to lose sight of her good sense.
Finally he spoke to her. His deep voice carried his words softly so that no one close would overhear. “Sorry Miss, but I never had the pleasure of meeting Trent Beaumont in Santa Fe.” A hint of a smile played upon his lips.
"I believe you killed my father, Hunter Night!” Her voice quivered with barely controlled fury.
His smile only widened, making it very obvious that he found the conversation amusing. “Well, Miss, you would be wrong then.”
Angel tucked an irritating tawny ringlet back into her bonnet. “Mr. Night, I demand satisfaction on behalf of my father.” She spoke the words loud enough so that all could hear.
For a split second, Hunter was caught off guard and Angel felt a sliver of satisfaction at the startled look in his eyes.
The room had become so quiet that Angel felt sure he could hear her teeth grinding in nervous determination.
When Hunter realized that her challenge was not just mere words, he stood up to his full height and looked down on her with something between contempt and wonder.
“Miss, as much as I would like to give you the attention that you seem to be seeking, I have to get riding.” He touched the brim of his black hat in a gesture of mock respect.
The urge to smack the smile right off his face was almost uncontrollable, but instead, Angel spread her full, red lips into a dazzling smile of her own.
“As you wish, Mr. Night, but our next meeting might not be quite as pleasant as this one has been.” Angel turned away from him and strolled out of the Bucket of Blood. The other patrons parted to make way for her departure.
Angel’s stepmother burst out of the Silver Lady Saloon and ran to where Angel stood on the wooden plank sidewalk.
“Girl, have you gone plumb mad?” May Beaumont’s anger flared. “I just got word that my foolish stepdaughter was challenging the Hunter to a gun fight!”
May Beaumont wore a low-cut, blue silk gown that made her blue eyes look like sapphires in her tired, but pretty face. A gust of wind whipped through May’s golden ringlets.
“That man will not get away with killing pa.” Angel’s own anger returned to the surface.
“Hang up your fiddle girl. That man you speak of happens to be the Hunter, and there isn’t anyone who has been able to take him down yet.” May’s exasperation with her stepdaughter was apparent.
More from frustration than discomfort, Angel yanked her bonnet from her head, allowing a cascade of golden brown curls to fall to her waist. “I may be only a woman, but I am also Trent Beaumont’s daughter, and his murderer will have some reckoning to do.”
May shook her head sadly and gently clasped Angel’s arm, leading her toward the church where Angel had left the wagon.
When she had heard the whispers in church that the Hunter was in the Bucket of Blood, Angel had been able to think of little else but a confrontation. She had shamelessly walked out of Sunday services in the middle of Reverend Duncan’s sermon.
When they reached the wagon, May gently clasped Angel’s shoulders and peered into her stepdaughter’s determined face.
“I have failed you and your father if you go get yourself killed, Angel.” There were tears in May Beaumont’s eyes.
Angel was riddled with guilt for the anguish she knew her actions would cause her stepmother. “You are the only mother I have ever known, and you certainly have not failed me. What would have happened to me if you had not taken in Trent Beaumont’s daughter?” Angel hugged May before climbing into the wagon.
May put one hand on her hip and pointed a finger at Angel with the other. “You stay away from that savage, you understand girl?”
Angel didn’t answer. Instead she smiled and took hold of the reins with both hands. Waving to her stepmother, she led the wagon and their old roan down Virginia City’s main street.
A few moments later Angel’s wagon left the town behind and headed into the Comstock Mining District. Everywhere one looked, silver mines dotted the sage covered hills. Angel’s thoughts were in a whirlwind and she hardly noticed the break neck speed in which the wagon was taking the steep decline from Virginia City.
Hidden in Devil’s Canyon was the little two room cabin that Trent Beaumont had built for his family more than a decade before. Angel’s thoughts drifted as she expertly maneuvered the horse wagon onto the deeply rutted canyon road.
The words May had spoken to her on the day the sheriff had brought them the news of her father’s death replayed endlessly within her mind.
“Your father chose the way he lived and died the way he chose.” Tears rolled down May’s cheeks. “Trent was a good man, though most would probably dispute that fact. I know he would rather have died than admit it to me, but I think he never really stopped loving your mother. The day your mother died ... a part of him died. I believe he lived by the gun in hopes that some day ... someone would end his misery.”
May Beaumont - a saloon girl and the wife of an outlaw - reached out and pulled her husband’s only child to her bosom.
“Your pa was a very unhappy man and I believe he knew exactly what he was doing when he sought out the Hunter. You have been my baby since you were in the cradle, and that will never change. I’ll raise you to be a right young lady, I sure will.” May smiled at Angel and wiped the child’s tears away.
True to her word, May had continued to be a mother to her late husband’s child. She had insisted that Angel attend school on a regular basis and church every Sunday. Though May Beaumont was shunned, she dutifully took Angel to services every week, pretending that she did not hear the whispers and see the looks of disapproval. Eventually the town gained a grudging respect for May. After all she was attempting to raise Angel in a respectful way.
Once Angel was old enough to attend church alone, May let her off at the door and picked her up after services. Though there was always vicious talk, Angel had learned to ignore the clucking tongues of the town gossips.
Every day for the past eleven years, Angel had lived on the hope of one day finding the Hunter, and now that day had come and he would pay.
Angel quickly changed out of her Sunday best into pants and a loose fitting shirt. Securing her long hair in one thick braid, she tucked it into one of her father’s old hats. Underneath May’s bed lay one of the few things that remained of Trent Beaumont. Angel picked up the rifle.
Running her fingers along the cold steel of the barrel a knot formed in her stomach as uncertainty gripped her. Angel had never hurt another living thing in her life, and here she was preparing to shoot down the man who had killed her beloved father.
Reaching up to the pantry shelf, she grabbed her tin. This is where she had stored all the money she’d saved for the past few years while working as a seamstress in Cora’s Dress Shop. The bank notes amounted to approximately one hundred dollars. She felt sure it would be more than enough to hide out for a while after she’d done the deed she was setting out to do.
Quickly, Angel wrote a note to her stepmother, telling her how sorry she was to have slipped away, but it was something that had to be done.
Guilt gnawed at her for taking the old roan so she placed some money on the small wooden table with the note. Hopefully it would be enough to help May buy a new wagon horse. Angel knew that she would be gone for some time, for after she took care of the Hunter she would no doubt be wanted by the law. Outlaws throughout the west feared the half-breed bounty hunter, but Angel knew she could bring him down. She must.
* * * *
On a distant bluff, a lone rider watched Angel leaving the sanctuary of her home. His horse and clothing echoed the infinite blackness of his eyes, where not even a hint of white could be seen.
The sound emitting from the rider’s mouth was that of a hissing serpent. The Loa’s solitary purpose was to take her soul into the darkness ... into the bowels of misery. The child called Angel would be his ... soon.
* * * *
Angel lay on her stomach, peering down into the sage and rock of the canyon below. She knew Hunter would have to pass through this canyon when leaving Virginia City, if indeed he was headed north like the whispered gossip had suggested. The talk had hinted that Hunter was traveling to Wyoming.
The hours passed slowly until the setting sun of late afternoon cast shadows onto the canyon floor. Only one other person had passed through the remote canyon while Angel waited. Feeling drained and fatigued, Angel wondered if she had been mistaken, but just then, a slight movement caught her eye. True to his Lakota heritage, Hunter rode through the canyon silently, almost undetectable.
Positioning the rifle between two boulders, Angel patiently waited until he was within range. Her finger tensed against the trigger, but she found herself caught up in a moment of hesitation.
Her father’s face swam before her eyes and she squeezed hard. In the instant before the rifle erupted, Hunter leaned down, close to the horse’s neck, whispering something to the animal.
Hunter had his pistol drawn and returning fire before Angel had a chance to fire a second time. Bullets ricocheted off a nearby boulder, sending fragments of stone in all directions. Keeping low, Angle fired blindly into the rocks where Hunter had disappeared.
After nearly emptying the rifle, Angle realized there was no return gunfire. She held her breath, listening to the silence of the canyon. There was no sound but the screech of an eagle in the distance. Scanning the rocks and brush below, she searched for any movement that might hint at the scavenger’s hiding place. All was still.
Angel froze at the sound of a pistol’s hammer being drawn back. She didn’t have to look over at him to know he held the hot barrel of his Colt 45 close to her head.
“Drop it and get up slowly.” The fury in his smooth voice was like liquid fire.
She complied, turning to glare at him with rage filled eyes.
Angel detected a very brief moment of shock on his face, but it was quickly masked by fury. An eternity passed and still Hunter said nothing–he just glared at her with the intensity of a wolf that had just cornered a rabbit.
A little bit of her fire ebbed. She was sure that she was looking into the hard eyes of death. She would disappear, the same as her father had.
Hunter motioned to a path leading from the ridge down into the canyon. “Start walking,” he ordered.
Angel started down the trail, never looking back to see how close or far away he was. She knew that the slightest movement on her part and he would shoot her where she stood. Just before reaching the bottom of the canyon, her boot caught in a tangle of exposed roots and she was sent sprawling to the heat-baked earth.
Hunter made no move to help her up, instead he nodded his head indicating that he wanted her to get to her feet. Bruised and scraped, Angel rose. The sting of her wounded pride hurt much worse than the lacerations on her face and arms.
Following close behind, he never let her get more than a foot ahead of him. Soon they came to an outcropping of large boulders where Hunter had hid his paint. The horse stood quietly and nearly motionless awaiting the half-breed’s return. Reaching to the side of his saddlebag, Hunter grabbed hold of a tightly coiled rope.
Angel caught herself watching the way his muscles rippled beneath his copper-colored skin. He wore the sleeveless leather vest open, exposing the chiseled contours of his chest and arms.
Flustered, Angel looked away quickly when she realized that Hunter had caught her staring.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. Nevertheless, he grasped her wrists roughly and secured them with the rope.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“Back to town,” he told her, while he was securing the other end of the rope to the saddle horn.
“What about my horse?” Angel’s defiance reared up.
Hunter arched one brow and his mouth spread into a dazzling smile. “I do hope he knows his way home Miss Beaumont, because you’re going to be making the journey on foot.”
Refusing to give Hunter the satisfaction of whining over his harsh treatment, she compliantly followed behind his horse without a word of complaint.
He rode at a good pace, but not so fast that she would fall or become over exhausted. At least she could be thankful for this, and the fact that he apparently had no intention of killing her.
Angel pondered this fact for a brief moment, but brushed it off when she realized that he could not kill her. Too many people would suspect him because of their confrontation in the Bucket of Blood earlier. Her legs felt like rubber by the time they reached the top of the incline leading into Virginia City. All eyes turned to her as he led her into town and straight to the sheriff’s office.
Hunter removed the rope from his saddle horn, but Angel’s hands remained bound as she was led inside the building to face Sheriff Jackson.
The burly, gray-haired sheriff wore his white hat, day and night. Indoors or out, it didn’t matter. May would chastise the man for this shortcoming, but he would just click his tongue and declare that he would rather walk naked down Main Street at noon than go without his hat. Orley Jackson’s warm-brown eyes snapped up from the newspaper he was reading when they entered.
A look of utter astonishment passed over the sheriff’s features when he recognized Angel. “What in blazes is this about?”
“Miss Beaumont took it in her head to ambush me on my way out of town.” Hunter untied Angel’s wrists and led her by the arm to the sheriff’s desk.
“That the truth, Angel?” Sheriff Jackson asked in disbelief.
She confirmed the accusation with a nod of her head, but quickly spoke up to defend her actions. “He killed my father, sheriff.”
“Is that so?” He now looked at Hunter.
“It is not,” Hunter stated. “To tell the truth, I can’t rightly remember seeing Trent Beaumont, except for maybe his image on a wanted poster.”
Hunter’s reference to her father’s shady past stung Angel.
“Then explain this, Hunter Night.” Angel reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a letter. The paper had gone yellow with age. It was the last they had ever heard of her father, and Angel had made sure to bring it along when she had set out to bring the Hunter to justice.
Sheriff Jackson took the letter from Angel that contained the last words of Trent Beaumont. Sheriff Jackson struggled to read the faded writing.
Dearest May
I have gotten word from the Hunter. He speaks of a judge who will be lenient on me if I turn myself in. He says maybe a couple of years in jail and then I can rejoin my family. The messenger he sent talked of how I will meet him in Santa Fe and he will escort me to this Judge Morris whose district is somewhere in Texas. I will then be free of the law and we can go someplace where they will not make hell of our lives. We will no longer have to hide from them. I will get word to you as soon as I am able. Give Angel my love.
Trent
The sheriff read the letter again, this time out loud so that Hunter could hear what the contents were. When Sheriff Jackson had finished, he cast his eyes on Hunter and awaited an explanation.
“I have no knowledge of anything in that letter, and I am not personally acquainted with that judge or any other judge. I’m a bounty hunter, and I make no deals.”
“You talk fancy for a breed, son.” The sheriff stared hard at Hunter.
“My education is of no matter in this.” Hunter’s voice turned cold.
The sheriff contemplated the situation a moment before looking up at Angel. “As I recall, Miss Beaumont, your father had a bounty on his head, so even if this man did kill him, I couldn’t very well arrest him for murder, could I?” Orly was shaking his head.
“Am I to take it you want to press charges against the young lady?” he asked Hunter.
The Hunter surveyed her from head to toe. Angel unexpectedly felt self-conscious and wished her hands were free so that she could smooth the curls that had escaped her braid. She scowled at Hunter for his obvious scrutiny.
“Lock her up for the night. That should give me plenty of time to get out of here without being shot full of holes,” he said, smiling maliciously at Angel.
Sheriff Jackson rose and, taking Angel by the arm, led her to a back room where there were four barred cells. Angel looked back one last time at the vicious heathen.
Hunter tipped his hat to her. “Can’t say it’s been a pleasure ma’am, but it has been an experience.” He turned his back on her and walked out.
Sheriff Jackson whistled between the gaps in his teeth. “Angel Beaumont, you had to have been crazy as a loon to go after a man like Hunter Night.”
“I know he killed my father, Sheriff.”
The old man just kept shaking his head as he locked her in a cell. “I’m locking you up for your own good Miss Angel, and when I do let you out, I don’t want you anywhere near that savage.” The sheriff paused and waited for Angel to respond, but she said nothing.
“You hearing me?” he asked again, louder.
“Next time we might be having to burying you instead of locking you in here. I’ll be letting May know where you are,” he told her over his shoulder as he was leaving the room.
