Eli straightened, stomping over to his own mount. Cain wheeled to see his brother unfastening the canteen tied to the saddle. He removed the cork, swishing the meager contents around, listening. Pacing toward the horse's head, Eli cupped one hand. "Here, Blue." His voice was soothing. "Easy, Blue."
"Hellfire!" Cain roared, driving the toe of his boot hard into Eli's hand, knocking the battered canteen from his grasp. The container clattered to the ground, a dark, damp stain spreading on the dust beneath it.
"What the blazes'd you do that for?" Eli yelped, jumping up, grabbing his bruised hand. "I was only tryin' to—"
"You was wasting water!" Cain roared. "I'll not have it—"
"You're the one that poured it on the ground! Damn it, Cain, least we can do is let Blue rest easy for whatever time be left—"
A nasty smile curled Cain's lips, the frustration that had eaten at him these past days on the trail at last channeling into an infinitely satisfying outlet. He looked from his brother to the sweat-soaked horse.
"You're right, Eli," he said, his fingers moving surreptitiously to his gun. His brother's face turned up to his in stunned amazement, that slack idiot's mouth gaping, wet, disgusting, in what was almost a smile. "I'm right? Cain, did you say I'm right?"
"Yeah, Eli. We'll make damn certain the worthless carcass rests easy." With a sharp surge of pleasure Cain whipped the pistol out, leveling it at the animal's head. A shot cracked out.
Eli sprawled backward as blood spread over the animal's temple and oozed into the dirt below. "You had no call to do that!" he roared, scrambling to his feet. Huge fists were clenched into weapons as deadly as any gun, eyes, usually dull, seething now with the lethal fury of a wounded grizzly.
Cain bit back the sneering reply he'd meant to fling at his brother and took a step away from that violent face.
Murderer. Eli had earned that title a dozen times over before he'd grown his first beard, and when Eli was in the heat of the rages that deepened half-wit into madman, Cain suspected the oaf could gut his own brother with the big knife he carried. But later, once the rage cooled, Cain knew full well that Eli would squeeze out copious tears of regret. He never intended to see Eli slobbering that way over his corpse.
Scorn and arrogance rose up to mingle with the wariness in Cain, but he managed to form his lips into the most conciliatory of expressions.
"Whoa, Eli, wait a minute before you get all riled. I'm sorry about the horse. Swear to hell I am. It's just that I'm fair crazy with needin' to get my hands on MacQuade. The gold. And you... I know what you been doin' under your blankets at night, thinkin' about getting under that pretty woman's skirts."
The fury in Eli's face diffused, dull red flushing up his neck. The hulk looked guilty as a schoolboy, except for the lust-filled curl to lips glistening with spittle.
"You don't s'posed to be watchin' me, Cain. Got no call to—"
"Damn it, Eli, don't you see? None of that matters. Soon as we find 'em you won't have to be diddlin' yourself under no blankets. We can't be more'n two weeks behind 'em. Ain't got no time to nurse along lazy horses!"
Eli blew his nose into his hand, scrubbing it on the stiff leg of his buckskins. "Well, you're s'posed to be the smart one! You tell me how the devil do you plan t' go chasin' after MacQuade with no horse at all."
Cain stalked over to Eli's winded black. "We'll ride double till we find another one. Maybe we can plug some Indian buck out ridin', or there might be some damn dirt-grubber with a farm. We'll put them outa their misery, too."
"I'm not gonna run my horse int' the ground, Cain. I'm not." Eli's lip thrust out, eyes glittering with rekindled anger.
Cain's voice dropped low, wheedling. "Do what you're told, Eli, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you do the killin'. Would you like that?"
Anger shifted to sullenness, Eli swiping one hand across his mouth. "Will it be a man? A man like Pa?" Eli's fingers reached up to the side of his head. Shaggy hair covered the skin, but Cain knew full well what his brother was touching—the thick, aged scar that had been there ever since their father, Bull Garvey, had driven an axe handle against five-year-old Eli's head.
Hell only knew how many times Cain had been tempted to finish the job for the old man. But that had been before Eli had proved himself so useful—before Cain had managed to maneuver a ten-year-old Eli into burying that same axe's blade in their drunken father's chest.
Cain smiled, remembering.
"It'll be a man mean as a snake, Eli," Cain said. "Just like Pa. And then, then we'll ride like hell and find you that woman."
Eli regarded the black for long minutes, then swung up into the saddle and extended his hand.
* * *
Pain.
It surged through Garret in white-hot waves, tearing at him with the diabolical glee of a blood-lusting Comanche. Knives of sensation seemed to slice beneath his skin, flaying away his sanity one layer at a time.
He shifted, restless, unable to open his eyes, unable to see. Dark... it was so damn dark. As if he were buried alive.
He tried to grope with numb fingers, to discern where he was, but his arm slipped from the flat plane into emptiness. Sick horror drove its fist into his stomach, and he dragged his arm from the void, clutching it close to his body as the terror swirled him away. Away to the last time he had felt that yawning nothingness as he had plunged over the cliffs edge on MacQuade land. Away to the living nightmare that had walked inside him for twenty years.
