An Outlaw's Silence (manxman)(second story in The Crane Gang series)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Zachariah had never been a man who believed in pacing. He hadn't ever found it to solve a damn thing and had believed it to simply be wasted energy and movement.

He'd had a recent change in his way of thinking.

Pacing was now the only thing keeping him sane.

It was either he pace a damn hole straight through the ground to hell or he'd lose his damned mind.

Where was Pete? Had he run into trouble? The man hadn't been gone too terribly wrong but Zachariah felt his mind coming up with all different sorts of terrible scenarios.

His gut said something was wrong.

Zachariah trusted his gut.

He stopped his pacing and his gaze met Gilliam's. The other man nodded. "You feel it too?" Gill asked.

"I think we all feel it," Craig acknowledged.

Jeb stood up and holstered the gun he'd been absent-mindedly spinning. "Something's off."

Without another word, the three men mounted up. The house wasn't too far off and they could only hope they would get there in time to help with whatever was wrong.

Zachariah's blood froze in his veins when a gunshot echoed from the distance.

It was followed by another—and then more yet. Soon it became quite obvious that a gunfight had broken out.

Zachariah threw caution to the wind as he urged his horse forward, desperate to reach the only two people in the world he loved—and save them.

***

Wyatt winced as the harsh sunlight assaulted his vision. If not for Pete holding tight to him and helping him along, Wyatt would not have been able to continue walking.

"Put him over here," Clint called, pointing to a line of sturdy fence beside the house.

Pete led Wyatt to the designated spot and Wyatt leaned against it heavily to remain on his feet as Pete let go. A frown creased his brow when he noticed a tall, skinny man studying Pete—the man seemed to be trying to figure something out.

Wyatt hadn't had much dealing with the curious man. He'd been one of Reg's hands and hadn't shown much interest in torturing Wyatt.

"Okay.. now how should we begin the torture this quiet negro deserves?" Clint asked

Wyatt would have laughed, had his ribs not been hurting so badly. Deserved? What the hell had he done to deserve anything that had happened to him lately?

Pete shrugged as he moved to the side, standing at an angle about fifteen feet from Wyatt. "Everyone likes different things when it comes to torture. What tickles your fancy?"

As Clint and Pete began to discuss various forms of causing Wyatt pain, Wyatt continued to study the tall, malnourished man. The man's brows knitted together and then suddenly, his face paled, his mouthed opened and his eyes widened.

He pulled his revolver and aimed it straight at Pete. "Get away from him, Clint!"

Pete threw up his hands and laughed, though Wyatt could hear the tension in the sound. "Control your friend with the itchy trigger finger."