Blood on the Divide by William W. Johnstone

fire, Tom?”
    â€œIf it’s the last thing I ever do, and it just might be. I’ll make it. Them damn Pardees got lead in me.”
    â€œYou stay put,” Rimrock called, getting to his feet. He went out into the darkness and carried the badly hurt man into the camp and laid him down by the fire, his back against a rock. Preacher started to open Torn’s bloody shirt and the injured man’s hand stopped him.
    â€œDon’t waste your time, t’ain’t no use in that.... Say, you be Preacher.”
    â€œYeah. Now I ’member you. You was at the rendezvous up on Horse Crick back in ’35, I think it was.”
    â€œYeah. Just give me some of that coffee, boys,” Tom said. “And talk to me whilst I pass. I got lead hard, high and low. One lung’s gone and my innards is on fire. I thought for a time I was gonna pass with no one clost to hear my tale.”
    â€œThe Pardees did it?” Caleb asked.
    â€œMighty right. Them and their kin and followers. They was drunk and mean and fixin’ to burn my feet for fun when I broke and run. I been runnin’ for might near two days. Walkin’ and crawlin’ and staggerin’ is more like it.” He took a big gulf of coffee and all could see that the hand holding the cup had no fingernails.
    Preacher looked at the hand and felt a killing coldness creep over him. “The Pardees tear out your fingernails?”
    â€œYeah. They did. They got some poor women and girls with ’em, too. And them poor creatures is bein’ abused so’s it’s a mortal sin, it is. It’s the most pitifuliest sight I ever did see. I ’spect they all dead by now. They’d shore be better off if they is.” He took another slug of coffee and drew a long, shuddering breath. “Them men is worser than any Injun that ever lived.” He coughed up blood.
    â€œWhere be they now, Tom?” Rimrock asked.
    â€œOh ... I wouldn’t have no idee. They said something ’bout attackin’ some wagon train of pilgrims somewheres. But I was in so much pain the words just didn’t register in my head.” He closed his eyes for a moment and then said, “It’s funny, boys. The pain is plumb gone. My head is real clear now. I was just then thinkin’ how it was when we all furst come out here. You could ride for months and not see a white man. Now they’s cabins a-poppin’ up all over ever’place. They must be two hundred people out here now.”
    Tom began to ramble and Windy took the cup from his hand before he could spill the hot coffee. He met the cold, dangerous eyes of Preacher staring across the dying man at him and sensed that their wandering was going to come to an end. He’d seen that look in Preacher’s eyes before.
    â€œMighty peaceful, boys,” Tom said. “Things is all misty and sparklin’ lights and blue like. I guess the Good Lord has decided to let my clock wind down.”
    â€œWe’re goin’ after the Pardees, Tom,” Caleb said. “At least, I am.”
    â€œCount us all in,” Rimrock said, his face hard with anger. “We’ll avenge you, Tom. You can go out knowin’ that much. You got my word on that.”
    â€œIt’s a good thing to have friends, I swear it is,” Tom said. “Gimme another swaller of that coffee ’fore I pass, boys. Say, you reckon they got coffee over on the other side? I’ve often wondered about that. I’m a coffee-drinkin’ man.”
    â€œShore they do, Tom,” Windy said, his voice very gentle. “I’d bet on it. As a matter of fact, I want you to keep a pot hot for us. Will you do that?”
    â€œYou know I will,” Tom whispered. “It’s all dark boys. I can’t see nothin’.”
    Rimrock took one of the man’s tortured hands into his own big paw. “It’s all right, ol’ hoss. We’re here with