The Cold Eye (The Devil's West #2)(103)

“I have.”

Even with a rope around his neck, the skin of his face rough with exhaustion and whiskers, the marshal had a certain air to him now, an assuredness that was not boastful. He nodded, as though Gabriel’s words confirmed something.

“I would ask you a favor, one I will, regrettably, be unable to repay. If you would, send word across the river to my superiors. Inform them of the events of the past few days. I would prefer that my fate be clear rather than left open to interpretation.”

“You don’t want them to think you deserted.”

Tousey gave a wry smile and a shrug. “In the event of my death, my family will receive my pension. Otherwise . . . Will you do this for me?”

There was a pause, and then Gabriel nodded. “I will do this for you.”

Isobel looked between the two of them, feeling as though she’d come late and missed something important. But she had a more urgent question whispering in her mind just then.

“Do you think they will send others, despite your failure?”

Tousey looked at her then, his eyes clear, and sad. “I am certain that they will.”

Someone coughed behind them, and he took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I will not offer you my hand; we were not friends. Farewell. I do not think we will meet again.”

“The road turns on itself,” Gabriel said, “and we never know where we may end or who we may see there.”

Tousey did not smile again; she thought perhaps he had no more smile left in him. “Very well, then. If so, I hope that we may begin as friends in a less inopportune time.”

Isobel watched as he walked back to meet his captors, then allowed the four to escort him away. “What will happen to him?”

“It depends on which tribe gets him,” Gabriel said. “For three different tribes to come, either they all felt aggrieved by his actions, or—”

“Or?”

“Or they want to know what he knows.” Gabriel’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Magicians aren’t the only ones who might think to benefit from powerful allies, Iz. The Agreement is old, but it’s not unbreakable. On either side.”

Isobel stared at him.

She thought of the buffalo, slaughtered for the power in their blood. Of the great, ancient spirit trapped by greed. Of men far away, poking and poking at the Territory, promises carried on threat of hellfire, or sweet-milk promises that only make your stomach bloat.

She thought of the whisper waking her from sleep, and the way the devil studied his cards, every hand he dealt, and a man who walked to his fate without flinching, though someone else sent him there.

And she thought again of the buffalo, hooves pounding heartbeats against the ground, of cards falling on felted tabletops, of the look in the Reaper hawk’s eye.

Survive. Protect.

She pulled the shawl more tightly once again, although she felt too warm, not cold.

“We need to go back to the valley.”



It might have been proper to stay until the marshal’s bones were reclaimed and safely interred in the boneyard, but neither of them had any desire to stay, and it seemed the town had no desire for them to linger either. The town of Andreas might live by the Agreement, but Gabriel did not think that they had been particularly comfortable with the close-up reminder of it.

They left the marshal’s pony in the stable with the old mare. He’d thought about taking her—a tough little road horse like that would be wasted pulling a plow, but when Isobel looked at her, then looked back at him, he’d shaken his head.

“We’ve no need for her. They can let her be stolen at some point, make a nice gift to some young warrior.”

She’d only nodded. He hadn’t added that he thought the reminder of the marshal’s death would be an extra burden on shoulders that already bore too many.

No one saw them off as they rode back through the gates, the judge having made awkward farewells immediately after the American had been handed over. It was just as well, Gabriel supposed. “Lovely to have visited; sorry about the dead marshal and shredded bodies we left behind” wasn’t the best repayment for hospitality, and if only Gabriel understood how close they had come to a potential border incident with a foreign power . . .

He didn’t regret agreeing to carry the marshal’s message. Tousey’s family deserved that much peace. But Gabriel wasn’t sure how he would word it, who he would send it to, without explaining how he came to be there?—without making himself seem more useful to them than he had a desire to be.

And they would see him as useful; there was no escaping it any longer.

As preoccupied with his thoughts as he was, Isobel was worse. She had been stiff as they saddled the animals, and even now her fingers were too tight on the reins, making Uvnee tense as well; her shoulders were stiff, and she didn’t look around, taking in any last memories of the town the way she had every other place they’d left, but stared ahead, her expression grim.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as they rode down the dusty trail away from the palisades gate. Slowly, her shoulders eased a bit, the reins lowering, but her expression remained somber, her eyes distant. He breathed the warm air, feeling the weight of blood and too-close quarters washed away by the smell of grass and water, the sun warm overhead, the distant feel of water sliding through stone deep below them, and waited.