Marna (38 page)

Matt didn't leave for Philadelphia the morning he had
planned, although he had fully meant to. He had
worked at the idea the night before, priming himself to
leave at daybreak. When the sun peeked over the hills,
his grub was packed and tied on Sam's back.

He stood at Sam's head, waiting for Jawer to come
in. All night he had heard the hound running, his high,
singing yelp resounding through the hills and valleys.
He had muttered once as he turned over in bed, "Got
himself a bear on the run."

Now, however, as he fidgeted at the saddle, he was
beginning to worry. Jawer hadn't barked or bayed for
the last two hours. He hoped the hound hadn't been
foolish enough to tangle with a bear.

As Matt waited, debating if he should go looking for
the hound, he saw Corey step out of the main quarters.
The hunter walked to the corner of the building and
relieved himself in the tall brown grass. When he had
finished, he looked up and saw Matt. "Where you off to
so early?" he called out.

"Philadelphia," Matt answered shortly and turned
his back to him. Corey scowled at the broad back a
moment, then turned and reentered the building.

About to step into the saddle and go looking for the
hound, Matt stopped with one foot in the stirrup. He
had heard a low whimpering of pain just a few feet
from the cabin.

He found Jawer stretched out in a patch of weeds.
The bear had caught him from haunch to shoulder, the
sharp claws laying his side open. All thoughts of the trip were pushed out of his mind as he gathered the dog
up and hurried into the cabin.

Placing the limp body close to the fire, and laying on
more wood, he rushed back outside. He must get the
stallion into the newly erected shed. The bear might
have followed Jawer home. He didn't want to lose Sam
to the varmint, too.

Hurrying back to the cabin, he told himself he would
unsaddle the horse later. Inside, he rolled up his sleeves
and scrubbed his hands. Then, from a small wooden
box he took out a curved needle and a length of gut
thread.

The sun was well up by the time he had finished
stitching and doctoring the hound. He stood looking
down at him with grave doubts that Jawer would make
it. He lay so quietly, his eyes rolled back and his tongue
lolling on the floor.

Matt stayed in the cabin all day, tending his friend.
Every few minutes he dribbled water from a cloth onto
the dry tongue and as far down the throat as he could
reach. It was almost dusk and he was having his supper
when he saw the long tail move ever so slightly. He rose
from the table and hurried to squat beside his patient.
Brown eyes gazed up at him, soft and grateful. The
long tongue was once again folded back in the dog's
mouth.

In heartfelt relief, Matt scratched the burr-tangled
ears, murmuring, "How you feelin', fellow? Are you
hungry?"

The tail moved again, a little stronger, and Matt rose
and moved to the table. He hurriedly sliced some venison off a large roast and carried it back to the dog.
Slowly and carefully he fed the dog. An hour later, as
he sat smoking his pipe, Jawer carefully moved onto his
stomach.

Matt leaned over and patted the rough head. "You're
gonna make it, old man."

He had just leaned back in his chair when the door
burst open and Hertha stood there. Her eyes were wild
and she gasped for breath. Matt jumped to his feet,
sending the chair over backward. "Grandma! What in
the world is wrong?"

He helped her to the fire, righted the chair, and sat
her in it. Squatting in front of her, he grabbed and held
the twitching fingers. "Get your breath, then tell me
what's wrong."

Hertha's eyes were wide as she continued to stare
at him. Her bent fingers came out to touch his arm.
"Matt, is it you? I thought you were dead."

He smiled at her. "As you can see, I'm not. Now,
what's wrong?"

"It...it's Marna, Matt," she brought out between
gasps. "That buzzard Corey just ran away with her."

Stunned, Matt sat back on his heels. Corey had
Marna. "When did she come back, Grandma?"

"She's been back over a week. While I was tendin'
the stock, Corey sneaked into the cabin and got her."

His eyes wild and gleaming red, Matt jumped to his
feet "Which direction did he take her?"

"They went southeast, straight into the forest. Corey
was ridin' like he had the devil on his tail."

Rushing into his coat and jerking the rifle from over
the mantel, Matt exclaimed explosively, "The devil is
on his tail."

Before slamming the door behind him, he called
back, "I'll bring her back to you, Grandma. You can
rest easy on that fact"

In no time Hertha heard the stallion's great hooves
kicking up stone and gravel as he shot past the window.

Sam took the hill in long, lurching leaps. But it
seemed forever to Matt before Hertha's cabin and outbuildings loomed before him. They looked ghostly, outlined against the gray darkness, and he shivered.

He shot an impatient glance at the sky. When would the blasted moon rise? Riding to the edge of the forest,
he swung down. In the meantime he would see if he
could make out any tracks in the darkness.

A good ten minutes were wasted before the yellow
ball crept over the treetops and bathed the hills in its
light. Matt gave a satisfied grunt and bent to search for
signs. In a minute's time he came upon trampled leaves
and scuffed pine needles. On a bare spot of red clay
Marna's slender footprint sprang up at him. He clenched
his fists and groaned aloud. Somewhere out there in
the wilderness Marna was in the hands of that vermin,
Corey.

Rising to his feet, Matt forced himself to calm down
and think clearly. The tracks led almost due east,
straight into unsettled territory. Where could the hunter
be taking her in that direction? There were only dense,
tall trees and gullies and caves.

His blood turned cold with the awful thought that hit
him. "Caves! The bastard is takin' her to a cave."

A cold sweat broke out on his body. It was a wellknown fact that this was a favorite trick of the brutal
man. Caleb had told him once that Corey kept women
tied up and subjected them to awful horrors.

His heart thundering in his breast, Matt vaulted into
the saddle. He moved out, his eyes glued to the forest
floor. The raw night wind was cold on his face, but he
did not feel it. His whole being concentrated on signs of
Marna's passing.

Matt had no idea how long he had been trailing the
pair when he heard a muted, scrambling noise. His
heart jumped and the breath rushed through his teeth.
They were up ahead. Had Corey had his way with
Marna yet?

He jabbed his heels into the stallion, and the great
horse shot off, his hooves pounding the earth. Up
ahead, just a few yards away, the red embers of a fire
glowed through the trees. Seeing Corey toss Marna onto her mount, Matt called on Sam for more speed. The
two horses shot away in the night with Matt hard on
their heels. Suddenly an unearthly screech sliced
through the forest. As the moon slid behind a cloud,
Matt cursed angrily. Almost immediately it shone again,
but in that second of darkness Corey and Marna were
gone.

He pulled the mount in and stared intently at the
ground. There was something strange here. The two
sets of tracks had parted. One continued on straight,
while the other had veered off to the right. A frown
creased his forehead. Small, shoeless pony tracks
rushed along with the shod ones. The space" between the
tracks said clearly that the two mounts were stretched
out in a long run. Who was the Indian that rode with
Marna now? he asked himself. Was he friend or foe?

Matt picked up the reins and urged the stallion on.
He would catch Corey first. The hunter would know
who had her, and he could beat the information out of
him.

After several yards Corey's tracks veered off to the
left, heading in the direction of camp. Was the varmint
dumb enough to go back there? As he rode on, mulling
the question over in his mind, he decided that Corey
would do just that. On top of being as mean as a copperhead, the man was the worst kind of miser. He
would never leave behind the money he had made on
his furs.

Matt turned Sam slightly, heading for a shortcut he
knew. Actually the way was not shorter, but the buffalo
trace he would come to shortly would allow him to
make faster time. There would be no trees or branches
to dodge.

He arrived at camp several minutes before Corey
came thundering in. Hiding among the trees, Matt let
the fat man enter the building and waited until he
thought Corey had gathered his money.

Pulling his knife from its sheath, he ran his thumb
lightly over the blade. It could split a hair lengthwise.
Shoving it back in place, he walked across the clearing.
Inside he could hear the hunters laughing and talking as
they played cards. When he banged open the door, their
heads jerked around and they stared at his white, still
face in wide-eyed surprise.

Matt smiled coldly as he leaned loosely against the
open door. "Don't let me interrupt you, men. I won't be
here long. I just stopped by to kill myself a polecat."

Corey hadn't moved since Matt's abrupt opening of
the door. His usually florid face had turned ashen, and
his eyes were full of dread.

The room grew quiet, and the players sat away from
the table, their game forgotten. It looked like Corey had
finally bitten off more than he could chew.

Matt stalked across the floor and stood in front of
Corey. Corey would not look at him directly, and he
shot a fast glance at the men around the table. Matt
caught the look and smiled mirthlessly. "You'll get no
help from that quarter, you bastard," he snarled.

For a minute it looked as if Corey might stand up to
the man whose eyes shot sparks of hate at him. In a
blustering manner he declared that he had no idea what
Matt was talking about, which enraged Matt all the
more. Without warning his hand shot out, striking
Corey on the shoulder, sending him staggering across
the floor. Continuing to strike and push the frightened
hunter backward, he grated out in a savage voice, "You
rotten dog, you had the guts to lay hands on my wife.
You crazy son of a bitch, didn't you know I'd kill you
for that?"

Corey spun awkwardly aside, incoherently proclaiming his innocence. Matt's open hand sent him reeling
again. "What did you say, cur? I couldn't hear you. Say
it again."

The wall was touching Corey's back now, and he
realized with a sinking heart that Matt had purposely
cornered him. His beady little eyes shifted around the
room, silently begging for help. But the hunters only
stared back at him. They had waited a long time for
this moment. A grin hovered around Henry's lips.

Corey's face become sullen then. To hell with them
all. He didn't need them, he tried to convince himself.
A sneer curved his lips, and his eyes gleamed evilly. He
would make his enemy more angry, make him grow
careless. Then, at the right moment, he would slip his
knife between those lean ribs.

He slid his glance to Matt and spit out spitefully, "I
don't know why you're so riled up. She's never been
your real wife. Why should you care who lies between
them purty white legs."

"Bastard!" Matt shouted as his rock-hard fist caught
Corey on the chin.

Corey's head shot back, hitting the wall with a dull
thud. In a lunge that was animallike, Matt was upon
him. Like pistons, his punishing blows hammered at the
bloated face.

Corey's body went limp and slid to the floor. Matt's
foot lashed out, landing a sharp jab in the fleshy side.
He stared down at the cringing figure, then turned to
walk away. He took two steps, and the men at the table
called out a warning. "Look out, Matt, he's got a knife."

Matt spun around, his hand going to his own knife.
A bitter curse escaped him. Corey had outfoxed him.

His eyes full of the hate and revenge that had driven
at him for so long, the desperate Corey crouched, his
knife held out in front of him. He advanced on Matt,
making slicing jabs at his stomach. There would be no
quick stab at this arrogant man. He would take the
knife in the gut and die slowly.

His eyes flashing a vengeful joy and his muscles
tightening, Matt stepped back, his knife sliding into his hand. "Come on, you slithering snake," he whispered
"I thought I was gonna be cheated out of killin' you."

The hunters watched intently as the two men circled each other, their knives held ready. A silence gathered
in the room, so deep that the scuffing noise of their
moccasins was sharp and clear.

Matt saw Corey's eyes widen, giving away the
thought that he intended to lunge. Taking a quick step
to one side, he brought his knife up and into Corey's fat
paunch as he rushed by.

Corey wilted slowly to the floor, a surprised look on
his face. His knees drew up convulsively, and he
grabbed at his stomach with both hands. As Matt stood
over him, the dying man stared up at him with eyes that
were already beginning to glaze over. He tried to rise,
but couldn't. Then, fighting for each breath of air, he
managed to struggle to an elbow. Slowly and painfully,
he ground out words that made Matt stare at him incredulously.

"You dumb... bastard. Think you're ...so damn
smart. Didn't even know that.. .that Jake South is...
is your wife's... father."

Matt grabbed the limp shoulders and shook them.
"Damn you, Corey, you're tellin' one of your hellish
lies, aren't you?" he shouted, half doubtful and half
hopeful.

The hunter didn't answer him. He had breathed his
last, and finally Matt let his body drop back to the
floor. He stood up, a bewildered look on his face.
Henry moved to his side and laid a hand on his arm.

"It's true what he said, Matt. Jake is Marna's father.
His real name is Egan Traver."