Night of Shadows (13 page)

Taking advantage of the moment,
Melinda quickly untied Becky's reins from the corral and swung into the saddle.

Carl watched her anxiously. "Becky's
kinda old. She don't mind a leisurely trot, but it might be kinda hard on her
if you push her much faster than that."

Melinda smiled and reached down to firmly
squeeze the old man's hand. "Thanks, Carl."

As she gently nudged Becky into a
steady walk down the road, she laughed silently at Carl's suggestion. She
wasn't the only one guilty of deception. She knew horses well enough to recognize
that Becky actually was quite young and capable of considerable endurance.

The lie was just Carl's way of
helping ensure her safety.

Melinda kept Becky at a
deliberately slow pace down the winding road behind the ranch. Occasionally,
when she turned to glance over her shoulder, she spotted Carl still standing
exactly where she had left him. He kept watching until finally the road dipped
into a low canyon, out of his sight.

That's when Melinda reined Becky
off the road and into a thicket of trees to hide their progress up the hill. She
instantly found the dim road Harriet had mentioned, the one leading toward
Eagle Ranch property — and, from there, to the Bartons.

Melinda hesitated at the thought
that she would have to temporarily pass through Eagle Ranch property. She had
no desire to tangle with Roy Finch or any of his people. But surely this was a
back route, not used that often by anyone.

If she stuck to the road, leaving it
only to avoid being seen out in the open, she should be able to safely reach
the Barton place without running into anyone.

She urged Becky onward, until she
reached the locked gate. Then she explored the fence line until she found a
likely looking spot. Reaching inside the satchel for the wire cutters, Melinda
slipped out of the saddle and quickly snipped the barbed wire.

Once she had led Becky through the
fence, she took care to repair the damage with some extra wire she found lying
around. She didn't want anyone losing any livestock. And she especially didn't
want to attract unnecessary attention.

Their path next took them down a
rocky canyon bottom, where catclaws snagged at Melinda's pants legs. Prickly
cacti impeded their progress as the horse picked its way carefully through the
thorns. Becky then surged upward in a climb leading to a high ridge offering a
view of the surrounding terrain.

Melinda rode about an hour, until
she spotted a ranchhouse and a small adjoining cultivated field below her in
the distance. Immediately, she urged Becky into a thicket of trees to stay of
sight.

This had to be the Eagle Ranch
headquarters.

Keeping the road in sight, Melinda
dropped down over the opposite side of the ridge. This enabled her to keep out
of sight of anyone in the buildings while she moved eastward.

As she continued her forward
progress without incident, Melinda congratulated herself. This was going to be much
easier than she thought. Then, she heard the low whine of a four-wheel drive
vehicle straining its way up the road straight toward her.

"Uh oh," she whispered.

She panicked for a moment,
imagining that she had been spotted and that Roy Finch himself was on his way
to capture her. Using her heels, she goosed Becky — too hard.

Melinda almost was unseated as the
horse shot down the ridge and into the canyon bottom below. When she finally reined
in the horse, Melinda was breathing as hard as her steed. She waited a few
moments until she heard the vehicle pass on by, continuing in a southerly direction.

Melinda was about to decide this
wasn't such a good idea. She was on the verge of turning Becky around, when her
horse suddenly nickered. In the distance, Melinda could hear a return nicker.

"What is it, girl?"
Melinda asked. "Do you smell a comrade out there somewhere?"

Idly curious, Melinda gazed around
to look for the other horse. Then she spotted a movement on a far ridge. It was
a man dressed in camouflage clothing. And the high-powered rifle he held did
nothing to steady Melinda's nerves.

He was pacing along the side of the
ridge, avoiding the skylight and the attention his silhoutte might draw to
himself. Melinda guessed he was a sentinel of some sort, but it appeared he had
not sighted her. Her back was to the sun and he would naturally avoid looking
in this direction.

Melinda desperately urged Becky to
move into a thicket of pinon trees, which shielded them from all directions. She
was about to backtrack and return to the safety of the McClure ranch when she
spotted a deer trail, overgrown with brushy cover. It seemed to lead into the
lower portion of the canyon that the sentry was guarding.

"No, Melinda," she whispered
to herself. "Don't do it. Just go back while you can."

Nevertheless, curiosity threatened
to consume her. After all this time spent looking for clues and encountering
nothing but frustration, something told her that the answers she sought were
straight ahead and down that trail. And she was equally convinced Joan was
somehow tied in with all this insanity.

Against her better judgement, she urged
the horse forward.

She quickly patted the side of her
steed's neck. "Let's make a deal, eh, Becky? No more nickering. We don't
want any nasty people to know we're down here."

As Becky carefully picked her way
down the trail, Melinda peered anxiously through the brush ahead. At the same
time, she began to doubt herself. Harriet had told her some of this land was
public. So maybe the man on the ridge was simply a hunter.

 Was it turkey season? Quail season?
She didn't pay attention to such things.

 But if he was a hunter, she might
be able to hitch a ride with him into the nearest town. Until she knew for
sure, however, it was probably best that she stay out of sight.

She kept the sun to her back, making
it an ally in her efforts to conceal herself. During her painfully slow
progress, Melinda occasionally caught a glimpse of the man on the ridge. She
had almost convinced herself that he seemed harmless enough when a second armed
man suddenly appeared beside him after walking up from the opposite side of the
hill.

The two spoke briefly together, and
then dropped back over the ridge, out of sight.

Melinda was close enough now that
she probably could just call out to get their attention. But something told her
to remain cautious. She quietly slid out of the saddle and tied Becky securely to
a nearby bush.

Then, on foot, she sneaked quietly
up the ridge for a closer look at what might be on the other side. She found
another deer trail, helping her navigate her way through the underbrush. She walked
slowly, trying to muffle her steps and avoid the rustling of dry pinon needles
blanketing the path.

When Melinda topped the ridge, she
spotted a water tank on the other side of the canyon. Using a stand of pinons
as cover, she walked part way downhill until she was able to get a clear view
of a flat below her.

Trailers and tents covered with
camouflage material were scattered about the grounds. She spotted a truck and
large trailer marked with the Eagle Ranch insignia parked and hidden among some
large cottonwoods. Several men dressed like the one she had spotted at the
ridge carried bales of hay or pitchforks.

Then, she saw the horses.

Dozens of them. Ordinary mares with
very extraordinary colts and fillies bounding beside them in individually
built, small enclosures made of wood and wire. In the cover of the canyon and
trees, they could not be spotted from the air.

Melinda frowned. She was no expert,
but something deeply disturbed her about this scene. The mares looked sturdy
enough, but their features were stocky and plain. Their heads were large and
their legs were almost stubby. Almost all were a muddy brown or bay color.

Their offspring, in direct contrast,
were sleek and proud — carrying a variety of markings and lines that spoke of good
breeding. The long-legged young horses reminded her of the type of stock common
at the McClure ranch.

One in particular caught her eye — a
pure black colt with an elongated neck that was almost the exact image of the
animal she had seen captured in the painting in Mac's room. He had to belong to
Black Gold's bloodline.

But what was the colt doing here, in
such an odd setting?

Melinda was sure, but she had seen
enough. She was going to quietly slip away, return to Becky, and then resume
her trip to the Barton place. But now she could hardly contain her excitement.

Finally, she had something to show
the authorities. Once they were here, she would let them sort through what was
going on. Whatever it was, she knew it couldn't be legal — not with the
measures Roy Finch had taken to conceal this little enterprise.

Melinda's progress back up to the
ridge was maddeningly slow as she put down one foot at a time, making sure that
she did not dislodge a rock that might announce her presence with its clatter.

She breathed easier when she topped
the hill, then dropped down on the other side of the clearing where her horse
was awaited her.

At that moment, the earth literally
gave way beneath her.

Melinda grabbed frantically at a
small pinon tree, her arms wrapped around its slender trunk as she gazed in
panic below her. She dangled above a manmade pit, with ugly, sharp-edged
metal stakes protruding from the bottom. She realized instantly this trap was
not constructed for stray animals.

It was cruelly designed for human
prey.

Beyond the armed sentries she had
already spotted, Melinda realized Finch had employed other safeguards to make
sure this site was never found and reported.

Praying that the tree roots
precariously grounded at the edge of the pit would hold her weight, Melinda
slowly pulled herself upward. Sweat dotted her forehead by the time she made
the final heave onto solid ground.

She stood up hastily and, fearing
that someone might have heard the commotion, ran through the brush directly
toward Becky. She thought the way was clear. But when she heard the low growl
ahead of her, the nightmare was complete.

A crazed pit bulldog leaped
straight at her, its sharp teeth aimed right for her throat. Melinda stood paralyzed
with terror, unable to move. And at the last second, a chain stopped the
animal's motion, jerking it back sharply within inches of her face.

As Melinda backed up a few steps,
the dog barked savagely while repeatedly lunging at her against the chain. In
her haste to get away, Melinda stumbled and fell backwards. But she was on her
feet again in seconds, sprinting in a wide circle around the dog.

By now, she knew the guards had to
be alerted unless they were stone deaf. She desperately needed to get out of
here. And she felt like sobbing in relief when she finally spotted an alarmed
Becky, whose ears were pointed directly at her as she stumbled down the trail.

Then Melinda heard a shot. Something
whistled by her ear.

She instinctively crouched down and
peered up at the ridge. The two men she had spotted earlier were up there,
scoping the canyon with high-powered rifles. Melinda looked back in the
direction of the low sun. It was still working to her advantage, hampering their
vision.

Melinda had to take the risk, get to
Becky, and try to escape.

She crouched low, approaching the
horse cautiously to try and avoid alarming Becky into any sudden movement that
might catch the attention of the riflemen. With shaking hands, Melinda untied
the bridle reins and swung onto the horse's back.

At the same moment, a gun fired. Dirt
from a bullet spurted right where she had been standing.

Melinda grabbed the saddle horn
with one hand and bent low to hug Becky's neck with the other arm to keep from
making such a convenient target. Then she used her legs to pound the horse's
sides, urging her mount run faster and faster.

A few more shots rang out.

Melinda didn't know how she and the
horse managed to avoid injury as they careened blindly through trees and over
obscure animal trails. At times, a few low branches swept over Melinda's back,
almost pulling her off. But she clung so tightly that she and the horse were melded
together as one now.

She had little recollection of the
rest of that mad flight other than of gripping Becky's mane and letting the
terrified horse find its own way.

Finally, in a daze, Melinda became aware
that the horse had stopped.

With eerie silence surrounding her,
Melinda sat up wearily in the saddle and looked down at her watch. Two hours had
passed since their escape.

Melinda felt Becky's sides heaving. The
horse's nose was low to the ground, and she was letting out her breath in loud
huffs. Its skin was drenched with the sweat, and the animal had gone as far as
she could.

Melinda collapsed, half fell out of
the saddle, and rolled onto the ground beside the horse. She shook violently
all over, and felt so ill that she wanted to retch. She would have, except that
she couldn't find the strength.