Outlaw Pass (9781101544785) (21 page)

Faced now with what could become an unwanted situation, he knew it was too late for him to question his decision to expose his presence. In truth, he realized that he had fired the first shot to keep the hunter—which he could now see was an Indian—from losing his kill. And the second shot was simply because of an opportunity for them both to get a deer. Right or wrong, it was done. The question now was whether or not a violent confrontation was to follow. He slowly came out of the trees and stood with his rifle cradled across his arms, waiting for the Indian's reaction.

Some twenty-five feet below Adam, Black Otter left the thicket and turned to face the white man. Seconds before, he had been stunned by the sudden burst of rifle fire when his arrow had flown wide of the target. Now he recognized the man as the leader of the little party in the canyon. His initial impulse was to run, for the white man had the rifle that shoots many times. But the man showed no indication of aggression. In fact, he seemed to be waiting to see what Black Otter's intentions were. Well aware that the white man had the advantage, and could easily kill him if he wanted to, Black Otter held up his hand.

Recognizing the Indian's sign of peace, Adam returned it with his hand and began working his way down the slope to meet him. Black Otter waited for him, still unsure if there might be any treachery in the white man's heart. Just in case, he dropped his hand on his skinning knife to make sure it was riding loose in its rawhide scabbard.

Just as cautious, Adam watched the Indian carefully as he approached, noting the question in the red man's face. He was a fine specimen of a man, sleek and smooth muscled, a young man, with no sign of fear in his eyes—only one of caution. “Speak white man talk?” Adam asked.

“Yes,” Black Otter replied. He had learned to speak English during the time he had spent at Fort Hall. “Little bit,” he added.

“Good,” Adam said, relieved, because he spoke very little in any Indian dialect. “I mean you no harm. I come in peace.”

Black Otter nodded, and paused to formulate his words. “Shoot gun good. Get two deer.”

“One for you, one for me,” Adam said, gesturing with his hands. “We'll share, and you pick the one you want.”

Black Otter nodded thoughtfully, as if judging Adam's words. “Good,” he said, then suddenly notched an arrow and turned away to let it fly. It embedded solidly in a small tree approximately thirty-five yards away. He turned back to Adam then and said, “Deer move.”

Adam understood Black Otter's message. He smiled and nodded. “Yes, I saw the deer move right when you released your arrow. Else you'd have got him for sure.” Black Otter smiled in return and nodded. And the two stood there smiling and nodding for several seconds before Adam said, “My name's Adam Blaine,” and held out his hand.

The Indian tapped his chest lightly and replied, “Black Otter. Friend.” Familiar with the white man's way of greeting friends, he grasped Adam's outstretched hand firmly and made two exaggerated movements up and down. Now that the two were standing toe-totoe, Black Otter looked up at the white man towering over him. “Come down from mountain, still look like up on mountain,” he remarked.

Adam didn't understand at first, but then caught the Indian's attempt at humor. “Yeah, I'm kinda tall,” he said with a grin.

They went out in the meadow to look at the two fallen deer then, and Adam insisted that Black Otter should have first choice, and assured him that all he wanted was the meat. Black Otter picked the buck. Since the morning chill was still in the air at that high altitude, they decided to gut both carcasses there in the meadow. While they worked, Adam learned that Black Otter did not live in a village, but dwelt alone with his wife in these mountains. He also sensed that the Indian was anxious to know what had brought Adam's little party to his mountains and what his plans were. Adam could not help seeing the relief in Black Otter's eyes when he told him that his party was going to move on as soon as Finn recovered enough to ride. “There are others looking for you?” Black Otter asked.

“Yeah, I'm afraid so,” Adam answered. “There are some bad men lookin' for us. They shot my friend, and that's why we found a place to hide for a while.”

“They come here?”

“Well, I hope not,” Adam replied. “I hope they don't know where we are. I hope we'll be gone before they can find us.”

With their loads lightened somewhat, the two men hefted the carcasses up on their shoulders and parted company, each back to his own camp. It was a long walk back to the pine shelter by the stream, made to seem twice the distance with the deer on his shoulders. It would have been a great deal easier if he could have brought his horse, but the slopes he was hunting on were too steep to bother with his horse. In spite of the altitude and the chilly air, he had worked up a healthy sweat when he finally emerged from the pines to confront Bonnie, as before, with her carbine ready to fire. “You know,” she informed him, “it couldn't hurt you to sing out before you pop out of the woods like that. One of these times I'm liable to put a bullet in your big ass.”

“You reckon?” he answered, unconcerned.

She lowered her weapon and stood watching him as he stepped across the stream. “I see you found us some more meat. I expect you think somebody's gonna have to skin it and butcher it.”

“Thanks for volunteering,” he said, and dumped the carcass on the ground. He looked over at Finn, propped up against a tree with a blanket around his shoulders. “How you makin' out?” he asked.

“I'm afraid I'm gonna live,” he said, then remarked, “We heard two shots. Did you miss with the first one?”

Adam was a little disturbed to find they had heard the shots, since he had hunted so far away in hopes they would not. He related the meeting he had with Black Otter, and the reason for two shots. The women were at once concerned that he had encountered an Indian hunter, but Adam assured them that it was just one Indian and his wife, and they weren't interested in taking any long black scalps—or in Lacey's case, any long sandy-haired ones, either.

After the butchering was done and the women set to work smoking the strips of venison, Adam saddled his horse and rode back down the ravine, the way they had originally come into their camp, still concerned if anyone else had heard the two shots. When he reached the valley floor, where the stream flowed into the wide one that flowed down the length of the valley, he rode across to the other side and climbed the western slope. His purpose was to find a high point where he could get a good view of the foothills they had ridden through on their way to their hideout. Following an old game trail, he soon reached a good spot with unrestricted views of a wide expanse of country both east and west. Satisfied that he was unlikely to find better, he dismounted, took a freshly roasted strip of deer meat, and sat down on a boulder to eat it. He remained there for a good part of the afternoon, with nothing moving in any direction except a herd of antelope that moved slowly toward the towering mountains, stopping to graze occasionally before disappearing from his sight. There could not be a more peaceful world, he thought, and decided he could gamble on one or two more days before striking out for the Madison and home. If his little party of fugitives was still being pursued, he figured that their pursuers would have shown up before now.

The sun set early deep in the mountains, so it was already heading toward evening by the time he again approached the camp. This time he sang out to humor Bonnie, but it was not enough to allow him to escape her scolding. “Where the hell have you been all afternoon?” she demanded when he rode up and dismounted. “If Ainsworth's murderers had shown up, wouldn't we have been in a fix?”

“Oh, I reckon it wouldn'ta been nothin' you couldn't have handled,” he replied, unable to resist baiting her.

“I've got my hands full here,” she complained, “taking care of Finn and being a mama to Lacey. Now, since this morning, I find out I've got to worry about that Indian up there watching us.”

“You were gone a long time,” Lacey said. “I was beginning to worry.”

Good Lord in heaven
, he thought.
When the hell did I come to be the daddy for these people?
As was his custom, however, he merely smiled and went to check on Finn.

“You making out okay?” Adam asked.

“Yes,” Finn replied. “I'm gettin' stronger. If I could have a couple more days, I think I'd be ready to ride out of here.” He paused, then said, “I'm thinkin' you've been out watchin' our back trail.”

“That's right,” Adam said, “and I didn't see sign of anyone comin' our way. If we're lucky, nobody knows where the hell we are. But we'll still have to be careful not to run up on anybody that might be waitin' up ahead of us.”

 

“This is a damn fool job Plummer sent us on,” Tom Seeger complained, “ridin' all over hell and back, lookin' for a needle in a haystack. Them folks could be anywhere. Just because we can't find no tracks where they crossed the river don't mean they didn't cross it. Ain't nothin' says they had to cross where we looked. Hell, for all we know, that posse outta Bannack mighta already found 'em and took that gold back.” He scowled at the coffee left in the bottom of his cup, then flung it out in disgust. “Damn coffee tastes like mule piss.”

“You're awful damn cheerful tonight,” Bailey Cruz said. “Course, I'm gonna have to take your word on the coffee, since I ain't ever drank no mule piss.” His comment brought a chuckle from Buster, causing Seeger to turn his scowl in the big oaf's direction. Of the five who had been sent out from Virginia City, Buster was perhaps the only one who was not weary of what appeared to be a pointless search. As Rawhide had put it, Buster was like a duck. He woke up in a new world every morning.

Cruz had decided to head west two days before, leaving the Madison with the slim chance they might still run into the fugitives if they had, in fact, eluded the posse and cut back east. It was a rough country, and he was operating on the theory that the fugitives would take a commonsense trail through the hills, trying to escape as soon as possible. And there were only a few such trails that he knew of. Camped now by the Ruby River, he had decided to call off the search, and his final effort was to send John Red Blanket to scout on ahead as far as the Beaverhead, just so he could report to Plummer that he had exhausted all possibilities.

“How long are we gonna lie around here waitin' for Red Blanket?” Rawhide asked. Like Seeger, he was growing weary of the futile hunt.

“Till he gets back,” Cruz replied soberly. “I told him not to go no farther than the Beaverhead.”

Rawhide picked up a small stick and tossed it at Buster. “Hell, that Injun might come up on some likker somewhere and won't be back for a week.” Buster grinned wide and playfully tossed the stick back at Rawhide.

“I doubt there's any whiskey between here and the Beaverhead,” Cruz said, “and there ain't no use bellyachin' about it. He'll get back when he gets back.”

“How much gold you reckon that old coot really dug outta the ground?” Seeger asked.

“Don't know,” Cruz replied. “A helluva lot, accordin' to Plummer.”

“If it's that much, it'd be mighty temptin' to keep headin' east with it, if we was to catch up to them people.” Seeger's sour expression was creased by a slight grin at the thought.

“It would at that,” Rawhide responded. “Wouldn't it, Cruz?”

“I doubt we'll have that decision to make,” Cruz replied, although it was an interesting proposition to consider.

 

It was late that night when Red Blanket returned to the camp by the Ruby, yelling, “Don't shoot. It's me,” as he splashed across. Eager to give his report, he pulled his lathered horse up before the dying campfire and dismounted. “I found 'em!” he exclaimed. “I found 'em!”

“Where?” Cruz responded excitedly as he threw off his blanket. “Did they have the gold with 'em?”

“Not them,” Red Blanket said. “I found the posse—back on the Beaverhead! They was all dead, all of'em—bodies on both sides of the river—musta been a helluva fight.”

“Damn,” Rawhide swore solemnly, still sitting with his blanket wrapped around him. “That hired gun must be the cougar they say he is.”

“Any idea where they went after that?” Cruz asked.

“Yeah,” Red Blanket said. “It wasn't hard to follow the trail they left outta there, and they was headin' straight east. I tracked 'em till daylight ran out on me about five miles back yonder way, but they were headin' toward the Ruby. And unless they changed direction, I expect they mighta crossed somewhere not far north of where we're settin' right now.”

“That means they've still got all that gold,” Rawhide said.

“Want me to saddle the horses?” Buster asked.

“No, dummy,” Rawhide responded. “We can't go nowhere in the dark.”

“We'll scout the river north of here in the mornin',” Cruz said, “and maybe pick up their trail—oughta be easy enough. Nothin' we can do right now, so we might as well go on back to bed.” Looking at Red Blanket, he commented, “Your horse looks like he needs some rest before he'll be ready to go again.”

“That's a fact,” Red Blanket said. “Any coffee left in that pot?” he asked, nodding toward the pot still sitting in the ashes. “I ain't had none all day.”

“If there is, it ain't fit to drink,” Cruz replied, “but I reckon you know how to make some if you want it.”

Always ready for anything to eat or drink, Buster volunteered, “I'll make you some.”