Outlaw Pass (9781101544785) (25 page)

“What are you gonna do?” Bonnie asked, somewhat relieved to see his usual sober self return.

“I'm gonna rout those bastards outta there,” he said. “You and Finn keep your heads down.” With that, he rolled over the edge of the bank and disappeared into the darkness.

“Wait!” she cried, but he was already gone.
Oh, shit
, she thought, and scrambled off to tell Finn that they were alone. When she reached him, where he had taken cover behind a sizable tree, she gave him the news that Adam was out there somewhere in the darkness, and the two of them were going to have to defend the camp.

“Three of us,” Finn corrected her. “I told Black Otter to take one of those extra rifles off the packhorse. He wasn't doin' much good shootin' all his arrows into a dark sky.”

 

Ignoring the chilling water that embraced his legs, Adam made his way across the swiftly running stream. When he reached the other side, he silently climbed onto the bank and knelt in the fir trees to listen and watch for the muzzle flashes again. His wait was not long, for the three outlaws were not trying to conserve their cartridges. His plan was to flank the attackers, and once he pinpointed their position, he began to work his way across the narrow valley, stopping every dozen yards or so to watch and listen. The muzzle flashes told him that the outlaws were not moving and had probably found good protection to shoot from. There was no moon yet and the valley was too dark to determine their exact position, so the flashes were all he had to go on. Foremost in his mind was to get to them before they decided to move on the camp. He tried to recall a picture of the valley and how the stream cut through the firs, but had to reproach himself for not paying enough attention to that detail when he rode into Black Otter's camp earlier. When he reached a point directly on the flank of the shooters, he started inching his way forward in an attempt to get closer. Even when he was within a reasonable range for his rifle, he still could not make out individual targets. The moonless night and the dense stand of fir trees made it almost impossible to see distinct figures. There was no alternative but to wait for a clear shot, for he wanted to make every shot count. His intent was not merely to chase Lacey's killers away; he had made up his mind to eliminate them from the earth. So he waited.

 

“How long are we gonna keep this up?” Seeger yelled over to Cruz. “So far, we ain't done nothin' but use up over half the cartridges I've got left.”

“. . . and shot one whore.” Red Blanket finished the statement for him, with a little chuckle. At that distance, they couldn't tell which prostitute had been the victim, but she was clearly identifiable as a woman.

“Hell, it was a good shot,” Seeger replied in defense. “I just hope it was that salty old bitch and not the young one. We might wanna save her for a little while.” Getting back to his question, he asked, “How 'bout it, Cruz, you figurin' on workin' in closer to see if we can't go ahead and take that camp?”

“I reckon that's what we came here to do, weren't it?” Cruz answered, but he was still hesitant about rushing into the camp with the miners' hired gun waiting for just such a move. “I'd feel a heap better if I knew exactly where that stud horse with the Henry rifle is.” It occurred to him then that he had not heard the distinctive sound of the Henry for a while, and it gave him pause to wonder why. “You know, that son of a bitch might be thinkin' about—” That was as far as he got before he heard the solid thump of a .44 slug impacting with flesh and bones, followed almost immediately by the sharp crack of the Henry. He turned to see Red Blanket in the small open space between the outlaws and the trees where their horses were tied. The opening in the trees was no bigger than three paces across, but the Indian had been caught in the middle of it while on his way to get more cartridges from his saddlebags. While Cruz gaped, stunned by the sudden attack, Red Blanket uttered not a sound, but staggered toward a tree, where he slid to the ground and slowly keeled over, dead by all appearances.

“Cruz!” Seeger shouted. “We got to get outta here! They've snuck around us!”

“I know it!” Cruz yelled back. “They got Red Blanket. It's that damn killer,” he said, for there was no doubt who the shooter was.

“You see him?”

“No,” Cruz answered, “but he's off to the right somewhere. I'm pretty sure that's where the shot came from.”

“We got to get outta here,” Seeger repeated frantically.

“I know it, damn it,” Cruz said, as anxious to move as Seeger, but leery of exposing himself even for a moment, as Red Blanket had, and giving the stalker another open shot. There had been only that one shot from somewhere out in the dark valley, which suggested to Cruz that the killer was waiting for the next person to make a mistake. “We've got to be careful, though. Can you get to the horses without crossin' that space where Red Blanket is?” The rifle fire from the camp across the stream was now all but ignored since the real danger was clearly on their flank.

“I don't know, maybe, but I ain't too anxious to try,” Seeger replied. “Did you see where the shot came from?”

“No, damn it, somewhere out to the right, most likely in that stand of trees yonder. I'll lay down enough fire to keep his head down, so you can make a run for the horses. All right?”

Seeger wasn't keen on the idea that he should be the one taking that chance, but he knew there was no future in sitting there waiting for the rifleman to pick him off, so he decided to make a run for it. “All right,” he responded. “Start shootin'.”

Cruz opened up with his repeating rifle, firing as fast as he could pull the trigger and cock it again. Sending his shots toward the stand of trees he had mentioned, he shifted his aim back and forth across the shadowy clump of trees. It had the effect he had intended, for Seeger sprinted across the gap in the trees without a return shot being fired. Grabbing the reins of the horses, he led them back to Cruz, using their bodies as his cover. “Come on!” he exclaimed to Cruz as soon as he was back in the trees. There was no need to repeat it, for Cruz was running to meet him. As quickly as two frightened men could, they jumped in their saddles and galloped off through the firs, toward the mouth of the canyon. Almost ready to celebrate a clean getaway, Seeger suddenly yelped in pain as a rifle slug caught him behind the shoulder.

Hearing the shot that hit Seeger, Cruz flailed his horse mercilessly as the two would-be assassins charged recklessly through the firs that bordered the creek. Across the creek they splashed, through a bank of berry bushes, and down the valley floor, demanding all their horses could give. Not until they had ridden the length of the valley and come to the pass that led to the broad river valley beyond did they let up on the laboring horses, and then only because to continue at that pace the horses might founder. It was then that Cruz learned for certain that the shot he had heard when they fled had hit Seeger. “Damn the luck,” he remarked when he saw Seeger favoring his left arm and his blood-soaked sleeve. “How bad is it?” He looked behind them, peering in the darkness, expecting to see the gunman giving chase.

“I don't know,” Seeger answered. “It ain't that bad, I reckon, just hurts like hell.” He was cautious not to let on how bad it really felt, afraid that Cruz might be inclined to leave him to fend for himself.

“That son of a bitch,” Cruz muttered, talking primarily to himself. “Every time we run up against him, one of us gets shot.” Cruz had never been a timid man in the face of most any kind of confrontation with lawmen or outlaws, but there was something eerie about the mysterious gun hand the miners of Bannack had supposedly brought in to clean out the outlaw gangs. He thought back on the events that had happened, and the number of gang members who had been killed, since this stranger with the wide shoulders and the Henry rifle had come to the territory. It was almost as if the man was not human, and Cruz did not want to admit it to himself, but for the first time in his life, he felt fear. And the inclination to run had never been stronger, even though he would pass it off as simply being cautious.

Seeger winced in pain when he turned in the saddle to study their back trail. “I don't think he came after us,” he said. “I think he was on foot.”

“Maybe,” Cruz allowed, thinking back. “He'da had to be to get that close on us without us or our horses hearin' him.”

“We're gonna have to let these horses rest, else we're gonna be on foot, too,” Seeger said. His real concern, however, was more for his wounded shoulder, and the feeling that he had to rest for a while and try to see what he could do to take care of it.

“I reckon you're right,” Cruz agreed, and immediately looked around him for a likely spot. “Yonder,” he said, pointing to a crook in the stream where it entered the pass. “We can see him comin' for a pretty good ways, even in the dark.” When Seeger expressed agreement, Cruz said, “Lead out and I'll follow you.” He reined his horse back to let Seeger go before him, with another thought in mind. He wanted to take a closer look at his partner and how the wounded shoulder was affecting him. As they walked the tired horses toward the stream, Cruz took note of the way Seeger was favoring his shoulder, with his arm dangling limp at his side. He had no intention of hanging back to take care of a severely wounded man while there was the possibility that a deadly killer was on his trail. Thoughts of the gold dust supposedly in Finn's packs had been lost in the past half hour, replaced with an image of the sinister hunter stalking him.
We don't even know for sure that old bastard has any gold worth going after
, he thought. “What?” he asked, realizing then that Seeger had asked a question.

“I said are we still goin' after that gold? 'Cause if we are, I'm gonna need to take care of this shoulder.” He was still trying to downplay the seriousness of the wound. In reality, he wanted nothing more to do with the man traveling with Michael Finn.

“I'm tired of chasin' after those folks,” Cruz complained. “I don't think that old man has any gold, anyway. I think Plummer sent us on a wild-goose chase. Ain't nobody ever seen any of that gold. I believe it's just a setup to draw us in, so that damned gun hand can kill off some more of us.”

That was what Seeger wanted to hear. “By God, I think you're right. We've done our part in Plummer's little game. Somebody else can chase all over these mountains lookin' to get a lead bullet in the chest for their trouble. Hell, me and you can rest up a spell and head on back.” He pointed to a low ridge before the base of the mountain pass. “We can set us up a camp on that ridge, and see everythin' moving in this valley behind us, long before they get close. Whaddaya say, Cruz? To tell you the truth, this shoulder needs a little attention. It won't stop bleedin'.”

Cruz thought about it for a moment. He was not inclined to sit in one spot and wait for death to come calling on him. But they had damn near killed their horses in their panic to escape, so it was in their best interest to let them recover before moving on. What about the man they feared? Why would he come after them? He had been successful in running them off; there was no reason to believe he would do anything beyond starting back out to wherever he was headed in the first place.
Come to think of it
, he thought,
he was the one doing the running all along
. “All right,” he said, “we'll stop here for the night and see if your shoulder can't get a little better.”

 

Not sure if he had hit anything with his last shot at the fleeing riders, Adam walked into the stand of firs to confirm the kill he was confident of. He found Red Blanket lying on his side at the base of a tree. The fiery anger that had consumed him when he had knelt beside the dying girl had been replaced by an impassive calm that created a sober, businesslike approach to the task he had set for himself. He reached down and rolled the body over on its back, curious to get a look at the man who had sought to kill him and his party. Feeling no emotion beyond what one would feel for the extermination of a rat, he unbuckled the man's cartridge belt and pulled it off his body. He picked up the weapon he saw on the ground near the tree, a Spencer carbine, then walked to the edge of the trees to peer off into the darkness after the two remaining outlaws. He would go after them, but first he must see to the members of his party to make sure they were all right.

 

Several minutes had passed since the last shots fired from across the stream, and Finn worried that their adversaries might be creeping up close to their camp. He had heard the one shot from off to the side, and he was pretty sure it was from Adam's Henry rifle, but there was still the chance that the outlaws might even now be approaching in the darkness. Thinking along the same lines, Bonnie moved closer to him and whispered, “Whaddaya think? Do you think they're trying to get behind us?” When Finn confessed that he didn't know, but they should keep a sharp eye for whatever they were trying, she assured him that she was going to shoot at the first movement she saw. Luckily for Adam, they heard him call out moments later.

“Finn, hold your fire. They're gone. I'm comin' in.”

Exhaling a great sigh of relief, Finn called back, “Come on in, Adam.” In a few minutes, he emerged from the darkness, directly in front of them, crossed the stream, and walked into the camp leading two horses. Still wet from his thighs down to his toes, he went to the fire and sat down to remove his boots.

Black Otter moved to stand over him. “Bad men gone?”

“Yep, they're gone,” Adam answered. “One of 'em's dead. One of the other two might be wounded. I don't know for sure, but I don't think they'll be back, at least not tonight. I'm sorry I brought this to your camp. I hope Little Flower is all right.”