Toward the Sea of Freedom (66 page)

Ian couldn’t imagine Timlock had survived this long. True, his death would surely delay Michael, but then nothing was stopping him from catching up to Lizzie in the mountains. Least of all if he put two and two together or Timlock had talked before dying. Ian hoped that Winslow, the drunk, at least had kept quiet; ultimately Ian trusted in the man’s sense of self-preservation. And on his addiction. There was no whiskey in prison.

Ian acted with more caution once he suspected Michael might be following Lizzie. But as the hours passed, he became calmer. If his adversary really were going to ride after Lizzie, he would already have caught up to her. His horse was fast. But it was probably no longer possible for him to still ride up into the mountains that day.

Of course, the police would have been summoned from Dunedin when the beaten man was found, dead or not. And with a brutal attack among prospectors, the victim’s partner was always the first suspect. The officer would interrogate Michael and, with any luck, lock him up for a night.

Ian stopped worrying about Michael when Lizzie reached a stream shortly before dark and set up her camp there. He thought for a moment about attacking her and forcing her to reveal her destination, but why should he rob himself of a peaceful night? Of course he would have a little fun, free of charge, with the girl, but that could wait until the next morning. He needed only be careful as hell that his prey did not escape him.

So Ian put off the matter until the next day. Lizzie would still be pretty, and after the appropriate handling surely willing—and then, after he had the gold and was done with her, he would not need to treat her with any more care. Indeed, it would be better to get rid of her. Then he would only have to contend with Michael. Let him just try to prove Ian had stolen the claim from Lizzie.

Ian hitched his mule a few hundred yards downstream of Lizzie’s camp and hoped she was not good at spotting people at night. He bound his mule’s front legs just to be sure, although, naturally, it would occasionally move from one leg to another. Fortunately, Lizzie’s own horse did that too, and as it happened, the sparse southern beech forest they found themselves in was populated by nocturnal birds. Their calls hardly let him get any sleep, but they also offered him the perfect camouflage of sound.

Lizzie clearly suspected nothing when she got up in the morning, washed herself in the stream, and baked flatbread for breakfast. The evening before, she had caught fish. Ian thought she was very clever; he wondered where Michael had found her.

Lizzie obviously dawdled. The sun was already high in the sky when she finally decamped. In the meantime, she seemed somewhat concerned. Probably because Michael really should have come by now.

Ian followed her farther upstream to a waterfall and a strange rock formation that thrust into the sky like needles. Lizzie seemed to recognize the terrain. With growing excitement, Ian watched as she pitched her tent at the foot of the rocks and let her horse graze. She leaned shovels, spades, and axes neatly against the rocks and brought out the weir she had fished with the day before.

Ian could hardly restrain himself from rushing her and forcing her to give up her secret, but he had to remain calm. Lizzie caught plenty of fish for two. Clearly, she was hoping that Michael would show up for lunch. She often looked back toward the trail for some sign of him, but she was too close to the waterfall to be able to hear anything but the rushing water. After she had lit a fire and roasted her catch, she looked for her gold pan.

Finally, something was happening. Ian watched Lizzie clamber up the slope. The gold site had to be past the waterfall. He made an arc and followed her at a wide distance and then saw her take off her shoes, climb into the stream, and dig along the streambed. A short time later, she began to pan for gold.

Even at a distance, Ian saw that at first try there was gold glinting in the pan. It was time now. Ian pressed silently toward the stream, but Lizzie would not have heard him anyway. She did not flinch until he was behind her, seized her, and laid his hand over her mouth.

“Many thanks, Lizzie. It was exceedingly gracious of you to lead me to your gold find.”

Peter Burton came from a well-to-do family in Lancashire, England. Even as a child he had owned a pony, and as a young man he made a name for himself at hunts and steeplechases. Now he was using this experience. Michael’s powerful, tall gray ran as if of its own will—first toward home, but it was happy to continue west too. The animal seemed even to enjoy the wild ride. Michael probably never let it dash so unrestrainedly over rocks and brush.

Peter, too, would have had fun if it were not for the burning concern that forced him to spur the horse on even more. Self-doubt tortured him the longer he rode. Had it been right to leave everything behind, take Michael’s horse without asking, and follow the vague route description of a dying man? Maybe it would have been better to wait for Michael—maybe even to send a whole search party. The reverend did not even have a gun. He would have to rely on the element of surprise and his fists when he caught Coltrane. Having just seen evidence of what the man could do with his fists, the thought was not very pleasant. Coltrane was at least as tall and considerably heavier, and yet he had no choice. If he didn’t find Coltrane quickly, Lizzie would not survive the day.

Many questions shot through Peter Burton’s head: Was this the right way? What if he didn’t make it in time? After two hours of trotting and galloping, the gray slowly calmed down, and to his relief, Peter stumbled on a camp. There was no evidence of a campfire, but the earth around a tree was upset as if a horse had been hitched at the spot. Peter rode slowly onward and thought he recognized a second camp, much less obvious; just a few nibbled blades of grass testified to a hungry horse stopping there. This discovery gave Peter encouragement. It looked as if he was on the right track—but so was Coltrane.

The reverend spurred on his horse, and the horse briskly trotted farther westward. Midday was long past, but Peter was too excited to feel hunger. If he judged his horse’s speed correctly, he must have ridden some twenty miles since he had passed Drury’s house. And there was a stream! Peter’s heart raced as he again found traces of a camp. Quite properly covered up, though—it could almost have been Maori who had made the fire and spent the night here. Peter did not find a second camp this time, but he was no doubt headed the right way. Upstream. Peter let the horse trot a little more slowly now. It was better if Ian Coltrane did not hear him coming.

Lizzie tried to bite the hand that held her mouth closed, but her attacker’s grip was too tight, and he pinned her upper arms to her body by wrapping his other arm around her. The gold pan fell into the water as she stumbled out of the streambed.

Coltrane looked at it regretfully. “What a shame about all that lovely gold, Lizzie. But I can pan for some more later. Before that we can chat a bit, eh, girl? For instance, about how you found this here. Do you really come this far alone, or was that Michael of yours involved?”

Coltrane took his hand from Lizzie’s mouth, seizing her arms with a quick movement and pulling her backward. Lizzie screamed, but she went quiet the moment he slammed her head against a beech tree on the riverbank. Her temple was cut and bleeding. Coltrane quickly tied her hands behind her back, then threw her in the grass.

“So, girl, now we can talk—but no screaming or I’ll have to gag you.”

“Michael will find me, you know.” Lizzie spat at him. “And Chris. They’ll be here any minute.” She fought against her bindings, but she didn’t have much hope. This man was strong as a bear. The gruesome glint in his dark eyes did not bode well.

Coltrane laughed. “Chris might look down on us from heaven, I suppose,” he scoffed, “and that Michael of yours is busy elsewhere. Now come along, Lizzie; tell me: Did you discover the claim on your own?”

Lizzie turned around on the ground. She acted as if she were still trying to free herself, but more than anything she was thinking feverishly. Should she tell him about the Maori? Or would she bring the tribe into danger then too? She cursed her impatience. Why couldn’t she just have waited for Michael, ridden up together with him, and introduced him to her Maori friends first? She might be lucky. Perhaps Coltrane had drawn the attention of a few Maori hunters as he sneaked up on her. She thought that rather unlikely, however, since the Maori men would have long since intervened.

“I found it on my own,” Lizzie shouted defiantly.

Coltrane nodded, content, and brushed a dark strand of hair from his sweaty face. “Very nice. But now you’ll want to share it with me, of course.”

Lizzie did not answer. Everything was happening too fast. She needed to take stock of the situation first. Chris was dead? Could that be true? Good Lord, if this bastard was not afraid to murder just for information, what would he do to keep this place all to himself?

“Maybe if you’d tell me your name first?” Lizzie forced herself to smile. “Who knows? Maybe I’d be happy to share with you.”

Coltrane’s laugh boomed. “I like you better already, sweet. Even if I don’t believe a word, of course. But fine. My name, dearest Lizzie, is Ian Coltrane. And I want this claim from you as a gift if you’ll give it. And if not, I’ll take it anyway.” He lifted her up and pressed her against the trunk of the beech tree to kiss her. Lizzie turned her head desperately to the side.

“Shouldn’t we go down to my camp?” she asked with as enticing a voice as possible. “I, I’ve roasted some fish.”

More importantly, Michael’s gun was among the things she had packed—though she was not entirely sure how to fire it.

“I’ll eat food later,” Coltrane said. His tongue sought the way to her mouth. “First, a taste of Lizzie.”

At that moment Lizzie was struck by where she had heard the name Coltrane before. This was the man from Michael’s home village. The one Kathleen had married. He might even have killed her. Lizzie almost had to laugh at the irony of fate. Was Michael about to lose a second woman to the clutches of this bastard?

She had no illusions about her future. Coltrane would not leave her alive. He would kill her and claim this prospect for himself. And soon, droves of prospectors would pour over the land of the Ngai Tahu—precisely what the tribe had wanted to prevent. Lizzie would not only die, but die a traitor. The Maori would never know whether she had simply sold the rights to the place or given them away. And if one thing led to another, the war Kahu Heke had spoken of would begin here. All that because she made a mistake.

Coltrane pushed her dress up and thrust into her brutally. It was demeaning and painful, but she had survived worse. Her desperation gave her new courage. She would not withdraw into herself, sobbing; she had to defend herself.

Lizzie pretended she was following Coltrane’s movements, and as she did, she rubbed her hand bindings against the bark of the tree. They were not very tight. It had to be possible to undo them. Suddenly they loosened, precisely in the moment Coltrane fell against her, moaning.

Lizzie’s thoughts tripped over each other. She knew that even if she freed herself now, she could not knock this huge man out without a weapon. She looked for the gold pan, but it was in the stream. Her knife was down in her camp.

Coltrane slowly recovered and straightened himself. “That wasn’t bad at all, girl. We should do it again before . . . Well, we have plenty of time, don’t we, Liz?”

Lizzie tried to continue playing her role. She held her hands as if they were still bound. “I, I have loads of time, sir. I, if you don’t kill me, then, I can show you a few things. Why don’t we go to my tent?”

Coltrane smirked. He would not fall for just any game. Even with her hands bound, she was instinctively trying to smooth her skirt as he pulled her along.

“I think we’ll go a little farther into the woods instead. What do you think, Lizzie?”

Lizzie hardly dared breathe as she felt over the pocket in her dress. It was still there, and far better than her fist. The jade war club. The
tohunga
’s present, carved for the hands of a female warrior. She had put it in her pocket before ever leaving the cabin, thinking at the time that she only wanted to keep its power against her body until Michael joined her.