Trail Angel (37 page)

“What are you doing?” Richard screamed, crouching behind Annabelle. “Do you want me to kill her?”

Josey shouted his response, loud enough to be certain every man heard. “Now you have two less to claim a split.” Less loudly, he added, “Let Annabelle go and I'll ride down.” Josey counted on Richard's greed winning out over his fury.

The old man had collapsed to the ground, his death gasps growing fainter. Richard, still using Annabelle as a shield, called out. “You come closer.”

He needs to be sure I can't get away with the gold.
“I'll come closer once she starts walking up.”

For a moment, it was a standoff. Richard must have decided the hill was steep enough Josey couldn't get away because he helped Annabelle to her feet. Josey used the time to reload the pistols. Then he holstered them and drew the Henry as Annabelle took her first steps up the hill. Richard moved forward with her, halting her with a hand to her neck. “I'm not letting go until I have the gold.”

“Just go, Josey,” Annabelle said, her call followed with a cry of pain as Richard jerked on her loose hair.

Josey led the horse forward a few steps. He'd moved past the scree, into the grass on the slope of the ridge. He wanted more solid footing when things started. He was still too far off to be sure of a shot, but he brought up his rifle, using the horse's saddle to steady his aim. “Let her go now.”

“Shoot and she'll be dead,” Richard said. “And you'll be next.”

“Maybe. For sure, you won't live to spend the gold. You let her come, and it will just be us. And the gold.”

Richard looked to either side, as if reassuring himself the other guns were still there. He drew his pistol and pointed it at Annabelle's back. “She'll be dead before you can get back up that hill, if that's your plan.”

“I'm planning on coming for you,” Josey said.

Richard grinned. “Then the price will be paid in full.”

Annabelle started. Her steps were unsteady, and she used her hands to scuttle forward when the slope grew too steep. Josey moved toward her, measuring his pace so that they would pass at a point still far enough away to make the gunmen hesitate.

As she drew nearer, he stole a glance. Her face was red and looked to be swelling where Richard had struck her. Her hands were covered in blood, though there were no signs of any other wounds on her. She was out of breath, and her eyes looked glassy and distant. Twice she nearly stumbled, each time Josey forcing himself not to rush to her. He waited until she drew close enough that only she could hear.

“My horse is at the top of the hill. Call to me when you're in the saddle and then ride. Ride east and don't look back. The wagons are camped in the next valley. Byron and your father will be watching for you.”

Annabelle stopped two paces from him. Her eyes found their focus. “He'll kill you, Josey. He won't let you leave.”

“He'll try.”

She came to him, extending her arms to him. “I love you, Josey. You don't have to die for me. Drop the gold and we'll ride off together.”

Annabelle moved to embrace the man she loved, but Josey wouldn't even look at her, stepping back and repositioning his aim on the man watching them from below.

“We'll both be dead before we can clear the hill,” he said.

The hardness had returned to his voice, as if there had never been anything between them.
He feels betrayed.
“I'm so sorry, Josey. You have to believe I didn't know Richard was still alive. I thought I saw him, on the ferry, but I didn't believe it—”

“You don't have to apologize.” He looked to her, just a moment, and she saw the deadness in his eyes. “I need you to go, Belle. I can't do what I need to do if I'm worried about you.”

He handed a pistol to her. “Take this. Just in case.” She hardly believed what was happening. He wanted her gone.
He means to die here.

“The rocks won't make it an easy climb,” he said, still not looking at her. “I'll give you time, but I need to know when you're safe.”

Annabelle recalled the first time she'd seen Josey at the campsite outside Omaha. Even in the glow of firelight, there had been a pallor to his face, as if all emotion had bled away. She had known men wounded in the war, men with missing limbs and scars, marks that would never go away.
Josey is no different.
Annabelle couldn't see or understand his wounds, but they were there, as surely as if a cannonball had taken his leg.
I thought I could make him whole, but I might as well have hoped to reanimate a severed limb.

She moved close enough to kiss him on the cheek, her body brushing against his as she found her balance, but she sensed no warmth from him. Fighting back tears, she stepped past him, hoping she had the strength to finish the climb.

Richard called. “She's safe now, Josey. Toss the gold from your horse and you can join her.”

“I want to be sure you can't follow her.”

Annabelle fought the urge to look back. It required all of her concentration to keep her balance on the tiny rounded rocks that spread across the rim of the slope. Her legs quivered.
What would they do if I collapsed?
Their standoff would be complete, and she might as well die of humiliation. She no longer cared. She
wanted
to die. Only the certainty that they wouldn't allow it kept her moving. Her failure to finish the climb would only delay their deadly game. They wouldn't permit her to frustrate it entirely.

It's better to crawl off someplace where no one will ever find me.
Josey had made her feel like she could know joy again. He made her happier than she'd ever been with Richard, but the feeling had proven no more genuine. Josey's deception felt like a worse betrayal because she should have known better.

Cresting the hill, she saw Josey's horse tied to the tree, just as he'd said. As much as he'd hurt her, her life had meant more to him than his own. She owed him for that.

“I've reached the top,” she called. The scene below hadn't changed, as if it were a tableau of toy soldiers arranged for a child's amusement. Josey held the rifle, standing behind the horse.
My horse.
Richard had taken cover behind a tree, but she didn't doubt that Josey's first shot would find some part exposed. She had started the day with two men who held a claim on her.
Will there be none by day's end?

Josey lowered his gun. He took the reins in one hand and began to lead the horse down the slope. Richard stepped from behind the tree.

It's begun.

Annabelle was supposed to ride away, but she couldn't leave.
How long will he wait before shooting Josey?
So long as Josey held the rifle with just one hand, Richard could be patient.

Then it happened. The first shot echoed through the ravine like a snapping tree limb, jolting Annabelle even though she'd been anticipating it. The shot hadn't come from Josey, Richard or any of the men by the creek.

Josey flinched at the crack of gunfire, expecting to feel the impact. Nothing. He didn't wait for another, jerking on the reins and pulling the horse to the ground, dropping behind its haunches so that he was covered when the whole fusillade exploded.

Gunfire echoed through the ravine so that it seemed all the guns at Gettysburg were ablaze. Seeing Richard crawl to the trees as if he'd been hit, Josey couldn't make sense of it.
What's happening?

Paint whinnied in pain and started to rise unsteadily. The sudden movement left Josey partly exposed. His lower leg burned, as if he had been struck with a poker just pulled from the fire. The wounded horse struggled against him, leaving Josey no choice. He pulled a revolver and finished the horse, then buried his head in the nape of its neck and pulled his legs tight against the horse's lifeless body as more shots tore through the air around him.

All hell broke loose, the reverberations playing tricks so that it sounded like gunfire came from all around him. Josey knew he'd be dead if any of Richard's men managed to flank him to the higher ground.

Focus on what you can control.
That's what the Colonel had taught him. The high ground that had prevented his quick escape now saved his life, giving the men below a poor vantage so long as Josey held some cover.

Josey risked a look toward the creek, drawing a shot that thumped into the dead horse's side.
Don't panic.
He needed to be sure Richard's men weren't moving to get a better shot from behind him. Josey could safely look down the slope from a spot beneath the horse's neck. By watching for powder smoke, he saw where the shooters were. He counted six. They were hunkered down, just as he was. Six shooters near the creek weren't enough to account for all the gunfire he heard.

Josey looked back. On the slope above him and in the tree line that led into the ravine he saw telltale puffs of black powder explosions.
Who are they?
Lord Byron might have gone back for the cavalry at Fort Smith, but that was too far away.
A patrol?
Carrington didn't have the manpower to send men this far north.

Movement from behind the trees near the creek drew his attention.
They're on the move.
He no longer saw Richard, but someone maneuvered for a clear shot, firing and running for new cover.

They probably wonder if I'm dead.
The trees were poor cover, especially while Josey held the high ground. The runner had just made it to a new spot. He was a heavyset man in a red shirt, and the tree obscured no more than two-thirds of his body. Using the dead horse's haunches to steady his aim, Josey inhaled and held his breath before pulling the trigger.

The first shot took the man in the hip, knocking him back a step and down to one knee, his rifle held out like a crutch as he sought to regain his balance. Josey had to roll on his side to cock the lever and ready a new shot, but the man stood fully exposed when Josey fired a second time.
One less to worry about.

The others by the creek had forgotten about him, more concerned with the fire they were taking from above. Josey might just lay back and wait for the new arrivals—whoever they were—to finish off Richard and the rest of the bandits. Josey kept low while gunfire rained down on the ravine. All he had to do was make sure no one flanked him.

Yet something was wrong. The more Josey watched, the uneasier he became. Soldiers would have concentrated their fire. They would have followed up a fusillade with movement to gain a better position. The men atop the ravine weren't taking advantage of their position. Having recovered from their initial surprise, Richard's men were changing tactics.

This is a screening fire.
They were pulling back, and the guns from above were doing nothing to press their advantage. Soon, Richard and his men would melt away into the trees. Richard may have been hit, but that didn't mean he was dead or even badly hurt.
If he escapes, he will come back.
Annabelle would never be safe.

There wasn't time to construct a plan. Josey took three deep breaths and sprang from behind the dead horse. He ran, gritting his teeth through the pain of every footfall on his bad leg. By the time he reached the creek, he no longer felt it. His body and mind focused on the charge.

From the smoke of their return fire, Josey saw the men were moving along the creek to his left. He would be approaching from behind. Time slowed. Josey heard every heartbeat, like a war drum landing with each step in the moist ground. He practically tasted the earthy smell of rotting leaves as he bounded through the creek with small, quick steps over uneven ground, the water cold against his legs as he splashed through.

Another twenty paces and he saw the first one, a tall, wiry man, his back to Josey as he aimed to the woods above the creek. Josey was faster. He fired before the man got off his shot. Josey levered in another shot. The man had crumpled beside the tree he'd been using for cover. Still running, Josey was on him before he recovered and put the second shot into his head as he passed. He would leave no one living at his back.

The mottled sunlight through the trees created odd shadows amid the brush, roots and leaves. Careful of his footing, Josey leaped over a fallen tree trunk, ducked beneath low-lying branches, leaves whipping across his face.

He passed the point where Richard had been.
He's still out there.
The fleeing road agents must have heard Josey's rifle shots. The next man waited behind a tree, stepping out with his pistol for a clear shot. Josey leaped for cover. The bullet passed so close he heard it, like a mosquito at his ear.

Josey fired wildly from the ground. Once, twice, again, not caring where he aimed, just forcing the man to cover. Josey levered in a new cartridge as he rolled, hearing another shot pass him. He kept rolling behind a larger tree, fired again, rose and ran for the next tree. The other man must have had the same idea, and they nearly collided. Josey swung the stock of his rifle at the man's head, feeling it soften beneath the blow. The impact tore the rifle from his hands. He drew the knife from his belt as he spun away from the man's desperate grasp. As the man fell to his knees, Josey completed his arc, catching him under the chin and drawing a blinding red spray. Josey wiped his face with his sleeve. He picked up a tomahawk the dead man had been holding and moved on.

The sounds of gunfire slowed. Between shots, Josey heard nothing but the pounding of his feet and heart. He smelled blood. Hoped it wasn't his. Found the next one in the act of reloading. He was just a boy, his dusky face round like a cherub's.

Seeing Josey, he dropped his rifle and turned to run. Josey caught him in the back of the head with the club end of the tomahawk. The boy fell forward so heavily Josey thought he must be dead. He paused long enough to be sure, pulling back the boy's head to expose his throat to the knife.
Leave no one.
Josey ran.