Turnback Creek (Widowmaker) (16 page)

I
t started to rain.

What else could go wrong? Locke was on foot, and his slicker was rolled up on his saddle. Much of this ground was rock and stone, slippery when wet. He’d be lucky not to break an ankle. He was not as surefooted as a horse, or a mule, would have been.

The sky was black. It had been threatening to storm ever since his arrival in Turnback Creek, and now it looked as if the clouds were collecting, swollen almost to bursting with a full-fledged downpour. He had no idea what this mountain would be like in that kind of a rain.

He trudged along, still hoping against hope that he was wrong. He hoped he was overreacting the way he thought Molly had. On the other hand, there was a possibility that if someone were working at cross purposes with Molly, they were working at like purposes with Cooper. Or was he just seeing conspiracy at every turn?

He found himself wondering if Cooper’s battle with whiskey were even real. If he was pretending, it would certainly explain his miraculous recovery. Maybe his impaired marksmanship also had been an act. If it all had been faked, then Locke had been taken in because of his friendship. Rather than feeling a fool, he felt betrayed.

But if he had done all that planning, why would he bring Locke into it—a friend, yes, but a friend he hadn’t seen in more than ten years? Perhaps even their long friendship was going to be a casualty of one man’s desire for gold—a casualty Cooper was willing to risk.

If Cooper actually had played Locke that way, it was something Locke was going to find very hard to forgive.

He certainly wouldn’t forget it.

And he definitely would avenge it.

Eddie Rome was the man in the group who could read sign, even on a mountain.

“See the ground? It’s been chewed up a bit. The shots were fired here, from above.” He rose from his crouch and looked around. “Probably from that ridge.”

“Anybody hit?” Hoke asked.

“I don’t see any blood,” Rome said, “but there were some horses here—at least four.”

“Two saddle mounts and a team,” Hoke said. “It was them.”

“But who was shooting at them?” Rome asked. He looked at Hoke. The other men were too far off to hear them. “Did you send anyone ahead of us? Did you hire somebody yourself?”

“No, of course I didn’t,” Hoke snapped. “Why would you think that?”

“Maybe you want to cut the rest of us out.”

“If I wanted you out, Rome,” Hoke said, “I never would have brought you in.”

Rome studied Hoke for a few moments, then said, “All right.”

“What else can you tell?”

“Not much,” Rome said. “Whatever happened, it doesn’t appear that anyone was hurt, and they seem to have moved on.”

“So, that’s what we’ll do,” Hoke said. “We’ll keep moving on.”

That’s when it started to rain.

Locke couldn’t believe his eyes. The horse ahead of him was not his, it was Cooper’s. It apparently had stopped to drink some water from a puddle. He approached the animal slowly, but it was so intent on drinking that it ignored him. He was able to grab the reins and take control of the animal. Once the horse had drunk its fill, he led it away from the puddle and started going through the saddlebags. There was nothing there that indicated that Cooper had been planning to steal the gold. Cooper’s slicker was rolled up on the saddle, though, so Locke removed it and donned it. He closed the saddlebags and mounted up. Cooper’s rifle was still in its scabbard, so Locke had to hold his. He cradled it in the crook of one arm, covering it with the slicker, and controlled the horse with the other hand. At least when he caught up to Cooper, he’d have him completely outgunned.

“Let’s go, boy,” he said, and started the animal forward.

On horseback, he should have been able to catch up to the buckboard fairly quickly. However, he was still at a distinct disadvantage. If Cooper were stealing the gold, he would not stay on this route, which led to the mine. He’d choose another, one that would lead him off the mountain. The question was, would he double back off the mountain or keep going over and down the other side? If he doubled back, he might run into someone else who was planning to steal the gold. That first group of five could not be the only ones. So, he’d keep heading up. He had a map from Molly with alternative routes—or did he?

Locke reined the horse in and went through the saddlebags again. Sure enough, he found the map Molly had given to Cooper. The only thing was, all the alternative routes ultimately led to the mine. Cooper needed a route that would lead him away from the mine and over the mountain. If he had planned this, then he would have planned a route as well. The man Locke had known all those years ago was that thorough.

Locke could assume his friend was stealing the gold and try to find that other route, or he could head for the mine and hope he was wrong and that Cooper would be there ahead of him, waiting.

No, even to think that at this point was to make a fool of himself—and he didn’t need to do that, because Cooper had done a fine enough job of it, already.

“How do we know which way they’re goin’?” Eli asked aloud, to be heard above the sound of the rain.

“There are three routes to the mine, remember?” Hoke asked. “We found that out early on. Besides, Rome can track them.”

“Even over a mountain?” Eli asked. “In the rain?”

“He can track a grain of sand through the desert,” Hoke said. “That’s why I recruited him.”

“But what if—”

He was talking to the wind, though, because Hoke had gigged his horse and was riding ahead to catch up to Rome, who was riding point. Eli didn’t like how much time Hoke was spending with Rome. He was starting to wonder who was going to cut whom out when the time came.

“Do you know where we’re goin’?” he asked.

“There’s something wrong.”

“What?”

Rome looked at Hoke. “They ain’t together anymore.”

“What? They split up?” Hoke demanded. “Why would they do that? Who’s got the gold?”

“That’s easy,” Rome said. “The one with the buckboard has the gold, but—”

“But what?”

“It looks to me like one man’s trailin’ behind the buckboard, and the fourth horse … well, I’ve lost the fourth horse. It could be anywhere.”

“How could you lose it?”

“It’s not on this trail,” Rome said. “My guess is, it got loose when the shootin’ started back there.”

“Okay,” Hoke said. “Okay, we don’t have to be worried about a loose horse.”

Rome looked around and said, “We might have to worry about whoever was doin’ the shootin’. Might be competition for us.”

“We got enough men to take care of any competition,” Hoke assured him. “You just keep trackin’.”

“As long as I can,” Rome said.

“What does that mean?”

“Just what I said,” the man answered. “It keeps rainin’ like this, it’s gonna be hard to read sign.”

“Just do the best you can,” Hoke said.

“I’m doin’ just that already, Hoke,” Rome said, gritting his teeth. “I’m doin’ just that.”

L
ocke had been hoping to catch up to Cooper before nightfall, but that obviously was not going to happen. He found an overhanging rock formation to camp under, with enough room for him and the horse. It kept them fairly dry, and his slicker did the rest for him. He had some beef jerky that night and, in the morning, cleaned his weapons to make sure they were dry and in working order and started out again.

Locke had never been a great sign reader, and the rain was washing away any hope he had of following a trail. He could be wandering this whole mountain for days while Cooper made it to the other side and got far, far away. He was starting to think his best bet was to go to the mine.

That was before he found the body.

The sun was trying to poke through the clouds, and it reflected off something white. He had to dismount and climb a bit to reach it, and when he got there, he saw that it was a body. There were marks that indicated it had been dragged there. If Cooper had killed the man and then tried to hide his body, he had done a bad job. The body was lying with its right arm at its side and its left stretched out at an upward angle.

Locke turned the man over and saw two things. One, he’d been shot once in the heart, and two … it was Sheriff Mike Hammet, the lawman from Turnback Creek.

Locke sat back on his haunches and studied the matter. It was entirely possible—and probable—that the shooter on the ridge the day before had been Hammet. If he had been working with Cooper and they met up later, he probably had been shocked when Cooper shot him and left him for dead.

With the body on its back, Locke noticed an odd thing. The right hand was not only at its side, but the man’s hand was in his pocket. That had to be deliberate, but for what reason? Locke decided it was to point out the fact that both arms had not been placed accidentally.

He turned the sheriff back over and placed the left arm the way it had been, at an angle. He realized that Hammet apparently had not been dead when Cooper—or whoever had killed him—had left him, and he was now pointing in the direction his killer had gone.

But had his killer, in fact, been Dale Cooper?

There was only one way to find out.

Locke went through the sheriff’s pockets to see if he had anything useful. In the end, all he took was the man’s gun, to have an extra. He stood up and looked around, but there was no sign of the man’s horse.

He returned to his horse, mounted up, and started in the direction the dead man had been “pointing.”

It was several hours later when Hoke Benson, Rome, and the rest came across the dead lawman.

“Think Locke killed him?” Eli asked.

“Why would he?” Hoke asked. “Unless the lawman was tryin’ to steal the gold.”

“Why not?” Rome asked. “Even a lawman can want gold.”

“Instead of tin,” Hoke said. He took the sheriff’s badge from the dead man’s shirt and pocketed it.

“Either the old marshal or Locke killed him,” he said, standing up. “And if they’re split up, then they’re against each other.”

“Who’s got the gold?” Turpin asked.

“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” Hoke said.

They went back to where Bob Bailey had been holding everybody’s horses.

“Any sign?” Hoke asked Rome.

“Nothing helpful.”

Hoke looked up the slope.

“We got two ways we can go.” He looked at Rome. “Pick one.”

“Just guess?”

“Your guess is better than anyone else’s.”

“Then I say we keep headin’ away from the mine,” Rome said, pointing in the direction Locke had gone. None of these men had noticed that the sheriff had been “pointing” the way.

“Okay,” Hoke said. “That’s what we’ll do.”

“But what if they’re still goin’ to the mine?” Eli asked.

Hoke was tempted to tell Eli to shut his mouth, but he had a valid point.

“Okay, Eli,” he said. “You take Bailey and one of the new men and keep headin’ for the mine. We’ll go this way.”

“And if you find the gold?” Eli asked.

“We’ll come back for you.”

The three men exchanged glances.

“I’ll stick with you,” Eli said.

“Me, too,” Bailey said, and the new man nodded also.

“What a world,” Rome said. “Nobody trusts nobody.”

“Well,” Hoke said, “after all, we are tryin’ to steal somebody else’s gold, aren’t we?”

They mounted up, and Rome took point with Hoke once again at his side.

“Why’d you take the lawman’s badge?” Rome asked.

“Who knows?” Hoke replied. “It might come in handy somewhere along the way. A hunk of tin just might help us grab a bunch of gold. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”

I
f Dale Cooper had killed Sheriff Hammet, then Locke had lost one advantage.

Cooper now had the sheriff’s rifle.

Someone had steered Cooper right, as well, because the route they were on now was widening and smoothing out.

There was easy passage for a buckboard. Locke just had to hope that the horses would tire from pulling all that gold.

The weather also was favoring Cooper. The sun had come out, and it didn’t look as if it would rain again for some time. Of course, the weather could change abruptly in the mountains.

And fate was always ready to take a hand …

Locke had ridden the new trail for a few hours when the terrain started getting rocky again. It didn’t slow him down at all, but it would have some effect on the buckboard. He started to wonder just when they’d get to the top of this mountain and start down the other side. Going downhill with all that weight behind them might be difficult for a tired team. Or maybe Locke was overestimating the weight of the gold, and two horses were fine pulling it all day long. It sure had been heavy when they’d loaded the crates one by one onto the buckboard. But an experienced team was used to handling freight, and Cooper might be coasting along just fine.

He topped a rise, thought he’d reached the top of the mountain, but saw that he’d been fooled. The trail did go downhill but only for a while, and then it started back up again. He could see that. But he could also see, right in the belly of the trail where it was about to start up again, Cooper and the buckboard. They had apparently gotten stuck. Cooper was out of the seat and was standing in front of the team. Maybe one of the horses had gone lame on him.

Locke quelled the urge to ride right down there on him. Perhaps if Cooper hadn’t gotten the sheriff’s gun, he might have. Instead, he backed his horse off so it couldn’t be seen if Cooper looked up and dismounted. He dropped the horse’s reins and grounded them with a large rock, then got on his belly and crawled back up to the top of the rise. He checked behind him to see if anyone was coming that way, then looked down at Cooper. The ex-marshal—and his ex-friend—had stooped down to check the horse’s hooves.

Cooper lifted the horse’s front leg and saw that a sharp rock apparently had sliced the animal’s hoof open.

“Goddamnit,” he swore, dropping the animal’s leg to the ground.

He stood up and looked around him. He knew he was in the Devil’s Basin, and he knew the basin’s reputation. He also knew it was the quickest way off the mountain, but right now, he was in a bad spot. Right in the center of the basin, if it started to rain again—hard—he was going to be in trouble.

Cooper regretted what he had done to his friend John Locke. He regretted it, but he wouldn’t have changed it if he could. Well, maybe if he could have persuaded Locke to go along with him. He underestimated Locke’s honesty. He had thought—or hoped—that after all these years, Locke would be as disillusioned a man as he was and would jump at the chance to steal the gold. He’d been dead wrong. Now he hoped Locke would not come after him, because if he did, he knew he’d have to kill him in order to keep the gold.

But all of that was moot right now. He was stuck in the basin unless he could get the horses—even one that was lame—to pull him out. If he could get out of the basin and over the next rise, at least the rain would not be a problem.

Maybe if he cleaned the wound …

There was no way to get down to Cooper without being seen. Technically speaking, the man was in a bowl, and he was right in the center. Locke could have worked his way around to either side, but it would have taken a long time. Also, there was still no cover for him to move toward Cooper.

The buckboard was within easy rifle range, however, and if Locke called out to Cooper, he’d hear him. He squinted, trying to see where the man’s rifle was. If he’d left it on the buckboard seat, then he might have the chance to get the drop on him. The problem was the buckboard and the team were between him and Cooper at the moment. He needed the man to move out into the open.

He sighted down the barrel of his rifle and waited …

“What’s that?” Hoke Benson asked, sighting something ahead.

“Looks like a horse,” Eddie Rome said.

“Yeah,” Hoke said, “but whose? And what’s it doin’ here?”

“Looks like it’s just standin’ there.”

The horse was actually drinking from a puddle, swishing its tail, and not doing much else.

“We need to check it out,” Hoke said. “The rider might still be around.”

“I’ll send Turpin,” Rome said.

“Let’s send Bailey with him.”

They turned and rode back to the other men.

“There’s a horse up ahead,” Hoke said. “Bob, you and Turpin go and check it out.”

“We’ll cover you from here,” Rome said.

“Check it out?” Turpin asked.

“Ride up there, and see whose horse it is,” Rome said. “Or see if it’s abandoned. It might be the horse that got away from Locke and Cooper.”

“What if they’re still around?” Bailey asked.

“I told you,” Hoke said. “We’ll cover you from here.”

Bailey and Turpin exchanged a glance, then separated from the rest of the men and rode forward. As Hoke, Rome, and the others watched with their rifles in their hands, they advanced closer and closer to the stray horse.

When they reached it, they exchanged words briefly, and then Bailey got down and walked to it. Meanwhile, Turpin stood in his stirrups and looked around, then waved to the others to come ahead.

When Hoke, Rome, and the others reached them, Turpin said, “Nobody around.”

“Keep an eye out anyway,” Hoke said. He and Rome dismounted. “What’d you find?” he asked Bailey.

“This.”

He handed Hoke an envelope. It was addressed to John Locke in Las Vegas, New Mexico.

“It’s Locke’s horse,” he said, passing the envelope to Rome.

“Maybe he’s on foot,” Turpin said.

“It don’t matter,” Hoke said. “If he’s separated from Cooper and the buckboard, then there’s only one man between us and the gold. We don’t need to find Locke.”

“What if he’s on the buckboard with Cooper?” Rome asked.

“That don’t matter, either,” Hoke said. “We’re on the right trail, boys. That gold is as good as ours.”