Blood at Bear Lake (23 page)

62

THE PLACE WAS a dugout, a man-made cave dug into a hillside and roofed over with aspen poles and sod. Logs had been laid up to form the front wall, then chinked with mud.

A pole corral nearby held three horses and a pair of burros. One of those horses Joe knew well. It was Fiona's swift and leggy little sorrel mare, the horse she had been riding the last time he saw her.

The horse had not been swift enough to keep her from harm this time, though. If he had only been with her . . .

Joe forced all unproductive fantasy out of mind. Now was what counted, not what might have been.

He rode up to the corral, slipped to the ground, and tied his horses to the top rail. “Hello the house,” he called loud and firm. “Is Jedediah Charles here?”

The elk hide that served as a door was pushed aside and a large, bearded man stepped out.

“You're Charles?”

“I am. Now who would you be?”

“I'm the man as come to inspect Ransom Holt's merchandise. I believe you have some for him.”

“What? He don't trust us?”

“Us,” Charles had said. That implied he had a partner, probably inside where he could get to Fiona and harm her if things went wrong. Joe needed everyone to be out here where he could see them.

He asked the question he most dreaded to have answered. “Is the woman alive?”

“Holt said we could do what we wanted with her,” Charles whined. “I got to tell you, though, she ain't all that good a fuck. Won't wiggle an' give a man his satisfaction like a Injun girl will.” He smiled. “But you can tell Mr. Holt we done what he said. Got a nice little cask over there just the right size to put her head in an' the pickling salts to go in with it. Everything just like he wanted.”

Salts and a keg. Jesus God!

But Joe was careful to keep the loathing that he felt out of his face. “Bring her out so I can get a look at her an' make sure you got the right one. Mr. Holt won't pay for just any woman, you know.”

“Oh, we got the right one, all right.” Charles snorted. “Bitch keeps telling us her man Joe Moss is gonna skin us alive an' nail our hides to that wall to dry. It's her, all right.”

Joe nodded and made a vow that he intended to keep over the coming hours. If Fiona wanted these two skinned alive, then so be it. That was a job that would give Joe no grief. And it occurred to him that a keg intended for Fiona's dear head could just as easily hold Ransom Holt's pickled head. Pack it and ship it to Peabody. Freight collect! That ought to get the bastard's attention.

“Drag her out here then so's I can see,” Joe said.

Charles raised his voice. “Vincent. Bring her out so the gentleman can get a look at her.” To Joe, he said, “Will you know her when you see her?”

Joe's hands were trembling and his breath was short and shallow. He hoped Charles could not see that. “I'll know if it's her,” he said.

The elk hide was pulled back, and Joe could hear chains rattle. A moment more, and a filthy, naked human form was dragged into the open by the seller's partner. Joe had eyes only for the captive.

She was skinny, wasted away to skin and bone. But that shock of flaming red hair was undimmed and so was her spirit.

Believing the man had come who would behead her, she refused to give him the satisfaction of so much as glancing in his direction or in any way acknowledging his existence.

Joe's heart skipped a beat. Probably several.

Fiona. His own Fiona.

She was chained hand and foot. Joe scowled and said, “You got the keys to those padlocks?”

“Right here.” Charles held a key ring aloft.

Joe grunted, then took his tomahawk out of his sash.

He very carefully and judiciously smashed Jedediah Charles over the head with it, then laid into the man's partner as well. These two he wanted to take down alive. He wanted them alive and screaming when he and Fiona commenced flaying them. Exactly like she said would be done. Skin the bastards and nail their hides up to dry. It would give him and Fiona something to do while they waited for Holt to arrive with Charles's stinking blood money.

Ah, but Ransom Holt. Joe turned his head and spat. That son of a bitch belonged to Joe. And Joe wanted Holt alive when Joe took first his scalp and then his head.

For now, though . . .

Joe lifted Fiona into his arms and began the slow but satisfying process of kissing away the terrors she had undergone since he last saw her.

Now if they could only find and reclaim their sweet daughter, Jessica, all would soon be well.