the Quick and the Dead (1983) (17 page)

Tom awakened and looked nervously about, then saw her. "Ma! Where's Pa?"

"He did not come. I am afraid he is hurt or they have taken him."

"I could look. I could go back there. Nobody'd see me."

"We'll both go."

"No, Ma, you mustn't. You're bigger than me, and your skirts rustle. They'd never see me, or hear me."

"Wait ... just a little longer."

Duncan would be with them if he could be with them. She was sure of that.

Nor did she dare leave this spot. Duncan had told them to come here, so if he arrived and there was no one he would start looking again. This was their base, here she was, here Duncan would come, and if Tom went he would come back to this place. And the mules and horses were here.

"All right, Tom," she said suddenly. "Go back to where we were last night. If you don't find your father, come right back here, for he expects us to be here."

After all, it should take Tom no more than thirty minutes, or perhaps an hour. He left quickly and faded into the brush. His very silence reassured her. After the first movement of the brush there was no further sound.

She was alone. More than a thousand miles from friends, relatives, all that was familiar. She was sitting alone in the forest, knowing only that her husband might be injured or dead and that she had let her son go off into the night, and that he might be killed.

She had the shotgun. She looked at the charges, still in place ... unfired.

She snapped the gun together again and waited. She forced herself to be strong, forced herself to be calm. Panic, someone had once said ... had it been Vallian? ... only enters an empty mind, and panic was what she must fear now--only panic. She steeled herself for what might lie ahead, and slowly the loneliness and fear left her. Although she was still alone, she was prepared for what might come.

Coolly, she studied the possibilities. Duncan was dead? If so, she must avoid Shabbitt's men and get to Cherry Creek.

If he was a prisoner, she must contrive some way to free him.

If wounded, she must find him, hide him, and treat his wounds. During this period they must move as little as possible, remain hidden, and avoid leaving any tracks even if it meant hunger.

She must trust Tom. He was young, but he was strong for his years and had grown stronger with the hard work on the trip thus far. He had learned a great deal from Con Vallian, and from Duncan. He was good at slipping around in the woods and he might be the one to locate Duncan.

She got to her feet and moved away from the spot where she had been to a slightly higher place on the side of the mountain where she could watch the place where she and Tom had been. From where she now sat she could also see the approach to the hidden corral, although the horses and mules were not visible.

Slowly, the minutes went by. She kept alert, but at the same time began to speculate on how she could treat and feed a wounded man without showing herself.

Her thoughts returned to Tom. He was so young, so very young! Had she been foolish to let him go? He was her baby! Why, it was only ... only a few years ago that she had rocked him to sleep in her arms, and now he had gone off in the woods searching for his father ... alone.

Tom McKaskel was scared. He admitted it. He was also delighted, although he would not have told his mother so. He was looking for his father, but creeping through the woods was like playing Indian, only this was not play.

Tom was careful not to step on a branch that might break, a stone that might roll. He stayed low, as he moved from hiding place to hiding place. He was sure he was doing it well. He had covered more than a quarter of a mile and was sure he had not been seen.

He was wrong.

For the past fifty yards he had been watched by the Huron.

Searching for Vallian, whom he knew was somewhere near, the Huron saw the boy. At first he believed he might be going to Vallian, but then he realized the boy was searching for his father.

Standing close between two trees, his body merging with their darkness, he watched the boy moving from tree to tree. For a moment he hesitated, then turned deliberately away, leaving the boy to go his way.

After a moment, Huron turned in the direction from which the boy had come.

As the sky grew gray with approaching daylight, Red Hyle got to his feet. He felt surly and mean. He had waited too long, had wasted his time with this bunch of fools. He glanced at Doc Shabbitt, ugly distaste showing in his eyes, from across the fire Purdy seemed to be dozing, yet Red was not so sure. Purdy Mantle missed very little, and Red was sure that Purdy waited only for the opportunity to kill him.

Hyle suddenly turned and strode to his horse. Shabbitt made a move to rise and Hyle turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "Stay where you are! I got business to attend to!"

Duncan McKaskel started almost involuntarily to rise, but Ike was watching him like a cat. He would not make two feet before he'd be dead, and dead he would be of no use to Susanna or Tom.

"Where's he going?" he asked.

Ike grinned. It was an ugly, taunting grin. "After your woman. If she is with Vallian, he's as good as dead. If she ain't, he'll have her all to himself."

Protest would do no good. He sat back, trying to seem indifferent. Yet mentally he was searching every corner of camp, reaching out for any clue, any item that might help him to get away.

There was nothing.

Red Hyle swung into the saddle and turned his horse toward the trail. Within a moment he had found Duncan's trail and started off.

"Where's the Huron?" Purdy asked suddenly.

Doc shrugged. "Who knows? He just leaves ... goes where he pleases, when he pleases." Doc let the minute pass and then said, carefully, "Red's no hand for sharin', is he?"

Ike threw a taunting glance at Doc. "Hate him, don't you? Why don't you shoot him then?"

Doc spat. "Hun? He'll get hisself shot. Besides, we need him. He's mighty good with a gun."

"So's Purdy," Ike said. "I think maybe Purdy is better."

"He's not my meat," Purdy said quietly. "Get somebody else to do your killin'."

Duncan sat thinking of a way to escape when he looked up and saw Tom. He was in the trees, well back from the small clearing, and he was watching them.

Fear turned Duncaa cold. If they got the boy, if they even saw him--

Chapter
XIX

Con Vallian awakened in the clear, cold hour before daybreak. He lay still, listening. His horse was standing quietly, so he got up, brushed off the grass and leaves, then stretched and stretched again.

He took out his six-shooter and spun the cylinder. It was in fine shape. He loaded the empty chamber, making it six rounds. Then he took up his Winchester and wiped the dampness from it.

He stripped the saddle from the mustang and let the horse roll, then rubbed it down with a handful of dried grass, and saddled up again.

He had a bad, irritable feeling this morning. It might be the uncomfortable place in which he had slept, and it might be a premonition. Maybe everybody had pulled out during the night and all were gone. He put a foot into the stirrup and held it there.

He heard a horse trot by, not far off. Taking his foot down he turned swiftly. Red Hyle was just disappearing into the trees, seemingly following a trail.

Red Hyle ... alone.

For several minutes he remained as he was, considering what that meant. If Red continued on that trail he would be very near to the mule corral.

Mounting, Con turned his horse and walked it along the edge of the trees, staying in the background so that he would not be easily seen.

He knew all about Red Hyle. He was a brute, and if he possessed any human feelings at all they had not made themselves obvious. His attitude was one of contempt for everyone but his sheer physical power and harsh manner allowed no room for opposition. Just nobody wanted any part of Red Hyle.

Vallian had been shooting since childhood and was a dead shot with any kind of a weapon. He was also gifted with dexterity, that natural coordination of hand and eye that permits a man to have exceptional skill with a gun. He never thought of himself as a gunfighter, never considered the use of guns as a goal to be attained. They were simply a part of his way of life and that of every man of his time.

He did pride himself on his skill as a tracker and a woodsman. He had believed he was second to none, and yet the Huron had twice come upon him without being detected. The thought rankled and worried him.

He drew up again, half under the shade of a cottonwood, his body and that of his horse dappled with sunshine and shadow. From even a few yards away he would be invisible.

It was then he saw the riders.

Doc Shabbitt was in the lead, behind him Ike and Purdy Mantle, and tied to a horse ... Duncan McKaskel.

It was Duncan himself who started them after Hyle. Held a prisoner he could do no good, and if they stayed around they might discover Tom.

"What does he do now?" McKaskel asked curiously. "Do you sit waiting until he comes back? I thought you were all in this together."

Nobody said anything, but Doc shifted uncomfortably. "There's nothing in my wagon," he said, "nor with my wife, but if there was, he'd get it all."

"Shut your trap!" Purdy said irritably, then he looked over at Doc. "Well, we did all come out together. We all should see it through together."

"You mean, ride after Hyle? I don't think he wants company."

'To hell with him. We're all in this together."

"What if he gets sore? He said we should stay put."

"You takin' orders from him, Doc? I thought you was the leader. I say we all ride over there. I say we take McKaskel here. We started out together, and we'll finish the job together."

Ike and Purdy jerked McKaskel to his feet, thrust his hands behind him and tied them, then helped him on a horse. Leaving the horse standing, they all began saddling up. The area was so small that there was no chance of making a move even though McKaskel's horse was standing close under the trees.

Doc was in the saddle when Duncan McKaskel felt something tug on the rawhide bonds that held him, and then felt the sawing of a knife.

Tom's jack-knife. For weeks he had been planning on sharpening it for the boy but neglected it.

The boy sawed, then shifted position and began sawing on another strand without completing the first. McKaskel was cold with fear. If they caught the boy, they'd kill him, and he dared not even whisper. The boy was in the brush close against his horse's side, and presumably out of sight, yet a move of the horse might reveal him.

Suddenly Purdy turned his horse toward him. "All right, Mac, we'll go call on your wife. And Red Hyle."

They rode out, and he dared not look back. Gently, he tested the rawhide. The ropes held tight, yet he was sure they had been cut almost through, and a sudden jerk might part them. For a wild moment he considered it, then decided against it. He would be killed without helping anybody. He must wait until he could act to some purpose.

Con Vallian saw them ride past but was struck by only one factor. The Huron was not among them. The Huron must be somewhere in the woods and that meant he might be very close.

Hesitating, studying the woods with care, he saw nothing. He listened, he turned in the saddle and studied the wall of trees behind him ... nothing. There was no doubt in his mind that the next time he saw the Huron one of them would die.

Over there! Something moved! Con slid his rifle from the scabbard and lifted it in his hands, waiting. Something was over there in the brush, something that could only be a man. He was ready to shoot, but he was not the sort to blast away at any chance movement. He wanted to see what he was shooting. He held the rifle ready, and waited.

Suddenly a small figure darted from the brush and ran across a portion of the clearing. It was Tom!

Con walked his horse from the brush toward the boy, keeping his eyes and ears alert for the Huron. Tom saw him coming, and pulled up.

"Tom, where's your mother?"

"Yonder. Over where they are going. Pa's tied, but I was cutting on the rawhide. With a good jerk he can break loose."

"Good. Let's ride over there."

He grasped the boy's hand and swung him to the saddle behind him, and then started on a fast lope for the corrals. Con rode with his rifle in his hands, for the Huron had to be close.

Turning into the trees, he dismounted. Tom slid to the ground. "You stay here, Tom. Stay with my horse."

"Aw!" Tom grabbed Vallian's arm. "Ma's over there! I've got to help!"

"You stay out of it!" Vallian said sharply. "There's going to be shooting, and there's no fun in it."

He touched his gunbutt, wetting his lips. He could hear the distant sound of voices, and taking his rifle in his hand, he started to walk closer.

Shabbitt had only now found the place, and Red Hyle was obviously angered.

Waiting back in the trees, well-hidden, Vallian listened, taking in the scene.

Susanna McKaskel had her back to a tree, and in her hands was a shotgun. Her face was white and strained, her eyes bright, but the gun was ready.