Wilderness Double Edition 19, page 12
From the top of that bluff Evelyn could see for miles. So, on the assumption she had found a way up, Nate conducted a brief search. In bare earth near a game trail he found what he was looking for: the faint impressions of small stockinged feet. Superimposed over them were the tracks of the half-breed’s moccasins and the thick-soled boots worn by Bittner.
The trail posed a problem for the bay. In places it was hazardously steep, and for most of its length it was barely wide enough for an animal the bay’s size. Two-thirds of the way up, Nate swung off and walked. Several times the bay slipped, but it never fell, and presently Nate attained the summit.
Large outlines revealed where Evelyn and Melissa had slept. On awakening, they had gone up another steep slope to a wooded tableland. Nate estimated that he was only two hours behind, if that, and once he established that they were still heading northwest, he galloped headlong on their heels.
Periodically, images of Winona filled Nate’s head and pangs of guilt assailed him. He had done what was best, of that he was certain, and although he had no regrets, he couldn’t blame his wife for being peeved. He would have been were the situation reversed.
“It won’t be long,” Nate said to the bay.
They came to a broad basin carved from the tableland millennia ago. Deadfall covered it now, a twisted maze of downed trees of all types and sizes, impenetrable on horseback and nearly so on foot. A brief examination established that Evelyn and Melissa had braved the jumbled mass, and that Haro and Bittner had gone in after them.
Nate had to hand it to his youngest. She was demonstrating remarkable wilderness savvy. Removing her shoes, going for the high ground, and now seeking cover in the deadfall were extremely clever tactics. He had to remember to compliment her when they were reunited.
Rising in the stirrups, Nate scanned the basin for sign of the ’breed and the other cutthroat. Either they had heard the bay and hidden—or they were gone. He moved along the edge of the deadfall, hoping he wouldn’t find what he soon did: footprints leading from the basin into the woods to the northeast. Four sets of footprints—those of the men and those of Evelyn and Melissa.
The girls had been recaptured. Nate was now only fifteen or twenty minutes behind, though, and on horseback he could overhaul them in no time. Smiling in keen anticipation, he goaded the bay to a gallop and plunged into the leafy timberland.
Bittner hadn’t stopped chuckling since he reached into the cavity in the deadfall and yanked Melissa out of the hole by her hair. “Sitting there right under our noses the whole damn time!” he declared, and slapped his thigh in merriment. “If it wasn’t for that sneeze, we’d never have suspected.”
Melissa flushed at the mention, looked at Evelyn, and said softly, “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“Blame his pipe,” Evelyn said.
At this Bittner cackled anew. He was in extraordinarily fine spirits and was treating them in a much more friendly fashion than he had before they escaped.
Evelyn attributed it to relief. Bittner had been afraid of Killibrew’s wrath if Haro and he returned empty-handed. Although the bearded giant was twice Killibrew’s size, Evelyn suspected that Bittner was scared to death of him. And after overhearing that business about the poison, she knew why.
Haro was in the lead, moving as silently as a specter, never talking unless spoken to. Every so often he looked behind them. The next time he did, his dark eyes narrowed and he slowed. He stared a bit, then hiked on.
“Anything wrong?” Bittner asked.
“I thought I saw something.”
Evelyn twisted her head. Other than a vagrant butterfly in search of a mountain meadow and a flock of sparrows gamboling in a thicket, nothing was back there. “Where are you taking us?” she demanded.
“You’ll find out soon enough, girly,” Bittner replied. To the Pawnee he said, “Let’s hope to hell Killibrew is where he’s supposed to be. He’s not the most patient cuss on the planet. When we didn’t show on time, he might have gone on alone with Kyle.” He paused. “More gold for them that way.”
Haro didn’t reply, so Evelyn did instead. “That’s some friend you have. Why did you hook up with a man who would stab you in the back as soon as look at you? Or poison you, if it suits him?”
Bittner’s craggy features clouded. “You heard me back yonder, did you?” A long stride brought him abreast of her, and he gripped her roughly by the throat. “Listen, girl, and listen good. If you say one word of what you heard to Killibrew, I’ll deny it. And when you least expect, I’ll snap your scrawny neck like a twig.”
Evelyn wasn’t the least bit afraid. “You won’t lay a finger on me until after you have the gold.”
“Think so, do you?” Bittner’s thumb and forefinger closed like a vise on her neck and he lifted her bodily off the ground.
Evelyn’s breath was choked off before she could fill her lungs, and pain spiked her chest. Flailing her legs, she beat at his muscular arms with her small fists, but they were ineffectual.
“Accidents happen, girl,” Bittner said. “So long as we have one of you brats, your pa ain’t likely to buck us. And we’ll still have your sister.”
Melissa leaped at him and beat at his stout legs, but her blows had no more effect than Evelyn’s. “Put her down, you brute! Harm her and you’ll never get the gold! She’s Nate King’s daughter, not me!”
Bittner’s hairy eyebrows met over his brutish eyes. “What’s that?”
“I’m Melissa Braddock, not Melissa King. Evelyn and her folks saved me from a war party, and I’ve been living with them until my uncle gets here from North Carolina.” Melissa said it in a rush.
“The hell you say.” Bittner had forgotten about Evelyn. His thick fingers wedged in her flesh, he bent over Melissa. “We’ve been hauling you all over creation and you’re not even a King?”
Melissa shook her head.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Ask Evelyn,” Melissa said.
Bittner glanced at Evelyn’s red face, blinked as if surprised he was still choking her, and let go.
Gasping for air, Evelyn tumbled onto a shoulder. Her throat was throbbing, her lungs fit to burst. She rocked back and forth in agony. Gradually, it subsided, and as it did she heard raucous laughter.
Bittner was doubled over, his ham-sized hands on his knees. “Don’t this beat all, Haro? All this time we thought they were sisters! Killibrew will be fit to be tied.”
Rolling onto her knees, Evelyn croaked, “You’re not going to tell him.” Given Killibrew’s violent nature, she suspected he might abandon Melissa in the wilderness—or worse.
“Oh?” Bittner said, and laughed some more. “Why would that be?”
“Because if you tell him about her, I’ll tell him what you told Haro.”
The bearded outlaw straightened, his dander up. “Who the hell do you think you are to be threatening me? You’re a snot-nosed kid, is what. I’ll do as I damn well please. And you’ll do as I damn well want you to.”
“Do we have a deal?” Evelyn asked.
Bittner’s response was to level his rifle so the muzzle touched Melissa’s temple. “I can blow out her wick right here and Killibrew wouldn’t hold it against me. And I can cut your tongue out so you can’t blab. How would that be?” he taunted.
Evelyn remembered a trip back east to visit friends. A girl slightly older than she had delighted in pushing her around every chance she got, and Evelyn had gone to her father and asked for advice. She didn’t want to hurt the girl, but she couldn’t stand being bullied. “People like her only understand one thing,” her father said. “You can talk to her until you’re blue in the face and she won’t change. You have to stand up to her, show her she can’t buffalo you.” He had tenderly ruffled her hair. “Sad to say, but those who like to hurt people only back down when they think you’ll hurt them.”
Evelyn met Bittner’s glare with one of her own. “Cut out my tongue and my pa will cut out yours. Harm Melissa and you’ll be a long time dying.” She smiled knowingly. “Ever seen what Indians do to their enemies? Ever seen a white man staked out to die? They gouge out the eyes and cut off the fingers, nose, and ears. Then they wait for the ants to come. Or maybe coyotes.”
Bittner’s belligerence withered like a plant under a scorching sun. “You don’t scare me none,” he said, his expression belying his statement. Lowering the rifle, he pushed Melissa at Evelyn. “So she’s not your sister. What do I care? So long as she doesn’t cause me grief, I won’t say a thing.”
Evelyn hugged Melissa, then noticed Haro giving her the most peculiar look. Not a friendly look, but not unfriendly, either. More as if he were impressed by something, although she was at a loss as to how she could have impressed a man like him.
“Head out,” Bittner barked.
Melissa clasped Evelyn’s hand as they walked. “Thank you. You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met.”
“No braver than you. You stood up to him when he was strangling me.” Evelyn rubbed her sore throat.
“I wish we’d met some other place, some other time,” Melissa said. “I bet we’d be wonderful friends.”
“I thought we already were.”
Melissa’s eyes teared over, and she dabbed at them with the blanket. “My pa was right, as always.”
“About what?”
“That you and your family are as nice as can be. It was that day the Indians attacked. He took me aside and told me he wanted me to go with your father so I’d be safe. I didn’t want to. I cried. I begged him. But Pa wouldn’t listen. He said that one of us had to get out alive, and that he’d rather it was me as I was the youngest.”
Evelyn gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Your father was a brave man.”
“He said I had the most to live for. That I should do him proud and have a family of my own one day. I told him I thought boys are pigs and I’d never marry, and he just laughed.”
“I used to think that when I was your age,” Evelyn said. Before her brother married and the miracle occurred.
Melissa gazed skyward. “If my pa is looking down from heaven, I hope he knows I’ll do my best to make him proud. I do have an awful lot to live for.”
“We all do.”
Haro glanced back again, but not at them. He gazed intently westward, and tensed. Halting, he turned completely around, his posture like that of a wolf that has caught the scent of deer.
“What the devil has gotten into you?” Bittner demanded.
“Someone is on our trail.”
“Where?” Bittner spun and raised his rifle. He stared a minute, then grated, “You’re seeing things. I don’t see anyone.”
“Keep watching. He is far back yet.”
Could it be? Evelyn’s pulse jumped. She pivoted and probed the woods, but to her immense disappointment she saw no one.
“It’s just one man?” Bittner was swinging his rifle from side to side, seeking a target to shoot.
“Just one. A white man on a black horse.”
Evelyn’s father rode a black horse, a bay he’d owned for years. She looked again, with the same result.
“You’re crazy,” Bittner grumbled. “Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. I still don’t see him.”
“My full Pawnee name means ‘He Who Has Eyes of Hawk’,” Haro said a trifle indignantly. He took a step, and suddenly pointed. “There! Do your weak eyes see him now? Crossing that clearing?”
At the limit of Evelyn’s vision a stick figure materialized—a rider, sure enough—and while he was too far off to say who he was with any certainty, his horse was indeed black. He hadn’t spotted them yet, and wouldn’t until he was a lot closer.
Bittner’s mouth creased in a vicious smirk. “I’ll be damned. It must be Nate King, come to rescue the blood of his blood.” Winking at Evelyn, he cocked his rifle. “I reckon he didn’t take our hemp lesson to heart, girl. Now we’ll have to teach him the error of his ways.” Bittner grabbed her by the arm. “And you’re the perfect bait to bring him right into our sights.”
Ten
Serpentine tendrils of smoke curled skyward over the next rise. Winona King drew rein, licked a finger, and held it aloft. The wind was blowing from the northwest to the southeast. Accordingly, she reined to the right and rode along the rise until she was downwind of whoever was responsible for the campfire.
Three possibilities sprang to Winona’s mind: It was the old trapper, the kidnappers, or a band of Indians. The last she tended to discount; Indians had too much sense to build a fire that large. There was a saying among the Shoshones and other tribes to the effect that Indians made small fires and ended their journeys in their own lodges, while white men made big fires and ended their journeys with their scalps decorating the walls of Blackfoot lodges.
Her Hawken across her legs, Winona cautiously guided the mare through thick pines until she spied two figures seated beside a fire near Buzzard Creek, as the whites called it. Based on the descriptions Hampton had provided, she identified the pair as Killibrew and Kyle. A cold fury seized her. Killibrew was the leader of the men who had abducted her daughter. Of all of them, he was the most to blame. Of all of them, he was the one she most wanted to slay.
Halting behind a spruce, Winona slid off and looped the reins around a limb. She doubled over and slunk forward until she was on her stomach behind a cottonwood thirty feet from the unsuspecting kidnappers. A fragrant aroma reached her. They were drinking hot chocolate, of all things.
“… better have a damn good reason for being so late,” Killibrew was saying. “We’ll give them until morning. If they haven’t shown by then, we’ll head for the rendezvous site.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to go look for them?” Kyle said between sips. “I still say they ran into hostiles. Or maybe a griz.” He surveyed the primeval landscape to the west. “Out here anything can happen.”
“Don’t lecture me on life in the wilderness, pup,” Killibrew said sourly. “I was huntin’ coons and such before you were wearin’ diapers.”
“I didn’t mean any insult.”
“If I thought you had, I’d have slit you like a fish.” Killibrew grinned wickedly. “There’s something you’d better learn, boy, and learn it right now. Out here it’s every coyote for himself. Sure, we’re workin’ together, but that doesn’t make us friends. Once we have the gold, we’ll go our separate ways and likely never set eyes on one another again.”
Kyle lowered his tin cup to his lap. “I’d rather you didn’t call me ‘boy.’ And even if what you say is true, there’s no reason we can’t be civil as long as we’re together.”
“Civil?” Killibrew tittered. “Where the hell do you reckon you are? Among polite society?” He gestured in contempt. “In the wilds it’s kill or be killed. A fella has to be hard as an anvil to survive. If you’re not, others take that as weakness, and they’ll prey on you like a pack of wolves on sheep.”
“That old-timer and those girls were nice enough until they found out what we were up to,” Kyle said.
“Are you addle pated? That old geezer tumbled to us the moment he laid eyes on us. He wanted to whisk the brats to their parents, but we outfoxed him.” Killibrew fed a small limb to the fire. “I was watchin’ his eyes. He almost went for his guns. If we hadn’t outnumbered him, if he'd thought those girls had any hope at all of getting away, he'd gladly have gone down shootin’ if it bought them time to make it home.”
Winona glanced to her left. Ezriah Hampton had to be close by, spying on the two men as she was doing. She still couldn’t forgive him for letting the girls be taken, but her resentment dropped several notches.
“He sure was a spooky cuss,” Kyle commented. “With that eye of his, and all those wrinkles, he looked as if he'd just popped out of a grave.”
“If we ever see that old bastard again, it'll be the other way around,” Killibrew declared. “I’ll blow out his wick, permanent-like.”
“You like to kill, don’t you?” the younger man observed.
“I don’t mind it none,” Killibrew replied. “I was twelve when I shot my first man, a darkie who had the gall to mouth off to me when I pushed him. After that it was a Delaware who had a rifle I took a hankerin’ to.”
“How many have you rubbed out, altogether?”
“I don’t keep count, boy. It would be like counting how many flies you've swatted.” Killibrew tilted his head back and drained the last of his hot chocolate. For a few moments he stared at the cottonwoods concealing Winona, but she was confident he couldn’t see her. Then he set the cup down on a flat rock, stiffly rose, and stretched. “We need to refill the coffeepot. I’ll be right back.” Pot in hand, he ambled toward the creek.
Kyle appeared surprised by something but didn’t say anything. He stared after the moonfaced killer, then gazed rather wistfully eastward. Perhaps he missed the life he had forsaken. Or perhaps he was reflecting on loved ones he had left behind.
Winona watched Killibrew until he came to a high bank and jumped down the other side. She lost sight of him and turned her attention to the surrounding woodland. Where is Hampton? In that outlandish outfit of his he should be easy to spot, but although she probed every clump of brush and every shadow, she couldn’t locate him.
Kyle opened a pair of saddlebags and sorted through the contents.
Aligning the Hawken’s sights on the young man’s chest, Winona touched her finger to the trigger. But she didn’t fire. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to shoot them where they sat or wait until dark, take them alive, and kill them at her leisure. They deserved to die. No question of that. She wanted to see Killibrew’s face when she shot him. She wanted him to know it was coming.
Kyle had unwrapped a cloth and was holding a silver locket. Opening it, he grew sad, and touched a fingertip to whatever the locket contained. A miniature portrait, Winona guessed. She had seen other whites carry them.
