The Wilderness Road

by James Reasoner

  Abernathy tried to dart out of the way, but the blade struck him high on the left side, biting deep into his shoulder. At the same instant, Abernathy fired. Emily's stunned gaze saw droplets of blood fly out from Andrew's side as the ball struck him.

  Then Andrew, too, was gone, plunging completely out of sight over the edge of the bluff.

  * * *

  The shock of hitting the icy water jerked Davis back from the fog of pain that had wrapped itself around him. He plunged underneath the surface of the river, and water rushed in through his open mouth.

  The stream was perhaps a dozen feet deep along the base of the bluff. Davis cut through the water, jarred against the rocky bottom, and kicked hard for the surface. When his head broke into the air once more, he gasped for breath, gagging and choking on the water he had swallowed. The fact that he had come up instead of staying down was as much luck as anything else, he knew.

  The horrible pain that had bloomed in his chest when Andrew's shot struck him was dulled by the chilly water. In fact, he seemed to be numb all over. But instinct made him struggle toward the far bank anyway.

  He had gone only a few feet when another shot sounded somewhere above him. He heard the report of the gun vaguely, but then there was a tremendous splash near him. Water swept up over him, engulfing him, but this time he managed to grab a lungful of air before he went under.

  The usually crystal clear stream had been roiled and muddied somewhat, but when Davis opened his eyes underwater, he was able to see the figure flailing and struggling nearby. His brain was still dazed by everything that had happened, but not so much so that he didn't recognize Andrew.

  Fate had delivered his half-brother to him once more. Davis wasn't going to let this final opportunity escape him.

  He kicked hard, launching himself toward Andrew.

  His grasping hands closed on Andrew's shirt, hauling the younger man around. Davis saw tendrils of blood coming from Andrew's side and knew Andrew was wounded. How that had come about, Davis had no idea, but neither did he care.

  At this moment, there was no one else in the world except the two of them, and his entire existence had boiled down to this battle. With his left hand bunched in the front of his half-brother's shirt, Davis drove his right fist into Andrew's face.

  Andrew struggled to pull loose from Davis's grip, and when he couldn't, he began to fight back. Their heads broke the water, giving each man a chance to gulp down a fresh breath before going under again. They grappled fiercely.

  Time meant nothing to Davis, and he had no idea of up or down, either. Sometimes water enclosed them, and sometimes there was air, sweet air. As they fought, Davis became aware that the current of the stream had caught them and was sweeping them along with it.

  He didn't know this river, had never traveled along it, but one of the times when he and Andrew were wrestling on the surface, he heard a roaring sound and glanced up to see white foam on the water ahead of them. They were nearing some rapids. Davis had no idea how rugged the rapids were or how long that stretch of the river might be, nor did he really care. He had long since given up on surviving this confrontation.

  The only thing that mattered to him was seeing Andrew die first.

  He slammed his fist into Andrew's face again and then tried to hold him under the surface. Andrew's struggles were growing weaker, it seemed to Davis, but he didn't trust his impressions, knowing that he, too, had been shot and was probably in pretty bad shape.

  What happened in the next moment seemed to confirm that, as Andrew twisted around with a fresh burst of strength and caught Davis with a vicious punch. Davis sagged in his half-brother's grip.

  The current was even stronger now, and despite its chill, the water seemed to be boiling around them as they entered the rapids. The roar filled Davis's ears . . . or maybe that was his own blood he heard. He felt Andrew's fingers close around his throat as he went down the river backward.

  Davis knew that the air was filled with noise, but a vast silence seemed to enfold him as Andrew's grip on his neck grew stronger and stronger.

  He was dying. That much seemed certain. And he had failed, because Andrew's eyes, wide and staring and perhaps more than a little insane, were still filled with life.

  The way Faith's had been, before Andrew killed her.

  With the last of his strength, Davis twisted in the water, bringing Andrew around so that he was going backward, rather than Davis. Davis caught just a glimpse of the gray, jagged rock protruding from the surface of the river, and then in the next instant, Andrew slammed into it.

  Both men hung there, locked together by the grip of Andrew's fingers around Davis's throat, pressed up against the rock by the current. From a distance of mere inches, they stared into each others' eyes.

  And then the light faded from Andrew's gaze as blood welled from his mouth. His fingers fell away from Davis's throat.

  Davis tore himself free and grabbed the rock as the current tugged Andrew loose and carried him on downstream. Andrew's body rolled in the water, revealing to Davis's stunned eyes the huge dent in the back of his skull. Hitting that rock head on had killed Andrew.

  And Davis was still alive.

  The question was, for how long?

  He had lost a lot of blood, he knew that. The pistol ball was probably still buried somewhere in his chest. The icy water had drained most of his strength. The simplest thing to do would be to just let go of the rock and allow the river to sweep him under the surface, out of this life.

  Then, over the roar of the rapids, he heard something he had never expected to hear again.

  He heard Emily calling his name.

  He lifted his eyes toward the heavens, thinking that surely he was mistaken. What he heard was Faith calling out to him, welcoming to whatever lay beyond death. Davis had never been a particularly religious man, but he firmly believed in the Kingdom of God and the idea that someday he would once again see all those who had gone on before.

  But not yet, he realized numbly, because through the wet hair that had fallen over his eyes, he saw Emily running along the edge of the bluff overhead. Behind her was someone else Davis had never expected to see again in this life—at least he had hoped not to.

  Peter Abernathy.

  For an instant, the hope that Davis had felt at the sight of Emily faded. Abernathy had tracked him down after all, had come all the way to Kentucky to arrest him and take him back to the gallows. Now, with Andrew dead, so too had died Davis's final chance of making Abernathy believe the truth.

  Of course, Davis told himself with a grim laugh, it was entirely possible that he wouldn't live to hang, that he wouldn't even live long enough to feel the touch of Emily's hand once more.

  But he wasn't going to give up, not now, not after everything that had happened. He let go of the rock.

  And swam toward shore with every bit of strength left in his body.

  Far above him, Emily cried out his name, tears streaming down her face, and Davis pulled himself toward her through the current, her voice a beacon in an endless sea.

  * * *

  "The ball passed right on through," Abernathy grunted as he wound strips of cloth tightly around Davis's shoulder. Emily had already patched up the knife wound in the constable's shoulder. He and Davis were going to have matching bandages, a thought that brought a grim smile to Davis's face.

  "I think maybe you can sit on a horse long enough to get back to your place," Abernathy said, "but then you're going to be laid up for a good long time while that wound heals."

  Davis had a blanket from Abernathy's pack wrapped around the lower part of his body. He was sitting on a log near the roaring fire Emily had built up, letting the heat from the blaze seep back into him and drive out the chill of being in the river. His clothes were drying on sticks nearby. Emily sat on the log beside him, his right hand held tightly in both of hers.

  "You're a lucky man," Abernathy went on. "The shot missed the collarbone. Ought to heal nicely, although you'd
do well to keep the wound clean and the bandages changed regularly."

  "He won't have to worry about that, Constable," Emily said. "I'll see that he's cared for properly."

  A ghost of a smile played over Abernathy's lean face. "Yes, I imagine you will, madam," he said.

  When he was finished bandaging the wound, he drew the blanket up around Davis's shoulders. Earlier, Davis had been shaking too badly from the cold to talk. Now, after taking a healthy swallow of whiskey from the flask Abernathy fetched from his saddlebags, Davis was able to say, "What are you going to do now?"

  "About what?" Abernathy said.

  Davis glowered at him. "You know what I mean. Do you intend to take me back to Virginia?"

  Abernathy exchanged a glance with Emily, then looked squarely at Davis and said, "I see no reason to do that. You've been a law-abiding citizen since you came here to Kentucky, haven't you?"

  Davis nodded.

  "And your wife and I both heard Andrew Paxton admit to killing the first Mrs. Hallam," Abernathy went on. "That's what I intend to tell everyone back in the Shenandoah Valley when I return. As far as the law is concerned, you can come home, Hallam."

  Davis looked at Emily, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he laughed softly. "I am home," he said.

  Abernathy shrugged. "Whatever you wish." He hesitated, then added, "I was wrong about you, Hallam, but I make no apologies. I was doing my job as I saw fit. Now, my job is to set things right. If you don't want to come back to Virginia, I'll see what I can do about arranging for your children to come out here to Kentucky."

  Davis's smile widened into a grin, and Emily clutched his arm in excitement. "Thank you, Constable."

  Abernathy took a swig from the flask himself and sat down on the other end of the log. "Hammond Larrimore is going to be a very disappointed man . . . and I don't really give a damn if he is."

  "Larrimore," Davis repeated. "He's the one who sent you after me."

  Abernathy nodded. "He paid me to resign from the constable's position in Elkton and track you down. I'm convinced he expected me to kill you outright when I found you, but I never intended to do that. I'm a lawman, not an executioner."

  He was still a stiff-necked bastard, Davis thought, but at least Abernathy had finally believed the truth when he heard it from Andrew's own lips. And his offer to help arrange for the children to come out here showed that he did indeed want to make things right.

  Davis closed his eyes, and Emily said, "Lean on me, Davis. You need to rest before we start back home."

  "Home," Davis murmured, liking the sound of it. He knew now that he had been wrong. A man might spend most of his life in solitude, but there were moments of truth, moments of togetherness, moments when he wasn't alone after all.

  "You can go back to using your real name now," Abernathy said. "You can be Davis Hallam again."

  Davis nodded, not bothering to open his eyes. He felt the touch of Emily's hand on his forehead, her fingers cool and soft. He rested his head on her shoulder. The fire crackled merrily.

  After all the months, all the miles, all the tears, he knew that soon he would be exactly where he was supposed to be.

  Once more, the Wilderness Road was going to bring him home.

  About the Author

  A professional writer for the past thirty-five years, JAMES REASONER has authored hundreds of novels and at least a hundred short stories in a variety of genres. Many of his novels have concerned the American frontier, including the best-selling Westward! (written under the pseudonym Dana Fuller Ross). A graduate of North Texas State University with degrees in English and Film, Reasoner considers himself primarily a storyteller whose first goal in his work is always high-quality entertainment.

  James Reasoner is married to best selling, award-winning mystery novelist L.J. (Livia. J.) Washburn, creator of the 1920’s private detective/cowboy stuntman Lucas Hallam. She was kind enough to allow Reasoner to tell the story of one of Lucas's relatives in The Wilderness Road. You can find more about James and his many books on his website www.jamesreasoner.com .

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