The McHenry Inheritance (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 1)

by Michael Wallace

  • • •

  “You were going to go without a gun?” Ellen asked. “That’s crazy. If they’re armed we need to protect ourselves.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Gordon said. “I’d hardly know which end to point and it would be pure luck if I hit anything I was shooting at.”

  “Same here,” said Sam.

  They were in the front room of the main house at the ranch. It was nine o’clock, time to leave. Ellen shook her head and moved over to the gun case. Taking a key from her pocket, she opened the sliding glass door and removed a rifle. After inspecting it to make sure it wasn’t loaded, she cocked it to test the action, which met with her approval.

  “I guess it’s up to me,” she said. From the cupboard at the foot of the gun case she removed a box of cartridges. “Let’s go.”

  Gordon drove them in the Cherokee, with Ellen in the front and Sam in the back. It took forty five minutes to reach a turnout on the road about three quarters of a mile below where Radio and his followers were camped. The road went up a slight rise from where they parked, before descending into Sullivan Meadow, keeping them out of sight of the camp.

  They got out of the car and closed the doors as softly as possible. Ellen took a loaded magazine from her jacket pocket and put it into the rifle.

  “All right, what’s the plan?” she asked.

  “I don’t know if you can call it a plan,” Gordon said. “I thought we’d try to get close enough to the camp to see what they’re doing. If it looks like we can get closer once everybody’s asleep, we’ll do it, and look around as much as we can.”

  “And I assume,” said Sam, “that if upon further inspection, this escapade looks as foolhardy as when it was first proposed, we’ll quietly retreat to the car and return to safety.”

  “So I guess the idea is that my rifle and I stay back in the trees to provide cover, just in case,” Ellen said.

  Gordon nodded. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary, but yes.”

  “Do you have an extra key for the Cherokee?”

  “Good point.” He reached under the rim of the front tire and plucked the spare he kept on a magnet there.

  “Do you keep that there in the city?” asked Sam.

  “Only on fishing trips. I locked the keys in it one day last year and had to walk three miles in my waders to the nearest phone to call for help. Never again.”

  “Our fearless leader,” said Sam.

  “I just thought of something,” interjected Ellen. “Maybe you should turn the car around so it’s pointing back home. Just in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need to, but let’s do it. Just to be safe.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Sam said, “maybe someone should stay behind with the car in case we need to get it going in a hurry. I’ll volunteer.”

  Gordon and Ellen ignored the last remark. When the Cherokee was turned around, they all started up the road toward the meadow. The moon, only a day or two away from being full, provided enough light for them to see their way, though at some points it fell behind the tops of the pines and threw the road into dark shadow.

  “Step carefully,” Ellen said. “The rattlesnakes come out at night.”

  “Terrific,” said Sam.

  After a few minutes, they topped the rise and looked down a gentle slope toward the meadow. The cluster of tents, horses, and vehicles looked much as Gordon remembered it from the previous week. Two campfires were burning, and about a dozen men were sitting or standing near them, or just milling around. Several lanterns on ropes or tables illuminated the main camp area.

  “We can get closer if we follow the trees by the creek,” Gordon whispered.

  “Go ahead,” said Ellen. “I’m going to get behind that tree,” she pointed to a solitary pine at their right. “It’ll give me a good overview of their camp and a fast track back to the car.”

  “What’s our fast track back to the car?” asked Sam.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Gordon said. He turned to Ellen and kissed her gently. “Back in a bit.”

  Gordon and Sam crept down the hill to the creek, then followed it upstream to the meadow. By wading across at a shallow spot and taking cover in the trees on the side opposite the camp, they were able to get within 75 yards of it. There they sat for a few minutes, able to make out an occasional word or phrase being spoken by the campfires.

  After a while, Radio emerged from the largest tent, which had a lantern on inside. All the men straightened up as he approached.

  “It’s ten thirty, gentlemen,” he said. “Time to bunk down.” He put his hand over his heart, and the others did the same. “Jerry.”

  The man he addressed leaned down and put a cassette into a boom box by one of the campfires. After half a minute, an orchestral rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” began to play, the music resonating through the thin mountain air. It sounded like the tinny renditions that radio stations used to play to sign on and off for the day. All the men were standing motionless, as if in rapture.

  When the music ended, Radio lowered his hand to his side. “Thank you, Jerry. Again at six thirty tomorrow morning. I trust there’s no reason for the sheriff to interrupt our sleep tonight.” There were a few chuckles. Radio looked up at the stars, took a deep breath, and walked slowly to the large tent. The other men moved into their various tents and Jerry went to the creek with a bucket. He came back twice to douse the two fires, then slipped into one of the tents. Five minutes after the end of the music, the camp was dark and silent.

  “Well,” said Sam, “are you ready to go back now?”

  “Let’s give them half an hour to fall asleep, then make our move.”

  The half hour lasted a long time. Even though the day had been warm, it was late in the season and the night was growing steadily colder. When they had been moving, Gordon and Sam didn’t notice the temperature, but sitting in one place they did. The stillness of the night was interrupted only occasionally by a light breeze and the sound of an occasional owl hooting or cow bell clanging.

  At five minutes past eleven, Gordon nudged Sam and they got up. They walked along the edge of the stream and quietly waded across at a shallow spot, then moved into the meadow, crouched down in the grass about fifty yards from the camp and surveyed it. Gordon realized, more than he had a week ago, that it was laid out like a compound. The center area where the campfires had been burning was flanked by parallel rows of three tents. The large tent, Radio’s, took up one end and the other was open. The pickups and sport utility vehicles were parked around the perimeter or between the tents.

  “Now what?” whispered Sam.

  “We go very quietly through there, looking for any rifle we can find. The one we’re looking for has the initials D.M. carved into the butt with an amateur hand. I have a pocket flashlight we can use to check a gun butt up close, but otherwise we use the light of the moon only.”

  “All right, but let’s at least start with the perimeter and only go in if we have to.” Gordon nodded.

  Moving slowly and cautiously, they circled the camp and wound up behind Radio’s tent, where two vehicles were parked. One was an Explorer that had three rifles in its back. Gordon flashed the light inside it quickly, then shut it off. No good. He couldn’t make out enough detail in the short time he dared leave the light on. With the adjacent pickup truck, however, he was able to walk up behind the cab and quickly flash the light over the butts of the rifles on its rack. None of them had the initials he was looking for, but he at least could tell that for a certainty. He held very still after he switched the light off, but the camp remained absolutely silent and motionless. They worked their way around the perimeter, with Sam covering Gordon’s rear flank as he approached the parked vehicles.

  In a tense quarter-hour, they examined everything they could get to from outside the compound of tents. That left two pickups and two sport utility vehicles parked between the tents so that their rears were facing into the camping are
a. Both pickups had gun racks that held rifles.

  “We have to check those out,” Gordon whispered. “This is where I really need you. When I go up to one of the trucks, just keep scanning the camp. If you see anything move at all, pat me on the butt and we’ll get behind whatever we can and hope they don’t see us.”

  “I don’t think we should go in there.”

  “Shut up. You’re making too much noise.”

  With a careful, measured tread, they entered the camping area. Gordon approached the first pickup, his body coiled with tension. As he stepped gently between the tent and the vehicle, he realized he was close enough to the former to hear the deep, steady breathing of the sleeping men inside. When he turned the light on, the gentle rasp of the switch sounded like a firecracker to him, but the breathing inside the tent continued its regular pattern. The missing rifle wasn’t there.

  The instant he switched the flashlight off, Sam touched him on the seat.

  He turned and dropped to his knees. As his head dropped behind the tent, he could see the flap of the last tent on the opposite side being opened and a man beginning to emerge. Gordon sat without breathing for what seemed forever, until he heard the faint sound of a steady stream of urine hitting the grass of the meadow. He and Sam exhaled simultaneously. A moment later they heard the rustle of the tent flap being pulled back into place.

  They waited for a moment, then Sam turned to Gordon and silently mouthed the words, “Let’s get out of here.” Gordon shook his head and pointed to the other pickup across the camp area from them. With extreme care, they made their way to it. It was parked so there was barely a foot of space between it and the tents on either side. Three rifles hung in the gun rack, two with their butts on the driver’s side and the one in the middle with its butt on the passenger side. Gordon held the side of the pickup tightly to avoid brushing the tent as he moved along sideways. The two rifles on the driver’s side weren’t what he was looking for. He carefully worked his way back outside the tight space and squeezed gingerly along the other side of the pickup. He reached the back of the cab and flicked his pocket light quickly on and off again.

  There it was.

  He held his breath for a minute, unable to believe what he had just seen. Then he turned the light on again and left it on for a full five seconds. The initials D.M. were carved on the butt, amateurishly with a pocket knife of some sort. Without doubt, this was the deer rifle that was missing from the McHenry residence, the gun that could prove Ellen McHenry hadn’t killed her brother.

  Gordon turned to Sam and gave the thumbs-up sign with his left hand, then gestured to the open end of the camp to signal that it was time to go. He eased out of the narrow opening between the pickup and the tent, and Sam took three steps backward to let him out.

  If Sam had taken only two steps backward, the mission would have been a triumphant success. But halfway through the third step, his left heel met one of the rocks that formed the campfire circle, and he lost his balance. Twisting and throwing out a hand to break his fall, he pushed over a folding chair on which the pots and pans used to cook that evening’s meal had been drying. They hit the ground with a spectacular clatter that could probably have been heard half way to Harperville.

  Before Gordon even had a chance to think, men were pouring out of tents and lights were being shined in his eyes. Instinctively, he made a break for the edge of the camping area, but after he had run only a few steps, he was roughly tackled by two men, who brought him to earth hard enough to put a deep gash on his chin. From the derisive remarks being made a few feet away, he could tell that Sam had been caught as well.

  The two men picked Gordon up and led him back to the center of the camping area, where Sam was also being detained. By now, several lanterns had been lit and the area was well illuminated. Hart Lee Bowen emerged from the group of the men and stood before Gordon. A nasty smile formed on his face.

  “Well look what we have here. Hey, boss!”

  Radio moved into sight. “Mr. Gordon,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure. But I could have saved you a trip up here. The fishing isn’t any better at night than during the day.”

  The camp followers laughed boisterously. Gordon said nothing, and after a moment Radio continued.

  “On the other hand, you probably wouldn’t have listened. You see, gentlemen,” he addressed the others, “Mr. Gordon has a little problem with the king’s English. I’ve told him on several occasions that we’d rather he didn’t come visit us up here, so what does he do? He comes up after hours when he thinks we’re asleep and won’t notice.” He paused. “I’m afraid that’s a bit rude, and I think we need to indicate our displeasure. Hart Lee, since Mr. Gordon doesn’t seem to be too good with words, maybe we should make our displeasure known through some non-verbal communication. Do you think you could do that?”

  “Sure thing.” Bowen put his flashlight in a hip pocket and moved directly in front of Gordon and about two feet away. Leering all the while, he rocked slightly on the balls of his feet for a few seconds, then leaned forward and spat in Gordon’s face. Before that even registered, Bowen threw a vicious punch with his right hand, landing it in the abdomen, just below the ribs. The air went out of Gordon at once, and his knees buckled, leaving him held up by the men on either side of him.”

  “Excellent, Hart Lee. Well done.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Do you understand me now, Mr. Gordon?”

  Gordon tried to speak but couldn’t. He was gasping for breath, like a fish out of water.

  “Silence generally implies consent, so I’ll assume we’ve made ourselves clear. Now the next question is what do we do with you? The way I see it, you were trespassing. And that reminds me of the story about the rancher who caught three men trespassing on his property. Do you know what he told them?”

  Gordon and Sam said nothing.

  “He said, ‘Gentlemen, there are three of you, and I only have two bullets. Which one of you wants to be hanged?’” He guffawed loudly, and the other men laughed as well. Gordon had recovered enough from Bowen’s blow to be conscious, for the first time, of the raw fear he felt.

  “I have an idea,” said Sam. “I think you’ve made your point very well, and by the way, I’m glad you made it on my friend and not me, but seeing as how we understand each other now, how about letting us go if we promise not to come back and bother you again.”

  The men laughed again.

  “Does that mean no?” Sam asked.

  “You’ve been getting in my face for a week now,” Radio said to Gordon, “and I mean to put an end to it. One way or another, you and your friend are going to be treated like the enemies of freedom you are.”

  “Hey, boss,” said Bowen. “How about if we tie them to that tree overnight,” he gestured to a pine standing by itself about fifty feet from the camp, “and use them for target practice tomorrow morning.”

  A murmur rippled through the group, but Radio shook his head. “Let’s settle it now. You gave me an idea with the tree, though, Hart Lee.” He turned to another of the men. “Jason, you were showing us a couple of weeks ago how to make a noose. Can you do it now?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Then get to it. Two of them. Who has the handcuffs?”

  “I do,” said George Horton.

  “Cuff their hands behind their backs. You two, get a pair of horses for our guests of honor. Let’s take a few minutes to get dressed for the occasion, then reassemble at the tree with the ropes, horses and prisoners.”

  Gordon and Sam were allowed to sit down by one of the tents, but two armed men kept watch over them from a distance of a few feet, so any thought of escape, or even conversation, was impossible. Gordon tried to fight down the fear he felt by concentrating on the situation. Surely, Ellen must be going for help now; At least there was that. If only he could stall long enough for it to arrive. But how? And in the event he couldn’t, there was something he needed to say.

  “Sam, I’m sorry
.”

  “Again? I told you this was crazy. Anyway, he can’t be serious about hanging us. He’d have to be a psychopath.”

  At that point, Jason walked past them with two lengths of rope, one of which had already been fitted into a noose.

  “You were saying? asked Gordon.”

  They sat in silence for another minute, then Horton walked over to them, waving the guards back a few feet.

  “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Gordon,” he said softly. “I’d say something if I thought it would do any good, but I’m afraid your goose is cooked.”

  Sam’s eyes began to widen. Gordon hesitated a moment, then replied, “I appreciate the thought, anyway.” Horton cocked his head slightly to the side as Gordon continued, “Can I ask you one question, George?”

  “You can always ask.”

  “Who owns the Dodge pickup across the way there?” He nodded toward the vehicle that carried Dan McHenry’s rifle.

  “I do,” Horton said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was thinking of buying one.” Gordon smiled. “Guess I waited too long.”

  “It is a nice truck,” Horton said. “Well, so long. Or maybe I should say good bye.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have got involved.”

  Gordon thought, as Horton walked away, that without knowing it, he had been a bigger help to the two prisoners than he ever intended to be.

  • • •

  Several minutes later, Radio and the other men came by for the prisoners. Gordon and Sam were led, with no undue gentleness, to a lone pine tree thirty yards outside the camp’s perimeter. A rope with a noose at its end had been thrown over a branch on each side of the tree, ten to twelve feet up. One of the pickup trucks that had been parked outside the camp area had been moved so it was now parked a few feet from the tree, facing away. Bowen put one of the nooses around Gordon’s neck, while another man did the same to Sam.

  “I’m afraid this rope’s a bit scratchy,” he said insinuatingly, “but then that’s probably going to be the least of your problems.”