Suddenly he felt nervous, as though somebody had come up behind him, and he stepped quickly away. He looked about but there was nobody there. He began to walk towards the falls and when he was halfway to where the trail led behind the torrent he stopped and raised his rifle.
Stepping out from the edge of the falls, partly concealed by spray, was the figure of a man wearing a grimy grey jacket and a peaked cap. Across his arm he carried a rifle. He moved slowly forward with just the suggestion of a limp. Calhoun felt something like fear catch at his throat.
‘Carver!’ he said. ‘I thought you died in the fire!’
As if to confirm his words, as the figure got closer Calhoun could see that his face was blackened and the grey jacket was singed. The blind eye seemed to look beyond him and Calhoun was temped to turn and see what was behind. But with an almost physical effort he continued to move forwards. His nerves were on edge and he still felt that there was something uncanny about the figure approaching him with such slow but unrelenting steps.
Then something clicked in his brain. If his supposition was correct, this was not Carver but the man who had murdered him and taken his identity. It was the man who had betrayed Calhoun and so many others, the man who had been responsible for him spending those ugly months in Andersonville. It was not Carver but Con Reeder who faced him.
‘Reeder!’ Calhoun called.
The man stopped. They were now quite close. Calhoun could see the scar blazing across Reeder’s fire-ravaged cheek and he could see that he had taken him by surprise. The man was nonplussed and that alone would have convinced Calhoun that he was right.
‘I know what happened back in Georgia!’ Calhoun shouted. ‘I know what you did. I know how you betrayed us.’
The man continued to stand immobile. Calhoun had to shout as loud as he could for his voice to be heard above the roar of the falls. Calhoun was about to take another step forward when the man’s silence was broken.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he shouted.
‘It’s of no concern. All that matters is that I know what happened to Carver.’
There was no sign that the man had registered what Calhoun had said and Calhoun was uncertain whether he had recovered from his initial shock of surprise. The booming of the falls was ringing in his ears with an almost hypnotic effect. Suddenly the stalemate was broken when a voice from the hillside suddenly boomed out.
‘No, you don’t know what happened to Carver!’
Both men instinctively turned their faces towards the source of the sound. Standing a little way up the hillside was another man.
‘Reeder!’ he shouted. ‘You thought I was a man called Watts. You imagined I was going to lead you to the treasure. You thought that Carver was long gone.’ He broke into a laugh.
‘Like my friend says, you’re a madman. Welcome to the real world, Reeder.’ He turned his attention to Calhoun.
‘You got most of it figured!’ he shouted, ‘but not the last bit. You see, I’m Carver!’
For a moment Calhoun was stunned but then a fog seemed to clear from his brain. Of course, it fitted – even down to the Walker the man he had thought was a government agent had pressed into his hand. Before he could react, however, Reeder suddenly sprang into life. Quickly raising his rifle to his shoulder, he fired at Calhoun and then began to run back down the trail. The shot went winging over Calhoun’s head and the next instant he was running down the track in pursuit.
The man was hampered by his slight limp and Calhoun felt that he was gaining on him when he vanished behind the curtain of the falls. Calhoun’s blood was up and he pitched forward into the darkness, not considering the danger of Reeder waiting to fire another shot. The path was slippery under foot and he slid sideways as Reeder’s rifle barked again. His leg hurt but the slip had saved his life. He picked himself up, and continued in pursuit of Reeder, whose shadowy form he could just make out in the gloom.
As Calhoun emerged into the twilight zone of sunshine and shadow where the trail emerged from behind the falls he was suddenly hit by something heavy. For a moment he didn’t know what it was, then came the sickening realization that it was Reeder who, in his desperation, had waited to hurl himself upon Calhoun. For a moment they swayed on the edge of the gulf. Then, with a feeling of cold dread, Calhoun realized that they were going over into the abyss below. For a brief moment he had a glimpse of Reeder’s burnt and agonized face twisted into a convulsion of utter fear and rage. His one good eye was blazing with hatred and the livid scar down his cheek stood out like a brand.
Then he was falling though an infinity of space, his arms whirling as he sought desperately for he didn’t know what. Above him a thin thread of blue sky was swallowed in the darkness of the gorge and he seemed to fall for a long, long time before, with a tremendous crash which drove all the air from his lungs, he hit the water in the pool below.
The shock of the impact was like hitting something solid. He felt himself going down and down, drawn into the depths of the seething pool by the enormous force of water falling from above and the pressure of the suction below. There was nothing but pandemonium and chaos. Calhoun felt himself tumbling over and over and then for a moment everything was black.
Coming to, he instinctively attempted to rise again but he was pushed under as if by some mighty hand. He could not breathe, could not tell whether he was upside down or right way up. The cascading tide filled his mouth and his nostrils as he struggled to free himself from the weight of waters which held him down. He was fighting to stay alive. Frantically he tried to move his arms, to orientate himself.
Then suddenly the iron clasp which held him loosened its grasp for a moment and he began to climb slowly, laboriously up a steep-sided mountain of suffocation and night. His lungs were bursting. He felt shaken, battered and helpless, but he clung on and wouldn’t give up this terrible painful ascent. Up, up, and then there was light on his face, a roaring in his ears and he broke through to the surface.
The waterfall hurled itself over the cliffs high above him but had flung him to one side so that he was in calmer waters, though the seething turbulence was all around him. He gasped for breath, trying to force the air back into his lungs, coughing and spluttering, striving to achieve full consciousness.
Then, inconsequentially, thoughts of Mary flooded like the waters themselves into his brain. He began to flail. He was unsure in what direction he should look for safety, tried to raise his head to get his bearings and see what might be around him. He began to move his arms in a more purposeful way and made a mighty effort to swim towards what he took to be the nearest shore.
He had an impression of trees hanging over the water but they seemed a long way off. He was so exhausted and the water seemed to suck him down. He was confused and deafened by the continuous thunder of the falls above him but slowly he began to move in the direction he wanted. Every stroke was an effort that called for all the supplies of grit and energy he possessed, but he wasn’t going to give way now.
There were rocks rearing out of the water. He tried to grasp one but it was too steep and the sides were too slippery. His strength seemed to give way. It was no use. He would never make it after all. But he floundered on, his last reserves of strength almost used up.
There were more rocks. He struggled to reach them. Finding a lower, flatter rock he struggled to climb on to it. He slipped, was pulled back, made a last despairing effort and was almost out of the water when his strength gave way and he was swept away again on the boiling waters.
All he could do was try to keep his head above the surface as the torrent swept him on. He felt an enormous fatigue and his body was racked with pain but he steeled his will to hang on till at last, as he gave a last despairing look at the sky above, which seemed to have expanded in order to enfold him, a kind of darkness descended.
When he came to he saw that he had travelled some distance from the falls, although the noise of their waters still reverberated in his ears. The sound seemed to take o
n an almost human tone and then, as full consciousness returned, he realized that it wasn’t the noise of the falls he could hear but that it was indeed a voice calling loudly to him. He raised himself with difficulty on to one elbow. He seemed to be wedged into some dense tangle of vegetable matter that the river had washed against a narrow strip of shore and coming towards him over some rocks was a figure carrying a rope.
‘Mary!’ Calhoun breathed.
The figure reached him and he felt a strong grip under his arms pulling him out of the water.
‘Mary!’ he repeated.
They were on dry land now and he lay gasping in the arms of his rescuer. Calhoun looked up. He didn’t recognize the face that looked down on him but then some old memory started to flicker.
‘Just take it easy,’ the man said. ‘Don’t try to do too much. It was the snag that saved you.’
‘What happened?’ Calhoun began. ‘How long. . . ?’
‘Quite a time. Took me long enough to find a way down here. And I doubt whether there’s much left of Reeder.’
Calhoun lay back, waiting for his faculties to return.
‘By the way,’ the man said, ‘sorry to disappoint you. You’ve probably gathered by now that I ain’t Mary. Name’s Carver. It’s been a long time. Real pleased to meet with you again.’
It was a busy morning in Coyote Falls. Calhoun and Mary had just left the café and were crossing the street towards a new building which had gone up where the saloon used to stand.
‘Do you really think Norah will be OK?’ Calhoun said.
‘You worry too much. Of course she’ll be OK. She helped run the general store up in Elk Creek, didn’t she?’
‘That was a long time ago. You’ve got to admit she’s more than a little . . .’ He paused, searching for the right word.
‘Eccentric?’ Mary suggested, then laughed. ‘About as eccentric as a man keeping a cougar for a pet.’
Calhoun glanced down at her, then drew her to him.
‘She knows how to cook and she’s really taken to the place. She’ll cope just fine.’
‘Talkin’ about copin’,’ he said. ‘Do you reckon you’ll be able to handle the two of us together, Cherokee and me?’
‘I’m willin’ to give it a try.’
They came round a corner on to the main street. Outside a new building where the saloon used to be a buckboard was drawn up. As they approached the door of the building was thrown open and Hiram Bingley appeared.
‘Why howdy!’ Calhoun called. ‘What’s your business in town? Need a hand?’
Hiram’s face was wreathed in smiles.
‘Just about finished here,’ he said. ‘Movin’ right in. You can help me hang this up if you like.’
He reached into the buckboard, pulled out a large wooden sign and held it up for them to read:
Hiram J. Bingley. Attorney at Law.
‘That’s fine,’ Mary said. ‘So you’ve found your new premises?’
‘Sure have. Couldn’t be better. Right here on Main Street and I’ll be livin’ right above the office.’
‘And just across from my brother,’ Mary said. ‘Kind of appropriate, if you see what I mean.’
Almost as if he had heard her words, the marshal appeared in his doorway and waved to them across the street.
‘You should have let me come with you to the falls,’ Bingley said, turning to Calhoun.
‘Yeah. Maybe so. I just figured this was somethin’ I needed to sort out by myself.’
‘I gather you and Mr Carver go back aways?’
‘Sure do. Which reminds me, Mr Carver is comin’ round tonight. Why don’t you join us for supper?’ Calhoun looked at Mary as if for confirmation.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘About seven OK?’
‘That’s mighty neighbourly of you.’
With a little help from Calhoun and the marshal Bingley’s sign was soon swinging from the wall above the boardwalk.
‘I like Mr Bingley,’ Mary said as they walked away. ‘He’ll be good to have around.’
‘He’ll be more than good,’ Calhoun replied, thinking over all that had happened recently. ‘Mr Hiram J. Bingley is the man for Coyote Falls. He is the future of the West.’
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