by Jon Sharpe
He sat unmoving for several minutes, blanking his mind so that he could enjoy the relief the icy water had brought him. Then he had to smile. Even twenty years ago a busted hand would have been something to laugh off. He’d had a hardscrabble life for many years and pain had been part of the job. Hell, the two years he’d spent logging he’d broken a leg, an arm, and a foot. But much as he hated to admit it, his wealth had made him soft. So had age. He wasn’t ancient, but he was old. And thinking of being old . . . he thought of how foolish he’d been to think that he could ever have possessed Alexis in the way he’d wanted to.
The sudden cawing of crows caused him to look up to the west. He had no idea what had incited the crows and it didn’t matter. All he cared about was that he was looking at the edge of a steep cliff in the distance. A cliff edge that was familiar. Not too far from that cliff would be another deeply wooded area. And there, nestled inside heavy timber, was the cave where he had hidden from the Indians who’d been intent on killing him.
He felt a wild, unreasonable joy. The cave . . . right now it was the only home he had in the entire world. And he would be there soon. Protected.
Deputy Clint Pierce had never led men into battle before. And while this technically wasn’t battle as such, it had something of the same effect on him. Exhilaration.
Plus, it was an opportunity. Come the next election, Pierce would be out of a job, at least in Reliance. The new sheriff would bring his own deputies on. Pierce could find employment in town, but after all the enemies he’d made wearing the badge he’d have no protection if he stayed around. All that would change if he brought in Andrew Lund, alive or dead. Preferably, to Pierce’s way of thinking, dead. He imagined Lund thrown unceremoniously over the back of Pierce’s own horse. The way people would follow him down the street, eager for a closer look at the corpse. The little ones would go crazy. He’d be as big a hero as the men in dime novels. And the merchants would probably be of a mind to forgive him for all the bills he’d run up and had yet to pay off.
He was in the midst of these thoughts when he heard the shouts behind him. Shouts and—by the time he’d turned around in his saddle—laughter.
Tyndale had sent him eastward to check out Lund’s fishing cabin. Tyndale was going to hunt the hills to the west of the mansion. Pierce hadn’t had any say as to which men went with him and which with Tyndale. He didn’t object because he would just piss off the men he was stuck with if he pointed out that they were the worst of the lot.
But now he wished he had said something. One man was so drunk he’d fallen off his horse.
The other men had dismounted and were standing in a circle around something that was making a lot of noise. It was supposed to be a man but it didn’t sound like a man, the way it was spluttering and screeching and thrashing around. But then came a sound only a human being could make. Vomiting. The son of a bitch was puking all over the place.
Harley Carnes worked for the town blacksmith. Worked, that is, when he was sober, which was less and less often these days. He’d been drunk when the posse had left town. Pierce had warned him to throw away his pint. When Carnes seemed reluctant, Pierce had grabbed it from his hand, turned it upside down, and then pitched the bottle into some nearby bushes. Then the posse had continued riding.
But obviously Harley had had another bottle stashed someplace.
‘‘Get out of my way,’’ Pierce snapped at the men around the fallen figure of Carnes.
They made room for him at once. They knew what was coming. It would be fun to see.
Carnes was on his hands and knees, dog style. He was so drunk his head wobbled back and forth as if it were about to fall off. His eyes were wild, unseeing. Puke dripped from his face.
The first thing Pierce did was bring up the point of his boot with such force that he cracked two of Harley’s ribs at once. The chunky man screamed and fell on his side. He made the mistake of landing with his legs spread. Pierce didn’t have any trouble sending the same boot straight up into Harley’s groin. He literally raised Harley a good inch off the ground. Harley was sobbing like a woman. ‘‘Please! Please! Don’t hurt me no more, Clint! Please!’’
Even the others looked warily at each other. Slapping Harley around some, that was understandable. Leaving him out here to freeze his ass off till he sobered up, that was understandable, too. But this—
The next thing Pierce did was walk up the length of the man till he was at the grizzled head. He raised his boot, hesitated, raised his eyes to meet the apprehensive gazes of the posse, and then delivered the point of his boot to the side of Harley’s head with enough force to elicit a groan that had the sound of death to it.
‘‘You killed him!’’ one of the men shouted.
‘‘No, I didn’t, Gaither. But I should have. And the next man to take a drink is gonna get the same treatment. ’’ He spat. ‘‘Or worse.’’
The fishing cabin hadn’t been used for some time, long enough that a number of small animals had found various ways in and had used it as both a shelter and an outhouse.
Because there were only two large rooms and a small native stone fireplace, it didn’t take Fargo and Serena long to see that her father wasn’t here. And from what they could find, hadn’t been here.
They stood outside. The threat of rain was heavy on the air. The river before them ruffled with the wind.
The cabin sat in a cul-de-sac of pine trees. A long stretch of shale led to the water. Fargo figured that this would be an ideal place for men who wanted to get away from work and the burdens of being a good citizen.
‘‘The cave,’’ Serena said. ‘‘I can’t think of any other place.’’
Fargo was about to say something, but to the west he heard the sound of approaching horses. The riders were coming fast.
‘‘Do you hear something?’’
‘‘Be quiet.’’
He tried to gauge how much time it would take them to arrive at their present speed. He couldn’t be sure but if they didn’t have to stop for any reason, they’d be here within fifteen minutes or so. There was a good road leading very close here. They were making good time.
‘‘We’d better go. I’m pretty sure that’ll be part of the posse.’’
‘‘I just can’t believe it, Skye. My father hunted down like some animal.’’
He didn’t want her to give in to herself. She was tough but she was emotional. He took her hand and led her to the horses.
They’d traveled less than a quarter mile when the icy, slashing rains came. They’d both donned their ponchos. They sank down inside them. He followed her directions. This was her territory.
The wind broke branches in half, the rain turned ground into mud dangerous for horses, and vision was limited to no more than ten yards ahead. Several times her horse balked, started to stumble. But she knew what she was doing. She steadied the animal and plodded on.
The wind doubled, perhaps even tripled in force and Fargo knew they’d have to stop for a while. His eyes began searching the narrow trail for some sort of resting place.
‘‘Skye, I think I have to stop,’’ she said, her words fragmented by the tearing wind.
He nodded to a short span of forest. There had been many nights when he’d had to fashion himself a makeshift shelter to hold off the worst of rain or snow. This was another one of those situations.
He waved in the direction of the forest and set off. He rode slowly, carefully. It was full dark now and risky to take an animal very fast over such terrain. Every minute or so he’d look over his shoulder to make sure that she was still behind him. Given the fury of the wind he wasn’t sure he’d hear her if something happened to her horse.
They dismounted when they were still several feet from the line of trees. They grabbed the reins and guided their mounts into the forest. There was enough foliage at the tops of the trees to make a noticeable difference in the intensity of both the rainfall and the winds. They still chilled them but their power had been reduced apprec
iably.
The deeper they penetrated the darkness, the more heavy pines they found. And beneath the heaviest of the pines they found a reasonably dry place to sit.
After a few attempts, Fargo was able to build a small fire. Jerky and bread were the only items on the menu. In the light of the flames Serena looked like a very wet child, her big blue eyes filled with apprehension and disbelief that any of this was happening to her.
‘‘I’m just worried that they’ll get to the cave before we do, Skye.’’
Thunder rumbled across the sky they could no longer see. Then ragged pieces of lightning illuminated the darkness above them. And the rain slashed down even more furiously.
‘‘They’ll be holed up the same way we are. They can’t travel in this, either. And we don’t know for sure that they know anything about the cave.’’
‘‘I’m just afraid that if they catch him before we do—’’
Their hats and ponchos had kept them dry enough to sleep without feeling like they were drowning. But when Fargo suggested that they try to sleep for a while Serena was shocked, almost angry. ‘‘My father’s life is at stake. And you expect me to sleep?’’
He had to gentle her down. ‘‘Serena, one thing I’ve learned is that if you can grab fifteen minutes of sleep here and there, you’re usually stronger for it. We don’t know what’s ahead. A little sleep will help both of us. I learned that a long time ago. You can go thirty-six, even forty-eight hours without going to bed if you take little sleep breaks.’’
He’d been thinking of other ways to spend their time here in the woods. His eyes kept automatically resting on her thrusting breasts and the sweet curves of her riding breeches. But he had to restrain himself for her sake. She was single-minded at this time and she was right to be. As she’d said, her father’s life was at stake.
Fargo sat with his back against a thick pine. The brim of his hat was wide enough to keep the occasional raindrops from dousing the cigarette he’d built for himself.
Despite her best intentions to stay awake, alert, Serena yawned. And then smiled. ‘‘I didn’t realize how tired I was until you brought it up, I guess.’’
‘‘You’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. It’s bound to wear you out.’’
She yawned again. ‘‘But I feel guilty even thinking about myself. Think of what my dad’s going through.’’ When she yawned a third time she broke into a reluctant smile. ‘‘I see what you mean about taking little naps. I’ll bet I could use one right now.’’
She’d been sitting next to him, trying to stay close to the warmth of the small fire. The steady drone of the rain, the sweet smell of the pine, and the silky feel of the needles beneath them made her feel as if they were in a cave of their own. She eased herself closer to Fargo, so close that she could rest her head on his shoulder. She needed to feel protected now, as if there were a force in the world that could right the wrongs that had been put in her way. She wanted to be a little girl again, the daughter of Andrew Lund, the man who could do anything. But now Andrew Lund was an animal scurrying through the torrents of night and storm, fleeing for his life.
Fargo sensed all this in her. He slid his arm around her and drew her near. With his fingers he angled her hat so that it covered her eyes. She muttered a dozy thank-you. It wasn’t long before she was asleep there in the protective curve of his arm. Tiny snoring issued from her lips. He smiled at the sound.
Fargo finished his cigarette and then tilted his own hat down across his eyes and fell asleep himself.
A full moon guided them across a landscape gleaming from the recent rain. Even the wind had abated and the night was still and solemn except for the coyote cries that came on occasion. The snow on the mountaintops glowed silver and serene.
Fargo had slept longer than he’d planned to. His arm was a little stiff from where he’d held Serena for so long but otherwise the shut-eye had reinvigorated him.
They had been traveling two hours. Serena said that they were close to the cave. She’d chattered a lot on waking but had now slipped into nervous silence. Fargo figured she was probably imagining all the worst possibilities for her father.
‘‘The cliff!’’ she said.
Fargo raised his eyes to see a narrow, protruding shelf of rock on the edge of a cliff. The protrusion was almost like a finger about to beckon travelers. A landmark for sure.
‘‘There’s a trail we pick up in about a quarter mile. The cave’s down in a wooded area.’’
Fargo hadn’t seen her this happy since he’d first met her the night of the party. He knew she wouldn’t be happy long, not with what he had in mind. In fact, she was likely to see him as a traitor, hate him.
They were soon guiding their horses onto the trail she’d talked about, slowly climbing the side of the cliff. Her excitement was almost amusing. She was under the impression that just seeing her father would make everything all right. That just holding him would banish all the other problems and they could go back to their normal lives.
They ground-tied their horses at the top of the cliff and proceeded on foot down the steeply sloping ground to the wooded area. Fargo brought his Henry along, which seemed to bother Serena. She didn’t say anything but she looked surprised and annoyed when he hefted it before they started walking.
A good thing Serena knew where the cave was. Otherwise Fargo would have spent an hour searching for it. They had to wend and wind their way through closely grouped hardwoods and then work their way carefully down the side of a shallow but rocky gulley. Even then, in the broken moonlight, the cave was hidden behind underbrush, its opening so small that the eye could easily miss it.
She screamed.
She’d seen her father before Fargo had.
Andrew Lund had not quite made it to the cave. He’d fallen into deep underbrush to the side of it. He lay facedown and Fargo’s first impression was that Lund was dead.
Serena threw herself to the ground next to him. Fargo was close behind her, watching as she began to turn him over so that they could see his face. The first obvious sign of what had felled Lund was the long bloody gash across his forehead.
‘‘Dad! Dad!’’
Fargo took off his poncho and spread it out on the ground. Then he turned to Serena. ‘‘Let me in there.’’ At first she was unwilling to let go of her father but Fargo’s hands were insistent. He helped her to her feet and then bent down and struggled to get a grip under Lund’s body.
Given the length and weight of the man, Fargo had to struggle some to carry him into a section of moonlight. Serena had brought her canteen. The first thing Fargo did was take it from her and gently raise Lund’s head so that he could drink. Lund muttered something delirious. At first he didn’t open his lips and the water trickled down his chin. Fargo pressed the canteen to Lund’s mouth. This time Lund drank, though only a few drops.
Serena said, ‘‘Look at his hand.’’
From a brief glimpse Fargo could see that Lund’s right hand had been broken in at least two places. The bruising was ugly, the swelling even uglier.
For the next half hour they gradually brought him back to shaky life. His breathing eventually became normal. He’d been wheezing badly when they’d first gotten his eyes open. He drank increasing amounts of water and Fargo was able to prop him up against a nearby tree.
At one point Serena babbled. ‘‘We’ll go to Europe, Dad. You’ll never get a fair trial here. You’ve always wanted to see Europe. We’ll live there the rest of our lives. I know you can figure out a way to get enough money for us. And if I need to, I’ll work. I won’t mind it at all. Whenever we go to Chicago I always think about how nice it would be to work in one of those fancy dress shops. I could make enough for us to live on. And we’d be safe. And everything would work out for us.’’
If Lund heard her, he showed no indication of it. He stared off into the dark distance. Serena took off her poncho and laid it across Lund’s shoulders and chest. Fargo got a fire going and as
ked her to go back and get coffee from the saddlebags.
The fire and the coffee stirred Lund for the first time. Fargo checked the gash in his forehead and then his hand. ‘‘You remember how you got either of these?’’
Lund’s voice was weak. ‘‘I fell on my hand when Tyndale’s horse bucked me off. The head—I slipped on something while I was climbing up here. I think I was out for a while. It took some time for me to remember anything. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing out here. I remembered who I was but that was about all.’’
‘‘Oh, Dad. This is so terrible. This is all because of Tyndale.’’
Fargo said, ‘‘Tyndale’s got it in for you, no doubt about that. But he’s also doing his job.’’
‘‘Don’t even say that, Skye!’’ Serena snapped. In the firelight her face looked fierce, a warrior princess defending her father.
Lund said, ‘‘I expect he’s right, honey. It was foolish of me to run. That only gave Tyndale more ways to convince people I was guilty. I should’ve let him take me in.’’
‘‘How do you feel about that now?’’ Fargo said.
‘‘He’s not going to turn himself in,’’ Serena said.
‘‘It’s the only way to handle it, Serena,’’ Fargo said as quietly as possible. ‘‘And I think your father knows that now.’’
‘‘Trust him to Tyndale? I’ll never let that happen, Skye. I promise you that.’’
Lund said, ‘‘I need to go back, honey. I should get a lawyer in from Denver and I should go through the legal process.’’
‘‘And I’d send for some Pinkertons,’’ Fargo said.
Lund winced. Touched his good hand to the slash across his head. ‘‘You quitting me, Fargo?’’
‘‘No. But having some real detectives helping you sure won’t hurt.’’
‘‘This is crazy, Skye. Tyndale hates Father. He’ll do anything he can to see him hang.’’
‘‘There’s no other choice, Serena. I’m sorry, honey. You’ll just have to accept it. I can’t run. I never should have given in to panic the way I did. I need to see a doctor. I’m in a lot of pain and it’s not helping me being out here in the cold and rain.’’