Stone of Vengeance

by Vickie Britton

  ‘I suppose Swen told you about the map I showed him,’ Kate remarked.

  Ty released her hand so quickly she felt as if she had said something wrong. ‘Yes, and he’s beginning to think one of rustlers might be working for him.’

  ‘You have no idea who made the x’s or why Jennie Kingsley’s phone number was jotted in the margin?’

  ‘No. Unless it was done by your attacker the night he stole our truck.’

  ‘But why would he want to do that?’

  ‘To make Swen look like the cattle rustler. To make it look as if he has direct ties to Jennie Kingsley.’

  ‘I heard they did date before her marriage.’

  ‘You’re on the wrong track,’ Ty insisted. ‘Swen doesn’t double-deal.’

  Kate hoped he was right, but her doubts seemed to float in the air, as strong as the noises of the creek.

  Ty stopped where a little waterfall trickled over rocks. The rushing of the stream told her this must be near the place she had fallen the night she had been shot. The gurgling noise, the same sound she had heard that night, brought a chill to her.

  ‘Swen told me he was working on a plan that may trap the rustlers,’ Kate said.

  Ty hesitated. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I trust you, Kate. I believe Swen is wrong about not bringing you in on this.’

  Ty seemed on the verge of confiding something to her. Kate waited, reluctant to say anything that might cause him to change his mind.

  ‘The thieves have been changing our brand, and they’ve been getting away with it. About a month ago, when we first suspected rustling, we started embedding microchips into the hides of some of our cattle.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Kate replied. ‘Since you’ve always used branding, the thief will not suspect you’ve started using another identification method.’

  ‘Swen and I have been watching the cattle auctions. So far, none of the microchips have turned up, but I think it’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘If any of your cattle do show up, once the State Brand Inspector reads the chip, the consigner, the thief, can be identified.’

  They walked on.

  ‘Where did you see the blond man who was out here?’ Kate asked.

  ‘I caught a glimpse of him here before he slipped into the cover of those trees. I tried to follow him, but soon lost his trail.’

  Ty pointed out to her where the barbed wire had been slashed and pulled away. He crossed the fence line, saying, ‘We’re on Kingsley land now.’

  The terrain began to look familiar. Kate could look straight up and see the cliff where she had parked the Landcruiser. Ahead of them sage and grass-filled pasture land was flanked by grey bluffs.

  The steep ravine that held the secluded corral wasn’t far away. Ty had not told her he intended to bring her here. Ty and Swen were the only people who had been proven to be out here the night she was shot. Filled with misgivings, she dropped further behind him.

  ‘Not far now,’ Ty said, the sound of his voice making her doubts vanish. ‘The going’s a little rough so watch your step.’ Stones crumbled beneath their feet as they made a sudden descent onto the isolated valley floor.

  With a shudder, Kate’s gaze settled on the makeshift corral. As she wandered closer, the scent of cattle wafted up from the dry earth.

  ‘I knew you were going to make a trip out here on your own,’ Ty said. ‘Thought we might as well join forces. Let’s go over the area together, see what we can find. The rustlers must have left some clue behind.’

  Kate knew she should doubt him, but strangely she felt safe. And being here would give her a chance to look for a bullet or shell casing. The location where the gunman had shot her, because it was set in a spot easy to find just below where her Landcruiser had been parked, would be the place to start. ‘I’m going to head towards the cliff,’ she told Ty.

  ‘I’ll be along shortly,’ he answered. Ty had dropped back, kneeling, examining the ground as if he had found something that interested him, possibly tyre tracks. ‘Don’t stray too far.’

  The air cooled as she passed into the shelter of the trees. A shiver ran through her as she thought of the cattle rustlers, of one in particular, the nameless man who had stalked her with a rifle.

  Her task appeared hopeless. Jeff and the sheriff’s crew had already scanned the canyon and had failed. Anyone would, in an attempt to uncover small objects in such a large wooded area where one clump of trees looked identical to another.

  She followed as direct a course as she could, winding through endless mazes of pines and aspens. Apprehension grew the farther she got from Ty and the corral. She thought of turning back, but pressed on, determined to complete her search.

  Prompted by her ever-increasing sense of uneasiness, Kate speeded her steps. As she did, a noise – like a footstep falling on dried leaves – crackled from behind her. She stopped, turned back, and listened. It must be Ty catching up with her. She waited, every sense alert, but time passed and he did not appear. No other sounds followed. Satisfied that what she had heard was just a deer or some small scampering animal, she headed on.

  Kate recognized the area immediately, for she had fled from her place of hiding into a small clearing. Either the strain of the horseback ride or the remembrance of that sudden zing from the flying bullet caused a sudden, throbbing pain to start in her arm.

  Finding the exact spot where the bullet had hit her had been so easy that she knew the gunman had probably found it, too. She took her time, combing the ground around the junipers she had dived into. He had been close to her when he had fired the shot, probably within twenty feet. She paced back to where she thought he had been standing and examined that area, too. Nothing. Likely, he had been here before her and had already removed the evidence.

  But would he be able to locate the scene of the first shot? She didn’t think so. Trees and darkness would have prevented him from seeing what she had seen. The bullet had struck a jagged rock and its odd shape had stayed in her mind. With any luck she could locate the stone again, find the nick in it, and trace the course of the bullet.

  Kate wandered around for a long time before she stopped with certainty. She recalled how she had headed uphill and seen this very boulder rising from a flat bed of rock. Kate started toward it, but stopped at the rustling of branches from the slope just below her. For a moment she envisioned a gunman halting, lifting his rifle.

  ‘Ty?’ she called, but no answer came. Once again she reminded herself that the hillside was alive with many forms of life.

  Kate turned full attention back to her search. She inspected the rock and found, dead in the centre, a small chip. She recalled how she had jumped back out of the path of the ricocheting bullet. It had barely missed her. She had thought at the time that it had hit the tree trunk just to her left.

  She moved over to it and was able to locate the tiny tell-tale mark where the bullet had struck. It had lost the force to penetrate the bark of the aspen and so must have dropped to the ground close by. On hands and knees she used her fingers to brush through the debris. After a long search, surprisingly, she found a small portion of badly damaged bullet.

  Her heart pounded. On fired bullets and cartridge cases no two firearms – even those of the same make and model – produced the same unique marks. She had won, had been able to come up with almost certain proof, with the ‘mechanical fingerprint’ that would lead them to the shooter.

  Eagerly Kate lifted it from its bed of leaves. But as she examined the small object she held, disappointment drove away her rush of joy. The bullet was so fragmented, she wondered if it would be of any use to them. It looked as if it wouldn’t have sufficient rifling impressions to match with those contained in the gun’s barrel.

  But if the gunman hadn’t found this bullet, chances are he hadn’t found the cartridge case either. Stuffing her find into her jeans pocket, Kate stood up. She hurried to where she supposed he had been standing at the time the shot was fired, and began an av
id search for the shell casing. Being larger, it was much easier to find than the bullet. Again Kate felt a sense of elation.

  Strong evidence, if it happened to match Swen’s rifle or the one belonging to Slim Barton or Ty. She slipped it into the pocket of her jeans just as Ty emerged from between thick trees.

  Kate stared into his eyes, shadowed by the overhead branches. He might have been standing there for some time, watching her. She half expected him to demand that she turn over to him what she had found. Unable to meet his steady gaze any longer, afraid she had led him to the evidence he could not track down himself, she turned away.

  ‘You’ve been searching for a long while. Did you find anything, Kate?’

  She avoided his question by reforming his, ‘Did you?’

  ‘At first I thought I’d found something,’ Ty said, looking disappointed. ‘But it turned out to be only a chunk of wood. I’ve scoured the entire area. Apparently they left no clues behind.’

  As much as she wanted to trust him, Kate could not risk telling him about the bullet and cartridge she had hidden in her pocket. Anxious now to return to Rock Creek, to start the ballistics check, she said, ‘I’m ready to go back.’

  ‘I know a short cut,’ Ty said, taking her arm and leading her in the direction of Swen’s land where they had left their horses. As the way narrowed, she went first, ahead of him. He walked slowly, stopping here and there to look back the way they had come. His delaying seemed almost deliberate, or was it just her nerves?

  Kate recalled the sound she had heard on the trail, like footsteps crunching down on dry underbrush. She wondered if Ty had heard, too. He might have sensed someone was following them.

  When they reached the creek, he stopped walking, gripped her shoulders, and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘These people we’re dealing with might be very dangerous. Be careful, Kate.’

  Did he know about the evidence she was concealing from him? In the stillness she thought of Ty standing over her that night with a revolver in his hand. She slipped out of his grasp. Nothing, not even her own reactions, made sense to her anymore.

  Chapter 10

  On the drive back to town Kate’s apprehension grew. Periodically she glanced into the rear-view mirror and surveyed the vast stretch of emptiness behind her. The sight, which should have been reassuring, only caused a replaying of Sam Swen’s warning, ‘Trouble is, you don’t see people like that. But they see you.’

  Even though Kate had driven this same remote road many times since Kingsley’s murder, today it looked ominously deserted. She pressed harder on the accelerator. The grazing cattle, the trails that cut off from the blacktop and wound through tree-lined gulches, appeared to her in a sort of unreal blur of speed.

  Soon she must face Jeff, but even that didn’t dull her sense of urgency, her anxiousness to turn the evidence she had found over to him. She already knew he would be angry. Why wouldn’t he? She had flagrantly disobeyed his direct orders, but she hoped Jeff would weigh that against the fact that she had succeeded. What she would hand over to him would surely supply the proof needed not only to identify the man who had shot at her, but also the cattle rustler and likely the same man who had killed Charles Kingsley.

  Furthermore, she had kept her find a secret. She had acted professionally, hadn’t taken into her confidence Ty, even though she was tempted to do so. Jeff would have to give her some credit for that. Still the knowledge that Kate had played the role of a good sheriff didn’t keep her from wishing that Ty was here beside her. She slowed for a curve, and as the vehicle straightened again, her tense grip on the wheel relaxed a little.

  Kate had driven several miles before she spotted a car that had run off the road. An old, faded brown Chevy set immobile, smashed against a tree. She could see even from this distance that the bonnet had crumpled from the great impact.

  Kate’s heart sank. She had joined the department because she loved the challenge of investigating, of bringing justice and order to a community, but she detested this part of her job. She approached the wreck with dread. The car, spotted with rust and corrosion, looked as if it belonged in some junkyard. It had been driven hard under bad conditions. Mud spattered across the back, across the licence plate. The driver though, must be a local, for travellers rarely – if ever – ventured from the main highway onto the criss-cross of rough country trails.

  As she pulled to a stop, Kate glimpsed the driver slumped behind the wheel. A person in danger – even without badge, gun, or ability to call the station – Kate must act quickly in the victim’s best interests. She leapt out.

  She hoped he wasn’t badly hurt. She could see no reason why he had run off the road, unless he was drunk or had suffered a heart attack. Either way, his plight took priority over her own mission, which just moments ago had loomed as all-important.

  Kate hastened towards the window, which was rolled down on the driver’s side. He must be a ranch hand, for he wore a battered bulky black jacket and a cowboy hat. Her words rang out hollowly as she called, ‘Sir, are you all right?’

  No movement. She stepped closer, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Just as she did, his head jerked up.

  The features beneath the cowboy hat were obscured by a dark ski mask. He stared at her, his eyes through the gaping holes, narrow, colourless slits. The grotesque combination of ski mask and cowboy hat caused her to recoil with a startled cry.

  With a rapid movement he lifted a revolver from the seat beside him. The small gun looked lost in his large hand. Despite the clumsy glove, he handled it like an expert, training it on her in a steady, menacing way. Kate, horrified, stumbled backwards.

  ‘Stop, right there.’

  His low, raspy words had a muffled quality, as if he intended to avoid the possibility of Kate’s recognizing his voice. That could only mean one thing: at some point during her investigation, they had met.

  He aimed the gun at her heart.

  Fear caused weakness to wash over her. She had been set up, waylaid. An absurd image sprang to mind of a gentleman bandit holding up a train. But there was nothing make-believe about this man or his intentions. Deadly serious, dangerous: Kate was facing the rustler who had shot her once, and who would not hesitate to shoot again.

  She remained staring at him, too fearful to move, frozen in place.

  He hunched low in the seat with those terrible narrowed eyes fastened on her. ‘I’ll take that bullet and shell casing.’

  Kate had no choice: either hand them over or die. With trembling fingers, she reached into her pocket and reluctantly placed the evidence into his outstretched hand.

  She couldn’t see his face, yet she was aware that he was smiling, smiling like the victor in some game of wit. The gun, which had momentarily lowered, rose again. Kate drew in her breath. He had what he wanted, but he intended to kill her anyway.

  An explosion cracked, resounding around her. A bullet zinged by her striking the left front tire of her Landcruiser. The sound of expelling air mingled with his short triumphant laugh.

  The battered Chevy she had thought incapable of moving roared to life. Kate, sick and dizzy, watched the dirt toss out from the spinning wheels as it pulled back onto the road. With her vehicle out of commission, she had no way of following him. All she could do was watch him speed off in the direction of town.

  She worked with great haste, gasping for breath as she changed the flat tyre. As she sped toward Rock Creek, she blotted out all thoughts of the clever ruse. She didn’t remember the details of driving back to town, only of skidding to a stop in front of the sheriff’s department. With still-thudding heart, she rushed inside.

  Lem in a startled way listened as she poured out the whole story. ‘He never left the car so I couldn’t judge his height. He wore a bulky jacket and a ski mask. Even though he had gloves on, I could tell he had big, strong hands.’

  ‘Can you identify the voice?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Disguised. It had a toneless quality.’

  ‘Could
it have been a woman?’

  All along Kate suspected that a woman had driven the truck that had wrecked her squad car, but the person who had waylaid her today was definitely a man. ‘No, not possible.’

  Lem lapsed into silence, one soon filled with disbelief. ‘You mean you didn’t even get suspicious when you saw the licence plate covered with mud?’

  ‘I … I thought someone needed help. I didn’t think.…’

  ‘You sure didn’t.’ Lem reached for the phone and called for their patrol cars to be on the lookout for a fifteen to twenty-year-old brown Chevy covered with rust and mud. He gave directions where it was last seen and ended with a firm warning, ‘The driver is armed and dangerous.’ Lem replaced the receiver. ‘The way you describe the car, it probably came from some junkyard. Or else it had been left abandoned.’

  ‘If it is legally registered,’ Kate agreed, ‘it won’t be to the driver. I noticed a lot of old cars out at Hal Barkley’s place.’

  ‘We’ll check, but the perpetrator has to be one of those three men whose guns we’re holding.’ For a long time Lem did not continue. ‘With no ballistics test, we’ve got nothing. Only a choice between Slim Barton, on one hand and Swen with Garrison working for him, on the other.’

  ‘All we really have,’ Kate said, ‘is this: whoever fired that shot knew that I’d be looking for the evidence that would incriminate him.’

  ‘That makes sense. Because of the darkness and the chase, he couldn’t locate the place where he had shot at you, but he figured you could … and would. That’s why he decided to keep an eye on you.’ Lem paused thoughtfully. ‘Or else he intentionally lured you to the site counting on the fact that you would lead him to the evidence.’

  ‘What I can’t understand,’ Kate said, ‘is how he got ahead of me and staged this accident so quickly.’

  ‘Garrison and Swen working as partners,’ Lem suggested. ‘You say you and Garrison weren’t together for a long period of time? He probably planned to leave you free to search so he could watch you. At some interval he called Swen on a cellphone, and Swen either went himself or sent one of his henchmen to set this trap for you.’