Malcolm eased down the steep slope. His mud-caked clothes stuck to his skin by the time he’d made it fifty feet. Another fifty and they’d be at the bottom. Grace leaned back against him, and Malcolm felt tension ease from his neck and shoulders, even as sharp rocks gouged into his back. Just a little bit farther . . .
A noise above him made him dig in his heels and turn his head.
“What is that?” Grace asked, her voice wavering.
Malcolm swallowed as the noise grew into a loud rumble. The ground shook under him, and small rocks clattered down the hill from high up the mountain.
Then, his entire body shook, dislodging him from his precarious perch. Grace yelped, and Malcolm crammed his boots into the hillside, cradling her and Ben tighter as larger rocks from above whacked his head and shoulders.
A giant boulder, as large as a horse, crashed down the slope only feet from them, bouncing in great leaps, careening and crushing rocks and plants until tumbling into the river.
Grace screamed. Malcolm huddled over her and yanked his feet out of the ground, hastening their slide down the mountain. It was his only recourse. He lay back to keep from toppling forward head over heels, covering Grace’s face with his arms, rocks now spilling down the cliff in great numbers, and smacking him in the head.
He glanced back, then wished he hadn’t. The entire side of the mountain groaned and broke off like jagged teeth, sliding down in massive avalanches into the river. Unable to get purchase for his feet, Malcolm slid down the slick shaking mountainside, out of control, holding on to Grace and Ben with all his might.
And then, a surge of earth lifted and carried them the last twenty feet, as rocks and debris rained on them, battering and bruising them, until they hit the sandy bank now buried under muddy sludge and rock.
The impact jolted Malcolm forward, and Grace flew from his arms, landing facefirst on wet sand inches from the roiling water. The river churned in a deafening clamor as Malcolm finally stopped moving and wiped the grit from his eyes, and the sight of it suddenly made his stomach sick. Memories of floundering in thick violent water assailed him once more. His head pounded from the assault of both memory and rock, and blood trickled down from his head into his left eye.
Then, the mountain behind him quieted as the avalanche settled around them, a few rocks still trickling downhill. His pulse throbbed in his ears as he stared at Grace lying prone on the riverbank, the water splashing up onto her head. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.
To his relief, Grace lifted herself shakily to her hands and knees. But then she screamed. And screamed again.
Malcolm jumped and stumbled to her. She fastened startled eyes on him, then pointed at the river—at the powerful current and choppy waves crashing into rocks and overflowing the eroding banks.
His gaze fell upon Ben’s small body—bobbing in a slipstream not three feet from them, his little face etched in shock. Before Malcolm could suck in a breath, the current snagged the baby and yanked him into the swift-moving current.
Without hesitation, Malcolm dove into the river.
Chapter 26
Clayton Wymore, you may have a fast horse, but you’ve got nowhere to go.
Eph Love led the pursuit after the outlaw, their horses stomping through the wet tufted hairgrass and alpine sage as they forced their quarry toward the towering rock cirque backing the thin strip of meadow. Wymore took potshots over his shoulder at them, the bullets chipping tree branches and ricocheting off rocks. Stapleton and O’Grady fired back, forcing Wymore to pick up speed. At some point, you’ll have to dismount and run for cover.
Eph signaled his deputies and Marcus Coon to break rank, and they rode wide, casting a net to the north. Wymore, in response, swung west toward the rock wall, where patches of brush and small dwarfed pines lined a shallow wash. The outlaw’s horse kicked up water as he galloped at breakneck speed, distancing himself from Eph and the Banks brothers. But he was heading right to where Eph intended him—backed up against a steep ravine that cornered an outcropping of rock and disappeared from view. A jumble of boulders littered the ravine, which would make it difficult—if not treacherous—riding. Once they had Wymore afoot, he was a dead man.
Eli and LeRoy rode alongside Eph, matching his speed and shooting their pistols. Eph admired the way the Indians rode, smooth on their mustangs as if they’d been born on them. He loved his mare, but she was getting up in years and soon wouldn’t be able to tolerate this kind of strain. He imagined these young men could fix him up with a good horse that would handle any sort of danger on the Front Range.
Eph noted his deputies slowing down as they got within target range of the outlaw. He reined Destiny in as the Indians veered off to his right, just enough to make it clear to Wymore that he had nowhere to go. Now whatcha gonna do?
Stapleton and O’Grady slipped off their horses and made for a stand of aspens pressed against the cliff. They dropped behind a jumble of rock and positioned their rifles, then fired off a volley of shots. Coon jimmied himself between two fat trees and aimed his Winchester at Wymore.
Wymore urged his horse to the edge of the ravine as bullets streaked over his head. Water splayed down the cut in the mountain in a three-foot-wide stream emptying into the lazy creek hugging the cirque. As Eph brought Destiny to a halt, Wymore dismounted, grabbed his gun, and hopped over the creek to get behind a crag of limestone and volcanic rock.
Now it begins . . .
Shots blasted again from Wymore’s gun, this time in Eph’s direction. Eph heard the bullets whine in the air, but he knew Wymore’s rifle didn’t have the range to reach him. At least not yet.
Eli and LeRoy trotted back to his side.
“What’s the plan, Sheriff?” LeRoy asked, keeping his eye on the ravine.
“I’m thinking we’d be in good position over there.” He pointed at a half-dozen tall white pines nestled up to the rock wall, on the other side of the crystal brook that meandered through the meadow.
The brothers nodded, and together they trotted over to the trees and led their horses to a safe distance and dismounted. Eph swung off Destiny and ran in a crouch to the tree on the far left. A grassy swale ran up the hillside and flanked the mountain, and Eph noticed the grass was heavily trampled. He turned to Eli, who had come up to squat behind the tree next to him, his Henry balanced on his knee as he took Wymore’s position in his sights.
“What do you make of that?” he asked Eli, nodding at the grass.
LeRoy scurried to Eli’s side, his rifle tucked under his right arm and a revolver in the other.
“Elk?” Eph suggested.
Eli’s eyes narrowed. He cast a quick glance toward the ravine, then crouched over to inspect the grass, running his hand along the ground, studying it.
As Eli hurried back, three more shots punctured the air. Eph heard his deputies fire off a couple of rounds. He looked around the tree and saw Wymore tuck his head back as chips of rock flew around him.
“If’n he’s thinking of waitin’ for us to leave or run out of bullets, he’s gonna have a long wait,” LeRoy said, shaking his head.
“I’ll wait until hell freezes over, if I have to,” Eph told him. “But I’d like to find that woman and her baby. So let’s get this over with.”
“LeRoy,” Eli said, running up to his brother, “it’s the herd.”
LeRoy cocked his head. “Here?” He took in the meadow. “So, where’d they go? That’s a dead end.” He nudged his head to the south, beyond their stand of trees. Then LeRoy’s eyes widened.
Eli smiled and nodded. “Must be another pasture up there.” His face suddenly darkened. “Feel that?”
Eph regarded him questioningly. “Feel what?” But Eli’s eyes were locked on his brother’s.
LeRoy dropped to his knees and laid both palms on the ground. He nodded, then let out a soft whistle.
Eli scanned the mountain. “There’s no other way out.”
Eph was about to interrupt, but Eli swun
g around and looked him in the eye. “Sheriff, we gotta go. Now.”
“What—?”
LeRoy took him arm and pulled him along, toward the horses. He stopped and said, “Feel the ground.”
Eph pulled off a glove and flattened his palm to the dirt. The ground shook. Elk couldn’t be causing that.
As if reading his mind, Eli said, while swinging up on his horse, “It’s that herd. Sheriff, it’s a big one—a hundred head at least.”
“Well, where are they?” Eph scanned the meadow.
LeRoy mounted his horse and spun around to face Eph. He smiled and tipped his head toward the ravine.
“Up there?” Eph scratched his chin, then smoothed out his moustache.
“Yep,” Eli said as Eph mounted Destiny. “And they’re coming this way.”
“You sure?” Eph said, hearing and seeing nothing. How could those Indians know which way a herd of horses was running?
Eli gave him a look as if he were a three-year-old asking if the sun was going to come up in the morning.
“What about Stapleton, Coon, and O’Grady?” Eph asked, shifting uneasily in his saddle and sensing Destiny’s growing agitation. She tossed her head and chomped her bit.
“If they stay where they are, I’m thinkin’ they should be safe.”
“And Wymore?”
LeRoy smirked and wagged his head. He said nothing. Eph clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“Won’t he run—when he hears them coming?”
“Probably be too late,” LeRoy replied. “So long as we keep distractin’ him a bit. Although, we better not dally too long. That meadow narrows yonder, and there’s only room for maybe three abreast a good ways down. Which means—”
“Means we need to git movin’.” Eli took the cue and kicked his horse into a canter and rode back north, out in the open and facing the ravine head-on. He kept back just far enough that Wymore’s bullets couldn’t reach him. But his presence there detonated another series of shots.
Eph and LeRoy came alongside him. Eph fired a few rounds. The bullets dinged off the rocks along the creek and ricocheted into the sides of the ravine, and the smoke from his gun twirled lazily into the air.
Eph’s mare pranced in place. She wasn’t one to flinch at gunshot, so he knew it was the proximity of the wild horses that had set her feet dancing. He suspected that he and the Indians were playing a dangerous game, but if they fled now, Wymore just might get away.
“How long we wait?” he asked LeRoy, whose mustang seemed unperturbed by the danger.
LeRoy looked to Eli, who scrunched up his face and stared up the mountain.
Eph followed his gaze and then noticed a dusty haze drifting down the draw. He spotted Wymore’s dark horse pressed against the side of the mountain. Suddenly it whinnied, then bolted to the north, passing the deputies and disappearing into trees that hugged the cliff.
“We’re done waitin’,” Eli said, pushing his wide-brimmed hat down on his head.
Eph took a long look at Wymore as he backed up, one step after another. Eli and LeRoy swung their mounts and galloped east, away from the mountain and down the grassy swale behind Eph.
Destiny reared up. Wymore came out from behind his rock. Eph could barely make out the outlaw’s words as Wymore yelled and waved his arms at them.
“Yeah, run! You’ll never git me. A bunch of yellow-bellied cow—”
Eph didn’t wait to hear the rest. As much as he longed to see Wymore’s demise, he couldn’t risk it. No sense losing his life over the sight. A quick glance told him his deputies were holding tight. No doubt they’d heard the horses—for Eph could hear them now. Sounded like a buffalo stampede. He wondered if their gunfire had set off a panic.
He yanked Destiny around and kicked her flanks. She tore off, following after the Indians, who were a hundred yards downslope. The thunder of hooves rode on the air and soon engulfed him in a deafening smother and cloud of dust. But he didn’t look back. He pictured Wymore under all those hooves, hundreds of pounds of horseflesh squashing his body into the soft wet grass, rocks and boulders tumbling down on him and burying him in a shallow grave.
Destiny spurred faster as the herd came up close behind Eph. He could almost feel the heat from their bodies as their heavy panting and snorting reached his ears. Eph hunkered down and rode like the wind, then veered sharply to the north after the Indians. At the turn, the swale opened into a wide sloping mesa of sage and small spruce, and a hefty wind blew at him as the horses galloped by and spread out, slowing as the open space afforded them room to collect and calm.
LeRoy’s horse reared and danced among a stand of pines, and the Indian on his back whooped and hollered. His brother’s grimy face gleamed with sheer excitement.
“Woo! Wasn’t that some ride!” Eli yelled. “You all right, Sheriff?”
Eph nodded. He soothed Destiny as she high-stepped in place and presently settled, her ears pricked back, listening to the wild horses trek down the mountain. The dust-choked air settled over them as the men sat their horses and chuckled. Eph doffed his hat and smoothed down his sweaty head, then his moustache.
Eli trotted back out to the swale, then returned as the sound of hooves softened to quiet.
“S’pose we should see what’s left of Wymore,” LeRoy suggested.
Eli chortled and shook his head. “Fool way to die.”
Eph trotted back the way they’d momentarily come, the soft ground now chewed up into a mess of clods and trampled grass. The Indians followed behind. As soon as he caught sight of the ravine, he spotted his deputies cantering toward him. A blanket of rocks and dirt and torn-up brush littered the base of the ravine the horses had run down. There was no sign of Clayton Wymore.
When O’Grady reined in his horse a few steps ahead, he said, “He tried to clamber up the side of the mountain . . .”
Stapleton trotted up to Eph and the Indians, relief written all over his face. “Sheriff, I thought you were a goner. Them horses were chomping at Destiny’s tail.”
Eph chuckled and patted his mare’s neck. “She wasn’t gonna let that happen. She’s fond of her tail.”
They all laughed, and Eph felt the knot of tension loosen in his gut. “Well, I reckon that’s the end of the trail for the Dutton Gang.”
The men sat in a somber silence for a moment, and Eph thought about all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. It had taken a while, but justice, in the end, had prevailed. A warm feeling of satisfaction filled his chest. He’d done it—Wymore and Cloyd were dead. He’d remember this day, years from now, as one of his best days. But they weren’t through yet, and there was still the woman and her baby.
“Colin, Ezra—go see what you can find of Wymore’s body. Haul it back to the cabin. We need to get that woman’s body too—the one Wymore shot back in the meadow. Coon—go with them. Can you manage that?”
The deputies nodded. Coon said, “And there’s Cloyd as well. Three bodies we have to carry back to Fort Collins.”
“We might be able to fetch Cloyd’s horse,” Eli said. “That woman musta had one too. I reckon it’s somewheres around.”
“That would help,” O’Grady said, raking fingers through his thick red beard.
Eph nodded, hoping that was the sum total dead for the day. It bothered him that Connors had disappeared. He knew there weren’t any other outlaws up to mischief in these parts, but the mountain had other dangers. Not so bad for an able-bodied man with a gun or two, and a surefooted horse. But the woman and her baby could be wandering lost, with no water or food, and only the clothes on their backs.
He glanced up at the sky. There were maybe two hours of strong daylight left. Once the sun sank behind the mountain, their missing persons would have a hard time of it.
He turned to Eli and LeRoy. “Good work back there. I’m grateful.” He had no doubt he’d have failed to find those scalawags without them.
The Indians only nodded, as if it was all in a day’s work. They certainly w
ere a godsend.
“We still need your trackin’ skills,” Eph told them.
“Let’s go find Grace and her baby,” Eli said. “If’n we don’t, Clare will kill me.” LeRoy nodded.
Eph didn’t have a chance to ask Eli who Clare was—for the trackers had galloped off before he could even open his mouth. Eph took his leave of Coon and the deputies, then coaxed Destiny into a run, following the two Indians as they backtracked toward the burnt cabin.
Chapter 27
“Monty! Monty!” Grace screamed, hardly hearing herself over the roar of the river. She ran on her mutilated bare feet over sharp rocks, tripping and smacking her hands as she fell over and over, trying to navigate the riverbank. Pain shot through every muscle and bone, and she cried out, tears streaming down her face.
“No, no, no!” She pinned her eyes on the glimpse of blue cloth that bobbed up and down in the tumbling current. Seconds felt like hours as she watched her baby—her precious baby—sink under the water, then pop up again. The river rumbled and churned, and Grace waved her arms wildly, overwrought with helplessness. He was only yards away, but Grace couldn’t reach him.
This was her worst nightmare—doubled. Monty’s head emerged from under the muddy brown swirls as he was swept along, careening into large boulders and cascading down steep drops as the river rushed down the canyon. With strong strokes, he swam toward Ben, but her baby whisked downriver just out of his grasp time and again.
Grace ran and ran, trying to catch up, praying she wouldn’t lose Ben, her sweet baby. Oh Ben!
And Monty . . . had she just found him, only to lose him again? Would this river—this same river, she realized with a shock—take her beloved husband from her yet again? No, please, don’t do this to me!
Her heart felt like a hard rock in her chest. She sucked in quick shallow breaths but her throat had clamped shut, as if she were drowning. And she was—drowning in misery and grief and despair.
She hurried as fast as she could, jumping over rocks and gritting her teeth as her feet were sliced over and over. The river began to widen and slow, but Ben was sucked down a narrow channel between two boulders, and she lost sight of him.
Colorado Hope (The Front Range Series Book 2) Page 29