by Nathan Jones
Even so, considering her good mood and undeniable attraction to Simon if it had just been a brief, stolen kiss she might not've kicked up too much of a fuss. But the redheaded man's lips lingered on hers, and as she got over her surprise she even thought she felt them start to part as if he planned to get some tongue in on the action.
Kristy gently put a hand on his chest and stepped back. “I can't.”
Simon also stepped back, disappointment and embarrassment plain on his face, along with just the faintest touch of annoyance. Maybe at himself. “I'm sorry. I misread the situation.”
“No!” she said hastily, then hesitated. “Okay yeah, kind of.” She looked into his eyes, ignoring the heat of her cheeks flushing. It wasn't all embarrassment. “It's not that I don't, well . . . it's just Miles hasn't been gone all that long and I'm still missing him.”
He nodded, eyes radiating warm understanding. “Of course. It's been longer for me but I still feel the same way about Natalie. I wouldn't want to tarnish your memory of your husband.” He hesitated, then continued resolutely. “It's just life is so short since the Ultimatum. None of us knows how much time we have left and we should make the most of it. With all the sadness in the world I don't want to pass up the chance for happiness.”
“I understand,” she said quietly. “It's just too soon. For me and Skyler both.”
“I get it.” He gave her a wry smile. “There'll be plenty of time once we're in settled into our new lives Texas, won't there?”
“That's why we're going, aren't we? For that hope of the future.” Kristy took his hand and squeezed it for a moment before letting it go. “I appreciate your friendship, but for now can we keep it to that?”
“Of course.” He raised the Geiger counter. “Until then feel free to stop by if you think something might be radioactive. I can always use a good hug.”
She gave him a wan smile. “I need to catch up to my son, but maybe you can join us for dinner tonight. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for us.”
“Sounds great.” Simon sobered a bit and looked at her earnestly. “I'm here for you, Kristy. You and Skyler both. You know that, right?”
Kristy nodded, and with a last smile turned and hurried away to find Skyler and the Hendricksons. She wasn't sure exactly what she thought about what had just happened, but even with her grief over Miles she couldn't bring herself to feel bad about it.
Chapter Six
Departure
The convoy set out early the next morning, refreshed but not exactly eager at the prospect of the road ahead.
Although Tom had described the next stretch of the journey as mountainous, it was more accurately steep and hilly most of the way, moving between and around mountains more often than actually scaling any slopes. Even so there was a lot more uphill and downhill trekking, with far fewer flat stretches than while crossing Utah.
That made things much harder on people and beasts of burden both. Pushing a heavily laden handcart up a hill was laborious and exhausting, but most of all slow, and they went from thirteen miles on their best day across Utah to struggling for half that some days. Pretty much everyone was forced to pitch in pushing carts, and even the wagons needed a shoulder behind them at some points.
All but Tom, who got to range far and wide across the country ahead and to either side while the convoy struggled to make miles, and didn't lament the tradeoff for a moment.
He had to admit it was nice to be back in mountainous areas, even if they didn't climb many actual mountains. He could tolerate conditions in the badlands and appreciated its rugged majesty, and he'd certainly spent plenty of time traveling through it. But nobody ever said it was a pleasant place to be.
Beyond that country like this felt like home. Striking out away from the convoy and scaling steep, heavily forested slopes to get a better vantage for scouting reminded him of his own slopes in the Manti-La Sal range, at least the lower ones around his winter lodge. The hunting here was better than across Utah, he could breathe without feeling like he was in an oven, and he could ghost across the terrain as close to completely hidden as humanly possible.
Unfortunately the route wasn't without its downsides, since Tom's warning about bandits was eventually proven true.
Eight days out from Grand Junction they passed through some foothills skirting mountains to the north. It was a nice area, the convoy traveling within easy range of Gunnison River so water was plentiful. In fact, it was such a pleasant place that it had attracted more than a few settlers, and the convoy had been traveling warily in case it had also attracted less honest folk.
Which, as it turned out, it had.
On the current stretch the terrain was rugged enough that the convoy had been forced to follow the highway for a while, banking on the hope that the presence of settlers would deter direct attack. Even so Tom had spent more time than usual scouting around them, including at night when it was more likely he'd spot campfires that would provide a clear telltale to the presence of potential threats.
He'd just finished scaling a steep slope north of the road before dawn on the eighth day when he spotted just such a campfire, a distant twinkle a few miles east along the ridge that would most likely be hidden from view from any other angle.
Tom approached with wary stealth, eyes searching the darkness and ears pricked for the presence of any guards or scouts who might be on watch. He saw no sign of any, but even so for the last mile or so slowed to the careful creep he'd perfected for moving in low light, timing his motion to ambient sounds around him.
It was that care that allowed him to hear a sound up ahead that he judged wasn't any normal nightly noise but came from a large animal, most likely human. He immediately froze in the dim twilight, searching his surroundings.
The campfire he'd spotted was still a few hundred yards distant, in a hollow partway down the northern slope where it would be out of view of the highway on the other side. But the noise he'd heard was closer than that, probably no more than fifty yards at most.
It took a few minutes of careful, patient listening before Tom heard more rustling from up ahead, then the murmur of quiet conversation. He continued forward even more cautiously, silent as a ghost and his silhouette always obscured by the cover around him. In a few more minutes he caught sight of the source of the voices.
They turned out to be coming from a camouflaged lookout post that allowed a view of the highway below, occupied by two men who were intently looking along it to the west, back the way Tom had come. A quick glance behind him confirmed that the convoy's campfires were visible from this vantage, and that was what had gotten their attention.
Tom cursed silently to himself at the fact that these men had spotted the convoy before he could sniff them out and deliver a warning to Simon. On this approach there'd not been much choice but to follow the highway, and he would've had to scout ahead for miles to find these guys before they found the convoy, which just wasn't practical. Especially since he would've had to scout a long ways after dark last night.
It was just good luck he'd chosen to do that early this morning and spotted the campfire.
Either way he didn't like this; if those two were scouts for a larger group they could spell a lot of trouble for the convoy. So the question was did he immediately head back and give warning, or slip closer and learn more about the flies circling them?
Tom had few doubts he could sneak within earshot of these guys without getting caught. He was almost that close now, and the mountains were his home and he knew how to move through them. Even more than that he'd scaled these slopes before on previous treks this way.
But few doubts wasn't none, and there was always a chance one of those guys might actually have some skill at tracking. Or less likely, Tom might make a mistake that would get him caught. It was a risk, and his inclination was always to steer wide of those.
But this was what he was getting paid for. Cursing silently to himself again, Tom checked his gear to make sure it was
fastened tight and wouldn't shift as he moved, then made his way forward. He started picking words out of the quiet murmurs within a few yards, but kept going until their conversation was easily heard.
“Think Corey's finished cooking breakfast yet?” one of the men asked.
His companion snorted. “If we're lucky he hasn't gone back to bed. Your cousin's dead weight, man.”
“He's handy when we get into it. You won't be pissing and moaning about him when we hit that group down there today. He'll be your best bud again, just like usual.”
There was a long pause before the second man spoke. “Dude, you're not serious. We can't hit that convoy.”
“You sure?” the first man said. “Lot of women and children down there, not many men. Easy pickings.”
“They've got enough. You crazy, man? It's just way too big.”
“We have to hit something,” the first man kept on stubbornly. “It's been slim pickings for weeks now, no convoys heading in from Texas at all. And trade through here was supposed to be booming.”
“So times are lean. You want solve that by committing suicide by convoy guards?”
“Don't be stupid, I'm just saying there's got to be a way. Maybe we can bluff them. Or pick some off from a distance and spook the rest, get them to panic and give us an opening.”
The second man raised his voice angrily. “No way. I'm happy sticking to jumping small groups, one or two wagons. Targets we can manage with three people. If you want to poke that hornet's nest I'm out.”
There was another long silence before the first man spoke grudgingly. “Maybe you've got a point. Just a shame seeing ripe pickings walk by under our guns is all.”
“Yeah, and a bear's got a lot of meat on those big bones. You don't see me trying to wrestle one.”
“All right, all right, I get it!” the first man snapped. “Corey will be disappointed, that's all.”
“Dude, screw that guy.”
Tom eased away from the bandits' scouting post like a shadow over the ground, if anything moving with even more caution than on the approach. He was soon far enough back in the cover of the surrounding forest that he could move a bit more quickly, and felt no desire to risk sticking around.
He had the information he needed; the bandits didn't plan to attack the convoy. He'd still advise caution when he reported it to Simon, and certainly wouldn't let his guard down until they were well away from the area, but as potential ambushes went this was pretty tame.
Just to be safe though, he circled around the two men and continued on to their camp to verify that there really were only three bandits in all, like the second man had said. He had no reason to doubt idle words overheard while spying, but better safe than sorry.
The campfire was bigger than it needed to be, circled by three dingy tents, one not much more than a staked down tarp slung over a rope stretched between two trees. At the other end of the clearing three horses had nearly grazed to the end of their tethers. A couple were handsome beasts, the other an older nag.
Tom didn't see Corey anywhere, which prompted him to be even more cautious on his approach. But eventually he heard the rasp of heavy breathing, not quite snores, coming from the opening of the tarp tent.
Tom circled the camp at a distance, searching the surrounding area with all his senses and peeking into the tents as best he could. Once he was satisfied there were only the three people he'd already located he continued on down the slope, making his way to the low valley on the other side of the foothill from the road. From there he followed it west until he was well away from the bandits.
Then he cut back over the ridge and made a beeline for the convoy.
He'd been gone long enough that Simon had already got everyone on the move when he arrived. The man seemed surprised to see him so soon, and his surprise turned to alarm when Tom announced the possible trouble up ahead and explained the situation.
“I'm inclined to believe they won't risk even taking potshots at our group as we pass,” he concluded. “But if you want I can lead you around their position and give warning if they try to follow. It'll be hard on this terrain, but we only need a few hundred yards of open ground to dissuade any ambush.”
Simon had listened to his report grimly without saying a word. Now he whistled sharply to his men, getting their attention, and waved them over. As he turned back to Tom he unslung his rifle to hold it ready. “Lead us to them.”
Tom blinked. “Say what, now?”
“You said they outright admitted to attacking smaller groups. They'd attack us if they thought they could get away with it, and if we pass on by they'll certainly find other victims. We have a responsibility to do something about them if we can.”
Well, the reasoning was hard to argue with, if also not easy to agree with. “If you want to take that risk I'd say it's a fate they've brought on themselves,” Tom said slowly. “But remember our little conversation about me not being a mercenary? They're not a threat to the convoy and I have no intention of risking myself in an unnecessary fight.”
Simon gave him a disgusted look. “Can't say I expected anything more from you. Will you at least lead us to them?”
He snorted. “Sure. I'll even cover you from hiding in case things turn sideways, if my intervention is justified.”
That seemed to settle some of the convoy leader's rancor; he quickly gathered five of his men and made sure everyone else who remained behind stayed alert as the convoy continued on down the road. Daylight was too precious to waste, and as it stood Simon's posse would quickly leave the slow wagons and handcarts far behind anyway; if there was trouble it wouldn't happen anywhere near the women and children.
Tom quickly led them up to the ridge, having them walk in the trees just down the slope on the other side while he scouted ahead. He did his best to remain stealthy in spite of setting a faster pace, senses alert to any unfriendly eyes to the east.
As he walked away he heard Simon's friends quietly ribbing the man about his relationship with Kristy Graham. “So what's up there, anyway?” Simon's best friend and second in command, Brad Durant, joked. “She seems to have cooled off on you the last week or so.”
The convoy's leader sounded a bit belligerent when he replied. “Nah, she's still hot for me. She just needs to play the grieving widow for a bit longer. I'll have her in the bag in no time.”
Tom had to say that particular attitude didn't endear him to the redheaded man. And apparently he wasn't the only one who had a problem with it. When Brad spoke next his voice was quieter, more serious. “Honestly though, dude, you should cool it a bit. Making serious moves on a single mother who just lost her husband and ogling her every chance you get is making you look like kind of a prick, and I'm not the only one who's noticed.” There were a few grumbles of agreement from some of the others.
“It's not like that,” Simon protested even more irritably. “Besides, you don't see her having a problem with it, do you?”
“Not out in the open,” one of the other men said. “But even if she doesn't other people do. We've got a long way to go, you want to spend that entire time with folks muttering behind your back? And trashing her reputation in the bargain?”
“Fine, fine, I'll try to be more discreet,” Simon snapped. “Jeez, you guys should worry more about your own love lives.”
That seemed the end of that particular conversation, and Tom couldn't really complain about it being done. Not just since he would've preferred them to keep quiet, either; it also hadn't done much for his opinion of Simon.
But rather than falling silent the handful of men changed the subject and kept right on talking, voices carrying farther than they probably realized. Tom finally lost his patience and turned. “Hey!” he hissed. “I'm twenty feet away and I can hear you clearly. You guys want to at least pretend you're trying to sneak up on armed and dangerous men?”
A somewhat embarrassed silence settled. “We're still a fair ways from them, Trapper,” Simon argued angrily.
; “Not as far as you think.”
The convoy's leader shrugged and motioned for him to keep moving. “Just do your thing, we've got this.”
Tom had more doubts about that by the second, but he nodded and turned, quickly outpacing the posse so he could properly scout ahead. Thankfully the conversation didn't start up again behind him, and when he glanced back after half a minute he saw Simon and his men creeping along more stealthily than they had been.
Good: walking towards trouble wasn't his favorite thing in the world even when he was alone and comfortable in his own terrain. The last thing he wanted was for the guys he was guiding to get him spotted, since the bandits ahead did know this area and made a living of jumping poor unwary folks.
If they knew he was coming he might catch a bullet before he even realized he was in danger, and his skill moving across mountain slopes could only aid him so much.
A good ways before they reached the bandit camp Tom returned to Simon and had the posse cut down into the valley, so they could approach the three highwaymen from downhill. That was less than ideal in a lot of ways, but the disadvantages were far outweighed by the key advantage that the bandits wouldn't be expecting trouble from that direction. They'd have their eyes on the convoy, which would give Tom a chance to sneak up on them from behind.
He hoped.
The closer they got the more slow and careful he went. That didn't please Simon or the other men behind him, but Tom wasn't about to get shot because they were raring for a fight. Anyway soon enough they were nearly in sight of the camp, where Tom took the convoy's leader ahead to point it out while the others waited in hiding.
“There, about halfway up the hill in that little clearing,” he whispered, barely audible from a foot away and avoiding using sibilants.
Simon squinted up the slope, taking an embarrassingly long time to pinpoint the camp even though Tom was pointing right at it. Once he spotted it he nodded grimly. “And they'll be there or in this lookout post you mentioned? Where's that?”