When he heard movement from the direction of the riverbed, Gus drew his Colt and snuck that way so quickly that he forgot to put his hat back on. He didn’t even consider hiding in the same spot he’d used when watching the deputies close in on the camp. Instead, he picked out a new patch of shadows and prepared for the worst. To his credit, Doyle got a hell of a lot closer than anyone else would have under the circumstances.
“You’re losin’ yer hair, old man,” Doyle chided as he scurried toward Gus’s spot. “The moonlight bounces offa yer scalp like a damn mirror.”
“Real funny,” Gus snarled. “Were you out there coming up with jokes or did you actually do something useful?”
“Them law dogs followed my old tracks like you said. At least, they did for a while. After that, they got so turned around in the dark they nearly shot one another. It was a real sight.”
“You recognize them?”
Doyle pondered that for about half a second before shrugging his shoulders. “We did pull a few jobs around Coolidge. Plus there was that hotel we robbed a few miles north of there. We knew they’d be coming after us sooner or later.”
“Them and plenty others,” Gus muttered.
Grinning from ear to ear, Doyle said, “Ain’t it grand?”
They slept in shifts, with Gus taking first watch. Even though Doyle agreed to keep his eyes open when they traded off, Gus only dozed for a few scant hours before lying on his side and listening carefully to every sound beyond the fading warmth of the campfire. The only thing he heard was the steady rise and fall of Abigail’s breathing. When she shifted or rolled over, she mumbled as if she was dreaming of some intricate conversation.
They were all awake and packing up their bed-rolls before the sun had fully risen. Gus figured that if the lawmen wanted to pay them another visit, it would be in the light of morning. Therefore, he was certain to clear out of that spot in short order. Abigail fretted a bit, but quieted down once she was given a can of peaches that Doyle had been saving in his saddlebag. It was difficult to tell whether she was happier with the peaches or the fact that she was eating them after Doyle put up such a fuss at the prospect of letting them go.
When Gus rode ahead to scout the trail that lay before them, Abigail kept to herself and slurped at the last of the peaches. Once she’d finally made certain to drain every last drop of juice, she blinked and reached over Doyle’s shoulder to hold the empty container under his nose.
“Did you want some?” she asked innocently.
Doyle gritted his teeth and set his eyes upon the rugged landscape in front of him. “You know I did.”
She shrugged from her spot behind him and retracted her arm. “Well, you should have said something,”
“I did. I told you I was saving those.”
“For what? A special occasion?”
“Yeah, like when we finally traded you in for however much money we could get for you.”
Abigail shifted uncomfortably in the narrow strip of saddle she occupied. Unlike when she rode with Gus, she currently perched upon the last bit of leather that would hold her. At times, she seemed ready to fall off the horse’s back completely, but grabbed Doyle’s jacket or even his collar to hoist herself back up again. “Gus told you to take care of me,” she said.
Twisting around to look over his shoulder, Doyle replied, “He told me to keep an eye on you. There’s a difference. I can keep an eye on you just fine while doin’ any number of things. I could even watch you very carefully as you fall off that cliff right over there.”
Abigail drew in a sharp breath and turned to get a quick look at Doyle’s cliff. While there were plenty of hills and rocks about, there wasn’t any cliff to be seen. She twisted around to take a second look just to be certain, but only found more of the same. “You’re a terrible man,” she said.
“Then maybe you should watch your tone.”
“You won’t hurt me. I’m too valuable.”
“Dead or alive, honey,” Doyle said. “Just like the rest of us.”
“Why are you going along with this?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You don’t strike me as the sort who would rescue anyone. You seem more like the men who kidnapped me.”
Doyle looked over his shoulder and said, “I resent that! Those men weren’t nothing but big talkers in fancy suits. They don’t know how to fight someone who ain’t some woman.”
“All right, fine. But why go along with this?”
“Would you rather I didn’t?” Doyle asked.
Abigail shrank back as much as she could without falling off the back of his horse. “No,” she squeaked, “I was just curious.”
“This brings to mind a whole bunch of old sayings. One’s about how curiosity killed a cat. The other is about looking a gift horse in the mouth.” Doyle felt her slump against him as she became so quiet that the only thing he could hear was the steady thump of his horse’s hooves against the ground. After a bit of that, he said, “Me and Gus have been through a lot. Usually, his ideas are pretty good, so I went along with him on this one.”
“But you didn’t want to, did you?”
“Actually, no. I wanted to take whatever those men in the fancy suits were guarding, maybe the things they had in their pockets, and skin out of there. I saw that fancy ring and thought Gus was of a mind to rob them fellas, as well. He jumped the gun and took a turn I wasn’t expectin’ and here we are.”
Abigail straightened up and rested her hands upon Doyle’s shoulders. She waited for a little while before finally asking, “And then?”
“And then . . . what?”
“Exactly,” Abigail prodded. “What happened after that?”
“You been here with us since then,” Doyle pointed out impatiently. “You know what happened. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Yes . . . but I was just . . .” She let her words trail off, waiting for Doyle to pick up the conversation from there. When he didn’t, she took her hands off him and held on to the saddle wherever she could. Her perch was a bit more precarious, but she seemed to prefer it to hanging on to Doyle directly.
They rode for the next several miles without saying much of anything.
Gus scouted ahead for most of that day. He kept his nose pointed toward the Rio Verde and let his horse run to its heart’s content. After going for so long at a more deliberate pace with extra weight on its back, the horse ran with a delight that proved to be infectious. It became downright easy for Gus to forget why he’d ridden ahead in the first place. The simple act of charging forward got his blood racing through his veins and brought a smile to his shattered face.
When it was just him and the horse, Gus didn’t need to worry about plotting angles or figuring out one plan after another. He didn’t have to worry about fighting with Doyle and there was nobody shooting at him or chasing him at the moment. It was a rare time indeed in the life of Gus McCord.
But that wasn’t to say the ride was easy. It was a mountainous stretch of terrain that rose and fell like waves frozen in stone. Trees sprouted in clusters. Fallen rocks gathered in piles or single boulders sat like stubborn pigs in the middle of his chosen course. More than once, Gus was caught unawares by gorges that had been hidden from sight by tall creosote bushes or thick mesquite trees. Gus rose to the challenge by circling around those obstacles and noting them in the back of his head for when Doyle and Abigail passed along that same route. His horse’s jumping ability was put to the test every so often when Gus decided to sail over a few jagged holes in the ground instead of skirting them. Hooves skidded against loose rocks and packed dirt, but both horse and rider continued to attempt the next ill-advised leap of faith.
Catching sight of the Rio Verde brought Gus’s thoughts back to where they needed to be. The river snaked to the north, where it eventually forked and marked the spot where they’d turn westward and head into Prescott. But no matter how inviting of a path the river was, Gus couldn’t follow it all the way to the fork. Fort V
erde was along that river as well, just a bit south of the main fork. While Gus had gotten past more than a few Army posts in his time, he wasn’t about to push his luck now. He had a bad feeling in his gut about that place and knew they could just as easily circle around than go anywhere near it.
Gus pulled back on the reins, causing his horse to whinny and snort with surprise. It seemed the big fellow had grown accustomed to moving at a full gallop and wasn’t ready to slow down. “Easy, now,” Gus said as he patted the horse’s neck. “Just give me a chance to get my bearings.”
Rummaging around in his saddlebag, Gus found the telescope he kept there. He placed his eye to the lens and studied the shape of the river and the formations along its bank. What concerned him the most was if anyone else was following the same waterway.
Just as Gus was ready to make note of what he’d seen and collapse the telescope, something kept him from doing so. He panned the telescope once more along the stretch of river in his view. There wasn’t much to look at until he spotted a patch of dust that had recently been kicked up into a dirty little cloud.
The cloud was low enough to the ground that it had to have been stirred up by something moving alongside the river. It was also high enough and dissipated to an extent that made Gus certain the thing that had been moving was gone.
He stood up in his stirrups to look at it from a slightly different angle. Although that allowed him to look over the tops of some trees a ways down the stretch, Gus wasn’t able to hold that stance for long before it caused his telescope to waver. Swearing to himself, he settled into his saddle, rested the telescope in both hands and slowly moved it along the river.
After keeping a very fast pace to get to that spot, sitting still was close to impossible. Before long, he felt like a kid wrapped up in his Sunday best, kicking his feet and aching to ditch his pew to go fishing. Just as he was about to dismiss what he’d seen as random movement, Gus caught sight of another cloud.
This one hung even closer to the ground and rose up as he watched. The dust resembled a grittier version of steam billowing from a train’s stack as it rolled down the tracks. Like that steam, this cloud formed in a line that traced back to its source as it slowly rose. There was someone riding away from the opposite side of the river, heading to the west. As Gus watched, he saw the dust cloud bend slightly as its source turned to the south.
It could be a herd of animals. It could be a small wagon or a rider making his way to one of the towns or camps along the river.
Pretty soon, a few horses emerged from behind some rocks and into Gus’s view. The riders wore dusters and carried rifles from their saddle boots. There weren’t any trails in that vicinity, so the riders weren’t forging the way for a wagon or stagecoach. Gus looked up toward the north and couldn’t see any more dust being kicked up, so he guessed the men he’d spotted were on their own.
The longer he watched them, the more Gus wanted to get a closer look. All he’d need to do was set out toward the river, find a good spot to cross and then catch up with the riders. He may have to track them a ways, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. That was, if he even found any tracks.
It was a reasonable course of action so long as he didn’t intend on getting back to Doyle and Abigail anytime soon. In the end, Gus had to remind himself of what he was doing out there in the first place. He was a scout, plain and simple. Scouts didn’t do anyone any good if they tore off on their own and didn’t come back, so Gus stayed put to watch the other side of the river for a little longer. When he didn’t even have any more dust clouds to follow, he knew it was time to move on. Lowering the telescope, he took note of the spot, figured out where those other riders might be going and then plotted a course to steer clear of them. Whoever they were, it wouldn’t matter so long as he didn’t cross their path.
Gus pulled on his reins to bring the horse around until its nose was pointed back toward Doyle and Abigail. He’d scouted ahead well enough to bring the other two this far. If he spotted those other riders again, he and Doyle could figure out what to do. He tapped his heels against his horse’s sides, already planning the next few legs of their ride to Prescott.
A rifle shot cracked through the air, announcing the piece of hot lead that tunneled through the upper portion of Gus’s left shoulder blade.
The impact hit Gus like a club and knocked him from his saddle. On his way down, Gus struggled to get his legs or arms beneath him so something other than his back or head hit the ground first.
His landing was hard.
Trying to pull in his next breath was even harder.
Chapter 17
Gus swam through a river of pain, unsure whether he’d been shot, set on fire or left to drown. Part of him ached as if he’d been ripped open. Some pieces of his body burned in a way that sank all the way down to the boiling marrow in his bones. When he tried to gulp for air, he pulled in a mouthful of water that tasted like it had come from the bottom of an old rusty bucket.
Another wave of pain hit him and the contents of his stomach came rushing up. Gus retched and spat until his mouth was clear. It tasted awful, but it gave his muscles something to do other than twitch.
When he tried to lean forward, Gus knocked his forehead against something solid. When he reached out, his hands hit that same obstruction.
The problem was simple: He was lying on his belly.
Flopping onto his back, Gus let his arms fall to his sides and coughed up the last of what clung to the back of his throat. Now that he knew which way was up, he decided to try opening his eyes. As soon as he did, he was hit in the face by another wave of cold rusty water. At least that explained why he’d thought he was drowning.
“Get up, McCord.”
Those words went a lot further to bring Gus to his senses than the water in his face. As much as it hurt to do so, Gus peeled his eyes open and pulled in a breath. The moment he moved his shoulders, he was hit with an agonizing jolt that shot through him like another bullet. His hands curled into claws and his fingertips scraped against a splintered floor.
“You weren’t shot that badly,” the voice said. “And by the looks of you, I’d say you’ve definitely had worse.”
Gus’s tongue ran reflexively along his teeth to find the jagged gap where it always was. When he rubbed his face, his hands brushed against the thick scar tissue covering the left side. He tried to sit up, but only made it an inch or so off the floor before he was roughly pushed back down again. When Gus was finally able to see something more than shadows, he realized one of those shadows was stepping on him.
The man who pressed his boot down upon Gus’s chest loomed over him like a specter. Large gleaming eyes looked down at him without blinking. Gus coughed up a few more times, filled his lungs, and then blinked away some of the water that had pooled on his face.
It wasn’t a specter looking down at him and those weren’t large gleaming eyes.
It was a man wearing rounded spectacles.
It was Mr. Smythe.
“Well, now,” Smythe said as he gazed down upon Gus like a not so benevolent god, “looks like you’ve finally decided to join us. Welcome back.”
Gus didn’t try to banter with the other man. With his body feeling like a trampled piece of meat, his instincts took over. The first thing he did was try to grab the boot shoving him down against the floor. He got ahold of it by the ankle and started to twist. Smythe pulled free, but only because Gus was still a bit weak and unsteady.
Rather than keep his foot out of Gus’s reach, Smythe slammed it right back down upon his chest. The back of Gus’s head hit the floor with a thump that echoed throughout his entire skull.
“I might have overestimated you,” Smythe said. “I thought you would have spotted us long before you did.”
“I . . . did spot you,” Gus muttered.
“Sure, but only after . . . how long?” Smythe turned away.
Gus followed Smythe’s line of sight to find another man standing to his right. The man h
ad an average build, shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair with a bushy mustache to go along with it. “A few days,” he said.
“And how many men were tracking these outlaws?”
“It was up to five by the time we got him.”
“Mr. Bennett isn’t the sort to boast, but I can’t help myself.” Leaning down to settle more weight upon the boot that was pressed against Gus’s chest, Smythe added, “If I would’ve known how easily I could have bagged the infamous Gus McCord, I would have done it a long time ago. You’re worth a pretty penny, you know.”
“Yeah,” Gus mumbled, “I heard that once or twice.”
As Gus tried to get out from under Smythe’s boot, he was shoved back down again. As soon as he was able to use his arms to brace himself, they were kicked out from under him. All the while, Smythe looked down at him and twisted his boot against his chest as if he was grinding out a cigarette.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Smythe asked.
“Away.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“I’ll . . . figure it out.”
Looking up to Bennett, Smythe said, “That would be interesting to watch, but not as interesting as what would happen the moment you were discovered.”
The cobwebs were starting to clear from Gus’s head. Although his movements were sluggish, his blood was pumping to all the vital spots. As he woke up some more, Gus also felt more pain, which kept his muscles moving. The cycle was an arduous one, but it seemed to be working.
Finally, Smythe lifted his boot and stood beside Gus. “All right, then. Since he’s so intent on getting up, let’s help him.”
Bennett stepped up to Gus’s other side. Even with the pain of his wounds causing his ears to jangle, Gus took note of the difference in the two men’s steps. Bennett was lighter on his feet, which meant he was quicker and probably more of a fighter. He already knew Smythe was a talker and a shooter. Gus would figure out more if need be, but already he could probably distinguish between the two men’s steps with his eyes closed.
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