by Simon Hawke
As Rachel watched, bemused, he kept pacing back and forth across the tower parapet, talking to himself in an effort to relieve the anxiety he felt, not knowing if he was trying to talk himself into going through with his idea or out of it.
"This is crazy," he said. "I don't know what the hell I'm thinking of. I've never done anything like this in my life. I've never even thought of doing anything like this in life! I mean, look at me, I've got a gun strapped to my hip! A gun!"
He glanced at Rachel, who merely sat there on the wall, watching him with that mocking little look and saying nothing.
"Look who I'm talking to," he said. "I'm talking to an elf! You don't even know what a gun is. Hell, I've never even used a gun. I mean,. I've taken a few shots at the range, but I was so nervous I couldn't even hit the goddam target and now I'm standing here with the thing strapped on my hip, like Roy Rogers, ready to ride off to the rescue when I don't even know what the hell I'm doing. Only instead of riding Trigger, I'm thinking of mounting up on a dragon! It's insane, that's what it is, positively insane. Rory might not even go for it."
"Go for what?" said a cement-mixer voice behind him, and he was so startled that he actually jumped.
He turned around and there was Rory, perched on the wall like a giant pterodactyl. It seemed impossible that anything that big could move so quietly, and yet Rory could glide in softer than the whisper of a feather.
"God, you startled me!" said Brewster.
"My apologies," the dragon said, "but you seemed quite intent upon your conversation and I didn't wish to interrupt."
"I was just talking to myself," said Brewster. "Trying to psych myself up into doing what I'm thinking of doing, which if I had any sense, I wouldn't even consider for a moment, only I just can't see any way around it. There's just no time, the brigands will never catch up to them..." and the whole story came pouring out of him in one mad rush.
"I understand," the dragon said when Brewster finally paused for breath. "And I am perfectly willing to help in any way I can. However, I also fully understand your reservations."
"Reservations?" Brewster said weakly. "Rory, the mere idea of it scares the daylights out of me!"
"But there is no real need for you to go," the dragon said. "I could easily catch those bounty hunters on my own and free your friends. You could wait here in perfect safety."
Brewster stared at the beast. "You'd do that?"
"Of course. What are friends for?"
Brewster licked his lips. "Wait here in perfect safety," he said. "I've lived my whole life in perfect safety. My whole damn life. The one time I ever took a real risk, I wound up here, and it's been the most wonderful adventure of my life. I'll admit I'm frightened, Rory, but I don't want to play things safe anymore. I can't just look out at life from my tower."
He looked over his shoulder at Rachel, who grinned and gave him a raised fist gesture. "That's the spirit, Doc! Seize the moment! Squeeze the day!"
"That's 'seize the day...."' He stopped. "No, you know what, you're right. I like 'squeeze the day.' Wring all the life you can out of every single moment. To hell with playing it safe! For once in my life, I'm going to do something!"
"Climb aboard," said Rory.
"Give 'em a taste of steel, Doc!" said Rachel.
Brewster climbed up on the dragon's back. "I'll do better than that, kid. I'll give 'em a taste of lead!"
And with that, the dragon spread its huge, leathery wings and plunged off the parapet into the darkness. As Rachel ran up to the parapet to watch, she heard Doc's rapidly receding voice crying out, "Oh, shiiiiiiit!"
"Hmmm. Curious battle cry," she said.
Mac rode like a man possessed, not thinking of the odds he'd have to face, but worried only that his horse would give out before he could catch them. If that happened, he'd simply have to steal another one. There was an inn on the road to the Great River, and if he kept up this breakneck pace, he'd reach it shortly before dawn. He could get another horse there at their stable, assuming they had a decent one and not some broken-down old mare. What were the chances? Not many travelers on the road this time of year. He'd simply have to hope for the best. He could not afford to slacken his pace.
How much of a head start did they have? No way of knowing for sure, but the tracks back at the Roost seemed relatively fresh. He could see no tracks now, impossible in the pitch blackness of the night, but fortunately, he knew where they were going, where they had to go. They would be making for the river with all possible speed. With a sinking feeling, he realized that no matter how quickly the brigands could mount their pursuit, they would never make it in time. If it wasn't for the river, then eventually, they could hope to overtake Black Jack and his bounty hunters, but the river would defeat them if Black Jack reached it first.
The river was too deep, too wide, and too swift-flowing for horses to swim across. The only way across was by the ferry raft, and it was a mere matter of a few moments work to cut it loose. The heavy ropes that guided it across the river would be severed, and the raft would swiftly drift downstream, out of reach, and that would be the end of it. They could build another raft, and perhaps repair the ropes, or obtain new ones, and get strong swimmers to cross the river's span with them, but by the time all that was done, Black Jack would be so far ahead they'd never catch him. No, it was all up to him.
In all his life, he .thought, as he galloped down the dark road through the forest, he had never met a woman even remotely like Shannon. No one had ever kindled such a fire in him. Out of all the women in the world, she was the only one for him, and now that he had found her, the thought of losing her was more than he could bear. It made no difference how many men Black Jack had brought with him. He'd kill them all, each and every cursed one of them, or die in the attempt.
There wasn't a sound in the forest as he rode, save for the steady drumming of his horse's hooves upon the hard-packed earth, ba-da-da-dum, ba-da-da-dum, ba-da-da-dum, like the rapid beating of his heart. He could hardly see anything in front of him. If Black Jack had thrown up any barricades in the road behind him, Mac knew that he would run right into them before he could even see them, but he was gambling that Black Jack wouldn't have wasted any time. He'd have trussed up his prisoners and thrown them over the horses, so they could move more quickly, and for Shannon and the others, it would be a jarring, brutal ride. If they had any fight at all left in them, it would be knocked out of them by the jouncing they'd receive as Black Jack and his men rode full speed for the river.
It would all be up to him. He wouldn't be able to count on Shannon, or on the three brigands, who'd be numb to begin with, from being locked up in the stocks for an entire day. And he knew he couldn't count on reinforcements reaching him in time. He had his blades, and he had his skill and years of experience behind him, but that was no guarantee of success. He decided not to think about that. All he could hope for now was that he could catch up to them in time.
He rode grimly, allowing the steady rhythm of the gallop to fill his mind. After a while, the first gray light of dawn began to show through the thick branches overhead. The inn at the crossroads was just ahead. He could change horses there. His own mount was nearly spent. The poor animal was breathing hard and gasping, and lather covered its flanks. As dawn broke, he reached the crossroads and galloped up to the inn. He reined in before it and dismounted, and no sooner had he stepped off his horse than the animal went down to its knees and fell over on its side, its flanks heaving. It would go no farther. He had run it nearly to death. He ran up to the door of the inn and pounded on it furiously.
"Open up! Open up, damn your eyes!"
After a moment or two, he heard someone yell that they were coming and a few seconds later, the innkeeper opened up the door, his eyes wide.
"I need a fresh horse, and quickly!" Mac said.
"Would that I could help you, good sir," the innkeeper began, "but you see-"
He suddenly found a knife blade at his throat.
"A hor
se, I said, or I'll slit your throat from ear to ear!"
"Pray, sir, don't kill me! If I had a horse, 'twould be yours, I swear it, but they took them all and left me none! See for yourself!"
"Who? Who took them?"
"A party of armed men, sir. Came by last night with four captives, they did, slung over their horses. I had but three horses in my stable and they took them all, stole them, they did, leaving me with none! Pray, sir, have pity...."
Mac released the man and ran toward the stable. There was not a horse in sight. And it was impossible for him to ride his own. The animal was completely spent. It still lay on the ground, its breathing labored. Mac cursed and ran back to the innkeeper.
"Where's the nearest farm?"
"Farm, sir? Why, faith, sir, there'd be no farms hereabouts. Perhaps if you were to go down the road toward Franktown, a day's walk, perhaps...."
"Blast it, where can I get a horse quickly?"
The man shook his head helplessly. "If I only knew, good sir, I would tell you in an instant, but I can think of no place nearby where you could find another mount."
Mac slumped, defeated. "That's it, then. 'Tis over. Black Jack has won. And I... I have lost everything that matters to me."
And then, he heard a horse's snort and the creaking, rattling sounds of a wagon approaching. He spun around and saw Harlan the Peddlar coming down the road from the Great River, whistling to himself.
Mac ran toward the wagon as it approached the inn. Harlan saw him approaching and reached for a vial of the Elixir of Stench, just to be on the safe side.
"Hallo, peddlar!" Mac cried. "Have you passed a party of armed men on the road, perhaps a dozen or more?"
"Aye, that I did, stranger," Harlan said. "Just a short while ago, I saw them heading back the way I came, toward the Great River, bearing captives slung on horseback. Say, that's a fine collection of knives you have slung across your chest there. As it happens, I represent an armorer of note-"
"Get down from your wagon!"
"What?"
Mac leaped up on the seat beside him just as Harlan drew back his hand to hurl the Elixir of Stench. Instinctively, Mac grabbed his arm. The two wrestled for a moment, then the vial dropped and shattered on the floorboards of the wagon.
"Gahhhhhl" cried Harlan, clapping his hands over his nose.
"By the gods!" cried Mac, reeling from the awful stench.
Hacking and coughing, Harlan fell back into the wagon. Mac grabbed the reins and, holding his breath, whipped up the horses and turned the wagon around. Then he cracked the whip and, holding his nose, set off in pursuit of Black Jack and his men.
The bounty hunters reined in on the rise above the banks of the Great River. "We've made it!" one of them cried, a wide grin on his face. "There's the ferry, right below!"
"Aye, once we're across and the ferry lines are cut, we can take our ease and make camp by the riverbank," Black Jack said. He looked down at Shannon, tightly bound and slung across his saddle in front of him, on her stomach. He slapped her backside. "You're going to make me a rich man, my lass. I'll be buying a nice, new suit of clothes to attend your execution."
"My head isn't on the block, yet," Shannon said.
Black Jack caressed her buttocks. "Aye, that's the spirit, lass. Defiant to the bitter end. They'll love that in the square at Pittsburgh, when they lop your head off. Give 'em a good show. Though, truly, 'twill be a shame to despoil such a body. What a waste."
"It need not be a waste," said Shannon softly. "I am your prisoner and you can do with me what you will."
Black Jack threw back his head and laughed. "Waste not your wiles on me, my sweet. True,, I find myself sorely tempted by your flesh, but the bounty on your head tempts me far more."
"I am bound both hand and foot," said Shannon. "What have you to fear from me?"
"I am not such a fool as to risk finding that out," Black Jack replied. "If I was to have my way with you, and not share you with the others, they would resent it. And if I was to let them have their turn, 'twould distract them, surely, and perhaps give you an opportunity. Nay, I shall regretfully deny myself the pleasure, and look forward instead to the greater pleasure of the reward that you shall bring me, and the fame that will go with it."
"You are a cowardly cur, Black Jack."
"Nay, merely a cautious one," he said with a grin. "Come on, men! The ferry awaits!"
He spurred his horse and galloped down the road leading to the riverbank and the ferry crossing. His men followed behind him, trailing the three horses to which Long Bill, Fifer Bob, and Silent Fred were bound.
" Tis all your fault, Bill!" Fifer Bob moaned as he was painfully jounced by the movement of the horse. "I don't know why I ever listened to you! See what you have brought us to!"
"Oh, shut up!" said Long Bill.
Silent Fred, as usual, remained morosely silent, and truly, there wasn't really much to say in such a situation. The bounty hunters rode down to the riverbank and reined in at the ferry crossing. The ferry raft was moored across from them, on the opposite bank of the river. Black Jack dismounted and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Halloooo!"
From the opposite bank, the ferryman replied, and in a moment, they saw the raft move out from the other shore. Black Jack came around to the side of his horse, took a handful of Shannon's hair, and jerked her head up so he could see her face. She spat at him.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then hauled off and cuffed her with his fist, bloodying her mouth. "Aye, when they cut that pretty head off, I'll be in the front row to watch," he said. "My only regret is that Mac the Knife will miss the show. Pity."
"Mac the Knife?" said one of the other men. "What has he to do with this?"
Black Jack held Shannon by the hair and touched the dagger pin fastened to her breast. "He has this to do with it," he said.
"She is Sean MacGregor's woman?" one of the others said uncertainly. "You said nothing about MacGregor being part of this."
"What are you afraid of?" sneered Black Jack. "We'll cross the river and be on our way to Pittsburgh long before MacGregor even finds our trail. And even if he were to catch us, you think he could stand against all of us together?"
"Perhaps not," said one of the men, "but he may follow us to Pittsburgh and make inquiries, and find out who was in the party that brought his woman in. Then he'll be trackin' us down, one at a time."
There was uneasy mumbling among the men.
"That's right!" Shannon shouted. "Mac will never rest till he avenges me! He'll kill each and every last one of you!"
"Quiet, you!" said Black Jack, smacking her across the face, backhanded.
"She's right," one of the others said. "Mac the Knife has killed every man he's ever stalked. I didn't know he was involved when I signed on for this. I want no part of it."
"Nor I," said another.
"You are already part of it, all of you!" Black Jack said. "Ride out now, and you forfeit your share of the reward. And MacGregor may find out who you are just the same, and then he'll be on your trail and you'll have nothing to show for it! Continue on, and you'll receive your fat share of the bounty, and then together we can take care of Mac the Knife. 'Tis the only way to make sure he cannot track us down one at a time."
"You should have told us, Jack. We didn't know about MacGregor. You tricked us."
"You all willingly signed on for this!" Black Jack said angrily. "No one forced you into it. Besides, what are you afraid of? MacGregor's not so much. I myself crossed swords with him and lived to tell the tale. Had he not fled from me, the silver dagger of the top assassin would now be on my breast, as it rightfully should be!" He tore the pin off Shannon's tunic and fastened it onto his own. "There's what I think of Sean MacGregor! If he wants this back, he can damn well come and try to take it!"
The ferry was almost to the shore now.
"Any man who wishes to turn tail like a rat and run, then do it now!" Black Jack said. "And be damned for a
coward. The rest of us will divvy up your share of the reward!"
There was a moment's silence, then one of them said, "I didn't come all this way for nothing."
"Nor I," said another.
"Very well, then," said Black Jack. "Half of us will go on the first crossing, the rest will follow after. When we all reach the other shore, we can cut the ferry ropes, make camp, and rest awhile. And thumb our noses at anyone who tries to follow."
As the ferry touched the shore, Black Jack led his horse down, with Shannon strapped across it, and got aboard the raft. "Bring down the other prisoners," he said.
"And have you cut the ropes once you reach the other side?" one of the others said. "No chance. Half of us will go along with you and the wench. The rest of us will remain here with the other three, as a security that you send the ferry back for us."
"A fine and trusting lot you are," Jack said with a scowl. "Very well, then. Have it your way. But be quick about it."
Six of the men dismounted and led their horses onto the raft while the others remained behind with the three brigands to wait for the next trip. The ferryman and his assistant, long accustomed to all sorts of unsavory types, kept their own counsel. Once everyone was aboard, they began to pull the ferry back across, using the lines. The other bounty hunters waited on the riverbank. The raft was about halfway across when a cloud of dust up on the rise, on the road leading to the riverbank, caught one of the men's attention.