Mountain Hawk

by Charles G. West

  * * *

  Trace sat before the fire. While Jamie sat peacefully watching him, he worked away at a piece of pine, whittling it into the rough shape of a rifle stock. It would not be a pretty thing, but it would have to do for now. When they returned to Promise Valley, he could have Buck make him a new stock. Buck was handier than most when it came to working with his hands. “Well, that ain’t too bad,” he said, holding the half-finished carving up for Jamie to see. Having no drill to make holes for the screws, he took some rawhide thongs and tied the new stock on as best he could. The original stock had been attached to the frame with a couple of wedges and two screws to secure it. Trace’s repaired version was a sight different from Mr. Hawken’s original. He stared at his handiwork for a long time before raising the rifle to his shoulder to get the feel of it. Frowning, he said, “It’ll have to do.”

  Putting the rifle aside, he turned to look at Jamie. The way her bruised and battered face looked, it was hard to believe that she had actually improved in the past couple of days. The thought of the abuse she had suffered caused the rage to rise in him, and he was almost sorry he had not drawn Crown’s death out over a longer period of time. He could feel the anger burning inside him when he remembered that Plum was still out there somewhere. When he had left Ox to chase Plum, Trace’s one thought was to get to Jamie as quickly as possible. Nothing else had mattered at that point. Now that Jamie was safe, he realized that he would have no peace of mind until he had settled with Plum. He should not have permitted Ox to go after Plum. The man was too dangerous. But Trace hadn’t had the time to argue. Ox was determined to go. I hope to hell he gave up right away and went back to the cabin to wait for me. He felt responsible for the big simpleton. His thoughts were interrupted when he realized Jamie was staring at him, apparently having read the anger in his eyes.

  “What is it?” she asked, concern in her voice.

  “Nothing,” he said quickly, his stern expression relaxing into a smile. “You’d best get some sleep. We’ll be riding out early in the morning.”

  She moved back to the rear wall of the shallow cave, and Trace covered her with a heavy fur robe. Then he put some more wood on the fire to make sure her little alcove was snug and warm. Once he was satisfied that she was settled in for the night, he scaled the bank to take a good look around. He still had some concern over the thoughtless shot that Jamie had taken earlier. But even if it had been heard, they were probably better off where they were than they would have been if he had decided to stay on the move. At least this way they wouldn’t be caught out in the open if a war party came searching for the source of the rifle shot. The camp he had picked was well protected, situated as it was up under the riverbank. From their position he could make it extremely costly for anyone who attacked them. His only concern was for the horses, as there was not enough room for them under the overhanging ledge and he had had to hobble them in the trees close to the water. He told himself that he was probably unnecessarily concerned about the possibility that a hunting party was anywhere nearby—there had been no sign of any other human being for days. But he was well aware that it never paid to assume you were alone in the mountains, especially in Indian country.

  Satisfied that there was no sign of Indians near their camp, Trace walked along the steep bank of the river toward the stand of cottonwoods where he had left the horses. Darkness was already descending upon the narrow valley, and he was careful to watch his step. One misplaced foot and he might find himself sliding down the steep bank to land in the river, some twelve feet below him. The shallow water close to the bank was covered over with a thin layer of ice, so it would be a chilly bath indeed. The thought made him shiver.

  After checking on the horses, and spending a little extra time stroking the paint, Trace made his way back along the bank to his camp. He took a moment to tend the fire, then checked to see that Jamie was sleeping peacefully. Kneeling before the frail and battered girl, her knees drawn up in a protective position, Trace shook his head in silent compassion. He studied her face, now relaxed in slumber, no longer frowning and twitching with haunting dreams of her captivity. Though she now seemed free of such outward signs of her ordeal, still Trace feared she would always carry the scars inside from what she had endured. Shaking his head again, he swallowed hard, wishing he could tell her that they would all go away.

  He wrapped his blanket around himself and lay down before the sleeping girl, positioning himself between her and any attack that might come. With his rifle and pistol within easy reach, he tried to catch a few hours’ sleep.

  Trace awoke to an overcast sky. Heavy clouds formed a dark ceiling over the narrow river valley, and in the air there was the definite feel of snow on the way. It seemed that his earlier hunch about the weather might be accurate, making it all the more urgent to reach the cabin as soon as possible. Glancing over at Jamie, he saw that the girl was still fast asleep, still in the same curled-up, protective position she had assumed the evening before. I’ll let her rest while I go get the horses, he thought, knowing that she needed all the rest she could get. As quietly as he could, he left the recess under the bank and climbed up on top.

  * * *

  Jack Plum pulled the heavy robe back from his face so as not to restrict his eyesight. It would be daylight soon, and he needed to be alert. Crown should be coming out of that hole under the riverbank before long—that is, if it was Crown under there. Plum was intrigued to find out just who would climb up the bank to go for the horses. This Trace fellow had definitely caught up with Crown, there was no doubt about that, because both Crown’s horse and a strange paint pony were hobbled with the others in the cottonwoods.

  Plum had spent most of the previous afternoon searching for their camp, and it was after nightfall when he stumbled upon the horses tied in the trees. Even then, he didn’t locate the camp right away. Crown, or Trace, had picked a good spot to camp in, Plum had to admit. It changed his plans considerably, for he had intended to murder whichever one he found while he slept. With the camp up under that bank, it would be far too risky to try to surprise him. If Plum had his choice, he would prefer that it be Crown who had survived the clash with the Mountain Hawk. He had promised himself the pleasure of killing his longtime partner for many months now, and he was really hoping to settle the man’s hash once and for all. He had been content to let Crown finally get his hands on Jamie. But the sullen bastard couldn’t be satisfied with the trade they agreed to. He had to run off with the horses, too—picked the best four out of the bunch. And one thing Jack Plum would not stand for was for anyone to steal his property.

  The question he was now anxious to find the answer for was the welfare of the girl. The more he thought about Jamie, the more he wanted her back. When he conjured an image of her white and frail body, cringing in mortal fear of his advances, he found himself literally salivating. If that bastard has done kilt her, I’m gonna make a gelding outta him before I kill him.

  “Come on, dammit,” Plum mumbled as he rubbed his hands together vigorously in an effort to keep them warm. He had removed the wolfskin mittens—plunder from the Kutenai raid—only minutes before, and already his fingers were stiff and frozen. He was tired of waiting. Sitting in a hole burrowed out of the snow behind a log, he waited, his rifle ready and a heavy buffalo robe over his head with snow raked up over it, making him almost invisible from a distance of fifty feet. He had positioned himself carefully so that he had an open shot at anyone on the riverbank below him. The waiting game was hard on Plum, for patience was not one of his virtues and he was getting angrier by the minute.

  At last his patience was rewarded. Soon after first light pierced the leaden sky above him, he spotted a head above the edge of the bank. Moments later, a man cautiously climbed up and knelt on the bank. He remained there for a full minute, looking upstream and down before rising to his feet. It wasn’t Crown! A wry smile formed on Plum’s face. Well, now, lookee here. Ol’ Crown warn’t the he-bear he thought he was. Plum grudgin
gly admitted a newfound respect for the man the Blackfeet called Mountain Hawk. Any man who got the best of Crown—even if he bushwhacked him—was a man to take seriously, and a man best eliminated, as far as Plum was concerned. It might not bring the satisfaction that killing Crown would have, but there would be a certain amount of pleasure in getting the man who had put Crown under.

  Plum readied his rifle and waited patiently for Trace to start along the riverbank toward the horses. He was in no hurry. There was a clearing of at least twenty yards between Trace and the trees where the horses were hobbled. There was no need to rush the shot. He rested the three-foot barrel of the rifle on the log before him to steady his aim. He would take no chances of missing the shot, for it might be a dangerous mistake to miss this mountain man.

  At last Trace started toward the horses. Plum set his sights for the middle of the open space before the trees and waited, the smile still present upon his face as Trace left the cover of the bushes that obscured Plum’s vision. His target in the open now, Plum laid the front sight on Trace’s chest, then led him about a half a step. Sometimes it takes a little while, but Jack Plum always squares a debt, he thought, for he had never forgotten Trace’s interference with his plans to murder Paul Murdock and steal his wagon. He slowly squeezed the trigger, and the Hawken barked sharply, sending a .50-caliber ball on its deadly mission. A fraction of a second later, Plum grinned widely as he saw the solid impact of his shot spin Trace around and drop him in his tracks. As Plum got to his feet, he saw the body disappear over the side of the bank. No fool to rush in immediately, Plum first took the precaution to reload his rifle before making his way cautiously down the bluffs to the riverbank. Ready for any surprises, he inched his way up to the steep bank, taking note of the rifle lying in the snow, and peered carefully over the edge. There was no body, but there was a clearly trampled trail in the snow leading down the bank to a sizable hole in the thin ice of the shallow water. Plum held his rifle ready to fire as he stood watching the hole in the ice intently. He waited for several minutes to be sure Trace didn’t pop back up. Unless he’s a by-God fish, he ain’t coming up, Plum thought, satisfied that his kill had been confirmed.

  Now his thoughts turned immediately to the girl he suspected was hiding under the bank, waiting for Trace to return. “Ain’t she gonna be tickled to see me,” he said maliciously, almost laughing out loud at the thought. He promptly picked up Trace’s rifle, turned on his heel, and followed Trace’s tracks back to his camp.

  In the hollowed-out alcove under the riverbank, Jamie was awakened by a sound—of what, she was uncertain. A rifle shot? She couldn’t say for sure. Her mind struggled to rid itself of the heavy fog of sleep. She saw then that she was alone, and felt somewhat reassured. Trace was out there somewhere, so if indeed it was a shot she had heard, it may have been him, firing at a deer or some other game. I’d better pee while I’ve got the chance, she thought, and quickly went to the far edge of the hollowed-out cave to do so.

  Back down the river, desperately clinging to a handful of roots and grass directly under the rim of the steep bank, Trace lay in the hollow left by the log that had been there moments before. He had been spun around and knocked over the bank by the heavy blow of a large-caliber rifle ball in his shoulder. He had stumbled a little just before the ball hit him, and that had probably saved his life. As it was, however, he was in a desperate way. The shoulder was already numb, and he knew that before long the real pain would set in, rendering his arm useless.

  He knew he had been lucky, and only his quick thinking had prevented his assailant from searching up under the edge of the bank where Trace would have been easily spotted. When he rolled over the rim of the bank, Trace had landed almost on top of a large driftwood log. Seeing his only chance to escape, he dislodged the log, sending it rolling down the bank and through the ice. Luckily the water was just deep enough under the ice for the log to roll away from the edge of the hole, causing Plum to assume it was Trace who had gone through the ice.

  * * *

  Jamie was just completing her business when she heard footsteps crunching the frozen snow near the mouth of the shallow cave. “Wait a minute, Trace!” she quickly called out. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  “That’s all right, darlin’, I reckon I’ve seen it before.”

  Jamie froze, still squatting on her heels. There was no mistaking that voice. Her brain was suddenly sent reeling, and for a few moments she found it impossible to move, as if her body had become paralyzed. Afraid to turn to face the voice, she prayed that it was a dream, and closed her eyes, squeezing her eyelids together tightly. Plum spoke again.

  “Ain’t you happy to see your ol’ sweet husband again?” Plum asked, chiding the terrified girl. Thoroughly enjoying her torment, he continued to taunt her. “I’m even gonna forgive you for runnin’ off with your boyfriend out there. You don’t have to worry ’bout him no more, though—he’s laying under the ice in the river. ’Course, I’m gonna have to whup you just the same, so’s you’ll know not to do nothin’ like that agin.” The evil grin left his face and, deadly serious now, he commanded, “Now, git up from there, and git over here.”

  Jamie felt as if the roof of the cave was crashing down on her. It was no nightmare—Plum had found her! Too weak to move at first, she somehow staggered to her feet, holding on to the wall of the cave for support, and finally turned toward the sneering Plum. As she stood there on unsteady legs, her feelings of defeat and despair gradually turned to anger, and suddenly all the months of torment and shame at the hands of the evil Plum rose up inside her like a white-hot flame. She made a choice as she stood facing the leering countenance that she hated with all her heart. She would no longer be afraid of this scum, and she would no longer submit to his torture, even if it meant death. She knew from experience that hell could be no worse than living as Jack Plum’s slave.

  “Git your ass over here,” Plum repeated, his eyes narrowing as he showed his anger at Jamie’s lack of response to his commands.

  “You can go straight to hell,” Jamie replied calmly. She took a step sideways toward her bedroll and the pistol Trace had given her.

  Following her eyes, Plum saw the barrel of the pistol protruding slightly from under the heavy buffalo robe. It brought a gleam to his eye, and he grinned slyly. “Well, well, I do believe you’ve got some notion about that pistol, ain’tcha, honey?” He raised his rifle and held it on her. “You go ahead and try fer it. I’d just as soon shoot you down as not.”

  Feeling the strength returning to her legs, her will resolved, she met his cruel gaze unblinking. Very deliberately, she took another step toward the pistol, her eyes locked on his.

  The grin faded from Plum’s face. Puzzled by the girl’s show of defiance, he warned her, “I don’t know what you think you’re doin’, but if you take another step toward that pistol, I’m gonna cut you in two.” To illustrate his intent, he cocked the hammer.

  Jamie’s gaze was icy as she continued to stare at the suddenly confused Plum. She took another step, and he raised the rifle, threatening. He didn’t want to kill her, but he had no choice if Jamie went for the pistol. The woman had gone crazy. He considered the possibility of rushing her, but it was plain that she could reach the pistol before he could reach her. Dammit, he concluded, I’m gonna have to shoot her. She was only two steps away from the buffalo robe now, and was poised there, still gazing coldly into his eyes. He was unable to understand that Jamie had determined to die rather than be with him again, and that she was equally determined to kill him as well. She took one more step, and his hand tightened slowly on the trigger.

  “Plum!” The voice came from behind him, and Plum whirled around to find Trace McCall standing at the edge of the cave, his left arm hanging limp at his side, blood dripping from his fingertips, a pistol in his other hand. Though shocked to see Trace still alive, Plum reacted instantly, bringing his rifle up and firing. He was fast, but the Mountain Hawk was faster. Both weapons discharged a
lmost simultaneously, the ball from Trace’s pistol slamming into Plum’s chest, causing his shot to smack into the wall of the cave a foot wide of its target.

  Plum staggered a few steps backward before regaining his balance. He realized that he might be mortally wounded, and his face was a mask of rage. Seeing that Trace had no other weapon but a knife, Plum dropped his empty rifle and pulled his pistol from his belt. “Damn you!” he spat and leveled the weapon at Trace, who was poised to attack. But before Plum could pull the trigger, he was struck in the back by a slug from Jamie’s pistol.

  The impact of Jamie’s shot caused Plum to jerk the trigger and miss Trace as the Mountain Hawk quickly sidestepped, closing the distance between the two in the blink of an eye. Using his good shoulder, Trace plowed into the wounded renegade, sending him sprawling on top of the campfire. With screams of rage and pain, Plum rolled out of the fire and tried to scramble to his feet. Filled with her own rage, and fueled by a lust for long-awaited vengeance, Jamie grabbed a flaming stick of wood from the fire. Moving very deliberately, with both hands on the burning limb, she delivered a smashing blow against the side of Plum’s face that sent the struggling man back down.

  Trace started to move, then seeing the drama before his eyes, he paused, allowing the tormented girl to extract her own vengeance. Though Plum was dying from his bullet wounds, he was lucid enough to know his fate, and he attempted to drag himself out of the cave. Unhurriedly, Jamie followed him. When he had gotten to the mouth of the cave, she methodically delivered blow after blow with the still-burning limb upon Plum’s skull until there was no longer so much as a quiver from his battered body.