Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery)

by Laura Crum

  I said nothing. Once again, my mind was racing around in frantic circles, like a rabbit with a cat on its tail. What should I tell him? Why had he asked that?

  Blue Winter shrugged. "You can get by me here, if you like."

  "All right." I clucked to Gunner and started up the hill. As he'd said, there was room for the horses to pass each other where he stood.

  I rode on until we were face to face. He looked at me; I stared right back at him. I was aware, as I had been before, of a sense of inner stillness. His eyes, steady and gray, stayed on my face without a flicker. I wished I could read his mind.

  Carefully, I worked my little pack string by his, watching him meanwhile. He didn't move, merely sat like a statue. His dun horse sniffed noses briefly with Gunner; the freckled dog wagged her tail but remained lying down beside a rock, where he'd told her to stay.

  I called Roey to heel as we passed, then looked back over my shoulder. Shit. He was turning his saddle horse around, obviously intending to follow me.

  He met my eyes. "Looks like we're going the same way," he said.

  Oh, great. Once again my hand went automatically to the gun on my belt, but I jerked it quickly away. It wouldn't do me any good, with this guy dead behind me. I would have to gut this out.

  If Blue Winter was the lunatic who had set the traps, I would be safest if I seemed not to suspect him. In the interests of which, I ought to act friendlier. But I was finding it hard to do. Riding up Cherry Canyon with a potential killer on my heels was raising my anxiety level to new highs. Chatting seemed impossible.

  He might have nothing to do with it, I reminded myself. He might simply have been riding from Tilden Lake to Benson Lake, a very typical route. Tilden and Benson were two of the biggest lakes in this part of the backcountry.

  On the other hand, someone had definitely booby-trapped the bridge. And Blue Winter was the someone who was here. A worst-case scenario that kept intruding into my mind involved the notion that he knew perfectly well how I'd escaped going down with the bridge. He'd been sitting up on the ridge watching me through binoculars while I piled rocks. He'd come along prepared to silence me, and was just taking his time.

  Damn, damn, and damn. Visions of violent death and nightmares of rape fled through my head; I tried to push them aside, tried to concentrate on the present moment. This man had never struck me as threatening, and usually, my intuition was good. I tried to believe he might be an innocent bystander.

  But with each clink of shod hooves on stone, my fear grew. I wanted to get away from this guy. I felt trapped and scared and desperate with him riding behind me.

  Risking a glance back over my shoulder, I saw that he was a polite twenty feet or so behind my pack horse. I could see no sign of a gun on him, but that didn't mean he didn't have one in his saddlebags.

  I looked back up the trail. We were nearing the ridge. Not far ahead was Groundhog Meadow, where there was a branch trail. There was also a creek. I would stop in Groundhog Meadow, get off, water my horses, and wait until Blue Winter rode on, then I would take another direction. Any direction but the trail he took.

  Blocking my mind to the fear that he wouldn't let me go, I rode toward the grove of cedars on the rim of the canyon. Groundhog Meadow was just beyond.

  Gunner's head bobbed gently in front of me with every stride; I could feel gentle tugs through the lead rope as Plumber trooped along behind. Business as usual. It was hard to believe there was some sort of crazed lunatic on my tail.

  I was in the cedars now; I could see the light and openness ahead that was Groundhog Meadow. The creek was on the far side-a little trickle with numerous potholes. I would ride to it and stop. If need be, I'd just camp there. I'd run Blue Winter off with the gun, if I had to.

  My heart thudded in a steady, frightened tattoo as I envisioned the scene that might be coming. But I was not, I was damned well not, going to keep riding with this man behind me.

  We were in the meadow now, the trail dusty beneath Gunner's hooves. Without a word, I veered off the beaten track, headed for the creek. As we neared it, Gunner's ears went forward and he lengthened his stride; he was thirsty.

  Roey scampered past me, the little freckled dog running along with her. Both dogs waded into the nearest pothole and paddled around, lapping water as they swam. I wished I could do the same.

  I looked over my shoulder. Blue Winter was following me. Well, what did I expect? Maybe he only wanted to water his horses.

  I rode Gunner into the creek and stopped. Plumber crowded alongside and I let both horses drink. Blue Winter went a few feet downstream and watered his livestock. Neither of us said a word.

  When my horses were finished drinking, I rode them across the creek and over to a small grove of pines near the rocky edge of the meadow. It would be adequate as a campsite if I had to stay. I dismounted and tied the horses up.

  Damn, damn, and damn. Blue Winter was following suit, dismounting and tying his stock. What in the hell was going on?

  Once again, my hand went automatically to the butt of my gun, but I jerked it away. No use making trouble I didn't need to have. I started walking toward the creek.

  Out of the comer of my eye, I could see him walking toward me and I stopped, facing him. Nothing in his body language or demeanor gave me a clue to his thoughts. He looked removed, aloof, and big, very big.

  I tipped my chin up in order to meet his eyes as he neared me. Jesus, this guy was tall. Despite my resolution, something of the fear I felt must have shown on my face, because Blue Winter stopped dead. Eyes locked, we stood like statues.

  "What's the matter with you?" He said it quietly.

  I had no idea what to say. "I just want to be alone." Nothing like the truth.

  "Fine, no problem. You'll be alone as soon as I have a drink."

  We stood still, staring at each other. He took a step forward and I flinched.

  "Jesus." He shook his head. "I'm just going to get a drink out of the creek, okay?"

  He took another step and reached a hand toward my shoulder. I jerked sharply sideways, avoiding his grip. Instantaneously, I heard a loud crack.

  For a split second nothing made sense. Blue and I stood frozen in place, while echoes bounced off the rocks. That was a shot, my brain chanted.

  Crack!

  "Shit!" Blue took three running steps and dove into the creek bed, yelling, "Get down, dammit! Somebody's shooting at us."

  I scrambled after him, totally confused. Another loud crack as I crouched behind a rock; I could hear the bullet ripping through pine boughs behind me.

  "Knock it off, asshole!" Blue roared.

  I huddled behind my boulder. Somebody was shooting at the two of us. Did this mean Blue was innocent, and the crazed hiker was out in the woods with a gun? Or was it some kind of elaborate ruse?

  I looked over at Blue; he lay prone on the ground. One hand clutched the opposite bicep; I could see the wet red stain growing under his fingers. His eyes met mine briefly.

  "They shot you," I said blankly.

  "Looks like it. What in the hell is going on?"

  "I don't know."

  I started to move toward him, and he stopped me with a quick, "Stay put." Another shot rang out. It clipped a rock nearby with a sharp ping; a shard of granite flew in the air.

  "Knock it off, you bastard!" Blue shouted it at the top of his lungs. He looked over at me. "You better goddamn well tell me what's going on here."

  "I don't know," I repeated. "I think some crazy guy is out there."

  Crack!

  This time Blue didn't yell. "Get your gun out," he said quietly.

  I pulled the pistol out of its holster, and told him evenly, "I only have five bullets and there's no more ammunition."

  "All right. He's in the bunch of trees there." One finger pointed. "Can you shoot that thing?"

  "Well enough. I doubt I can hit him from here, even if I could see him, which I can't."

  "That's okay. Can you put a shot through that grov
e?"

  "More or less."

  “All right."

  I sighted down the barrel of the .357, using one small pine as a target. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of this course, I took a deep breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger gently.

  Ka-boom. My ears rang and my arm slammed back with the recoil.

  I had no idea if I'd gotten anywhere near the target pine.

  As the echoes died, Blue yelled again. "Get the hell out of here, you son of a bitch, or the next one's going right through you."

  Quiet. No shooting. No reply.

  Blue lay on the ground behind his rock, his eyes fixed on the pine grove. I watched it, too. I could see nothing. "How did you know the shots came from there? Can you see him?"

  "No. But I did a lot of shooting when I was young. That's where he is."

  I crouched behind my rock and stared at the pines. No motion; no color that didn't belong. So where was the madman?

  A sudden thought struck me and I looked wildly around for Roey. I couldn't see her. I raised my head to look over at the horses.

  "Get down." Blue's voice was clipped.

  I ducked. Still no shots.

  "Your red dog's by the horses," Blue said. "She's hiding in some scrub."

  "She's afraid of loud noises," I said. "She hates fireworks. I thought she might have run away."

  "Both the dogs are with the horses. I can see the horses and everything's fine. He's shooting at us, not the animals."

  Somewhat reassured, I glanced over at my companion. The stain on his arm was growing, and his words seemed to be coming through clenched teeth. He still held his bicep.

  "I'd better have a look at your arm," I said.

  "Not now."

  My eyes went back to the pine grove. "So, if you can't see him and I can't see him, how do we know if and when he's gone?"

  "We don't."

  "Do we have a plan?"

  "Wait."

  I thought about it. Waiting made sense. The impatient itch in my muscles didn't. I wanted to be up and out of here. I considered the idea of another shot and rejected it. I had four bullets left. Who knew when I might need them? And I couldn't see the sniper.

  Another thought occurred to me. "So, is there someone who has a reason to be after you?" I asked.

  Blue turned his head toward me and I got a level look from the gray eyes. "Dan Jacobi," he said.

  "He's not going to shoot you over a horse."

  "I wouldn't think so."

  "No one else?"

  "Not that I know of."

  We regarded each other, huddled behind our respective rocks. "I found three booby traps on the trail today," I said at last. "Any one of them could have killed me. The bridge over Cherry Creek collapsed because somebody sabotaged it. You were riding down that trail, too. Maybe the traps were meant for you."

  Blue Winter took that in. His face stayed still. "I don't know who it would be," he said at last. "Bill Evans had a reason to hate me, but you say he shot himself. And you're right, Dan Jacobi wouldn't kill me over a horse. Bad for business." He gave a brief smile.

  "Well, I don't know of anyone who has a reason to kill me either. The only thing I can think of is it's some crazy backpacker who hates horses. I met one like that at Wilma Lake."

  Blue said nothing for a moment. Then, "That's why you were acting so strange, earlier. You thought I was your crazy man."

  "Maybe."

  "I'd have to be crazy, wouldn't I? To hurt you." He kept his eyes on the pine grove.

  I stared into the trees and could see nothing. Only blue-green boughs, gray trunks, the soft red-brown duff of the dead needles that carpeted the ground. "So how long do we wait?" I asked.

  "I don't know. I'll wave my hat, if you want."

  "Forget it. It's what, four o'clock now?"

  "More or less," Blue said.

  "Let's just lay low till the light dies. That'll make shooting difficult. If your arm will wait." I looked at the spreading stain.

  "It'll wait. Whoever he is, he's shooting with a pistol. And he can't shoot all that well."

  "Okay. So we lie here and wait for dark."

  "That's right." Blue turned his head and gave me that sudden smile. "You can tell me a story."

  TWENTY

  Dark took its sweet time in coming. I shifted my weight, tensed and relaxed my muscles in turn. Occasionally I considered creeping toward the horses, but gave it up as too risky. Once I eased my way down to the creek and took a long swallow of water.

  Mostly I stayed behind my rock, waiting. I couldn't see the dogs, but Blue reiterated that they were fine, and with the horses. His face seemed to me to grow paler the longer we lay there, and the sleeve of his shirt was dark with blood. Yet each time I tried to move toward him to examine his arm, he told me to wait.

  Eventually the sun dropped behind the ridge, outlining the pines and cedars on the western horizon. Then, as the sun sank further below the rim of the world, came the gentle blurring of edges. Dusk crept in.

  One moment we lay there, waiting. The next, without a word, Blue took his hat off his head and waved it with his good arm. Nothing. Slowly he began getting to his feet.

  I looked at him.

  "Stay down," he said.

  For a second I had the impulse to get to my own feet right along with him, but rejected it. What the hell. If this guy was so chivalrous as to want to get shot in my stead, I'd let him.

  No shots came. Blue climbed awkwardly up the bank, cradling his right arm with his left. After a minute, I followed him.

  No response of any kind came from the pine grove.

  "They're gone, I guess," I said out loud.

  "Looks like it."

  We walked to our horses, and the two dogs came to greet us, stretching and wagging their tails. They seemed glad of the rest, anyway.

  But Blue looked terrible. He sat down on a fallen tree with an abruptness that made me think the short walk was too much for him. His face was white; he gripped his arm and looked at the ground.

  "You'd better let me have a look at that," I said.

  "Okay." His response was barely audible.

  I dug out my human first-aid kit (small), and my equine emergency kit (bigger). This was all the stuff I had. Bringing my water bottle with me, I approached Blue Winter.

  "Let's get that shirt off," I said.

  Obediently, he unbuttoned his shirt, and wincing, unstuck the wet red sleeve from his arm. Even as I focused on the wound, I noticed the long, hard muscles. He was built like a Thoroughbred, tall and lean.

  The bullet had gone right into the bicep of his right arm; at a glance, I thought it must also have broken the humerus bone.

  "Can you move your arm?" I asked him.

  I could see him gather himself for the effort. His fingers curled, but the arm barely twitched. "No," he said. "It must be broken."

  "I think so," I said. "The wound looks fairly clean, but I ought to wash it and wrap it, and then splint that bone as well as I can and make a sling. All this is going to hurt. You'd better take some painkillers first."

  I looked at him.

  ''I've got some codeine in my first-aid kit. I've also got some torbugesic. If I put it in IV, it would be a lot quicker," I told him.

  ''Torbugesic?”

  "Yeah. It's a horse drug. I use it for severe colics. It's a great painkiller. It'll work on people, too."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure." I smiled at him. "I had a friend in vet school who used to try all the drugs he gave the horses on himself. He gave me a full report."

  "Better give me the torbu-whatever it is." Blue closed his eyes. "This hurts pretty bad."

  I got out a syringe and filled it with one cc of torbugesic. By my reckoning, this was a light dose for such a big man. Still, though I'd tried to sound confident when talking to Blue, I was a long way from sure this was the right thing to do. What if he reacted negatively to the stuff?

  I stared at the syringe in my hand
. Light was evaporating like rainwater in the sun. In a little while it would be dark. I needed to work on this man's arm in the light.

  "Okay," I said. "Here we go."

  What I wanted, I thought, was the vein in his wrist. That was where nurses always gave the IV injections. "Make a fist with your left hand," I told him. Squinting in the faint light, I rolled the skin of his wrist under my fingers until I could feel and see the vein. "This will sting a little," I said.

  Gently but definitely, I inserted the needle. I glanced at Blue. His face was impassive.

  Attaching the syringe to the needle, I withdrew a little blood and then injected the shot. We both waited. In a minute I could see his face relax.

  "That's better," he said.

  I smiled. "Now for the hard part. I need to clean this, put some antibiotic salve on it, and wrap it. Then we've got to splint it and make you a sling."

  "All right." Blue definitely sounded better.

  "The bullet is probably still in there, from the looks of it, but I think we're better off just to leave it there for now. I want to get you fixed up to travel."

  I paused in the act of swabbing the wound with water and Betadine scrub. "I guess we'd better head straight for the pack station."

  "It's a three-day ride."

  "I know. Have you got a better idea?"

  Blue was quiet a minute. "How about we ride to Bridgeport?"

  "Why Bridgeport?"

  "It's closer, for one thing. We could make it in two days, if we pushed. And ..." He stopped.

  "And what?"

  "Do people," he said carefully, "expect you to ride back out to Crazy Horse Creek?"

  "I suppose so." I smeared antibiotic salve on his wound, put a telfa pad on it, and began to wrap it with Vet Wrap (horse Band-Aids). "Are you suggesting whoever is doing this crap is after me, and that it's someone who knows me?"

  "I'm not suggesting anything." Blue's mouth was compressed. ''I'm thinking out loud here. I don't know who this bastard is after; it's a cinch he shot me. But maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, if this person is hunting either you or me particularly, for reasons we don't understand, we're both known to have ridden in from Crazy Horse Creek. My truck and trailer are parked there. Are yours?"

  "Yeah, they are." I finished wrapping his arm with Vet Wrap and looked around for a suitable stick for a short splint.