by Jeff Guinn
“What now?” Saint asked Gabrielle. “We see them, we’ve found them. But what exactly are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said. “But we’ll do something.”
23
Brautigan and McLendon made little progress on their second day. The cuts and ravines intersecting the mountain range were mazelike. They’d follow an apparent route around the base or lower slope of one mountain only to find it rendered impassable by a rockfall or deep, unexpected crevice.
Though his expression never changed, Brautigan seethed. He was angry at the terrain and himself. When he and Ike Clanton had come up from Silver City they’d had to work their way around mountains, and these were surely among them. But they’d never been stymied in their progress. Brautigan had been certain he’d memorized the right route back; clearly, he hadn’t. Now that he had McLendon, Brautigan burned to get him back to St. Louis and quickly finish the job. The boss was waiting impatiently, he knew. Why had he sent Mr. Douglass that confident telegram before he set out for Mountain View? Better to have let him wait and wonder until, amazingly, Brautigan appeared with his quarry.
Brautigan rarely indulged in such self-recrimination. He was a man of action, not thought. But in recent days he’d experienced too many frustrations—his dealings with the Clantons, in particular. The more people involved, the better the chance that someone would talk. Newman Clanton could be counted on to keep his word, but his family was cause for concern. Rapacious Phin, loudmouthed Ike. The daughter with the clothespins. Brautigan began wondering whether, after McLendon was finished off back in St. Louis, he ought to return to Arizona Territory and do away with everyone in Clantonville. It would be a considerable task, and there might be as many as thirty to be eliminated. Even for Brautigan, that would be daunting. But he’d discuss it with the boss. If it needed to be done . . .
McLendon interrupted Brautigan’s reverie by asking, “Can I have some water?”
“We’ll stop in a while,” Brautigan said. “After we’re past this particular mountain.”
“It’s been hours since I had a drink,” McLendon said. “Could you just pass me a canteen?”
“One short swallow, and then no more talk out of you,” Brautigan said. He reined in his horse and unslung a canteen. He handed it to McLendon, noting that his prisoner still had use of only his left arm. He had to rest the canteen on his lap and twist off the cap with that left hand while balancing the cap on his thigh. When McLendon raised the canteen to his lips one-handed, the cap tumbled down to the dirt.
“Pick it up,” Brautigan ordered.
“It’s hard to dismount with my arm injured like it is,” McLendon said. His whiny tone was aggravating. “You could get down and pick it up a lot faster, since you’re in such a hurry.”
“Get down and pick it up,” Brautigan said again. “Or you could lose use of the other arm, and then I’d hog-tie you to the saddle.”
McLendon dismounted, nearly falling in the process, and picked up the cap. Some water sloshed out of the canteen.
“Careful, there,” Brautigan said.
“There’s a whole keg on the mule,” McLendon said sulkily. “With as little as you let me drink, that alone would last a month.”
“That water’s for the animals. You and I have only what’s in the canteens. Since you wasted some, you’ll not be allowed any more for quite some time. Now hand me the canteen and get back on your horse.”
For the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon they did their best to keep heading generally southeast. Much of the time it proved impossible. The mountains wouldn’t cooperate. At one point Brautigan decided it would be best to turn back west, ride out of the mountains, and then follow the plains south until, finally, the range ended and they could turn back east below them. But that would add at least another day, maybe two, and back in St. Louis the boss was waiting.
In mid-afternoon, at one point gray clouds gathered overhead and it rained, not hard but steadily. Brautigan didn’t know to stop and prop up open canteens to catch the rainwater. He just ordered McLendon to keep riding and the rain dripped from the brims of their hats. The rain and dust mixed into a thin layer of slimy mud, and the horses and mule slipped occasionally as they plodded forward, especially on rocky ground where the footing would have been tricky even in dry weather. At least the rain tempered the heat. Brautigan appreciated that; the back of his neck was blistered with sunburn.
Late in the day they finally struck a shallow ravine that miraculously curled around several mountains and let them make considerable progress. Looking ahead, Brautigan thought he could see trees, a lot of them—could a forest be there?—and a blessed end to the mountains. Once past them, he believed, the rest of the way to Silver City would be easy. Mostly flat land and then, maybe on the final day, an area crisscrossed with sudden, unexpected crevices, but still it would be better than mountains.
It occurred to Brautigan that McLendon had been silent for quite some time. He seemed subdued, resigned to his fate, but with McLendon it was impossible to be certain. If not brave, he was still crafty, always thinking, calculating possibilities. Brautigan did his best to discourage this by giving McLendon an early beating, just as he’d done with the girl. It seemed to have worked. McLendon’s right arm still hung limply at his side. After the body beating he’d suffered, the slightest movement must hurt. That ought to be enough to keep him cooperating until they reached Silver City. Brautigan expected McLendon to try something there, encouraged by relatively civilized surroundings, and certain of the fate that awaited him in St. Louis. A second beating might be in order then. Sheriff Wolfe would certainly know a private place where Brautigan could be about that business.
For now, it would be enough to get away from the damned mountains. The rain stopped, the rocks steamed, and Brautigan’s entire body dripped with greasy sweat. He’d never concerned himself with physical comfort, but now he longed for a bath and clean clothes and a comfortable chair instead of a saddle. After this job, Brautigan hoped never to return to the frontier, unless of course the boss decided that the Clantons needed to be dealt with.
The end of the long ravine loomed. As Brautigan hoped, it led to the very southernmost tip of the mountain range. A half mile after that, a thick grove of trees beckoned. Brautigan didn’t know what kind of trees they were and didn’t care. He was about to be out of the damned mountains.
McLendon said, “We haven’t stopped to eat. I’m hungry.”
“Soon.”
“Why not stop now?”
“Another word and you’ll be missing teeth. We’ll stop in those trees.”
They ate jerky and Brautigan had water. Then he watered the animals. There was some grass between the trees and he let them graze and rest. McLendon wanted water, too, but Brautigan wouldn’t allow it. There really was no shortage of it—they had three more full canteens. But denying water to McLendon was one more way of reminding him that he was completely at Brautigan’s mercy.
“Don’t ask again, or there’ll be none tonight as well. I don’t care if you’re thirsty.”
After a half hour of rest they moved on. Brautigan felt much better. He cast one glance over his shoulder at the mountains he’d come to hate, then resolutely fixed his gaze on McLendon, who rode just in front of him. Brautigan was concerned about McLendon’s horse. He’d originally picked the animal at the Silver City livery because it looked so small and slow—no one riding it could possibly hope to outrun mounted pursuit. Brautigan was no expert on horses, but it now seemed to him that the animal’s gait was even slower than before. The rigors of desert and mountain travel were wearing it down.
“We’ll get down and walk awhile,” Brautigan said to McLendon. “You can lead your horse with your good arm.”
McLendon seemed ready to argue. Brautigan fixed him with a steady gaze. McLendon clambered down, making a show of how difficult it was. Bra
utigan led his horse and the mule. They walked through the trees. A few chirping birds perched on branches. The trees were widely spaced so there was plenty of room to move. Looking through them to the east, Brautigan saw a single towering mountain that seemed familiar. He thought that when he and Ike made their way to Mountain View, this mountain had been on their left. That meant—
“Shit,” Brautigan said, loudly enough for McLendon to look back at him and ask, “What?”
“We’re too far west,” Brautigan said. “We’ll turn directly east. See that mountain? We’re going to go in that direction.”
As soon as they were clear of the trees, Brautigan told McLendon to mount again. His horse grunted. Rest, water, and food hadn’t refreshed it much, so Brautigan allowed a slightly slower pace. The mountain ahead of them might be a little more than two days out of Silver City. It was good to finally feel certain he knew the way, that they weren’t lost out in the wilderness. Not that much farther to go, then the rest of the way would be stage and train and finally the end of this blasted McLendon business.
They were just below the mountain at dusk. Though it appeared that way from a distance, the ground wasn’t as flat as Brautigan hoped. It undulated in a gentle series of arroyos and low hills, like waves on a slightly restless sea. The colors around them changed, from dull, dusty brown to various shades of tan. There were scattered clumps of vegetation that didn’t appear to be cacti. The air seemed fresher. The mountain blocked views to the north, but Brautigan thought he could see fairly well in all other directions.
“We’ll stop soon,” he told McLendon.
“I think there’s something wrong with my horse,” McLendon said. “There’s a stumble in its gait.”
“With a full night’s rest, it will be fine.”
They came to a saucerlike arroyo, just deep enough to keep them out of any swirling night winds and blowing dust. There was scattered plant matter. Brautigan didn’t know if it was something the animals could graze on. If not, they’d fed earlier.
“Here,” Brautigan said. “Get down.” McLendon slid from his horse. It was hard to tell whether mount or rider looked more the worse for wear. Both stood slumped and apparently spiritless. Brautigan believed the horse but had doubts about McLendon. He seemed almost too submissive.
They gave the animals water and ground-hitched them near some plants. Brautigan did most of the work, all the while keeping a wary eye on McLendon. He told him to get two cans from their saddlebags.
“One of peaches, one of peas,” McLendon said. “Which do you want?”
“I don’t care.”
McLendon chose the peaches and took a long time eating them. He seemed to have difficulty chewing and swallowing. He saw Brautigan watching and said defensively, “I had to walk too far today. So I’m tired and my arm still hurts. I think you broke it.”
“I never did. If you’re so tired, go to sleep.”
Brautigan tied McLendon’s legs and, this time, his hands. McLendon moaned when the giant pulled his right arm in front of him and lashed his wrists together.
“See that you pass a quiet night. No more talking,” Brautigan said. He decided not to sleep at all himself. McLendon was getting ideas—of course he was. No one would want to die in the terrible way that McLendon faced. Even his love for the girl might be trumped by the instinct to survive at any cost. Not that anything McLendon tried would work. Brautigan was his master in every way. But he didn’t want to have to kill McLendon here. The boss wanted the pleasure of watching him die back in St. Louis, and Brautigan did not intend to disappoint him. It occurred to Brautigan that he had turned forty-two. The exact date of his birthday escaped him, but he knew it was sometime during summer. If something went wrong delivering McLendon to justice, if Brautigan failed in even the smallest way, Mr. Douglass might decide that he was getting too old. Brautigan knew all too well how the boss might dispose of an employee who knew too much and had outlived his usefulness. Couldn’t chance that. McLendon must not be allowed to make any escape attempt.
All night long, Brautigan watched McLendon. It seemed to him sometimes that the bastard was watching him, too, through half-shut eyes. Let him. If they made better time on the flats instead of the mountains, in two more days they could reach Silver City. After that, Brautigan would be back in his element, and McLendon’s end would be blessedly near.
24
The immediate challenge, after sighting Brautigan and McLendon, was to avoid being seen by them. Gabrielle, Mulkins, and Saint dismounted, pulled their horses behind rocks and crouched as they watched the men ahead navigate the mouth of the ravine. They seemed to move cautiously.
“Brautigan’s keeping a sharp eye all around, I’ll wager,” Mulkins said. “Many would rush forward as fast as possible, losing all track of their surroundings in their haste to complete the journey. I have to credit the man. He’s too canny for that.”
“I wonder about Cash,” Gabrielle said. “It’s difficult to tell at this distance, but it appears to me that he’s somewhat stooped.”
“C.M.’s worn out, perhaps, and certainly shaken,” Mulkins said. “He’s in an awful predicament. Well, look. They’re in the ravine now and dropped out of sight. We can move ahead for a bit.”
Leading their own horses, the three crept to the ravine’s edge. Perhaps thirty feet below and now only about a mile ahead, Brautigan and McLendon moved at a glacial pace. Brautigan looked in every direction but directly behind him. The ravine was perhaps fifty yards wide, and curled southeast. Until it wrapped around the base of the next mountain, Mulkins, Saint, and Gabrielle couldn’t enter it without risking being seen. There were no large rocks to use as cover on the ravine floor.
“The man’s a master,” Mulkins said. “See how Brautigan’s deliberately slowed the pace when he’s on the flat and mountains rise around him? He knows there could be danger there, people above with good shooting angles. He’s giving every inch a thorough looking over.”
“Cash’s arm is hurt, the right one,” Gabrielle said. “It’s dangling as he moves. He must be in terrible pain. We’ve got to get him.”
“And how will we do that?” Saint asked. “As the Major said—Brautigan is in complete control of his situation.”
“His overconfidence may provide our advantage,” Gabrielle said. “There’ll surely be an opportunity. Major, how long now to Silver City?”
“I’m not certain,” Mulkins admitted. “I’d guess perhaps three days.”
“Three days for Brautigan to let down his guard,” Saint said. “And if that doesn’t happen?”
“Let’s not despair,” Mulkins said. “We’ll watch and follow.”
—
THEY WAITED more than an hour before they dared to move forward again. Brautigan and McLendon had disappeared down the ravine. It was very hot, and since the rain had replenished their canteens, the three pursuers allowed themselves a good swallow each.
“Cautiously now,” Mulkins said. “Every bend we come to, they might be right on the other side.” They led their horses ahead. At one point the ravine straightened again and they didn’t immediately see Brautigan and McLendon. Then Gabrielle spotted them, looking much smaller because they had almost doubled their previous lead.
“They’re almost to the end of the ravine and the mountains,” she said. “Look beyond—aren’t those trees?”
“I’ve heard there were some woods in the vicinity,” Mulkins said. “I’d guess when they reach them, they’ll stop to rest a bit.”
“Maybe we can surprise them there if they do,” Gabrielle said.
Mulkins shook his head. “Better we keep out of sight, see where they get to by dusk.”
“But, Cash’s arm,” Gabrielle said. “If he’s hurt—”
“I know it’s hard to hold back and observe, but at least he’s not hurt so bad that he can’t get around,” Mulkins said. “We can’t jus
t rush in, Gabrielle, at least not yet. If they’re getting close to Silver City and there’s no other choice, maybe then. For now, it remains watch and follow.”
—
WHEN BRAUTIGAN AND MCLENDON reached the trees, the trio lost sight of them again.
“They’ve probably stopped, as you predicted,” Gabrielle said to Mulkins. “I could creep forward and reconnoiter.”
“That would be foolish,” Mulkins said. “It’s easily three hundred yards of clear ground from where you are to the tree line. You can barely walk with that shin of yours. Joe or I could try, but the risk of being spotted is too great. Let’s wait and learn where they go from those trees, if we can.”
Forty-five minutes later, Brautigan and McLendon emerged. They were back on their horses, but now they rode directly east in the direction of a towering, solitary mountain.
“They might have gotten temporarily off course, or else Brautigan is even wilier than I’d credited,” Mulkins said. “Could be, he went farther south than necessary to throw off possible pursuit, making it appear that he aimed for a border town or even Mexico instead of Silver City.”
“Do you think he’s seen us?” Gabrielle asked.
“I’d say not, because if he meant to lure us in, those trees were a likelier spot than open ground. At least Brautigan knows the way to Silver City, because at this point I surely don’t. We’ll hold where we are for a bit, let them get a little farther ahead for the present, in case Brautigan’s being especially watchful.”
Mulkins, Gabrielle, and Saint watched the two riders grow smaller in the distance. Suddenly, they disappeared.
“What’s happened?” Gabrielle asked. “They were there, and now they’re gone.”
“Uneven ground,” Mulkins said. “Swales and arroyos. It looks flat from far away, but up close there are all sorts of slopes and hidey-holes. Keep looking. They’ll reappear presently.”