by Ron Schwab
She started when she felt pressure on her rear-end and then the harsher movement of fingers grasping her crotch. She pulled away and wheeled around, drawing her Colt in the same instant. McLarty loomed above her, grinning wolfishly.
"Just checking, Missy," he said. "Nothing going on out there. I thought we could take some time to get acquainted better."
She raised the pistol, pointing it at his face. "Touch me one more time, you bastard, and I'll fire the first shot tonight," she said, her voice a near whisper.
He lifted his hands placatingly. "Just joshing. Meant no harm." His eyes focused behind her. "Something going on over there."
She turned away from him. "Where?"
"Near that old stable."
"I don't see anything," she said, just before his sinewy arm closed around her neck and began to squeeze. "Stop," she gasped. "What are you doing?"
She swung her elbow frantically against his ribs and tried to stomp on his feet and pull away, but she was caught in his vise-like grip. He just chuckled softly in response. She started to scream, but her voice choked off with more pressure clamped against her throat. Then she felt him working something over her head and face and around her neck—a rawhide loop, she decided, as she felt it tighten around her neck and draw taut before it squeezed into her flesh and panic swept over her. She dropped her gun and reached for her throat, instinctively trying to loosen the cord's suffocating grip, as her knees buckled and blackness overtook her.
When she came around, she found herself flat on her back. The pressure on her neck had eased, but the loop was still coiled around her neck. There was an abrupt tug that bit her raw flesh again, and she turned her head to see McLarty sitting on the ground less than five feet away, his hand grasping the end of the skinny, braided line that ended at her neck. She was anchored like an animal on a leash, she realized. She could not comprehend what was happening. The man's behavior made absolutely no sense.
"Glad to see you woke up, Missy. Now you listen good. We're just gonna sit here a spell. Ain't in no hurry. You and me is going to have ourselves some fun later. But we got to find your pappy's gold first. And then me and your friend, Captain Quint, got to come to some understanding about you."
"Quint?" she croaked.
"Yep. Him and me made ourselves a bargain. Now shut up."
26
Ethan and Badger Claw waited behind a cluster of boulders at the forest's edge, surveying the building site. The post was well lit, and they could hear the murmur of voices from inside the structure. The quiet outside was perplexing, however. They both turned suddenly when they heard movement in the brush behind them. Ethan drew his Colt in readiness just before Running Fox appeared like a specter from the brush.
"Fox. What are you doing here?" he whispered.
"Trouble, Puma," the boy replied softly. "Bad mans, behind us. See riders near horses. I hide. Then run like antelope find you. Mans come slow. Walking now."
A trap. He couldn't believe it. McLarty had scouted the area. "How many riders, Fox?"
The boy held up one hand and one finger on the other. "This many."
"See if you can find the others and warn them. Jeb and She-Bear are there." He pointed north behind the building site. "And Skye and One Ball are there," he said, pointing to the south. "Go to Jeb first. They're closer. And before you go, tell Badger Claw."
For several minutes, Running Fox and Badger Claw were engaged in animated dialogue, and then suddenly the boy vanished into the shadowy forest.
Ethan signaled to Badger Claw to follow, and the two moved into the woods in the direction of their horses. They had not gone more than fifty paces when Ethan saw movement ahead, a creeping figure with a rifle poised for firing. He looked at Badger Claw, who held up his knife and signed that he would circle the man and approach him from the rear. Ethan nodded and inched his way in the opposite direction. As the figure stepped cautiously nearer, Ethan caught a glimpse of the Sioux warrior sneaking in behind. To distract the man, he rustled some brush and moved from behind the tree that shielded him and quickly to another. The man raised his rifle to fire, and, in the same instant, Badger Claw's knife blade slid across the stalker's throat. One down.
Shortly, they ferreted out another, but this time Ethan's blade did the work. After that, they wove quietly through the forest, darting from tree to tree as they sought another quarry. Ethan felt frustrated as time passed without any more sign of the raiders. Then a gun blast echoed in the still night, and he spun at the sound of the crunch of brush behind him. It was another of the renegades falling to the ground, his rifle clattering against loose rock. Momentarily, Jeb and She-Bear appeared in an opening in the woods some distance behind the gunman.
"He had a bead on you, Boss," Jeb said softly as he approached with a sheepish grin on his face. "But She-Bear had your back. She wanted to try my Sharps. Couldn't have done better myself."
Ethan saw that She-Bear had lagged and was now crouched over her target. "What's she doing?"
"Taking his scalp. She says this is her second scalp . . . third kill."
"Doesn't that bother you a little?"
"Boss, that woman bothers me all the time. And I hope she bothers me the rest of my life."
Ethan shrugged. There wasn't time to worry about civilizing She-Bear right now. "That gunshot's going to draw some attention this way. I suggest we spread out and see who shows up to the party."
As he predicted, it was not fifteen minutes before the others came in to view, all three of them, dispersed and walking at a snail's pace. Finally, one called out, "Jess, Diego?" He called to his comrades. "Shit, I know they came this way. There was only one shot."
Another man, with a deep southern drawl, replied. "I ain't likin' this, Hammer. Somethin' ain't right. I think we'd better back the hell out of here."
"Maybe you're right."
Ethan raised his Winchester and aimed at the man called Hammer. He squeezed the trigger, and the rifle cracked, shattering bark on a pine a few inches from the man's head. Hammer jumped behind the tree. A few minutes later he and his partners returned fire, all in Ethan's direction. He was lodged behind his own tree and wasn't about to move into the open to fire another shot, but the attackers were exposing their positions. He heard the distinctive roar of the Sharps again, followed by a grunt and a scream. "Oh shit, I'm gut shot. Hammer, help me." That would be the fourth man. And the shooter would have been Jeb. He had reclaimed his Sharps and returned She-Bear's Winchester to her, after her "try out" with the heavier weapon.
Ethan inched from behind his hiding spot and took a wild shot, and two men returned quick shots before they took off running. For some moments, a chorus of gunfire followed them, and then it was suddenly still.
Then She-Bear burst from her hiding place and raced in the direction of the renegades' retreat. "Hammer is my kill," she declared.
Jeb came up to Ethan, followed by Badger Claw. "Sorry, Boss. I think she'll outgrow this scalping business in time. It's something about these men that held her captive. She seems fine otherwise. But when it comes to these people, she turns into . . . well . . . some kind of savage."
"Puma."
Ethan turned. It was Running Fox, looking up at him with those big dark eyes, about to brim over with tears. He sensed immediately that something was terribly amiss. "What is it, Fox?"
"Sky-in-the-Morning. She taken by One Ball."
"Taken? What do you mean?"
"Like you say, me go to find and tell about bad mans. But One Ball hold her like horse with rope around neck. Me hide and watch. When guns shoot, him pull her away. Take to house. She fight hard, but him pull with rope, like pony. Me think him with bad mans."
Badger Claw looked bewildered, but obviously was aware something was wrong. Ethan said, "Fox, tell this to Badger Claw."
Ethan turned back to Jeb and She-Bear, who had just returned from retrieving a new scalp. He noticed this recent trophy was a tufted gray one. The other new blood-dripping scalp hanging from her
belt was stringy blond. "You heard what Fox said?"
"Yep. Explains the trap. McLarty set it. He didn't kill any sentries out by the Powder. Damn, he even made a show of it with the horses and gear. That old man's clever as hell."
"And now we know why he made a big fuss about pairing up with Badger Claw. Somehow, he contacted Quint and made a deal to find Skye and turn her over. And I did his work for him. Hell, he was probably spying on us, too, and knew we'd found the women. Now that I think about it, he dropped his little demand over the gold share damned fast. That's because he already knew about it. I was a prize fool. I just didn't see this coming. I never suspected. But this explains why we didn't see the old man for so long."
"I didn't see it, either. I never liked the old bastard, but I didn't see him throwing in with this scum. What do we do now, Boss?"
"We get her out of there. And we give no quarter."
27
Skye stumbled and fell to her knees when she was yanked harshly into the abandoned trading post. McLarty drug her across the floor while she clutched the cord to keep from suffocating. He gave her slack at the feet of Captain Quint, who sat in a rickety straight-back chair near the fireplace. She looked up and saw the mutilated face of the barbarian leader. Most of the left side of his face was scabbed and raw. A bloody cavern had replaced his left eye, and the flesh around it was swollen and engorged with pus that intermingled with the blood and dripped down the side of his face. He glared at her contemptuously with his surviving eye, which seemed glazed over.
She refused to look up at him from the floor and clumsily got to her feet. She stood there, no more than five feet from him, and met his stare. She was certain death would visit her before she left this place, and she shuddered at the thought of what kind of death that might be. She could only hope that it came quickly.
"Welcome home, bitch," Quint said, his voice raspy. "Do you remember this place?"
It was then that she noticed his pallid skin and the trembling of the hands that rested on his lap. This man's body, she guessed, raged with infection. He was probably going to die from the wound she had inflicted, but he was far from conceding it. And he would not die soon enough to save her life.
"Answer me, bitch. I asked you a question."
"Yes, I remember."
"Did you hear the gunfire outside?"
"Yes."
"That was the execution of your friends. We will let you live long enough to see their stinking corpses. You may thank Mr. McLarty for that. It was his idea we set this little trap, and he sprung it pretty good it looks like."
She looked at McLarty, who still held the cord and stood next to Quint, leering tauntingly at her. "We'll find out soon enough if his trap worked or not, won't we?"
She saw a flash of doubt cross McLarty's eyes, and he tossed a glance at the door. Her remark also struck Quint, for he ordered a skinny, narrow-faced man called Rat to go outside and see how soon the others would be bringing in the bodies. It hit her then that she might never say the things she had promised herself she would say someday to Ethan, the patient, good man who was always on her side, always at her side—when she would allow him. God, please let him be alive. She knew now. The doubt had vanished.
"Take that goddamned axe away from the bitch. How did she get in here with that thing?"
Quint's words confused her for a moment. Then she remembered the little hatchet still hung in her belt. She had dropped the Colt in the woods, but she still had her remaining weapon. She reached for the hatchet instinctively with no notion of what she was going to do with it. Too late. McLarty jerked the cord sharply, sending a wave of pain through her skull, and then he stepped toward her and yanked the hatchet from the belt. He handed it to Quint, who looked at it strangely and then dropped the tool on the floor.
Quint seemed to be lost somewhere in his mind, so for the first time her eyes scanned the large room, counting eight men, including Quint and McLarty, a few sitting on the straight-back chairs and others dozing or sitting on the floor. Where was Antelope? The question was answered when the door to the single sleeping room Skye used to occupy on her rare visits opened, and the girl came out with the big Negro the renegades called Goliath. Her face and arms were marked with scratches and bruises. She had not fared well since She-Bear and Skye escaped. Skye still worried the escape had been the cause of the brutality directed at the remaining girls. Her eyes met Antelope's, and she was relieved that she still saw hope there.
"Now, bitch, we talk about the gold." Quint had returned to the world. "At our last meeting, you promised you would tell me where to find the gold. You broke your promise. You're going to die for what you did to me, but if we find the gold, you get it quick. We'll start with this here axe. One finger at a time. You can see how it feels to lose both paws. Then we'll do your tits with a skinning knife." He spoke without emotion. He seemed strangely detached, more like he was an observer than a participant.
She wondered if he had lost his senses. Perhaps it was the infection that was destroying his mind. No matter. Her future looked bleak. He would not keep his word about a quick death. She faced torture before the end of her life. All she could do was buy time. "I do know where the gold is hidden. You will not find it in this building or anyplace nearby. I will lead you to it in the morning."
"Just tell me."
"I cannot. I have not been here since I was a little girl. I would not know how to explain. But when I see the landmarks, I will know."
"You're lying, of course, but we will wait."
McLarty interrupted. "While we're waiting for the sun to come up, I want this woman. If I can have the little room for an hour, I'll show her something she ain't never seen. She thinks she's too damn good for me."
Quint did not even look at him but replied matter-of-factly. "She is too damn good for you. She's mine first. You can have the leftovers. But you might be humping a dead woman."
"In your shape, you ain't going to be humping anything."
"Mr. McLarty, shut up and drop your ass on the floor. You're outnumbered here, and you're a dead man if I say so."
McLarty let himself down to the floor, giving a yank on Skye's leash and pulling her to the floor with him. He leaned up against the wall near the fireplace, and Skye welcomed the heat. She observed that her hatchet lay on the floor within a few paces, although the odds of her fighting her way out of the place with an axe were laughable. McLarty moved closer to her, pressing his hip against her own. He placed his hand on her thigh and began kneading it with his fingers. Her instincts were to slap it away, but that would mean a jerk on the neck cord, which had already chewed into her flesh to the point of drawing blood. She turned her face away from him to avoid the smell of him, the sour sweat and rancid breath.
Quint spoke again. "Bitch, have you seen this gold?"
"No."
"Then how do you know it's there?"
"I don't."
"But your old man told you?"
"He gave me a letter." She decided the truth would do no harm now. The time for playing games had passed.
"I want to see this letter."
"I don't have it."
"Where is it?"
"I left it with my lawyer."
"Who's your lawyer?"
"Ethan Ramsey."
McLarty chimed in. "That's the bastard who's chasing after your bunch."
"No more. The boys ought to be dragging his corpse in anytime now." He turned his eye toward the door. "Where's Rat?"
28
They had returned to the little rock fortress east of the trading post that Ethan and Badger Claw had positioned themselves in earlier. The location afforded a good view of the front cabin door, which was apparently the only usable opening. Jeb had sneaked up to the rear of the building earlier and tested the back door finding it set fast and concluding it had been nailed shut, probably when the structure was abandoned.
They watched as the front door opened, and a short, wiry man stepped out. He stood for some moment
s a few feet from the doorway, evidently making a survey of the landscape before he closed the door behind him. He rolled and lighted a cigarette before moving out into the clearing. Obviously nervous and wary, he didn't walk more than fifty feet away from the house. He was no doubt expecting the other renegades to show up, perhaps with a horse train of bodies, to report their mission had been accomplished. He would be eager to return to the cabin.
Ethan tapped Badger Claw on the shoulder to get his attention, and then signed that he should retrieve his bow and nock an arrow. Pointing to the thin man, Ethan's instructions were clear. The warrior gave a rare smile and then, with his bow and a quiver of arrows, slipped away into the woods. No more than ten minutes later, an arrow lodged in the wiry man's throat, and, before he sunk to the ground, a second drove into his chest.
Running Fox said, "Him good warrior, yes?"
Ethan grudgingly agreed. "Yes, he's a very good warrior." For that matter he had come to like and respect the man. Badger Claw had earned his respect the last several days, and Ethan had come to trust and rely on him.
"Another down. But there's a house full inside, and when somebody finds this man, they'll be on the alert. We can't go charging in there. They have us outgunned, and it would put Skye and Antelope in even more danger. And we can't leave Skye with those men all night. God knows what they'll do to her . . . especially with the damage she must have done to this Quint. We may be too late as it is." Even as he spoke, he refused to believe his own words.