by Neil Hunter
‘We doing the right thing, hoss?’ he said. ‘If I was being honest I’d rather be enjoying some California sun.’
The chestnut shook her mane, nickering in agreement—or what Bodie wanted the horse to be doing.
He stretched his body, standing in the stirrups to ease the ache in his legs. All the while he kept the distant rider in his sights. It would be easy enough to lose him. The last thing Bodie wanted was for Trask to vanish. If he did slip from sight it would be an easy matter for him to pull down into some hollow. Or behind a suitable boulder. Hiding from sight would allow Trask the chance to wait for Bodie to ride closer while he kept him in his sights. Ready to take the shot that would empty the chestnut’s saddle, and …
‘Damn, I’m getting morbid.’ Bodie raised his face to the sky and allowed the chill of still falling snow to enliven his skin.
When he lowered his gaze again he saw the distant rider was on the move again. Still heading for the pass. He gigged the chestnut forward, determined to maintain his own line of travel.
Determined not to let Trask slip away and lay in wait for him.
Bodie pushed the chestnut to a faster pace, wanting to close the gap a degree. He had little choice in the matter. If he allowed Trask too much grace the man might breach the pass way ahead of him and that would give him the advantage. Knowing the man that would work in Trask’s favor.
They travelled in this fashion for the next few hours, neither of them giving anything away to the other.
Both seeking the opportunity that would gain them an edge over the other.
The morning slipped away, then noon, and it was in early afternoon when the snowfall increased again, sending wind-driven flurries across the slopes from a sky that threatened even more.
Chapter Twenty
Trask found the way ahead growing steeper. He could feel the dun struggling as it combated the incline and the deep layer of snow covering it. A couple of times he felt the horse miss its footing and slip back on its haunches as it pushed to regain its balance. He could feel its muscles tense, heard the snort of anxiety as it strained against the pull of gravity. He eased out of the saddle, gripping the reins as he moved ahead, pulling and coaxing the animal. Snow kicked up from beneath the dun as it fought to stay upright. He saw its eye roll as a moment of panic seized it. Trask pushed back his own fear, not wanting the horse to feel his mood, and he spoke to it in a calm tone, aware that any untoward show of displeasure would only serve to scare the dun. He dug in his heels, kept up the pressure on the reins as he reassured it with his own voice. It felt like an eternity before man and horse reached a flatter section and the scare passed. Trask stepped close, stroking the nervous animal, using a gentle tone of voice to soothe it.
Under his thick coat Trask was sweating from the effort. He calmed his breathing. He leaned against the dun and peered across the saddle, back down the long slope and even through the swirl of eddying snow he could see the rider.
Still coming.
Still on his trail.
Trask felt the hot anger threatening to rise again.
Damn the man, would he never quit?
He knew the answer even as the question formed in his mind. Whoever the rider was he maintained a dogged pace.
As Trask watched, a suspicion began to form in his imagination. He was sure it was nothing more than that.
Suspicion.
It had to be that. Simply a creation of his overworked mind.
Because Trask was almost ready to believe the man following him was Bodie.
That couldn’t be. He had shot Bodie, face on, back at the Gibbs. Had seen him go down with Trask’s .45 slug in his chest. The manhunter had to be dead.
He had to be.
It had been a killing shot. He was sure of that. Even if Bodie had only been wounded, that kind of hit would have kept him on his back for a long time.
Right?
The man would not have been able fork a saddle and ride all the way up the mountain slopes. Bodie was tough. A hard man. But even he couldn’t …
Yet the longer he studied the oncoming rider the stronger his conviction became. If anyone could do it Bodie was the man. His persistence, often under difficult circumstances, was why his legend had grown.
Was why he was called The Stalker.
The man known to follow a trail as far as it went. The manhunter who never, ever, backed down. Who, it was said, would crawl on hands and knees to reach his quarry.
Bodie would follow a man to the front door of Hell and challenge the Devil himself to give up his man.
It had been a long time since Sam Trask had experienced a moment of fear. He was doing it right now. For long seconds he allowed that fear to take over. He clung to his saddle and watched the distant rider coming on. Getting closer with each second.
Bodie.
Coming for him.
Just as swiftly the lost moment faded. Was sucked away as the wind was tossing around the falling snow. Trask slammed a hand down on his saddle, causing the dun to shiver.
No damn way.
He wasn’t about to let some bounty hunter snatch away his freedom. He was Sam Trask, not some piece of trash ready to be trampled over.
All right, Mr. Bodie, you keep on coming because I’m ready for you. The minute you’re in range I’ll empty my gun in you and watch you bleed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bodie sleeved snow from his face, blinking his eyes to clear them. He stared through drifting snow, picking out the still shapes of man and horse. Trask had been motionless for some time and Bodie had the feeling the man was also studying him. He kept going, satisfied he was still beyond the range of the man’s rifle. Beneath him the chestnut plodded forward, making no effort to move any faster than a walk. Bodie didn’t push the pace. He had a feeling he was going to be spending another uncomfortable night on the mountain slopes, courtesy of Sam Trask—unless something drastic happened in the next few hours. The thought of that did little to improve his mood.
Above the drone of the wind Bodie picked up another sound. He couldn’t figure what it was until the rumble increased in volume and out the corner of his eye he saw movement on the upper slopes.
An avalanche.
A huge body of snow breaking free from its situation and beginning the long tumble that would bring it down from the heights. It was a massive slide. Tons of it moving in an ever-increasing flood, the sound of its passing becoming louder with each second. Propelled by its own weight and gathering additional mass as it came on.
Bodie had seen avalanches before. They overwhelmed anything and everything in their path. The power was frightening. Nothing could stop them. They could sweep away people and buildings, the sheer immensity unstoppable. A cloud of finer, powdered snow was created out of the bulk, misting the air like an icy fog. The speed of the avalanche grew as it rolled forward, spreading and intensifying.
And from its general direction Bodie could see it was moving his way.
Sam Trask was forgotten.
Pursuit of the fugitive vanished from Bodie’s mind, because if he didn’t get himself clear he could easily be caught up in the moving mass as it continued on down the slopes. If it reached and swamped him, he would end up buried beneath tons of suffocating snow.
Bodie jammed the Winchester back into the boot so he could grip the reins with both hands as he pulled the chestnut’s head around and slammed in his heels. The powerful horse responded as if it realized the danger itself and thrust itself across the slope, muscles straining as Bodie urged it on with yells and shouts. Unmindful of possible hazards under the layered snow on the ground Bodie guided the horse forward. The rumble of the avalanche grew louder, reaching a crescendo as it boiled across the lower slope.
The chestnut reacted to Bodie’s frantic urging, sensing the danger that was bearing down on them. It gave a shrill sound, muscles tensing as it plunged through the layered snow covering the ground.
In a moment of clarity Bodie spotted the lip of
a gulley in front of them. He had no idea how deep it might be, or the steepness of the sides. He only knew it could offer a refuge from the onrushing flood of the avalanche. He couldn’t hope to outrun it, or battle against it. So he rammed in his heels, yelling wildly at his horse to keep moving.
The chestnut, at full stretch, took the lip of the gulley, all four hoofs leaving the ground as it cleared the rim. In the moments before they dropped Bodie felt the icy breath of the avalanche as it overtook them. That was all he recalled. The world vanished in an enveloping fog of white. Dense and having enough force to take him and the chestnut down the gully slope. Bodie did his best to stay upright and failed. He was swept from the saddle.
He felt himself turned in every direction, not even aware which way up he was. Soft snow was all around him, lifting him, dropping him and pushing the breath from his body. It felt as if he was being crushed. Snow blinding his eyes, filling his mouth and chilling him to the point of freezing. His hearing was overtaken by the raging sound of the avalanche and even though he was yelling he was unable to hear his own voice. Time didn’t mean a thing anymore. He had no way of knowing how long it went on …
… until he realized he was no longer falling, tumbling, and the roar of the avalanche had ceased. He was surrounded by silence. Total and absolute. He lay still because he had no way of knowing which way up he was. Disoriented. Wary in case he was injured and any movement might cause him pain. Bodie moved his fingers. Flexed them in the thick gloves. They seemed fine. Cold but not damaged. He moved his booted feet. Again there didn’t appear to be untoward injury. He moved his head, eyes catching light above him.
Daylight?
If that was the case at least he was lying face up. He moved his right arm, pushing it through the surprisingly soft snow and his hand broke free, allowing more light to show. He pushed and wormed his body up, moments later arching clear of the snow covering him. Bodie sat upright and took a look round.
The gully had filled with snow, almost to the level of its banks. It had leveled out and Bodie’s luck had held. He turned his head and stared up at the high peaks. They all looked calm and settled again after dropping tons of snow down on the lower slopes. The gusting wind caught eddies of the still falling flakes and created misty swirls, but the avalanche had worn itself out. It was the way with them. They came out of nowhere, made their presence know, then ceased.
Bodie pushed to his feet, feeling the discomfort of his bruised ribs and the bullet wound. The way he had been thrown about during the snowfall had done him no favors. He ached fiercely—but at least he was still alive. Shaking off clinging snow he brushed his right hand across his side and found the thonged-down Colt still in its holster. He drew the weapon and shook snow from it, working the action and spinning the cylinder. He recalled having pushed the Winchester back into the saddle-boot so that would be … he thought about the chestnut then.
His horse.
As if it had read his thoughts he heard the chestnut’s aggrieved protest, coming from close by. He followed the sound and saw, yards away, the bulk of the animal as it pushed its own way out of the layer of snow. He crossed to it, grabbing the reins and encouraged the chestnut to work its way upright. The horse, plainly disgruntled, made a big fuss, kicking snow in all direction until Bodie talked it down. On its feet it skittered back and forth, snorting gusts of air from its nostrils and generally playing up. Bodie let it have its moment, talking to it and stroking its heaving sides. When it finally calmed down Bodie inspected it for any injuries. Apart from having lost its dignity the chestnut was unhurt.
‘Our lucky day,’ Bodie said. ‘If you can call it that.’
Bodie took the reins and led the chestnut up the rise to the trail they had been walking before the fall of snow. It lay under a deeper layer of snow now, but from its general shape Bodie recognized it. It took a while before he pulled the horse through the tumbled piles of snow and stood with the defined outline of the pass ahead of him again.
He reached and slid the Winchester free. Checked it over. It hadn’t suffered any apparent damage.
The feel of the rifle in his hand reminded Bodie why he was here.
Sam Trask.
Bodie’s sole reason for being stuck partway up a mountain in freezing weather.
Sam Trask, the fugitive, leading the manhunter on trek that was fast building up to becoming the reason one of them was going to end up dead.
Trask wasn’t about to give himself up and Bodie had no intention of backing off.
Somewhere between there had to be a reckoning.
Bodie was damned if he was going to be the one who failed to walk away.
That might have been decided already. Trask had been caught in the avalanche too and for all Bodie knew the man might not have survived. There was a chance he might be buried under tons of snow. It was a possibility.
Sam Trask dead. After the long pursuit the mountain might have taken him out of Bodie’s hands.
Bodie didn’t believe it for a minute.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Trask couldn’t believe one man could have such bad luck. When he had dragged himself from the snow and stood gazing around, clasping a hand to his head where a deep gash was streaming blood, the first thing he saw was his horse. The dun lay yards away. Still. No sound or movement. He stumbled his way through the snow to stand over the horse. He bent close to check. It was dead. When he walked around it he saw the gaping wound that exposed its side, the bloody rib bones crushed. Trask stared at the dead animal. The extent of the wound could only have been caused by a solid chunk of rock brought down by the avalanche. Dislodged and impacting against the dun as it had been thrown by the snow.
Trask had lost a second horse. If he had believed in fate Trask might have figured he was being played. Taunted by bad luck. True or not he was still not having the best of times. He prodded the carcass with the toe of his boot, surprised at his own calmness. There was no raging anger. No swell of unreasoning fury that would have normally had him cursing in a fit of frustration.
The pain from his injury brought tears to his eyes. Sometime during the headlong fall in the aftermath of the sweeping avalanche Trask had suffered a solid blow himself. The impact had left him dazed, his head battered and he was sure he had passed out during the fall. Pulling a kerchief from his coat Trask bound it around his head, wincing at the pain from the wound. There was little else he could do. Somewhere in the fall he had lost his hat. And his rifle. The Winchester had been knocked from his hand during the time he had been thrown off his feet. He felt beneath his long coat. The pistol was still in his holster. At least he still had something to defend himself with.
That made him think about Bodie. He turned and searched for the manhunter. Picked up on the lone figure moving slowly up the slope.
Leading his horse.
The man still had his mount.
Trask pulled open his coat and drew his pistol.
He would take Bodie’s horse and continue his way through the pass. To Canada. And escape.
Trask almost laughed. Maybe luck hadn’t entirely abandoned him. If he could take Bodie’s horse …
He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Bodie was a tenacious son of a bitch. He would put up one hell of a fight.
All right, mister, let’s see who can come out on top.
Trask checked the loads in his Colt, making sure all six cylinders held a bullet. He had additional loads in the loops of his gunbelt. He needed to get closer, within the range of the handgun. He had to make this count first time.
He dropped to a crouch, lowering his bulk. From the way Bodie was moving, still leading the chestnut, Trask assumed he hadn’t been seen. If that was the case then maybe he would be able to close in on the man and get off his shots from close range.
The falling snow was lighter now but still offered some distraction as Trask edged his way forward. The main track he and Bodie had been following was at a higher level, so as long as Trask remained below it his c
hance of remaining unobserved was better. His progress was slow. The snow underfoot was deep enough to hold him back and Trask’s impatience was threatening to get the better of him. He wanted the matter over and done with. He battled his reckless streak, holding down on his emotions. If he misjudged his timing Bodie would react and any element of surprise would be lost. The manhunter would not hesitate if it came to a split-second decision. His situation was as critical as Trask’s. Any mistakes would cost one of them dearly.
A wave of nausea rolled over Trask. He dropped low, fighting the sickness. The pain in his head from the blow he had taken during his avalanche fall increased. He had to fight back from expelling a groan. He touched the cloth he had tied around his head and his gloved fingers came away sticky with fresh blood. He could feel it worming down the side of his face. Not the time to find himself laid low. He needed to stay on his feet until he had dealt with Bodie.
He had to deal with him.
Bodie’s horse was his ticket to Canada. Freedom. His way of shrugging off everything that had gone wrong with his life. If he could cross the border he had the chance to rebuild his life. Past associations would disappear. Trask could start fresh. He had money in the saddlebags still fastened to his dead horse. Plenty to fund a good start.
And all that stood between him and that new start was Bodie. The damned bounty man who had dogged his tracks all the way from Colton.
The moment Trask recalled Colton he experienced another surge of pain. That town and the association it represented. His parents. The two people who had let him down so many times. Their attempts to help had been too little too late. His pain pushed him to the ground and Trask hunched over waiting until it passed. He found himself wondering if the blow to his head was worse than he’d thought. Maybe he needed medical help. That was out of the question while he was stranded on these mountain slopes, miles from any habitation. Which brought back the need to get his hands on Bodie’s horse even more important.