Wilderness Double Edition 27

by David Robbins

  ‘How quaint,’ Kilraven said with undisguised scorn.

  Ryker frowned. ‘Suit yourself, you damned know-it-all. You hired me to guide you and give you my advice, and I’ll give it now. You won’t take it, but it’s what you are paying me for.’ He paused. ‘Find somewhere else to build this preserve of yours. Don’t try to force the Wards off their land or there will be hell to pay.’

  ‘I think you are right,’ Kilraven said.

  Ryker blinked in surprise. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. My original idea of having them escorted to Bent’s Fort was based on the belief no one would dare lift a hand against me. But now you have convinced me otherwise. Now I must see to it that they do not reach Bent’s Fort.’

  ‘You can’t mean what I think you mean.’

  ‘There are two ways to resolve a dispute, Mr. Ryker. One is to sit down with the other party and talk things out. That will not work in this case. The Wards refuse to sell. The second way is to get rid of those who oppose you. I now intend to eliminate the Wards, and this Zach King if he stands in my way.’

  ‘By eliminate you mean kill?’

  ‘Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Ryker?’

  ‘Damned right I do. There was no mention of killing when you hired me. You said you were forcing the Wards off their land, and that was it.’

  Kilraven spread his hands in front of him. ‘The situation has changed. I must adapt. I suggest you adapt, as well.’

  Ryker shook his head. ‘I won’t be a party to killing.’

  ‘It is not as if you have not killed before. I asked around about you before I hired you. Discreetly, of course. You say this Zach King has a bit of a reputation. So do you. You have killed a score of men yourself, rumor has it. Most of them Indians, but not all. You can be fierce in your own right.’ Kilraven had found that flattery was an essential tool in persuading others to go along with his wishes. That, and one other thing. ‘But I respect your qualms. Would five thousand dollars over and above what I am paying you erase them?’

  ‘Five thousand,’ Ryker repeated, stunned. ‘That’s more money than I’ve ever had at any one time in all my born days.’

  ‘I have your cooperation, then? Before you answer, permit me to make the conditions perfectly clear. For that amount of money you will not function strictly as my guide. You are to take an active hand in disposing of the Wards and this Zach King. Not only will you hunt them down for me, but you will slay them yourself if afforded the opportunity. Understood?’

  ‘Five thousand,’ Ryker said yet again, and grinned a grin of pure greed. ‘Mister, you have yourself a deal. Zach King and the Wards are as good as dead.’

  Nine

  Zach led the Wards due south from their cabin. They crossed the valley floor and wound into the foothills. A mile in, Zach reined to the west, making for the mountains. He held the horses to a walk. They had a long ride ahead, and it would not be wise to unnecessarily tire them.

  The foothills at night were dark and foreboding. Wooded tracts alternated with open ground. An occasional bluff broke the rolling terrain. Out of the northwest blew a stiff wind, bringing with it a cacophony of animal sounds; the grunts and roars of grizzlies, the howls of wolves, the yips of coyotes, and now and again the piercing shriek of a mountain lion, a screech so inhuman as to make the skin crawl.

  To Zach the bestial racket was as ordinary as water. He was at home in the wild, and those were the wild’s normal sounds. He had heard them nearly every night of his life. They had no more effect on him than distant yells and pistol shots in a city would have on a lifelong city dweller.

  Not so Simon Ward. He could never get used to the bedlam at night. Every roar, every howl, every shriek, rubbed his nose in the fact that the nighttime was when the meat eaters were abroad. Predators ruled the darkness, and woe to the hapless plant eater, or human, who disregarded their reign. Even the Indians did not like to be out and about after the sun went down, a sentiment Simon fully shared.

  Many a night Simon had sat in his cabin and listened to the riot of cries and been grateful he had sturdy walls between his family and the source of those cries.

  Now there were no walls. Now they were heading up into the heart of the realm the beasts ruled, and his own heart beat faster as Simon contemplated the possible consequences to his loved ones. It compelled him to gig his mount and lead Dancer and the pack horses past Felicity, who was holding Peter on the saddle in front of her, so he could ride beside Zach.

  ‘I have been thinking.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Maybe we should head down instead of up,’ Simon said. ‘We would be safe at Bent’s Fort.’

  ‘There is a lot of open ground between your valley and the trading post. With your wife and the boy along, you would never reach it.’

  Simon opened his mouth to argue and closed it again. Zach was right. He slowed so his wife could come alongside him. ‘How are you holding up?’

  Felicity was tired, and hungry, and anxious to her core, but she smiled and said, ‘Fine as can be. I heard what you asked Zach, and I agree with him. Kilraven will never find us up in the high timber.’

  ‘Just so we don’t come back to find our cabin burned to the ground,’ Simon said, expressing his innermost worry.

  ‘If we do, we’ll rebuild. With an extra room for Peter.’

  Simon glanced at their son. The boy was sound asleep, slumped against his mother. In his innocence, he did not appreciate the gravity of their plight. ‘Oh, to be that young again,’ Simon said wistfully.

  ‘Not me,’ Felicity said. ‘I like being as I am.’

  ‘You would rather be a woman than a girl? Rather have all the worries of an adult instead of the carefree and happy existence of a child?’

  ‘I’m happier being your wife than I have ever been. As for cares, we have them at every age, only they seem less than they were when we look back at them.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  A rumbling snort from out of the brush startled them. Simon raised his rifle to his shoulder.

  ‘It was only a buck,’ Zach said over a shoulder.

  ‘I hate this,’ Simon said in almost a whisper so only his wife heard. ‘I jump at every sound and shadow.’

  ‘The night takes some getting used to,’ Zach said. ‘When I was your son’s age, I was the same as you.’

  ‘Good ears, young master King,’ Simon responded. ‘How is it you can hear so well?’

  ‘Necessity, my pa would say,’ Zach replied.

  ‘When you grow up in the wilderness, you learn to use your ears and your eyes and your other senses, or you die.’ He shifted in the saddle. They were southwest of the flat-topped hill, and approximately a thousand feet higher. The campfires sparkled like red jewels. By now Reginald Owen had reached the camp and told his tale.

  Zach wished he could see Kilraven’s face when he saw the overturned furniture and the chicken blood. That was a nice touch, the blood, Zach thought. It should convince his lordship to light a shuck for healthier climes.

  To the north, a wolf raised its plaintive wail and was mimicked by a kindred lupine spirit to the west.

  Zach breathed deep of the brisk air and smiled. He loved the wild haunts, loved the mountains and the plains. His visits back East had shown him that civilization was not for him. He could no more stand living in a town or city than he could living in a cage. Civilized men liked to hem themselves in with walls and buildings. But not Zach. Give him the wide open spaces. Give him endless forest and endless grass, and the freedom to roam as he willed.

  Zach would never understand the attitude of his father’s people. Why did they live like bees or ants? How was it they did not mind being told how they should live? It was bewildering. His father was not like that. His father dared to live according to his own ideals and not those imposed on him by politicians and the like. Zach respected his father for that, respected him highly. He was glad his father had raised him in the wilderness and not back East. He would suffocate there. H
e would expire for a lack of freedom.

  Zach never gave being free a lot of thought until recently, when the army took him into custody and he was placed on trial for killings that had been perfectly justified. Being thrown behind bars did wonders for a man’s perspective. To have his freedom denied had taught him, as no other lesson could, how exquisitely precious that freedom was.

  Zach would never go East again if he could help it. He’d had his fill of civilized ways. Until the day the maggots fed on his putrefied flesh, he would stay west of the Mississippi River, where a man could do as he pleased and not answer to anyone or anything other than his own desires and his own conscience.

  A feral hiss rose from a thicket ahead, but Zach did not stop. ‘It’s only a bobcat,’ he said for the benefit of the Wards.

  Felicity had involuntarily tensed at the sound and clutched Peter tighter to her. Relaxing, she gave thanks Zach had shown up. She did not like to think of the dire straits they would be in without his help. He was not his father, but she trusted him. Other homesteaders were wary of Zach, if not outright afraid of him, but not her. Yes, he had, by all accounts, spilled more than his share of blood, but he had a lot of his father in him, more, maybe, than he was willing to admit.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity regarded Simon. She loved him dearly, loved him more than she had ever loved anyone. He was a devoted husband and father, and a fine provider. But there were times, and this was one of them, when she wished he were a bit more like Nate and Zach. Especially Zach. When she wished he were tougher, wished he were—dare she think it?—meaner. That was what it took to stand up to the Kilravens of the world: meanness. Turning the other cheek to men like Kilraven was asking to have it slapped.

  Felicity would never tell Simon how she felt. He could never change, anyway. People had to be true to their nature, and it was her husband’s nature to be kind and considerate and, above all, reasonable.

  A loud crash in the woods to their left, attended by a series of guttural growls, brought them to a stop.

  ‘What is it?’ Simon asked, jerking his rifle up again. ‘Another deer?’

  ‘A bear,’ Zach said.

  Simon swiveled in the saddle, the better to protect his wife and son should it come charging out at them.

  ‘A black bear,’ Zach elaborated. ‘It’s skulking off.’

  Straining his ears for all he was worth, Simon, for the life of him, could only hear the wind in the trees. ‘How can you be sure it was a black bear and not a grizzly?’

  ‘Silvertips don’t mutter to themselves like blacks do,’ Zach replied. ‘When they growl, they mean business.’

  Simon would never have described the growling he heard as muttering, but he took Zach’s word for it. The mountains were Zach’s element, the habits of their four-legged inhabitants as well-known to him as his own. ‘You still haven’t said where exactly you propose to take us?’

  Zach gazed into the inky murk above. ‘Up yonder a ways. The lord and his bunch will never find you. You can rest, catch up on your sleep if you want, while I pay their camp a visit.’

  ‘You’re going back down? Whatever for? What do you hope to accomplish?’

  ‘To teach them that the wilderness is no place for those who like to eat at a fancy table and be waited on hand and foot.’

  Zach skirted a log. Obstacles were common, and he had to stay alert. He could tell the Wards were nervous, especially Simon. They clearly weren’t used to nighttime treks.

  The slope grew steeper. Zach angled to the right, where the going was easier. The ground was hard but not so hard they could avoid leaving tracks. A frontiersman would have no problem trailing them, but Simon had assured him that Lord Kilraven’s party was composed entirely of Brits. Greenhorns, who couldn’t track a buffalo across a mud wallow.

  He had nothing to worry about from them.

  Lord Kilraven stood in the doorway of the Ward cabin, his hands clasped behind his back, and surveyed the shambles. ‘You are positive savages were not responsible? Despite all the blood everywhere?’

  Ryker was moving about the room, stepping over articles of clothing and kitchen utensils scattered willy-nilly. ‘Do you see any broken dishes? No. Is any of the furniture busted? No. Are the curtains tom to pieces? There they hang. Were the kitchen knives taken? No, there’s one on the floor near your foot.’ Ryker chuckled. ‘This is Zach King’s doing. He made it appear real enough that you would think Injuns were to blame. But it doesn’t fool me.’

  ‘Where did they go? That is the question,’ Kilraven said.

  Ryker took the lit lamp Bromley was holding. ‘Let’s go back out and have a look-see.’

  Ten men were with them, the rest left to safeguard the women and the camp. Only Severn had been permitted to dismount. The rest awaited orders, their rifles across their saddles.

  ‘Do you want us to help him look about, your lordship?’ Bromley asked Kilraven.

  Ryker glanced at him. ‘If I needed help, mister, I’d say so. I am the tracker here, not you.’

  ‘I only wanted to be of service,’ Bromley explained.

  Lord Kilraven intervened. ‘I will let you know when you can be.’ Of all those who worked for him, Kilraven liked Bromley the least. Not because Bromley was incompetent or impertinent. Far from it. He disliked Bromley because the man was too nice. Bromley avoided giving offense wherever possible, which was no way to make one’s mark in the world.

  Ryker cast about for prints. Bent low, the lamp in front of him, he roved in a wide arc around the cabin. ‘Over here,’ he called out, and sank to one knee. ‘See these?’ He indicated where the ground was churned by heavy hooves.

  ‘What of it?’ Lord Kilraven said. ‘They are no different than any of the other tracks.’

  ‘These are fresh, your highness,’ Ryker said. ‘See this clod? How the dirt breaks apart when I touch it? And this grass? How the stems are bent but slowly rising back up?’ Ryker swung the lamp. ‘King, the Wards, and every last horse the Wards own, headed south. They want you to think the Blackfeet took them, but I know better.’

  ‘How much of a head start would you say they have?’ Lord Kilraven inquired.

  ‘Not enough,’ Ryker said. ‘At first light I’ll head out. I should catch up to them by noon.’

  ‘Why not take torches and head out now?’ Kilraven was impatient to get it over with, to dispose of the Wards and their friend so he could get on with establishing his hunting preserve.

  ‘Because Zach King will see the torches and know a tracker is after him,’ Ryker answered. ‘It is smarter to take a hellion like him by surprise.’

  ‘Very well. First light it is. Take Mr. Meldon and four others, and don’t let me see your faces again until you have done as I am paying you to do.’

  ‘I can make better time by my lonesome,’ Ryker mentioned.

  ‘I imagine you can,’ Kilraven said. ‘But you will take my men with you anyway. They will not slow you down all that much.’ And he wanted someone along whose word on the outcome would be the unvarnished truth.

  As if Ryker had read his mind, he angrily asked, ‘Don’t you trust me to get the job done?’

  ‘I trust no one,’ Lord Kilraven said. ‘Not even my wife. I have found that I suffer far fewer disappointments that way.’

  ‘I reckon I can’t blame you there. Females are the

  least trustworthy critters on God’s green earth. But you can count on me. For five thousand dollars I’d plant my own brother.’

  ‘You are a man of few scruples,’ Lord Kilraven commented.

  ‘You have a problem with that?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘On the contrary. I applaud you. I have marvelously few scruples myself. They are vastly overrated.’

  Ryker laughed. ‘I like your attitude, your highness. All right. I’ll take some of your bootlickers along. But they’re to do as I say.’

  ‘You heard, Mr. Bromley?’

  ‘Yes, your lordship.’

  Kilraven gazed toward the foot
hills and the inky slopes above. ‘Find them, Ryker. Find them and eliminate them. If you make them suffer before they die for the inconvenience they have caused me, so much the better.’

  Ten

  The mouth of the canyon was hidden by thick pines that fringed both sides. Unless someone knew of it, a person could pass within fifty feet and not realize it was there.

  As Zach King led the Wards into the narrow opening, high rock walls rose on either side, blotting out much of the star-filled sky. The wind howled down the defile, a demented banshee that drowned out the dull thud of hooves. But the effect was temporary. Around the first bend the canyon widened to a quarter of a mile, and the wind was not as strong.

  A few hundred yards in were thick woods and a spring. Zach had discovered the spot while on an elk hunt years ago with Shoshone friends. Or rather, Drags the Rope had discovered it when following elk tracks and brought Zach and the others.

  Zach threaded through the firs and reined to a halt. ‘This is where you will wait.’

  Simon Ward had no idea where they were. They had been heading generally west, that much he knew, but he could not say exactly how far they had come nor how high up they were. Dawn was only a couple of hours away, he believed, if that. Stiffly dismounting, he held up his arms to Felicity so he could take Peter and she could dismount. ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘Just fine,’ Felicity fibbed. She was sore from so much riding and weary to her core. She also had a pain in her hip from holding Peter there for so long, a pain she could not relieve no matter how she shifted her weight or shifted him.

  The boy was sound asleep.

  Simon rested his son’s cheek on his shoulder and carried him to the spring. ‘Can we have a fire?’

  ‘It should be safe enough,’ Zach said. The high canyon walls would hide it from scrutiny from below. He roved among the firs, gathering downed limbs. Returning, he took a fire steel and flint from his possibles bag, as well as a small wooden box that contained finder. Soon flames crackled and leaped.