Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (28 page)

"Let's see if we can cover it at the long trot," I called back.

"All right."

Blue's two horses lined out along the trail; I followed Little Witch. The dogs were staying with us, but their tongues were hanging out.

Trees around us now, but the ground was still sandy. Growing steeper all the time, with occasional rocky outcroppings.

Off to our left, the little creek poured over one such spur, cascading in a white waterfall to a good-sized pool with a beach beside it.

"Wow," I said out loud. Now there was a campsite. I earmarked it for a return journey.

If I survived this one. We kept trotting through the woods; the trail growing progressively steeper. Occasionally I looked back over my shoulder, but there was no one there.

I didn't see how there could be. Even if Dan and crew were willing to ride bareback, which I doubted, they would still have to catch and mount their horses. At the very least, we had to be five minutes ahead of them.

The trail was getting rocky. Over a small ridge and then down into deep forest. Loam and ferns under the trees-a mix of cottonwoods and pines.

The trail crossed the creek, and Blue stopped to let the horses drink. I did the same. Only half a minute, then we tugged their heads up and moved on.

The trail rose rapidly out of the woods, ascending toward a dramatically steep granite ridge. In a minute or two we were on a ledge where the route had clearly been dynamited.

Blue led at the walk. "We're in The Roughs now," he called back over his shoulder. Up and up, steeper and steeper, rock all around us. My heart, which had slowed down, pounded faster. I could see a sharp notch above us, looking like the spot where the trail topped the ridge.

"So where's this Dead Horse Comer?" I yelled to Blue.

"Just over the top," he said. "You'll see."

I concentrated on helping Gunner pick his way. This bit of trail was as steep and tricky as any I'd been on yet. The horses seemed to be handling it, though.

We were nearing the notch; I watched Dunny scramble a little as Blue was silhouetted on the skyline. Then they were over, Little Witch following smoothly.

The V -shaped notch was tricky for sure, slanted rock on both sides. Gunner and Plumber negotiated their way up it and we stepped through the gap.

I looked up, for a second, away from the trail, and gasped. Before us, a steep cliff and then a long canyon winding off into the misty distance, into the high desert of Nevada. We had crossed the mountains.

Twenty feet below the pass, Blue pulled his horses off the trail into a small level hollow. I rode alongside him.

"That corner is just ahead," he said. "What I think we need to do is have you hide the horses and the dogs while I set the trap."

“
All right," I said. Blue dismounted awkwardly and tied Dunny and Little Witch to pine trees.

"Just follow the trail," he said briefly. "Be careful and stay to the inside of the bad corner. Not too far, and you'll come to a grove of willows. You could tie your horses and dog in there and then come back for mine."

"All right," I said again. I didn't ask him any questions; there wasn't time. If we were to get this done, I had to trust that we would both do our parts.

I rode Gunner out of the hollow and headed down the trail, Plumber and Roey following me. Sure enough, immediately ahead was a straight drop down to the creek, many feet below. The trail had been blasted into the cliff, and to the inside, where the rock was rough, it looked perfectly safe. But as Blue had said, the trail sloped out and down; I could see how dangerous it would be to get caught on the outside.

Hurry, hurry. The voice in my head said we would run out of time. I hushed it. Tried to sit relaxed in my saddle. Let Gunner and Plumber pick their way over the rock slowly and carefully. Not a footfall slipped. I kept my eyes averted from the drop.

Now we were around the corner, negotiating our way down the slope. Some loose rock, much rough trail. No place for hurrying, though hurry, hurry said my mind.

It seemed like forever until we were in the willow grove. I found a place and tied the horses, got twine from the saddlebags and tied Roey, too. I could hear her whining after me as I jogged back up the trail.

I was gasping for breath as I got back to Dead Horse Corner. Blue's voice came from up above. "I'm getting this thing rigged. I've got the trigger carved now. When you come back, keep your eye on the trail, so you don't trip the trap. And bring the gun back with you."

"All right," I panted.

Clambering up the last stretch, I forced myself to slow to a walk as I approached Blue's horses. Hurry, hurry. They would be coming.

I gave a moment's thought to raising Blue's stirrups to fit me, but rejected the notion. I untied Dunny and climbed on, my feet dangling freely, praying he would be as gentle and trustworthy as he had appeared. Not to mention surefooted.

Leading Little Witch, I called to Freckles, who was lying obediently with the horses. She looked at me doubtfully, but she came.

Off we went, to the incessant ticking of the timer in my head. By my reckoning, they might be here in five more minutes. Hurry, hurry.

I took a deep breath. Purposefully relaxed all my muscles. Tried to send Dunny a positive, confident message. He felt entirely different from Gunner. Taller, wider, and much heavier-moving. Like riding a draft horse.

He picked his way over the rock with the same care, though, and I could feel his intelligence and willingness in his body. We rounded Dead Horse Corner and Freckles looked up toward where I knew Blue was.

"Come on, girl," I encouraged her and she followed the horses, looking back over her shoulder.

Now we were going down, drawing closer to the willows. Dunny stumbled once in the scree, bringing my heart rate sky-high, but he recovered and kept going.

I could hear Plumber's shrill nicker as we approached the spot where the horses were tied. I rode Dunny into the willows and found a place near my two horses. Working carefully and methodically, trying not to fumble or waste motion, I tied Dunny and Little Witch up, found another piece of twine in my saddlebag, and tied Freckles. Then I got the gun.

One more glance over the horses and dogs to make sure everybody looked safe, and I was running again, holstered gun clutched in my hand. Hurry, hurry.

Back to Dead Horse Corner. I stopped abruptly. I could see nothing on the trail, but Blue had said to be careful. In a second I heard his voice. "Come on up here, Gail, I need your help."

"All right."

"Climb up here," he said. "Just to your right. The trip line's about ten feet ahead of you, across the trail. I rigged it with fishing line."

I couldn't see it. Obediently I clambered up a cleft in the rock; in a minute I could see Blue, though he was completely hidden from the trail.

He gestured back over his right shoulder with his chin. "Take that sapling and bend it down to the ground as far as you can."

I could see the sapling he meant. I pulled it downward with all my strength. I could hear the small sounds of Blue working behind me, a muttered "damn."

Then, "All right, you can let go of it-real gently."

I eased the pressure off the tree. It stayed bent. Blue gave a small grunt of satisfaction, then pointed to a flat rock. "If we sit here, we get a good view of the trail. They won't be able to see us." He looked at the gun, still clutched in my left hand. "We'll have the advantage."

"So you think we should shoot them?" I said evenly.

"We can't count on the trap working, and we definitely can't count on it taking out all three of them," Blue said.

"Do you think they'll all come?"

''They might."

I looked at him. "There are four bullets left. I don't shoot all that well. Do you want the pistol?"

"I'm right-handed." Blue said. "You've probably got a better chance. But I'll take it if you want."

Thoughts spun through my brain. Useless, disconnected. I didn't want to kill anyone. It was my gun, my responsibility. I didn't want them to kill me or Blue. I didn't want our horses and dogs abandoned up here.

That last thought decided me. "I'll carry the gun," I said. "But I'm really not a very good shot. And I haven't practiced in years."

"I'll help you." Blue crouched behind the rock and indicated a place for me next to him. "Rest the barrel on this rock so it stays steady," he said. "Sight down it, until you're aiming at the spot by that pine sapling next to the trail. Imagine there's a man there. Aim for the middle of his body. Okay?"

"I don't know," I said.

"It'll be okay. I'll tell you when to fire." Blue's voice was calm.

I was far from calm. My heart thumped steadily and my hands were shaking. I rested the barrel of the pistol on the rock and took a deep breath. Hold it together, Gail.

We waited. Nothing but quiet and the small sounds of the mountains. Wind in the pines, the distant murmur of the creek far below. We're ready, I thought. Blue turned his head sharply.

"I heard a voice," he said.

Ready or not, they were coming.

TWENTY-SIX

I couldn't see them, but I could hear them. Or rather, I could hear Steve.

His light tenor voice, carrying through the rocks to our hiding place. "Those stupid bastards can't be far ahead, Uncle Dan."

Uncle Dan? I wondered for a second if it was a Godfather-like term of respect, or if Steve was really Dan's nephew. Then my mind snapped back to the present.

They were coming up the slope. They would appear in the notch soon.

"What's the plan here?" I whispered to Blue.

He looked over at me. "Take them out, I guess."

We stared at each other.

"We can't count on being able to hide from them, or get away from them," he said quietly. "Just remember what I told you about aiming the gun. I'll tell you when to fire."

I didn't say anything. I simply could not believe the mess I was in. People were hunting us through the mountains, trying to kill us, for no reason that I knew. And I was trying to kill them in return. Believe it or not, Gail, I urged myself, just keep your mind on the job. Focus.

I narrowed my vision to the spot where the trail appeared through the notch. Waited.

Steve's voice again. "Once we get through these rocks, there's a big valley. We'll catch them there. We can move a lot faster than they can with those pack horses."

A low reply. I couldn't hear the words, but I recognized the deeper baritone of Dan Jacobi's voice.

And then Steve appeared in the notch. Riding a sorrel horse, wearing a straw cowboy hat, pistol prominent on his belt. The sorrel slipped and scrambled a little in the V -shaped cleft, and Steve cursed him.

"You dumb son of a bitch. Keep your feet under you." He gave the horse a sharp jab with his spur. The sorrel lunged forward, slipping again, but managed to stay upright.

"Stupid bastard." Steve jabbed the horse one more time.

Now the big gray gelding was silhouetted in the gap-Dan Jacobi, following Steve. My heart pounded. Steve was coming toward us, toward the trap, toward Dead Horse Corner. On they came, looking ahead, down Buckeye Canyon.

"I can't see them." Steve sounded disappointed. I could feel Blue's body tense next to me. Almost there. Steve would never see the fishing line.

The sorrel horse took another step. And things started happening so fast I couldn't follow them. With a woosh, the pine sapling cut loose and Blue's raincoat flew into the face of the sorrel.

The animal shied violently; his foot came down on the steep, sloping slickrock, he slipped, came up, scrambled, slipped again. Steve yelled, a short, startled bark of anger and fear. Then the horse was down, his hooves crashing and clashing, fighting for purchase as he slid over the bank. "Shit!" Steve was off, struggling to get away from the frantic horse, and the horse was going over.

Whump. Whump. Whump.

I gasped at the sound, horrible beyond belief, of the horse's heavy body hitting and falling and hitting and falling again.

"Damn." Dan Jacobi's voice. The gray horse had spooked back and slipped-all this registered in the periphery of my vision-gone down, and got up. Dan Jacob was off, lying on the ground. The gray horse trotted away, going toward our horses, apparently unharmed.

Steve stood, his hand on the butt of his pistol; Dan Jacobi lay by the trail. I could see no sign of Jim.

Steve looked around, his face and body rigid.

"Those bastards," he said furiously to Dan.

Dan said nothing.

Steve was scanning the rocks above the trail. He drew his gun. He walked toward us. My heart thudded. He understood the horse-spooker trap; he had rigged one himself. He was looking for our hiding place.

The gun trembled as I did. Blue put his left hand over the barrel and looked me in the eye. His lips formed the word. "Wait."

I waited, resting the pistol on the rock, sighting down the barrel, watching Steve walk in our direction.

Closer he came, and closer. I took a deep breath.