Black Hills (9781101559116) (46 page)

Shank took a long pull from a whiskey bottle he removed from one of the saddlebags that he had hung on a rail and lit his quirlie. Lainey was sick to hear what was coming.

“There was no safe place to cross without riding ten miles out of our way; I knew Candy didn't have much time left. I tied his feet under his horse's belly and his hands to the saddle horn, and we started across. We had damn near made it when a large tree came out of nowhere and hit them broadside. We didn't even see it coming. They didn't have a chance, Miss Nayle. Both him and the horse went under and never surfaced again. I followed the river until it got too dark to see, and I had to give it up. I did the best I could, Miss Nayle. I surely did.”

Lainey could hear in his voice and see he was close to breaking down. He and Candy had been partners for years, even before she came: when she had hired Shank, she also got Candy. She put her hand on his arm.

“I know you did, Shank. Don't blame yourself. You did the best that anyone could have done. At least he got his wish. He got to die on the L-Bar.” She took his hand. “Come on up to the house. I'll fix you something to eat, and you can tell me about the stranger. You look half starved.”

“Yes, ma'am, I reckon I am. We lost the saddlebag with those sandwiches you packed for us while crossing the Sweet this morning. Do you mind if I bring this bottle with me?”

Lainey smiled. “Of course not. In fact, that bottle looks like its seen better days. I think I have a larger one in the cupboard . . . that I keep for medicinal purposes,” she added.

“Medicinal purposes . . . yes, ma'am.” Shank smiled weakly. The whiskey was working its magic.

She had put aside some leftovers from dinner: a large steak and a bowl of beans and gravy with the last couple inches from a loaf of fresh bread. Shank fell to eating with a single-mindedness that left no room for other thought.

When Shank had finished, Lainey took away the bottle that he had been drawing from to wash down the steak and set a cup of fresh coffee in front of him that had been brewing while he was eating.

“Try this on for size. I'll give your bottle back to you later. Tell me about the stranger.”

Shank watched forlornly as the bottle disappeared into a cupboard, but he knew she was right; the words were already getting tangled up in his mouth.

“I don't understand all I know about it. Candy and me found this high point south of here in the area I told you I wanted to look at. It overlooked the whole valley. We could see for mileses.”

Lainey smiled at his mis-pluralization.

“We was about to leave when we heard a couple of horses coming down the trail from up above; we pulled our horses behind some boulders until we could see who it was.

“It was a big guy riding a large gray horse with a grulla trotting behind. We threw down on him to find out who he was. I wanted to know if he was one of Lambert's crew or maybe the one who pulled me and Candy out of that box canyon.” Shank hesitated, remembering the situation as it had played out. A chill ran through his body. “I think we damn near died for it.”

He paused again, and then went on. “He had dismounted and was standing looking down at the L-Bar, thinking real hard on somethin', and me'n Candy slipped out from the rocks behind him without him hearing us.” Shank paused yet again. Lainey Nayle could see he was struggling to get it out, not from the liquor, but from whatever had transpired. She waited quietly until he was ready to continue.

“He was looking down at the L-Bar,” Shank repeated. “I cocked my gun to get his attention and told him that he shouldn't oughta be sneakin' up like that on Miss Nayle. I swear that's when we almost died. I've never seen a man move that fast in my whole life, especially a big man. He wore two guns but most people draw right so I figured if he drew, he would pivot around on his left foot to face us, and pointed my gun where his chest would come around to.

“Instead, at the sound of my gun cocking, he threw himself to the right into a head-first dive, twisting like a cat going through the air. Twisting to face us, drawing his gun and cocking it while he was still in the air. I heard it click. And it was pointed right at my middle.”

Shank shivered again, as if he was cold, but it was a warm night. “Let me say that again. While in the air, he twisted to face us, drew his gun, cocked it, found me, and lined it up dead center on my chest. I was too shocked at his speed to react . . . you just don't expect a man that size to move that fast. I just stood there with my face hangin' out, staring at him. I'd bet that man could outdraw a rattlesnake.

“While my gun was still pointin' in the wrong direction, where I had expected him to be, his was coming to bear on me; but for some reason, he didn't fire. If he would have, there is not a single doubt in my mind that I would not still be alive to be telling you about it. Now, I been thinking about it; I think what stopped him was hearing your name. It's the only thing that makes any sense. In the middle of getting his gun lined up on me, he heard your name and called it off.”

“My name?” Lainey puzzled. “Why my name? What makes you say that? How in the world could my name stop somebody from shooting if they believed themselves to be in danger?”

Shank shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Don't know, ma'am. Been chewin' on that all day, but I think that's what did it.”

“Because, when he left, he took off outta there like a bat outta hell, that horse of his is really something, but before he left . . . Oh yeah, I almost forgot. He was the one who stopped Lambert from dynamiting the pass. He said there were some riders below with dynamite heading for the pass that he had to stop again. When I offered me'n Candy to ride with him, he said no. He said he would take care of them. He said he thought there were other riders sneakin' up on the L-Bar that he had been going to go after but since we were there, he would go after the dynamite, and we should just get home and protect the redhead. Also, he said I wasn't the kind of guy to go around shootin' people without a reason or I wouldn't be workin' for the L-Bar, so obviously he knows you. And why else would he be helping us? That made twice; three times if he stopped the second try on the pass, and I ain't heard no explosion.”

After Shank had turned in, there were no thoughts of sleep in Lainey's mind. Who in the world could be out there trying to help her to save the L-Bar? It had to be someone she knew. His comment about her red hair proved that, but who could he be? There had been a few suitors, but none that had generated any serious thoughts. There had been one with whom she had struck up a friendship while on the stagecoach coming west, but he was a small man and certainly not the type to do battle for her. She went to sleep and dreamt of a faceless rider following her everywhere and shooting anyone who came near her.

A
fter turning the dynamite over to a stranger he hoped was trustworthy, Cormac Lynch grabbed two handfuls of mane and pointed the horses in the general direction of camp, hoping they would remember the way. Horse and Lop Ear were plodding along side by side; plodding was a good way for them to cool down.

Horse was covered in white sweat and Cormac was having a devil of a time trying not to slide off. He figured to have a better chance of staying aboard if he got himself into Lop Ear's saddle. Every movement shot pain through him. Somehow, he managed to get from one horse to the other, but it took a lot out of him, and there wasn't much left in there to begin with. And whatever there was seemed to be running down his legs, soaking his socks. He was probably going to have to buy a new pair of boots. He pulled Lop Ear to a halt. If he was to have any chance, he had to stop losing so much blood. Cormac was so very tired. To just slip to the ground and rest awhile was very tempting, but if he did, he knew he would never get up.

Getting his belt off was difficult, getting his shirt off, a nightmare. The most blood seemed to be coming from a hole in his upper chest near his shoulder and from one of the holes in his back. A bullet must have gone into the front and kept right on going out the other side. He got his belt strapped around both before tearing his shirt in half and stuffing part of it under his belt to stop the leak in his chest, with the other half, he managed to plug the exit wound in his back. Cormac was bleeding from some other places, too, but not as badly, and he couldn't do anything about them anyway. Offering up a silent prayer, he nudged Lop Ear to resume his plodding. They had covered many miles together, the two of them . . . the two of them and Horse. Most of the miles had been with his legs wrapped around Lop Ear. The three of them had gotten to know each other well, and Lop Ear knew that Cormac was in trouble. His gait seemed to have gotten smoother.

Then they were stopped. Slowly it registered through the fog in Cormac's mind that they were stopped, and Lop Ear's muscles were tensed and trembling. With much effort, Cormac pulled himself out of his stupor and looked around. There was nothing unusual that he could see. Then all hell broke loose. The wild roar of a mountain lion, attracted by the smell of blood, woke him up for real, and something hurtled at him from the side of the mountain.

Lop Ear saved him. He bolted and Cormac lost his grip on the saddle horn. Falling backward, narrowly missed by the lion, Cormac hit the ground in a jarring, bone-shaking smash and heard himself scream from the pain. Instinct and adrenaline took over. Cormac reached for his gun as he rolled to meet the lion, but his hand came up empty. He had not hooked the thong, and had lost one of his guns when he fell. Upon hitting the ground, the lion spun and charged back at him. Cormac yanked out his belt gun and pulled the trigger . . . the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

The lion hit him, and together they rolled across the ground with the lion trying to shake free of the gun jammed into his throat. Cormac pulled his pa's knife, which he always wore on his belt, and began stabbing the lion as they rolled. It appeared to have no effect. The lion's front legs were around Cormac, his claws trying to dig at Cormac's back.

The mountain lion was on top of Cormac when they quit rolling. Frantically, Cormac felt for a rock to use as a club but instead found the lost gun. He prayed there was a least one load left in it and jammed it against the lion's head and pulled the trigger. It only clicked. Cormac knew he was a goner. He had once before wished to have died, when his family had been killed; now it was going to happen.

The shrill trumpeting of two wild horses suddenly cut through the air, and Horse's white-blazed face dove into his limited view around the lion's head, wild-eyed, teeth bared, and her ears flat against her head. Her mouth clamped down on the lion's neck as she reared up on her hind legs taking the lion with her. Backing away from Cormac and shaking the lion from side to side until the skin tore, she flung the lion through the air.

It had only touched the dirt when Lop Ear's rear hooves kicked it once again into the air toward Horse, spinning to align her powerful back legs for the death blow. The lion was catapulted yet again into the air and hit the dirt dead and limp an instant before Lop Ear's front hooves crushed its skull, and the two horses continued to alternate blows, until, their fury spent, they backed off trembling, shaking their heads, blowing and prancing: using up the excess adrenaline-induced energy.

Cormac Lynch fell back and lay there, looking upward into the heavens, fighting for each breath, the panic and fear ever so slowly leaving him, and his breathing slowing to normal. He became aware of the stars, each one so bright and so close. He found himself wondering how many days' ride away they were. The mountains of Colorado were higher than the plains of Dakota, making the stars appear closer. Becky would have loved the sight of the sky so completely filled with stars.

Many summer nights she had drug him with her up the hill behind the house from which flowed the artesian well. There, they would lie on their backs for hours talking and pointing out shapes in the stars.

They must be hypnotic—that same calmness and peace grew gently and softly. It was a blessing to feel the pain seep away and a great sense of comfort and contentment take its place. The feeling steadily overwhelmed and wrapped around him like the blanket his mother had made for him. He clearly remembered climbing into a chilly bed on a cold night, shivering and enjoying the pleasantness of the light but warm goose down quilt beginning to replace the coldness with warmth and contentment. Now, the feeling was so complete, Cormac doubted he could have moved a muscle should he have wanted to, which he didn't.

He allowed his eyes to close so as to relax and allow the feeling to roll through him. Something seemed to be materializing out of a strange and far distant brightness and floating toward him . . . somehow Cormac knew it was something good. Something he wanted to see. He waited anxiously for its approach, realizing as it neared that it was separating into three individual shapes, which were beginning to look familiar. He wanted them to come more quickly. He wanted to join with them. So this was death? It wasn't so bad. He was ready.

He could not remember ever feeling so completely contented and fulfilled. The closest to it that came to mind was lying in bed at night back on the farm after a long day's work and hearing the soft breathing of Lainey sleeping on the other side of the blanket
. . . Lainey! . . . Lainey!
. . .
My God! . . . Lainey!
He had to keep moving; he couldn't die now!

All he had accomplished so far was to postpone the dynamiting of Sweet River Pass. That wouldn't stop Lambert. He would just keep on trying until he was successful.

Cormac tried to move and failed, and tried again—again he failed. He couldn't move; nothing worked. There was just no more there. He was empty. He willed his fingers to move, but they refused. He tried to open his eyes and couldn't. He had tried as hard as he could; he was all in. But he couldn't quit on her. He couldn't abandon Lainey when she needed him.