Comstock Cross Fire (18 page)

Fiona managed a sad smile. “I just wish it wasn't at that poor man's expense.”

“He should never have been out here on foot in heavy timber knowin' he couldn't see well nor shoot any better,” Joe said without condemnation. “His mistake cost him his life, but it might have saved ours.”

“Let's find the horse and try not to find any grizzly bears,” Fiona said.

“Fiona, kin you walk a mile or two in those new rabbit moccasins I made you?”

“I sure can.” Fiona shielded her eyes and looked up at the circling vultures, then shivered. “Let's go!”

It didn't take Joe Moss more than an hour of brush beating to locate the dead man's camp. His horse was a strawberry roan, and a nice one at that. The bedroll was newly bought and well made. There were pots and pans and a little burro that was bawling and scared half out of its wits. Tied up to an aspen like the roan, the burro was so upset that it had wound itself around and around the tree until its shaggy little head was tethered tight against the white bark.

“What's he so upset about?” Fiona asked as Joe got the pack animal straightened out and then laid a soothing hand on its trembling hide.

“The burro is maybe a little smarter than the strawberry,” Joe explained. “And it knows there's a grizzly out there, and maybe it even smells the dead man's blood.”

“What are we going to do now?”

“Let's pack the burro, saddle the horse, and cover as much ground as we can before dark,” Joe decided. “That griz has tasted human flesh, and once they do that they'll come for you near every time they get hungry.”

“Then let's hurry!”

“I'm a-fixin' to do 'er,” Joe told his wife as he sat down and pulled the new socks and then boots on. “Damned if that dead fella didn't have big feet like me!”

“Joe, please let's hurry.”

Joe jumped up and started packing the skittish burro. Once he had that done to his satisfaction, he saddled the strawberry roan, then glanced at Fiona's legs and adjusted the stirrups to her length.

“Mount up,” he said, holding the roan's reins.

The strawberry was a tall, handsome animal and Fiona was not a tall woman, so she really had to stretch to climb up into the saddle. But once that was done, she asked for the reins and the strawberry proved to be as gentle as a child's pony.

“He'll do you fine,” Joe judged, picking up the lead on their new pack burro and starting off. “We'll go a ways to the south and when we're well clear of the Salt Lake, we'll cut back to the west and into the big basin desert.”

Joe looked back, and seeing his poor, abused wife astride the nice strawberry roan made his heart feel good and proud. A man should always take care of the woman he loved, and Joe felt as if he had done a few things right in the last couple of days to take care of Fiona. She still looked pretty awful from all the starvation and ill treatment she'd received, but Joe knew that she was stronger than she appeared and would begin to fill out and mend.

“What about water?” Fiona called out.

“Water?”

“Yes, Joe. Water. If we're going back into the desert, we'll have to have lots of good water.”

“That's for sure.”

“Well?” Fiona asked. “We sure don't want to go out into the desert and die of thirst. That's probably a terrible way to die.”

“It is,” Joe said. “It's about the worst I ever saw.”

“You saw someone die of thirst?”

“A partner long ago. I nearly joined him . . . but that's not worth the tellin' and it's a bad story.”

“Then how will we survive until we reach the Humboldt River?”

“I'll find water holes along the way there,” he promised. “Either that, or I'll pay some Paiute to lead us to the hidden desert water holes. And after a while, we'll get to the Ruby Mountains, and then we'll traipse on down to the Humboldt River and follow it all the way to the Comstock Lode.”

“But what if that's exactly what Ransom Holt and Eli expect and they're waiting to catch us?”

“Then they're just waiting to die, darlin',” Joe said, leading the little burro out of camp and striking south. He raised his new Spencer and yelled back to Fiona, “Yes, Missus Moss, if that's their plan, then they're just waitin' to die.”

“But no scalps, Joe,” Fiona reminded him.

“No scalps,” he agreed with a hearty laugh and a new spring to his step.

18

RANSOM HOLT FELT the shackles at his wrists being removed, and he stared up at the clear blue sky, wondering if he should strike out and kill as many of these men of Perdition as possible, or use his wits and survive.

He chose to use his wits.

“There you go,” Ferris said, stepping back quickly with a gun in his fist. “Our womenfolk have tended to and salved your back and buttocks, but I reckon you'll carry the scars of being a thief forever.”

Ransom barely trusted himself to speak as he came to his feet and swayed unsteadily. “Where is Eli Brown?”

“He's being dressed and is comin'. Ira Young wants you both out of Perdition before the sun sets.”

“We'll be gone.”

“Just don't ever come back,” Ferris warned. “If you do, you'll be shot on sight.”

Ransom ground his teeth, thinking that returning someday to kill this man would be at the top of his list.

“You hear me, thief?”

“I hear you,” Ransom hissed. “But I want my horses, mules, weapons, and buckboard back. They are mine and gawddammit, I will have them! Or are you people hypocrites as well as being thieves?”

“You can have 'em back,” Ferris said. “You'll get everything that's yours. But we took a horse for the supplies you used and the water barrels.”

“You're the ones that shot holes in them!”

“Yep. But we're taking them into account,” Ferris said. “Them shot-up water barrels are still in your buckboard, and there's bound to be some water left in their bottoms that didn't leak out. But were I you, I wouldn't be arguin' so much, but instead gettin' out of this town.”

“Give me my weapons!” Holt demanded.

Ferris looked over at his friends, who were also armed and prepared to fight. Then he turned back to Holt and said, “We don't trust puttin' loaded weapons in your hands, mister. So you and your partner will find 'em along with the rest of your lawful belongings out in the desert about a mile west of Perdition.”

“So we're supposed to walk out there in our condition?”

“That's right. Walk or crawl. It don't matter to us, thief.”

Ransom had to turn away for a moment; otherwise, he would have attacked this self-righteous Jack Mormon bastard. It had been five days since his flesh had been ripped from his backside by a bullwhip, and Ransom had never known so much pain. In all that time, the only thought on his mind was to somehow get revenge against these people who had humiliated him and lashed him bloody. And he would do that, but later, when he was physically able to do so with some good hired gunmen.

“Here,” Ferris said, handing Ransom Holt a can of grease or lard. “My sister said to give it to you and your man. You put it on each other's backs and buttocks and it'll help heal the wounds and keep the flies away.”

Holt didn't bother to say thanks. He moved unsteadily to the door and then wobbled out into the street, looking around at this town that he would one day find a way to destroy.

“Just remember that Ira Young could have had you hanged,” Ferris said from behind him. “He had the right, being as you're nothin' but a thief.”

“Fuck you!” Holt hollered. “Fuck you and this whole rotten fucking town!”

The hatred and vehemence in his voice surprised even himself, and the Mormon backed up, raising his gun and pointing it at Holt. “You shouldn't say those bad and dirty words against us, thief! You got what you deserved. Maybe this taught you a lesson and you won't steal ever again.”

“Get Eli Brown out here and don't you dare lecture me!”

Ferris blushed with anger, and then he turned and disappeared while Holt tried to calm down. He was weak and dizzy from both pain and the loss of blood, and he knew that Eli, who had taken just half as many lashes, would be in equally bad shape. Moments later, when Eli did appear, Holt was shocked by the man's pale and haggard appearance.

“Eli,” Holt said, “are you gonna make it?”

“I . . . I am,” Eli finally whispered. “But let's shake the dust of this hellhole and get before they do decide to hang us both.”

“They've taken our horses and buckboard and everything else we own out into the desert a mile.”

“Oh, shit,” Eli groaned. “Are we supposed to walk that far today?”

“We are,” Holt told the pathetic killer he had hired. “And we will.”

“I don't think I can make it, Mr. Holt.”

Holt turned on Eli. “Oh, you'll make it even if you have to crawl on your hands and knees!”

Tears flowed down Eli's sunken cheeks, and Holt wanted to beat the sorry bastard to death with his fists, but he didn't. “People are watching us, Eli. Let's lift our heads high and get moving.”

Eli stood swaying, ready to faint. After a moment, Holt grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him forward. “We're going to make it to my wagon, horses, and mules,” Holt vowed. “And then we're going to drive the team back into Salt Lake City and see a real doctor, then rest and recover for a week or two.”

“It might take me longer than that, Mr. Holt.”

“We haven't got any longer, Eli. We'll rest and recuperate for a week or two, and then we're going to recapture Joe Moss and Fiona.”

Eli turned to stare at the giant with disbelief. “Mr. Holt, those two are gone just the same as our reward money!”

“Not by a long stretch they're not.”

Eli looked ready to bawl. “But we don't have any idea which way they went!”

“I was told they walked to the east and the mountains,” Holt replied. “But that's only to trick us. They'll be headed for the Humboldt River and that's where we'll meet and capture them.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so because they won't stop until they get their little girl back from the nuns in Virginia City.” Holt snorted in anger. “Now let's show some backbone and start walking with our heads held high!”

“I'll try. How far did you say that they left your buckboard and belongings?”

“They told me one mile.”

“That's a long, long ways to walk feelin' the way I do.”

“We can do it, Eli. Now don't let them know how bad we feel and let's go!”

“Yes, sir,” Eli said, scrubbing away his tears and putting one foot in front of the other.

The sun was high and hot. They had no water and both were weak from blood loss. But with Holt steadying Eli by holding his arm, the two men slowly walked out of Perdition into the shimmering heat of the desert. Holt knew that, if Ferris had lied, they wouldn't have the strength to come back to Perdition and they would collapse and die a mile . . . maybe even two into the desert.

 

It seemed like days, yet was only a tortured hour or so, when Holt lifted his head and squinted into the heat waves. “There,” he croaked. “Eli, do you see the buckboard and the livestock waitin' for us out there?”

Eli was staggering, semidelirious, and just about out on his feet. He barely had the strength to lift his arm and shield his eyes. “Yeah, I see 'em now. How far away do you say we still have to walk?”

“Only a few hundred yards,” Holt lied. He was sure that the Jack Mormons had left his wagon and team more than a mile from their miserable settlement. But no matter, they were going to make it.

When they finally reached the buckboard, Holt's good team of Missouri mules was braying fitfully because they were so thirsty. And the extra two horses that the Jack Mormons had left tied to the buckboard were clearly suffering for lack of water.

“Eli, we need to drain what water is left from those shot-up water barrels up in the buckboard, and then we have to water our stock, or they're going to die on us right where they stand in the next hour or two.”

“Can we drink our fill first?” Eli managed to ask.

“Sure! But then we have to water the mules and horses before we lose them in this heat and dust. Once they're watered and grained out of the sacks I've got in the buckboard, we're going to drive this buckboard around this big salt lake and back east.”

“Mr. Holt, do we really have to go back among them hard Mormon people?” Eli whined.

“Yes,” Holt said without hesitation. “We need their help, and I still have some cash that I hid in the buckboard. We'll do all right, Eli, so buck up and don't give up. After we're rested and feeling better, we'll go catch Joe Moss and his wife and then everything will be fine. In a month, we'll both be wealthy men. We'll drink good whiskey and laugh while Joe and Fiona swing from a mining scaffold or a tree.”

“I'd sure like it to work out thataway,” Eli said, dredging up a hopeful smile. “I damn well surely would! After all we've gone through lately, we finally deserve some good fortune for a change.”

“That we do,” Holt assured the man he intended to murder just before arriving at the Comstock Lode, “that we do!”

Holt handled the heavy oaken water barrels because Eli was too weak to do the job. They had a tin bucket, and they used it to water the mules and the horses after drinking their own fill. All the animals were so thirsty they could have drunk a river, and they were hard to control.