Ransom (19 page)

Erv did not want to do that. It would be cruel to let them starve, and he did not like to think of himself as a cruel man. It would be much better—much kinder to them and safer for himself—to put them out of their misery before he left.

He nodded and gave a soft but emphatic grunt. He would do them the kindness of shooting them before he went down to get the money.

His expression spread into a grin.

He would shoot them then. But in the meantime . . .

He turned and walked back into the adit. The two were lying tight together, twined like two strands of a flat braid. They were not sleeping, though. He was sure of that.

He reached out a boot toe and poked the kid in the ribs. She sat up. “Yes, sir?”

“I want you t' go outside. Just hang around out there 'til I call you back in. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.”

“Go on now. I'll call you when I want you.”

The kid trotted obediently outside. The woman looked up at him with a look of raw disgust. Not that he gave a damn.

Erv began unbuttoning his fly.

Chapter 21

“Hurry up, Dick. Build us a fire underneath the overhang of them tree branches and drag in some extra wood. I think we're gonna need it,” Taylor said, digging into the pack on the horse he had been leading.

Taylor strung a rope between two stout saplings, pulling it as tight as he could, and tied all five horses to it facing with their butts to the rising wind. He unsaddled his own horse, Hahn's and the spare that had belonged to Randy whatever-his-name-was, then pulled the packs on the other two. He stuffed the saddles and filled packs under the trees where Hahn was still fussily trying to get a fire started.

“I wish we had a tarpaulin with us,” Taylor said, looking up into the heavily needled branches that provided a shelter of sorts. “That'd shed water a whole helluva lot better than these branches will.” He knelt to give Hahn a hand with the fire, then sat back onto his haunches as the first flames began to rise in response to the smaller man's efforts.

“Y'know, Dick, I think you're beginning to get the hang of this outdoor livin',” he said with a grin.

“I shall take that as a compliment, John.”

“Good. That's how I meant it.” He inched closer to the fire and spread his hands to warm them.

The first wind-driven raindrops began to fall.

* * *

“Lord, I hope Jessie and Louise are indoors somewhere and not out in this miserable weather,” Hahn said.

John Taylor poured a cup of steaming coffee for himself and offered a refill to Hahn, who shook his head no. Taylor lifted the cup beneath his nose and inhaled deeply, then said, “You really do care for them, don't you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Jessica is an awful good-looking woman, and . . . forgive me for sayin' this . . . I always thought you just wanted to bed my wife. I didn't think you really cared for her. Didn't think you cared anything at all for Loozy. I was wrong.”

“Thank you for saying that, John. And thank you all the more for seeing it. I . . . this situation must be hard on you. Mind if I change my mind about that coffee?” He held his cup out and Taylor poured it full. “To tell you the truth, I hadn't given thought to how Jess moving in with me would affect you.”

“I still love her, Dick.”

Hahn sighed. “So do I, John. God help us, so do I.”

* * *

“I guess this just about ruins our chances of tracking them any farther,” Hahn said as he pulled his cinch snug around the belly of the paint horse. He dropped the stirrup, checked on the lead rope on the packhorse, and swung onto the saddle, the movement sure and easy now unlike the awkward climb he had made just a few days earlier.

“What? The rain?” Taylor was already mounted and waiting. “Not as much as you might think. Lower down, like in the valley where they moved through grass, that rain would've hurt us bad. It would've pounded the grass
flat or caused it to spring back. Same thing on soft ground. The rain would've washed out any marks they left. But up here it might be different.”

Taylor reached forward and smoothed the mane of the brown. “Up here the ground is mostly gravel and hard clay. Or solid rock. On the clay the rain might actually fill in any places where a hoof has pressed into the soil. That actually makes a mark easier to see. An' on stone, the rain won't have wiped out any serious scrapes. We'll still be able to see them.”

Taylor took up his reins and nudged the brown in the ribs. “We ain't done yet,” he called over his shoulder. “I still figure to find them sons of bitches.”

 

Jessica Taylor

Jessica eased around the puddle of rainwater that had accumulated near the mouth of the adit. The wind-driven mountain rain had been exhilarating. Wild and exciting. Now in the dawn the air smelled clean and fresh and new.

Behind her at the back of the adit, dear Loozy slept, the man snoring vigorously at her side. Jess felt alone now but not at all lonely. If it were not for the man, she would like it up here, like it very much. She was beginning to understand the pleasure John had always taken in the untamed country that surrounded the town. He spoke of it often, but she had never really understood it until now.

Jess walked out onto the ledge and peered down at the mountainside below, the naked rock above timberline, and the dark green of the wooded slopes below that demarcation. It was beautiful in these mountains. Beautiful in a way she had never experienced before now. If it were not for that awful man, she could be happy up here.

That fact startled her. Jessica always thought of herself as a cut above the common folk down in Thom's Valley.

Well, there was nothing to say she could not enjoy the beauty of nature and still be . . . special.

She knew she was pretty. Perhaps even beautiful.

But not here.

God, she had not bathed or even properly washed her face in days. Did not have so much as a comb or brush to take the knots out of her hair. It was a very good thing
she did not have a mirror. Looking at Loozy, though, was enough to give her an idea of how tangled and unkempt she must be.

She would welcome that—would deliberately slap mud on herself and frizz her hair into a Medusa-like mess— if she thought for an instant that a terrible appearance would keep that vile man away from her.

She shuddered, hoping against hope that she did not become pregnant now. Loozy was proof enough that she was capable of bearing a child. Or had been. She and Dick had had no luck in that regard. Now . . . the thought was almost too much to bear.

Deliberately she pushed that unhappy thought away and stood straight and tall, her shoulders back. She drew the brisk dawn air into her lungs and tasted the cool freshness of it.

But her thoughts kept straying. Back to Loozy. Back to the fact that she would do whatever she had to, endure any pain, accept any humiliation, if only it would protect Louise.

Without warning, Jessica began to cry, her tears falling slow and soft and making pale tracks on her cheeks.

Where were they? Where were Dick and John and the posse of searchers who were sure to be down there somewhere? Why had they not come to find them?

Her tears came harder and her shoulders began to shake with her sobbing.

Where?

Chapter 22

Taylor stepped down from the saddle and stretched, trying to loosen his back. Dick Hahn got down and joined him. The two stood staring at the mountains that surrounded them, rugged slopes rising toward even more rugged peaks so high they were bare of vegetation, one after another like whitecapped waves on a choppy ocean.

“What do you think, John?”

Taylor did not speak immediately. He weighed his words carefully. And his thoughts with even greater care. “They're out there somewhere, Dick. Maybe being treated bad. They're . . . you know how vulnerable a woman is. Especially with men like those kidnappers must be. They know they're risking their lives for this. Any decent man who gets hold of them will hang the bastards as quick as he'd swat a horsefly. The kidnappers already have nothing to lose by . . . you know.” Taylor's voice broke as he thought about what Jessica . . . and Loozy too for all he knew . . . might be going through.

“I've thought about that,” Hahn admitted. “A lot.”

Taylor gave him a searching look. “And . . . ?”

Hahn's chin rose and he pulled his shoulders back. “I don't care. I love her. Both of them. Whatever is happening now is not their fault. Whatever they have to do in order to survive, I'll not hold it against them. Anything!”

Taylor nodded. “Yeah. Kind of like I still love the both o' them after Jess went with you.”

“You could say that, so yes, very much like your feelings have been.” Hahn paused. He turned his head away and added, “I'm sorry, John. Sorry to have caused you that pain. I was thinking about Jess. I never gave thought to what you were going through. Now . . .” He shrugged.

Taylor cleared his throat and dropped some spittle between the toes of his boots. “Now we both want t' get them back. That's all that really matters right now.”

“We can agree on that, John. Absolutely. Anything else that might be between us, well, Jessica and Loozy come first. Then we can think about those other things.”

* * *

“I think I recognize where we are.”

“Where we are, Dick, is the last place that I'm for sure we were on the kidnappers' track.” He pointed to a slope where a faint wildlife trail wound its way up an expanse of gravel and red clay. “They must've gone up there. I didn't see sign. That's why I took us off that way,” he said, pointing. “I was wrong.”

“Now what do you think?”

“I think they did go up there. I just missed seeing it. I mean . . . we been down that way. We didn't get so much as a sniff of them. So from this point . . . if they went over that way, they would've been past Nate's place and he's sure to've seen them. So okay, they didn't go that way.”

Taylor pointed farther to the north and said, “There's a pass over there. Not too hard a one. I helped Wynn Greaves bring some cows across it a couple years ago. That's why I looked so hard t' see could I find any trace of them over there.”

“We were over that way?”

Taylor chuckled. “You don't know?”

“John, I've been lost pretty much all the time since we left the valley. I have no idea where we've been.”

“Well, trust me. We've looked over there and there wasn't no sign of them.” He turned and pointed toward the southwest. “If they'd went that way, they would've passed Embry's place. Apparently they didn't do that.” He faced west. “Which leaves us looking up there.”

“You sound unhappy about that,” Hahn said.

“That's 'cause I for damn sure am. That's poor country up there. All the way up above timberline and no pass through to the other side.”

“You've been up there?”

Taylor shook his head. “No, but I've spoke with some boys who tried to find a way across. They said they couldn't get through. It's too far from town for anybody t' be running cattle up there. Too steep in parts too. A fella might use it for summer graze if he was herding goats or something, but no cowman is interested.”

“But the kidnappers could be up there?”

He nodded. “It's just possible.”

“So we will look for them there?”

“That we will, Dick.” Taylor gathered his reins and swung into the saddle. Hahn mounted as well.

“Lead the way, John.”

Taylor nudged his brown into motion, the led horses following, and Hahn fell in behind.

* * *

“Damn it to hell,” Hahn grumbled as they drew rein at a dead end. For more than two hours they had been following a game trail, but now that petered out at an
expanse of loose scree where a rock slide had taken place sometime in the past. “Could we get down and rest a little while, John? My thighs are hurting.” He managed a weak smile. “I don't know how you do it, staying in the saddle for days on end.”

“You think I don't get sore too? Course I do, though maybe not so bad as you. I just don't bitch about it.” Taylor grinned. “Not out loud anyhow. But sure. Git down. No point not to.” He led by example, dismounting on the uphill side of the brown instead of the supposedly correct left-hand side of the horse.

“There's some small brush up the hill there, Dick. Whyn't you gather a little of it so's we can brew some coffee? I don't know 'bout you but I could surely use a cup. It's colder'n hell up this high. Makes me wish I had brought me a bearskin coat, but I sure never thought to.” He began digging into the pack carried by the horse Dick Hahn was leading, looking for their pot and cups and into his own packs for their water bag. Half an hour later they had a small fire blazing and a pot of water over it heating to make the coffee.

“That will take a few minutes,” Taylor said. “I dunno why but up this high it seems a boil isn't as hot as 'tis down lower. Takes for-damn-ever to make coffee up here.”

Hahn nodded and wandered off to take a leak. He was examining the rock slide when his eyes went wide and he yelped, “John. Come quick!”

Taylor leaped to his feet and ran to Hahn's side. Hahn merely pointed to the rocky mountainside at their feet.

“Well, I'll be damned,” Taylor mumbled. “Good going, Dick. Mighty good.”

There on the stone was a pale scrape, a mark that could not have been made by the soft hoofs of the mountain
sheep and wild goats that foraged at this elevation. It was a mark made by an iron shoe. Horses had passed this way and there was the proof.

“Dick, you've found them. Damned if you didn't.”

 

Louise Taylor

Loozy held a tin cup under the slow trickle of snowmelt that came from the mountainside above them. The packed snow was crusted over with so much ice that even the rain did not wash it away, but there was seepage from underneath as the above-freezing air temperatures eroded the accumulation.