The Black Widow (16 page)

The words were still on his lips when
Whitey charged, coming in with his head tucked in behind upraised
arms, taking Jed’s first punch on the elbow, closing with him,
hooking his heel behind Jed’s leg and falling on top of
him.

Herne
managed to twist as they fell,
avoiding getting the back of his head cracked open on the icy
rocks. He tried to butt Coburn in the face, but the other man was
ready for it, pressing in close to Jed’s chest while he brought his
knee up sharply between Herne’s legs, finding the trick jarringly
checked by Jed’s own knee, moved so that Whitey banged his leg on
the Colt.

‘
Jesus! Son of a bitch,
Jed! Fight fair.’

By mutual consent, they broke away from
each other. Both scrambling to their feet.

For some minutes they sparred round each
other. Twice Jed landed solid punches to Coburn’s white face,
jolting him back on his heels, but each time his own footing was
too unsure for him to follow up the advantage with his usual
pantherish speed. Soon after he was caught by a solid right to the
body that took his breath away and made him double up with agony.
Whitey’s knee, following up, grazed the point of his
chin.

‘
Close, Whitey,’ he
panted, trying to buy time to recover his breath.

‘
Not close enough, Jed,’ replied
Coburn, launching himself in another powering dive across the dark
plateau.

But Herne wasn’t there. Moving smoothly
aside at the last second, he chopped with the edge of his hand at
the side of the albino’s neck. Feeling it jar home, knocking Coburn
rolling across the ground. Landing up within a foot of the ice over
the Rich Stream River.

Jed jumped in after him, feeling both
feet land on Coburn’s back, expecting him to be virtually
unconscious from the force of the chop. But that mane of silver
hair had saved Coburn, and he managed to shift out of the way of a
second punch, flipping Jed over on his side. Coburn crawled on his
hands and knees over the snow to lever himself up on the side of a
great black boulder. Both men were gasping hard with the effort of
the fight, the breath burning in their lungs, rasping with the
exertion of simply keeping alive.

The moon at last emerged from the
clouds, bathing the plateau in its brightness. Shining off the
white hair and face of Coburn, showing up the macabre red gleam in
his deep-sunk eyes.

As they closed Jed feinted with the
left, watching Whitey’s guard shift, then crossed the right,
hitting Coburn just in front of the ear. Jabbing again with the
left as Coburn staggered, rocking him on his heels, drawing a
thread of blood from his nose. The blood seeming almost black in
the moonlight, smearing across his chin as another punch
connected.

A swinging roundhouse right was near
enough to the point of the chin to topple Coburn. He fell flat on
his back on the edge of the ice. Jed saw his chance and dived in,
but Whitey had been foxing him, hoping he’d try that. As he was in
mid-air, Coburn brought up his knees, kicking him in the chest,
helping him up and over in a soaring arc towards the blackness and
rushing death.

With a muscle-jerking effort Herne twisted
in the air and landed on his side half a yard from the drop,
sliding a ways on the ice. When he put his hand down to lever
himself back to his feet, it encountered... nothing.

Just cold air, and the wind brushing his
fingers from out of the night.

Face contorted, the blood streaking over
his cheeks, Coburn was on top of him, grunting with the effort,
fingers clawing for Herne’s eyes, knee rammed under Herne’s ribs,
sapping his strength.

Herne
rocked frantically, so close to the
edge that he was unable to get any real leverage to throw Coburn
off him.

Slowly, inexorably, the weight of the two
men on the ice was sending them sliding over the precipice. Herne
locked his fingers in the thick material of Coburn’s Coat, shouting
out. Finding his voice had shrunk to a hoarse whisper.

‘
Let go now, Whitey, or we go
together.’

It was so obviously true that Coburn
let go at once, kicking himself backwards, away from Jed and the
drop.

‘
Could think of worse ways
to go,’ was all he said.

They faced each other across the frozen
stream. Where Herne stood the rock was smoother, less rutted and
less slippery. There was an area about ten feet square and he
stepped back so that he was on the further side of it

‘
Come on over, Whitey.
Let’s finish this thing here and now.’

Coburn looked suspiciously at him. ‘What
you trying on, Jed?’

‘
N
othing. Just that this is a good firm
piece of land to finish it on. Save all this leapin’ around the
place. I’m not up to it anymore.’

‘
Nor I, Jed. You sure you don’t
want to go back and make it guns? I’m tired of all this
fist-fightin’. Not gentlemanly, I guess.’

‘
No. Come on. So close to the
falls here, you can easy spit over.’

The wind was veering, reaching out across
the narrow plateau, fluttering Jed’s hair and blowing at Whitey’s
coat During the struggle the buttons had been torn off, making it
whirl like the wings of a bat The clouds were gathering around the
moon, making the light shifting and uncertain. One second there
would be brightness, the next pitch blackness.

‘
Right away, partner. Stand back
then and give me room to jump this stream. Here I come.’

Jed watched as Whitey took a couple of
steps back on the other side of the Rich Stream, gathering himself
for the short jump, eyeing the rocks on either side for a safe
take-off and landing. Finally satisfied, he started to run, taking
awkward mincing steps over the ice, boot-heels
crunching.

‘
Now!’ he shouted, his
voice strong and clear, raising an echo way across the
valley.

Just as he reached the nearer side of the
river, the moon suddenly disappeared behind a belt of cloud, like
turning out the wick on a lamp. Coburn’s feet slipped, and he fell
heavily with a cry of surprise and anguish in the center of the
ice, managing by a miracle of reflex and co-ordination to regain
his footing. But the incident had taken him perilously close to the
edge.

Feet shuffling on the icy water, the
albino balanced, eyes open wide, mouth gaping. Having done its
work, the moon reappeared, and Herne saw for the first time that
Coburn was only inches away from death. He started forwards, hand
reaching out across the emptiness for the fingers of his
friend.

But the wind reached Coburn first,
catching at the hem of his winter coat, filling it like the sail of
a ship, pushing him a half step backwards.

His right heel slipped on the tumbled
ice at the brink of the Rich Stream Falls, and went over. His arms
flailed at the air, trying to claw himself back to safety against
all the laws of nature.

Herne
was too late.

‘
Son of a bitch,’ were Isaiah
Coburn’s last words, delivered in an even, slightly surprised
voice. His eyes turned towards Herne as he fell, but almost at the
same moment they were looking inwards, aware of the beginnings of
that last swooping plunge to the rocks and snow and ice hundreds of
feet below.

After he’d vanished, Jed Herne stood quite
still, eyes closed, waiting for the crash of bones. But there was
only silence, the noise of the crushing impact whirled away by the
funneling wind. He stepped to the edge, dropping to his hands and
knees to avoid the same fate as Coburn, and stared for a long time
into the depths. Despite the poor light, he could see the body,
lying spread-eagled and partly buried in deep snow. Though Herne
watched for some time, there was no sign of movement.

He stood up, aware of how stiff and
sore he was going to be in the morning, and started the long climb
down, towards the camp where Becky Yates was waiting for
him.

Tomorrow, they would begin the ride
out of the Sierras, heading eastwards.

Jed only looked back once at where his
oldest, his only friend lay dead. ‘Like you said, Whitey,’ he
muttered to himself. ‘It’s all got to stop somewhere.’

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