Trail Angel (36 page)

Once they had the trunks unpacked, Luke Swift swung a heavy pick against the locks. Mr. Rutledge opened the first trunk. Josey couldn't see inside, only Rutledge's reaction. It was enough. For a long moment, Rutledge didn't breathe. Then he released his breath in a gasp as he uttered a word Josey had never heard Annabelle's father speak.

“How much . . . ?”

“It's a fortune.” Rutledge had the look of a man lost. He opened the second trunk, his eyes growing even wider. “It's beyond calculating. A few ounces of dust would buy a man's meal. A few nuggets might buy him a horse. This—” He shook his head. “Kings have fought wars for less.”

Rutledge closed the lid, leaning over it as if his weight might prevent anything from escaping. “We can't tell the others about this.”

Josey wondered how much trouble Rutledge might have been if it weren't his daughter at risk. He was relieved not to find out.

“It's too late, Langdon.” Annabelle's mother came upon them, most of the rest of the camp trailing behind her. “I've already told everyone.”

“We're here to help,” Bill Smith said, turning to Josey. “If there's anything we can do.”

If Rutledge were surprised, he was diplomatic enough to hide it. Alexander Brewster put an arm on his shoulder. “No one will stand in the way of seeing your family made whole again,” the camp's Yankee preacher told him. “We came west to make our fortunes, but not at the cost of our souls.”

Others, both northern farmers and southern businessmen, took up the sentiment, and Rutledge thanked them. He said to Josey, “I'm the one who hired Caleb. I put us in danger. I should be the one to go.”

Josey shook his head. “That's what they wanted. They even sent a gunman to make sure it wasn't me. The surprise might give me an advantage.”
I'll need every edge I can get.
He already pictured how it would go, though he chose not to share that.

While the others moved the gold from the trunks to saddlebags, Josey saw to the horses. He would divide the load between his horse and Annabelle's Paint. The women parted before Josey to create a path to the horses. Josey kept his head down, avoiding their gaze. Mrs. Smith said, “Be careful, Josey.” Caroline ran toward him but stopped when he looked at her. Tears filled her eyes and she choked back whatever she'd intended to say. Josey kept walking.

Once the saddlebags were loaded, Josey was eager to leave. Mary Rutledge waited, seated on a stone by the edge of the trail. Josey resisted the urge to pass her without a word.

“I know you'll get her back, but make sure you come back, too.” When Josey merely nodded, she added, “I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I don't think you do.”

She's probably right.
Turning it in his head, he saw a way to get the gold to Annabelle's husband without getting killed. And he saw how he might get Annabelle away. But he couldn't see how to do both. Not that it bothered him much.

By already thinking himself dead, he wouldn't be distracted from what he had to do. It was simpler that way. It was simpler than picturing a life with Annabelle. Josey wasn't sure he could walk away from her, even though he believed she would never be safe with him. He would never know any peace for worrying about her. A man could love something too much for his own good.

He didn't figure Mary Rutledge would understand, so he kept it to himself, watching her like a schoolchild waiting for a teacher's dismissal. She knew him well enough not to press.

“I don't know what's happened between you and Annabelle, but none of it matters now.” She spoke in a low, urgent voice that held his attention more effectively than a scream. “A woman will forgive almost anything of a man who loves her wholly. All he has to do is ask.”

He nodded and looked away. The silence didn't seem to bother Mary. She came to him and kissed his cheek. “I want my daughter back, and I don't want her to be alone anymore. She deserves better.”

On that we agree.
Josey thanked her and led the horses onto the trail, feeling the truth of what Mary Rutledge said tugging at him. When he turned back, she watched him still. “What you ask,” he called to her, “it's not a simple thing.”

Later, he would have time to reflect on her final words, wondering if she spoke of his seeking Annabelle's forgiveness or his walking into a likely ambush.
Maybe it was both.

“If it were simple,” Mary Rutledge called after him, “we wouldn't need you to do it.”

Josey found the road agents' camp near a creek at the bottom of a ravine, not far from the trail. Trees near the water shrouded their numbers. Josey liked that he could approach from above, even though his descent would make a quick retreat impossible. Retreat wasn't in Josey's plans. His best hope was that a man like Richard wouldn't anticipate that.

Still out of view from the camp, Josey tied off his horse to a pine. He transferred all the saddlebags to Annabelle's Paint, then slipped the rifle scabbard between the fender on Paint's saddle. He didn't need to check the Henry to know it was loaded. Same for the four pistols he carried.

The pine-scented breeze that had blown along the trail above the ravine stilled in the noontime heat. Birds in the trees fell silent. Despite the sleepless night, Josey felt alive and alert. For the last year and a half, life had rolled past Josey like the Missouri, its waters dark and murky so a man never knew what he might find on wading in. A rock might turn underfoot and send him tumbling into unseen currents. Before he knows what's happened, he's in a wagon train to Montana. He's with a woman. He's imagining life on a ranch. No chance to consider
how
it happened or whether it was
right.
A man tumbles in, nearly drowns, and when his head comes up for air, well, he finds himself here.

Josey slowly led the horse into the ravine. The creek at the bottom was one of those clear, cold mountain streams. Josey liked that. Water gurgled musically over smooth stones, and a man could see every one of them. Some men would rather take their chances in the slow, murky water, but Josey liked to see where he stepped, even when it meant wading into fast waters. Soon he would have a look at what faced him in the ravine.

And they would see him.

Annabelle saw Josey first. She'd been scanning the hillside since two of Richard's men brought her out of the tent that morning, knowing Josey would come, that it would have to be him, despite whatever Richard planned. The more time that passed without Harrison's return, the more certain she became, the more agitated Richard grew. He knew it, too.

Josey carefully led her horse on a zigzag pattern across the scree that covered the top third of the slope. The horse kicked free a few loose stones and they bounded down the ravine, alerting the others.

“Don't come alone, Josey, he'll kill you,” she shouted.

Richard came to her in a flash, backhanding her with such force that it spun her around, left her face in the dirt. The blow dizzied her, and she tasted blood but managed to call out, “There's eight of them.”

Richard rewarded her with a kick that caught her around the waist and collapsed her. He held his fist before her eyes. “Say anything more and I'll kill you. He'll be dead before he can get to you.”

Richard looked disappointed when she gave him no reason to strike again. He turned to watch Josey's approach. “Josey Angel,” he called. “I should have known. I told Harrison to shoot you in the back. I guess he was too proud.”

Josey gave no indication of hearing Richard as he led the horse across the stones. He waited until reaching surer footing before speaking. His voice carried into the ravine so that even without shouting they heard him.

“I cured him of that.”

Richard made a show of laughing at Josey's joke. To the others behind him, he whispered, “Kill him as soon as you've got a clear shot.”

“He's too far off, and the horse is in the way,” the big man in the Confederate coat said. He had taken a position behind a cottonwood tree, its trunk too narrow to fully conceal his body.

Richard called out, “You have the gold?” Josey pointed to the saddlebags. Richard seemed to be waiting for Josey to say something.
He doesn't know Josey.
Finally, Richard said, “Well, bring it here.”

“Let Annabelle go.”

“Get him to come closer,” one of the men with rifles whispered to Richard. His words drowned out whatever else Josey had said. Richard told the men to be quiet.

“Where's Caleb?” Josey repeated, so quiet Annabelle sensed Richard held his breath to hear better.

“He didn't make it. The deal is for Annabelle.” Josey's silence tested Richard's patience. “You still want her, don't you?”

“Let her go, and I'll bring you the gold.”

Richard laughed, standing upright over Annabelle. He was the only man not taking cover. “Bring the gold, and I'll let her go.”

“Just go, Josey,” Annabelle shouted. “Protect the others.”

Richard turned on her, striking her savagely with his closed fist. Annabelle collapsed, her world turning black for a moment. Then she saw pinpricks of light even after she closed her eyes.

“I can beat her all day, and you can stand there watching,” Richard called, “or you can bring me the gold.”

Annabelle grew nauseous, her mouth so dry she couldn't swallow. She held her breath to still her heart and hold down the bile. She no longer saw Josey and barely heard his response.

“Send up two of your men. Unarmed.”

“I'm glad I never had to face you in a poker game, Josey Angel,” Richard shouted. “Even when the deck is stacked against you, you act like you're holding all aces. What do you have up your sleeve this time? I hope it's not another rock.”

Annabelle's head throbbed as she watched Josey draw his rifle from the scabbard, lifting it high.

“That's your answer, one rifle?”
He's trying to draw Josey closer.
Richard watched her too carefully for Annabelle to risk a warning. Loud enough so Josey heard, Richard said to the men behind him, “Show him he's not the only one with a fancy rifle.”

A chorus of shots exploded from the trees behind Annabelle, so loud she couldn't hear her own scream of alarm. A few shots struck the ground beside and in front of Josey and her horse. Josey pulled hard on the startled horse's harness to keep Paint between himself and the men below, and Richard laughed to see Josey crouched low behind the spotted horse. After the fusillade ended he said to the others, “See the coward, boys? All he can do is bluff now that he's lost his advantage.”

Josey steadied the horse. His voice carried as clear as if he stood beside them. “The rifle's not my advantage.”

Richard stood over Annabelle but looked to Josey, his curiosity getting the better of him. “So what is?”

“My advantage is you expect to live out this day.” Josey paused. He stared at Richard, as if the other men, the ones with drawn guns, didn't exist. “I don't.”

Josey nearly drew the Henry on seeing Richard strike Annabelle, but he couldn't get off a shot—not a good one—without a risk of hitting her. Richard stood over Annabelle, taunting him. Josey hadn't considered how her presence would cloud his thinking. He needed to narrow the odds.

Two men stepped out from cover. He didn't hear Richard's command, but the newcomers dropped their gun belts and walked toward Josey. One was older and didn't look good for much beyond cooking and keeping camp. A thick white beard ringed his face, and he moved with a limp that made him wince with every step. The other man was young, clean-shaven but for a wispy mustache no thicker than his fair eyebrows. His features were soft but not his eyes. He looked eager to prove himself.

Their strides were short and unsteady on the uphill climb. Josey pulled his pistols as they neared, one pointed at each man. He motioned to the younger man when they got within ten paces.

“You, stay.” To the old man he said, “You, come look in the bags.”

Richard called from the bottom of the hill. “What did you say?”

The young one answered. “He said for Peco to look in the bags.” He looked uncomfortable being made to stand in place, feeling exposed without his guns. Josey knew the feeling, wondered if the man kept a knife in his belt or had a pocket pistol on his back.
Don't get nervous, boy.

“Well, go on and look,” Richard shouted.

The old man made a wide berth around Josey and approached the horse from the side. Josey held the gaze of the younger man, feeling the horse move as the old man tugged at one of the saddlebags.

“It's gold,” he shouted, a mixture of surprise and relief. “All four bags,” he said a few moments later.

“Leave it,” Josey commanded. “Now step away.”

The old man hopped away to rejoin his partner. He grinned widely, seeming to move with less pain after seeing the gold.

“Satisfied?” Josey called to Richard.

“Not until I have it—and you're gone. Give the gold to my men.”

Josey nodded. The young man smiled as he stepped forward, like he was in on a secret. The bullet passed neatly into his brain at a point between those fair eyebrows.

Without moving, Josey looked to the old man. He had just enough time to start raising his hands, his mouth open to form whatever words he thought would save him.

The bullet caught him in the throat. He dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at his neck, blood spurting between his fingers. It would have been an act of mercy to finish him, but Josey wouldn't waste the bullet. Both shots had been fired so quickly, no one by the creek had time to react. Josey took a step back, careful to keep the horse between him and the others.