Sudden Country (21 page)

In my close concentration I had not noticed when the shadows began to recede. I was astonished upon looking up to see a sky that was more gray than black stretching beyond the top of the cliff. I was equally astonished to see that there was a top, and–miracle on earth!–that the way to it was a definite incline, pocked with lovely holes and jagged features for grasping and no obstacles in sight. I had circumnavigated that evil bulge entirely. Freedom was but a twenty-foot climb.

But, Jesus God, how much longer twenty feet had become within the space of a few hours.

Today I lose my patience with myself often, particularly when I find myself unable to free my middle-aged bulk from a deep sofa without indulging in elaborate vocalizations. Upon these occasions I shame myself with the memory of that boy who scaled a mountain at an age when others were attempting to master the intricacies of pedaling a bicycle. Hand over hand, foot over foot, I hauled myself up that promontory, stopping to rest often, but always returning to the task at hand. My joints were afire and I could hear, as when a jar or a conch is held to one's ear, my blood singing in my veins. At long, long last, I grasped the cliff's mossy top edge in both hands and pulled my chin up over it. There I stared at the square toes of a pair of very scuffed brown riding boots.

"You got stones, kid," said their owner pleasantly. "It's too damn bad I got to blow them off, 'specially for a scum-sucker like Pike. But a pard's a pard."

I looked up. The man's face was in shadow, but his outline, voice, and the large-bore revolver he was pointing at me all belonged to Charlie Beacher, who had sat a strawberry roan at the scene of Flynn's murder and with Pike had followed our party at a safe distance until the time came to strike. I had the crazy relieved thought that I was dreaming after all; I could not think how he had managed to get there from the camp without climbing past me.

He seemed to read my thoughts. "You boys taken the hard way. They's a nice trail winds cow-gentle up the back of this here peak."

In that moment, whatever seasoning I had acquired during that dreadful climb dropped from me, and the child that I was screamed inside my brain: It isn't fair! Dangling as I was from the precipice, eyes burning with tears of anger and frustration, I could not raise even a hand to defend myself against the weapon, whose cylinder was already turning as he depressed the trigger.

The report was loud and ringing, its noise alone nearly enough to jar me from my perch. Certain that I had been shot, I could not at first understand the sudden contortion of Beacher's body, hunched with the pistol rotating slowly out of his grip, until he crumpled to the ground on top of it with his hat cocked comically over one ear and his features twitching within inches of mine. Only then, in the dizzy euphoria of realizing that it was not I whom the bullet had found, did I turn my head and look down–miles down, it seemed, to the edge of that toy forest–to see Corporal Panther standing straight and tall, with Joe Snake's Winchester carbine snug to his shoulder. A patch of gray smoke scudded sideways from the muzzle in the morning wind.

THE TRADE

I
have lost most of the details of what happened next. I remember pulling myself up and over the edge of the cliff–laughably easy it was, in the rush of my relief–and cooing to Beacher's strawberry roan, which, ground-hitched only and made nervous by the gunshot and the sight of the strange battered boy approaching, shied away a few exasperating yards at a time until I could seize the reins; but I do not remember at all my journey back around to where Panther awaited me. Evidently it was as gentle and uneventful a path as the dead man had claimed.

"I wish Sergeant Redfern had seen that," greeted the Indian. "He gave up trying to teach me to hit anything with a long gun beyond fifty yards."

His voice was weak. His fever had broken and he was bathed in cleansing sweat, but the effort of dragging himself from his bed and carrying the confiscated weapon through the woods had taxed him greatly. He was bleeding again.

"You should not be up," said I, dismounting.

"If I were not, you would certainly be down. I woke up alone and turned out to learn why. I followed two sets of tracks from the dead man in camp to here."

"I am grateful you did."

I relieved him of the Winchester and helped him into the saddle. This took several tries, for my legs were quivering with exhaustion. Finally he was secure and I led the roan into camp, carrying the carbine.

We were alone with Bald Jim asleep in one of the wagons and Christopher Agnes still lying where he had fallen. This time the snakes' venom had proven too much for his immunity. When I turned him over to confirm that fact, one of his killers slithered out from its warm berth beneath the corpse, buzzing its rattles. I reeled back, levered a fresh round into the Winchester's chamber, and took off its head with my second shot. Its body was still thrashing when the echo faded.

Bald Jim went on snoring.

Panther resisted my efforts to help him down. "Cut out a mount for yourself and grab some supplies," he said. "We'll need another long gun and ammunition."

I said, "You would not make ten miles in your condition."

"Leave me where I fall and ride on."

"I cannot leave this camp," said I. "I gave Ben Wedlock my word."

"The bandit?"

"Yes."

"What is the value of your word to one of his stamp?"

"It has the value I place upon it."

He regarded me. "Who is your father?"

"I never knew him. I was raised by my mother."

"I would meet her."

"If you stop at the Good Part Boarding House in Panhandle, you most certainly will."

He dismounted then, waving me off when I stepped in to assist. When he was on the ground he allowed me to help him to the chuck wagon, where I lowered the gate to make him a seat. Inside the wagon I found alcohol and proper bandages. I cleaned and dressed his wound with the efficiency of practice, noticing in the process that the unhealthy flush had faded from the skin around the gash. So there was something to Wedlock's Sioux remedy after all! But if I accepted that, then his fanciful tales of life as Chief Red Cloud's prisoner and honored guest must also be examined in a fresh light. And if he was not all lies and treachery, then how much of what he said could be kept or dismissed? I could not fathom the man.

"What now?" asked Panther. "You appear to be the clearer-headed."

I thrilled to this declaration of faith; then considered the question. "The sun is up. Wedlock and the others will return soon. They will not expect us to have overpowered Pike, Beacher, and Christopher Agnes."

"How shall we take advantage of that?"

I told him. The plan had taken vague form in my mind during the trip through the woods into camp; now the finer details worked themselves out in the telling. When I had finished, the Indian studied me again.

"You are a white man through and through, to be that devilish," said he.

"I have not lacked for examples on this journey. We must make ready."

The sun had cleared the tallest of the hills when three horsemen appeared at the north end of camp. I recognized Wedlock in the middle aboard his blaze, with Blackwater chewing his omnipresent cigar at his right and the Negro wrangler with the withered arm at his left. I was seated on the front of the wagon where Wedlock had treated Panther, doing my best to appear bored and morose. When he saw me he halted, putting a hand up for the others to do the same. The sun flared off his glass eye when he turned it to put his good one on me.

"Where's the others?" he called.

I said, "Pike's asleep and Beacher's with Bald Jim. Christopher Agnes is out hunting snakes."

"A while ago we heard shots."

"That was Pike practicing his marksmanship."

"Funny time for it."

"He was trying to scare me," I said.

Blackwater laughed nastily; "That's Pike all right." For a long time the trio remained unmoving while their horses, tired and smelling camp, fidgeted impatiently. "How's the injun?" Wedlock asked then.

"There has been no change."

He scratched the blackened part of his face. Then he raised his voice. "Beacher! Pike!"

I said, quickly, "I am worried about Panther. Will you look at him?"

Wedlock nodded at Eli and Blackwater, who started their horses toward the other wagons. The one-eyed man came my way. Abreast of me he drew rein.

"You look worse used than the last time I seen you."

"I have been up all night worrying about the Indian." The others had almost reached the wagon containing Bald Jim and no one else.

"Pike give you a hard time?"

"I have not run off," I reminded him.

After a moment he continued to the back of the wagon. I got off and circled behind him on foot. Just as he reached for the flap, Bald Jim's voice called from the wagon where he had been fast asleep.

"Beacher? Beacher, where the hell are you? I need a sip of that tanglefoot. Beacher?"

Wedlock leaned back swiftly, drawing the big Remington from under his belt. Just then Panther tore aside the wagon flap from inside and thrust the Winchester at him, working the lever for emphasis. At the same time I took the heavy short-barreled revolver out of my shirt and thumbed back the hammer. I had found it not far from where Pike's whip had snatched it from my hand.

"You're pinned tight," Panther advised him. Crouched in the wagonbed with the carbine's stock against his cheek, he looked like an Indian in a posed photograph. There was nothing artificial about his expression.

The old guerrilla froze with his pistol half drawn. "You forgot about Eli and Blackwater."

"Call them over," said Panther.

Wedlock grinned. The Indian moved the Winchester an inch and repeated the order.

"This way, boys."

They started over, leaving Bald Jim's wagon. "Ben," said Blackwater, "Beacher ain't–" He saw me holding a pistol on his leader. Out came a huge Colt's Peacemaker with the front sight filed off.

"Tell him to get rid of it!" Panther snapped. "Yours too."

Wedlock threw his weapon aside. "Do it," he said. "You too, Eli. We got us a thing here."

They hesitated. I made elaborate threatening motions with my weapon. It occurred to me then in a flash of belated wisdom that these cutthroats might care nothing for their leader, that I had made the dreadful mistake of assigning Christian motives to animals. While I was considering the implications, Blackwater cursed and let his Peacemaker drop to the ground. Eli slid a long rifle of unknown manufacture out of his saddle scabbard and threw it in the dirt.

I must have sighed audibly, because Wedlock chuckled. "Who done for Pike, the injun?" Although he was facing Panther, the question was directed at me.

"He killed Beacher. I killed Pike."

"Hell you did!" said Blackwater. " 'Less'n you back-shot him."

"Tha's how I'd do it," Eli said.

"Christopher Agnes?" Wedlock asked me.

"Killed by his pets. We buried him."

He laughed. The sound of his mirth chilled me to my soles.

"Davy, you are a one. I rode with men twice your age didn't–"

"Don't say it!"

Everything that had gone bitter inside me, all the betrayal and crushed innocence and on top of them the ordeal of the past twelve hours, had come out in those three words. He sobered.

"We had us a deal, me and you," he said. "You gave your word on it."

"Do not speak of honor to him," warned Panther. "He has more of it at his young age than you will ever know. I should hand you over to Lives Again. You will know justice before you die."

"Lives Again is dead for good. And this here's between me and Davy."

"He is right," said I To Wedlock: "The understanding was my freedom for the map." I drew out the leathern pouch with my free hand and tossed it past him. It landed beside his horse's forefeet.

"What's that?"

"Orrin Peckler's directions to where the gold is hidden. The directions you killed Flynn to get."