“Over there.” Cork walked to a stall where a body lay thrown on a bed of hay. Most of the lower jaw had been blown away, but enough of the face still remained for Cork to see clearly who it had been.
“What’s with the chair and the rope?” Parmer asked. “He tied Gully there first, then decided on this?”
Cork shook his head. “I can’t make heads or tails of Nightwind.”
“Where is he?”
“Only one place that I know of left to look.”
At that moment, the Arapaho truck sped past the barn.
Cork ran to the door and watched the trail of dust rise as the truck raced toward the cabin. “Goddamn it! Come on, Hugh.”
Under the threatening sky, they hightailed it to the Wrangler and followed the truck into the foothills.
When they reached the cabin, the truck was empty and the cabin door was ajar. Cork heard voices inside, talking loud and fast. He heard Adelle cry out. He grasped his rifle and jumped from the Jeep. Parmer leaped out the other side. The priest appeared in the doorway. He looked stricken and beckoned them forward. They came cautiously. Cork held his rifle ready.
“Nightwind’s gone,” the priest said.
Inside Cork found Ben Iron lying on the sofa. He was conscious but not in good shape. He’d been beaten severely, his face a mass of bruise and swelling. His midsection had been wrapped in gauze, and there was a large red stain over the left side. His wife sat beside him, fussing over his injuries. Nick stood behind them.
“Where’s Nightwind?” Cork said.
Ben Iron stared at him and said weakly, “Where you’ll never find him.”
“What happened, Ben?” the priest asked.
Through lips swollen and crusted with dried blood, the man answered, “A visit from the devil, Father.”
FORTY-THREE
Soon after Adelle and Nick had left that morning, the two men came. They did it quietly and caught Ben Iron in the barn. They shot him and then tied him to the chair. They were looking for Lame Nightwind. The Arapaho didn’t know where Lame was. They called him a lying redskin and laid into him. While they were at it, Lame slipped into the barn. He shot them both. Mike, he killed instantly. Gully wasn’t so lucky. Nightwind strung him up, tortured him until he confessed to killing Ellyn Grant, then went on torturing him until he was dead.
The Arapaho was only semiconscious through most of this. When Nightwind had finished working on Gully, he took Ben Iron to the cabin, laid him on the sofa, saw to his wound, and declared he would survive. Iron told him where his wife and Nick had gone. Then Nightwind went away, and after that everything went black.
He remembered next that Nightwind shook him awake and told him people were on their way to help him. And he put a note in Iron’s pocket and told him good-bye.
The next thing Iron remembered was his wife and grandson and the priest coming through the cabin door.
Cork walked to the sofa, reached into the man’s pocket, and drew out the note.
The ranch belongs to you now, Ben. The papers are in my desk. I have unfinished business. Any man who tries to follow me is a dead man.
Cork read the note again. “Follow him where? His truck’s here and he can’t fly his planes.”
“I didn’t see Dominion at the barn,” Nick said.
Adelle looked out the open cabin door. “He probably went into the mountains.”
“Where would he go up there?”
“Anywhere he wants to,” Iron said. “He knows the Absarokas better than anyone.”
“He has a cabin up there,” the kid said.
“Nick,” his grandfather said and cut him off with a look.
“Where?” Cork said.
Nick stared at the cabin floor and didn’t answer.
Adelle said, “Ben, this man hasn’t hurt us in any way, and all he wants is to find his wife.”
“Lame’s been good to us,” Iron said.
“He’s the cause of this man’s sorrow, Ben,” Adelle said. “At least give him the chance to find his wife.”
“Lame’ll probably kill him anyway,” the kid said.
“Nick,” his grandmother snapped at him.
Iron squeezed his eyes closed in pain and finally gave in. “It’s supposed to be near Heaven’s Keep, but nobody except Lame knows where,” he said. “His uncle built it. Hunted and trapped out of it. Hid it somewhere nobody could stumble across it. There’s a trailhead not far from here. Lame always takes it. But God alone knows where he goes.”
Cork walked to the door and looked toward Heaven’s Keep, which he could no longer see because it had become shrouded in clouds spilling in from the west.
“I’ll need a horse,” he said.
Nick and Parmer accompanied him to the barn. Inside the doorway, the kid stopped and stared, horrified, at the hanging man.
“I’d cut him down,” Cork said, “but he needs to be left like that for the police.”
After that the kid did his best to avoid looking. He chose a dapple gray named Aggie. Next to Dominion, this was the best horse on the ranch, Nick said. While the kid saddled him, Cork and Parmer went to the ranch house to collect supplies.
“Look, I understand where you’re coming from, Cork. But you can’t go alone.”
“I’m not putting anyone else in jeopardy, Hugh.”
“You know anything about horses, Cork?”
“No.”
“I can’t turn you loose in those mountains trusting your fate to an animal you don’t understand.”
“I don’t figure I’ll need my horse for long, one way or the other.”
Into a canvas sack he’d brought from the barn, Cork had thrown a can of baked beans, a couple of cans of tuna fish, a can of peaches, a jar half full of peanut butter, most of a jar of strawberry jam, and a box of saltines. He opened a drawer and found a can opener, a spoon, and a sharp knife, all of which he threw into the sack.
Parmer grabbed him roughly. “Look at me. What the kid said is true. Nightwind’ll probably kill you. If you’re alone. Two of us stand a better chance.”
“This is way more than what you signed on for.”
“Hell, it’s been way more from the beginning. I’m not going to let you cut me loose at this point no matter what. We do this together.”
“I’m wasting time here, Hugh.”
“Then just say yes, damn it.”
Cork thought it over quickly, under the press of time, and gave in. “All right.”
Parmer smiled. “Let’s get cracking.”
They left the kitchen and headed toward a room Cork had seen in his earlier reconnoitering. In Nightwind’s study, he found what he was looking for, a gun case containing some fine-looking armaments. The case was locked. Cork smashed the glass, reached inside, and pulled out a Savage 110. He looked at Parmer and waited for the man to comment on the firearm in his hands.
Parmer simply nodded and said, “Nice piece.” He reached into the case and chose a Weatherby. “Wonder where he keeps the cartridges.”
“In the equipment shed,” Nick said from the doorway. “He has scopes there, too.”
“My horse is ready, Nick?”
“Yes.”
“Mind getting us those cartridges and scopes?”
“Okay. Lame’s got sleeping bags, too. I’ll bring those.” He saw the rifle in Parmer’s hands. “I’ll saddle Hornet for you. A good horse, trust me.”
Cork went to the closet in the front entryway. He grabbed a fleece-lined jean jacket that was hanging there. Parmer took a leather jacket, also lined with fleece. Cork slid a Stetson from the closet shelf and tried it on. Too big for him, but it fit Parmer nicely. There was a gray stocking cap hanging on a peg, and Cork took that instead.
Nick brought them the cartridge boxes and the sleeping bags, and they returned to the barn for the horses. Parmer saddled his own mount, speaking quietly to the animal as he worked. The kid went into the tack room and brought out scabbards for the rifles. Cork was walking his horse out of the
barn when Kosmo showed up.
The sheriff came with two deputies. No Voice followed in his Blazer, accompanied by two of his own officers. They arrived in a cloud of dust and drew up in front of the barn. The officers got out, weapons drawn. Cork walked out to meet them.
“Where’s Nightwind?” Kosmo asked.
“Gone into the mountains.”
Cork related the salient details of the story the Arapaho had told him, then he handed the lawman Nightwind’s note.
Kosmo read it and looked into the barn behind Cork, where Nick and Parmer were readying the second mount. “You’re going after him?”
“Hugh and me.”
“What’s the unfinished business he mentions?”
“I don’t know,” Cork said.
“You go up there and he’ll kill you both.”
“He’s the only one who knows the truth about my wife, so it’s a chance I’m willing to take. There’s something you ought to see.” Cork jerked his head for Kosmo to follow.
“Wait here,” the sheriff said to his deputies. Inside, when he caught sight of the body strung from the rafter, Kosmo stopped as if he’d walked into a wall. “Jesus Christ. Who is it?”
“Gully. Mike’s in the stall over there. They came looking for Nightwind.”
No Voice joined them. When he saw Nightwind’s handiwork, he whistled. “Like a goddamn slaughtered cow. Who is it?”
“One of the guys shot Ellyn Grant,” Kosmo said.
“Where’s the other one?” No Voice asked.
The sheriff nodded toward the body in the stall.
No Voice couldn’t take his eyes off the bloody spectacle hung from the beam. “Lame did this out of pure meanness?”
“I got no idea what’s in his head,” Kosmo said. “Where’s your granddad, Nick?”
“At our cabin,” the kid replied. “Those men hurt him, but he’ll be all right.”
“EMTs are on their way from Hot Springs. Be here pretty soon.” Kosmo turned to Cork. “You really intend to go after Nightwind? Just you and Parmer?”
“I don’t have much choice, Sheriff. I hope you’re not thinking of trying to stop me.”
“Hold off for a while,” Kosmo said. “In three hours I could have a dozen men mounted to go with you.”
Cork shook his head. “You see those clouds. It’ll be raining pretty soon down here. That means snow in the mountains. By the time you get it all together, his trail’ll be covered. We head off now, we have a chance.”
Kosmo threw a stern look at Parmer. “You understand what you’re walking into? You could well end up just like that man there.”
Parmer said, “I understand.”
The sheriff shoved his big hands into the back pockets of his jeans and studied the mountains through the doorway of the barn. “Christ, I don’t like this.”
“I’m not exactly doing cartwheels, Sheriff,” Cork said. “But if there’s a chance of getting my wife back, I’ll do whatever I have to.”
Kosmo looked at the butchered man for half a minute, and in the quiet as he considered, the only sounds were the snorts of the horses and the ripples of their flanks as they shook off the flies.
“It’s still a free country, O’Connor, and I don’t suppose I’ve got any legal way to keep you from going. But let me give you a few things that’ll help.”
Outside, he took two ballistic vests from the trunk of his cruiser and gave one to each of them.
“Got these babies through a special Homeland Security grant. They provide Level Three protection. They’ll stop anything up to a .308 caliber, full metal jacket round. Unless Nightwind has armor-piercing ammo, you’re covered.”
He also gave Cork a Falcon II handheld radio. The last thing he offered was a topographic map of the area.
“I’m going to maintain a command post here at Nightwind’s place. Take care of that radio. It’s set on our search and rescue frequency. Provided you’re somewhere high enough that the topography doesn’t block the signal, we’ll hear you.”
“We’ve both got cell phones,” Parmer said.
“Yeah, well, good luck getting a signal in the Absarokas. However you do it, keep me apprised of your situation as best you can.”
“All right,” Cork said. He looked to Nick. “You willing to show us that trailhead your granddad talked about?”
“Yes. It’s not an official trail or anything, it’s just how Lame goes into the mountains. But it leads to a national forest trail that begins north of Dubois and cuts into the Washakie Wilderness. It’s not a good trail, and it’s hard going. Almost nobody but Lame ever follows it.”
“Can you show us?” Cork said, and he unfolded the topographic map Kosmo had provided.
It took Nick a minute to orient himself, and then he said, “It kind of runs like this and will take you right to the base of Heaven’s Keep.”
Cork folded the map and slipped it among his gear. He and Parmer mounted, and Cork swung Nick up behind him. Under a threatening sky, they rode away.
FORTY-FOUR
They dropped the kid a couple of miles beyond the cabin where the trail—a thin, bare line in the coarse grass—led along a stream through a stand of lodgepole pines.
“Follow the stream,” Nick said. “It’ll take you maybe five miles into the mountains to a pond. On the other side of the pond it joins the Dubois trail. If you think you’re lost, just look for Heaven’s Keep and head toward it.”
“Thanks, Nick,” Cork said. “You’ve been a big help.”
“Lame’s not a bad man,” the kid said.
“He’s done bad things,” Cork said.
“Father Frank says that sometimes even good men do bad things.”
Parmer said, “Nick, you keep listening to Father Frank.”
“We’ve got it from here,” Cork said. “Go on back. I’m sure your grandparents need you.”
Nick stood unmoving, reluctant to abandon them, and even after Cork and Parmer had urged their horses into the pines, he remained a long time, watching.
The trail wasn’t difficult to follow. The ground was soggy from the spring melt, and Nightwind’s horse had left clear tracks in the muck. They rode all afternoon and climbed in altitude, and the air grew colder and the clouds thicker and after a while a drizzle fell. They got out the ponchos they’d packed and put them on and kept riding. They began to see patches of snow in those places the sun didn’t hit. Eventually the trail became covered with slush that was full of hoofprints marking Nightwind’s passage. Late in the day it began to rain in earnest, but they rode on until they could no longer see because of the darkness.
They camped without a fire at a place where the trail broke from the heavy cover of pines and led across an alpine meadow. Just beyond the trees on the far side, the land climbed a steep slope with a rocky face that even in good daylight would have been dangerous to attempt. They positioned themselves along a stream where the horses could water. With the stub of a pencil he’d found in the pocket of his coat, Parmer had been tracking their progress on the map Kosmo had provided, and he calculated that they’d gone nearly fifteen miles. While Parmer hobbled their horses for the night, Cork tried the radio in order to report their final location, but he got only static. They settled in between two fallen trees that provided some protection and didn’t light a fire for fear Nightwind might see.
“How much farther, you think?” Parmer asked as they sat eating tuna and crackers.
“To the cabin? Only Nightwind knows that.”
“Think he knows we’re following?”
“He’d be a fool to believe that somebody wasn’t.”
“How do you think he’ll do it? If he decides to jump us, I mean?” Parmer didn’t sound nervous, just interested.
“I’ve been trying to think like Nightwind,” Cork said. “What is it he really wants out of this?”
“To get away?”
“Get away to what? The woman he loved is dead. He’s given up his ranch. And I keep thinking about that not
e. Unfinished business. What business?”
“I hope to God we have a chance to ask him,” Parmer said.
In the rain and without moonlight or even the ambient light of the stars, they were nearly blind. Parmer, just a few feet away, was almost invisible. Only from the occasional snort and the clap of a shoe on an exposed stone did Cork know where the horses were hobbled.
“Cork?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really believe it’s possible Jo’s still alive?”
Cork didn’t answer.
“I mean, where would he have kept her all this time?”
“I don’t know what’s possible anymore. I couldn’t have imagined that anyone would survive what happened in Bodine’s plane, but she did.”
“Could she be his unfinished business?”
“I wish I knew, Hugh. I wish to Christ I knew. Let’s get some sleep.”
He pulled his blanket around him but didn’t sleep immediately. He spent a long time staring into a dark that was full of things unknown.
In the night, the drizzle turned to snow, and in the morning, in a shroud of falling white, the two men rose, donned their body armor, mounted their horses, and continued after Nightwind.
They rode through the day without incident, the whole time in snowfall. Periodically they stopped to rest the horses, but only briefly. In the afternoon, the snow came down harder and a wind kicked up. The blowing mess cut their field of vision to less than a hundred yards. Nightwind’s tracks became harder to follow. Cork knew that the snow and the clouds would bring an early dark, and he was worried he would lose his quarry. Every hour or so, he or Parmer tried to raise Kosmo on the radio, to no avail. They both understood that until the weather cleared they were cut off and alone.
Late in the afternoon, they came to a stream that issued from what appeared to be a deep canyon. The tracks of Nightwind’s horse led beside the stream and into the canyon.
Parmer checked the map. “Dead-ends a couple miles farther.”
Cork balked at following the tracks. In a canyon, if Nightwind knew he was being followed, it would be easy for him to establish a vantage above and pick them off. And the dead end was doubly disconcerting. Cork’s natural inclination was to climb to higher ground and try to track from above. But if he did that, he might lose Nightwind for good and in doing so lose any hope of finding Jo.
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