by Leon Loy
Joe worked his reins with one hand, and fired again at Holliday with the other. The boom of the shot bounced flatly off the trunks of the trees.
Holliday steadied his horse, aimed, and shot Joe once in the forehead. Joe fell back in his saddle, and the horse spun again, slinging his body against the trunk of a tree. Free of its rider, the horse galloped back toward the cabin.
Holliday motioned with his gun. “T.L., follow that horse and see if it leads to her. I’m going after Hester.” Not waiting for a response from the doctor, he rode past him toward the river.
Dr. McCarty followed the path to the clearing, and the cabin. He called out Sparrow’s name but got no answer. With revolver in hand, he dismounted, and cautiously entered. A moment later he came back out, having discovered Harold’s body, but no Sparrow. He returned to the path and rode back toward the river.
Buck had ridden up over the opposite bank once he was clear of the river, and was working his way through rocks which led to the high ground. Holliday caught sight of him as he climbed the heights, and fired twice with his Colt. Holliday crossed the river, slid from the saddle, and pulled his rifle, but Buck disappeared before he could fire.
Dr. McCarty came splashing across the river behind him. He was alone.
“She’s not there,” he said panting. “I found the body of the scoundrel I paid the ransom to. Dead from a wound to his throat. There is no one else back there.”
“Well, that only leaves Buck,” Holliday said. Just then, a shot rang out from the rocks and a bullet came so close to Dr. McCarty’s head, he heard it zing past. He dived off his horse, landing in the shallow water at the river’s edge. Both men let their horses go and sought cover against the bank.
“Buck, you know I’m going to kill you,” Holliday yelled.
“Go to hell, Holliday,” Buck hollered back.
“Where is Sparrow?” Dr. McCarty called out loudly. “What did you do with her?”
“Hello, Dr. McCarty,” Buck said. “I’m surprised to see you after that pistol whipping I gave you. You come for some more?”
“Shut up, you low-bred coot,” Holliday answered. “You want another bullet in that shoulder? How about one in the brain? Like I did to that side-kick of yours.”
“You killed Joe?” Buck said, his voice full of surprise.
“I did. And you are next,” Holliday answered.
“Anything happens to me, you’ll never find that half-breed,” Buck yelled back. Dr. McCarty gave Holliday a look which said, he’s right.
“Don’t come following me, or I’ll kill her,” Buck continued. “Do you hear me, Holliday?”
“How do we know you haven’t done that already?” Holliday retorted.
“Because I’m telling you,” Buck said. “I got her hid where you ain’t ever going to find her.”
“You were paid for her release. Let her go.”
“She killed my brother.”
Holliday noted the distress on the doctor’s face. He was surprised the doctor had not found the girl dead when he found Buck’s brother.
“Should we let that inbred piece of trash go, T.L.?” he asked. “If he has hidden her away, he’ll go to her eventually.”
“So, you believe she may yet be alive,” Dr. McCarty said.
“I believe there is a slim chance,” Holliday answered. “But that chance gets slimmer every minute that bastard lives.”
Dr. McCarty wiped river water and sand from the side of his face and took a deep breath. “He’s well-hidden up there, John, and has the advantage on us at the present. Killing him now, even if we could do so, would diminish the possibility of finding Sparrow.”
Holliday shook his head, not liking the odds. “We would need to follow him. If we lose him, we lose any hope of finding the girl. If he sees us following him, he might carry out his threat. He’s dealt us a poor hand, T.L., but it’s all we have.”
The doctor managed a weak smile and said, “We have the prayers of my good wife.”
The dentist returned his smile. “Yes, we have that.” Then, raising his voice, he said, “Buck, you promise to let the girl go, and we won’t come after you.”
“I already told you as much,” Buck yelled back.
“That’s not what I said,” Holliday said. “Promise it. Like a true son of the south.”
“I promise to let the girl go. You promise not to come following after me.”
“I promise it,” Holliday replied. Under his breath, he added. “I promise to put a bullet in your pea-sized brain.”
Dr. McCarty leaned out, and said, “How will we find her?”
There was no answer. Finally, Buck called back, “You wait here and I’ll send her to you.”
Holliday rolled his eyes and said to the doctor, “I wonder if he thinks we are as asinine as he is.” But to Buck, he called out, “How long will that take?”
“Tonight. You wait here and don’t come following me,” Buck replied.
“That’s the deal,” Holliday said. “You….” But his sentence was interrupted with the onset of another violent coughing spell. He doubled over, his thin frame shuddering as every breath brought excruciating pain in his lungs. Dr. McCarty helped him sit in the sand. It was the worst spell of coughing he had seen Doc have since they had left Dodge City.
Dr. McCarty said to Buck, “You go get her and we will wait, as promised.”
“You better, or you’ll never see that girl alive,” Buck said. He fired a shot in their direction to punctuate his point.
Holliday stifled his wheezing and said to Dr. McCarty, “Climb up there in a minute or two and see where he went. I will cover you just in case he’s waiting around to pick us off. My bet is he wants to get away as fast as he can.”
“John, you can hardly stand, much less shoot. You need to get out of this wet sand to a dry place.”
“What I need is a drink. There’s a bottle of ‘Old Grandad’ in my saddle bag.”
“I’m not sure alcohol is…” the doctor began. Holliday didn’t let him finish.
“Save your breath, doctor,” he said. “There is no cure, as you are well aware. Whiskey is my medicine of choice.”
“There’s a cabin back there,” Dr. McCarty said. “I insist you get some rest.”
“One of us has to follow that bastard, and it probably won’t be me. Not for a while, anyway. As much as I want to put a bullet in his brain, you may have to do it.”
Dr. McCarty studied the heights where Buck had been, then looked at Holliday. The dentist read the concern on his face. “I’ll be alright,” he said.
“You are not alright, John.”
Holliday spit blood into the sand beside him, and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If he gets away, T.L., I don’t think you’ll ever see that girl again. Now help me on my horse and I’ll ride to that cabin to wait for you.”
Using his rifle for support, he staggered to his feet as Dr. McCarty caught his horse nearby and brought it up. “It’s the only way,” Holliday reaffirmed. The doctor tried to push him up to the saddle, but Holliday lost his grip on the pommel, and slid backward. Both the dentist and doctor fell in a heap in the river sand. The horse danced away a few yards.
“Damnation!” Holliday cursed, rolling off the doctor and sitting up. He began coughing again.
Dr. McCarty sat up next to him. “John, I will not leave you alone until your strength has returned. Don’t ask me to do it. We will have to trust Buck to honor his promise and release Sparrow.”
Holliday regretted his lung disease, and he regretted that the doctor felt so responsible to his Hippocratic Oath. Most of all, he regretted not killing Buck Hester in Dodge City. He spit again, less blood this time. “Well, Doctor, get me that bottle of ‘Old Grandad.’ It will be a long wait, and I don’t plan to wait sober.”
As Dr. McCarty looked for the bot
tle in Holliday’s saddle bag, a horseman appeared around the bend in the river, riding toward him. He stepped away from the horse, and drew his revolver.
“Who in hell is that?” Holliday said.
When Caleb saw the two men across the river, his first thought was that it could be Buck Hester. One of the men sat in the sand and the other was standing beside a horse going through a saddlebag. As he approached closer, he recognized Dr. McCarty, who had drawn a revolver.
“Dr. McCarty,” he called out, “It’s Caleb Thomason.”
The doctor quickly holstered his gun. Beneath his whiskers, his face broke into a broad grin. He glanced at Holliday. “John,” he said, “I believe the Good Lord has heard my wife’s prayers. Look who it is!”
Caleb’s sorrel splashed across the river, and he reined up beside the doctor. He recognized Doc Holliday sitting in the sand, leaning against a rifle. “What are you two doing here?” he asked puzzled.
Holliday said, “Looking for Mrs. Thomason. What about you?”
Caleb dismounted and Dr. McCarty grasped him by the shoulders. “Caleb, do you know about Sparrow?”
“Yes. I read the Mayor’s note at Camp Supply. It said she was abducted by Buck Hester. I had a hunch he may have taken her to these breaks.”
“Yes, yes, he did, Caleb,” Dr. McCarty said excitedly, and began rattling, “He was just here. Or there, up on that bluff. John also had a hunch that this is where they would have taken her. We left Dodge City to find her after I paid them for her release. I’m so sorry, Caleb. I failed you, and her. You entrusted her to my care, and she was taken from me….”
Caleb stopped him. “What do you mean he was just here. I heard shots. Did you kill him?”
Holliday managed to get to his feet, still balancing on the rifle. Caleb could see that his face was very pale, and that he was so weak, he could hardly stand.
Holliday coughed a deep, wheezy cough and said, “Buck pinned us down from up there,” he pointed to the heights. “We made a deal to not follow him, in turn for releasing your wife.”
Caleb’s eyes searched the bluff. “Did you see her? Did you see Sparrow?”
“No, we did not see her,” Dr. McCarty said. “We don’t know where he has taken her.”
“I can’t let him get away,” Caleb said. “He’s the only chance I have of finding her.”
“Don’t waste any more time with us,” Holliday said. “I would join you, but my lungs have argued against it.”
Dr. McCarty added, “In his present state, John cannot be on his own.”
“Go with him, T.L.,” Holliday said, “I will manage.”
“No,” Caleb said. “Two of us would draw attention. Stay here, doctor, and tend to Doc.” Caleb mounted the sorrel. “Thank you both, for coming here and putting your lives in danger to find my wife. I am grateful that you regard her enough to make the effort.”
Dr. McCarty, looking at the ground, said, “I am so sorry, Caleb. Can you forgive me?”
“He pistol-whipped T.L. here to within an inch of his life,” Holliday said. “The doctor did his best to prevent them.”
“There is no need to apologize, Dr. McCarty,” Caleb said. “I should never have left her. The blame is all mine.” With that, he kneed the mare up over the bank, and began climbing the heights.
“God be with you,” Dr. McCarty called after him. He turned to Holliday and said, “John, I have a sense that things just took a decisive turn for the better.”
“I admire your optimism, doctor.”
“You do not feel the same?”
“I feel like my lungs are on fire,” Holliday said. And then grinning, despite the pain, he said, “T.L., are you ever going to bring me that bottle?”
19
After a departing shot at the two men at the river’s edge, Buck rode out of the breaks and up onto the plains. He had no idea where he was going, except it was south. Where the girl had gone to, he could only guess. His mind was still rattled at having found Harold dead and the sudden confrontation with Doc Holliday.
For an hour, he rode as fast as his horse could carry him, over level plains and across narrow arroyos. Every few minutes, he looked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. The afternoon sun burned the top of his head, and the wind chapped his face and lips. In his haste to leave the camp to find the girl, he had not filled a canteen, and now his throat was dry and sore.
Soon, he descended a slope to a creek which trickled a thin stream of water. Dismounting, he fell on his belly and began to lap at the water like an animal. The horse drank beside him.
His thirst quenched, Buck splashed water over his head and neck, then sat up and surveyed his surroundings. The depression he was in continued westward, ending in a draw about a hundred yards away. Pale limestone jutted out from the grassy walls of the draw, offering ample places to hide. He would be safe there until he came up with a plan of what to do next.
He led his horse along the creek into the draw and hobbled it out of view of the slope. Then he took his rifle and found a place to sit, wedged between limestone outcroppings overlooking the slope. The sun was nearly down, and blue shadows were engulfing the draw.
He finished off a stick of jerky left in his vest pocket, and began to think about his predicament. It was the worst sort of luck that Doc Holliday was hunting him. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that deadly gunman. However, if Holliday broke his promise to wait for the release of the girl, and was following him, he would have to descend this slope. When he did, Buck intended to put enough lead into him that he’d have to be hauled out in a wagon.
As he waited, the anxiety of nearly being killed by Holliday gave way to other troubles. It was still hard for him to believe his brother had been foolish enough to let the half-breed kill him and escape. Even though Harold was his own blood, Buck felt he got what he deserved for sneaking a poke with her, and wondered if Harold had actually made it all the way with her before she killed him.
He was so consumed with desire for the half-breed girl, he could think of little else. Once he killed Doc Holliday and that fool Dr. McCarty, he determined to go back to the river and look for her. He decided that she could not have gotten too far on foot, even if she was part Indian.
What he might do in the long term was beyond the scope of his thinking. After what she did to Harold, she would be too dangerous to keep around. What he wanted more than anything else was for her to feel him deep inside, to know the full force of his will and power. He wanted to hurt her, to see fear in her eyes, and hear her beg to live.
An hour before the sun reached the western horizon Sparrow noticed the prairie ahead sloping slightly downward. Several minutes later, she could see a tiny creek at the bottom of the slope. Across the creek, the ground sloped upward again. The creek flowed toward a sunken place in the prairie, a draw walled in by steep rocky bluffs.
Draws in the prairie such as this one often provided dens for bears, wolves, or panthers. Comanche braves often hunted wild animals in these draws, and a few careless hunters had been killed in them.
She dropped to a crouch. Pulling the revolver from the holster around her waist, she flipped open the loading gate and checked the cylinder. It was loaded. Harold’s revolver was a recent model Colt, like the ones she had experience with. If she was lucky, there would be no dangerous animals in the draw, but maybe something small enough to shoot for supper. She chose to avoid approaching the creek from the slope, deciding to inspect the draw from the high side, before descending into it.
As she crept close to the edge, she saw a flash of light from among the rocks on the opposite side of the draw. She dropped to her belly. There was only one thing that could make that kind of light—sun reflecting on metal.
Someone was down there.
Easing her head up, she searched among the rocks where she had seen the reflection. At first, she saw only t
he jagged ledges of stone which glowed amber in the sinking sunlight.
Then she saw him.
A man’s head protruded out from between the rocks. He was looking away from her, toward the slope and the creek. Again, the sunlight caught the barrel of his rifle. Only about fifty feet separated them, and even without seeing his face, Sparrow knew this was Buck Hester.
20
The prairie was flat and treeless now that they were away from the breaks, and Buck’s dust trail could be seen from almost a mile behind. Caleb fought against his desire to catch the man quickly and attempt to force him to reveal Sparrow’s whereabouts. His better judgment told him to practice restraint. If Buck discovered he was being followed, there would be little chance of ever recovering her.
Try as he might, Caleb could not keep from wondering if she was alive. He rode erect in the saddle, his teeth clenched together like a vise. His eyes, orbs of white glaring out from a face darkened with sweat and dirt, never wandered from the trail of dust in front of him. She had to be alive, he told himself over and over.
As the sun neared the western horizon, he noticed the dust trail ahead thinned, and then disappeared. He stood in the stirrups, searching, but he could see no sign of Buck and his horse. It was as if the earth had swallowed him up. A draw, most likely, he thought. In a moment, he would appear again on the other side.
Caleb slowed the sorrel to a walk, and waited. Buck did not reappear.
Suspecting a possible ambush, Caleb veered off to the west, thinking to circle around and approach the draw from the opposite direction. It took nearly half an hour to ride around the draw, which became visible as he made his way. He hobbled his horse, drew his carbine from its scabbard, and started toward the draw on foot.
Two shots rang out in rapid succession from the direction of the draw. The first was a pistol shot, the second came from a rifle. Neither shot seemed to be directed at him. Caleb levered a shell into the Winchester’s chamber, and crouching low, moved quickly toward the sound of the shots.
