by Neil Hunter
Alarm roused itself in Jacob. Perhaps sending Nancy off on her own had not been such a good idea after all. If she found two of Kyle’s men after her would she be able to avoid them? The chestnut was a good horse, and Nancy was a capable girl. Even so, Kyle Retford’s men were hard, brutal types, professionals. A lone girl might easily be taken by them.
The more he thought about it, the more definite he became that this was what Kyle had done. Nancy might be hurt, might be running for her life right at this minute. Worse, she might be dead. The thought shocked him. It was distasteful, but it might be true. Jacob felt anger at himself for what he had done to Nancy. Because of him she might well be in bad trouble. He knew there and then that he had to find her. He had to get away from here and find her before anything happened to her. He knew that if anything did happen to her he would never be able to forgive himself.
Jacob knew what he had to do, but first he had to get away from Kyle Retford and his bunch. That was an obstacle he had to overcome. The question was how? To escape from them he would have to go back down the way he’d come. But they were waiting for him, and as long as they were there they were going to stop him if they could. Jacob saw his only chance of escape coming when it got dark. Before then he would just be inviting trouble. Come night and the dark he would still be asking for trouble, but at least he’d have a chance of dodging it. It was his only way out. All he had to do was to figure out how to effect that way.
He found a place on the rim where he could keep an eye on them without being seen. When he’d done that he set himself to thinking. It had occurred to him that what he needed was some form of distraction, something that would give them trouble long enough to allow him a chance to get down off the rim.
Above him the sun moved slowly across the sky. The air was warm, the rock on which he lay was warm. Jacob idly broke off a small edge of the crumbling, weathered rock that formed this rim he was on. Up here, exposed to the full effect of the elements the age-old rock was soft and powdery, crumbling like cheese in places. Rain and wind, ice, the searing heat of the sun, all these had combined to destroy the rock’s natural strength, leaving it dead, flaking into dust.
And like one of those grains of dust, stirred by the wind, a germ of an idea formed in Jacob’s mind, tossing itself back and forth for a while. He felt it might work. Then again it might not, but he had little choice. No matter how small the chance of success he had to try it. His life and Nancy’s depended on it.
Jacob eased his way back along the rim to where his canvas bag lay. He opened it and tipped out the contents. Before he did anything else he reloaded his rifle and handgun and filled his belt-loops. Then he gathered up the remaining ammunition, took the knife, and began to remove the lead bullets from the brass shell cases. Each time he removed the lead from a shell he tipped the powder into his empty coffee pot. He worked slowly, but steadily, every so often moving to the edge of the rim to see what the Retfords were doing down below. They seemed to have settled down by their fire, content to leave him alone for a while. For that Jacob was grateful.
The light was starting to fade as he opened the last shell and added the powder to the pot. He saw that he had over half of the pot filled. It was better than he’d expected.
The next part was the tricky bit. Jacob took a long drink from his canteen then poured the rest of the water away. He opened the bottle of whisky and poured some into the canteen, swilled it round. Searching his pockets he found the oilskin-wrapped wooden matches he always carried with him. Jacob struck one, dropped it into the canteen. There was a faint pop as the whisky fumes ignited. Jacob lay the canteen down, letting the heat from the flames dry out the inside of the vessel. A little later, when the canteen had cooled off Jacob transferred the powder from the coffee pot into the canteen. He saved a little of the powder. Jacob packed the top of the canteen with stones, poured on a little more powder. He poked a hole in the cap before he jammed it back on.
It was getting fairly dark by the time he’d finished. Jacob sat back and picked up the bottle of whisky. He took a mouthful. It burned all the way down and for a moment Jacob wondered if it was whisky. The second swallow was a little better, but it was the roughest brew he’d ever tasted.
Jacob gazed at the canteen. If it did what was going to be asked of it he might get off this mountain alive — if it didn’t, and went wrong, he might still get off the mountain, but not the way he wanted.
Full dark came, bringing the chill night air with it. Jacob buttoned up his coat. He slid the sheathed knife taken from the Retford man under his gun belt. There was some dried meat in the canvas bag and he put it into one of his coat pockets.
Picking up his rifle, the canteen and the coffee pot Jacob edged along the rim until he came to the place he’d chosen while it was still light. Here the rim rose in the form of a bald knob of crumbling stone, taller than a man and maybe fifteen feet round its shredding base. The very tip of the knob slanted out beyond the edge of the rim, hanging out into space, and it was as close as mattered to being directly over the place where the Retfords had the fire around which they were now sitting.
Jacob spent a sweaty ten minutes enlarging a narrow crevice at the base of the knob until it was large enough to take the canteen. Wedging it in tight Jacob poured some of the remaining powder into the hole he’d made in the cap of the canteen. Then he laid an ample trail of powder back along the rim a way.
Putting aside the empty coffee pot Jacob took out a match. He paused for a moment, wondering if he’d forgotten anything. He couldn’t think of a thing.
He’d done all he could. All he could do now was light the match and hope that something happened.
Striking the match Jacob touched it to the powder fuse. The powder sputtered and popped, then flared into life, racing along the ground faster than Jacob had expected. He rolled behind a nearby outcropping and watched the dancing flame as it neared the place where he’d buried the canteen. Then it flared up and died. For a few long seconds there was nothing. Jacob raised his head. He wondered what had gone wrong.
The explosion was terrific. Jacob had hoped for noise, but he hadn’t expected anything like the noise he got. For a moment he thought he’d loosened the entire side of the mountain. The rim beneath him shuddered and shook. The air around him was suddenly full of flying rocks. The night was illuminated by a blinding flash and was followed by the thunderous roar of the explosion. Smoke belched up in a choking cloud and dust made the air thick.
As he shoved to his feet Jacob saw that the knob of rock was gone and so was a good section of the rim. He could hear it crashing down the slope below him.
Now, he knew, was his moment. He’d have only a couple of minutes at most. Once the Retfords got themselves organised he would lose any advantage he had right at this minute.
Jacob moved to the edge of the rim, his rifle in one hand, and without hesitation he swung himself over the edge and started down the steep slope.
Chapter Ten
Sliding, slipping, risking broken limbs at every step, Jacob went down the steep slope in a series of bounding leaps. He hit bottom hard, going to his knees in a shower of shale and choking dust. Around him the air was heavy with dust from the explosion and the subsequent landslide of rocks, some of which were still rattling down the slope.
Jacob paused only long enough to get his bearings, then he came to his feet and moved forward. He could see little, and he had no idea where any of the Retfords were. They might all be buried beneath the rockslide for all he knew. But he had no time to find out. He would soon know if any of them were around.
He found out sooner than he had expected, for as he eased his way round a mound of shattered rock he came face to face with a big, shambling figure. The man was hatless, gray with dust. A bloody gash streaked his left cheek. For a second or two the men stared at each other. Jacob knew that at any moment the man would realise who was confronting him and he would start raising hell. That didn’t have to happen Jacob realised, and as
he thought about it he drove the butt of his rifle into the big man’s stomach. The man grunted and buckled forward, and his face caught the full force of Jacob’s rifle butt as it swung again. The big man spun away, a low moan coming from him as he went to his knees.
Jacob drew away from him, instinct guiding him back along the narrow way he’d come earlier. If he could get out of this place, out on to the open mountain slope his chances of getting away would increase some.
He suddenly found he was out of the fog of dust, with only the moonlit darkness to contend with. Jacob pushed on, seeking cover, and finding it in a stand of trees. He was able to stop for a moment, to catch his breath. Only now did he realise that the wound in his side had opened up again. He could feel blood soaking his shirt. There was nothing he could do to ease it so he left it alone.
Jacob caught movement near the spot where the narrow trail led up to the place the Retfords had cornered him. He watched for a moment and was able to make out the dark shapes of moving men. They were coming, he realised. They were getting organised, following him. Jacob lifted his rifle and put a couple of shots over to where they were. He saw the shapes jerk and pull back out of sight.
Not waiting to see if they showed again Jacob turned and pushed on through the trees, coming out into the open on a flat area of grass and brush. Close by he saw the silver shine of a stream and he crossed over to it. He got down and drank deeply, rinsing the grime from his face. As he lay there he heard a faint sound off to his right. Jacob came to his feet, his rifle in his hands cocked and ready. The sound came again and Jacob moved forward, easing through thick brush. And he came face to face with the Retford horses.
He had little time to plan anything, for no sooner had he seen the five horses when he heard a shout close by, then another, and he knew that they were coming again. They had probably realised his closeness to the horses, and Jacob knew that they would be here very shortly.
He didn’t hesitate, for there was no time for it. He had a short time in which to act and if he wasted it he might not get another. They could reach him by a number of ways and he couldn’t be certain from which direction they might come. Jacob didn’t try to figure out if he had any choice. He simply took the reins of the closest horse and swung up into the saddle, urging the animal forward into the darkness. Thick brush slashed at his legs as the horse lunged through the thicket, then he was out in the open, turning the horse towards the way that would take him to Youngtown, and Nancy.
Behind him he heard faint shouts, then the sound of shots. Jacob leaned forward over the neck of the horse, but he needn’t have bothered for none of the shots came near to him.
He drove the horse on down the rugged slopes, knowing only the general direction he was headed. If the Retfords had better knowledge of this country, and he was sure they had, then they might easily get ahead of him. He could do little more than just ride, hoping to hit some regular trail before long. He was still in trouble, but at least he had a horse under him now, and that made a lot of difference.
Soon he came into heavily wooded slopes, and he was forced to slow his pace. The ground was thick with undergrowth and the tall trees cut off a lot of the moon’s light, leaving him in virtual darkness. Jacob took no chances. He had a horse again and he wanted no harm to come to it.
It was well after midnight when Jacob risked a halt. He found a place where he could more-or-less hide himself and the horse, yet still keep a clear view of his surroundings. He tied the horse, took his rifle, and eased himself into a comfortable position, with his back against the thick trunk of a tree. He found the chunk of dried meat in his pocket and chewed off a corner. It was hard and tasteless, but it was better than eating grass, he thought, as he watched the horse grazing.
He planned to move on again with the first hint of light. He’d only stopped now because he felt that trying to go any farther was asking for trouble. He was in strange country, and it was too dark to go blundering around on this mountainside.
He dozed a couple of times, but he never went to sleep. The slightest sound was enough to bring him out of it, his senses alert, his gun cocked and ready. But though he heard the odd sound, reaching him out of the darkness, he heard nothing to alarm him, nothing that meant anything more than just the sounds of the creatures of the forest.
With the faintest of light filtering down through the trees Jacob was up and checking the horse over before he mounted up. He wished he had some water, for he was thirsty and he felt dirty, as if he hadn’t bathed for months. He had rubbed a hand across his unshaven face, trying to remember the last shave he’d had, but he couldn’t.
He mounted up and moved off through the trees. It was still chilly and he was glad of his thick coat. He rode slowly, his eyes open for any undue movement, his ears listening for any sounds that didn’t fit. But there was nothing, save the subdued sound of his own passing.
Daylight was upon him when he finally rode out of the trees and found himself riding along a curving ridge above a gentle slope below which ran a faint, but clearly-defined trail.
Jacob reined in, keeping his horse well back into the shadows of a nearby high bank while he studied the trail below. To reach that trail he would have to cross a wide stretch of open ground. The Retfords could be hidden out anywhere along this ridge, or down below, in the thick brush edging the trail. Once he got out into the open they could bide their time, wait until they were ready to take him.
He sat for maybe half an hour, his eyes searching the surrounding country, and by the time he had finished, he was as sure as a man could be that there was nobody concealed, waiting for him to show. Jacob knew he could be wrong. If he was, he could only hope that he was ready for whatever might happen.
Jacob opened his coat so that he could easily reach his handgun. He kept his rifle in his right hand, his reins in his left. He couldn’t do more, and knowing that he put the horse on down the slope. The day was growing brighter with every passing minute. Already the sun was warm on him. The air smelled fresh and clean. He could hear birds singing off in the trees. There was the creak of his saddle-leather, the jingle of harness. Above this there was nothing. He saw the brush moving in the gentle breeze, the grass swaying. He saw a bird dart across the sky. Apart from that he could have been the only man alive in the world.
He reached the trail and put his horse on to it, feeling relief wash over him. He kept riding, still alert, taking his horse down the trail, which wound along the side of a high bluff. It was a narrow trail, twisting its way down the bluff, and Jacob had to keep his eyes on where he was going.
It took some time to reach the bottom, and Jacob was relieved when he finally did. Ahead of him the land lay rough and rocky, the way overgrown with thick brush, the landscape given to much undulation, the earth broken up with gullies and cutbanks.
Jacob set his horse on to the trail, pushing a little now, checking his back trail often. He saw nothing, heard nothing, and after some time he began to wonder what had happened to the Retfords. He didn’t think they had given up on him. He couldn’t imagine that happening, not now. The Retfords seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth, but Jacob didn’t let himself be fooled by such wishful thinking. They were around somewhere. Maybe they were far ahead of him, waiting in some hidden spot. Maybe they had taken some shortcut, hoping to cut him off in some place of their own choosing. Right now he could be riding into their sights. The thought was there, but it did nothing to deter Jacob.
He was thinking of Nancy, wondering where she was. Had she been hurt? Or had she managed to reach Youngtown? Maybe right now she was doing what she could to help him, for he knew that she would do everything possible.
Of a sudden Jacob caught movement off to his left. He brought his horse round, his eyes searching, finding the source of the movement. A horse and rider. As Jacob laid his eyes on the horseman, the man fired his rifle. Jacob felt his horse shudder. It grunted and began to slow down. Jacob tried to kick his feet free, throw himself clear, but he
was too slow. The horse fell, rolled, and Jacob felt its heavy weight pin his left leg as it settled. His rifle spilled from his fingers, falling out of reach. Jacob tried to free himself but he was securely pinned.
He heard a horse snort. Looking up he saw that the horseman was riding in, levering his rifle as he came. He was a big man, powerfully built. His face was badly marked with a large, bloody patch down one side, and Jacob recognised him as the one he’d hit on his way out of the confusion caused by the explosion.
Jacob forgot about trying to free himself. He realised that if he didn’t do something very quickly it wouldn’t matter whether his leg was loose or not. Pushing his hand under his coat Jacob pulled his handgun free, brought it up, dogging back the hammer.
The big man dipped the muzzle of his rifle, touched the trigger.
Numbing pain exploded in Jacob’s left shoulder. He felt the slam of the heavy bullet, his body reacting to the tearing passage of the lead as it went through his shoulder and out. He felt blood dribble from the wound, soak his shirt and coat. He had no time to do anything about it, for he saw the big man jacking the rifle again, knew that he had only seconds to act. Ignoring the sickening sweat of pain that was sweeping over him Jacob swung up his handgun, using both hands to steady it. Jacob squeezed the trigger, felt the big gun slam and kick against his palm, drew back the hammer, fired again, his second bullet hitting the big man no more than a half-inch from the first.
Suddenly it became very quiet.
Jacob put a hand to his shoulder, felt the warm blood running through his fingers. He raised his eyes. The big man’s horse was only yards away, standing motionless. Jacob poked his gun forward, up at the big man, and as he did the big man’s rifle slid to the ground. Jacob saw the large bulk of the man, dark against the blue of the sky. The big man was looking straight at Jacob, but he looked with unseeing eyes, and as Jacob watched him, the big man slid sideways out of his saddle to the ground. The man’s horse turned its head to look at its rider. It smelled blood and backed off nervously, showing white eyes and rippling its nostrils.
