Bilodeaux remained fixed, staring into the bowels of the cave.
“Yes, murder,” he said, snapping back to the present and gazing down at Tory. “Just like with that old sot, Johnson. After I blew Ausmus’s brains out, my plan was to burn his entire cabin with him in it. When I saw you lying in bed beside him, I sobered fast.” Bilodeaux waited, calculating, breathing heavy.
“You saved his life, ma pépite d’or,” he continued. “Because you had lain in bed with him, because you had given yourself to him as a woman might, you spared him. Did you ever think your lovemaking might prove so powerful?” He chuckled. “Your love for Franklin infuses me with power, as well, mon garçon. With you, I am certain your beau will give me everything I demand, so long as he can have you back in his bed. I know, I saw it in his eyes even in the dull light of dawn when I looked down at the two of you entangled like bougainvillea. He would rather lose his one remaining arm than lose you. Every man has a price. For your Franklin, that price is you.”
The impact of Bilodeaux’s words terrified Tory. No doubting his intentions. The bandit’s wrath derived from more than hunger for gold or that he thought Franklin “unnatural” for not lusting for it as most men did. Something more sinister and primitive prevailed. Bilodeaux saw Franklin as the epitome of the man he could never become, all that he could never achieve. His hatred for mankind had somehow coalesced into one target—Franklin Ausmus. Bilodeaux had used gold only as a pretext for his crusade. He wanted blood. Franklin’s blood.
And Tory, somehow, had to find a way to stop him.
Chapter 30
A SICKLY sound brought Franklin to his feet. Screaming and squealing, underlined by a grunt and a dull thump. With a lit lantern in hand, he rushed outside barefoot. Wicasha, who had slept in the barn the past few nights, was the first on the scene. He was already staring down the trail, where the sound of horses’ hooves faded into the pre-dawn. Franklin rushed over.
“Who was it?” he asked, observing that someone had left the gate open.
“I believe we’ve received Bilodeaux’s message.”
“What?”
“Over there.”
Franklin followed Wicasha’s pointing finger with his eyes. His mouth dry and his heart racing, he scurried over to the pigpen. In the glare of his small lantern, a gruesome sight froze him. One of the piglets lay dead outside the pen. Someone had cut its throat from ear to ear and left the knife plunged into its back.
A piece of paper, soaked in blood, was attached by the implanted blade. Trembling, Franklin lowered the lantern over the piglet’s carcass and read the note. Your boy is alive, but it is up to you if he ends up like your piglet. If you choose to involve any officials, you will not like the consequences. More instruction to come.
Franklin dropped the lantern. Wicasha, who had chased after him, fell to his knees and snuffed out the small flames that had jumped onto the grass. He lifted the lantern as it flickered back to life. Franklin buried his head in his hand.
“That Bilodeaux,” Franklin whispered into his palm. “There’s no doubt now. I can spot that strange French-style script. I’ll kill him. I won’t let him get away with this. I’ll kill him. One way or the other, I’ll kill him.”
“Keep your mind straight,” Wicasha warned. “Don’t let him get you tangled. We’ll find Tory. Don’t worry. But for Tory’s and your sake, keep yourself thinking rational. If you go loony, you’ll fall right into Bilodeaux’s hands.”
“I can’t wait any longer, Wicasha.” Franklin gazed toward the trail where the pig-killer had escaped. “We have to do something.”
Wicasha brought the lantern to his side, away from his eyes. He looked into the cobalt sky, where tiny stars were fading and the Great Bear had shifted over the western mountains. Screwing up his eyes, he said, “Perhaps I’m the one who should do something.”
“What? You?”
“Yes.” Wicasha’s gaze locked onto the darkness. “I have scores to settle with Bilodeaux as well.” He turned to Franklin. “But you must stay here and wait for Bilodeaux’s next message, like his horrible note says. If he suspects you’ve left and gone for the authorities, he might stretch his scheme out for days. I can sneak away. He would not be so interested in me. I also know where he likes to hide out in the backwoods. He used to take me to certain spots when we were… before I realized what kind of man he was.”
Franklin still hesitated. “But Tory belongs to me,” he said without restraint. “I’m the one who should find him.”
“No time for you to play hero, Frank. The best thing for you to do is wait here.” Wicasha made to move. “I’ll need a sack with some supplies, the field glasses, a canteen of water, and three guns. A revolver, a rifle, and a shotgun, fully loaded.”
Despite his apprehension, Franklin rushed to gather the supplies Wicasha needed for his scouting trip. Once he collected everything, he handed the sack to Wicasha, who had dressed in his heavy buckskin outfit.
“I’ll be back, don’t worry,” he said. “We will find Tory safe. In the meantime, you keep still, Frank. I won’t be gone long. I will try to circle outward, then spiral back in. I’ll return back to Moonlight Gulch with or without Tory by tomorrow afternoon. If you’re not here, I’ll know that Bilodeaux has called for you, and I’ll wait for your return. Remember, stand your ground here.”
“Aren’t you taking a horse?”
“No, I’ll want to get through the thicker groves more easily. Best I scout on foot, like I used to when I was with the Army.”
“Take this.” Franklin thrust out the lantern he held.
“It’ll only burden me,” Wicasha said, raising his hand. “It’ll be light soon enough. Now remember all I told you. Keep your head.” He left without looking back.
Helpless and angry, Franklin watched him disappear into the dark.
Chapter 31
“YOU won’t get away with this, Bilodeaux,” Tory hollered, feeling bolder in front of the bandit after his second night in the cave. “They’ll hang you or put you behind bars for good. The law will catch up with you.”
Tory was eating beans the man Burgermyer had baked. Currently, Burgermyer was on his way to Moonlight Gulch to deliver a message, the second mission Bilodeaux had sent him on since last night. He had left late yesterday at Bilodeaux’s bidding, but Tory had failed to learn where to or for what purpose. Tory winced. Burgermyer had used too much of the spices he had swiped from Tory, and the beans tasted bitter. At least Bilodeaux had permitted him to eat.
“What law?” Bilodeaux shouted over his shoulder, his back to Tory where he sat by the fire. “I will have everything all legal. Franklin will sign over the deed to his land to me, and then, like each time before, if he accuses me of wrongdoing, it will be his word against mine.”
“I won’t let Franklin give up his land.”
“You are not the one to make that decision.”
“You believe Franklin will do anything to save me because of his love for me? Well, I, too, would do anything for Franklin out of love.”
“Even sacrifice your life?” Bilodeaux turned to Tory. Ominous shadows masked his face. Only the enamel of his teeth, from what must be one of his sneers, was visible.
“Yes,” Tory said, shivering. “Even my life.”
Bilodeaux turned his back to him. Smoke curled toward the small gap where scant sunlight cut through. “That may be. But your beau still has time. Burgermyer will give him word. If he longs for you as much as I suspect, within a few hours, the gold will belong to me to do what I wish with it—including allocate some to the unfortunates in the community—and you and Franklin can run off together and live like wolves.”
Tory dropped his spoon in the tin plate with a resonant clink. “Please, promise me you won’t hurt him. Just promise me that.”
“It will be up to your Franklin to decide how much harm will be done.” Bilodeaux turned around to face Tory again. He lifted a twig with a small flame on the end to illuminate his face. His contorted
features belied no secrets. The oscillating flame revealed the anger, the desperation, the sickness eating away at his heart.
Dispirited, Tory slumped back, away from his empty plate, away from Bilodeaux. All the gold in the world would not quench the fiery hatred in Bilodeaux’s soul. Tory knew that. Bilodeaux would haunt Franklin until one of them or both died.
With his knees tight against his chest, Tory rested his forehead in the crook of his arm. Bilodeaux had outfoxed them. There was no way to save Franklin’s homestead. The law would rest on Bilodeaux’s side, like always. He bore the power and the money the bureaucrats in Spiketrout envied. Even Mayor Winters had sided with Bilodeaux in the past.
Just like in Chicago. Gangsters and politicians. They always stood shoulder to shoulder.
Tired and weak, Tory leaned against a mound of flowstone, wincing in pain. Those darn shotgun cartridges. He wanted to take them out of his coat pocket and chuck them, but Bilodeaux might grow angry that he had carried them.
Suddenly, a notion pushed him upright.
Tory knew that without him, Bilodeaux’s plans could not succeed. If he could only find a way to escape. Was it possible? But what if Bilodeaux had ordered guards to stand watch outside while Burgermyer was on his latest mission? Many men had formed allegiances with Bilodeaux for no good reason other than to get their greedy hands on Franklin’s gold.
Tory needed to find out.
“Is there a chance I might have some fresh air?” he said.
Bilodeaux’s laughter echoed off the cave walls. “Surely you do not think I am that stupid, mon tout beau garçon.”
“I only would like some fresh air to breathe, if for only a minute, to clean out my stinging lungs from the soot.” He faked a cough into his fist. “I’m sure I’ll be unable to get away, what with your henchmen all about guarding the entrance.”
“Ah, so you do think I am a simpleton.” He snorted. “I have no henchmen. The fewer people involved the better. People have a tendency to talk. I have selected the most loyal of the Spiketrout rowdies to have at my beck and call. Only you, Burgermyer, Parker, I, and your beau know about our doings here. You are as good as disappeared, my young friend.”
“I suppose I have underestimated your intellect.” Tory shuddered with relief. The cave entrance was unprotected. Now he could consummate the second half of his design. He hoped Bilodeaux would bite as easily.
Coughing and kicking at the ground to distract Bilodeaux from any noise he might make, Tory reached into his pocket, took out the shell box, and carefully placed a handful of bullets back into his pocket as soundlessly as possible. The remaining few shells he left in the box and tucked behind a stalagmite.
With his hand clenched around the bullets in his pocket, he hollered toward Bilodeaux. “You won’t mind if I at least sit closer to the fire to get warm. The dampness of this cave is causing my bones to ache.”
“Your lungs sting, your bones ache. Any other ailments bothering you?”
“I won’t be much good to you sick or dead.”
Silence hovered over them. “All right. All right.” Bilodeaux grunted. “Come on over. Perhaps we can keep each other warm.” He scooted over as if to make room by his side when Tory, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, edged closer to the fire.
Tory gathered confidence in his voice. “That will never happen, Bilodeaux. One thing is certain, if you touch me, I’ll make sure Franklin hears about it. Whatever happens with his gold or land, you lay one finger on me, and I doubt he’ll let you live to make any good use of it.”
The silence that followed Bilodeaux’s awkward chuckles indicated that he’d conceded to Tory’s warning.
Sitting across from Bilodeaux, Tory measured his next move. The flames leaped, flickered, snapped at him. He swallowed. He must remain calm. He inhaled, his right arm tight around his bent knees, his left hand still in his pocket, clenched around the shells. His fear of fire must in no way keep him from his one and only attempt to rescue himself, to rescue Franklin.
With his free hand, he reached for a small branch sticking out from the fire. Casually, he toyed with it, not wanting to draw Bilodeaux’s suspicions. Bilodeaux observed him only for a second. Grunting, he turned back to the fire. Tory lifted the branch, a flame dancing on the end, and grasped it in a tight fist.
Balancing in a subtle squat, he licked his lips. Bilodeaux seemed focused on the flames, lulled into a trance by the way they cracked like whips. Tory squeezed the small torch, his fingernails cutting into his palm. The metallic shells began to itch against his sweaty hand. Coalescing his energy, he took a deep breath.
In one fluid motion, he tossed the bullets into the fire, rolled backward, rushed to his feet, and fled for the cave’s opening.
A rush of explosions like from a string of dynamite ricocheted off the cave walls behind him. He stumbled, cut himself on a stalagmite, scurried to right himself, and charged ahead. The small torch barely lit his path. Sheer luck prevented him from gouging his head on the stalactites hanging from the rocks overhead. Gunshots whizzed by his ear. He heard Bilodeaux on his tail, cursing him in French, ordering him to halt. He found himself scurrying up an incline, slipping, rushing forward on his hands and the tips of his toes.
Light appeared. A steep climb of about three feet awaited him. He tossed the torch aside and leaped with all his power, tearing the knee of his trousers on landing. The brightness of the sun blinded him after his confinement in the dark for so long, but he kept running. He had little time to fuss with Bilodeaux’s gray stallion, which was hitched near the cave entrance. He bushwhacked through the alders and thickets, zigzagging to keep Bilodeaux off his heels. He wasted no effort glancing back. He gritted his teeth and kept running.
He heard twigs crunch and snap behind him. Bilodeaux must be fast on his trail. He skidded down some duff along a steep slope. He tripped and twisted his ankle on a fallen aspen covered in duff. He discerned the sound of heavy breathing. Bilodeaux—and he was coming down on him like a hound after a fox. He must keep moving, despite his ankle. Which way was Moonlight Gulch? He had no idea where Bilodeaux had held him captive.
He observed the moss growing on the north-facing side of the tree trunks. Both Wicasha and Franklin had taught him, while they’d hiked the forest surrounding Moonlight Gulch, that moss grew on tree trunks away from direct sunlight. Parker and Burgermyer had ambushed him on the trail about five miles north of the homestead. Surely they hadn’t taken him south of Franklin’s land. He must be still north of there, closer to Spiketrout.
He hoisted himself up with the trunk of a tree and, wincing in pain, ran straight down the slope until it leveled off in a small dell full of early-blooming pink pasqueflowers. Finding the sun flickering from the crowns of the pines and birches, he squinted as he made his way south.
But he didn’t get far.
A shadowy figure lurked between the alder bushes at the edge of a ponderosa grove abutting the dell. Bilodeaux must have found him again. Limping from his twisted ankle, Tory dropped to his knees. He crawled behind a birch tree and peeked out. Bilodeaux had gone. But where? Tory held his breath, waiting….
A heavy hand clasped his forearm, covering most of it from his elbow to his wrist. Tory’s heart deflated.
“I’ve been scouting for you.”
Tory jerked up. Wicasha’s wide, dark eyes gazed down at him. Exhilaration enfeebled Tory. He almost fell over like a doll when he tried to stand. Wicasha steadied him.
“Wicasha, I thought you… I thought you were Bilodeaux.”
“I don’t see him around. But we’ll have to keep going if he’s trailing you.”
“I’ve sprained my ankle.”
“No matter.” Wicasha lifted Tory as effortlessly as if he were a sack of goose feathers. “The trail is just over the next incline. We’ll be home soon.” After flinging Tory over his broad shoulders, Wicasha carried him toward the trail and on to Moonlight Gulch.
Chapter 32
RALPH BURGERMYER faced
down Franklin like a general with an army of ten thousand men behind him. He clutched Franklin’s revolver, which he had swiped from him after Franklin had rushed out of the cabin to check who had blasted onto his land. Franklin had hoped Wicasha had returned with Tory. Bile had burned his throat when he’d seen the no-good Burgermyer galloping in on his crowbait of a pinto.
“Don’t make any moves, just listen to what I got to say,” Burgermyer said. The muzzle of Franklin’s Smith & Wesson brushed Franklin’s mustache. “We’re gonna go inside your cabin and you’re going to get your deed to your land, then we’re going to go for a little trip. Just do as you’re told and that boy won’t get hurt. Not sure why you care, he’s nothing but a ranch hand, but Bilodeaux seems to have it in him you’ll give up your life for that brat.”
“You’re awful brave-acting, Burgermyer.” Franklin stood face to face with the outlaw. He wanted to strike him, but he held back in case Burgermyer possessed a slippery trigger finger.
Burgermyer nudged the barrel into Franklin’s chest. “Let’s go. Move it.”
They were about to go inside when the sound of galloping hooves made both men turn in the direction of the gate, still ajar from when Burgermyer had entered.
But Henri Bilodeaux did not bother to slow and walk his stallion through the gap. Instead, he rushed the gate full speed. His gray stallion cleared the top wire by at least six inches.
“What’s he doing here?” Burgermyer scrunched up his nose. “He’s supposed to wait at the cave for me to bring you back, along with the deed to your land.”
Franklin winced when he heard the word “cave.” They had been holding poor Tory in a damp, dark cave for more than two days. Scolding bitterness clutched his throat.
Bilodeaux dismounted before his stallion came to a complete halt. Next to the lanky Burgermyer, he stood chin-high. Like his cohort, his clothes were covered in dirt and soot. “I got your boy, Ausmus,” he said, breathless. “He is safe, for now. You can have him as long as you sign over your deed all nice and legal. No need to make this any more complicated. Go easy and no one will get hurt.”
On the Trail to Moonlight Gulch Page 27
