by Alice Sharpe
“Ready,” John’s voice rang out.
“Just hang on to the rope with your good hand,” he told Meg.
She nodded, then violently shook her head. “I can’t do it,” she said, looking up at the rocks and dirt and then down toward the trail far below.
“You have to,” he said.
“Call someone, please,” she said, fumbling in her pocket with her good hand. “Get a helicopter or a rescue team or something.” The pitch of her voice climbed as she spoke—it sounded as though hysteria wasn’t far behind.
He thought they’d already been over that, but she seemed close to hysteria. He took her phone and clicked it on. Nothing happened. “Your battery is dead,” he said, handing it back.
She swore softly. “You must have one. Use it.”
He took his phone from his pocket and turned it on, and showed her the face. “No signal.”
As she grabbed for it, the phone slipped from his hand, bouncing against the cliff as it tumbled down the hill. Meg cried out in alarm and covered her eyes with her good hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Oh dear, now what?”
“Don’t worry about the phone. We’re on our own, but you shouldn’t worry. We’re used to taking care of things ourselves. You’re going to be fine.”
“Maybe someone up there—”
“Not with these mountains all around us. Let me help you get back to safety.”
“I just can’t go up that little rope,” she said, wiping at her tears. “What if they drop me?”
“Ma’am, we’re wasting time. Come on.”
“What about you?”
“They’ll send the rope back down for me once you’re safe. Now, pardon my hands, but I’m going to hold on to you while you get started.”
Right on cue, the rope became taut again. “Keep it down around your butt or waist,” he cautioned, and lifting and steadying her, helped her get her feet in position.
She was a lot smaller than he was and it still took the guys forever to get her to the top because she kept yelling at them to go slower. At last she disappeared from his view. He listened for the doctor’s voice, but all he heard was a small cry from Meg.
“Everything okay?” he called.
The answer was the rope which trailed down the hill, the last five feet or so landing at his feet as he dodged the small shower of rocks that came with it. He hitched the rope around his own waist and yanked it to signal he was ready.
The climb up was tricky but accomplished without mishap. A couple of the wranglers caught him under the arms and helped him up the last foot or two.
He immediately looked to the welfare of his guest, expecting to see the doctor bending over her. But a tearful Meg Peterson stood in a circle of concerned wranglers and other guests, Red Sanders urging her to take a restorative sip from his hip flask.
“Where is the doctor?” Meg demanded.
Tyler looked past the herd toward the trail.
“Mele went after him over an hour ago,” John said, his voice lowered.
Tyler’s gut seized. A rider with Mele’s skill should have caught up with the wagon in a hurry. Even given the fact the doctor was a poor horseman, there should be some sign of his return by now. Was Meg right? Did Snowflake’s odd behavior and Meg’s subsequent fall have something to do with the continued attacks on Julie? He barked orders at the wranglers as he mounted Yukon. John got on his horse, too.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Tyler asked.
“With you. Objections?”
“No.”
Once they cleared the herd of milling cattle, they rode as hard as Tyler ever had. He kept expecting to see a cloud of dust announcing an approaching rider, but time ticked by with no sign of anyone.
His great hope was that Julie and the doctor had reached the campsite and maybe the doctor had wandered off to look at the rocks or something and Mele was having a hard time finding him. That hope was dashed when they climbed over a rise only to finally see the chuck wagon in the distance, its tall stern facing them, the canvas cover billowing in the breeze. It looked as though the wagon had stopped in the middle of the trail next to an outcropping of huge boulders. The horses were still harnessed, but he could see no sign of movement.
Tyler pulled Yukon to a halt and took a minute to dig the binoculars out of his saddle bag. The whole thing struck him as a setup of some kind and he knew there was no good to come from riding into a trap.
John pulled his horse to a stop nearby. “See anything?” he asked.
Tyler peered through the glasses. “Mele is hovering over someone or something on the far side of the wagon,” he said, heart in his throat. Was it Julie?
“Can you see anyone else?”
“No one. Andy’s horse is gone, too.” Maybe Julie was inside, under the cover....
He jammed the binoculars back in the case and gave Yukon his head. He knew the big bay would head for Gertie and Ned.
Within a few minutes, they were riding up to the wagon. Once again Tyler all but threw himself to the ground. He could sense John right behind him as they were both drawn forward by the frantic quality of Mele’s voice.
“Over here,” she called. “Thank God you came. Hurry, I think he’s dying.”
They found her on her knees. Andy lay on the ground in front of her and she was holding a blood-soaked cloth against his chest. His face was as chalky white as September dust.
“I was afraid to leave him to come for help,” she said, looking up at them with anxious eyes.
John immediately knelt beside her. “I’ve had some training,” he said. “Let me take over.”
Tyler climbed into the wagon as Mele moved her hands. “Where are Julie and the doctor?” he asked right before he saw a puddle of blood on the seat. Under the seat was Dr. Marquis’ medical bag, but it had taken at least one of the bullets and the contents were now broken and leaking. Tyler took the ranch medical kit out from under the wagon cover and handed it down to Mele, his stomach rolling like the ocean.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
She opened the kit and the bag next to John and Andy. As she handed John what he asked for, she looked up at Tyler. “Andy was like this when I got here. The horses were gone. I assume the doctor and Julie were taken by force. Andy’s gun is on the ground beside him.”
“He must have tried to defend them,” Tyler said as he climbed down. He checked Andy’s gun and found two rounds missing. Had Julie or the doctor taken the other bullet? Andy might have used the rifle, too, the one he carried on his horse. As Shasta was also missing.
Next he searched the ground, looking for some indication of how many horses may have been involved, but the ground was a mess of tracks. He walked a wider circle and found a few headed off to the east. He followed them a few steps, half afraid he’d find Julie’s or Dr. Marquis’s lifeless body discarded behind the rocks.
Hoping for a better view of the land off to the east, he climbed the outcropping, arriving at the top out of breath from exertion and anxiety. But the countryside that greeted his gaze was hilly and rocky, dotted with trees and seemingly devoid of any life.
He climbed back down. “I have to go after them,” he announced as he grabbed Yukon’s reins. “Who knows how much of a head start they have.”
“At least two hours,” Mele said. “Maybe as much as four.”
“Listen, you two,” he said, climbing back in the saddle. “Do what you can for poor Andy, then get him into the wagon and head back to the others. Mele, tell half the wranglers to take the cattle up to the pasture by themselves. John, you and the other half of the wranglers head back to the ranch with what’s left of the guests.”
“I’ll come with you,” John said, looking from the wounded man to Tyler’s face. “Who knows what you’re getting into.”
Tyler shook his head. “Meg Peterson is going to be frantic when she learns the doctor isn’t there to help her. She’ll need
you to stabilize her wrist and you’ve built a rapport with the others. Everyone is going to be very upset.”
“Do you even know what direction they went?”
“Two or three sets of tracks lead off to the east, at least for a ways. Don’t worry about me, just make sure the herd gets up to the meadow tomorrow and the guests start back today. And be careful. Whoever did this now has two hostages.”
“You’re the one who should be careful,” Mele said, her eyes flooded with anxiety. “Who would do this? Why?”
Tyler shook his head again.
John stood up. “We’ll start back to help you after we make sure—”
“No, don’t. Who knows where tracking them will lead me? By the time you get back, I could be anywhere and I have a feeling it will be way too late for anyone to help.”
John turned his attention back to his patient, but Tyler could see it was killing him not to ride along. Maybe all those years in law enforcement made sitting on the sidelines hard work.
Turning Yukon toward the east, he headed into the least hospitable countryside this area had to offer, full of rocks and canyons. Night was fast approaching. Who knew what he would find.
Julie. She was out there somewhere and he had to save her. That was all he needed to know.
Chapter Thirteen
Tyler was the first to admit he wasn’t the best tracker in the world, and as the daylight faded and mile after mile passed with few clues to go on, he worried that he might have missed something. As his gaze darted between the horizon and the ground, he tried to figure out what had happened back at the wagon.
The blood on the seat probably belonged to Julie or Dr. Marquis. He didn’t think it was Andy’s for the simple reason Andy had probably been riding Shasta. Had they been ambushed? Someone could have easily hidden in those rocks, picked off Andy and jumped out. Julie would have been driving and Dr. Marquis was no doubt as lousy a shot as he was an archer or horseman. But maybe he tried to protect Julie and was shot for his efforts.
Tyler wouldn’t allow himself to consider the thought that either one of them was dead. Surely he would have come across their bodies or seen vultures circling overhead.
He should have gone with Julie instead of riding with the herd. The switchback was tricky, and he’d always been careful to bring up the rear on that part of the trail. Today he’d been there to help Meg Peterson, but he hadn’t been around to help Andy, Rob Marquis or Julie.
Common sense said if he’d been there, he’d be the one bleeding to death in the middle of the trail, but common sense tended to take a hike when so many things were going wrong.
Night was quickly approaching and Tyler was uncertain what to do. If he traveled in the dark he stood the chance of missing some sign of a detour. There was nothing out here. Why would anyone keep going in this direction with two unwilling hostages?
He finally stopped out of consideration for Yukon and the failing light. He wasn’t going to start a fire, but perhaps the kidnappers would. Waiting until dark, he scrambled to the top of another crop of boulders and settled down to wait, his binoculars ready, his flashlight off. Unfortunately, he saw no sign of a distant fire or anything else that would pinpoint their location.
Digging for his flashlight, he had discovered the lunch he’d never gotten around to in his saddle bag and he started eating it, saving the apple for Yukon. It wasn’t until he had almost finished the sandwich that he realized Julie must have made it that morning.
Peanut butter—his favorite, made by his wife. He swallowed the sudden lump and stared up at the stars, wondering if she was nearby doing the same, knowing she must be terrified....
And knowing, too, that if she had to go off and live without him, he was going to have to let her. Not just physically, but emotionally, for both their sakes. He had to let her go. Finding her alive was going to have to be enough for him. Her freedom to live her life was going to have to be enough. Anything but burying her, anything but that.
He was up and going at first light after a miserable night spent sleeping on the ground. He was cold, tired, worried sick. Two hours later he came across the first sign that he was heading in the right direction and he would have missed that if Yukon hadn’t lowered his head and whinnied, snuffling the rocky earth.
By the time he dismounted, the horse was just finishing eating something crunchy. Tyler thought he detected a whiff of apple and wondered if the horse had found a discarded apple core. He looked around and caught sight of the sun reflecting off something else a few feet away. That turned out to be a foil-wrapped sandwich with a single bite taken out of it. Peanut butter and jelly...
“Thank you, litterbug, whoever you are,” he grumbled and got back on Yukon.
No way to tell if the food had been eaten today or the day before, but he was reenergized by the fact he had proof they’d at least come this way. He had a feeling he was getting closer, a feeling prompted by nothing unless it was instinct.
The sun climbed in the sky and he rode. He had a canteen for a little water for himself, but it was dry out here and the horse must be getting pretty darn thirsty. As distances went and the crow flies, they were probably less that twenty miles from the meadow and forty from the ranch. In a car, it would be a hop, skip and a jump. On a horse, it just took longer.
He knew John would alert the police as soon as he got back to the ranch or call them if someone on the drive had a phone that would get a signal. Tyler half expected to see the helicopter Meg had wished for buzzing in from the south. But the skies were open, dotted with nothing more than wispy white clouds. It was getting warmer by the second.
At last, scanning with his binoculars, he spied movement off to the north. His heart about jumped in his throat. He focused in until he made out Shasta and a big roan—Marquis’s horse, Tex. There was no sign of a human being. The horses weren’t together. In fact, they seemed to be loose, both nibbling on the sparse grass, saddled, riderless, untethered, their reins dragging on the ground.
His heart sank as he lowered the glasses. There was absolutely no sign of Julie or the doctor or anyone else for that matter.
He urged Yukon forward, eyes peeled, gun at the ready, the image of Andy’s wounded body fresh in his mind. Shasta and Tex sensed his approach and lifted their heads, neighing a greeting to Yukon. Shasta trotted toward them while the roan went back to grazing.
Try as he might, Tyler could see no sign of any human, not even a body. But the horses were loose and who knew how far they’d wandered since losing their riders?
He directed Yukon toward a pile of rocks that might afford him a little height. He had to find Julie; she had to be nearby.
The rocks were hot in the midday sun. Carrying his binoculars, he leaped from one boulder to another, climbing steadily toward the top, avoiding the inevitable crevices. When he reached the top, he glimpsed something blue halfway down the other side and instantly thought of Julie’s faded denim shirt. This time his leaps were wild as he raced toward the blue, stopping abruptly when he saw that it was a shirt, but not Julie’s.
Dr. Marquis lay partially in a crevice, his arm flung wide, a rifle on the rocks beside him. There was a makeshift bandage on his upper arm and it was covered with dried blood. Tyler knew he was dead the minute he saw him, but he still knelt to feel for a pulse, wondering what had killed the man, what he was doing on these rocks, and most of all, where Julie could be.
He heard a distinctive noise and jumped backward, almost falling as he skittered away from a sound no one who had ever heard it ever forgot.
Rattlesnake.
Even as Tyler watched, a baby snake slithered out from under Rob’s thin body and across the rock in the opposite direction, stopping to coil as it sensed his presence. Another one appeared in another crevice and another one from near Tyler’s feet. He jumped back so fast he almost fell off the rocks. He knew rattlesnakes were born live, independent, pugnacious and poisonous from the get-go. But they weren’t born with rattles and he’d heard that
unmistakable sound—the mother must still be around....
What was a rattler doing having babies this early in the season? He grabbed for the abandoned rifle and circled back to Yukon in a hurry. Where was Julie?
Shasta whinnied again as he got closer. He reached out to take her reins, but she tossed her head and trotted away from him.
“Shasta,” he called, pulling Yukon to a stop. He needed to get out the binoculars and look for Julie, but he wasn’t going back up on those rocks.
Shasta kept walking and he saw she had headed toward a small copse of stunted trees. Could the horse actually know where Julie was? He sped up and trotted past Andy’s horse, arriving within a few minutes.
At first he didn’t see anything, and then he picked out a dusty, white, rectangular shape lying under the trees, its surface covered with branches and leaves as though someone had sought to obscure it by kicking debris over the top. He recognized it as one of the Hunt ranch bedrolls fully extended, zipped from head to foot. It was absolutely still and yet there was the distinct shape of a human form under the canvas cover.
He had the gut-wrenching feeling he’d just found Julie and that he was too late. He bombarded his way through the trees, arriving beside the bag without taking a single breath. He fell to his knees and brushed off the cover, then unzipped it and folded it back, knowing what he would find and dreading the moment her sightless gaze met his.
Her appearance stunned him. Damp from perspiration, hair stuck to her face and neck, she was blindfolded with her own bandanna, gagged, wrists and ankles bound with rope. But she was alive. He could see the pulse beating in her throat and the way she recoiled when he touched her.
“Julie,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
