Damnation Valley

by William W. Johnstone

  Gap-Tooth pulled his paddle out of the water and lifted it to threaten her. “Get back down there, gal,” he warned. “I’ll brain you with this if you try anything.”

  “Carnahan wouldn’t like that,” she said. “And you’re afraid of him, remember?”

  “He’d like it even less if we let you cause trouble, so don’t get cocky.”

  He went back to paddling, but he kept narrow, suspicious eyes on her.

  Desdemona’s brain raced. She had to do something to warn Breckinridge and his companion about the danger they were in. She was willing to bet that Carnahan and Jenkins were both good shots. From their position, they could take careful aim and kill their targets before either of the men knew what was happening.

  Desdemona started to cry. She drew her legs up and curled around herself as sobs shook her shoulders.

  Gap-Tooth laughed again. “That ain’t gonna do you no good! A gal’s tears don’t mean a derned thing to me!”

  The idiot didn’t understand that she had to pull her legs up to get the leverage for what she was going to do next, and the tears kept him from realizing what she was doing. She rolled onto her back and straightened her bound legs, lashing out with a double kick as hard as she could.

  Her heels crashed into his chest and knocked him backward. He wasn’t expecting it, and as he flailed wildly with both arms, his balance deserted him and he toppled out of the canoe. That craft tipped far over because of that, and although Desdemona tried to catch herself, she failed.

  She slipped out of the canoe and wound up in the river, too. For a second her head went under, filling her nose and mouth with water, but she kicked up hard and broke the surface, sputtering and coughing. She was able to gulp down enough air to let loose with a scream and then cried, “The rocks! The rocks!”

  * * *

  “Good Lord!” Breckinridge exclaimed when he saw the sudden flash of red hair. “That’s Desdemona who just fell outta that canoe!”

  “What’s she yellin’ about?” Charlie Moss wanted to know.

  “Somethin’ about rocks—”

  Breckinridge broke off as he realized the biggest, most noticeable rocks on this stretch of the river were the boulders on the rugged promontory they were coming up on. He swung his gaze in that direction and saw the early-morning sunlight wink off metal.

  His muscles bunched as he dug the paddle into the water and sent the canoe shooting off at an angle.

  A split second later, rifles boomed and lead balls plunked into the river mere feet away from the canoe.

  From the sound of the shots, Breckinridge believed there were two ambushers hidden in the rocks. If he and Moss could paddle swiftly to shore, they might be able to use the same rocks for cover and close in on the riflemen.

  But before he could put that plan into action, he heard another scream and looked toward the spot where Desdemona had fallen out of the canoe. He didn’t see her in the river, and that made him lean forward anxiously.

  Suddenly, she popped up again, appearing to gasp for air as she thrashed around awkwardly in the water. Something was wrong, Breckinridge realized. Either she couldn’t swim at all, or something was keeping her from doing it.

  “Watch those rocks!” he called to Moss. “Let me do the paddlin’! If you see Carnahan or any of his bunch up there, ventilate ’em!”

  He dug the paddle into the water and stroked harder than ever. The canoe shot forward. A rifle boomed again from the promontory, and a split second later, Moss’s long-barreled flintlock thundered.

  “Got one of the varmints!” Moss yelled in triumph.

  From the corner of his eye, Breckinridge saw a man’s body tumbling down loosely from the rocks. The limp form hit the water with a big splash and went under. From the way the man hadn’t done anything to try to catch himself or stop his fall, Breck figured he was dead, or next thing to it.

  No more shots came from the promontory as Breckinridge drove the canoe past it. Up ahead, not far now, were the three canoes he and Moss had been pursuing. Even closer was Desdemona, going under and then struggling back to the surface. Breck could tell now that her wrists were tied in front of her, and he knew there was a good chance her ankles were lashed together, too. That would make it difficult for her to paddle and kick and keep from sinking into the river.

  The other canoes started to swing back around. The men in them were going to put up a fight. Breckinridge didn’t see Carnahan among them, but he did spot a slender, dark-haired figure in one of the canoes. That was Eugenia, he thought, but he didn’t see Ophelia.

  A canoe with just one man in it surged toward him. The lone occupant dropped his paddle and snatched up a rifle. The range was still a little long for a pistol shot, but Breckinridge had to chance it. He yanked out one of his guns and fired just a hair ahead of the other man.

  The rifle ball slammed into the canoe right at the waterline, tore through the wood, narrowly missed Breckinridge’s leg, and blew a hole in the other side of the canoe. The craft immediately began to take on water.

  Breckinridge’s shot had found its target. The man came halfway up, pawing at his chest where the pistol ball had caught him, then he pitched forward, upsetting the canoe. It rolled over, dumping him into the water.

  The canoe with two of Carnahan’s men in it turned broadside so both of them could shoot at Breckinridge and Moss. Breck fired his other pistol and saw one of the men drop his rifle and clutch at a shattered shoulder. Moss’s rifle blasted a second later and sent the other man falling backward into the river.

  Eugenia was in that canoe by herself now. “Go after her!” Breckinridge told Moss.

  He put his empty pistols down in the canoe and then went over the side in a long, clean dive.

  Back home, Breckinridge had learned to swim in creeks and rivers and ponds at an early age. The Yellowstone had a fairly strong current but nothing that presented a real problem to Breck as he came up to the surface and began stroking strongly toward Desdemona.

  The remaining member of Carnahan’s bunch tried to cut Breckinridge off by sending his canoe slicing through the water between Breck and Desdemona. He thrust a pistol at Breck and fired just as Breck took a deep breath and dived again. The ball plowed into the water and burrowed a path through it just in front of Breck’s nose. The shadow of the canoe fell over his face as it glided above him.

  Breckinridge kicked hard and came up with his shoulder against the canoe’s bottom. He shoved hard on it and heard its occupant yell in alarm as one end of the canoe lifted from the water and turned over. That dumped the man into the river. He was still thrashing around when Breck loomed behind him, slid his arm around the man’s neck, and clamped down on it. His struggles intensified at being caught like that, but he was no match for Breck’s strength. He couldn’t break free, and the next moment it didn’t matter because Breck heaved hard and broke his neck. When Breck released him, his arms and legs dangled limply, and his head hung at an unnatural angle on his neck. Breck kicked away from the body and looked around.

  He spotted Desdemona a few yards away. She had gone under again, and this time she wasn’t fighting to get back to the surface. She floated limply, too, with her red hair streaming out around her head. Her face was calm in the blue-green underwater light as Breckinridge rushed toward her. Her eyes were closed.

  He caught her in one arm and kicked for the surface. Water sprayed high in the air as they came up. Breckinridge wanted to check and see if her heart was still beating, but he figured it would be better if he got to shore first. There was nothing more he could do to help her as long as they were in the river.

  He swam hard, cradling her in his left arm. A gravel bank along the edge of the stream loomed up in front of them. Breckinridge’s feet touched the bottom. He clambered halfway out of the water and laid Desdemona down.

  Her face was completely colorless, making the scattering of freckles stand out more than ever. Her head lolled loosely. Breckinridge leaned over her and rested a hand on her che
st, searching for a heartbeat, as he called her name. She didn’t seem to be breathing, and he couldn’t find that elusive heartbeat . . .

  Then she bucked up from the ground a little, gagged, turned her head to the side, and spewed water from her mouth. Shudders ran through her as she continued to cough up river water, but after a moment she was able to start dragging in raspy breaths of air. Her eyes opened and peered up at Breckinridge in blurry confusion as he knelt beside her in the shallows.

  Suddenly, her gaze focused, and Breckinridge realized she was staring past him at something. He jerked his head around and saw a man lunging at him from the river, swinging a paddle. Breck had been so concerned with Desdemona that he hadn’t even heard the man swimming toward him. The attacker’s gap-toothed mouth was open as he bellowed an incoherent shout of rage.

  Breckinridge tried to get out of the way of the blow but couldn’t avoid the paddle completely. It clipped him on the head hard enough to send bright red explosions through his brain, but he didn’t pass out, only sagged down for a second. He caught himself with one hand against the river bottom, and as the man tried to backhand him with the paddle, Breck thrust a foot out and swept the man’s legs from under him. He went down with a splash but came right back up, this time with a knife in his right hand.

  Breckinridge caught the man’s wrist with his left hand, stopping the knife as it slashed toward him. He hammered a punch into the man’s face with his right fist. The man’s foot hooked around his ankle and pulled, and Breck’s foot slid on the river bottom. Both of them fell over into the water, still struggling.

  The man seemed to be an experienced fighter, and desperation and anger made him even stronger. The water made him slippery, too. Breckinridge grappled with him, held the knife away from his own body, and finally got both hands on the man’s wrist. He heaved and twisted, turning the blade toward the man’s body, and drove it in with a powerful shove. Bubbles burst from the man’s mouth as he screamed. Breck shoved again, ripping cold steel through flesh and guts. Blood bloomed around them in the water like a crimson flower.

  Breckinridge shoved the dying man away and came up out of the river again. By now, Desdemona had pushed herself up on one elbow. She was still pale and breathing hard, but she was definitely alive and Breck was thankful for that. He pulled his own knife from its sheath and began sawing at the rawhide bonds around her wrists, being careful so he didn’t cut her with the keen blade.

  “You . . . you saved me,” she gasped. “My sisters . . . ?”

  Breckinridge shook wet hair back out of his face. “Eugenia’s all right, I reckon,” he said. “She looked like it when I saw her in one of the canoes a few minutes ago.”

  The bonds around Desdemona’s wrists fell away as he finished cutting through them. Before starting to free her ankles, he looked over his shoulder. He’d heard someone paddling and wanted to make sure they weren’t about to be attacked again.

  They weren’t. It was Charlie Moss coming toward him. Moss wasn’t by himself, either. He had Eugenia in the canoe with him, still tied but evidently all right. Breckinridge knew Moss must have pulled up beside the canoe where Eugenia was and lifted her into his craft.

  “What about Ophelia?” Desdemona asked.

  Breckinridge didn’t look at her. He concentrated on cutting the bonds around her ankles. But he said, “I don’t know. Haven’t seen her. It didn’t look like she was in any of the canoes.”

  “She was! She was in the canoe with . . . Carnahan! But he . . . he took her with him . . . when he went up in those rocks with that other man to ambush you.”

  Breckinridge knew he hadn’t seen Carnahan during the skirmish. Nor had Carnahan been the man who had fallen from the rocks when Charlie Moss shot him.

  That meant Carnahan was still up there somewhere. . . and he had Ophelia with him.

  Moss’s canoe grated against the gravel bank. “Breck, are you all right?” he asked as he got out and pulled the craft higher with Eugenia still in it. She didn’t weigh enough for that to present a problem.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Breckinridge replied. “Got a clout on the head from a paddle, but this old skull of mine is way too thick to dent that way.”

  “Desdemona!” Eugenia cried.

  “I’m all right,” Desdemona assured her sister. “I’m soaking wet and I swallowed some water and I look like a drowned rat, but I’m fine.” She paused. “Ophelia is gone, though.”

  “Gone!” Eugenia cried.

  “She ain’t dead,” Breckinridge said hastily. “At least not that we know of.” He added grimly, “Appears that Carnahan’s got her.” He came to his feet. “Gimme your rifle, Charlie. I’m gonna go have a look in those rocks where he was hidin’, waitin’ to ambush us. You stay here, cut Miss Eugenia loose, and watch over the gals.”

  “No one needs to watch over me,” Desdemona said as she tried to get up. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you ain’t,” Breckinridge said as he took the loaded rifle Moss handed him. “You’re too shaky. Anyway, Carnahan’s already got one Garwood sister. I don’t want to give him the chance to grab another one.”

  She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she sighed and sank down weakly on the gravel, evidently aware that he was right.

  Breckinridge headed back along the river toward the promontory. The rifle was ready in his hands.

  Ten minutes of searching confirmed what he had been afraid he would find. There was no sign of Jud Carnahan among the boulders, other than a few smudged footprints. Ophelia wasn’t there, either, and while that was disheartening, it was also good. Carnahan was such a ruthless animal, he might have cut Ophelia’s throat and left her there so she wouldn’t slow him down as he fled. Instead, it appeared that he had taken her with him.

  Carnahan might have postponed the showdown by fleeing, but it was still coming. Breckinridge was a good tracker. Carnahan wasn’t going to shake him. Wasn’t going to escape the reckoning he had coming.

  But first, Breckinridge had to go back down there to the river and tell Desdemona and Eugenia that their sister was still in the hands of that monster.

  Chapter 18

  They saw him coming and ran to meet him. Desdemona didn’t look so shaken up now from her near-drowning, and Eugenia was free from her bonds. Their anxious expressions reflected the fear they felt because Ophelia wasn’t with Breckinridge.

  He came to a stop as they hurried up to him. Desdemona said, “Is . . . is she . . . ?”

  Eugenia tried to talk at the same time, but all she got out in a choked voice was, “She can’t be . . .”

  “She ain’t up there,” Breckinridge said, getting that out of the way quickly. “And I didn’t see any blood around, so chances are your sister’s still fine.”

  “But she’s gone,” Desdemona said. The words were flat and hollow. “And so is Carnahan.”

  “Yeah, I reckon so.”

  Charlie Moss walked up and pointed to a corpse sprawled on its back on the gravel bank about twenty feet away.

  “That varmint came floatin’ up into the shallows, so I went ahead and pulled him in. That’s the one I shot when he tried to ambush us from those rocks.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Breckinridge asked.

  “Yeah. It was only for a second, but I got a pretty good look at him over my rifle sights.”

  “That’s him, all right,” Desdemona said. “We all saw him and Carnahan leave the canoes and climb up onto that promontory.”

  “Then there’s no question it’s Carnahan who got away.” Breckinridge wanted to add some bitter curses to that statement, but he swallowed them. That wouldn’t do any good right now and wouldn’t even make him feel any better. “Charlie, you get these gals back to the tradin’ post. I need to get on Carnahan’s trail.”

  Moss shook his head.

  “How are you gonna do that?” he wanted to know. “I’ve got a little powder and shot I could give you, but not much. You don’t have any food or other supplies. You
don’t even have a shirt!”

  Breckinridge’s teeth ground together as his jaw clenched. Tight-lipped, he said, “Carnahan’s gettin’ farther away with Ophelia while we’re standin’ here flappin’ our gums—”

  “Mr. Moss is right,” Desdemona interrupted him. “You’re not equipped to start a pursuit right now.”

  “That won’t matter if I catch up to them in a hurry.”

  “But if you don’t, then you’ll have to return to the trading post anyway, and that will just delay you more.”

  Eugenia nodded and said, “Desdemona is right, Mr. Wallace. I’m as worried about Ophelia as anyone, but it makes more sense for you to prepare yourself. That ought to lead to a quicker rescue for her in the long run.”

  Breckinridge frowned as he mulled over what they had said. He could see their point, but at the same time, any delay was going to gnaw at his guts. He didn’t have any romantic interest in Ophelia, but he sympathized with her as a human being.

  Mostly, though, he just wanted to kill Jud Carnahan as soon as possible.

  Desdemona put a hand on Breckinridge’s bare forearm. “Please, Mr. Wallace. You know we’re right.”

  “Besides,” Moss put in, “if we head back to the tradin’ post, then me and some of the other boys can come with you when you go after Carnahan.”

  Breckinridge wasn’t sure he wanted any help. He could move faster on his own.

  On the other hand, Carnahan had a history of finding human polecats with the same sort of stripe down their backs that he had. He might run into some other fellas and throw in with them . . . especially if he had Ophelia with him to use as a bargaining chip.

  That thought lifted Breckinridge’s hopes that he would keep the blonde alive, rather than killing her if he decided she was slowing him down. That worry had nagged at him ever since he’d discovered that Carnahan and Ophelia were gone.

  “Well, we can’t afford to waste no more time jawin’,” he said with an abrupt nod. “Let’s get back to the tradin’ post. Sooner we get outfitted and on their trail, the better.”