Mountain Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Up on the roof, Trace uttered an oath under his breath and dropped to one knee, an arrow notched, three others in his left hand. There was no chance of catching all three men out in the open, since Ox’s premature shot had alerted anyone still inside. Then below him, inside the cabin, he could hear Sowers crashing into things as he awoke in a panic. Trace got ready. In a moment, Sowers came charging out the door, rifle in hand. He stumbled when the first arrow hit him solidly between the shoulder blades, then the second one buried its head deep in his lower back, and he tumbled headfirst in the snow.

  Hidden from above, and pressed close to the corner of the cabin, Plum witnessed Sowers’s execution. Seeing the arrows protruding from Sowers’s back, Plum quickly concluded that they were being attacked by a band of Indians. He didn’t waste time wondering how Ox happened to be with them. His immediate thought was to save himself. Frantically searching the trees behind him where the horses were hobbled, he could see no sign of Indians. Maybe he was in luck.

  From the front of the cabin, Plum could hear Sowers moaning, and then calling, “Plum, I’m shot . . . help me . . . Plum!”

  With no thought at all of helping his old partner, Plum moved along the side of the cabin to the back corner, then he ran as quickly as he could into the trees. You’ll play hell trying to catch Jack Plum, he thought, grinning in spite of the danger behind him.

  Trace waited for only a moment to see if anyone else was coming out before sliding down the roof to the ground, rolling as he landed in the snow, another arrow notched on his bowstring. One glance at Sowers told him there was no danger from that quarter, so he moved quickly to the open door of the cabin. Pulling the pistol from his belt, he bolted inside and found an empty cabin. Where was Plum? As soon as he thought it, he heard the sound of a horse bounding through the snow. He charged out the door and rounded the corner of the cabin just in time to see Plum disappear in the trees, whipping his horse mercilessly. In frustration, Trace fired his pistol at the fleeing man, knowing the shot would not reach him.

  He would have caught one of the other horses and given chase, but he had a greater concern at that moment—where was Jamie? He ran back around to the front of the cabin just as Ox came stomping down the snow-covered slope, a rifle in each hand.

  “Plum’s got away!” Ox shouted, pointing toward the river.

  “I know,” Trace answered. “I’ll worry about him later. We’ve got to find Jamie.” He knelt beside Sowers and rolled him over on his side.

  Sowers groaned, his lifeblood seeping out around the arrow shafts in his back. He would not last long. Dazed and confused, he looked up into the face of Ox standing above him. “Ox,” he rasped, “is that you?” Ox said nothing, but nodded, his simple smile fixed in place. “Am I dead?” Sowers asked.

  Before Ox could speak, Trace answered. “Yes, you’re dead. Now you must tell the truth. Where is the girl?”

  Sowers, fading rapidly, paused to think as if he were trying to remember. Finally he replied, his voice no more than a whisper now, “Crown took her.”

  “Where?” Trace blurted, but Sowers was gone.

  They stood there looking down at the dead man for a few moments. Then Ox stated bluntly, “Crown’ll kill her.”

  There was no time to waste. Trace did not doubt that what Ox said was true, and the man had at least half a day’s start—more than that by the time Trace was able to determine which way Crown had gone. Trace sent Ox to fetch their horses and ran to the trees where the renegades’ mounts had been hobbled. Most of them had scattered when Plum cut their hobbles, seeking to create a diversion to mask his own escape. The many tracks made a difficult task even harder, for the freed horses had run in all directions, creating a confusion of trails.

  On foot, Trace circled the stand of trees, looking for a trail leading away from the cabin. By the time Ox returned with the horses, Trace had found what he was looking for. Ignoring the fresh, sharply defined hoofprints of the scattered horses, he focused on a trail left by at least four horses, maybe more. Their tracks were not so sharply defined, telling Trace that they had been made the night before, and the morning’s bright sunshine had melted the edges enough to soften them. He followed the tracks on foot for thirty or forty yards, studying them closely until he was able to confirm that one of the horses was carrying a load while the others were not.

  “This is the trail,” he told Ox, and he stood up and followed it with his eyes until it disappeared over a hill some three hundred yards downriver.

  “What about Plum?” Ox asked. “He’s gonna git away.”

  “Maybe so, but I have to go after Jamie. I may already be too late.”

  Ox was beside himself with remorse. “I’m sorry I shot at Plum, Trace,” he lamented. “You told me to just shoot Sowers, but I thought Plum was Sowers when he come out the door, so I fired. If I hadn’t missed, Plum wouldn’t of got away.”

  “Things don’t always work out,” Trace said as he hurriedly prepared to go after Crown. There was no time to spend on remorse. “Don’t fret about it—at least we got one of ’em.”

  “Yeah,” Ox said, and looked back at the dark lump lying still in front of the cabin. “Poor ol’ Sowers,” he muttered in a fit of compassion for the man he had at one time thought a friend. “It’s Plum’s fault.” Ox looked at Trace, a stern look of indignation on his face. “Plum’s a bad man, Trace. He ought not git away.”

  “Dammit, Ox, it’s too bad, but I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to find Jamie.”

  Ox drew himself up to his full height and beat his fist against his chest in a show of bravado. “I can catch Plum for you, Trace. I’ll make him sorry he ever treated Jamie that way.”

  “The hell you can,” Trace shot back. Seeing the injured expression on the huge man’s face, he tried to soften his words, knowing inside that he didn’t have time to reason with Ox. “Plum’s sly as a fox. We need to go after him together—the two of us. Let’s find Jamie first.” Thinking that would be the end of it, he climbed up on his pony and wheeled him around, ready to ride.

  Ox may have been childlike about most things, but he was smart enough to know that Plum had been able to escape because he had stood up in plain view, allowing Plum to see him. If he had remained hidden behind the bushes, both Plum and Sowers would probably have come out of the cabin to see what had happened to put their fire out. Ox felt that he had failed Trace, and he was desperate to do something to make up for it. Plum was an evil man and should not be allowed to escape, so Ox decided this was a way to make up for his mistake. “I let him git away . . . I’ll go bring him back,” he said with firm resolution.

  “What?” Trace asked sharply. There was no time to mince words. “Dammit, Ox, that man’ll kill you. He’s mean clear through. We’ll get him later. Now come on, we’re wasting time.”

  Ox was adamant. “No. You go on—I’m goin’ after Plum.”

  Trace stared at Ox in disbelief. Sidestepping and pawing at the snow, the paint was anxious to get moving, and Trace had to use a great deal of force on the reins to hold him back. Trace could delay no longer. “If your mind’s made up, I reckon I can’t stop you. You’re a grown man, and I reckon you can make your own decisions.” He reached over and placed his hand on the big man’s forearm. “But, Ox, be damn careful and watch your back. If everything goes well, we’ll meet back at the cabin.” He released the tension on the reins, and the paint lunged forward a few yards before settling into a gait. Trace looked back one last time and yelled, “If you can’t catch him, come on back to the cabin. He’ll probably come back to get his horses.” Trace couldn’t imagine a man like Plum giving up and hightailing it that easily.

  CHAPTER 12

  Jack Plum was not one to be run off by anyone, leaving horses and all his possessions behind. And he was not at all content to play the role of the victim. Back at the cabin, he had realized immediately that he was in a trap, and he had no choice but to escape as quickly as possible. Thinking his attackers were Indians, he had run fo
r the horses, cutting their hobbles as he pushed and shoved his way through them, hoping his pursuers would stop to chase the animals and leave him be. To make his getaway, he jumped on Sowers’s horse—the only one with a halter still on—and dashed out along the snowy riverbank. Flogging the animal mercilessly, he scanned the bluffs above him for signs of pursuing Indians trying to cut him off. Even as he ran for his life, he was already planning his retaliation against the raiders.

  As his horse pounded along the frozen riverbank, it suddenly registered that no one was chasing him. Not only that, but he also realized that he had heard no war whoops or scalp cries. He slowed the toiling pony to a walk, then finally to a halt, while he listened, straining to catch any sound on the wind. All was silent. A tiny suspicion wormed its way into his mind. He couldn’t say for sure that there were any more than two men who had jumped Sowers and him. He had seen Ox on the slope, and the shadow of one man on the roof. That weren’t no damn war party, he told himself, as he jerked his horse around and stood facing the trail he had just made in the snow.

  Only two men, he thought. Ox, that simple fool, but who was the other? Crown? “Nah,” he muttered, “Crown’s long gone. He won’t come back till he’s finished with the woman.” He decided it didn’t matter who the other man was, he was as good as dead as far as Plum was concerned. And Ox—that fool might have come back from the dead once, but Plum was determined he wouldn’t make it twice.

  * * *

  Trace pushed his pony hard, pausing only for short rests to keep from riding the paint into the ground. While he had some worrisome thoughts about Ox going after Plum, his mind was almost totally consumed with his concern for Jamie. Too much time had passed since Crown had taken the girl from the cabin. Anything could have happened by now, and he chastised himself for not making his play the night before. He tried not to picture the terror she might be facing, but it was difficult to erase the thoughts from his mind. For most of the long weeks he had searched for Jamie, he had strived to keep the girl’s fate out of his thoughts, knowing that getting caught up in his anger and despair could cause him to become careless. But now, as he doggedly followed the trail in the snow, he found it more and more difficult to control his anger. What if Jamie is dead? he kept asking himself. Would it be possible to extract enough pain from Crown to subdue the fire of his anguish?

  When darkness fell, he paused to rest his horse and build a small fire to warm himself. A few hours later, when the moon rose over the valley, he was in the saddle again, following the trail brightly lit in the moonlight. Crown had evidently sought to put plenty of distance between himself and his partners back at the cabin before stopping. Trace had come upon no campsite so far, so he knew he was going to have to push even harder if he wanted to overtake Crown before he made camp. At least he had not found any signs that would indicate Crown had stopped. And he figured that as long as Crown stayed on the move, Jamie could not be suffering too much.

  * * *

  How much more could she endure? Jamie rode now on one of the spare horses Crown had taken, her hands bound together, the horse’s halter tied to the back of Crown’s saddle. Slumped forward, her chin almost resting on her chest, she rocked with the horse’s steady rhythm, her swollen and bruised face throbbing with each step the animal took.

  She had finally been pushed to the point where she vowed to take no more abuse without fighting back, but her defiance was short-lived. When Crown had thrown her on his horse in the middle of the night and left Plum and Sowers, she had violently struggled against his childish groping of her body. When he struck her for her resistance, she struck back at him. Her defiance tended to please him, and he retaliated by pulling her off the horse and whipping her viciously with a willow switch. Even then she spat at him, determined that though she might be destined to die shortly, she would not go passively.

  Crown pushed on through the night, not stopping even when the sun found them the next morning. Not until well after the noon hour did he decide to stop and make camp. This was the time she most dreaded, because up to that point he had restricted himself to his immature pawing and fondling. She knew with fatal certainty that he was saving her torment until he made camp. How can I defend myself? her weary mind asked. Crown was a powerful man, and she had no weapon other than her hands and feet. But she was determined to do what she could to fend him off.

  As soon as he selected his campsite, Crown built a fire. When it was burning satisfactorily, he grabbed Jamie and dragged her over to a tree, where he bound her securely, grinning broadly at her feeble efforts to fight against him. Instead of assaulting her immediately, he got back on his horse and rode back the way they had come. He retraced their trail for almost a mile until he came to a high ridge where he could look over his backtrail for a considerable distance. He didn’t trust Plum, and he had to make sure he wasn’t being tailed. For as far as he could see, there was no sign of any living thing. The moaning of the wind as it whistled through the valley seemed to confirm the emptiness. Crown smiled. Everything was just as he wanted, and he joyfully anticipated the evening of pleasure awaiting him.

  Jamie strained against her bonds until she was exhausted. It was no use, Crown had made sure of his knots. He would soon be back, and the heinous moment she had lived in fear of would be upon her. Knowing in her heart that he would certainly kill her when he was finished with his sadistic pleasure, she tried to will herself to be strong and to resist to the end. Even as she fought to strengthen her resolve, she felt the tears streaming down her face, and she whispered into the cold white emptiness, “Mama, I’m scared,” a phrase she had not uttered since she was a little girl.

  She heard him coming, his horse breathing hard with the exertion of plowing through the snow, and she felt her body grow numb with dread. In a few moments, he pulled up and dismounted, leaving the saddle on the exhausted animal. The evil grin spread across his grimy face was enough to tell her what lay ahead for her, and she cringed as he stood over her.

  “Now, Miss Prissy, there ain’t nobody to bother us,” he gloated, “and you gonna git rode like you ain’t never been rode before.”

  Summoning all the courage she could muster, she spat through swollen lips, “Don’t you come near me, you filthy pig, or you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

  Crown laughed, delighted. “That’s right, honey, spit and claw like a damn wildcat. The rougher it is, the better I like it.” He stood over her for a long moment, leering like a glutton about to partake of a feast. She steeled herself for his assault, but he only laughed again and said, “First I’m gonna git me somethin’ to eat. I’d give you somethin’ too, but it’d be a waste of good buffalo jerky, ’cause you ain’t never gonna eat agin after we’re done tonight.”

  Jamie strained against her bonds, the rawhide thongs cutting deeply into her wrists. Amused by her efforts to free herself, Crown watched while he ate, chewing the tough jerky until tiny rivulets of saliva formed at the corners of his mouth. “Now tomorrow I might have me somethin’ besides buffalo—maybe some of this haunch.” He reached over and grabbed for her bottom. She jerked away from his reach, moving as far away as the rope that bound her to the tree would permit. He laughed and said, “You know, I et a Cree woman once, but I ain’t never et no white woman.”

  He got to his feet and stood over her again. In a sudden lunge, he bent down and grabbed her breast. She screamed and kicked him hard between his legs, causing him to double up with a loud grunt and back away to recover. She had hurt him, but not badly, and he glared at her, fury raging in his eyes while he waited for the pain to subside. She stared back at him, her eyes glazed with terror, knowing his retaliation would be brutal.

  His recovery took no more than a few minutes, and his rage increased with every second. Moving near her again, he snarled, “You’re gonna rue the day you ever done that,” and struck her hard with his fist against the side of her face. Her chin snapped around with the force of the blow, sending her brain reeling. Before she could recover, he metho
dically rained a series of blows on her face and head until everything went dark and she slipped into the black void of unconsciousness.

  When she awoke, it was to a world of pain. Darkness had fallen, and Crown had built the fire up until it was a roaring inferno. She tried to move, but found she could not. Her head was still in a fog, and she was not aware at first that he had dragged her over to two small trees. Her hands, no longer tied together, were strapped one to each tree, stretching her arms apart so that she was spread out on the snow. When her mind began to clear, she became aware of the blood caked on her face and the dull pounding in her brain. Nauseated from the blood she had swallowed, she knew then that she was beaten. There was no longer any will to resist, or even to survive. Evidently there were many degrees of dying, and she was sure that she must be already in the final stages.

  Crown sat staring at her, waiting for signs that she was coming to. He was afraid for a while that he had killed her in his rage and thus deprived himself of the torture that brought him his greatest pleasure. He smiled when he saw her stirring—he would give her a few minutes more, so she would be fully aware of the hell he planned for her. When she had been unconscious, he had ripped away part of her clothing, amusing himself with crudely groping her helpless body while he waited for her to revive. He might have done more, but he was still sensitive from the kick she had given him earlier, so it was necessary to delay his pleasure for a while. But now he was ready.