by Laura Crum
"There's a place called Dead Horse Corner. It's not that bad if you stay to the inside. But the rock slopes out and down, and it's slickrock. You can see the bones of a horse or two down below."
"That ought to work," I said.
"What do you mean?" Blue stopped in his tracks.
"Come on," I said. "I'll tell you while I'm packing up to go."
We were in the meadow now; despite my racing heart, I took a moment's comfort in the sight of our placidly grazing horses, their backs shiny in the early sunlight. But I kept moving.
I caught horses and began saddling and packing. Blue helped me as much as he could. And while I packed, I talked.
I told Blue about the snares along the trail to Cherry Creek Canyon, told him in detail this time. Particularly about the slicker.
"Could you," I asked him, "rig a horse-spooker like that?"
"Sure. I used to make snares for rabbits when I was a kid. I know how to carve the trigger."
I nodded in satisfaction. "And we've got a raincoat and some twine."
"So, what do you want to do, Gail?" Blue stared at me, holding a bridle in his good hand.
"Trap them with their own trap," I said. "It looks like they're barely awake; their horses are still out in the meadow. They know we have to ride by them to get out, so they figure they're sitting pretty. They're not afraid of us."
"True enough." Blue sounded puzzled.
"So, let's say we go galloping right through their camp, flat out. We'd catch them by surprise, wouldn't you think?"
"Sure."
"So, what do you think they'd do?"
"Saddle the horses and go after us, I guess," Blue said.
"That's what I think, too. But they'll be a ways behind us. And if we can get up into the Roughs and rig a horse-spooker at Dead Horse Comer, we might catch them by surprise again."
Blue took this in and then grinned. “You want to set them up?"
"That's right. Look at it this way; if they're innocent, they won't chase us, and if they do chase us, they're the ones who've been trying to kill us."
Blue's grin grew wider. "How many bullets do you have left?"
"Four," I said.
“All right."
Neither of us extrapolated on this. The horses were packed and saddled.
"Let's get you on," I told Blue. "We don't have any time to waste. I want to catch them while they're still in the sack."
Once again we went through the ritual of boosting Blue onto Dunny. Then, pack horses and dogs in tow, we headed out of the meadow.
My heart was really thumping now. Like a rope horse about to make a run, I could feel adrenaline surging into my system. Fight or flight-the old message. Live or die.
I knew that I could be killed. They had shot at us once; they could shoot again. There was no knowing. My heart pounded furiously.
I thought of the horses, and the dogs. We would all have to take our chances. I prayed that we'd survive, that we'd all come out unscathed.
We were out of the meadow now, on rock, climbing the trail that led up the canyon. Blue was in the lead; once again I followed Little Witch's flaxen tail.
On and on, up and up. Past the marker that pointed to Benson Lake, back on the main trail, up toward Kerrick Meadow. Not too far now, by my reckoning.
Blue pulled his horse up at a flat spot. I rode alongside him.
"That's Ranchero Creek," he said, indicating a small, clear stream to our right. "When we round the next bend, we'll be in the lower end of Kerrick Meadow. They're camped to the right of the trail, along the creek, where the meadow narrows."
We both stared at the trail ahead. Innocuous in the morning sunlight, it looked pleasant and inviting. Level trail, leading to a meadow. With an enemy guarding it.
"Should we start moving here, or when we round the corner?" I asked Blue.
"Let's kick the horses up to a trot here," he said in even tones, as though he'd been thinking about it. "That way we'll all have some momentum going. As soon as we round that bend we'll see their camp. Beyond that the trail runs on level ground through the meadow for at least a mile. We can cover the whole thing at the lope. Then there's another mile uphill through forest before we hit The Roughs."
"Okay," I said. "Are you ready?"
"I'm ready."
Both of us clucked to our horses and leaned forward in our saddles. Gunner picked up the trot easily. I dallied the lead rope around the saddle horn and pulled Plumber out of the walk and into the trot.
"Heel," I told Roey, probably unnecessarily. She was following right in Plumber's wake.
The bend was coming up; I clucked again as I saw Dunny and Little Witch break into a lope. The pine trees rushed by me as Gunner picked up the gait.
Then we were around the turn, the meadow ahead of us. My eyes shot to the right. Tents, still quiet. No sign of humans. I kicked Gunner in the ribs.
Hooves pounded, saddles squeaked. We thundered down the trail past the campsite. A horse neighed out in the meadow and Plumber answered shrilly back. A man's voice, loud and surprised, "What the fuck?" Steve's voice.
Motion around the tents, I thought, but I kept my eyes straight ahead. My body rocked to the rhythm of Gunner's long stride; I could feel Plumber galloping alongside, leading like a well-trained dog on a leash.
We were past their camp. More neighs from horses in the meadow. Yells behind us. Then the sharp crack of a shot. I ducked lower over Gunner's neck, my heart pounding.
Gunner galloped on without a check, as did Plumber. I could see Blue and his horses and dog. I looked back over my shoulder. Roey was there.
There was a man standing in front of the tents. Steve. He pointed a pistol at us and shot again. I ducked and hustled my horse, but I knew we were out of pistol range. Thank God, he didn't have a rifle.
In another minute we would be out of sight of their camp. Kerrick Meadow opened up around us, green and sunny. We raced headlong down the trail, horses and dogs and all.
At a guess, Dan and crew would now be scrambling to catch horses and saddle up. We would have at least ten minutes' head start on them. We needed to use it.
Moving at the high lope, Kerrick Meadow sped by. Sharp, silvery, saw-toothed peaks rose on the skyline; we were on the eastern side of the Sierras now, everything steeper and more abrupt. The meadow was a green plateau in a vertically thrusting rock landscape.
Gunner stretched out eagerly underneath me, trying to stay ahead of Plumber. The competitive instinct seems to be bone-deep; horses don't need to be taught to race.
Even though I knew the hunters were behind us somewhere, my heart lifted at the rhythm of the gait and the wind on my face. To be galloping across a sunny mountain meadow in a charging pack of horses and dogs-some atavistic gene, some ancestral hunting instinct, spoke to me in an exhilarating voice.
On we galloped, the trail following the creek, more or less. Level and sandy, it wound in gentle serpentine curves through the grass, leading us toward a forested ridge.
Gradually the land began to rise. We drew closer to the ridge. Gunner was tiring. I could see the damp sweat on his neck, feel his inclination to slow. I let him drop to the trot.
Plumber fell in behind him. Blue looked back and checked Dunny. "We'll be in the Roughs in about a mile," he yelled.
"Let's see if we can cover it at the long trot," I called back.
"All right."
Blue's two horses lined out along the trail; I followed Little Witch. The dogs were staying with us, but their tongues were hanging out.
Trees around us now, but the ground was still sandy. Growing steeper all the time, with occasional rocky outcroppings.
Off to our left, the little creek poured over one such spur, cascading in a white waterfall to a good-sized pool with a beach beside it.
"Wow," I said out loud. Now there was a campsite. I earmarked it for a return journey.
If I survived this one. We kept trotting through the woods; the trail growing progressively steeper. O
ccasionally I looked back over my shoulder, but there was no one there.
I didn't see how there could be. Even if Dan and crew were willing to ride bareback, which I doubted, they would still have to catch and mount their horses. At the very least, we had to be five minutes ahead of them.
The trail was getting rocky. Over a small ridge and then down into deep forest. Loam and ferns under the trees-a mix of cottonwoods and pines.
The trail crossed the creek, and Blue stopped to let the horses drink. I did the same. Only half a minute, then we tugged their heads up and moved on.
The trail rose rapidly out of the woods, ascending toward a dramatically steep granite ridge. In a minute or two we were on a ledge where the route had clearly been dynamited.
Blue led at the walk. "We're in The Roughs now," he called back over his shoulder. Up and up, steeper and steeper, rock all around us. My heart, which had slowed down, pounded faster. I could see a sharp notch above us, looking like the spot where the trail topped the ridge.
"So where's this Dead Horse Comer?" I yelled to Blue.
"Just over the top," he said. "You'll see."
I concentrated on helping Gunner pick his way. This bit of trail was as steep and tricky as any I'd been on yet. The horses seemed to be handling it, though.
We were nearing the notch; I watched Dunny scramble a little as Blue was silhouetted on the skyline. Then they were over, Little Witch following smoothly.
The V -shaped notch was tricky for sure, slanted rock on both sides. Gunner and Plumber negotiated their way up it and we stepped through the gap.
I looked up, for a second, away from the trail, and gasped. Before us, a steep cliff and then a long canyon winding off into the misty distance, into the high desert of Nevada. We had crossed the mountains.
Twenty feet below the pass, Blue pulled his horses off the trail into a small level hollow. I rode alongside him.
"That corner is just ahead," he said. "What I think we need to do is have you hide the horses and the dogs while I set the trap."
“All right," I said. Blue dismounted awkwardly and tied Dunny and Little Witch to pine trees.
"Just follow the trail," he said briefly. "Be careful and stay to the inside of the bad corner. Not too far, and you'll come to a grove of willows. You could tie your horses and dog in there and then come back for mine."
"All right," I said again. I didn't ask him any questions; there wasn't time. If we were to get this done, I had to trust that we would both do our parts.
I rode Gunner out of the hollow and headed down the trail, Plumber and Roey following me. Sure enough, immediately ahead was a straight drop down to the creek, many feet below. The trail had been blasted into the cliff, and to the inside, where the rock was rough, it looked perfectly safe. But as Blue had said, the trail sloped out and down; I could see how dangerous it would be to get caught on the outside.
Hurry, hurry. The voice in my head said we would run out of time. I hushed it. Tried to sit relaxed in my saddle. Let Gunner and Plumber pick their way over the rock slowly and carefully. Not a footfall slipped. I kept my eyes averted from the drop.
Now we were around the corner, negotiating our way down the slope. Some loose rock, much rough trail. No place for hurrying, though hurry, hurry said my mind.
It seemed like forever until we were in the willow grove. I found a place and tied the horses, got twine from the saddlebags and tied Roey, too. I could hear her whining after me as I jogged back up the trail.
I was gasping for breath as I got back to Dead Horse Corner. Blue's voice came from up above. "I'm getting this thing rigged. I've got the trigger carved now. When you come back, keep your eye on the trail, so you don't trip the trap. And bring the gun back with you."
"All right," I panted.
Clambering up the last stretch, I forced myself to slow to a walk as I approached Blue's horses. Hurry, hurry. They would be coming.
I gave a moment's thought to raising Blue's stirrups to fit me, but rejected the notion. I untied Dunny and climbed on, my feet dangling freely, praying he would be as gentle and trustworthy as he had appeared. Not to mention surefooted.
Leading Little Witch, I called to Freckles, who was lying obediently with the horses. She looked at me doubtfully, but she came.
Off we went, to the incessant ticking of the timer in my head. By my reckoning, they might be here in five more minutes. Hurry, hurry.
I took a deep breath. Purposefully relaxed all my muscles. Tried to send Dunny a positive, confident message. He felt entirely different from Gunner. Taller, wider, and much heavier-moving. Like riding a draft horse.
He picked his way over the rock with the same care, though, and I could feel his intelligence and willingness in his body. We rounded Dead Horse Corner and Freckles looked up toward where I knew Blue was.
"Come on, girl," I encouraged her and she followed the horses, looking back over her shoulder.
Now we were going down, drawing closer to the willows. Dunny stumbled once in the scree, bringing my heart rate sky-high, but he recovered and kept going.
I could hear Plumber's shrill nicker as we approached the spot where the horses were tied. I rode Dunny into the willows and found a place near my two horses. Working carefully and methodically, trying not to fumble or waste motion, I tied Dunny and Little Witch up, found another piece of twine in my saddlebag, and tied Freckles. Then I got the gun.
One more glance over the horses and dogs to make sure everybody looked safe, and I was running again, holstered gun clutched in my hand. Hurry, hurry.
Back to Dead Horse Corner. I stopped abruptly. I could see nothing on the trail, but Blue had said to be careful. In a second I heard his voice. "Come on up here, Gail, I need your help."
"All right."
"Climb up here," he said. "Just to your right. The trip line's about ten feet ahead of you, across the trail. I rigged it with fishing line."
I couldn't see it. Obediently I clambered up a cleft in the rock; in a minute I could see Blue, though he was completely hidden from the trail.
He gestured back over his right shoulder with his chin. "Take that sapling and bend it down to the ground as far as you can."
I could see the sapling he meant. I pulled it downward with all my strength. I could hear the small sounds of Blue working behind me, a muttered "damn."
Then, "All right, you can let go of it-real gently."
I eased the pressure off the tree. It stayed bent. Blue gave a small grunt of satisfaction, then pointed to a flat rock. "If we sit here, we get a good view of the trail. They won't be able to see us." He looked at the gun, still clutched in my left hand. "We'll have the advantage."
"So you think we should shoot them?" I said evenly.
"We can't count on the trap working, and we definitely can't count on it taking out all three of them," Blue said.
"Do you think they'll all come?"
''They might."
I looked at him. "There are four bullets left. I don't shoot all that well. Do you want the pistol?"
"I'm right-handed." Blue said. "You've probably got a better chance. But I'll take it if you want."
Thoughts spun through my brain. Useless, disconnected. I didn't want to kill anyone. It was my gun, my responsibility. I didn't want them to kill me or Blue. I didn't want our horses and dogs abandoned up here.
That last thought decided me. "I'll carry the gun," I said. "But I'm really not a very good shot. And I haven't practiced in years."
"I'll help you." Blue crouched behind the rock and indicated a place for me next to him. "Rest the barrel on this rock so it stays steady," he said. "Sight down it, until you're aiming at the spot by that pine sapling next to the trail. Imagine there's a man there. Aim for the middle of his body. Okay?"
"I don't know," I said.
"It'll be okay. I'll tell you when to fire." Blue's voice was calm.
I was far from calm. My heart thumped steadily and my hands were shaking. I rested the barrel of the pi
stol on the rock and took a deep breath. Hold it together, Gail.
We waited. Nothing but quiet and the small sounds of the mountains. Wind in the pines, the distant murmur of the creek far below. We're ready, I thought. Blue turned his head sharply.
"I heard a voice," he said.
Ready or not, they were coming.
TWENTY-SIX
I couldn't see them, but I could hear them. Or rather, I could hear Steve.
His light tenor voice, carrying through the rocks to our hiding place. "Those stupid bastards can't be far ahead, Uncle Dan."
Uncle Dan? I wondered for a second if it was a Godfather-like term of respect, or if Steve was really Dan's nephew. Then my mind snapped back to the present.
They were coming up the slope. They would appear in the notch soon.
"What's the plan here?" I whispered to Blue.
He looked over at me. "Take them out, I guess."
We stared at each other.
"We can't count on being able to hide from them, or get away from them," he said quietly. "Just remember what I told you about aiming the gun. I'll tell you when to fire."
I didn't say anything. I simply could not believe the mess I was in. People were hunting us through the mountains, trying to kill us, for no reason that I knew. And I was trying to kill them in return. Believe it or not, Gail, I urged myself, just keep your mind on the job. Focus.
I narrowed my vision to the spot where the trail appeared through the notch. Waited.
Steve's voice again. "Once we get through these rocks, there's a big valley. We'll catch them there. We can move a lot faster than they can with those pack horses."
A low reply. I couldn't hear the words, but I recognized the deeper baritone of Dan Jacobi's voice.
And then Steve appeared in the notch. Riding a sorrel horse, wearing a straw cowboy hat, pistol prominent on his belt. The sorrel slipped and scrambled a little in the V -shaped cleft, and Steve cursed him.
"You dumb son of a bitch. Keep your feet under you." He gave the horse a sharp jab with his spur. The sorrel lunged forward, slipping again, but managed to stay upright.
"Stupid bastard." Steve jabbed the horse one more time.
Now the big gray gelding was silhouetted in the gap-Dan Jacobi, following Steve. My heart pounded. Steve was coming toward us, toward the trap, toward Dead Horse Corner. On they came, looking ahead, down Buckeye Canyon.
