Into the Unknown w-55

by David Thompson

  “Now you’re picking a fight with me?” Jess said. “The one person in this world who gives a damn about you?”

  “I’m mad at him, not you.”

  I was so intent on the two of them that I did not see Cutter gaze in the direction of the spruce. The first intimation I had that he had noticed the jacket was when he jerked his rifle up.

  “Over there! Look!”

  The next moment Cutter gigged his horse toward the spruce—and me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I lay frozen in surprise.

  Jess and Jordy raised their reins, Jordy bellowing, “Don’t you kill him! I want him to die slow!”

  Cutter had snapped his rifle to his shoulder, but he did not shoot. His eyes narrowed and he exclaimed, “What the hell?”

  Suddenly Blue Water Woman’s head and shoulders were silhouetted against the blue of the sky. She aimed the pistol at the closest to her, who happened to be Jordy. It spat smoke and lead, and at the crack of the shot, Jordy threw his arms into the air and slumped forward over his mount.

  “Jordy!” Jess cried, reining around.

  Cutter glanced back, and drew rein.

  My body moved without my brain willing it to. I was on my feet, my arm cocked to throw the rock, before I quite knew what I was doing. I threw it with all my might, and much to my amazement, my throw was true.

  The rock caught Cutter in the temple, and he reeled in the saddle and nearly fell.

  Jess seized hold of the reins to his brother’s mount and galloped to the south. Another instant, and Cutter, still reeling, raced after them.

  I whooped for joy and broke from cover. I felt much as David must have felt when he slew Goliath.

  Blue Water Woman brought me down to earth. She came flying down the slope, shouting, “The rifle, Robert!”

  Only then did I realize that Jordy had dropped his. I scooped it up and wheeled just as she reached me. Gladly giving it to her, I said happily, “We did it! We drove them off.”

  “They will be back, and we must not be here when they do.” Blue Water Woman turned toward the valley floor so very far below, and once again we ran side by side.

  “We have taught them not to take us lightly, at least,” I said proudly. “And now there is one less.”

  “Perhaps,” Blue Water Woman said.

  “You hit him. I saw it.”

  “But did the slug strike his heart or a lung or miss his vitals altogether? We cannot take his death for granted.”

  “Either way, he will be in no shape to ride,” I predicted. “And now that we have his rifle, the other two won’t press us as hard.” In my mind’s eye I saw us reaching the cabins and rallying the Kings and McNair to track down the killers. We had as good as prevailed.

  “You have a lot to learn about human nature, Robert,” Blue Water Woman cautioned. “If Jordy does die, his brother will not rest until we have breathed our last.”

  “You are forgetting the vein of gold,” I reminded her. “He won’t harm us so long as he thinks you can lead him to it.”

  “I would not count on that overmuch were I you.”

  After that we had breath only for running. I did my best, but I slowed her down. She displayed the easy graceful lope of an antelope and could go forever without tiring. Me, I was hurting after a few hundred yards. But I doggedly ran on. I refused to let her be caught because of me.

  We had descended for over an hour, with brief stops now and again so I could try to catch my breath, when we both heard the dreaded but familiar sound of hooves high above us.

  Blue Water Woman stared up the mountain. “They took longer than I thought they would.”

  “We must find another spot to make a stand,” I wheezed.

  “This time we will try another trick.”

  Ahead were aspens. She made straight for them, I a puppy glued to her moccasins. The narrow boles were almost white in the bright sunlight. When she stopped, I was puzzled. Hardly any cover was to be had. The trees were too thin. “What are you up to?”

  “This will do,” Blue Water Woman said with a smile.

  “For what? Our graves?”

  She thrust the knife into my hand. “I will circle back on our trail to the right. You go to the left. Keep about ten paces from our tracks. Halfway to the spot where we entered the aspens, stop. Lie on your stomach and cover yourself with as many leaves as you can.”

  Her idea was brilliant. Our pursuers would be so intent on reading sign, they might not spot us.

  “When they are close enough I will shoot one,” Blue Water Woman said, “Then we will both rush whoever is left and end this.”

  I liked the shooting part; I did not like the rushing part. “But one of us is liable to take a slug.”

  “I will make as if I am reloading the rifle,” Blue Water Woman said, “and keep the last one’s attention on me. When you are close enough, stab him. Stab him again and again.”

  “If your plan works he will have his back to me.”

  “I will ask him to turn around so you can stab him in the chest.”

  “Your sarcasm is excellent, but I was not objecting,” I said. “I will do what I have to. It is them or us, and I have grown fond of breathing.”

  “You are learning at last,” Blue Water Woman said, and clapped me on the arm.

  We set our trap. I did exactly as she told me. Plenty of leaves littered the ground, most of them dry and brittle. But by scooping carefully I did as she had directed. I could see her doing the same. She looked at me, and I smiled.

  I envied Shakespeare McNair. Tavern gossip had it that Indian women made terrible wives. They were supposed to be smelly and dirty and little better than animals. I am here to record the opposite. Blue Water Woman was as much a lady as any white woman I ever met. She was intelligent, articulate and brave. She abhorred dirt. In short, she was as fine a female as I ever met. Yes, I envied Shakespeare McNair very much.

  Her low cry drew me out of myself.

  Two riders were nearing the aspens. Jess Hook and Cutter were abreast of each other, about thirty feet apart. The incident at the bluff had taught them a lesson. They rode primed for conflict, the stocks of their rifles on their thighs, their thumbs on the hammers and their fingers on the triggers.

  Jordy was not with them. I suppose I should have been elated. But I experienced only the cold realization that we still had two cutthroats to deal with.

  Ten yards from the aspens the pair drew rein.

  Jess rose in the stirrups and scanned the stand from end to end. He was uneasy, and it showed.

  “We can’t sit here all day,” Cutter complained.

  “I just lost my only brother. We will sit here as long as I damn well please.”

  “I am only saying—” Cutter began.

  “We should go around,” Jess cut him off.

  My breath caught in my throat. If they did that, and found no trace of us on the other side of the stand, they would know beyond any shadow of a doubt that we were hiding in it.

  “There is such a thing as being too cautious,” Cutter said.

  “Ride on through if you want. Make it easy for them. Or have you forgotten they got their hands on Jordy’s rifle?”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Cutter assured him, although were I a gambling man, I would wager he had.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Jess said.

  I would not have done it for all the ivory in Africa. But then, I never pretend I am more than I am. I am a naturalist. I record new species for posterity. That is the sum and substance of my life.

  Cutter poked his mount with his heels. He came slowly, scouring the aspens on both sides of him.

  I imitated a log. The slightest movement would give me away. I refused even to blink.

  “You are too pigheaded for your own good!” Jess called to Cutter, then reined to the right and headed around the stand.

  Cutter did not answer. He was looking up in trees, behind trees, behind him. A distinct click warned me he had thum
bed his rifle’s hammer back.

  My skin crawled. I was afraid if I twitched, he would blow the top of my head off.

  Blue Water Woman was practically invisible. Her eyes and part of her face were all I could see and only because I knew where she was.

  Jess Hook had goaded his mount to a gallop. He would not be a factor if we struck quickly. But Blue Water Woman did not shoot, not even when Cutter came abreast of us.

  Inexplicably, Cutter stopped. I did not like how he was staring in my direction. I liked it even less when he shifted in the saddle and trained his rifle on me.

  “You are a clever bastard. But that knife you are holding stands out clear as can be.”

  I had completely forgotten about it.

  “On your feet, fancy pants, or I will kill you where you lie.”

  My legs did not want to cooperate, but I made it erect and stood with my arms at my sides. “You don’t want to do this.”

  “Sure I do.” Cutter laughed. “It was you who beaned me with that rock, wasn’t it?” Without taking his eyes off me, he turned his head to display the discolored bump on his temple.

  “I had to,” I said. “You are out to kill us.”

  “Not then we weren’t,” Cutter said. “Jess and Jordy were hoping to take you and the squaw alive.” He paused. “Where is she, anyhow? Where did that red bitch get to?”

  “Right behind you,” Blue Water Woman said. Her legs were visible under his horse on the other side.

  Cutter stiffened and started to turn but reconsidered. A sly smile twisted his cruel mouth.

  “I bet you have Jordy’s rifle pointed at me, don’t you?”

  “You would win that bet,” Blue Water Woman said. “And in case you are wondering, yes, I can shoot you in the back and not lose sleep over it.”

  I moved toward them, intending to disarm him. “Don’t shoot. We will take him prisoner.”

  “No, Robert!” Blue Water Woman responded. “Stay back! This one is too dangerous.”

  I should have listened. But by then I was only a few steps from his horse, and I reached up to relieve him of his rifle. To my credit, I stepped to one side so I was not in front of the muzzle.

  Cutter came out of the saddle like a bolt of lightning. In reflex I thrust the knife at him, but he swatted my forearm aside even as he slammed into me. His shoulder caught me full in the sternum, and I was smashed onto my back. I thought my chest would burst.

  Cutter had let go of his rifle as he sprang, and now, straddling me, he whipped a pistol from under his belt and jammed the deadly end against my neck.

  I did not understand why Blue Water Woman had not fired. Then I saw her over his shoulder; she rushed up and pointed the rifle at the back of his head. Whether her intention was to shoot or take him prisoner as I had requested was rendered moot by the click of his pistol. He glanced at her, showing his teeth in vicious glee.

  “Go ahead, squaw. You shoot me and I shoot him. All it will take is a twitch of my finger.”

  Blue Water Woman hesitated.

  “I thought so,” Cutter crowed. “Drop the rifle and step around in front of me.”

  “Don’t do it!” I cried.

  Cutter, frowning, gouged the pistol into my neck. “Not another peep out of you.”

  I writhed in pain but dared not push at his arm for fear the pistol would go off.

  Blue Water Woman was a study in indecision. My folly had placed us in a dreadful predicament. She could shoot him, but at the possible cost of my life. Our eyes met, and for a moment my pain was of no consequence. Then, reluctantly, she lowered her rifle, saying, “Very well. Do not kill him, and I will do as you say.”

  I was heart struck. She was sacrificing herself for my sake. This gentle woman whose friendship I valued so highly would lose her life because of my stupidity. I couldn’t have that. I would not let her perish.

  Cutter was looking at her, not at me. In his arrogance he had forgotten something; the knife I still held. He sneered at her, and I stabbed him in the belly.

  I must say, the result was not what I expected. I thought he would collapse on top of me, dead, but I had no more luck stabbing him than Blue Water Woman did when she stabbed Jordy. Instead of collapsing, he roared like a wild beast and exploded into motion.

  Cutter reared up off of me, hitting me with his pistol as he rose. Blue Water Woman tried to level her rifle, but he whirled and was on her in a bound. He swung the pistol and caught her above the ear. Down she went.

  “No!” My head was spinning, but I heaved off the ground. “Get away from her, you slug!”

  Cutter spun. He began to raise the pistol, then smiled and did the last thing I expected; he slid it under his belt. Not because he was giving up, but so he could draw one of his knives. He wagged it in a circle and said with relish, “I’m going to like doing you. You will die a hundred times before I am done.”

  “A person can only die once,” I responded, struggling to clear my head. I was under no delusions. I was no match for him, none whatsoever.

  As if the situation were not dire enough, hooves pounded and through the aspens came Jess Hook. He drew rein and aimed his rifle at me.

  My time had come.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Life is a fickle mistress. She dispenses happiness and sadness with no regard for those under her sway. I had come to the Rockies for the sole purpose of expanding the horizons of human knowledge, yet my lofty goal counted for nothing when weighed in the balance by the scales of death. I was on the verge of being sent beyond the veil.

  “No!” Cutter bellowed. “Don’t you dare!”

  Jess Hook did not lower his rifle, but he did look at Cutter and say in annoyance, “I have as much right as you. They killed my brother.”

  “She did!” Cutter said, pointing at Blue Water Woman’s unconscious form. “Do what you want with her, but I do fancy pants here.”

  “Stop calling me that,” I said.

  Cutter’s shirt was bloody, and scarlet drops were dripping over his belt and down his leg. “I mean it. Look at what he did to me. He’s mine, and that’s that.”

  Jess Hook straightened. “All right. The squaw is mine and he’s yours. But we should take a look at you first. You’re bleeding bad.”

  “I hardly feel it,” Cutter said. “We’ll look when I’m done with him and not before.”

  And just like that, he sprang.

  I was not prepared. My head was still fuzzy and I was staring at Blue Water Woman, not at him. As it was, I evaded his knife only because I instinctively threw myself backward, and in doing so, tripped over my own feet. His blade cleaved air inches from my throat.

  I landed on my back and scrambled away from him using my elbows and heels. Cutter came after me, slicing at my legs. I rolled to the right and pushed to my knees.

  Cold steel arced toward my chest. I countered, and my knife rang on his. It jarred my arm to the bone.

  Cutter was incensed. He redoubled his efforts, thrusting and slashing. I reacted without thinking and managed to block or avoid his blows. Suddenly he drew back, breathing heavily, which enabled me to get to my feet.

  “Let me shoot him!” Jess Hook offered.

  “No!” Cutter had his other hand pressed to his gut. The dark stain had spread and the top of his pants were now crimson.

  “We’ll tie him and you can kill him after I stitch you up!” Jess hollered.

  “No,” Cutter said again, and came at me in a fury.

  How I stayed alive I will never know. His blade glittered and streaked. I dodged and ducked and danced to one side or the other. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct, and I attribute the fact that I was unscathed when he stopped and stepped back to a force beyond myself.

  We were now a good thirty feet from Jess Hook, who yelled, “Damn it, Cutter! You’re killing yourself!”

  Cutter did not look well. He was pasty, his face sprinkled with beads of sweat. He swayed slightly as he stood there glaring at me. His lips were drawn back fro
m his teeth so that he seemed more akin to a rabid beast than a rational human being.

  What makes people do what he was doing? Why, in the face of all reason, do we ignore what is best for us and do that which will only heap hardship on our heads? Is it pride that makes us think we are immune to the folly of our actions? Or is it that we think we are invincible when we are not? Whatever the cause, I was grateful Cutter was no different from any other mortal; he was too stubborn for his own good.

  “Did you hear me?” Jess Hook shouted.

  “Quit pestering me!”

  “Fine. You’re on your own.”

  Hefting his knife, Cutter crouched. “It’s you or me. I won’t stop until one of us is done for.”

  “You should listen to him and let him bandage you.” I was stalling.

  Cutter cocked his head. “I hate you.”

  Why he said that, at that moment, was a mystery to me. But it was not all he had to say.

  “I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone or anything. You are all that is wrong with this world. You are why I am as I am.”

  That made no sense whatsoever. I figured the loss of blood had brought on delirium. “We are each of us accountable for our own actions,” I responded.

  “There you go again, using big words. I hate that, too.”

  Now I ask you, where was the logic in that? Why hate a person’s vocabulary? “What you need is a cup of tea. My grandmother always claimed that calms the nerves.”

  For some reason that drove Cutter berserk. Roaring like a mad bear, he charged me, his knife weaving a tapestry of death.

  I did the only thing I could.

  I turned and ran.

  A string of swear words blistered my ears as I weaved through the aspens with all the speed I could muster. I risked a look over my shoulder to see if Cutter was after me.

  He was.

  I had never seen anyone so furious. His face was so red, it was virtually purple. Rage contorted his features. His eyes were filled with red lines, and his nostrils were distended. His chest rose and fell in great gasps.

  I am not fleet of foot. Under ordinary circumstances, Cutter would have caught me with no difficulty. But he was severely wounded, and his wound slowed him. I, on the other hand, was spurred by my fear. I ran for all I was worth. Reaching deep down inside of me, I called on reserves of stamina I did not know I had.