Ride The Wild Range

by Cheryl Pierson

  Not far away, a whippoorwill called from the woods. Jacobi.

  I stood still. One of the hardest things I'd ever done, not to give any kind of sign of what that sound meant. For me, it was the most reassuring sound I'd ever heard, and I suddenly realized how hard it had been, even knowing Jacobi was out there, to make this trip with my grandfather... I didn't want to imagine trying to do it all alone.

  I figured Grandpa had my rifle re-loaded by now. I glanced his way, and he gave a slight nod. In a few seconds, I started back toward him, walking slow, and looking around at everything one final time.

  I couldn't stop myself from glancing over at those three crosses one last time. With any luck, I wouldn't be joining them today – but I knew I'd be in Roy and Bill's sights once everything started.

  And it was going to be soon.

  Chapter 39

  The thought had barely crossed my mind when all hell broke loose.

  From the woods, a shot rang out, followed quickly by another one, more muffled. That meant two shooters, and the second one had been shooting at whoever made the first shot out toward where I stood.

  I was in the open. Should I go to the cover of the wagon, or into the woods to see if Jacobi needed me?

  One look at my grandfather made up my mind for me immediately. Whoever had shot the first bullet hit their mark. Grandpa had managed to crawl into the wagon, but even from where I stood at more than twenty paces away, I could see the bright streak of red across the back of the wagon seat.

  I took off in a dead run, vaulted onto the wagon seat and scrambled into the covered wood bed of the wagon where Grandpa lay. I was looking down the barrel of my own rifle and into a pair of very determined blue eyes. Blood was everywhere, sticky on my fingers, as I knelt beside him.

  "Grandpa!"

  "Will..." He tried to smile, reaching for me. "There's something I left with Jacobi...for you. When you get home...open..."

  "I will, Grandpa."

  "It's all yours, Will. Whether you – you want it or not – everything I worked for."

  I squeezed his hand. It would be wrong to turn it down now, though I truly had no intention of claiming it, should I live through this day. "Thank you."

  "Gun's loaded," he said. "You better...better..."

  "I will." I picked up the rifle and got close to the opening, trying to see. The back of the seat provided me some cover.

  "My pistol, Will. Take it."

  I felt him press the small derringer against my arm. I reached for it and put it into my waistband, then turned my attention to the opening in the canvas at the front of the wagon again.

  "Who's there?" Roy yelled from behind an oak tree. He'd jumped from his horse and scuttled off to the nearest cover. "Trask? That you?"

  There was no response, and the gunfire had stopped. The silence was heavy, with nothing but the September wind in the trees to interrupt it.

  "Could be Injuns, Roy," Bill called shortly from a few yards away. I couldn't see him, but judging by his voice, I knew he was using our old ramshackle outhouse for cover – probably standing behind it as his horse crashed into the woods behind him.

  "Get that boy," Roy called back. "We can use him as a shield."

  "You get him! I ain't comin' out in the open. Get myself killed."

  "That's gonna happen anyway," I muttered. I leveled the rifle in Bill's direction, squeezing back on the trigger. Part of his body came into my sights, and just for a split instant, his eyes met mine. He dodged back, just as I got my shot off. By his yelp of pain, I knew I'd winged him, anyhow – although, I'd been aiming to do more than wound him.

  "You little son of a bitch!" he screamed.

  A shot ripped through the wagon covering, and I knew Roy was giving his partner a hand. The next one missed my head by inches. I crawled down to the far end of the wagon and tried to look out. Though Bill thought he was well-hidden, I could see part of a booted, denim-clad leg sticking out from where he knelt behind the outhouse. I took aim and pulled the trigger again.

  Bill screamed like a mountain lion as the bullet found its mark. I had no time to revel in my marksmanship. I had to re-load and be ready.

  "He's coming, Will. Atkins..." Grandpa's voice was raspy and his breath came in shallow pants.

  I barely had gotten the shells loaded when I heard his footsteps running toward the wagon. He jumped up on the seat, and a bullet whistled by his head.

  "I've got you now, you little bastard!"

  I looked up at his stubble-bearded face, his eyes glazed with the pain of the two bullets I'd put in him and his hatred of me for it. Quickly, I raised the rifle and shot, the bullet plowing into his chest from no more than a couple of feet. Blood spattered Grandpa and me, but Bill flew back off the seat and landed hard beside the wagon.

  "Bill! Bill!" Roy called from the fringe of the woods.

  "Good shooting, Will." Grandpa patted my knee. He was so weak, he couldn't do more. "I want to know...you're safe – before I go."

  "You ain't goin' anywhere, old man," I answered gruffly, hoping he couldn't hear the way my voice broke. I made a big deal out of going to the far end of the wagon again. I could see no sign of Roy, but in the next instant, his head came around the corner of the wagon cover and we were no more than a foot apart. I tried to pull my rifle up into position, but Roy reached inside the wagon, laying a wiry hand on my shoulder.

  He grabbed a fistful of my shirt and jacket and pulled me out of the wagon, tumbling me to the ground.

  I landed with a jarring thud, but rolled away from him as he tried to come toward me. He was limping, and I took some satisfaction that he'd been hit by someone.

  "Kill you, you little bastard," he muttered, and there was no doubt he meant it.

  He reached for me again, and tried to yank me up, but I sagged to the ground, dead weight, throwing him off balance with his shot-up leg. He was so mad he wasn't feeling the pain of it. Its weakness was an inconvenience to him – nothing more.

  He followed me to the ground, coming astride me, his fist raised. That made me madder than anything, my anger overcoming my fear and taking hold of me like nothing else could have. No one would ever raise their hand to me again.

  I pulled Grandpa's derringer from my waistband and pointed it at Shale, dead on. I didn't hesitate in pulling the trigger. He snarled, giving a surprised cry, then fell atop me.

  I pushed him off, unable to get up quick enough. I held the gun ready. It was a small caliber, and though he wasn't a big man, he was muscular. But he lay still, no sound coming from him or Atkins, who lay near the front of the wagon, a few feet away.

  I backed up, getting behind the wagon. The danger wasn't over yet. Trask was out there. So was Jacobi. I hadn't seen either of them, yet.

  My thoughts turned quickly to Grandpa. I jumped up into the back of the wagon. He lay very still, his eyes closed, and for an instant, I stopped breathing.

  Had he passed while I was being dragged from the wagon? Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.

  "Will..."

  I reached for his hand. I was desperate to go find Jacobi, to know he was all right. But I couldn't leave my grandfather. It seemed he had something to say, and I knew these were his last moments. He'd waited as long as he could, to know I was safe.

  He squeezed my hand faintly, with the end of his strength. Blood had soaked through his clothing around the hole where the bullet had gone into his shoulder. For a younger man, that wound wouldn't have proved fatal. But Grandpa was not a younger man, and he was sick – dying, even without the hole in him.

  "You...take care of yourself, son," he whispered. "I'm so proud...to be your grandpa."

  My eyes stung, but I knew I couldn't let tears come – not while he could see.

  "Thank you, Grandpa—" I felt foolish for what I was about to say, but it was my last chance. "I love you, Grandpa."

  He squeezed my hand again, and then, the pressure slowly relaxed. He was gone.

  I couldn't stay in that wagon one
more minute. Between the smell of death and my fear for Jacobi, I had to get out of there. I reached into my grandfather's coat pocket and took out two extra bullets for the derringer. Then, I grabbed a handful of shells for the rifle, reloading both guns before I moved to get out of the wagon, dropping the extra bullets into my pocket.

  I glanced at the bodies of the two men. They remained as I'd left them when I'd climbed into the wagon earlier to see to Grandpa.

  There was still no sign of Jacobi or anyone else, and my heart thundered in my chest with the fact of what I'd done – killing Atkins and Shale to save Grandpa and me. But I knew there was more to it than that – there was uncertainty; not knowing where Trask was, or even if he was out there; not knowing what had become of Jacobi; and, if those first gunshots hadn't been Trask and Jacobi, then who? Whoever it was had meant to kill my grandpa, and they'd managed to complete the task.

  I ran for the woods. A gunshot sounded, and I felt the bullet buzz just above my head. But in the next moment, I was inside the welcoming shelter of the woods I had grown up in, and that was my advantage. I knew this territory well; all the secret places to hide when I didn't want to be found; the extra-fresh spring with the coldest water I'd ever tasted; the best trees to climb; even where there was a small cave. Trask, nor Jacobi, knew all these things, but to me, even after being gone, they were stamped in my mind so clear it was like my feet knew the way without my brain having to think about it.

  I headed for the cave, though I wanted badly to get just one cold drink of water from the spring. I couldn't take time for that. Whoever had shot at me would be headed this way. I had to get into the cave before they got here. I pulled the overgrown bushes away from the cave entrance and glanced inside. I had no choice but to go on in without a thorough check. I wouldn't be in here long anyhow, I hoped.

  I settled down onto the floor, my rifle ready. I tried to slow my breathing, sure that between that and my racing heart, someone just outside the cave entrance would be able to hear. Time passed slowly, it seemed, and I calmed down.

  From somewhere nearby, I heard the stealthy crack of twigs on the forest floor. Whoever it was, it wasn't Jacobi. He'd never have made a sound. My heart started thumping again. My fingers tightened on the rifle. I sat on my knees, ready and waiting.

  Wasn't long before a yellow duster came into my view through the cave entrance, past the bushes. Trask.

  But as I watched, I could see it couldn't be him. The legs were too short.

  Eddington? So he and Trask had been in on this together. I swallowed, my mouth completely dry. I wished again for that cold drink of water. "Will!" he called softly.

  As soon as he spoke my name, I knew I had been right – Marshal Eddington, the man I suspected all along. More than likely, part of that earlier gunfire had been his – maybe even the bullet that killed Grandpa. Now, here he was, calling to try to get me to come out and show myself.

  I didn't breathe. I waited and watched as he took a step out of my view, then turned back to retrace the path he'd come from. He walked slowly, and I knew he was scanning the trees. "I want to help you, Will."

  Yeah, I thought. Like a fox wants to help the hens.

  But the fact was, I couldn't stay in this cave forever. With each minute that passed, the more anxious I became. My mind filled with all kinds of hideous possibilities about what might have happened with Jacobi. The fear built inside me so that I couldn't have sat still another minute in that darkness, even had Red Eagle's band been just outside the cave entrance.

  Cautiously, I crawled forward to the light of the opening. There was nothing in front of me but the forest, and the creek running close by. The birds were talking, and that gave me some peace of mind.

  One bad thing about bein' in a cave, is when you come out, you can't see who's behind you. But I'd figured to think of that when the time came, since the important thing was to get hidden before Trask – or Eddington – found me. The time was here now, to go out and see what was going on.

  I inched my way out of the darkness and glanced around – including upward, into the trees. I knew I needed to take every precaution. I wondered if I might pick up Eddington's trail and track him back to wherever he'd been going.

  Sure enough, he'd made no effort to hide his tracks and as I stood beside a tall oak tree looking for the next marker to follow, a fresh-broken branch led me to an elm tree. My eyes searched once more. The trees provided a bit of security, and Jacobi had taught me to move silently and quickly.

  In no time at all, I caught up with Eddington where he stood, looking around the forest ahead of him, as if he were unsure whether to call out or where he should go next. I did not want to confront him. I stood in the shadow of a towering black oak, and watched Eddington as he turned away and began walking again.

  Out of nowhere, a figure jumped out of a tree just behind Eddington. Jacobi! I couldn't see his face. He landed on his feet almost silently, like a big mountain cat.

  I didn't move from where I stood. I didn't want to distract him or call Marshal Eddington's attention to me.

  Eddington turned quickly to face Jacobi, shock written on his heavy features. He tried to draw his gun, but Jacobi knocked it out of his hand, sending it to the leaves covering the ground. The trees still had plenty of foliage left, in September. They wouldn't shed their leaves in earnest for at least another month, but a few had gotten an early start.

  "Don't do it," Jacobi warned, as Eddington reached to pick up the pistol.

  "Kane, you 'bout got yourself shot," he said gruffly. He bent again. Jacobi stepped forward, placing his foot on the gun. "I said, leave it, Marshal."

  "I'm here to warn you, damn it! I'm on your side."

  "Convince me."

  Eddington took a deep breath. "It was – my fault this all happened." He hesitated, then went on. "When we went after Laughing Wind's band, there was one of the posse members that said he knew the boy you claimed to be your own. Said he recognized him from 'back up home' in Indian Territory. He said the boy's family had been killed – they'd figured he'd been taken, since his body was never found."

  I could see him scowling, as if he were trying to decide whether to say more, or how to say it.

  "But no one went after him," Jacobi said coldly.

  "Well, no." Eddington passed a hand over his face. "But when Mike saw your boy, Will, he knew him right off. Said he'd met him one time in town. His grandpa knew the boy's folks."

  "And?"

  Eddington colored.

  "All of it," Jacobi said. "I want the whole story."

  "I ain't proud of it." Eddington wiped the back of his neck. "Well, you know, you and I never had any use for each other, and then when you beat the holy hell outta me in front of God and everybody, there at Colbert's, I guess I just...maybe wanted some revenge of my own."

  He sighed. "I started snooping around and found out where Will's family was from; who his grandfather was. I asked Trask, did he know you had a boy? He said your boy was killed—" He broke off.

  "Go on."

  Eddington nodded. "Trask asked me, why did I want to know? I told him what Mike had said. Told him what I'd learned. Next thing I know, he's wanting me to join up with him and those ya-hoos he hired—"

  "Aldous Trask?" Jacobi's voice was disbelieving. He stood, watching Eddington for any sign that he might be lying, but Eddington stared right back at him.

  "As God is my witness, Kane. I didn't know Trask would try – what he did."

  "You, of course, told him not to count on you."

  Eddington shook his head, his jowls quivering with the movement. "Of course! When I told him the things I did, I was pissed as hell at you – and the boy. I – had thought I would let you know what I knew—"

  "Blackmail, Marshal?" There was a bit of humor in Jacobi's tone. He would never fear Eddington, for any reason.

  "Not for money, Kane. Just for the satisfaction of having a bit of power over you."

  "You can only have that kind of powe
r if I allow it, Eddington. Surely, you understand that. I don't allow any man to control me."

  "Well, damn it, I know that now!"

  "So, where is Trask?"

  "He's here, somewhere. I been trackin' him."

  "I know. I've been trackin' him, too. And you."

  There was silence between them. "Let me tell you something," Jacobi finally said. "If you – or anyone else – does something to hurt Will, I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

  Eddington nodded. "I ain't gonna hurt him, Kane. I came here to stop it from happening. Didn't you hear me earlier, taking a shot at Trask? I only meant to wing him – to keep him from shooting the old man. I missed...and he didn't." He said it kind of sulky, as if he didn't like thinkin' about what he'd already done to set it all in motion.

  Still, I wasn't trusting of him. I'd disliked him too long to just up and forget those feelings, and I knew Jacobi felt the same way. I could see it in the way he slowly stepped back, nodding toward the gun that lay on the forest floor.

  "Pick it up, Eddington. But you better be with me, or I'll see you on your way to hell."

  It was a promise, and Eddington had no doubt of it. He nodded somberly, then slowly bent to pick up his weapon.

  "Will, come on out," Jacobi called without turning to face me.

  I hiked up my rifle as if I wasn't sure about Eddington's trustworthiness, and acted like I knew Jacobi had been aware of me the whole time.

  Eddington couldn't hide his surprise. It gave me great satisfaction to put on this little act, pretending I hadn't heard what had been said between the two of them. I let him stare down the business end of my rifle, and I knew he was remembering how I'd gone after him with my bare hands at Colbert's Ferry Station, when he'd insulted Jacobi.

  "It's all right, Will," Jacobi said, and from his tone, I knew that he understood what I was doing – and how much I was enjoying it. No matter what happened from here on out, Jacobi nor I would be truly friendly with Eddington. Too much had already been said and done in the past.