The Revenger

by Peter Brandvold

  Silence.

  He might or might not have pinked one pursuer. Either way, the shooters had gone to ground.

  For now.

  The Revenger continued running, leaping a deadfall and heading across the slope toward Edina’s pale figure jostling fifty feet before him, weaving among the aspens and cedars. He wanted to get the girl somewhere safe and then turn around and confront the men, who he had to believe would continue after him until they’d accomplished what they’d set out to do.

  They’d likely kill Edina as well. There’d be no point in leaving a witness alive. Of course, they’d probably enjoy the comely girl first and then kill her...

  Sartain ground his back teeth together in fury. Because of him, three innocent people were dead.

  No, because of Lucius Creed. The stage-line owner had obviously learned from Dangerous Dan Tucker that Sartain had taken the stage. The Revenger had thought he’d boarded the coach inconspicuously. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

  Now he had another good reason to kill Creed and anyone in the killer’s employ, including Dangerous Dan.

  Chapter 11

  Sartain led Edina down the hill and into a creek bottom, where water flashed and chuckled in the moonlight.

  The girl seemed able to run all night, but he needed a breather. He bent forward, one hand on a knee, the other holding the Henry. He drew the chill air deep into his burning lungs.

  Edina sat down on a log resting across two others. She was breathing hard, but not as hard as Sartain.

  “Born and bred in these mountains, eh?”

  “Yep. I learned to run when I start growin’ titties. Boys came from all over to get a look at ‘em.” Edina chuckled and hiked her bare right foot atop her left knee. She leaned forward to inspect the sole of that foot. “But then I started gettin’ a girl’s natural urges, and I stopped runnin’.”

  Her head still lowered, she grinned up at him from beneath her brows.

  “Aren’t your feet cold?”

  “Nah, my feet are tough. Think I mighta picked up a thorn, though.”

  Sartain shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around the girl’s bare shoulders. “You wear that.”

  “You’ll be cold.”

  “I got plenty on.”

  She smiled up at him. “A real gentleman, I like that. We don’t get too many of those out here.”

  “I’ve noticed.” The Revenger picked up his repeater again. “I’m gonna see if those polecats are still doggin’ us. You wait here.”

  Sartain walked up the hill a ways, moving slowly and quietly, pricking his ears. When he’d hiked a good seventy yards back in the direction from which he and Edina had come, he sat on a charred log. He waited, listening, for nearly five minutes.

  The only sounds were the breeze scratching autumn leaves around and the intermittent howls of a lone wolf on a ridge not far away. The moon was starting its western descent. The eastern stars twinkled brightly in its wake.

  The shooters had probably gone back to the camp for their horses, but they’d be on Sartain’s trail again soon. Creed knew from Tucker’s telegram that the Cajun was out to kill him. He’d probably sent men from Socorro to meet up with Dangerous Dan somewhere along the stage road. Creed had likely forbidden the men to return to Socorro until The Revenger was pushing up daisies.

  Sartain wondered how many were on his trail. He’d heard three or four different voices, but something told him there were four or five men on his trail. One voice had been familiar. That had been Dangerous Dan. Another had sounded familiar as well, but the Cajun hadn’t placed it.

  He rose from the stump and started back down the slope. As he did, another long, mournful wolf’s wail joined those of the first wolf from what sounded like a different ridge. A nearer ridge to Sartain. The wails rose high and shrill and took their time fading, ululating slightly as they died.

  The two beasts were having a conversation.

  One that was causing the short hairs to rise under the Cajun’s shirt collar.

  He moved back down the slope. As he did, Edina rose from her log and came toward him, the too-big coat sagging off her narrow shoulders and dwarfing her inside it. “Are they still coming?”

  “Not now, but they will be. They’re probably fetching their horses.”

  “What’re we gonna do?” Edina didn’t seem overly worried, just curious. She’d seen and been through a lot way out here in this savage country. This was just another bump in the road for her.

  “We’re gonna keep moving as long as you’re able.”

  “What choice to do I have?”

  “I’d like to find a safe place to tuck you away and then confront those fellas.”

  Skeptically, she said, “You mean, shoot them?”

  “Something like that.”

  She frowned up at him, canting her head to one side quizzically. “Who are you, Mike? Why do those men want to kill you so bad? I thought maybe you had run into some cross-grained sonso’bitches in a stud game or hurdy-gurdy house, but this is something different, ain’t it?”

  “I’ll tell you about it later.” Sartain took her hand. “For now, let’s get moving. We don’t need to run—I’m about blowed—but we need to make steady progress.”

  As they crossed the stream via a beaver dam, Sartain said, “You know of a cave or cabin out this way somewhere?”

  “The only cabin I know about is the old Jernigan place. Jernigan and his wife were killed by claim jumpers last spring. Pa found ‘em hangin’ from a tree an’ buried ‘em.”

  “How far away?”

  “A couple miles, probably. I don’t know where we are, exactly, but I’d say it’s probably a couple of ridges away from us. Pretty much south but maybe a little east, too. I don’t know if I could find it, comin’ on it this way.”

  On the other side of the creek, Sartain took her hand and helped her down from the dam. “Let’s give it a shot, all right?”

  Edina nodded.

  “You lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Okay.”

  “How’re your feet?”

  “Will you stop worryin’ about my feet?” Edina requested as she fleetly climbed the opposite ridge. “It’s the rest of me I’m worried about!”

  Sartain chuckled at that and climbed hard, trying to keep up with this wild-assed, salty-tongued mountain girl.

  * * *

  Sartain followed the path Edina blazed through the mountains until his legs felt as though they’d been shot out from under him. The sun was on the rise, but the breeze was blowing. It felt colder than it had back in the deepest part of the night.

  “Let’s fort up here for a while,” he said as they dropped down into a shallow fold between low ridges.

  “I’m all right. I can keep going.”

  “I know you’re all right,” the Cajun said, sitting down on a rock and kicking out of one boot that felt a good two sizes smaller than it had when he’d started making the trek toward the Jernigan place. “It’s me. I gotta stop and take a rest. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Crap, I’m old enough to be your father.”

  “Damn, that’s old!” Edina sat down on the ground and grinned. “But you sure know how to....”

  “That’s enough about that. I shouldn’t have been doin’ that with a girl so young. Hell, I was out there to keep an eye out for trouble. Instead, trouble walked right into camp and blasted three innocent folks to Kingdom Come.”

  “Including Aunty Flo.” Edina had come over to help him out of his second boot. “I think your feet are swollen.”

  “I haven’t walked this far since the war.”

  “What’d you do during the war?”

  “Everything. Most of it on foot.”

  Sartain looked down at her. She’d pulled off his boot and sock and propped his foot in her lap, massaging it, giving it a nice work-over. It felt good. His coat was open, revealing the cleft at the first planes of her breasts beneath the c
amisole, and he silently castigated himself for his thoughts and returned his gaze to the top of her head.

  “Say, aren’t you broken up about Aunty Flo?”

  “Sad, yeah,” Edina said, wincing as she massaged him. “Broken up about it?” She gave him a sheepish look from beneath her brown eyebrows. “Nah. She was gonna haul me off to some city back East. I’d be like a stray dog in a city. My home is in these mountains. I should’ve run off before she came. She wrote me a letter, but I plum forgot, and then suddenly Melvin Burns showed up with Aunt Flo in the back of his buckboard, and she threatened to sick the law after me if I didn’t go home with her.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. She did come off as a bit of wet blanket, but she only had your welfare in mind.”

  “I wish folks would just leave my welfare up to me.” Edina gave Sartain another smile, but this one was absent of chagrin. “To be honest, Mike, I’m sort of havin’ fun out here with you. You wanna do it again, what we did last night? Bein’ around you makes me feel sorta itchy in every nook and cranny if you get my drift.”

  “To be honest, Edina, bein’ around you makes me feel the same way. But no more of that. I gotta keep my mind clear so I can keep you alive!”

  “There you go again, lookin’ after my welfare like I can’t look after it my own self.”

  “I’m sure you’re right capable up at your diggins. But right now, you’re being chased by the same men who are after me, and believe me, you don’t want them to run you down.”

  Edina set his foot down, then picked up the other one and pulled the sock off. “Why are they after you, Mike?”

  “Because I’m after their boss, Lucius Creed.”

  “Lucius Creed?”

  “Heard of him?”

  “Who hasn’t in the Piños Altos? He’s an outlaw. Common brigand. Folks think it’s his claim-jumpers who killed the Jernigans. He finagles mineral rights illegally, squeezing the little folks out so he can keep shoveling in more money. Some think he wants to control all of southwestern New Mexico, and even run for territorial governor!”

  “Sounds like he’s on the fast track toward doing so.”

  Sartain donned his socks and boots again and walked around gathering dead branches for a fire. Edina sat back against a rock, slender legs crossed, huddled in his coat. The chill wind had kicked up, blowing her hair around her pretty head as she watched him, puzzled.

  “Who are you, Mike? You a lawman or somethin’?”

  “Somethin’ like that.” Sartain dropped an armload of wood near the girl and set to work scooping out a little hole in which to lay a fire.

  “Continue,” she said, frowning at him incredulously, not satisfied with his clipped response.

  He didn’t blame her. The girl had a right to know the man she was running with.

  He told her what he did and why he did it—right down to the story of the soldiers raping and killing his girl, Jewel, and murdering her prospector grandfather in Arizona. About how those murders had compelled him to seek revenge for others who couldn’t acquire it themselves. He left out the part about how riding for others, he still felt as though he were exacting revenge for Jewel and her grandfather, mostly because he was only about one-half conscious of that himself.

  By the time he was through with the story, he and Edina were both sitting close to the crackling fire’s comforting warmth. He was rubbing her bare feet, both of which were propped on his lap. He had his long legs crossed Indian-style and he was longing for a cup of hot coffee, but he’d left his possibles and overnight gear with Boss in Silver City.

  He massaged the girl’s bare toes. She leaned back against the rock, staring up at him. “I’m sorry, Mike. About Jewel, I mean. And the old man. And you.”

  “It was years ago now, but sometimes it feels like only yesterday.”

  Edina looked at his large brown hands working on her small, lightly-tanned foot, and she groaned luxuriously. “You sure know how to treat a girl. I bet your Jewel died happy.”

  “I’d like to think she did.”

  “Who sicced you on Lucius Creed anyways?”

  “Brian Mangham.”

  “Ah. He’s bein’ run out by Creed. Heard tell Creed even demanded the hand of Mangham’s purty daughter, Sarah, but Mangham refused.”

  “Word gets around.”

  “It sure does.”

  Sartain leaned down and kissed Edina’s left foot. “Feel better?”

  “Much.” She knelt beside him, kissed his cheek, and pressed her head against his. “Lucius Creed...” she said with a speculative air. “You’re like someone in those dime novels I read when I run out of the good stuff, Mike, but how in the world are you going to kill a man like that? He’s got close to a dozen gunnies ridin’ for him.”

  “Let’s say we make it to Socorro, Edina. Where will I find Creed?”

  “In his saloon, most likely—Lucius Creed’s Rio Grande Saloon, Whorehouse and Gambling Parlor. He pretty much lives there and lets his men do the dirty work. That’s one fat and happy outlaw, pampered by purty pleasure girls while his men ride the country wreaking havoc.”

  She favored the Cajun with another quizzical look. “About Socorro, Mike. It’s a long ways over these mountains. It’s gonna take us days to get there without horses.”

  “Oh, we’ll each have us a horse, Edina.” Sartain grinned devilishly as he looked away.

  She jerked her head back, frowning.

  He said, “Those men on our trail have horses. I hope to have two of those horses by the end of the day.”

  Sartain looked down the long, gradual northern rise behind him toward a ragged stand of half-naked aspens stretched beneath the lip of the next ridge. He saw no sign of their pursuers. He saw something just as disturbing, however.

  A large gray-blue wolf sitting on a rocky ledge lifted its head and raised a commanding howl toward the cobalt sky.

  “We’d best get a move on, girl,” The Revenger said, rising. His heart was increasing its beat.

  The soft thuds of padded feet rose from the northern slope. Sartain flicked his gaze around anxiously until he saw two wolves running down the slope ahead and on his left. They were coming hard and fast through the scattered timber—a black wolf followed by a sleek charcoal one, two running streaks heading for prey.

  Sartain had the uneasy feeling the prey they were heading for was him and Edina. They’d likely been tracking him and the girl most of the night.

  “Yep,” he said, trying to sound casual but having little luck. He pulled Edina to her feet. “I’d say we’d best light a shuck. A fast one!”

  Chapter 12

  “Oh, Lord!” Edina said as she and Sartain ran up and over the lip of the ridge. “I think I’d rather have human wolves after me than the real kind!”

  “Little to disagree with about that!” Sartain replied, running beside her.

  He scanned the area for a place to hole up, but where did you hole up from wolves? On the other hand, there was no way he and the girl could outrun them.

  As he led Edina down the slope toward yet another canyon, Sartain said, “Hold up, girl! Stay close to me!”

  He swung around and raised the Henry toward the ridge crest fifty yards away, racking a fresh round into the chamber. He waited.

  Footsteps sounded, and there was a low snarling. The black wolf gained the top of the ridge and hurled itself down the near side, making a beeline toward Sartain and Edina, who screamed and pressed her head against the Cajun’s back.

  The wolf’s hackles were raised, and it was showing its teeth.

  Sartain aimed and fired. The wolf yowled, leaped sideways, and rolled before piling up in a bloody, quivering heap, sunlight glistening in its black coat. The gray wolf gained the lip of the ridge and started down.

  Sartain fired, but the wolf lurched to one side, unintentionally dodging the shot.

  The bullet tore up short grass and gravel two feet to the charging animal’s right.

  Sartain fired again and sent t
he animal rolling sideways across the slope.

  The Cajun lowered the Henry and heaved a sigh of relief.

  A premature one.

  Edina gasped as two more wolves—both large grays—came running along the shoulder of the slope on Sartain’s right. Sartain whipped up the Henry. As if they knew what the rifle could do, both wolves lurched, wheeled, and ran back over the shoulder of the slope and out of sight.

  Snarls and padded footfalls rose from the aspens and mixed conifers on Sartain’s left. He could see several more wolves milling around in the copse. An entire pack was after him and Edina. The leader must have been gathering them throughout the night while tracking his potential prey.

  One wolf stared out from beneath a branch to which a few yellow aspen leaves still clung. The face was gray mottled blue and brown, and the long pink tongue drooped over the slack lower jaw.

  Sartain aimed the Henry at the beast and it pulled back into the trees. There was the sound of slavering jaws snapping in eager anticipation of a fresh meal.

  “Savvy bastards,” Sartain raked out. “They’ve been hunted before.”

  He dropped to a knee and pulled Edina down beside him. The girl looked around fearfully. “What’re we gonna do?”

  “We’re gonna make our way slowly up the next ridge. Let’s keep our eyes open for somewhere to hole up.”

  “Okay.” Edina’s voice quavered as she continued to look around.

  “You all right?”

  “Hell, no.”

  Sartain chuckled dryly. “Yeah, me, neither.” He rose and helped the girl to her feet. “Stay close to me. Real close. We can’t get separated by even a few feet.”

  “Don’t you worry. You’re gonna think you grew another leg.”

  “All right, let’s go. Slow. They’ll most likely stay out of range of my Henry.”

  “Smart beasts, eh, Mike?”

  “Too damn smart. They’ve been hunted with rifles.”

  “Pa and his friends hunted ‘em when the packs grew too big and they started preying on the miners. They get awful nasty over the long winters up here.”