Ride the River (1983) (21 page)

We were almost to the edge of the pit left by the torn-up roots when I saw the tracks. For the first time I felt panic. If somebody had found that money ...

I ran down into the pit, scattered the leaves, wading from side to side.

It was gone!

"They've taken it?"

Dumbly I nodded. I fought to keep the tears back. After all our trouble, after all this, I had failed my family, I had failed Ma, I had failed Regal, I had failed Finian Chantry and his efforts to help. I said as much.

"Maybe not," Dorian said. "Maybe not. Let's go after them. Uncle Finian sent me to see you got home safely with your money, and that's just what I am going to do!"

I nodded, unable to speak. They were gone, and the money was gone.

"I wish I was a better tracker," Dorian said, studying the ground.

It brought me back to reality. "I can track. I've been tracking game since I was knee-high."

Of course, I had seen all their tracks, and once a body has tracked, he or she just naturally registers things in the mind. That was Elmer. He had big flat feet and he toed out when he walked. No question about him.

"And that" - I pointed to another track on the rim of the pit - "that's the big fellow. Patton Sardust, I heard him called. Looks to me like Elmer was in the pit an' Sardust came up on him. Or they came together."

"What about Horst?"

"No tracks of his here, nor Oat's either." I began to cast about. Those two had walked away together. In some places where there were no leaves I could see the tracks better.

"Elmer's got my carpetbag," I said.

"How can you tell?"

"Walkin' away from the hole back yonder, his right foot makes a deeper track. He's carryin' weight in his right hand."

We walked away, following them. They were not wasting time moving out of the area. "Heading for the river," I said. "They don't plan to share with the others."

"Or with each other, probably," Dorian said cynically.

He was learning. Maybe he knew more all the time than I'd expected. "We'd better be careful," I said. "Horst was looking for us. He has Hans with him, maybe somebody else. There must have been eight of them, including the men Horst rounded up."

We talked no more. The trail was plain enough, but occasionally Elmer and Sardust were pausing to look around. They were scared, too. Watchful, anyway. We were doing some looking around ourselves. At least Dorian was. I had my eyes on their trail, not to lose them.

"Eight?" Dorian asked. "Are you sure?"

"Some of them are out of it. One of them's got him a busted knee. I'd guess three are out of action."

"Elmer and Sardust are ahead of us. That leaves Horst, Oats, and at least one more if our figuring's right."

"It's pretty close," a voice said, and I looked up to see Timothy Oats standing there with the one they had called Hans. My rifle was on them, but Dorian was standing with his feet spread apart, staring at Oats, who was staring right back.

"You fire that gun," Oats said to me, "an" Felix Horst will be here. He's in a killing mood."

"So am I," I replied.

"Don't be foolish," he said impatiently. "You two haven't a chance. They are all around you. Whatever happens here will be forgotten when we leave here. Nobody will even find your bodies."

"You don't know this country, mister. There's folks coming and going all the time."

"No matter. We will be gone. Give us that carpetbag and we will let you go. At least you will have a running start."

"We haven't got it," Dorian said. "Two of your crowd have it."

"You're lyin'!"

"Where's Elmer?" Dorian said. "And where is that big fellow, Sardust?"

Oats was staring at Dorian. "You've got too much lip."

Dorian smiled. "You're supposed to be some kind of a fighter," he said. "Why don't you see what you can do about it?"

"Dorian!" I said.

"This is something I have to do, Echo," he said. "It won't take long."

Timothy Oats took off his coat and laid it on a stump. He put his rifle across it.

"You," I told Hans, "stay out of it."

"Why not? Tim will make mincemeat of him."

I was afraid of that myself, but the way they were looking at each other, like two prize bulls in a pen, I knew nothing I could say would make any difference. Dorian had shucked his coat, too.

He was a shade lighter than Oats, but just as broad in the shoulder. "You won't find him so pretty when I get through with him," Oats said.

"You take care of yourself, mister. Pretty is as pretty does."

Oats tried a left, drawing Dorian out, or trying to. Dorian ignored the left, moved to the left. He feinted a left, and when Oats moved to counter, hit him with a solid right that shook Oats to his heels. It surprised him, too. He had not expected that, and I could see his expression change. Now he knew he was in for a fight.

Oats was the wilier, ducking, slipping away from punches, hitting hard in return. Twice he landed hard to the body and I winced for Dorian, but he seemed to pay it no mind.

Then they were at it, hammer and tongs, both of them slugging, toe to toe and neither backing up a bit. Oats was hitting Dorian, but Dorian was taking them standing, and suddenly he feinted a left, and Oats, too eager, stepped in and took a right on the chin. It staggered him, and Dorian followed up, swinging both fists to the body.

Oats backed up, tried to get set, but Dorian gave him no chance. The less experienced of the two, he was younger, in better shape, and just a little quicker. Oats rushed, tried to butt, and Dorian hit him with an uppercut, and when the head came down again, he grabbed Oats by the hair and jerked him forward, kicking his feet from under him. Oats came down hard, landing on his face.

At that moment Hans lunged forward, and I put a bullet through his ear. The shock and the pain stopped him, and his hand went to his bloody ear. I had the pistol in my hand.

"The next one kills," I said. "Just back off."

"You missed," Hans said.

"I didn't want to kill you. I wanted an ear and I got it. You now have one ear. Do you want to try for none?"

The blood was covering the side of his face and his shoulder. He backed off warily.

Oats was getting up, and Dorian was letting him. Suddenly Oats dived at him, grappling for Dorian's knees. He got one of them, right in the face. He staggered and went to a knee. Maybe that boy could fight after all, I thought. This wasn't party games.

Hans had backed off, trying to stop the bleeding. "I'll kill you for that!" he said.

"You haven't done very well so far," I replied. "You just better look at your hole card. You aren't holding very much."

Dorian was bloody himself. He had a cut on his cheekbone and his lip was puffy, but he seemed happy. He was standing, ready for Oats to get up.

"You're a smarter fighter than I am, Mr. Oats," he said, "but you've had too many beers."

"Dorian? We've got to get out of here. We've got trouble coming."

He picked up his coat and put it on, then got his rifle. Oats had reached his coat and was standing over it, about to pick up the rifle he had laid down.

"Go ahead," I told him, "if you feel lucky."

"Horst will be coming. He will have heard that shot."

Dorian made no reply, nor did I. We backed off, watching them as we left. Oats was wiping his bloody face.

"Have you got their trail?" Dorian asked.

"They will have heard that shot too," I said.

"But they won't know who shot, or why. They may travel a little faster."

Elmer and Patton Sardust. I wondered how long Elmer would last. He was just a big gawky boy, and Sardust was a mean man, a hard man, a man who had been through it. They must be near the river by now.

We did not talk, being wishful to make no sound. The tracks were easy to follow, as nobody was trying not to leave a trail. They were headed down the steep slope toward the river. If we could get that carpetbag back, we could just keep going. The direction was right.

There was no need to track them now, as they were on a trail down to the river. I squinted away toward the river. I did not know rightly where I was, and that might be the Powell or it could be the Clinch. We'd been switching back and forth in the mountains, and all I knew was my general directions.

During a pause to catch our breath, I reloaded my rifle-gun. This was mostly new country for me. There was a path along the river that had been followed by both men and game, and their tracks were there.

Elmer clutched the carpetbag, switching it from his right to his left hand. He wished they'd never found it. He knew the big man walking with him intended to kill him, he knew Sardust wanted it all. For a moment Elmer was inclined to turn and simply hand it to him, but there was a deep stubbornness in him that refused. Anyway, it might not suffice. Sardust might kill him anyway. Tree shadows fell along the path. He wished he could be walking here alone, without Sardust. He liked the sound of the river.

He stopped suddenly, and Sardust stopped. "What's the matter?" The big man was irritable but watchful.

"I thought I heard something."

"The wind, maybe. Or the river."

"Something else, somebody moving."

"You're crazy!"

"Patton, we should give this back. To that girl, I mean. We should give this carpetbag to Echo Sackett. It's hers."

"Youare crazy! There's money in there, boy. Money for both of us. Give it back? Why?"

"It's hers. It will mean a lot to her. I know, I was all for stealin' it myself. I didn't like her one bit, but she's got nerve. And she needs this. Ever since I got down in this country, I been wonderin' about all this. I figure we're doin' wrong."

Patton spat into the dust. "Well, of all the weak, mollycoddlin' ... !"

"I mean it, Mr. Sardust. I don't feel the same no more. Men have been hurt over this. Three men down and hurt, an' everybody is for just leavin' them. I don't feel right about it."

"You just give it to me. I'll take the blame. You can run off an' do what you like. I'll just let you off the hook. Give it to me."

"No, Mr. Sardust, I may be a damn fool but I'm takin' it back to that girl. Maybe it's this country, maybe it's her, maybe it's those men back there, dyin' maybe. I don't feel right about it no more."

"You give it to me. I'll shoulder the blame. You run off an' have a good cry. You an' your conscience." Patton Sardust spat contemptuously. "You're nothin' but a damn mollycoddle!"

"No, Mr. Sardust. I am takin' it back to her."

"Shut up! Just give me that bag!"

"I think he's right, Mr. Sardust." The voice came from the trees near the trail. "I think he's right. I think you better leave him go, Mr. Sardust."

A man stepped into the open trail, a very tall, very lean man with a rifle.

Patton Sardust turned slowly. Whatever Elmer did was of no immediate concern. He had never seen this stranger before, but his every instinct told him he was in trouble, deep, serious trouble.

His heart was pounding slowly, heavily. His rifle was by his side, held in the trail position. His hand was almost in the right place. If he could only get his finger on the trigger ...

"Who the devil are you?"

"Not the devil, Mr. Sardust, but like him, I can open the gates to hell. I'm Mordecai Sackett. You ready to go?"

Chapter
22

Elmer walked back up the path toward the clifftop. He walked easier, and he felt better. He stopped at one point and looked down through the trees at the river. He just stood there, light and shadow falling over him, and no sound but the trees. He had never known such quiet, never such peace.

From behind him and below there was a shot, closely followed by another.

So that was the end of that, and it might have been the end of him, too. He had looked into that stranger's face and he had no doubt about who killed whom.

He was dipping down again now, as the track he was following returned briefly to the river before starting up again. He stopped once more, putting the carpetbag down.

He would not know how to get along in country like this, but he could come back to visit. He could walk this trail again, but with no worries. She came along the trail toward him and he picked up the bag and held it out to her. "This is yours," he said.

"Thank you, Elmer. You are a nice man."

He blushed. "Well, it's yours. I just thought ..."

"Thanks."

Dorian came down the trail behind me. "We heard a shot."

"Yes, sir. It was him, I believe. I think he killed Patton Sardust."

"Killed him? Who did?"

"He came out of the woods like a ghost. He looked like a ghost. He said his name was Mordecai Sackett."

"Mordecai!"

Dorian glanced at her. "Is he related to you?"

"He's a Clinch Mountain Sackett. A cousin, sort of."