Colton cleared his throat, but it was Neill who answered. “He bought us our escape. He led them away from us.”
“They didn’t…they couldn’t…”
“I don’t know, Ellen,” Neill said. “We got Walt and Alma clear and by then we had separated.”
“He should have let me do it,” Colton said. “I should have been the one.”
“The one to do what?” Del asked.
“Jim took the gold and headed west, leading them away while we rode clear,” Neill said.
“He’s got all those men chasing him?”
“Yes,” Neill said.
“How long ago was this?”
“Two days,” Colton answered.
Ellen fell to her knees. Two days. Bannen and his murderers had been hunting her husband for two days.
“Mama, it will be alright, Mama,” Walt said. “Jim will be home soon. He’ll beat those men.”
Ellen could only cry.
Chapter 31
On a rocky outcropping high above the Feather River, Jim Heston smiled. Two hundred feet below, Cord Bannen and his men started their horses across the flowing water. They were a ragged group, worn down by the long chase. In contrast to him, they had neither packhorses nor much by way of supplies. How long since they’d last eaten?
By now, they have to be starving.
Jim raised a hand in salute, but got nothing in return. He knew they could see him easily enough. Only a few hundred yards separated them, but the way the trail wound along the mountain, it would take them hours to catch up.
Bannen snapped off a wild shot with his pistol, and Jim laughed. Then he started the Appaloosa down the far side of the mountain.
Two days had passed since he and the others had hit the outlaw camp. Two days of leading Bannen through the roughest terrain Jim could find. At every fork in the trail he took the harder route, and he left clear sign which way he’d gone. He could have lost them several times, but he needed to make sure Walt and Alma were clear. Then too, he had another purpose.
Colton, Neill, and he had been successful in getting the children back, but the danger wasn’t gone. Cord Bannen had proven himself a patient man, vicious, and willing to go to any lengths to take what wasn’t his.
Jim might have won this round, but to see his family truly safe, Cord Bannen had to die. And Jim was waiting for the opportunity.
The Appaloosa picked its way over the rocky ground. They dropped in elevation until they were back among the towering pines. Jim wasn’t sure of their exact location. He’d crossed the road from Onionville to Bidwell’s just before noon on the first day.
The coast lay somewhere ahead. But first he’d cross the trail from Sacramento toward Redding and the Mount Shasta region. It was there he’d lose his pursuers.
First, though, I’ve got to kill a man.
The ground was steep here, and the horses walked with care. What they followed was a trail in only a marginal sense. Elk or deer had used it and perhaps Indians at one time, but if it had a destination, Jim didn’t know it. He crossed yet another small stream, the third so far, then a quarter mile later came out into a broad, grassy clearing. There were signs of fire here, the blackened bones of trees, rings of silty gray ash at their bases. Scattered in the grass were hundreds of tiny, green saplings, as the forest was well on its way to reclaiming the clearing.
The clearing proved wider than he expected, and the day had grown late when he finally reached the other side. The shadows of the trees stretched out into the grasses like fingers.
Jim paused at the tree line to look for Bannen and his men. It had taken him two hours to cross the clearing. He thought Bannen was at least four hours behind. So far, the outlaws had stopped at sunset, unable or unwilling to chase him in the dark. But that had been in the trees and mountains, places where a horse could easily be injured. Would they risk riding on across the grass tonight, hoping to gain some ground? The rutted trail stood out plainly against the clearing. The tracks of Jim’s two horses were clear. They would have no trouble following him across.
The trail went on deeper into the pines and Jim turned off to the south. The ground was dry here, covered with fallen pine needles, and there would be no tracks. Jim secured the horses, dismounted, then ran back to the trail. Careful to leave no boot prints, Jim broke several low-hanging branches farther down the trail. Bannen’s men would see them and think he had continued on.
Farther south, Jim hitched the horses and took out his rifle. The waxing moon was up before sun’s last light departed. Jim knelt down a few yards off the trail.
He stared across the clearing until his vision narrowed. His mouth was dry, and he wished for his canteen. His thoughts wandered. Soon, six men would cross the clearing under his sights. Six vicious men all coming to kill him.
Jim knew their faces, if not their names. He knew their habits, their mannerisms, their ways. He’d seen them often enough over the last few days.
Now he needed to kill them. He wouldn’t get them all—six was far too many—but Bannen. If he could just get Bannen, it would be enough.
“Get lead into him and the rest will give up,” Jim said to himself.
He thought about Ellen, Walt, and Alma. If they weren’t home already, Neill and Colton would have them close. Ellen would surely cry when she saw them. Jim’s heart ached at the thought of missing that reunion. But this, what he was doing here, it would pay the price for their safety.
All he had to do was kill one man. And then he could ride away and see them.
His first warning was a raven. It flew up from the north, perching in a burned tree. It fluffed up its feathers and began to preen, then suddenly cocked its head to the side and flew south with a protesting squawk.
Keeping both eyes open, Jim brought the rifle up to his shoulder. He let out a slow breath. Something had startled that raven. Something human.
A hat showed first, then man and horse as they drew close to the tree’s trunk. A line of men followed single file behind him.
Jim hadn’t expected Bannen to be leading them. His luck wasn’t that good.
He sighted in on the first rider. It was the man Jim called Red for the swath of red cloth he wore around his neck. Jim put the rifle’s front sight on the bottom corner of the neckerchief. The range was a little longer than he would have liked, but his only chance was to keep the outlaws at a distance.
