Jim’s finger tightened, the rifle jerked, and a cloud of smoke boiled from the barrel. Red was down. His horse ran on, frightened by the scent of blood and its rider suddenly spilling from the saddle.
Levering another round into the chamber, Jim sought Bannen. He passed up an easy shot on one outlaw. It was Bannen he really wanted. Then the gang jumped from their horses and scattered into the tall grasses like a flock of quail gone to ground.
Jim waited. With the shadows as they were and the dying sun on their faces, he was confident they couldn’t see him.
They’ll be impatient. They’ll think they have me desperate and cornered.
A tuft of grass shifted to the right. Jim swung his rifle over. A hat extended and Jim smiled at the trick. Then he fired into the grass, three feet lower than the hat, and was rewarded with a scream of pain.
Two outlaws rose to his left. Jim snapped off a pair of quick shots, hitting nothing, before they threw themselves flat and out of sight.
I should leave now. I’m pushing my luck.
Pull back into the trees, collect his horses, and light out for home. It was the smart play, the wise thing to do.
But he hadn’t killed Bannen yet.
The minutes stretched by and Jim waited. All he needed was a glimpse, just one.
“C’mon, give me a shot,” he said under his breath.
Then he suddenly got it. Three men stood up and rushed forward. Bannen was the one farthest left. Jim’s rifle roared, but he shot too fast. Bannen took the bullet along his neck, a painful wound but not a mortal one. Then all three were gone. They were close now and the sun would no longer blind them.
Jim cursed himself for a lousy shot, got to his feet, and ran for his waiting horses. He jerked the knot loose and jumped into the saddle. He wove his way through the trees at a quick trot, breaking out into the clearing only when he was certain Bannen and his men were well behind.
They were close, too close now. He’d squandered his lead and his best opportunity to end the threat. Now he had only one choice. Escape.
He rode south, pushing the horses hard across the open field.
The Appaloosa slowed at the field’s edge. They pressed through the trees, branches popping and slapping and snatching at them. Jim could make out the end of the forest. The trees were thinner ahead. He could see bits of open sky.
When he reached the edge, Jim’s heart sank. The river had carved out a channel here, forty feet deep and far too steep for a horse or even a man afoot. Jim looked in either direction. No way down. No way across.
White, frothing water churned down below.
East. He could still go east, even if he had to circle all the way back to where he’d already been.
Men were yelling somewhere behind him. They were in the clearing. He would have to press on through the trees, and he did not have long.
Jim dismounted. He drew his knife and cut the gold free from the packhorse. It fell with a loud crack of broken wood. Jim pushed one crate until it toppled over into the chasm below. Halfway down, it shattered on a rock the size of a bull buffalo. Bits of gold flew in all directions.
The second crate went over after it. This one reached the water and sank with a great crash.
“Bannen! Your gold’s in the river,” Jim hollered. “And good luck getting down to it.”
A storm of bullets crashed into the trees all around and Jim drove the Appaloosa forward.
That would delay them. Enough to get away? He wasn’t certain, but it had been his only chance. If he followed the edge of the ravine east, where the trees were thin enough for speed, he might make it.
All he needed was a little luck and time.
Jim thought of Bannen’s reaction to the dumped “gold” and smiled.
“Maybe he’ll break his neck trying to reach it,” he said.
* * * *
“Your gold.” Dale tossed Cord a yellow nugget the size of a hen’s egg.
Bannen snatched it out of the air and immediately knew it wasn’t right. The weight was off, as was the color. He drew his knife, struck the nugget and a flake of yellow paint came away.
“Only a fool would throw fifty thousand in gold off a mountainside.”
“And what does that make us for chasing after it?” Dale said.
Dale stood front and center with his two friends flanking him. Cord’s own men were somewhere behind him and, given their recent setback, he wasn’t sure if they were more likely to back him or Dale if it came to shooting.
The only one he could be sure of was John. And he was still down by the river.
Cord sighed. More than that, the truth was he needed these men. He needed their guns. After losing those kids and not having the gold or that damned Heston, they would have to start over.
“It makes us thorough,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t hear anyone offering to ride out after him. You were all clamoring to climb down into the canyon after painted rocks.”
Deliberately, Cord turned his back on Dale. From the corner of his eye, he watched the other two men he’d inherited from Jacob and the Swede. For a long breath, neither moved, then they both turned and headed for the horses.
Cord’s mind raced. He’d lost and that angered him, but losing his temper here could be fatal. He needed to be cold, rational. There had to be a play yet to be made. A way he could turn the tables.
But what?
