Aiming low to compensate for the steep slope, Caleb squinted into the shifting veil of rain and squeezed the trigger. The rifle leaped in his hands. Before the report echoed away down the mountainside, he fired quickly, repeatedly, levering bullets into the firing chamber without drawing the rifle barrel off target.
The second man yelled and grabbed his right arm. The first man drew his rifle from its saddle scabbard, but was forced to drop the weapon and hang onto the saddle horn with both hands as his horse started plunging wildly down the slope. Bullets whined and ricocheted off stone, sending sharp rock chips flying around the horses’ feet and stinging their bellies. Bucking, sliding on their hocks, fighting their riders every step of the way, the horses tried to bolt back down the mountainside.
Swearing beneath his breath because he had missed one of the men and failed to seriously wound the other, Caleb kept levering in bullets and firing. When a bullet whined off a nearby boulder, the uninjured rider spurred his horse savagely. It panicked, lost its footing, and rolled head over heels downhill. The rider didn’t kick clear of the stirrups in time. When the horse regained its feet and plunged on down the mountainside, the rider stayed sprawled on the rocky slope. The second rider looked back but kept going, abandoning his partner to whatever fate awaited.
Caleb let out a long breath, sighted, and squeezed the trigger very gently. The rifle leaped. The fleeing rider pitched forward for an instant, then struggled upright once more. The forested flank of the mountain reached out, swallowing up horse and rider before Caleb could fire again. The skirmish had lasted less than a minute.
«Damnation.»
Silence came, almost stunning in the aftermath of the rifle fire. Willow looked up and shook her head, dazed by the number of times Caleb had shot. She had heard of repeating rifles, but had never seen one in action. The amount of bullets one man could shoot in a short time was frightening.
«You’re a one-man army with that rifle,» she said faintly.
«Some godforsaken army,» Caleb muttered, scowling bleakly down the slope as he methodically fed shells into the rifle, replacing those he had used. «Can’t hit the broad side of a barn at six hundred yards.»
«In this light you’d be lucky to see the barn.» Shifting so that she could look through a crack between rocks, Willow peereddownslope. «Looks like you hit one of them.»
«His stupidity laid him low, not me. Damn fool spurred his horse when it was already scared enough to jump over the moon. Horse went down and so did he.»
«Is he alive?»
Caleb shrugged and continued peering down the mountainside over his rifle barrel, trying to pick out any motion of a horse returning or a man moving up to the edge of the forest to return Caleb’s fire.
Thedrumroll of running horses drifted back up the slope, thehoofbeats sounding thick and slurred in the silence that had followed the sharp, distinct reports of the rifle.
«Time to go,» Caleb said.
«What about him?» Willow asked, looking at the fallen rider.
«He’s counting the wages of sin. Leave him to it.»
7
Caleb led the way up and across the wet, rocky slope at a pace that was just short of suicidal. Even his big horses were breathing hard before they cleared the ridgeline and began winding down the other side. The forest grew higher on the far side of the mountain, embracing Caleb and Willow almost immediately. Spruce and fir became mixed once more with aspen. The rain diminished to nothing more than a wet whisper. Aspen trunks glowed with a ghostly radiance.
There were many possible paths off the mountain. Caleb ignored the obvious ones as he pressed on around the shoulder, zigzagging through the steepest parts, always descending. As he rode, he pulled out his father’s journal and checked landmarks against those his father had noted.
When Caleb finallysignalled a stop, Willow glanced numbly at the sun. It was several hours until sunset on what had become the longest day of her life. She had gone from exhaustion to a grim kind of indifference. It took her several minutes to realize that Caleb had vanished. She pulled the shotgun from its scab bard, clung to thesaddlehorn, and waited for him to emerge from the shifting play of forest and clearings.
The pale, chill mist of the heights had given way to broken clouds. A restless wind cried softly through evergreens and made aspen quiver with a sound like distant rain. When the sun broke through the clouds, it burned with a pure, intense heat that soon had Willow removing her jacket, unlacing her buckskin shirt and furtively unbuttoning the soft red flannel beneath to allow the breeze to cool her.
The soft, eerie cry of Caleb’s harmonica warned Willow that he had returned. Relieved, she put the shotgun back in the scabbard and urged Dove forward. Caleb emerged from the forest ahead, riding Trey. He had long since shed hisshearling jacket and leather vest, and had unfastened several buttons on his wool shirt as well.
«If there’s anyone around, he’s leaving fewer tracks than a shadow,» Caleb said. «Come on. According to Dad’s journal, there’s a good campsite just ahead.»
«Are we really going to camp so early?» Willow asked, trying and failing to keep the hope from her voice.
«The Arabians are game, but they’re not used to altitude. If we don’t rest them, you’ll be afoot by this time tomorrow. That would be a shame, because by this time tomorrow we’re going to have God’s own storm.»
Willow measured the sky with dazed hazel eyes. It had looked a lot worse and only spit a few drops.
«It will rain, southern lady. If we were still a thousand feet higher, it would snow.»
«Snow?» Willow asked, unconsciously flapping her buckskin shirt to allow more cooling air beneath.
«Snow,» he repeated.
What Caleb didn’t say was that they should push on without resting, for a storm could easily close any of the several passes between them and the San Juan region for a day or a week. But Willow looked too pale for Caleb’s comfort, almost transparent, and there were deep lavender smudges beneath her eyes.
Reno has been waiting this long for my bullet, Caleb told himselfsilently. Hecan wait awhile longer. Sure as hell it won’t make any difference to Rebecca.
Willow saw the suddenly grim line of Caleb’s mouth and said no more about the weather. Sun or snow or rain, it didn’t matter to her. The horses needed rest and so did she. She didn’t know what Caleb was made of — rawhide and granite, most likely — but even he had to be feeling the strain of constant travel and little sleep.
Half an hour later Caleb led Willow into the big meadow his father had mentioned. Deer bounded away as the riders emerged from the forest into open space. Not until they were on the far side and concealed among trees once more did Caleb dismount and begin stripping gear from his horse.
From the corner of his eye he saw Willow painfully drag her leg over the saddle. He moved swiftly to her, knowing what was going to happen. Her legs buckled, his hands shot out, and he caught her just before she hit the ground.
«Easy does it,» Caleb said, holding Willow upright with an arm around her waist and her weight braced against his hip. «Now try standing.»
Slowly, Willow’s legs accepted her weight.
«Walk for a bit,» Caleb said.
Walking slowly, supporting Willow, he helped her to work out the cramps in her legs. After a few minutes, she was able to walk on her own.
«All right?» he asked, releasing her reluctantly.
«Yes,» she said huskily. «Thank you.»
She took a deep breath and started toward Dove. The hot golden light slanting between clouds made everything glow with an energy she wished she could share.
«I’ll take care of Dove,» Caleb said. «Picket your other mares along the edge of the meadow. Leave the stud loose. He’ll be better than a hound for picking up scents, and he’s not going anywhere those mares don’t go.»
By the time Willow was finished, Caleb had the rest of the horses stripped of gear and picketed in the grass. He went from horse to horse and poured a mound of grain near each one. Soon the sounds of strong teeth crunching hard kernels became as much a part of the meadow as the silky whisper of the small brook winding
