Light flurries of snow had drifted partway along the cleft but didn’t reach where Bodie had made his bed for the night. He came awake with first light, climbing slowly to his feet and feeling every ache and sore spot.
Every time, he told himself, you take a beating and still carry on.
He knew it and he did just the opposite of good sense. If Ruby could see him now she would not be amused, and he wouldn’t have blamed her. He managed a grin at the thought.
Crossing to the chestnut he laid the blanket in place, then swung the saddle across its back, causing a surge of pain from his ribs. Moving carefully he cinched the saddle in place and loaded the rest of his gear, tying on his blanket roll and possibles sack. He hoisted himself on her back, took up the reins and guided the horse outside.
The night’s heavy storm had abated for the most part. A light fall still came down from the pale sky. At least the wind had dropped to a light breeze. The cold air chilled Bodie’s skin. He sat for a moment, checking the way ahead.
The fallen snow had laid a white blanket over everything, softening outlines and hanging from the drooping limbs of the trees. The low temperature had formed a light crust on the surface, the horse’s hoofs making brittle sounds as it moved forward. Bodie patted the sleek neck, feeling the chestnut’s flesh ripple.
‘Let’s find that sonofabitch,’ Bodie said. ‘Maybe then we can both get some real rest.’
~*~
It was full light when Trask led his horse from the cave and mounted. Only a light snow was falling, the main storm having spent itself out. He had given the dun the remaining oats, fed himself with the last of the beef, so at least any hunger pangs would be held off for a while.
He sat for a time, setting his trail. Despite the covering of snow that seemingly altered the lay of the land, Trask knew where he was. His gaze followed the higher peaks and was able to recognize particular formations. By his reckoning he estimated another day would see him over the border. He took into account that his progress would be dictated by the snow covering the ground. It would slow him. And he would need to take extra care because any ground hazards were covered by the smooth layer of snow. He thought back to the accident that had lost him his second horse. He admitted that had been down to his own carelessness. Taking risks. He had paid the price.
Trask kicked in his heels and the dun moved off, its gait cautious as it pushed through the snow. He didn’t force the pace. The horse would find its own path.
He kept his long coat closed tight around his body against the temperature, which was still low. Trask knew the higher he rode the colder it would turn. Before he reached the final pass through the peaks it would get even colder. It was unavoidable. He could feel the chill starting to penetrated his clothing and thrust his gloved right hand inside his coat. He wasn’t about to risk having his fingers turn numb with cold in case he need to get to his gun.
Sam Trask had found it wise to always anticipate problems. If something happened to present him with a challenge, being unable to react could turn out to be fatal. He hadn’t stayed alive and free for so long because of making such mistakes. That was all it took.
One mistake.
Make that mistake and it was the end.
Slow as his progress was Trask figured he would at least reach the pass before dark. He might not ride through due to the weather conditions, which meant another night out here. He would be satisfied to get to the pass and camping out on the American side was acceptable. There were difficult sections to cross taking the pass. Trask saw no reason to put himself in danger just to gain few hours. Slipping and falling into some deep crevasse was something he had no wish to face. He had already lost one horse due to his lack of care. He wouldn’t let that happen a second time. A man would be foolish to ignore chance such a thing. He had come this far and had no desire to give it all up now.
The dun labored along a long slope where wind had drifted the snow to a thin layer. In some sections Trask could see the fractured surface of the slope’s surface. He let the horse rest and shifted in his saddle, turning his stiff body left and right to ease the muscles. He made no conscious effort to check behind him be when he did look back the way he had come a harsh sound came from his lips.
Far behind him, still on the lower slope but moving in a direct line that followed the tracks he had left since moving out from the cave, was a lone rider.
Too far for Trask to recognize, but visible enough to see he was on Trask’s trail. There was no doubt.
Trask was being followed.
The rider came on. Slow and deliberate. Fixed on his path.
If he had been able to spot the rider, had Trask been seen as well?
Something told him the answer would be yes.
Trask felt anger rising. Starting to bubble up from deep inside. He knew if he didn’t clamp down on it that anger would turn to blind rage. Affect him so strongly he would not be able to control it, and right now the last thing he could afford was to allow himself to lose that control.
He slid his rifle from the saddle boot and raised it. He had it to his shoulder before he saw the stupidity of his action. The rider was far beyond his rifle’s effective range. Too far. The slug wouldn’t even reach halfway before it dropped. Even if the rider had been within range it would have been a difficult shot. Trask would have been the first to accept he was not that good with a rifle. At close range maybe, but not at a distance. He preferred the close work a pistol offered—or even closer with a knife. Really close when it came to employing the cold steel of a blade. Just the thought brought a smile to his face. Nothing suited him better than the feel of a silent blade slipping into yielding flesh and bringing the shocked expression to the face of the victim. Working a length of razor-sharp metal into a body, feeling it cut through flesh and organs. Releasing the warm flood of blood…Trask was aware of the sensation of pleasure rising in his body at the images crowding his mind and had to push them aside before they took him over too much. If he lost track of what was important right now…
He jammed the rifle back into the saddle boot and snapped back to reality. Clasping his hands across the saddle horn he concentrated on the distant rider. Still too far away to recognize. Not that it mattered in the end. Trask would blow him out of his saddle once he came into range.
Keep coming, friend, because I’ll be waiting for you. The longer you take to get closer means the longer you stay alive.
But only until Trask decided otherwise. He liked the thought. That this stranger, unwittingly riding directly into Trask’s sights, would only remain alive on a whim.