Randall took a knee and laid Samantha’s body onto a green woolen blanket that Bentley had retrieved from inside the cabin and spread out over the snowy porch. The deputy marshal then wrapped the corpse in the covering.
A minute ago, after having explained to the homeowner the reasons for their unexpected visit, Devlin had beckoned Randall while the older man had gone back inside the home, reappearing seconds later with the blanket.
Bentley motioned. “Bring her in here.”
Devlin observed the man. “That’s a kind gesture, but all things considered, it would probably be best if she stayed outside,” a beat, “where it’s cold.”
“Yeah,” he rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, “I suppose you’re right. Well, at least put her in the barn,” he pointed, “over yonder. It’ll be cool inside as long as the weather stays like it is.”
Randall lifted the dead woman, stepped off the porch, and made his way toward the barn.
“The door’s unlocked. Just have to lift the latch and nudge it open with your toe.” Bentley stepped to the side and swung an arm toward the archway. “Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?”
“A hot cup of coffee would be delicious right now. Unfortunately, we can’t come in. Every second we stay is a second we lose on tracking down our fugitive.”
“Of course. Of course. I understand.” A tick. “So, you said you needed some transportation?”
“We’d greatly appreciate it if we could borrow—or buy—a four-wheeler, snowmobile,” she paused, “anything you have really.”
He scratched the three-day-old scruff on his cheeks and chin while studying the porch.
She sensed resistance. “As I said, we’d be happy to pay any price.”
He shook his head at the snow gathering on his boots. “Money’s not the issue.”
Five ticks went by.
He filled his lungs then let out a long breath while looking at her. “You say this man murdered a couple folks?”
She met his steely gaze. “I did. One was an off-duty cop, shot and killed in front of his girlfriend.”
Squinting at the snowstorm for a few moments, then pivoting to regard the barn for another couple pulses, Bentley motioned. “Come on. I have something better than a four-wheeler.”
They traversed the distance between the house and the barn, the elderly man leading by a stride. He turned back to spy her. “How are you set for guns?”
She patted her hip. “We have our sidearms.”
He faced forward. “Well, I might be able to add to your firepower.”
*******
Upon hearing voices, Randall turned away from a stall to see Bentley and Devlin enter the barn.
Bentley acknowledged the other man with a backward flip of his head. “I see you’ve made friends with Sophia.” He bypassed a four-wheel ATV and headed toward the far end of the structure. “She doesn’t usually let strangers touch her.”
Randall turned back to the chestnut horse and stroked the white blaze running from forehead to nostrils on the animal. “Ah, Sophia. That’s a beautiful name...for a beautiful specimen.” He patted her neck. “American Quarter Horse, right?”
“You know your breeds, Mister...” the man paused.
“Randall. Noah Randall.”
“That’s right. You’ll have to excuse me. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten your name.”
“She has to be what...17 hands high?”
“Eighteen.”
With his shoes on, the six-foot-tall Randall ran a flat hand from the top of his head to the highest point on the horse’s withers. I’ll be darned.
“And she weighs fifteen hundred pounds.”
He regarded the animal’s powerful shoulders. “Of solid muscle.”
“Bring her out if you will, Mr. Randall.”
“I’d love to, but I’m afraid we need to be leaving.” He eyed Devlin and lowered his voice. “Did you ask him about,” he bobbed his forehead toward the ATV, “transportation?”
“Yes,” carrying tack, “she did,” Bentley walked by the vehicle once more. “And I have something better for you,” he tipped his head toward the open barn door, “better for traveling in this weather.” He placed the gear on the floor but held on to a saddle pad. “So, please lead Miss Sophia out of that stall for me.”
Randall followed instructions. “You’re giving us your horse?”
His bushy gray mustache bouncing up and down as he spoke, “Well, I’m not,” the man brushed the pad free of burrs and stickers, “giving her to you,” then placed the cushion on the horse’s back.
Devlin spied her partner. “Wilbur’s letting us borrow her.”
Randall beamed. “Awesome.” He patted the equine.
Bentley lifted the brown, double seat western saddle then hoisted the tack onto the animal before fastening the cinches, buckling the breast collar, and attaching a scabbard. “Be right back.” He exited the outbuilding.
Devlin joined Randall in giving the beast some physical attention. “So, how come you know so much about horses, anyway?”
“I rode them all the time when I was young. Pops had a small ranch.” Randall admired Sophia, his mind taking him back a couple decades. “I used to ride a lot...spent quite a bit of time with a Quarter very similar to old Sophia here.” He stroked her fur. “But mine wasn’t nearly as big as she is.”
The corners of her mouth inching upward, Devlin studied him, her curiosity about his childhood generating a half dozen questions in her brain. “You said used to. You don’t ride anymore?”
He glimpsed her before his focus drifted back to the Quarter Horse. “I was a year into my stint with the military when I got word from Pops that he—”
“All right,” his arms full, Bentley hurried into the barn. “Just one last thing.”
Randall glanced at Devlin. “Remind me, and I’ll tell you later.”
“I got you a little something for the trail.” The older man affixed horn bags and a rolled-up sleeping bag to the saddle then glimpsed the slender, five-ten female marshal. “Now, while I’m not foolish enough to ask you your weight, ma’am,” he held out two, well-worn black winter coats then gestured at the garments. “you’ll find a hat and gloves—and bottles of water—in the pockets.”
The agents accepted the offering while expressing their gratitude.
“You’re welcome. Now, as I was saying, I’m not going to guess your weight, but together,” Bentley gave the government employees a quick up-and-down, “the two of you can’t be over three hundred, so...”
The one-seventy Randall gave Devlin a mischievous grin.
She fired back an eyes-narrowed, ‘don’t-you-even-think-about-it’ look in return.
“...I know my Soph’ll be able to carry you both. However, with that being said...I’m sure she’d be grateful if you’d spell her from time to time.”
Still grinning at Devlin, his mind coming up with a couple quips, the deputy marshal ‘bit his tongue’ and faced the horse’s owner. “I’ll climb down and walk every now and then.”
“Much obliged.” A beat. “Well, you should be all set.” Bentley eyed his guests. “You said that your man was riding a motorcycle?”
They affirmed his assertion.
“In this weather?” He shook his head. “He won’t make it very far in snow this deep.” He patted Sophia’s rump. “Little Miss Soph here’ll cover more ground than he will.”
“About that,” Devlin held out her hand toward Randall, “let’s see that map,” before she faced Bentley. “I was hoping you could give us some insight on the area. So far, he’s heading north.” She took the map from Randall and opened it. “What lies between here and there?”
*******
3:11 P.M.
“So,” Bentley folded the map and handed it back to Randall, “since he’s on a bike, he’s going to have to follow the trail around the peak. You’ll be able to shave some time off if you go up and over.”
For the last few minutes, the older man had been advising the agents on travel routes and the surrounding landscape.
Randall stowed the atlas and extended his right hand. “We appreciate the help, sir.”
Bentley accepted the parting gesture.
“Oh, and uh,” the deputy marshal flicked his eyes toward the open barn door, his mind showing him the spot where he had been standing while holding Samantha’s body, “my apologies for coming across the way I did, earlier. I tend to get a little cranky when staring down the barrel of a gun.”
Devlin held back a grin. A little?
“Don’t blame you, son. Once I discovered you two were really marshals, I’ve been feeling mighty bad about it.”
She shook Bentley’s hand, “Thank you, Wilbur,” then gestured at the horse. “I promise. We’ll take good care of Sophia.”
“And she’ll take good care of you, too.” A beat. “One last thing...this storm isn’t expected to let up for several more hours, so if you haven’t bagged your man before sundown, seek some shelter. You don’t want to be moving around on that mountain in the dark.” He shook his head. “There are a lot of steep cliffs that can pop up out of nowhere.”
“We will. Thank you again.”
Standing on the horse’s left, “So, Let the Hunt Begin,” Randall grabbed the reins and mounted the steed, a big grin on his face. “Yee-haw. Going after the bad guys old-school.”
Sticking her left foot into the left-rear stirrup, “Hey, how come you get to—” Devlin looked up at him and motioned, “give me a lift, will you?”
He clasped her left forearm/wrist area and pulled.
She swung her right leg up and over the horse’s hind quarters and settled into the rear seat. “How come you get to ride up front, anyway?”
“Because we have an arrangement, remember? I always drive.”
“That was for automobiles. There were no stipulations for animals.”
“No?” He shrugged. “Then I guess I have to fall back on,” he twisted his shoulders to smile at her, “you snooze you lose.”
The horse whinnied and rocked its head up and down once.
“Did you like that one, Soph?” Randall patted the beast’s neck. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve got plenty more for the ride ahead.”
“So, if you’re driving, then I call shotgun.”
“Isn’t that a given? There are only two seats.”
“No. I mean...” winking at Bentley while lifting the saddle scabbard’s flap...
Having told her about what he would be putting into the leather sheath, the standing man chuckled while regarding the devilish look cascading over her features.
“...I call,” Devlin slipped the last three fingers of her right hand through a lever loop, withdrew a long gun, and rested the stock’s black, solid rubber recoil pad on her right thigh, muzzle pointing skyward, “shotgun.”
Randall pivoted in the saddle, “Oh, wow,” his jaw falling open when he spied a lever action rifle, its shiny, chrome-plated metal components contrasting with the dark ‘furniture’ of the stock and forend. “That’s a beauty.”
“I think you have,” Devlin pointed at the corner of her mouth, “a little drool on your lip right there, Noah.”
He tossed her a quick smirk to acknowledge the verbal jab then went back to ogling the firearm. “That’s a Henry, isn’t it?”
“Yup.” She twisted her wrist back and forth, and the rifle went with the motion. “Big Boy All-Weather in 45 Colt.”
He pointed. “And it has a side loading gate, too.”
“Ten in the tube plus...” Devlin worked the lever to chamber a round, then eased the hammer down, before plucking a 1.6-inch straight-walled spare cartridge from the buttstock ammo carrier and thumbing the round past the loading gate and into the magazine, “...one in the chamber.”
Staring at the Henry, Randall licked his lips, glimpsed the reins he held, came back to the gun, then eyed her while lifting the reins an inch. “Wanna trade?”
Devlin whipped off a single headshake. “Nope. You wanted to drive, pardner, so,” she slapped him on the shoulder blade, “giddyap.”
“Had I known,” he gestured toward the Big Boy, “that was in there, I’d have gladly given you the reins.”
Sophia sounded off with a short whinny.
Not taking his eyes off the rifle, he patted her neck. “No offense, Soph. You know I love you.”
“Well, you know what they say,” Devlin paused a couple beats, “you snooze you lose.”
Hearing his words from earlier, he confronted her, a scowl on his face.
She sold the humor with a smile.
He snorted out a laugh. “That didn’t take long to come back and bite me in the hind end.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.