66

It’s beautiful. The vibrant colors dazzled Michael’s eyes. The verdant valley floor, the dark green pines, the lighter green poplars contrasted with the grays and browns of the surrounding mountains and the white-capped higher peaks. Cool, crisp air brought the clean aroma of evergreens.

He focused on the cabin, a small dot between two strings of water, and fresh dread rose in his throat. The trail of violence and blood they had been following ended there in that small gray smudge.

Caleb stood beside him and trained the spyglass on the scene. He slammed the cylinder shut and rammed it into the carrying case.

“Bad news. Looks like they kidnapped Mark Carstairs too. He and Sam are tied between posts on either side of the cabin door.”

“Are they still alive?” Harold said.

“Well, they’re still standing. But they look pretty beat up.”

“Mark?” Michael heard the surprise in Frank’s voice. “Avery was supposed t’ keep an eye on ’im.”

Martin kicked a loose stone. “Probably gave Avery the slip first chance he had and headed for town.”

Caleb sipped from his canteen and spat in the dirt. “And got himself into a heap of trouble, the fool. The boy never would learn.”

“What do their defenses look like, Sheriff?” Jeremiah said.

“Can’t tell how many they have. Our prisoner thinks there’s around ten men besides the woman, her husband, her father, and a servant woman left in the camp. I can see three, maybe four along the creek bank. Hard to tell how many are in and around the cabin or in the trees. We can’t attack ’em head-on. That’ll just put Sam and Mark in a cross fire. I’d like to see if there’s some way we can get in behind ’em.”

Caleb pointed to the north. “Mr. Turner, I want you and Martin to scout up the north side of the valley and see if there’s a way to get into those trees without being seen. Bill, you and Frank do the same on the south side.”

A small copse of trees near the trail provided shade and gave Michael and Caleb a secluded place to watch the valley unseen. Michael squatted next to Malachi. “How you doing?”

Malachi gave him a weak smile. “Doin’ okay for an old man with no whiskey. What’s all the commotion? Where’d everybody go?”

Michael poured some water on a cloth and mopped the old man’s brow. “We’ve found the kidnappers’ hideout. The others went to scout out the best way to come at them.”

Michael removed the bandage and examined the wound. He washed it with some whiskey.

“Hey, don’t go wastin’ that stuff.” Malachi reached for the bottle with his good arm.

Michael held the bottle away and placed his hand on Malachi’s chest. “Believe me, old man, this whiskey’s doing a lot more good where I put it than where you would put it.”

“Try telling my mouth that.” He drifted off again.

Caleb walked over. “How’s he doin’?” He held his voice to a low whisper.

Michael stood and looked down at the dozing man. “All right, I think. The wound looks clean, but he’s still running a fever.”

Malachi’s eyes fluttered open. “A little whiskey would sure help, Sheriff.”

Caleb gave him a slight kick in the foot. “We need it to keep your wound clean. You just keep drinking water, old-timer. You’ll get some whiskey soon as we get back to Riverbend.”

“Waste of good whiskey, if you ask me.”

Quietness settled over the area. No one spoke. Malachi slept. Harold stretched out under a tree and covered his face with his hat. The horses dozed in the warm, still air. The stomp of a hoof and the swish of a tail to ward off flies were the only sounds.

Michael watched Caleb as the sheriff paced. The man checked his watch and glanced at the sky. He looked north and south as if wishing the scouts would reappear. The lines on his face seemed etched with a chisel.

Time crept. The sun moved across the sky, but it seemed that time stood still where they were.

Buddy snorted and raised his head. Michael reached for his rifle. In an instant, Harold had jumped into a crouch, his pistol cocked. Caleb grabbed his pistol but didn’t draw it.

Jeremiah and Martin walked into view, and relief swept over Michael like a cool breeze.

Caleb stood with his legs apart, hands on his hips. “What’d you find?”

Jeremiah jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “It doesn’t look like there’s a way in on the north side. About halfway to the cabin, there’s a deep crevasse. It’s too wide to jump and too steep to climb down. The sides are all loose rock, and they’d hear us coming.”

Martin nodded. “He’s right. We could ride north a ways and find a trail in the back way, but it might take us all night or longer to get back here.”

Caleb shook his head. “They know we’re close. They ain’t gonna wait around for us to find some other way in.” He chewed the edge of his mustache, looking straight ahead as if hoping an answer to his dilemma would appear before him. “I’ve had it with these people. Tryin’ to catch ’em has been like trying to catch air in your hand. Maybe Bill and Frank will have better luck.”

Michael watched an eagle soar and drift on high currents of air, graceful and slow. He remembered his conversation with Old Thomas on the rock and envied the view the bird had of their situation. He glanced at the Indian’s body wrapped in blankets, and his heart grew heavy thinking of a friend gone too soon. He whispered a prayer of protection as they waited for Bill and Frank to return.

Caleb paced. Jeremiah sat next to Malachi and offered him the canteen. The old man groused about the lack of whiskey like one of those birds with an irritating squawk that you didn’t really notice until it penetrated your consciousness. Then you wanted to shoot it.

The tension between Michael’s shoulders returned, tightening like the mainspring of a watch wound to its breaking point. It moved into his neck. He stretched and twisted his upper torso without relief.

Caleb drank from a canteen and spat on the ground. He rammed the cork back into the neck with a hard slap. The sun moved a little farther across the sky. The waiting wore on everyone except Malachi, who had drifted off into a restless sleep after Jeremiah and Michael prayed for him.

Michael stood with Caleb looking into the valley. Such a peaceful place. Lord, show us the way in.

A call of “Hello, the camp” interrupted his thoughts. Bill and Frank walked into view. The others gathered around them.

Bill grinned. “We can get close to the cabin by goin’ along the south wall of the valley. The goin’ will be slow, but there’s good cover. We can get around behind the cabin if we go on the other side of the south wall, where they can’t see us.”

“How long will it take to get into position?” Caleb said.

“’Bout an hour, maybe an hour and a half. We’ll have to go slow so we don’t raise any dust or start rocks moving.”

“Do they have any men on the south wall?”

Bill shook his head. “Didn’t see any. They seem to be concentrated along the creeks and around the cabin, but they’re watchin’ everything.”

“All right then,” Caleb said. “Let’s move.”

They gathered their rifles and extra ammunition. Caleb made sure Malachi was awake and had his pistol and rifle. He gripped the old man’s shoulder. “Be back as soon as we can.”

“Just get them killers, Sheriff.”