RALPH HITCHBURN WAS allowed to bring one man with him. This was decided after messages were exchanged with Colonel Spate, who was handling negotiations for Mrs. Hitchburn’s return. At first Spate had argued that matters should be handled by Hitchburn alone, but he finally gave in. Despite his affluence and political power, Hitchburn was a coward. At first, he’d suggested that Adam Granfield handle the negotiations, but Spate put his foot down. He insisted Hitchburn show up.
The meeting place was well known in the area: a mound of land rising from the valley floor and called the Lookout. It was some fifty yards at its widest, with little brush, only a few boulders. No chance for an ambush. Spate had made sure of this in selecting the site.
Hitchburn, on the way to the Lookout, complained that not one word had been heard from the scoundrel Hawk.
Granfield, mounted on a bay, sounded irritated. “Good God, Ralph, Hawk only started to work for us yesterday.”
“You talked as if he’s a miracle worker.”
“Have patience. That’s all any of us can do.”
Hitchburn’s expensive suit and his silk shirt were damp, with sweat. He was apprehensive. This was the day they were supposed to bring the ransom. He hoped the colonel wouldn’t be in one of his ugly moods. He had met the man before learning he was associated with Keegan. At first he had found Spate charming, but there was something about him as you knew him better that chilled the blood.
He could not even allow himself to think of Amalie in the hands of such a renegade.
When they rode up the south trail on the gradual slope of the Lookout and reached the top they saw that Spate had already arrived. He sat his saddle at the far end of the rise. With him were four men.
Granfield cleared his throat and said tensely to Hitchburn at his side, “Remember. Don’t give anything away.”
Spate cantered away from his four men. He was mounted on a fine chestnut. His jacket and pants were of light brown whipcord. His boots bore a high polish. He reined in, looking at Hitchburn out of the yellowish eyes that could stiffen the hairs at the back of a man’s neck.
Hitchburn shifted uncomfortably under the colonel’s steady gaze. “I want to know—” he started to bluster.
Spate lifted a gloved hand and cut him off. “You failed to bring the wagon,” he said softly. “With the money.” In the saddle, Spate did not look as tall as his six-foot two inches. He was slender, with good shoulders, a build that appeared ageless. A fuzz of gray in the neat beard was the only indication that he was in his late thirties.
“I’ll need a week to finish getting the money.” Hitchburn’s voice cracked from strain. “I’ve got some of it. But your insisting that it be in gold—”
“We’re not going to accept a bank draft,” Spate said with a cold smile. “Nor paper money.” Spate wore two guns, a .45 at his belt and a smaller revolver, probably a .38, under the whipcord jacket.
“A week from today I’ll have the money,” Hitchburn said. He and Granfield had agreed that it was best to give Hawk more time.
“We’re in no hurry,” Spate drawled. “Seems that you aren’t either.”
Hitchburn stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“You weren’t able to … er … consummate the marriage.”
Hitchburn’s round face flamed. They had come unarmed at Spate’s order, leaving their weapons a mile back in a canyon. At the moment it seemed to Hitchburn to have been the worst decision of the day. He wanted desperately to shoot that sneer off the colonel’s bearded lips. “Whether my marriage was consummated or not is none of your goddamned business.”
Granfield gave him a worried look.
“Didn’t say it was my business.” Spate smiled.
Hitchburn suddenly reddened even more. “Just how in hell did you know such intimate details?” The question spilled out of him.
“She told me.”
“You’ve got no business discussing such things with … with a girl her age!”
Spate laughed. “You considered her old enough to marry. So she’s old enough to speak plain.”
Granfield gestured at his companion. “Ralph … please. You’re letting him bait you.”
“If you’ve harmed her, I’ll—”
“You’re in no position to threaten me!” Spate hissed through his white teeth.
“Hitchburn meant nothing by it. The man’s half out of his mind,” Granfield put in quickly.
Spate turned to Granfield, a sneer distorting his features. “Tell your friend that no harm, as he puts it, has come to his wife. She’s been most agreeable, you see—”
“You filthy—” Hitchburn reddened, advancing on the colonel.
But before he could rein his horse, Spate lashed out with the quirt. It caught Hitchburn across the left cheek, .bringing a stream of blood dripping down his chin. Stunned for a moment, Hitchburn clawed at his belt, belatedly realizing he was unarmed. Across the Lookout, Spate’s four men drew their rifles, ready to cover the colonel.
Lowering the quirt, Spate said, “You have one week. Seven days from midnight. Bring the money, or even the pleasures your lovely bride has so far offered without resistance won’t save her. She will die.”
Hitchburn, his pride brutally beaten, spoke shakily. “You wouldn’t … couldn’t … murder a woman.”
“I get rid of people who stand in my way. Man or woman. It makes no difference.”
“I’ve never known anyone so cold-blooded,” Hitchburn blurted.
Spate went on with calculated coolness, ignoring Hitchburn. “Yes, I’ve caused the death of a woman. A more attractive woman than your bride, Mr. Hitchburn.”
He looked long at the rancher and added, “I’m telling you this just in case you have an idea I’m bluffing, that I’ll tire of the game or worry about being caught and turn your wife loose.”
Hitchburn dabbed at the gashed cheek with a bandanna. Distracted and frustrated, he expelled a long and angry sigh. “Hell, I might as well sell off land and cattle and pay the goddamned ransom!” He twisted in the saddle to glare at Granfield. “Your friend Hawk—”
Granfield’s head snapped up and he made a warning gesture. Hitchburn caught himself, a sickness spreading across his face.
Into the sudden silence Spate said, “What? What did you say?”
Avoiding Spate’s eyes, Hitchburn continued to dab at the cheek wound. Granfield swallowed.
Spate regarded both men for a minute before he said, “Hawk was hanged at Kingdom. Hanged behind canvas, they say—Ah-ha! I wondered why the sheriff became so squeamish that he wouldn’t allow women and children to witness an execution.”
“He was hanged,” said Hitchburn weakly.
Spate’s teeth gleamed through the beard. “You think Hawk is going to rescue your wife?”
Neither Hitchburn nor Granfield replied. Granfield’s sweating face was steady, but Hitchburn’s mouth trembled. “If you made a deal with Hawk,” Spate said with a cold smile, “he’s probably halfway to Chihuahua by now.” He pursed his lips, adding, “On the other hand, if he gave his word, he’ll keep it. Strange quirk in that man. Despite his killer instinct, he has integrity.”
“I didn’t mean what I said.” Hitchburn made a lame, attempt to rectify his slip. “I know nothing about this Hawk, personally.”
Spate squinted as he thought about it. “The odds of Hawk getting into the mountains are a hundred to one. But if he should make it, I promise his death will be much more interesting than a common hanging.” Spate’s yellowish gaze was locked to Hitchburn’s bleeding face. “I said you had one week. I’ve changed it. You have exactly four days.”
“Four days! I can’t possibly—”
“You be here with a wagon strong enough to carry that gold. And a stout four-horse team. You’ll accompany us to the foot of the mountains. Alone! And when we make sure the amount is right, you’ll have your wife.”
Hitchburn sagged in the saddle, bloodied bandanna limp in his right hand. “But the time is so short.”
“Four days,” Spate repeated. Turning his horse, he leveled a hard glance at Granfield. “This Hawk business is probably your idea. I don’t think Hitchburn has the brains for it.” Giving the men a final warning, Spate trotted over to his four men.
Granfield heard him say in a loud voice, “I promised you men some entertainment. If we have a certain guest named Hawk—” Spate looked across the open space to Hitchburn and Granfield. “You’ll see the death cage!” And then he was streaking down the long slant, raising dust, followed by his men.
“What I wouldn’t give for a rifle,” Hitchburn breathed when they could see the five riders on the flats below, heading for the mountains.
Granfield sounded despondent. “Whatever chance Hawk might have had is gone now. I suppose you realize that, Ralph.”
“The bastard … that Spate, the way he looked at me. And that satanic grin … as if he knew something had happened to Amalie. And daring me to do something about it.”
“Nothing’s happening to her. Don’t let your imagination take fire.” Granfield, now that he was calmed, tried to be reassuring. But secretly he had his doubts, and wondered just how Amalie Hitchburn was being treated in the outlaw camp.
As they rode back down the south trail and to level country, Granfield tried to forget how badly Hitchburn had blundered today. If there weren’t political considerations involved, Granfield would have been tempted to let Hitchburn pick his own coals out of the fire.
When they finally reached the rocky shelf where they had left their weapons, Hitchburn broke his brooding silence. “Never should have married that girl in the first place. Ever since the wedding my luck’s gone bad.”
“Well, you did marry her, and she’s your responsibility.”
Hitchburn dismounted. “Sometimes I think I should take forty or fifty men and storm that goddamn hideout!”
“In the first place, if you did that word would get out. And folks would wonder just why you were taking your own private army after Keegan when in the past, you’d let him alone. And if word got back to Washington… Well, it just might ruin your chances for appointment.”
“I wonder if I give much of a damn!”
“If you did storm the hideout, chances are she’d be killed in the fighting. What would you prove? Nothing. With any luck, Hawk’s already in the mountains.”
“I don’t have your great faith in the man,” Hitchburn said thinly.
“I think he’ll do his damnedest to get your wife.”
“You mean to say there’s anything to choose between him and Kyle Keegan? Or Spate?”
It was an old argument. “There is a difference,” Granfield said, trying to remain calm. “Colonel Spate mentioned integrity. I’m sure the colonel doesn’t have a drop of it himself.”
“The bastard could have taken out an eye with that quirt!” Hitchburn gingerly felt of his gashed cheek. “I hope to Christ it doesn’t leave a scar!”
“You’ve got more to worry about than that, Ralph.” Hitchburn turned on him. “You and the rest of ’em sucking around. Hoping to make money when I get the appointment!”
“One thing you need right now,” Granfield reminded him coldly, “is friends. You talk like that and you won’t have a one.”
Hitchburn locked his lips. They got their rifles and revolvers. They were hot from lying in the sun.
When they were mounted again, Hitchburn said, “Death cage. Wonder what Spate meant by that?”
Granfield shivered. “I’d just as soon never find out.”
They were suddenly attracted to buzzards circling to their left. For several moments they watched the black specks. Hitchburn said it was probably a dead animal. But Granfield was suddenly curious. The birds seemed to be near the canyon where they had brought Hawk.
Nobody’s seen Kane since we sent him back to town,” Granfield mused. “Sheriff was also wondering about it.”
They went directly to the spot where the buzzards circled and found what was left of a man’s body. Predators had ravaged it but the face was recognizable even though halved by the blade of a hand ax. Hitchburn felt ill.