Noon came and the heat was overpowering. The rocks surrounding them seemed to absorb the sun’s rays and then blast them back at them with increased intensity.
Kennick waited and sweated. Every moment caused a fresh outbreak of sweat. And he was beginning to feel dry inside. He wondered how long it took for the sun to dehydrate a man. He recalled the time his patrol had stumbled across the body of a deserter from Cameron. The man had been naked, his body wrinkled and cracked like the skin of dried fruit. The flesh of his face had been drawn tight over the bones, the lips skinned back in a snarl. There hadn’t been a drop of moisture in the burnt, brittle body. Kennick shuddered at the recollection. Almost unconsciously he touched his face, heard the harsh rasp of his fingers against taut skin. Cut it out, he told himself. You’re a long way off from dead yet. Quit it and concentrate on getting out of this.
‘Luke, are you all right?’
Kennick glanced across at Jeannie. He nodded, realizing that his worry must have showed in his face. He’d have to watch that.
‘I’m all right.’ He added, ‘Thinking always comes hard,’ and smiled.
She slid close to him. Her face was flushed with heat, her lips dry and cracked.
‘Thinking about how to get us out?’ she asked.
‘On those lines.’
‘They’ve been quiet for a long time.’
‘I’d say they’re doing some figuring too. They may have us boxed in, but that’s all. Getting us out isn’t going to be so easy. And knowing Griff, I’d say it’s making him fret. He doesn’t like sitting around. If we can hang on he may make some move that’ll help us, one way or another.’
‘Don’t you think he might give up and go away?’
Kennick shook his head. ‘Not Griff. He’s waited a long time for this. He won’t quit until it’s been settled.’
Jeannie shrugged angrily. ‘It’s all so pointless,’ she said. ‘Killing you wouldn’t bring his brother back. It wouldn’t change a thing.’
‘You won’t convince Griff of that. He’s set on his trail now. He won’t turn back. I wish there was another way out. God knows I don’t want this. I feel responsible though for his brother, I don’t want to have to kill Griff. But I’m not going to stand by while he tries to kill me. I don’t feel that guilty.’
She listened silently, wishing there was something she could do or say to help. But what? She realized nothing would alter the situation. She felt very inadequate. He was alone on this, and she hoped he would be able to get through it. He had so much to live for. A lonely man trying to make right a wrong, risking his life because he felt responsible for a past thing. Jeannie felt the weight of the gun in her hand and hoped that when the time came she wouldn’t fail him.
Kennick checked his rifle again. He didn’t need to, but it felt better to be doing something.
Out beyond their protective rock cover the circle of sand stretched flat and still. Above and beyond it, the rocks rose in a series of jagged uneven steps, each layer of boulders rising feet above the lower ones. In that sprawling pile of rock, Griff McBride and Joe Beecher sat, waiting and planning. Kennick wished he knew what their plans were.
As if in answer to his thought, a rifle shot slammed out. It came from the lower rocks, but the slug was high off target. That would be Griff. Joe Beecher was higher up. Again the rifle fired. Kennick caught a glimpse of smoke. He raised his own weapon and loosed off two close-spaced shots.
This cat and mouse game could go on for a long time, Kennick decided. Until someone tired of it and made a move. He thought about it. Someone was going to have to force the issue one way or another. That was a fact. Whoever it was would have to be on the offensive. And hadn’t someone once said: When your enemy has you cornered and expects surrender, attack. Kennick couldn’t remember who’d said it, but he saw sense in it. He might have to alter it a little. In a roundabout way, he could attack. But his first move would have to be retreat.
‘Jeannie, listen close. If you’re game, there might just be a way out of this.’
She moved closer. ‘Go on.’
‘Up in those rocks we’ve got Griff and Beecher. Outside, watching the way we came in, is Bo McBride. If we move fast enough we might be able to get clear before our friends in the rocks realize what we’re up to.’
‘How, Luke?’
‘We leave our horses here, work our way out through the rocks in back of us until we can circle around the outside, then hope we can take Bo without too much fuss.’
‘And then take their horses?’
He nodded. ‘That’s the idea. It’s that or staying here and trying to wait them out.’
He watched her closely. He knew he was asking a lot of her, wondered if she’d hold up.
‘I don’t see any other way, Luke,’ she said slowly, thoughtfully.
‘It could get us both killed.’
‘So could staying here. Only, it might take longer.’
Kennick couldn’t argue that point. He nodded. ‘Keep watch.’
Handing her the rifle, he rose and pushed into the narrow space between the rocks where the horses stood. He took down two of the full canteens, dumping the others. From his saddlebag, he took a leather pouch and emptied into it as much of the spare ammunition as he could. That was all they could afford to carry. He turned to Kicking Bear, cut him loose from the horse he was on. With a length of rope he made a loop around the Indian’s waist. The free end was wrapped around Kennick’s left hand.
‘Stay smart and play along,’ Kennick told the Comanche. ‘The men out there have no interest in keeping you alive. They’d shoot you down.’
Kicking Bear made no movement or comment. He seemed disinterested. Kennick hoped the Indian wasn’t planning some trick at this stage of the game.
‘Jeannie,’ he called.
She turned from the rock that hid them from the men above. Kennick handed her the canteens and ammunition pouch. He took the rifle.
‘Can you manage those things all right?’
She nodded.
‘All right. Let’s move.’ He turned and pushed Kicking Bear forward.
Before they’d gone three yards, the rocks closed in around them.
‘This is going to be a long walk,’ Kennick muttered.
Jeannie found a narrow slit through which they just managed to squeeze. The effort left them breathless and sore. The pattern repeated itself many times in the next couple of hours. It was a matter of patience and calm. Moving forward slowly, painfully, detouring to get round an impassable blockage. Then forward a ways, only to have to retrace vital yards when they came to a dead end. Far back, they heard occasional shots. Each one made the stomach tighten, the sweat break out. It might only be minutes until Griff and Beecher discovered that they’d gone. Before that happened, they had to be clear of the rocks and far away. It was this that drove Kennick on, forced him to keep up the brutal pace.
Jeannie collapsed twice. Even Kennick found the going hard. And Kicking Bear was beginning to stumble. Jeannie’s second fall left her with a limp. Her face was ashen when she got up. Kennick wanted to halt, but she wouldn’t let him. But he slowed down the pace after that.
Then, thankfully, he noticed the terrain was becoming easier. The rocks were scattered wider apart here. Jeannie saw too. She came up beside him, leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. Kicking Bear fell to his knees, and his head drooped on to his grime-streaked, sweating chest.
‘We made it, Luke,’ Jeannie whispered tiredly.
‘So far,’ he said. ‘Hard part’s to come.’
Kennick allowed enough time for a drink of water they all needed. Uncapping a canteen he let Jeannie drink, then swallowed a quick mouthful himself. This time Kicking Bear was ready to accept Kennick’s water. The Indian gulped greedily and Kennick had to snatch the canteen away before it was drained.
‘Ready?’
Jeannie nodded, and Kennick got Kicking Bear to his feet. He led out, thankful he’d been able to keep their line of travel reasonably straight. Now he led them west, gradually shifting around toward the south as they reached the perimeter of the boulder field.
Suddenly Kennick called a halt, and motioned them to lie down. They sprawled in the sand. Beyond the rise on which they lay, some two hundred yards off, near a pile of smooth boulders, three horses stood, heads bowed. Just in front of the horses a man squatted behind a rock, facing toward the boulder field.
Kennick took off his gun belt, handing it to Jeannie, along with the rifle. He pulled Kicking Bear from the top of the ridge and told him to stand up. The Comanche rose to his feet and faced Kennick. Jeannie watched, questioningly. Kennick turned as if to speak to her, then before Kicking Bear realized what was happening, swung around on him, bringing his right fist up. The Comanche’s head snapped back, with the impact of the blow. His knees buckled and he fell into Kennick’s arms. Lowering the Indian to the ground, Kennick tied his feet with the rope from around his waist. Then he used his kerchief to gag him.
‘Did you have to do that, Luke?’Jeannie asked.
‘I don’t want him yelling his head off, or making a run for it,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t fancy leaving him alone with you. This way, you’ll have no trouble.’
She smiled. ‘I guess I do think like a female at times.’
He took off his hat and pushed it on the back of her head.
‘You keep thinking like that. It suits you.’
‘Please be careful, Luke.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll make it fast.’ Kennick turned away and moved along the ridge until he was well to the rear of Bo’s position. Then he topped the ridge and headed down the slope fast. At the base, he worked his way toward Bo in a series of dashes from rock to rock. He had to move fast, but quietly, and it took him ten minutes to get up close. He found himself with twenty yards left to cover, and no more rocks to hide him. There was no time for fancy tricks. Any minute, Griff might find he was shooting at rocks that hid nothing but three horses. When he did, he was going to come out fast. By then, Kennick had to be long gone.
Pushing to his feet, he made for Bo. He moved fast, covering the distance rapidly. Then, with only yards to go, one of the horses, startled by Kennick’s approach, whinnied. Bo jerked around and came to his feet, bringing up his rifle.
Kennick made a desperate leap. The rifle barrel caught him across the forehead as he cannoned into Bo. Together they sprawled full-length in the sand in a fighting tangle.
As Bo strained against him, Kennick made a frantic grab for the rifle. A shot would bring Griff and Beecher on the double. Bo, sensing Kennick’s strategy, hung on to the rifle with both hands. Kennick, though, managed to get his hand around the trigger-guard and keep Bo from firing a warning shot.
Kennick swung his free fist into Bo’s face. Bo grunted in pain as his still sore face exploded in fresh agony. Again Kennick smashed his fist into the raw, bleeding face. Though he cried out, Bo did not let go of the rifle. He swung his aching head from side to side, in an effort to escape Kennick’s pounding fist.
Then, suddenly, Bo let go of the rifle. The unexpected move sent Kennick off balance. In that moment, Bo lashed out blindly, his fists finding Kennick’s face. Kicking free, then rolling, Bo clawed his way upright. He wiped blood from his eyes and turned to face Kennick, who was scrambling to his feet. As Kennick stood, he swung his arm and hurled Bo’s rifle from him.
From Bo’s smashed mouth came a deep-throated cry of raw anger. Hurt, in pain, he was a dangerous opponent. He lunged at Kennick, a solid, hard-muscled hulk. Kennick only just managed to get his arms up in time to block Bo’s attack. One of Bo’s wild punches got through and sent Kennick reeling. He slammed up against a rock and that kept him on his feet. Winded, he was barely able to lift his arms. Bo moved in fast. Savage punches rocked Kennick’s head. The world exploded around him. He could taste blood and it seemed to be choking him. Temporarily blinded, he realized that Bo was out to beat him to death.
A blow hammered into his stomach. Kennick’s eyes filled with tears of pain, and suddenly he could see. He saw Bo standing before him, drawing back a clenched fist. Inside Kennick a voice was yelling at him to move, but he seemed to have lost the power to. Slowly, so slowly it seemed, he brought his arms up. Bo, too, seemed to be moving very slowly, as if he were under water. Then Kennick’s hands were around Bo’s thick neck, his thumbs pressing down hard on Bo’s windpipe. Afterward, Kennick didn’t know how long he stood there, pressing, choking. He saw Bo’s face slowly turning a dark, purplish color, his tongue suddenly protruding between bloody lips.
And then, far off it seemed, he heard a horse snort nervously. The sound brought him out of the slow-motion nightmare, back to reality. Kennick closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them, he could see properly. He could feel too. Feel his aching, hurt face and body.
He remembered Bo then.
Bo McBride lay on his back, a few feet away, his arms and legs splayed out. Kennick knelt beside him. Bo wasn’t a pretty sight. His face was a swollen, ruined mask. His eyes bulged blindly from their sockets and his lips were drawn back in a tight snarl. Around his throat were dark, deep bruises. Bo was dead, Kennick saw. Kennick was suddenly very angry. Bo was dead because of Griff’s insane desire for revenge. He felt sick. He’d had to kill to survive, but it didn’t make it any easier. How many more would have to die before Griff was satisfied?
He got up. Now, he thought, Griff really would have something to avenge. Not that he needed the excuse. Griff was crazy, mad, or something very close.
Kennick moved off to where the horses stood. He dragged himself into a saddle and gathered up the reins of the other two mounts. He slapped his horse into movement, heading for the distant ridge.
He didn’t even bother to look back to see if he’d been spotted. He didn’t think about it. Right then, he didn’t give a damn.