CHAPTER

23

THE NIGHT had come quietly, blown in with the cold wind and snow from the northwest. The men were to meet at Joshua Lowe’s ranch. From there they would search on horseback. As David drove away from the house he recalled Sixbury’s reaction to the news that Butch was nowhere to be found; she had glanced at the fire, then walked upstairs.

When he arrived, he found Joshua Lowe, Hraboy, and Quinn Rutland standing with five saddled horses beneath the vapor lamp of the corral next to the main barn. Howard showed up just a few minutes later. It didn’t take a lot to figure out that Patrick was at the root of this. Find Patrick, find the child. But no one said anything about the retarded man; his name was not mentioned. The men were armed.

They mounted. Lowe kicked his gray and led them away from the barn.

Hraboy dropped back to David’s side. “Mitch is out driving the roads,” he said.

David nodded.

They rode toward Hyatt Creek. The snow fell harder. Lowe pulled them to a halt on a ridge. “Hraboy and me will ride on west, then down along the creek. You three fan out and head south from here.” He looked at Quinn. “Keep ’em in your eye.”

Quinn nodded.

“You know the old sheep camp, other side of Sixbury’s?” Lowe asked.

“With the trailer,” said Quinn.

“We’ll meet there.”

Lowe and Hraboy turned and stepped down the slope. David watched them. Side by side, their postures were dramatically the same. They were hunched over slightly, their hats tipped just a bit forward.

“Let’s go,” said Quinn, then led the way from the ridge. On the flat, he motioned for Howard to move off left and David right. “Keep me in sight,” he said.

David was freezing. He pulled his watch cap farther down over his ears and looked across at Quinn. He could not see Howard. He surveyed the ground in front of him, not knowing exactly what he was looking for. With the fresh snow falling, there would be no tracks.

After some time, Quinn began to drift left toward Howard. David held the same distance between himself and the deputy until he could see the forms of both men. He then moved toward them. They came up over a rise, and down in a gulley was the old sheep camp, an old trailer on flat tires and a battered windbreak.

They moved around and down into the camp from the windbreak side, tied their horses, and walked cautiously toward the trailer. The dim flickering of a lantern shown through the window.

A rifle shot split the silence. “That’s far enough!” came a voice from behind them.

They started to pivot.

“Don’t turn around! Just drop your guns.”

“We ain’t got no truck with you!” said Quinn.

Howard tossed his rifle down.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” said the man, closer now. His voice was aged but strong. “Toss down the guns, boys.”

David and Quinn dropped their pistols.

“Let me explain,” said Quinn.

“Hush up, now,” said the man. He coughed. “Step forward some and lie face-down on the ground.”

They did just that. David was lying with his face toward Quinn. He watched the way the deputy attended to the sounds of the man, the way his eyes moved about. A chill ran over him. The snow burned his face.

The man stepped around and stood by David’s head. David felt his heart racing. He thought about rolling over quickly and making a move, but did not.

Quinn said, “Well, it looks like you’ve got the drop on us.”

The man let out a loud laugh and coughed, coughed up phlegm and spat it out. “Well, it don’t take no genius to see that.”

David closed his eyes, listened to the sounds of the man’s boots against the ground by his head.

“We’re looking for a little girl,” said Quinn.

“Ain’t we all?”

“She’s lost,” said David.

“Just who are you?” asked Quinn.

“Hold up there, cowboy. It was you that was sneaking up on me.”

“I’m a deputy sheriff.” Quinn blew snow away from his face. “Let me roll over and you can see my badge.”

“Go ’head.”

Quinn rolled over.

“Well now, that’s real shiny,” said the man.

“Jesus,” muttered Quinn, and got up on his knees. “Listen, you crazy old son of a bitch, we didn’t come out here for the view.”

The man stepped closer, telling Quinn to lie down again. Quinn feigned a motion downward, then leaped forward, grabbed the man, and threw him rolling. David and Howard were quickly up. Quinn made a dive for their weapons. The man yelped with some sort of excited pleasure as he tumbled and came up with the barrel of his rifle pointed at them. Quinn had come to his feet with David’s .45. David froze, his hands away from his sides, and studied the old man, his slight build and his thick, uneven beard.

“I don’t want to shoot you, you old coot,” said Quinn.

“Well, that gives me a serious advantage.”

They stood there in a stalemate for several minutes. David contemplated rushing him. He was closer to the man than either of his comrades and the rifle was trained on Quinn.

Then, “Put the peashooter down, Old Henry!” came Hraboy’s voice.

“Old Henry?” said Howard and looked at Quinn.

The deputy let the pistol drop by his side.

Hraboy and Lowe stepped into the camp. Hraboy leaned forward on his horse. “Put the rifle down, Henry.”

“That you, Hraboy?” The man laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He pulled the barrel of his gun to his shoulder, then, with the tip, pushed up the brim of his cap. “Who’s that with you?”

“Joshua Lowe,” said Hraboy.

“These young fellas with you?”

“They are.”

Henry coughed. “About as useless as tits on a boar hog. Except this one.” He stepped toward David. “You were about to jump me, weren’t you?” He turned to Quinn. “You should have just shot me flat out.”

Quinn tossed David his pistol, then picked up the other guns.

“Come on inside,” Henry said and moved to the door of the trailer.

Hraboy and Lowe followed. Quinn spat, brushed off his clothes, spat again. He seemed embarrassed.

It was crowded inside, with all of them. David had been the last to enter, so he was by the door. Henry was at the table, the kerosene lantern in front of him shaking his shadow against the back wall.

“I hear you’re looking for a child.”

Hraboy nodded.

Henry looked at Hraboy, then at Lowe’s face. He scratched the back of his neck, seeming to have grasped the gravity of the situation.

“Seen anything?” asked Hraboy.

Henry scratched his beard and stared at the ceiling.

Then David remembered the entrails that he and Howard had stumbled onto. “Not too long ago, Howard and I found a dead sheep.”

“Just north of Sixbury’s,” said Howard, “near the big branch. No carcass, just the guts.”

“No animal,” said Henry, shaking his head. “Weren’t me, neither.” He paused, tapped his fingers against the table. “I seen signs. Human shit.”

Lowe groaned. He was growing restless. He worked a kink out of his back.

Henry cleared his throat. “You know the old cabin where Gerlach used to keep feed in the winter? Before he cut back his flock?”

Hraboy rubbed his face and looked at Lowe. They left the trailer. Lowe walked to his gray and patted her backside.

Hraboy stepped up behind Lowe and said, “It’s a good ride.”

David looked at Howard and then at his watch. Eleven forty-five. He turned and slammed his foot against the wall of the trailer.

Lowe climbed into his saddle.

“The snow ain’t stopping,” Hraboy said as he mounted.