CHAPTER
21
He rushed along the white rocks, quiet, listening. It gave him grim satisfaction to know he was tracking them now. And they were running right for him.
Find the right spot. Pick off every mother’s son of these vipers before they knew they were under attack.
Get back to where he’d had a choice with these rocks to go up or down.
Lie in wait.
A bullet fired. One of the men shouted something ugly. Trace wasn’t sure what, but then the gunfire stopped.
Soon they came on, feet thudding like stampeding horses. He had time, just enough and not a moment too much.
He reached the spot where the white rock divided and stepped away from the rocks into the trees. His lungs pumped out rage and drew in pure fire. He was The Guardian again.
Hunkering down, he found a log in a good-enough spot and dropped to his knees. The trail was mostly covered by trees, but he could see enough. He could make out feet if they approached.
He rested his six-gun on the log and wished for his rifle. He was a dead shot at any distance with that. Good enough with the pistol, yet he could pick these men off faster and more surely with his rifle.
Breathing too loud. He didn’t fight it, deciding they were still far enough away and he needed to catch his breath the best he could. It’d help keep his hands steady. There’d be plenty of time to go dead silent later.
The voice of one crying in the wilderness.
That came to him as if blown on the wind.
He faltered in his righteous hate.
Shaking his head violently, he went back to his cold, deadly intent. These men were murderers. Trace wanted justice. He wanted to save lives. God was on Trace’s side.
The voice of one crying in the wilderness.
Footsteps finally sounded and told him all he needed to know. They’d reached the white rocks. They’d be visible in seconds.
A battle raged inside him as if his very soul were being torn in two directions. Fighting the quiet conscience, he leveled the gun. Those words echoed within.
“I don’t like this.” A slow drawl stopped the man’s feet. “We’re running blind.”
The voice dropped, the murmurs too quiet. A long moment beat as if it were Trace’s own heart as he wrestled with his conscience.
Was God telling him to let them go and leave the wagon train at risk? Leave the men who’d killed Ronnie’s parents running free?
The tread of hurrying feet faded away, heading back the way the men had come.
It sickened him. He could have shifted his position, gone after them, opened fire. The cowards would have run, and Trace could have picked them off one by one.
Even now he could hunt them. But it was as if the hand of God pressed him into this kneeling position.
Maybe he could see their faces. He’d be another witness. He could at least measure his description against Deb’s to make sure these were the same three men.
He could move then. He holstered his gun. He wouldn’t use it unless he was faced with a gunman ready to attack.
He steadily covered the ground between him and the outlaws. Slipping up, nearer, nearer.
Only a curve separated them now. Trace left the trail. He didn’t think the men knew he was here and he wanted to remain concealed. If he got the chance, he’d take a prisoner. Not kill anyone who wasn’t aiming at him, but he’d be glad to haul one of them back to Carson City under arrest. Even more than one. Let the sheriff look at old wanted posters and ask these men some hard questions.
He felt the difference in his gut, from vengeance to justice, and he was grateful now to the still, small voice that had stopped him from opening fire.
He’d see them in a few more steps. He eased forward and saw them walking away through thick bushes and leaves. A snake-thin man. One a bit taller, still thin as a rail, but he moved like a coiled muscle. It reminded Trace too of the wild longhorns he’d rounded up. Dangerous critters. Kill you first chance they got. The third man was big and burly. Gray hair showed under his wide-brimmed hat. None of these varmints were kids. They might’ve been around ten years ago.
“Let’s go back and see about thinnin’ out those wagon trains.” The high-pitched voice Deb had mentioned. Trace wasn’t sure which man was speaking, but he thought it was Snake Man. “We don’t have to wait until we attack. We can take a few of the tougher men out tonight.”
His muscles stiffened. If this was their plan, Trace would have to act now.
“Stupid fool. If y’all hurt even one of ’em”—Trace was sure this was the big man speaking—“they’ll be callin’ the law, and everyone’ll be rarin’ to kill, standing on razor’s edge. We won’t have a lick of a chance.”
Listening for their every word, Trace drew nearer, completely silent.
Longhorn said, “I’m out. I’m done. This is the devil’s own bargain.”
“You skeered you’re gonna get in trouble, Dalt?”
They’d called him Dalt. Trace had a name now.
“Nope, I’m plumb skeered,” Dalt said, “that I’ve fallen in with a pack of half-wits. You know I’d kill every man, woman, and child if it meant I’d come away rich, but I ain’t interested in a fight I can’t win. Anyhow, Luth’ll kill you when he finds out you’re at this.”
“I can handle him, so leave that be. Be thinkin’ of the money in those wagons. It’s a prosperous bunch. Lots of stock, too. Enough we’ll live high through a cold winter.” The big man sounded coaxing now. Appealing to the man’s greed.
“I think we can do it.” Greed was winning out. “But not if you attack now. If that’s the plan, I’m hittin’ the trail.”
“We won’t. We’ll watch ’em. Learn where they post sentries, learn who’s tough and who sleeps on watch. You’ll stay then?” the big man asked gruffly.
“I could use a stake.” The man turned, and Trace saw half his face. For just a second the man’s eyes swept past him and Trace froze. There were plenty of trees between them, with Trace in deep shadow. But if he could see that man, it was possible the man could see him.
The man looked forward without reacting, and Trace dared to breathe again. This had to be the man Deb saw. Dalt was his name. Trace itched to look through wanted posters. The sheriff had suggested it to Deb, but Trace hadn’t wanted to take the time. Now that they both knew what to look for, maybe they should go back.
“What about that witness?” Dalt asked. “Those two folks spreading the word about us?”
“We’ve got ’em on the run now. We can catch up to them later. They’ve done their damage. Let’s go see just how savvy these movers are before we worry more about those two.”
If he could just see a little more, see the faces of the other two men. He rounded a big oak and walked straight into full view of a huge grizzly bear not ten feet away. It should’ve been in hibernation, but if it hadn’t eaten enough and gotten fat enough, hunger might’ve driven him to stay awake. It might drive him to eat a man.
Trace froze. His hand went to his pistol and knew that was a ridiculous defense against this monster. The grizzly rose to his hind legs and roared. He swung a paw and cracked a young tree in half.
One of the men on the trail, the one with the high-pitched voice, said, “That’s a grizz. Let’s get outta here.”
The sound of running feet on the trail faded while Trace took one step back, then another. Feeling his way, fumbling for the big oak he’d just stepped around, he was tempted to duck behind it, but it was too close. He needed distance before he made any sudden moves. He kept opening space. Trace judged the bear to be near nine feet tall. And if he was skinny from hunger, it didn’t show with that thick brown hair. The grizz flexed paws the size of dinner plates, its claws bared. He roared until Trace was shaking in his boots.
Bracing himself for the charge, Trace continued back. Fifteen feet, then twenty, then thirty. Then his desperate eyes noticed another oak tree a few feet to his left. He jumped behind it. Then he spun around, keeping the tree between him and the grizzly, and ran for his life.
Listening for the roar of a charging bear, Trace thought only of space, of getting out of this with his hide in one piece.
And then he thought of Deb, hidden away, left far behind. If something happened to him, what would become of her?
But the bear wasn’t coming. Trace was mostly sure. The outlaws were on the trail heading straight away from the direction he was going, with no plans to kill today, but soon enough.
Now he headed for the trail. Once there, even the tiny game trail would make for better traveling. His normal speed was driven higher by the close call with the bear and his fear for Deb.
It felt like running home.