There was no evidence of any pursuit. At least, Barker now knew his problem was not simple. He must find and kill Healy or abandon his plan, and this he would not do. They would know the shot had been fired by no Indian, for Healy knew enough of the West by this time to know that an Indian had no ammunition to waste. When he shot, he shot to kill: Returning to the cabin, he found Mabry conscious and sitting up, his pistol gripped in his hand and the muzzle on the door. Healy explained what he had done as he got out of his coat. “Think they’ll come here?” “Could be. Won’t do any harm,” Mabry added, “taking that shot at them.” He lay back on the bed, relaxing his grip on the pistol.
“I’m not much use to you.” Healy rubbed his hands down his pants. Anything could happen now… and Janice was out there. If they hurt her… He knew suddenly how it was that a man could kill.
JANICE AWAKENED suddenly with Dodie’s hand upon her shoulder. Outside she could hear a oonfused sound of voices, and the air was cool inside the wagon. They were, she remembered, almost out of fuel. “We’ve stopped,” Dodie whispered.
Janice lay still, staring up into the half-light inside the wagon, facing the fact that they were still trapped.
There was no longer any food in the wagon, and their only water had been from snow scraped off the roof by opening the window and reaching an arm through to the top. As the small window was close under the eaves, it was simple enough. Yet it was little water for three women. From the sound of the hoarse breathing from the opposite bunk, Janice knew that Maggie was no better. If anything, she sounded worse.
The decision to move had been Barker’s. Once he had assurance that Mabry was dead, they had begun the backbreaking job of getting the wagons out of the Hole.
It had been a brutal job, digging out around the wagons, then cutting through the snowdrift and packing down snow to get the wagons out. And they had to use both teams on each wagon to get them out of the hollow. Once they were on open ground, the move had gone well, until those startling and unexplained shots from nowhere.
Yet no attack followed… only silence.
“If that was Healy,” Boyle said, “he’ll starve out there. Or he’ll get careless and come too close.” “Mabry wouldn’t have wasted his lead,” Barker said thoughtfully. “He’d shoot to kill.” “Mabry’s dead,” Griffin repeated patiently. Boyle looked up, sneering.
Griffin’s feet moved apart, his eyes widened a little, and with his left hand he slowly unbuttoned his coat.
Boyle’s eyes held on Griffin’s. The sly egotism of the man had been jolted. His face turned a sickly gray and his fear was almost tangible. Suddenly alert, Barker turned on Griffin. “Grit,” he said quickly, “did you see any Indian tracks?” Griffin let his eyes hold Boyle’s.
“Couple of times. Six in a bunch once. All bucks.” Art Boyle sat very quiet. The slightest wrong move or word could force him to grab for his gun… and it was obvious that he could not beat Griffin.
Sullenly Barker sat his saddle and reviewed the situation, liking none of it. Tom Healy had, somewhere in these wagons, fifteen thousand in. gold, the money he was carrying to Maguire, or so his informant in the bank had told him. To get that money had seemed very simple.
Barker had wanted to go back to that little group of towns, Bannock, Alder Gulch, and Virginia City. Some years had passed and most of the old vigilante crowd had gone away. If anybody remained who knew he had been one of the Plummer crowd, nobody could prove it. Moreover, old passions had died, and the vigilante crowd would not be so eager to move against a man for old crimes.
It had seemed a simple thing to take the Healy party out, kill the men, enjoy the women, and then burn the wagons and bury the bodies, moving on to the old mining camps at the Gulch.
A traveling show was always moving anyway, and nobody would be surprised that they were gone. It was probable that months would pass before any inquiries could be made. And he could always say they paid him off and went their own way.
Once established back in the Gulch, he could open a saloon, or buy one, and slowly rebuild some of the old gang. The mines were slowing down, and there would be less people to rob, but less danger, also.” The first flaw in the picture had been the arrival of King Mabry. Not even Boyle knew that Barker himself was a gunman, but good as he was, Barker was not sure he could beat King Mabry, nor had he any urge to try. He was looking for the sure things, and robbing Healy had seemed without risk. Yet his entire plan demanded that it be done without leaving witnesses. Travelers took the old Bozeman Trail to Montana up the valley of the Powder, or went west along the trail from Fort Laramie to Salt Lake if they were bound for California. The overland route that he had chosen to take them to Alder Gulch would ordinarily be deserted…
and then his plans went awry at the discovery of the hoof tracks.
Suspecting that somehow Mabry had missed them and gone on through the Hole-in-the-Wall, Barker had waited for Griffin to accomplish his mission. And the wild country beyond the Wall was the ideal place for what he planned to do.
Already a few outlaws were beginning to use that country as a haven, and a man who intended to kill three women had better be sure it was not known. Then everything had gone wrong at once. The unexpected gun in the girls” wagon, then the escape of Healy. Unable to find the money in Healy’s wagon, Barker became sure it was in the wagon with the girls. With the wagons hauled away from the trail through the Hole and hidden away up Red Creek Canyon, with Mabry dead and Healy probably dying, they could act. They would destroy the wagons, scatter the ashes. And as for the girls… in a few days they could kill them, too.
Barker was a cold-blooded, matter-of-fact man. Plummer’s final failure at the Gulch and Virginia City had been a warning. And even while the first vigilante hanging, that of George Ives, was in progress, Barker had taken a quick road out of the country.
And in the years that followed he had guarded himself well, and worked always with care. He wanted to take no chances. He had seen what had happened in Virginia City when almost to a man his old comrades had been wiped out. A Western community might stand for a lot, but when it drew a line, it was drawn hard and fast and certain. Until the girls had been molested, there was always a retreat, but that was the point of no return. The killing of Doc Guilford could be alibied. Doc had a gun, and he had drawn it; Wycoff had been wounded. Even the girls and Healy must admit that. So there was still a way out.
The sudden shots from the hilltop angered and frightened him. Healy was live and he had a weapon. And until Healy was certainly dead, they dared not proceed with the rest of the plan. There must be none to report what had happened. And when he thought that, Barker was also thinking of Griffin.
The first order of business was to hunt down Healy and kill him. He said as much.
“That’s your business,” Griffin told him. “You go ahead with it.” “What’s that mean?” “I’ve done my job. I’ve no part of this.” He paused briefly. “And I’m not asking any share.” Barker hesitated. That was true enough, and somebody must guard the wagons. “All right, Boyle can come with me. Two of us should be enough.” Janice watched the men saddling their horses.
Griffin was remaining behind, but what could Griffin do with Wycoff still around? And there was something about the sullen brutality of Wycoff that she feared even more than Barker. Gently she touched Maggie’s brow. It was so hot that she was frightened.
Dodie saw her expression. “We’ve got to get help for her,” Dodie said. “We’ve got to get out. She should have some warm soup.” Now, with Griffin here, they might get help. The man was a killer, she knew. Yet she had heard of men of his kind. She had seen the killing fury that obsessed such men, but even the worst men in the West might respect a good woman. This must be true of Griffin. It had to be true. Standing at the door, she watched the riders go back down the trail the way they had come. From her bed she picked up the gun. “I’ll go.” Dodie got up quickly. “You stand by the door with the gun.” “Don’t get out of sight.” The sound of the opening door turned both men. Janice saw the sudden shine of animal fever in Wycoff’s eyes. He took a half step forward. Janice stepped into the doorway, holding the gun in plain sight. “Mr. Griffin, we’ve a sick woman in here. She needs warm food, and I’m afraid she has pneumonia.” Griffin’s lean face was grave. He looked at her out of gray, cold eyes and nodded. “Of course. We’ll make her some broth.” Wycoff said something under his breath and Griffin turned on him sharply. From Wycoff’s reaction, Janice knew that whatever Griffin had said angered him.