Ryan leaped forward, throwing a fist at Hatcher’s face. The pirate evaded the driving fist with a sidestep, and he swung the horn viciously in return. The container struck Ryan across the ribs, and the impact numbed his left side. In an instant he was fighting for air and trying to keep from falling.
Whooping, Hatcher whipped the powder horn toward him again. Ryan ducked, the horn struck the rock wall and the lid popped off. No powder poured out, only thick, dully gleaming chunks of metal. They caught the sun and sparkled.
Screaming wordlessly in fury, Hatcher sprang forward and looped the leather strap around Ryan’s throat. His wind was immediately cut off, and within seconds he heard nothing but his own blood pounding in his ears.
Gagging, he tore at the garrote with his hands, but the pressure on his windpipe only increased. A knee was thrust brutally into the small of his back. Blindly Ryan fumbled for the handle of his eighteen-inch panga sheathed at his hip. After two groping motions, his hand closed over the handle, and he managed to drag it free. He struck behind him and felt the blade sink into yielding flesh.
Through the hammering in his temples, he heard a scream, and the agonizing pressure around his throat lessened. Ryan lunged forward, yanking the strap from Hatcher’s grasp. He pulled the strip of leather from his neck and unsteadily scrambled to his feet. Blood streamed from a stab wound high on Hatcher’s left thigh, and the man’s face was contorted in a mask of rage and pain.
The pirate started to draw his own knife, then he froze, his eyes on something behind Ryan. He back-pedaled, limping slightly. Ryan turned and saw Jak, J.B. and Krysty racing down the gorge, blasters in hand.
Hatcher began to run, expertly keeping Ryan between him and the blasters of his friends. As he ran unsteadily, he roared, “You’re dead, Cawdor! You are so fuckin’ dead !”
Ryan thought again of his dream, then his friends were all around him. J.B. and Jak started to run farther down the pass, but Ryan called them back. He retrieved his SIG-Sauer and checked it for damage.
“Damn close,” Jak said tightly. “Couldn’t get clear shot at him.”
“He had it planned that way,” Krysty said. “What did he want, besides to chill you?”
Ryan didn’t answer immediately. He bent and picked up the chunks of metal from the gorge floor. There were three of them, each about the size and thickness of a big man’s thumb, and they felt as heavy as lead. All had fairly smooth surfaces. He turned the largest one over. The side was far brighter, rough textured, the marks of a saw still upon it.
Gold. They were pieces of gold, measuring perhaps three inches long and less than a quarter of an inch thick.
He pulled the oilcloth-wrapped packet from his shirt and said, “Now I think I’m getting it.”
Krysty frowned, taking the packet from him and opening it. Mildred and Doc joined them, looking over her shoulder.
“A map,” she said. “To what and where?”
Ryan clicked the pieces of gold together in his closed fist. “I would imagine this is the what. To where I have no idea. Mebbe Mr. Autry will have an opinion or two.”
They met Autry and the pair of guards before they reached the end of the pass. Their faces didn’t register relief when they caught sight of the six people, alive and unharmed, but they didn’t look disappointed, either.
“We heard shots,” Autry said breathlessly.
“Took long enough to make recce,” Jak said.
Autry ignored the observation. “Hatchet Jack, is he?”
“No,” Ryan replied, “but three of his crew are.”
“Did he want you to give yourselves up to him?”
“That subject wasn’t raised.” Ryan opened his hand, showing the slices of gold. With the other hand he gave Autry the map. “He wanted me to give this up instead. Jak found it on one of Spotted Hawk’s killers.”
Autry’s gaze flicked from the gold to the map, then back again. He was silent for so long, Ryan wondered if he was stunned into speechlessness. Then his face displayed an odd, unidentifiable emotion.