“We could wait here, Trader.”
“Why?” The lined face turned toward him, genuine puzzlement in the deep-set eyes.
“Hold the ridge. Chill them when they come down after us. What do you reckon?”
Trader shook his bead. “Short-term thinking, partner. Man who looks five minutes ahead gets wasted by the man who looks an hour ahead.”
“Seems a good idea.” The ex-gunner was aggrieved by the dismissal of his plan, though he was real pleased with the unexpected “partner” from Trader.
“We’re shitting in their backyard, Ryan. I mean, Abe. They know this place and we don’t. Could be a back-double around the top of that canyon. Bring some of them down on top of us while the rest hold us here.”
“So?” The reloading of the big .357 blaster was finally completed.
“I’ll be hung, quartered and dried for the crows! I swear I never met anyone with so many fuck-stupe questions as you, Abe. We go up, of course.”
The moment of delight in the “partner” hadn’t lasted very long for Abe.
THE WEATHER GREW WORSE, with the sky darkening as though it were about to unleash a storm of biblical proportions. The wind rose, lashing the foaming water to a greater turmoil, while clouds of misty spray rose to fill the gorge.
As soon as Abe had recovered his breath and his nerve from the crossing of the bridge, Trader urged him to his feet and began to lead the way up the narrow rain-furrowed path that clung to the face of the cliff.
There was still an occasional shot fired in their general direction, but none of the bullets came within fifty yards of them.
“Wasting lead,” Trader grunted, not bothering to return the futile fire.
“You said they’d stop chasing us,” Abe panted as they paused for a few moments at one of the break-backed turns in the steep trail.
“Thought they would. These could be compadres of the couple by the hut.”
“Then again, they could be that bastard posse on our asses from back yonder.”
Trader didn’t bother to reply, striding onward and upward with the vigor of a man a third of his age.
Gradually the ceaseless roaring from the turbulent stretch of the falls began to fade away beneath them.
Abe felt the muscles at the back of his calves beginning to tweak with the remorseless pace that Trader was setting and he leaned forward, pushing with his hands on his thighs to try to help himself over the worst parts.
His heart pounded and the breath rasped in his chest. Abe licked his lips, tasting salt and cold iron. A tight band was squeezing around his temples, and he felt a sudden urge to stop and throw up.
The track was so old and faint that earth slips had washed it away in several places, necessitating a muddy and slippery clamber up over a dangerous detour across bare dirt and rock.
Finally the shooting had stopped.
The track wound away from the river, cutting toward the east, up a side canyon.
“Once we get over the ridge we’ll have an ace on the line to get away,” Trader said.
“Long as they haven’t second-guessed us,” Abe panted, but he wasn’t sure that Trader had heard him. Truth was, he hoped that the man hadn’t.
IT WAS RAINING, a steady downpour, lancing vertically from the dark clouds, seeking out every gap in their clothes. Abe had it running down his nose and inside his collar, both at the back and the front. There didn’t seem an inch of his body that wasn’t sopping wet. It had also become colder.
Trader was moving ahead, the gap between the two of them widening. Every time there was a sharp bend in the trail, the older man vanished for almost half a minute.
Abe had heard about the cold sickness. Something that insinuated itself into the marrow of your bones and froze your blood and dulled your mind. He knew that one of the first signs of that was fatigue. A terrible weariness that dragged at your feet and made every step seem like ten.
“Trader.” The word carried away on the rising wind. “Hey, Trader!”