The knife finished its cut and he was still trying to rise and draw his own knife when my hand came back. Making no effort to reverse the knife, I swung my arm in a mighty blow and struck him on the temple with the end of the hilt. He grunted and collapsed forward onto the ground, and then, in a panic, I was up and gripping rifle in one hand, bloody knife in the other, I ran.
At the trees, I drew up, not wanting to smash into them, and skidded to a halt.
All was quiet. Looking back, I could see nothing at all. Crouching, I slid my knife hilt deep into the earth and withdrew it, to cleanse it of blood. Rising, I slid into the trees and began working my way toward the corral.
There was little time. What I would do must be done at once, for soon they would change guards or call out to them and the missing one would be discovered.
Soundlessly, I moved through the trees toward the fire.
Twenty feet back from the rope, I stopped.
The horses had sensed me and were restless. I could see past their ears, for I was on somewhat higher ground, and in the camp I could see men eating, lying around, one man cleaning a rifle.
At first I saw nothing of Davy, Jorge, or Lucinda, and then I did. Lucinda was near to me, seated at the base of a tree, tied hand and foot. Falvey was near her. Beyond, and across the fire, I could see Shanagan. His hands appeared to be tied behind him. I couldn’t spot Jorge.
No chance to get to Davy, but she was close.
So were the horses. So far nobody had noticed their uneasiness. Stepping down through the trees, my hand found the encircling rope. A quick slash of the knife and it fell apart.
One of the horses jumped and snorted; the others bunched quickly. I ran at them, cutting the rope in another place and suddenly letting out a wild whoop.
They started to mill, then lunged and ran. A few of them hit the loosened rope and went through it and into the camp on a dead run. Men scattered.
I saw one knocked down. The running horses plunged through the fire, out the other side of the camp, and into the darkness. The others milled, then when I whooped again, they ran.
I was within a dozen feet of Lucinda.
Grabbing her by the collar, I lifted her bodily to her feet, and risking cutting her, I made a quick slash at the ropes at her ankles, then at her wrists.
A gun roared, almost in my ear it seemed, and a bullet struck the aspen near me and spat bark and stinging slivers into my face. Turning quickly, I shot from the hip, aiming at Falvey who had been knocked down by a horse as he started to rise. My shot missed, hitting a man just beyond him.
Sliding my knife into xs scabbard, I grabbed at Lucinda’s arm and ran. At almost the same moment, a rifle bellowed from across the way and a man running at me with a hatchet dropped in his tracks.
Suddenly I was in the darkness, running up through the trees. Behind me were shots, yells, then more shots. Somebody was staging a minor war back there, but there was no time to look.
Scrambling up through the trees, the slope was steep. Letting go of her hand, I used my hand to pull myself up by grasping tree trunks and limbs, as she did.
Somewhere up here, there was a cave, but there was not one chance in a million I could find it now, not in the dark with men searching for me. Coming out on a ledge, pausing to gasp for breath, I fumbled with the reloading of my Ferguson, made it, then started on.
We hurried along the face of the slope, moving southward, climbing a little, then back toward the north on a kind of switchback path or game trail.
Down below the shooting continued. I heard a shrill Indian yell, then the bang of another rifle. We climbed on, coming out in a small meadow.
Lucinda pulled on my sleeve. “Ronan … Mr. Chantry, I’ve got to stop. I … I can’t run another step!” We moved into the trees at the edge of the meadow and sat down on a log. She was not the only one who was all in. My breath was coming in ragged gasps and there was pain in my side.
Feeling for my knife, I slipped the loop back over the guard to keep it from slipping out.
I stood up. Behind us was a grove of aspen, before us what might be a trail used by Indians or buffalo or elk. “We must go,” I said, and she got up.
The shooting down below had ceased. Soon they would be coming for us, and we had no place to hide.
CHAPTER 18
Yet I waited. I was tired of running and hiding. Slowly but steadily, anger had been building within me. Contemplation fits me better than rage. I am prone to consider before acting, and to take decisive action only when there is no other course. So far I had been guided by some instinct, some atavistic memory from warlike ancestors who had preceded me.
Now I no longer wished to escape. I wanted to fight. But beside me I had a girl to consider. Lovely as she was, intelligent as she was–and I have always preferred intelligent women–I wished for the moment she was elsewhere. A man going into a fight for his life should have to think of nothing else; his attention should not be for the minute averted.
There had been a lot of shooting below and I could only guess that my friends had appeared… my friends, or some Indians. If the former, I should join them; if the latter, I had another reason for hiding.
Van Runkle had mentioned a cave… but how to find it in the dark?
Turning to Lucinda, I asked, “Can you be still?
As a ghost?” “Ghosts rattle chains. Is that what you mean?” “This is no time for levity. I want you to be still, to sit down in those trees yonder, and if somebody comes within inches, you are not to move… do you hear?” “Yes.” “Very well, then. Into the trees with you.” There was a good stand of spruce, dark and close growing, and the log on which we sat was a good landmark, smooth as it was and white in the moonlight, and the moon would soon be up.
“What are you going to do?” “Your uncle had some twenty men with him. He has fewer now… I think no more than sixteen or so. I’m going out to clip the odds a little more.” “You’ll be killed. You’re a scholar. Those men are vicious… unprincipled.” “And I’m principled. That, I suspect, places me at a disadvantage, and yet I’m not so sure that it does. At the moment I’m very much guided by several principles, and the first one is the desire to survive. The second one my family has used with some success. They believe in attack.” “You’ll be killed. You’re no match for such men.” It irritated me. Why do pretty women have the faculty of irritating? Almost as if they were trained for it. And, of course, they are.
When one is irritated, one is not blas@e.
One must be interested or involved.
“You’re mistaken. Socrates was a soldier, and a good one. So was Julius Caesar, and the playwright, Ben Jonson. There have been many.” She stood straight, looking into my eyes.
“Sir, I do not want you hurt. I do not want you killed.” “Of course not. How could I help you obtain your treasure if I was dead? But I shall not be.
Sit in those trees, and for God’s sake, be still!” Abruptly, I moved away from her. The moon was rising, and already it was growing lighter. Her doubt of my ability irritated me even more. I did not know who had attacked them after the horses were stampeded, but I knew that I had to carry the fight to them. Moreover, I must, if possible, free Davy and Jorge… if they yet lived.
There was silence upon the land. The aspen stood sentinel still in the moonlight, their golden coiffures shimmering slightly, gently, under the most delicate touch of the night air.
Down in the bottom, no fire glowed. No sound arose to meet me. There was a faint smell of woodsmoke from the extinguished fires, a dampness rising from the stream, and no other thing to disturb or impress itself upon the night.
Not only Lucinda’s doubt rankled. There was also the quite obvious contempt of Rafen Falvey to spur me on. She doubted me capable of meeting him face-to-face, and he would have laughed at the idea.