The stab of flame struck his eyes before the report. The bullet was a whiplash in the night, then silence, but he did not move nor fire. If he moved now, he was a dead man.
The Huron had shot at what he believed was him, and waited for the return shot or the move… he did neither.
He knew the Huron was ready, the slightest move, the slightest sound and the second shot would have nailed him, so he held still, drawing slow, careful breaths and listening. Con Vallian knew that he might get only one shot and he wanted that one to do the job. If he missed… well, the Huron would not.
The night was very still. Along the stream there were a number of towering cottonwoods and many smaller trees with a dense stand of brush. Near the ground there were frequent gaps, and if a man could keep clear of the blackberry thickets with their thorns…
Vallian worked his way carefully, keeping close to the ground, pausing to listen for any movement. The wind that had quieted for a time, now began to rise again, but it had shifted around. The lightning that had flared in the distance was nearer, there was a rumble of thunder, then a crash and a stab of lightning.
In that brief glare they saw each other, he and the Huron, and they were scarcely thirty yards apart. The Huron was luckier, for he was facing toward Vallian. Con turned sharply as he threw himself forward, landing on his shoulder and rolling into the turn. His gun came up, waiting for another lightning flash.
It came, and at the far side of the clearing the brush moved suddenly and Vallian broke a lifelong habit. He shot at something he did not see. Instantly, from a dozen yards away, flame stabbed at him and he felt a sharp blow in his right side. He had started to rise, but the shot knocked him back into a sitting position. He fired instantly, then rolled swiftly away, feeling a stab of agony in his side.
He was hurt, badly hurt. Another bullet struck a few feet to his left, and he rolled over into a small hollow bedded with damp leaves. A shot went right over him, then another… searching fire.
Vallian rolled out of the hole and lunged to his feet. For a moment, clutching his rifle, he stood swaying… and then he moved away in the darkness. He was hit hard, in no shape to fight. His one thought now was to live… to exist, to get away.
His horse was some distance off, but he must have that horse.
The wagon? The McKaskels? No… too far away now, too hard to get to, and he’d be a trail to them. The Indians…
Susanna had not gone to bed. She waited, near the wagon, watching the night and Duncan.
He paced restlessly, worried. Suddenly they heard shots. She listened, hearing the sharp coughing reports, blunted toward the last by distance and the terrain.
“Duncan? Do you think they killed him?”
“Two of them were shooting… maybe three. I don’t know.”
Suddenly he knew what he had to do. He had a wife and son, and there was no time. He could not stay here to see if Con Vallian was alive or dead. The man was more fitted for this life than he, and there was no way in which he could help. The thing to do now was to insure the safety of his family.
“Susanna? Wake Tom up. We’re going to leave.”
She did not waste time. Duncan had hesitated, been uncertain, but now he spoke quickly, decisively. She shook Tom who was instantly awake. By the time they were out of the wagon Duncan had led up the horses. Tom took one side, he the other, and they threw on the harness, hooked up the traces.
In a matter of minutes they were rolling. “Where?” Susanna whispered.
He pointed with his whipstock. “There… to the northwest. Away from the river.”
They would not expect that. On the other hand, by day they would be out on the open plain, exposed for all to see. Nonetheless, she said nothing. They all rode and the mules moved out quickly, seemingly willing enough to turn their backs on the river. Maybe the shooting had made them uneasy.
He glanced at the stars, wishing he could tell time by them as some could. It must be an hour short of midnight… perhaps less than that.
The wagon made little enough sound in the wind and the rain and the first stretch was down a long slope to the west. The climb was harder, steeper, and the trail was muddy. Several times the mules made hard going of it but soon they were up and then they started out across the flat plains.
The wind whipped at their wagon-cover and the rain beat against it. In the occasional lightning flashes, they looked back, but. they could see nothing, only distant, tossing trees, black against the suddenly gray grass when lightning flared and died.
The rain was making it harder for the mules. She could feel the stronger pull they exerted, could see them leaning into the harness, and suddenly she was swept by guilt.
What a fool she was! To measure her husband’s life and her son’s life against these few things! They must be rid of them. Yet she waited. Now was not the time.
Guardedly, McKaskel looked at his watch. “I figure we’re two miles off, Susanna. It isn’t much… an hour’s time, I’d say, and time is the thing.”
They drove on, still heading northwest. After another hour they drew up to rest the mules. The rain was still falling, the wind blowing.
“I hope Vallian’s all right,” Susanna said.
“He will be.”
“But he’s all alone! He might be hurt!”
“He’ll find us. We can do him no good if we’re dead, or our stock gone. We’ve got to keep going.”
When McKaskel saw the first gray of dawn he began searching for a place to hide. The land was no longer flat, it was gently rolling with a few ravines. Had the rain wiped out their trail? For awhile there it had rained hard enough, he was sure of that. If so, they might have lost their enemies, and Vallian, too.
He was almost glad of that. He hunched his shoulders against the ram and wondered if he had been jealous. No, he was sure of Susanna, and she was of him.
Of what was he jealous then? Of how awkward and helpless he must appear in the face of the other man’s easy, deft movements? Con Vallian always knew just what to do, and he did not. He must appear a poor second to his wife and son.
It did not matter that back east, among their friends, Con Vallian would be considered an ignorant rustic. Out here was where they were, not back east.
Women were nothing if not realistic. They were practical. Their very nature as bearers of children made them so. For whenever they looked at a man there must always be the subconscious question of whether that man could take care of her and her children?
Well, he would have to learn. Maybe this was a wild goose chase, tearing off into the night like this without a trail, going God only knew where. Maybe he was stupid, but he had done it himself, he had made a decision and Susanna and Tom had jumped to help him.
I’ve learned something, he told himself. I’ve learned that it is better to move than just to sit. One has to act.
There was a dark fringe of something ahead and to the right. Only a glimpse, but it was there. He eased the team a bit further that way and after a few minutes he saw it, a hollow with a little timber. He drove along the edge, looking for a way down. He found a long slope, went down into it and pulled up near some trees.
“Tom? Get up on the hill, keep out of sight, and keep your eyes open.
“Susanna, we’d better have something to eat. I’ll let the team have water and some time to graze.”
It was only four or five acres of timber and brush, a small, hidden place with a spring and a trickle of water that ran off to the northeast.
“What are we doing, Duncan?” Susanna asked.
“With luck, we will rest out the day, and start again after sundown. We can’t move very fast, so we will have to move at night, hide by day.”
“But what about tracks?”
“I think the rain would wash out the first few miles of them. Some of that was pretty rocky, anyway. We’ve got a chance, and that’s all.”
They ate, took turns sleeping and watching. The horses drank, rolled, grazed, then drank again and rested. From a rocky, barren knoll featured only by some clumps of prickly pear, they watched the desert. In the distance they saw antelope. Tom knew he could trust the antelope to warn them, at least in that direction.