A Wolf in the Fold

“There’s no rush.” I stepped back and hunkered. The key now was to keep him aware. New pain would serve, and he had a lot of body left.

His eyes swiveled toward me. “Right or not right, how can you do this to someone?”

“I told you. I don’t live by the same rules as everyone else. But then, you don’t entirely live by them yourself, or you wouldn’t have helped Gertrude Tanner wipe out an innocent family.”

“They were rustlers!”

“No, boy, they weren’t. She lied to you just as you’ve lied to me. And lies always come back to bite us in the ass.”

“Please end it. I can’t take any more.”

“Sure you can. I’ve whittled on some for hours. You, I figure it will be thirty minutes yet before the loss of blood sends you to hell, where you belong. Between now and then I can do a lot of whittling.”

“What do I have to do? Beg?”

“It would go in one ear and out the other.” I hefted my knife.

He grasped at a straw and it was a good one. “What if I told you where Gerty keeps the silver she hasn’t shipped off on the stage yet? Would you give your word to get it over with quick?”

I kept my word.

Chapter 19

I had more to do before I rode off.

I dragged the three bodies about thirty yards closer to the mouth of the canyon and propped them against boulders. Anyone who came to investigate why they failed to return to the LT would spot them right off. I was in need of a hat, so I helped myself to Jack’s. It was brown instead of my favorite color, black, and it had a narrow brim instead of a wide brim, as I liked, and a high crown instead of a low crown, which I preferred, but it fit. I also shrugged into his vest and tied his bandanna around my neck so that from a distance I might pass for a cowpoke.

Snagging the lead rope, I climbed on Brisco and rode out of the canyon. I did not head east toward the Tanner spread. Instead, I reined left, seeking a way to get above the canyon. A game trail pockmarked with deer tracks was a likely prospect.

It took forever. The trail had more twists and switchbacks than I cared to count. Eventually, though, I stood on the lip of the canyon wall directly above the silver vein. Behind me, a boulder-strewn slope rose to thick timber.

“They’ll do nicely,” I said to Brisco. Swinging back on, I climbed higher, avoiding a patch of talus. Above it, clustered like eggs in a hen’s nest, were a score of boulders of various sizes. I went past them and drew rein.

It might work. I put my shoulder to one of the smaller boulders, dug in my heels, and pushed. The boulder gave a little, but only a little. I braced my shoulders and tried again. Again it moved a few inches. This would not do.

I climbed back on Brisco. Leaving the other horses for the moment, I unwound my rope, tossed the loop over the boulder, and dallied the other end around the saddle horn. I gigged Brisco to one side, and down, and when the rope became taut, jabbed my spurs. For a few moments Brisco strained. Then the boulder began to slide, gaining speed as it went. I unwound my rope from the saddle horn. The boulder careened off another, smaller boulder, dislodging it, and this second boulder tumbled after the first. A third boulder bounced down the slope. And a fourth.

The boulders struck the talus. Loose dirt and rocks cascaded down, the rope whipping like an angry snake behind the first boulder. More and more talus was dislodged as the avalanche I had created hurtled toward the rim.

The roar it made reverberated the length of the canyon. Tons of earth and rocks poured down, raising a thick column of dust that billowed into a spreading cloud. It gave the illusion that the whole mountain was breaking apart.

Eventually the clamor ended. Dismounting, I carefully walked to the lip and peered over. The entire vein was buried by a mound that rose halfway up the wall. It would take weeks to dig through.

Gertrude would throw a fit. Chuckling, I reclaimed the mare and the other horses and made my way down the mountain to the grassland. To avoid running into any townsfolk I looped wide to the south.

I was in no hurry. It would take half the night to reach the LT, which suited my purpose just fine. Outnumbered as I was, I had to rely on my wits to whittle the odds. Darkness was an ally that I aimed to use to full advantage.

About two hours had gone by when I spied a couple of riders to the north. They were heading west but reined toward me to cut me off. I didn’t like that. I liked it even less when the sun flashed off metal on their shirts.

This was the last thing I needed. I quickly bunched the bandanna around my chin so it would appear I had just pulled it down—and to hide my scar. When they were fifty yards out I drew rein and raised a hand in friendly greeting.

“You must ride for the LT,” Dee said as he came to a stop.

“Yes, sir.” When dealing with the law it always paid to be polite. “Are you those Rangers I’ve heard about?” It also paid to pretend to be as dumb as a tree stump.