Black Ransom (24 page)

After eating a quick breakfast of biscuits and jerky, Buck readied himself to venture forth to The Skeleton Tree. It wasn't too far a distance from their camp, and it was understood that Melinda would stay back until Buck had an opportunity to survey the situation. There was little chance she could be exposed to potential danger with what was planned, but Buck wanted to keep her protected for as long as possible.

As he took up his position, Buck had thought out what he was going to do. His hope was that it would be Ward Crawford who would come to meet Watson. He posed the most threat and Buck's plan was to try to get the drop on him once he showed up at the rendezvous. With Watson to hold the killer at bay, Buck and Melinda would have their opportunity to try and reason with Ehron Lee. If . . . God willing that still was possible.

* * *

Jess Colfax took a final swig of the whiskey he'd brought along on his hunt and tossed the empty bottle far into the bush, venting his frustration and letting loose with a barrage of curse words. He'd stayed the night deep in the foothills of Brimstone Canyon and not only hadn't shot a buck, but had never even spotted one. This lack of luck only intensified his foul mood. He was fed up with the way things were going and decided, if he couldn't reap at least a little enjoyment from tagging along with Ward and Ehron Lee, he might as well just be on his way. What particularly angered him was that all the diversion he needed was locked behind that bedroom door. Those fellas owed him the right to some pleasure—after all, if something went wrong, he'd be just as guilty as them and would suffer the same punishment . . . even though none of this was his idea. He surely wouldn't hurt those girls, and the way he figured, even if he did, what would it matter? They were as good as dead anyway. Ward would be a damn fool to release them, and whatever else his faults, Ward Crawford couldn't be taken for a fool.

Jess packed up his gear and started his journey back to the cabin. He decided he was going to lay his cards on the table. Either he was permitted a little fun, or it was adios.

He'd had to cut his own path in since the heavily wooded hills were dense with foliage and underbrush. He followed the trail he'd made as best he could, but there wasn't much clearing. He cussed again, mumbling aloud that he might just have gone and got himself lost. To punctuate his irritation, he slammed a fist into the trunk of a tree, ripping the skin from his knuckles.

As he tore off a corner of his shirt to bandage the wound, Jess heard a shuffle in the bush and stopped what he was doing, instead shifting to his other hand and readying his Winchester. Moments later a small rabbit scampered into view. Jess instinctively took aim at the critter, then he lowered his rifle. Better not to bring anything back than walk into the cabin displaying a meager rabbit.

Jess started on his way, hoping that if he wasn't lost, he'd find himself back at the cabin before nightfall. He was mighty hungry, and even the prospect of digging his supper out of a can didn't seem so unappealing at the moment.

Whether Jess had ever been aware of it, he possessed keen intuition, and as he walked, of a sudden, he had the strange feeling he was being watched. He sensed a presence hidden somewhere among the trees, whatever or whoever was there carefully following his progress. For a moment he considered it might be that elusive buck. Or possibly a bear, though none to his knowledge had ever been seen around this region. In any case, he tightened his hold on the Winchester, raising it to the ready. He kept his ears alert for any uncommon noise, but he heard no sound other than a faint rustling of the leaves as a breeze passed through.

Everything seemed all right. Only he couldn't escape the feeling—

In an instant the silence was shattered by a sharp cry, and before Jess could determine its source, he was pounced upon. As if from out of nowhere, someone had broken free from the bush and had wrestled Jess to the ground. It took a minute for Jess to regain his senses, and when he did, he was staring into the fierce face of a bare-chested Chiricahua warrior, clearly determined to kill him. The Indian was gripping a knife poised aggressively above Jess's chest, which Jess held back by grabbing hold of the attacker's forearm with one hand, struggling to keep the blade from descending into his flesh and bone. The Indian was powerful, but Jess's survival instinct was strong and his free hand balled into a fist, which he pummeled into the Indian's jaw, knocking him free of Jess's body. The Indian lay momentarily stunned, which gave Jess time to roll over and reach for his rifle. By the time he cocked the lever and took aim, the Indian was back on his feet, looking fearful and unsure of what to do. No such doubt existed in Jess. Without hesitation, he fired off a succession of shots, blasting the Indian backward into the bush, where he lay still.

Another Chiricahua showed himself—but only briefly, for once he saw the rifle being swung in his direction, he disappeared quickly into the protection of the trees. Jess could hear his footfalls crunching against the ground and cracking small branches as he ran off. Jess only briefly considered chasing after him, but he knew how fast Indians were on their feet and decided against such a maneuver.

All was quiet.

“Sonofabitch,” Jess muttered breathlessly. He took a moment to compose himself, then pulled to his feet and walked over to where the dead Chiricahua lay. He took a good look at the brown face, which was frozen in an expression of shock and surprise. The Indian looked to be a youngster, not even twenty years old. But his age didn't trouble Jess. His concern was that he'd discovered firsthand that the legend of the Chiricahau roaming Brimstone Canyon was, in fact, no legend. And in all the years they'd been hiding out at the cabin, unbeknownst to any of them, an enemy had lurked nearby.

TWENTY-FOUR

THE TIME PASSED
as slowly as Buck Leighton knew it would as he hunkered behind the cluster of rocks overlooking The Skeleton Tree. He kept himself alert, for while he knew the direction from which George Watson would be approaching, he couldn't guess from where the kidnapper would appear. He wasn't taking any chances and held his Colt .44 firmly in his grip.

Finally, as the noonday sun reached and held high, reflecting a blinding white glare against the choppy rock surfaces, a sweat-drenched Buck glanced out from his vantage point as he heard the slow approach of a horse, and saw that it was George Watson, riding in from the northern trail. Buck quickly scanned the areas east and south but saw no activity. Whoever was to meet Watson had yet to show himself. Buck was a bit puzzled; he felt sure the kidnapper would have been the first to arrive, if only to make sure beforehand that Watson was following instructions and arriving alone.

Buck held his position and remained still and perfectly quiet. He wouldn't let Watson know he was there until the moment was right, which wouldn't be until the kidnapper showed.

Watson halted his horse next to The Skelton Tree, which he regarded with an unpleasant expression. He'd ridden long and far and almost nonstop throughout the preceding night, and dismounted stiffly, taking a few steps in each direction both to loosen his leg muscles and to scout the area. It registered on his face that he was as bewildered as Buck to discover that no one was there to meet him.

Although his senses were alert, Buck was so preoccupied watching Watson's movements that his defenses were down when at the last possible moment for him to react he heard a crunch of gravel behind him and felt his body instinctively tense in anticipation before he heard the deep yet smooth voice:

“Drop the gun slow and easy, amigo.”

Buck's heart skipped a beat. He had no choice but to obey the faceless command. The Colt slid from his fingers onto the ground. He started to rise, slowly.

“Slow and easy,” the voice commanded.

Again, Buck had no other option than to do as he was told. In the next second his earlier hopes of getting the drop on the kidnapper faded completely when he heard a more familiar voice say fearfully, “Buck, do as he says.”

It was Melinda. Somehow they had both been outsmarted by the crude but obviously perceptive intelligence of—

Buck turned around.

Ward Crawford.

The outlaw, standing just behind Melinda with two guns drawn, was exhibiting his trademark grin. He was wearing an expression that seemed to suggest outright that either they were now his prisoners or the soon-to-be victims of his criminal bloodlust. He would make the call.

Ward spit out a laugh, then he bared his yellowed teeth. “Knew I couldn't trust that viper Watson.”

“Melinda,” Buck said with concern.

Ward's eyes sparked eagerly at the mention of the name. “Melinda? Couldn't just happen to be you're Melinda
Burrows
?”

Melinda didn't acknowledge though she felt a cold shiver rush through her at this outlaw assuming who she was. She stepped away from Ward and moved briskly toward Buck. She wrapped her arms around him and Buck reciprocated by placing his own arm around her shoulders and drawing her close.

Ward gave an amused smirk.

“So you really ain't dead,” he said.

Reflexively, Melinda gave a shake of her head. Buck hadn't wanted that to be known yet, but he was too slow to halt her response.

Ward inspected the silver badge pinned to Buck's shirt. He grinned. “Mr. U.S. Marshal and the widow woman. Ain't hard to figger where this was goin'.”

“Ain't what you might be thinkin',” Buck countered.

Ward's face became skeptical. Still he ignored Buck's comment and instead called out, “All right, Watson, discovered your little trick. We're comin' down, and if you're smart, you won't move a hair on your ass.”

Melinda whispered to Buck, “How—how did he—”

Buck shushed her and hugged her a little more tightly.

With his pair of Colts still aimed at the two, Ward sidestepped over to the incline, where he could take a glimpse at Watson. Watson had heard the barked order and was standing in the open, arms pulled outward in surrender.

Ward looked back toward Buck and Melinda, urging them down toward the trail with a wave of his guns.

“Might be it 'splains a lot seein' you two,” he said. “'Course, don't mean a damn thing to me. But you bein' Burrows's wife, gonna be mighty interestin' when he gets his chance to look at yuh.” He took on a scrutinizing expression. “Thing I can't rightly tell is if you two is partners . . . or maybe a cozy twosome. Reckon we'll let Ehron Lee figger that out, huh?”

Once everyone was on the trail, Ward lifted his gun and fired an upward shot, which spooked the horse Watson had come in on and the animal bolted.

“Ain't that far to go,” Ward said. “And I think a walk might just be the thing to work off some of your . . . ambition.”

Buck purposely kept himself from meeting Watson's penetrating look, almost accusing in intent. Watson had expressed his reservations about Buck getting involved. Buck had insisted, and now all of them were at the mercy of Ward Crawford.

* * *

By the time Jess Colfax reached the cabin, he was of two minds about his earlier ordeal. He could tell the others about his run-in with the Chiricahua and let them make the decision if they wanted to stay put, or he could keep his mouth shut and just ride off on his own. Either way, he wasn't going to risk losing his scalp should the Chiricahua go on the warpath after learning of the death of one of their own. Jess wasn't all that familiar with the ways of the Indian, but from what he'd heard, “blood for blood” was the Apache creed and since the Chiricahua were known to be the most bloodthirsty of that tribe, their vengeance would likely be swift and devastating. Jess also knew that it wouldn't take the Chiricahua long to track down the cabin and its occupants.

Time was the deciding factor. Jess regretted not reacting fast enough to gun down the Chiricahua that witnessed the killing and who got away. There was no doubt the Indian would report to the tribe what had happened. It could be days or perhaps even hours before the Chiricahua mounted their attack. Jess determined he would not argue the point with his companions. Ward was just crazy enough not to concern himself over the threat and likely could attempt to delay if not outright halt Jess's departure over the barrel of a gun.

Jess hesitated while mulling over these thoughts before he shrugged to himself and went inside the cabin. Ward apparently hadn't returned from Border Pass, but a man he did not recognize was in the front room, off in a far corner, gagged and tied securely by strips of rawhide to a wooden chair. Ehron Lee and Cora were seated at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. Cora wore a troubled look.

“Ward ain't back yet?” Jess asked.

“Soon,” Ehron Lee replied.

Jess jerked a thumb toward the front room.

“That's
His Honor
,” Ehron Lee said sardonically. “Judge Harrison.”

Jess nodded vacantly. It was of no matter to him. Then he said abruptly, “Well, you can tell Ward I made up my mind to get outta here. This ain't none of my affair, and I can't see no point in sittin' this out with yuh.”

Ehron Lee considered before he drew a breath.

“Reckon that's your choice, Jess,” he said neutrally.

Jess's voice took on a defensive edge. “Damn right. But I reckon I got some money comin' to me.”

“Yeah?”

“From our last bank job,” Jess clarified.

Ehron Lee turned to Cora. “That so?”

Cora nodded and rose to her feet and said, “I'll get his share.”

She went to fetch the money. The outlaws' loot was stashed in a secret location somewhere outside the cabin—the exact spot known only by Cora. It was a practical, agreed-upon decision since none of the bunch truly trusted the other. The arrangement was that Cora would serve as their “banker,” doling out cash as needed and keeping track of each withdrawal so that each share would be properly accounted for.

While they waited, Ehron Lee studied Jess. Despite his efforts to appear calm, the man looked nervous, as if he was hiding something.

“No one's gonna stop yuh if'n yuh wanta go, Jess,” Ehron Lee said.

“Don't expect no one will,” Jess returned sharply.

Ehron Lee eased back in his chair. “Then why're yuh actin' like yuh got a rattler up your pants?”

Jess's eyes got wide and they shifted in what to Ehron Lee was a telling motion. His voice got a little shaky as he said, “Told yuh before: There ain't nothin' in this deal for me.”

“That all?”

“Yeah, sure. What else would there be?”

Ehron Lee shrugged and drank some of his coffee.

Jess was coming across like a man in distress. Soon he started to pace the kitchen floor, purposely avoiding Ehron Lee's probing gaze.

Ehron Lee wasn't sure what was up, but there was no denying Jess was holding back something. He'd been gone—supposedly on a hunt—overnight, hadn't brought back any meat, or an explanation, and now was acting as if he had to make a quick getaway. Ehron Lee's suspicions mounted.

Cora came back inside the cabin holding a fistful of money. Jess stepped over quickly and grabbed the bills from her hand. It was his hope to be gone before Ward returned, but in the next instant he glanced out the kitchen window and saw three people nearing the cabin on foot, followed by Ward on horseback. Jess grumbled under his breath.

Ehron Lee noticed how Jess's attention was held by whatever was happening outside, and he got up and ambled over next to him. He, too, saw the small group approaching. At first, outside of Ward and the bald, distinctive figure of Superintendent Watson, he couldn't identify the other two being led on by Ward, although to his initial puzzlement, one looked to be a female, dressed like a man in baggy pants and wearing a wide-brimmed hat that shadowed her features but failed to disguise the long honey-colored hair that caught and reflected the sunlight. Ehron Lee directed his focus on her. It took a few seconds before recognition struck, and in that instant when he finally made the connection, it felt as if his heart had stopped.

He wiped his hand over his eyes, blinking several times.
But it couldn't be
, he tried to rationalize. What he was looking at was impossible. Melinda . . . was dead!

Yet what his eyes followed was neither a ghost nor a mirage, or even the figment of a desperate, fevered mind. Ehron Lee was looking at the flesh-and-blood vision of the girl who had been his wife. The wife he'd spent the last years trying to forget, the woman he struggled to keep buried deep within the unconscious recesses of his brain.

Still doubting that it could possibly be Melinda, Ehron Lee surrendered to an impulsive action, and he rushed to the front door. His move was so quick and so sudden that Cora was startled enough to half rise from her chair.

Jess stayed put, looking nervous. He hadn't moved fast enough. Now he would have to wait for the right opportunity; worse, he would have to tell Ward of his intention to leave. He couldn't just walk out and chance falling victim to Ward's volatile mood.

Ehron Lee found himself locked in a moment of hesitation, as if unable to summon the courage to open the door and take that first step outdoors. His brain simply could not properly process what that move would lead him to. If it truly was Melinda . . . then what? Too much time had passed, too many terrible things had happened. Ehron Lee had to accept the fact that neither he nor Melinda could recognize each other for who they had once been. To each other. To themselves.

Ehron Lee was so preoccupied with what was churning around inside his brain that he wasn't immediately aware of the gentle touch on his arm. Finally he acknowledged the fingertips lightly pressing against the fabric of his shirt and he half-turned. It was Cora, eyes cast upon him with a look of questioning concern.

“Melinda. It—it's my wife,” he said dazedly.

“But you said—” Cora started to say.

Ehron Lee spoke with strained emphasis. “It's her. Gotta be her. Couldn't be mistaken.”

Cora slowly slid her fingers away from Ehron Lee's arm. And then she drew in a breath and regained her own composure.

“Then you gotta go to her, Ehron Lee,” she said determinedly.

Ehron Lee regarded her peculiarly.

“It's what you need to do,” Cora went on. She paused, bit down on her bottom lip, and said, “Ehron Lee, this is wrong. All of what we're doing is wrong. I—I don't know how it makes any sense, but the way I see it, your wife comin' here might be the only way to set things right, and—”

Before Cora could finish what she was saying, the door opened from the outside, and Ehron Lee surprised her by releasing his grip on the handle and stepping aside. While his thoughts were still clouded in confusion, in a moment he would have no choice but to consider Cora's words. Shortly, he would be standing face-to-face with his wife.