Killer's Draw: The Circuit Rider (17 page)

The morning sun lit up the section of walk just outside a tack shop, but it provided little warmth.

Bird sat in a chair, tipped back against the wall, with a hat over her eyes. She had a tin coffee cup in her hand but it didn’t hold coffee. Inside was the last of the telegraph operator’s whiskey. She sipped it, silently thanking Oliver Barnes for having such high standards.

It would have been easy for her to get a fresh bottle in a saloon, but undoubtedly someone would recognize her. For now, she was determined to make this last. And she might have to wait awhile.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t covered whether Oliver Barnes should go to the Conways first thing in the morning and give them the artificial news or whether he should wait until they came to him. She had been so intent on scaring the living hell out of him that she missed that detail.

In any event, it probably didn’t matter. If Barnes went to the Conways, it would look like he realized how important the job was that they had tasked him with. If he waited, it would appear relatively normal.

Bird sipped from the cup.

She supposed it work either way. For Tower’s sake, she hoped so.

She suddenly realized that she missed him.

The thought blossomed in her mind before she could tamp it down. She shook her head. She didn’t
miss
him. That was such a strong word, clearly not the right choice for what she was thinking. She was
concerned
about him. That was more accurate. And she had every right to worry. These bastards didn’t seem to care too much one way or the other about killing people, and although she knew Tower was a lot tougher than he looked, they didn’t know that. Maybe that would give him a fighting chance.

Bird was surprised to see one of the Conway brothers cross the street and enter the telegraph office. She wondered if he was going there to check specifically on her supposed progress to Mumford or if he was on other business. At least she could be certain he would get the message.

She waited, wondering whether Oliver Barnes was sufficiently terrified to keep his word or whether he was telling Conway right now that Bird Hitchcock was back in town. Bird figured she would watch the manner in which Conway left the building, looking for any signs that he was now the hunted.

Down the street, a door slammed and a cowboy trotted past, adjusting his lariat on the way to the cattle yards. In the distance, she heard the train engine start to chug as it made its departure from Big River.

Conway emerged from the telegraph office walking more quickly than he had on the way over. Bird watched him disappear around the corner and noted that he made no attempt to look for a watcher. That might mean something, it might not. She gulped the rest of the whiskey, set the cup down, and stood up from the chair. She strolled down to the end of the street, then leaned up against the corner of the building, rounding it as if she just wanted to get out of the sun.

As she suspected, and had hoped, Conway wasn’t going back to his office. As she watched, he went into a saloon, which instantly filled Bird with envy. She would have to find a way to get some whiskey for the ride ahead.

Bird watched and waited until Conway emerged with another man who immediately jumped on a horse and rode away. The Conway brother turned and headed back in the general direction of his office, seemingly unconcerned about whether he was being watched. She was fairly confident that Barnes had done his job.

Bird ducked back around the building, ran to the Appaloosa, and took off after the man.

Tower found himself in the wagon again, surrounded by blackness. All he saw was darkness, and he hadn’t been blindfolded, which Tower assumed meant that both of his eyes were now swollen shut.

Tower felt no pain. He just felt cold and outside of himself, like a spectator watching a broken man being unceremoniously tossed around inside a buckboard as he slid around on its surface, knowing full well that he was sliding on his own blood.

When the wagon stopped, he braced himself, knowing what was about to come. The sound of voices, a horse snorting, and then the liftgate being thrown open.

Tower was pulled from the wagon and dumped on the ground. He managed to crack one eye open enough to let in a slit of light. He saw the legs of three men once again surrounding him.

Nothing hurt anymore. He heard the men talking softly, and his eye closed again, returning him to darkness. Something was wrong with his hearing, because he could only catch bits and pieces of the conversation going on above him.

“—not taking him way over there!”

“This is far enough.”

“Just dump him, right?”

Tower heard the horses stamp their feet, and then hands grabbed him. Something sharp jabbed him in the side, the pain cutting through the fog of his mind. His brain just recognized that it was probably another wound but at this point, they weren’t worth keeping track.

The hands lifted him and for a moment, he wondered if they were going to put him back into the wagon. But he felt himself being swung back and forth, like he was in the middle of a tug-of-war. And then the hands were no longer on him and he was airborne.

“You’ve been Rectified!” one of the men yelled.

Tower hung in the air for only a moment as he landed and then he was rolling over and over. Something smashed into his face and he floated high above himself, fading into a gauzy shadow until ice cold enveloped him. He was pushed back out of the cold before it washed over him again, one final time.

Despite the flat landscape through which Conway’s messenger rode, Bird had no trouble following him undetected. There was no attempt to cover tracks and she employed the simple tactic of waiting until the rider nearly disappeared from the horizon before moving forward.

Bird quickly realized that they were moving in the general direction of the Parker spread, although sometimes in this country it was difficult to know where one man’s property ended and another’s began. She had heard in some places they were starting to fence the open ranges, but that hadn’t gotten to Wyoming yet. Bird was pretty sure there would be hell to pay if someone tried to do that out here.

Morning passed to afternoon and then the rider finally broke from the trail and headed over several passes before coming to a cluster of outbuildings. Bird could see no main house, however, nor were there any cattle in sight. If she was on Parker’s extended range, she saw no sign of it.

Bird rode closer to the group of buildings and saw a few other horses but no other signs of life. A buckboard stood off to the side, horses still hitched.

She backed down the hill she was on, then circled around and found a coppice through which she could see the building into which Conway’s rider had disappeared. Bird stationed herself behind the trees, barely able to see the scene below, which meant they would have trouble seeing her. As if she understood they were in for a wait, the Appaloosa began to munch grass.

The horse had nearly gotten its fill when a group of men emerged from the biggest building and went to their horses. Two of them walked to the wagon and climbed up onto the bench. She couldn’t tell if there was anything or anyone in the back of the wagon and hadn’t yet seen any sign of Tower.

The entire group left together, reversing the rider’s original path. Bird figured they were returning to Big River.

She waited, giving them plenty of time, and then followed to see if they had gone back to the main trail.

They had.

Once satisfied they wouldn’t be circling back, Bird returned to where the outbuildings sat. It was the perfect place to hold someone captive. With the exception of the larger barn, most of the buildings looked like overgrown line shacks, temporary quarters for cowboys in search of lost cattle during the winter.

She carefully approached the buildings, alert to any signs of activity, but all was still.

Skipping smaller buildings that appeared uninhabited, she went straight for the barn. Bird removed the simple wood plank that held the door in place and then pulled the door open.

The barn was empty.

Bird walked into the center of the barn, noticed some loose hay that had been pushed around, and saw clearly defined pools of dried blood. She squatted on her heels to take a closer look.

She he had no way to tell if it was animal or human blood. But she doubted someone suddenly decided to butcher a cow in the middle of the barn.

Bird left, shut the door behind her, and walked to where the wagon had been.

When the men had left, they’d continued in a circle around the barn and back to the trail. Bird followed the wagon’s previous trail, which showed that it had come in at a tangent from the main path.

She could tell the load in the trailer hadn’t been too substantial because the wheel ruts were superficially deep at best. But there had been enough weight to make the trail easy to follow. She set out after the group, convinced that Tower was in the back of the wagon. Unless it was six feet under the prairie somewhere, in an unmarked grave, there was no other place for him to be.

It was early evening by the time the wagon’s tracks led her to a rise in the trail that ended at a washout. A river raced below her, forceful and frothy.

She could see that the wagon had stopped, then turned to the right and moved on.

The Appaloosa had no desire to walk to the ledge, so Bird dismounted and walked there. Dirt and rocks cascaded sharply into a swollen river.

At the edge of the water was a body.

He had a pulse, but it was weak.

Bird looked at Tower’s face. It was a devastating mess of cuts and bruises, swollen, puffy eyes, black circles, and smears of blood. His lips were cracked, his nose was twice its normal size, and a deep gash tore across his forehead.

The rest of him wasn’t much better.

The river had pushed him to the side, with only his feet submerged. Bird thought it was a miracle that he hadn’t been swept away. She pulled him from the water, sure that she was aggravating his injuries, but knowing she must move him to safety.

His skin was ice cold.

She thought quickly. She could try to get him back to the barn where they’d held him, but in his current condition he wouldn’t last that long. The same problem applied to getting him back to Big River. The only other town she could think of was Harlan’s Crossing, which was still a long ride. And one thing she was sure of, Tower wouldn’t survive a long ride. Hell, he probably wouldn’t last through a short one.

That settled it. She had to warm him up here, and fast.

Bird lifted him as best she could, his feet dragging on the ground, and brought him to a dry spot above the waterline. She laid him down, got her bedroll, and covered him with it. She then climbed up onto the Appaloosa and rode hard along the riverbank, scanning both sides for what she needed.

Less than a quarter mile upriver, she found it.

A cutout just below the ledge, with enough stones and brush nearby to create a heat reflector, but far enough from the river to remain high and dry.

Bird rode back, managed to drag Tower up onto the Appaloosa, then rode quickly to the cutout and placed him on a blanket inside. She took off most of his wet clothes, then covered him again with her bedroll. Bird quickly started a fire, glad that the overhang would contain some of the smoke and hide the sight of flames from almost anyone riding by.

Next, she shored up the front of the shelter and the sides with more branches, stones, and a particularly thick branch with an abundance of foliage.

By the time she was done, not only was the temporary shelter virtually invisible from all directions but the heat from the fire inside the shelter was also bouncing back at them, warming them considerably. Whenever she detected a draft, she filled the gap with more rocks or in one case, a chunk of sod.

Bird dug through her saddlebag and found an empty bottle of whiskey. She took it down to the river, and filled it with cold water.

She gave a little to Tower, who instinctively drank. His eyes were swollen shut and it sounded like he was trying to form words.

“Go to sleep,” Bird said. “We’ll have plenty to talk about when you wake up.”

She got the bottle of whiskey she’d bought from the cowboy back in Big River, took a drink herself, then gave some to Tower. Bird gave him more until she was sure the alcohol would help warm him on the inside.

Inside the shelter it was very warm, but there was barely room for both of them. She slipped out and made sure the Appaloosa had grass and access to the stream for water. She brought her saddlebags into the shelter and set them down next to Tower.

Bird rummaged through her bags, locating some hardtack, a few strips of dried beef, and a nearly empty bag of coffee. In the morning, she would make do with what she could. Maybe she would take her rifle and look for small game.

Bird then left to scout for dried wood, dragging as much as she could to the shelter and leaving it just outside the entrance. It was getting cold and she would have to feed the fire periodically overnight. Plus, she wanted to hang up what was left of Tower’s clothes to dry.

They were well above the waterline. In fact, the ground was perfectly dry and she wasn’t worried even if it decided to rain.

She looked again at Tower.

Goddamn
, she thought. They really gave him a beating, didn’t they? She had to admire his toughness. He hadn’t given in to the evil in the world, he was still fighting.

She guessed they had that in common.

Bird stretched out next to Tower, taking a corner of the bedroll and covering herself with it. She propped her head on the saddlebags as a pillow, and pulled the bottle next to her.

She took a long drink and closed her eyes.

He was underwater, able to see the light above and sensing the nothingness below. He pushed to the surface but something snagged his back just as he was about to break the surface and he thrashed, worked his body back and forth, struggled to free himself to get to the surface, to the air, to light, to life—

“Tower.”

He opened his eyes. Bird Hitchcock was above him, a half smile on her face.

“You snore like a grizzly bear,” she said. “Might want to have a doctor look into that.”

Tower turned his head and saw that he was in some kind of half cave but that he could see blue sky between piles of branches and wood. A campfire gave off heat, and he smelled something cooking.

“Rabbit for breakfast, Mr. Tower, along with some hardtack and water,” Bird said. “I’d give you some of my whiskey but I’m not in the mood for sharing, seeing as how you’ve caused so many problems for me.”

He tried to sit up, but the pain in his side stopped him. A couple of ribs were probably broken, and his left hand throbbed. At least he could see.

“You want to sit up?” Bird asked. “I recommend against it, but I’m not your boss.”

“Let me try,” he said. Bird held out her hand and Tower took it. He pulled himself up, gasping as the pain in his side exploded in sharp, jagged bursts. Bird went behind him, used her saddlebags and bedroll to prop him up.

“How’s that?” she asked.

He nodded, gritting his teeth. “Better.”

She chuckled. “You are a sight, Mr. Tower. It looks like you tried to stop a buffalo stampede with your face.”

“Where are we?” he asked.

Bird took the cast-iron pan off the fire, placed a slab of wood on Tower’s lap, and put the pan on top. She handed him a fork.

“You’re probably not hungry, but I recommend you eat something,” She squatted on her haunches and looked at Tower. “But to answer your question, we are in the middle of goddamn nowhere, near some son-of-a-bitch river where you decided to go for a swim.”

“I see,” Tower said.

“We need to ride to Harlan’s Crossing, get you fixed up a little bit, and recover before we can do anything else. Things are going to be mighty interesting for us when we get back to Big River.”

Tower alternated between nausea and ravenous hunger.

He looked at the food, at the shelter, then at Bird.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Saving your hide is my job,” Bird said. “And you keep me busy, that is for damn certain.”

He laughed, despite himself, then winced in pain.

“So what the hell happened to you?” Bird asked. “I can guess most of it, but I’d like to hear exactly how it came about.”

Tower filled her in on his meeting with Parker, then about seeing Evelyn Egans, a.k.a. Rose Sutton, being dragged away by two men, his attempted rescue, and subsequent capture.

Bird shook her head. “Typical. Too busy trying to help someone to notice a trap. So, what happened to her?”

Tower ate a bite of roasted rabbit meat, finished the hardtack, and drank water from the whiskey bottle.

“I don’t know. I suspect they let her go, but that’s just a guess.”

He finished the rabbit, then looked at Bird. “Look at me, I didn’t even ask if you wanted some.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve had breakfast.” She held up the whiskey bottle.

Overhead, a buzzard flew by, caught wind of the smoke, and then kept soaring along the river’s edge.

“They kept asking me where
she
was,” Tower said. “They were determined to get an answer out of me. So, I gave them one.”

“She? Meaning me?”

Tower set the pan down next to him and drank more water.

He shook his head. “No, they didn’t mean you. That’s what I thought at first, but they said no. Someone else.”

“Who?”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas.”