Outlaw Pass (9781101544785) (32 page)

Eager to take his mind off Lacey, he thought about the warning he had gotten from Mutt. There was a hired killer searching for him. The thought did not frighten him. He viewed it more as an irritation than anything else. The part of the story that he found ironic was the outlaws' belief that he himself was a hired assassin for the miners.
Well
, he considered,
maybe I was an assassin, but I'm not one anymore and I sure as hell didn't kill for money.
Still, he had to deal with the fact that there was someone somewhere in these mountains who was out to kill him—and he had no idea what he looked like. So that meant that all strangers had to be held in suspicion.

He struck the Beaverhead just before dark, just short of its confluence with Blacktail Deer Creek. The wide, grassy valley was almost devoid of trees, offering very little concealment for a camp. He looked across the valley at the mountains in the distance and decided they were too far, so he decided to follow the river north until he came upon a spot with thick brushy banks and a handful of willow trees. “This will have to do, Bucky,” he finally announced, and dismounted.

 

Briscoe considered himself as good a tracker as any man, but he had to admit that it was pure luck, or maybe instinct, that caused him to turn around and go back to take a closer look at the road where it crossed a small trickle of a stream. Something told him that it would be an ideal place to leave the road if a man wanted to without leaving sign for someone following. At first, there appeared to be no evidence that his target had done so, but after careful examination, he was able to form a picture in his mind of a horse being led up the tiny stream. He smiled to himself as he knelt to touch a sizable pebble that had recently been dislodged. He and his prey thought very much alike, and he wondered if the man knew he was tracking him. It didn't matter, Briscoe thought, because he knew who was going to win in the end. Meanwhile, it would make the hunt more enjoyable.

The man he had come to kill had walked his horse for almost two hundred yards up the stream before leaving it and remounting. There had been barely enough light for Briscoe to see the tracks where he had exited the water. They told him that the man had continued to follow the general course of the stream as it made its way to the Beaverhead. A full moon had peeked over the mountains to the east by the time Briscoe reached the banks of the river. He paused on the grassy bank to consider what he would do, if he were in his target's shoes. The answer was obvious, so he started out along the bank, looking for a suitable place to set up a camp.

The moon was fully on top of the mountains, spreading its light across the valley, when Briscoe saw what he was looking for. A thicket of willows and brush stood a couple of hundred yards ahead on the opposite bank. He waited for several long minutes, watching the trees, before he turned his horse toward the water and crossed over to the other side. Finding a sizable berry bush, he tied his horse there, not willing to chance a whinny from the blue roan as he neared the camp. Then, readying his rifle, he started forward on foot to see if, in fact, there was a camp in the willows. After he'd advanced to within fifty yards, his instincts were confirmed by the sight of a flicker of flame amid the trees. He carefully began to move in closer, but he did not hurry. It made little sense to take unnecessary chances. His prey was supposedly a professional killer. So he decided to bide his time and wait for him to bed down, then walk in and shoot him while he was in his blanket, swift and simple. It would even be easier on the victim.

 

Adam knelt by the river where a large clump of berry bushes hung over the water. He took a last swallow of coffee and dumped the dregs from his cup, then rinsed it. He had an uneasy feeling that he could not explain. Maybe it was the full moon, he thought, for he was not really worried about the man who was supposed to be stalking him. It was unlikely that anyone had any idea where he was.
It would sure make sense to be a little more careful, though
, he thought. So he went back to his campfire and pulled his saddle and blanket closer to the edge of the tiny clearing, where they would not be so easily seen.

The night wore on as the moon continued its journey across the sky, moving closer to the western mountains, and the firelight flickering through the trees had almost faded away, when Briscoe got to his feet and stretched.
Time to earn your money
, he thought. He was not a man entirely without conscience, but he felt no compassion for his victims. They were all outlaws, robbers and murderers, so in effect, he was doing the world a favor every time he eliminated one of them. He started to move in.

Making his way carefully and quietly, he moved slowly through the outer fringe of the trees until he could see a small clearing in the center. Dropping to his hands and knees then, he edged even closer until he could see the entire camp: the bay horse down close to the water's edge, the dying campfire, and off to the side, the sleeping figure of the man he had come to kill. Still with no cause to rush the execution, he slowly rose to his feet and stepped into the clearing, his rifle aimed at the sleeping form by the saddle. Taking careful aim, so as not to waste cartridges, he took a few more steps closer to his unsuspecting target and stopped.

The next few seconds were shattered by gunfire when Briscoe pulled the trigger and sent a .44 slug ripping into Adam's blanket, only to feel the burning impact of a bullet almost immediately after slamming into his back. With animal-like reflexes, he spun around to fire at the man standing in the deep shadows across the clearing, but his shot was wide of the mark. Already dying, he nevertheless cocked his rifle again while fighting to stay on his feet, for he knew, if he went down, he would never get up again.

Adam stepped out of the shadows just as the moon slipped from behind a cloud, illuminating the tiny clearing. He raised his rifle to deliver the final shot, but suddenly he could not pull the trigger. His whole body froze, unnerved by the face he saw in the moonlight. “Jake!” He gasped as the rifle dropped from his brother's hand and he slowly sank to the ground. “Jake!” Adam cried out again in horrified realization that he had just killed his brother. He dropped his rifle and ran to his brother's side. Dropping to his knees, he started to lift Jake up to hold him in his arms, but Jake gasped in pain and begged him to let him lie.

“Adam?” Jake forced the words through teeth clenched in pain. “What are you doin' here?”

“I'm gonna take you home,” Adam said, his words halting and trembling with the crushing realization of what he had done. “You'll be all right. I'll take care of you. Just lie still now and don't try to talk.” He was trying hard not to panic. His shot had been a kill shot, and it was obvious to him that Jake was fading fast. And he didn't know what to do to save him.

“I reckon he outsmarted me,” Jake gasped, then tried to cough up the blood that was now filling his lungs. He was still unaware that it was Adam who had fired the fatal shot. “I didn't kill any innocent folks.” He closed his eyes then and seemed to relax.

Alarmed, Adam took him by the shoulders and begged, “Jake, hold on, hold on. Don't give up. Oh God, I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was you!”

Jake opened his eyes one last time and smiled faintly. “Big brother,” he whispered, “you always come to take care of me. I was comin' home after this last strike.” Then his eyelids fluttered briefly and he was gone.

Overcome with the tragic grief that now consumed him, Adam pulled Jake's lifeless body up in his arms, pressing him close to his chest until he could contain his anguish no longer, and he roared out his pain into the indifferent night. He remained there on his knees, holding his brother for a long time, tears streaming down his rugged face, until he at last was able to gather his emotions and take control again.

 

He buried his brother near the bank of the Beaverhead River, digging the grave with a short hand axe and his hunting knife. With only those tools available to him, it took him the rest of the night to dig the grave deep enough to suit him, for he could not abide the thought of leaving Jake in a shallow grave to be torn apart by scavengers. When it was done, he sat down in the early-morning sunshine to think about what had happened. Although still emotionally drained, and physically spent from his nightlong labor, he was able to try to make some sense of it all. He had been so convinced that the body he had discovered in the gully near Finn's camp was Jake, because Jake had disappeared completely. It was difficult to believe, knowing his brother, that Jake could turn to murder to make his fortune, even though he might have thought he was doing the world a favor. He had said as much before he died.
It's my fault,
Adam thought
. I should have been there to talk some sense into him
. Then he paused to consider the name Jake had chosen, and it occurred to him then where it had come from—Briscoe. It had come from their home in Briscoe County, Texas.

It was not going to be easy for him to live with the horrible sin he now carried on his conscience. There was no forgiving a man who had killed his brother. Of that he felt certain. He would go home to the Triple-B now, but he was not sure he could ever tell anyone of the real circumstances that had led to his brother's death. When he thought about it, he decided that it would be best to let his father go on believing Jake was killed by outlaws near Bannack. He had already resigned himself to his son's death. Why open up a new source of grief? Smoothing over the grave as best he could, he spread dead limbs from the willows over it in an effort to disguise it.

He found Jake's horse about two hundred yards short of the camp, tied to a berry bush. At first, he had thoughts of setting the horse free, thinking it would only remind him of what had happened here. But there was the matter of the saddle and bridle, and the rest of Jake's belongings. He couldn't carry them on Bucky, and he was afraid if he left them here, it would cause someone to nose around and stumble upon the grave. So he tied the blue roan on behind his horse and set out on the sorrowful journey home.

 

He rode back into the Triple-B almost unnoticed. Had it not been for Doc, who was cleaning out one of the stalls in the barn, he would have been. “Well, damn!” Doc exclaimed when he turned to see Adam opening the corral gate. “Howdy, Adam. How'd you slip in here?” He leaned his pitchfork against the side of the stall. “Here, lemme give you a hand,” he said, and hurried out to pick up one of the saddles. “You back to stay for a while now?”

“I reckon so,” Adam said as he picked up the other saddle and followed Doc into the tack room. “Where is everybody?”

“Well, your pa's in the house,” Doc said. “Mose went up to the north range, where them cows are always bunchin' up. Just to aggravate the boys trying to head'em back from the river, I s'pose. Finn and Bonnie rode into town for somethin'.”

The last comment served to amuse Adam slightly, and the first hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth since he had left the Beaverhead. “Finn and Bonnie, huh?”

“Yeah,” Doc answered in his simple way. “I believe they're think in' 'bout gettin' hitched.” This brought a genuine look of surprise to the somber man's face. He didn't express it aloud, however, as he finished putting away his gear. “Where'd you pick up the extra horse and saddle? That looks like that black horse Jake used to ride.”

“It's Jake's,” Adam replied. “I picked him up in Virginia City.” He left then and went to the house to find his father.

Caught by surprise, Nathan Blaine almost dropped his cup when his eldest son walked into the kitchen. “I hope that pot ain't empty,” Adam said. “I've been out for a while.”

“Good gracious alive, boy!” Nathan exclaimed. “You almost made me spill my coffee. Yeah, hell, grab you a cup. If it's empty, I'll call Pearl in here to make us another pot.” The joyous relief to see Adam would have been difficult to disguise, even had he tried.

For the next hour, father and son discussed all that had taken place to change everyone's life on the Triple-B. Adam told him that the ledger was balanced as far as he was concerned in regard to Bailey Cruz, and he hoped that his days as a hunter of men were past him forever. When the conversation got around to Finn and Bonnie, it drew an amused chuckle from Nathan. “That's one helluva spunky woman,” he allowed.

“Doc said they were talkin' about marryin'.”

“That's a fact,” his father said, still smiling broadly. “They are, indeed. We're plannin' to throw a big weddin' party for 'em—gonna get the preacher in the settlement to come out and tie the knot—do it up right. And that ain't all the news I've got for you. Looks like we've got a new partner. Finn's decided he wants to get into the cattle business—wants to use some of that gold to buy new stock and land. He says he's wantin' to build him and Bonnie a big house over there by the creek and then build a bigger barn and bunkhouse. Whaddaya think of that?”

Adam shook his head, truly amazed. “What do
you
think of it?” he came back.

“Hell, how can we lose? I ain't lookin' a gift horse in the mouth. It'll give us the money to do a lot of things I've wished we could do.”

 

Nathan and Adam were eating supper in the bunkhouse with the rest of the crew when Finn and Bonnie came back from town. Mose heard them come in, so he went to the barn to unhitch the buckboard and put the horse in the corral. “Adam's back,” was the simple announcement he made before returning to the bunkhouse and his supper.

“Well, I see the prodigal son has returned,” Finn joked upon seeing Adam at the table. The joy in finding his friend back where he belonged was evident in his face as he fairly beamed his pleasure, a look that was reflected in Bonnie's face as well.