Ride the Thunder (27 page)

“Are you planning to sit in front of that fire until you toast like a marshmallow or are you coming to bed?” Brig was standing to one side, studying her in an oddly calculating way.

Jordanna chased away her father’s attitude. She was too old to need his approval of how she conducted her affairs. Besides, Brig was waiting for her and that was more important. Rising, she cast him a provocative look.

“Don’t you like to eat toasted marshmallows?” she mocked.

His arm curved around her waist to pull her against him and outside the circle of firelight. That familiar, languorous warmth melted her bones as she rested against his hard length. A faintly breathless anticipation parted her lips. Tipping her head back, she gazed into his raw, virile features, bronzed by the glow from the fire. She could see the flames dancing in his hard brown eyes.

“I like my marshmallows burning on the outside and soft and creamy on the inside,” he said huskily before his firm, male mouth took its first bite of her lips. Jordanna curled her arms around his neck as he lifted her off her feet to carry her to the tent.

The fifth day was as unsuceessful as the previous one. On the sixth, they spotted the first trophy class bighorn. They were near the place where they had seen the group of young rams. The large ram was grazing on a grassy ledge, its brown body and white rump as roundly stuffed as a sausage. The massive horns were thick at the base and curled close to the head, spreading out at the brommed tips. The battering of the rutting season had chipped one side of the horns, but the flaw didn’t diminish the size of the prize.

“He’s way over forty inches.” Fletcher’s statement was barely a whisper. He lowered his binoculars, excitement gleaming in his eyes.

“Look at how far back the points have been rubbed,” Jordanna murmured in awe.

“That’s so he can see to the side,” Brig said. With his binoculars, he scanned the terrain immediately around the heavily horned ram. “He’s located in a bad place.”

“Yes,” Fletcher agreed and glassed the area again. “Even if I was able to execute a successful stalk and got into position for a shot, look where he’s likely to fall if I hit him.”

Jordanna directed her attention to the area below the ram where a crevasse of jagged rocks opened the earth as if the mountain had yawned to reveal a gaping mouth of teeth.

“Even if you were able to recover its body from the crevasse, the horns are liable to be broken in the fall,” she sighed.

“We’ll wait.” Her father stretched out, belly down on the ground. “Maybe he’ll move to a more accessible location.”

“I might as well get comfortable, too.” Max shifted his position so that he, too, was lying on the ground.

For more than an hour, the monarch of the mountains grazed on the nutritious grass on the ledge. The tension mounted, gradually building to an excitement as the ram began wandering away from the crevasse.

“Come on,” her father urged under his breath as he watched the slowly moving bighorn. “That’s a good place right there. Lie down, you crafty, old bastard.”

“He is,” Brig said, “but I don’t care much for his choice. You would have been better off if he’d kept grazing. At least you could have moved whenever his head was down. This way you aren’t going to be able to get very close to him without him seeing you, not with this wind.”

After exchanging opinions about which was the best route for a stalk, the two men started out. Jordanna, Kit, and Max were left on the ridge to watch. It was a long, arduous route they chose. It involved circling half of a mountain slope on foot and climbing to the
backbone of a ridge in hopes of approaching the big-horn from above, not always a successful maneuver with a high-strung, suspicious wild sheep, hunted to perpetual wariness.

An hour after the two men had disappeared on the stalk, Max turned to Kit. “Is there any coffee left in that thermos Jocko sent? I sure could use a cup.” He sniffed at his runny nose and beat his arms to try to warm them.

“I think so.” Kit carefully slipped down from the ridge to where the horses were tied and returned with the thermos.

“Don’t drink it all,” Jordanna cautioned. “Dad and Brig will probably need some when they get back.”

It was another hour before Jordanna glimpsed the two men through her binoculars. They had just crested the ridge above the ram, but the steepness of the slope and a ragged tangle of rocks blocked the ram from their view. She watched her father try to maneuver into a position where he could find the ram in his rifle scope.

Something went wrong. Either the wind changed or a localized air current carried their scent to the ram. In the blink of an eye, the bighorn had bounded to its feet and was racing up a craggy rock face amidst a clatter of hooves on stone. He leaped and climbed with the sureness and grace of an aerialist. Her father never had a chance to get off a shot.

“All this time,” Max grumbled, “and he didn’t even fire a shot.”

“If you don’t like it Max,” Kit murmured, “you don’t have to come along every day. You can stay in camp.”

Max glared at him with a look that said such a suggestion was preposterous. Jordanna hugged her arms around her knees. The man was really determined to sell that stock to her father, no matter what personal discomfort it cost him.

By the time Brig and Fletcher circled back to where they were waiting, it was late afternoon. Fletcher looked
exhausted and offered no argument when Brig suggested they return to camp early.

The sight of the massively horned ram had fueled Fletcher’s enthusiasm. The next morning he was eager to find it again. They covered a lot of ground and sighted several respectably horned rams, but Fletcher was determined not to settle for less than the prize he had seen—at least, not yet.

It was two whole days before Brig located the big ram again.

“Is it the same one?” Jordanna was lying on the ground, her elbow nearly touching his as she propped up her binoculars.

“It’s the same one,” Fletcher insisted. “See that chip broken off the right horn.”

“Yes.”

Brig’s mouth thinned into a grim line as he surveyed the possible route of a stalk. He heard Fletcher swear under his breath and guessed that the hunter had seen the same thing he had.

“There is only one way to get to him and that’s too dangerous,” Brig stated.

“I suppose we wait again,” Max said and breathed out a disgusted sigh.

“Maybe he’ll move,” Fletcher muttered, but he didn’t sound hopeful.

Brig glassed the area again. No matter how thoroughly he studied the area, he could find only one route where Fletcher could get within range of the bighorn resting serenely on the mountainside. The way was worse than treacherous. They would have to circle the base of a wide landslide area where the footing would be questionable. A loose rock tumbling from their feet wouldn’t necessarily alert the ram to their stalk, since falling rocks were a frequent occurrence in its world. But Brig’s blood ran cold at the sight of the chasm at the base of the talus. One missed step, one faulty choice of where a foot should be placed, and it would mean a five hundred foot drop.

One hour. An hour and a half. The ram hadn’t budged from its spot. Brig glanced at Fletcher, prepared to suggest that they try another day, but the almost obsessive gleam in the man’s eyes stopped the words. He looked back at the ram. Without the magnification of the binoculars, it was a brown lump, barely distinguishable from its background, nature’s camouflage.

“I don’t see why you don’t just go around that loose rock and sneak up on that sheep,” Max inserted, tired of the incessant waiting.

“It’s too dangerous,” Brig stated.

“It doesn’t look it to me.” Max shrugged his shoulders.

“Why don’t we give it a try?” Fletcher suggested. Brig guessed that after more than an hour of studying those great, sweeping horns, Fletcher’s obsessive need to bag that trophy had overpowered his reason. “Maybe when we get closer it won’t look as bad as it does from here.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Max agreed.

“You know it won’t be any better.” Brig eyed the hunter grimly.

“I think Brig is right,” Jordanna gave him her support.

“It’ll be dark soon and we’ll lose the ram anyway. We might as well take a closer look at the route,” Fletcher argued and glanced at the curly-haired man on the ground beside him. “Do you want to come, Max?”

Brig saw his cousin’s startled look and knew Max hadn’t bargained on that invitation. Max had been eager enough for action as long as it didn’t require any effort on his part. Cynical amusement deepened the corners of his mouth at Max’s hesitation.

“Sure, I’ll go,” he agreed unexpectedly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Max!” Brig snapped, impatient with his cousin’s foolish attempt to please the man whose money he wanted. “You’re in no condition to make a climb like that.”

Immediately he realized that he had used the wrong tactic. He should never have criticized Max in front of Fletcher, nor implied that he was physically less of a man than one who was his senior. Now Max felt he had to prove Brig wrong. Brig silently cursed the quickness of his tongue.

“Don’t worry about me, Brig,” he said stubbornly. “I can make it.”

“All we are going to do is take a closer look at that slide,” Fletcher reasoned. “If it looks too risky, we’ll simply have to forget it.”

“I’ll come with you,” Kit volunteered and quickly rose to his feet.

“No.” The denial from Fletcher was sharp and abrupt. He tempered his tone when he glanced at Jordanna. “You stay here with your sister. Three people are enough. Any more than that and we’ll sound like an army and spook that ram for sure.”

Brig could tell by the expression on the young man’s face that he wanted to argue, but his father’s reasoning was too sound. Brig understood the feeling, since Fletcher’s insistence that they would turn back if it was too risky had forced him to agree to go along.

I
T WAS ALMOST
an hour before they reached the slide area. Brig had taken it slow for Max’s sake. Glancing behind him, he saw his cousin struggling for breath in the high, thin air. His own lungs were burning from the demanding physical exertion of traversing the rough terrain on foot. But neither he nor Fletcher was suffering as badly as Max. Yet not once had his cousin begged for them to stop so he could rest. Brig had to admire his guts even if he questioned his sanity.

He stopped short of the slide area and glanced to the far ridge, where Jordanna waited with her brother. Fletcher joined him while Max collapsed against a large boulder, straining to catch his breath. Brig forced his concentration on the forbidding ground ahead of them.

“It’s no good, Fletcher.” His hands rested on his hips as he surveyed the perilous footing along the lip of the chasm.

“I’m not so sure.” Fletcher wasn’t convinced. “Look
there, where it’s so narrow.” He pointed. “That huge boulder will give a person something solid to hang onto.”

“It’s also something he has to go out and around from,” Brig reminded him. “And you can’t see what it’s like on the other side of that boulder for about a foot or more.”

“Supposing there’s nothing there but empty space, so what?” Fletcher shrugged. “A foot is less than a man’s stride. I think it can be crossed.”

“It’s suicide.” Brig stared at the man with a determined look.

But Fletcher paid no attention to him. Turning, he said to Max. “How about it? Are you coming along with me?”

Max took a deep, gulping breath and pushed away from the rock supporting him. “Yeah, I’ll come.” He started forward.

Stunned, Brig looked from his cousin to Fletcher. But the hunter was already moving toward the narrow path at the base of the talus. Brig stopped in front of his cousin.

“Are you out of your mind, Max?” He spoke in a low, taut voice that wouldn’t carry to Fletcher’s hearing. “Look at you. You can hardly breathe. The muscles in your legs are probably trembling after that walk. It’s insanity to go with him.”

“Get out of my way, Brig.” Max tried to make his breathing normal. “I didn’t ask for your advice.”

“Maybe you didn’t ask for it, but you’re getting it. Don’t go.”

“You can stay here if you want, but I’m following Fletcher.” Max pushed him out of the way.

Brig watched the two of them. They were a pair of damn fools. He was supposed to be the guide, but neither of them were listening to him. He cursed angrily because he knew he had to go with them.

The first twenty yards presented no obstacles. Brig watched Fletcher carefully picking his way along in the lead. There was the consolation that the man was
at least exhibiting some sense of caution. The path continued to narrow as the ground began to sheer away to the floor of the glacial ravine five hundred feet below. Brig didn’t follow Max too closely. If the scree above them started moving, a man would be swept over the edge by the flow of rock—and anyone else who was close enough to get caught in the current would be swept along.

In the lead, Fletcher had reached the massive boulder. Hugging close to it, he began to inch his way around. Both Brig and Max slowed to watch. The strap of Fletcher’s rifle sling became caught on a jagged edge. He had to stop to free it. Brig started to sweat. He didn’t mind being afraid. It sharpened his senses and pumped the adrenalin into his veins. Fletcher edged around the rock and disappeared for a few seconds.