Текст книги "Mankillers"

Автор книги: Ken Casper

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“I know my job. I’m not called Tracker for nothing, doctor. Remember that.”

A sliver of light was creeping over the eastern rim when Buck started down the road to Charleston. If Snead still wanted to attack, it had to be today. The macadam was level and wide as he trotted at a leisurely pace toward the coast. Did he smell a tang of salt in the still air? Probably his imagination, but he looked forward to spending time in the harbor city where he’d attended medical school.

The Cooper River was at high tide. The shale road skirted the river’s edge at intervals and wound its way through groves of hemlock, pine and bald cypress. Buck found the switchback Wes had described, where a bluff projected out over the racing river.

He headed Gypsy up a footpath to the top of the bluff, which gave him a clear view of the road below. Using his binoculars, he scanned each of the trees, some of them more than once, looking for any sign of Rufus Snead or his men. No one. Yet, if the coach was going to be attacked, this would be the ideal location. For a third time, Buck examined likely and unlikely sites for sharpshooters to ensconce themselves.

Nobody.

He hoped.

Both dissatisfied and relieved that the way appeared to be clear, he pushed Gypsy into a faster trot on the way back to the inn at Goose Creek. The ladies had eaten; the men had packed the luggage onto the roof. All that remained was the mysterious box Tracker had carefully stored in his room every night. Buck had asked what it contained but all Tracker would tell him was that it contained personal effects.

“What did you find?” he asked, after Buck had dismounted and led Gypsy to the water trough.

“Just what Wes had described. The perfect ambush site, but not a soul around.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Rufus Snead hasn’t given up.”

“So what do you want to do?” Tracker asked.

“We’ve come this far. Not much choice. We go on.”

A minute later, the two men joined the driver and guard in the stable where Wes was harnessing the team.

“I found a vantage point up on the bluff you mentioned where I can watch y’all and see if anyone’s following or setting a trap ahead. Do we need to go over the signals again?”

Freddie wasn’t pleased at having his memory questioned. “Like you said, doctor, one shot’s continue on. Two’s stop, and three’s run like hell.”

Tempers were getting edgy, Buck realized. Not a good sign. Angry people didn’t always think straight.

“Another detail we need to discuss,” Tracker said. “That box I’ve been carrying.” He’d stored it in the corner of their bedroom every night and lashed it securely to the top of the coach every morning. “It contains an

equalizer– grenades and explosives.”

“Explosives?” Wes exclaimed.

“Just some black powder, nitro and fuse cord.”

“Nitro?” Wes backed away and stared at him. “Nitro? You’ve been carrying that stuff with you this whole trip? Are you out of your mind? You trying to kill us all?”

Buck was bewildered. “You’re carrying nitroglycerin? My God, man!”

Wes was less contained. Sputtering with rage, he threw his hat on the ground. “Dadgummit, I thought you were supposed to be protecting us. If this coach . . . had turned over when that wheel seized up back at St Matthews—” he paused to catch his breath “—Sweet Jesus, we’d all be singing with the angels.”

“Hold on and listen. You’re not thinking straight,” Tracker said emphatically. “First off, I’m no more anxious to die than you are. Second, we’ve hit enough bumps in the last three days to have already set it off by your standard. And third, even if the coach had turned over back there, this stuff wouldn’t have blown.”

Buck shook his head. “You should’ve told me.”

“If y’all will listen to me a minute,” Tracker said with exaggerated patience, “I’ll explain. This concoction’s no more dangerous than the cartridges in your rifle.”

“Nitro? Are you kidding?” Wes nearly shouted. “The way the coach bounces, it’s a miracle we’re still here talking about it.”

Buck stood by listening to the exchange, puzzled by Tracker’s rash behavior. “I’m still waiting for an explanation, Mr. Bouchard.”

Tracker narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly. “Dr. Thomson, I was the explosives ordnance officer on Colonel Canby’s staff in the Mexican War. I used this formulation every day and never lost a finger.” He held up his hands and wiggled the digits to show they were all there and functioning. “Each component’s separately wrapped, and the nitro’s been mixed with sawdust so even if it fell off a moving wagon, nothing would happen. It’s perfectly safe to transport because only a fuse will set it off.”

Wes huffed. “Well, we’ve come this far without being blown to smithereens,” he conceded, obviously still not pleased by the explanation. “I guess we’ll have to take you at your word. After all, you have been riding with us. But I can tell you I’ll sure be glad when this trip’s over.”

Tracker relocated the box to the inside of the coach. A minute later, the ladies joined them. Before they climbed aboard, Tracker motioned Janey to one side.

“We’re almost there,” he said, “but if we run into trouble, I’m counting on you to protect Mrs. Drexel. Get her down on the floor of the coach and get on top of her, if you have to.”

“You ‘spect something gonna happen?” Her eyes widened with excitement and fear.

“I want us to be prepared. We’ve gotten this far. A few more hours and you’ll be home with your mistress.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Tracker. Yes, sir. You can count on me, sir.”

“Good girl.”

#

As the ladies were boarding the coach, Buck nudged Gypsy into a gentle trot ahead of them. He could make faster progress on horseback than the heavy Concord could and wanted to use the opportunity to scout out the trail one more time.

Sarah’s journey was almost over. Within a matter of hours she would be home and free of the danger of being associated with him. It was because of him she was in danger; it was because of him her father was dead. She should hate him. He didn’t understand why she didn’t. He was only grateful. But that made the burden he felt even heavier. His mission now wasn’t exclusively to kill the man who’d killed his brother. As important as that was, more important for him was to protect her. A few hours to go. Until this moment he hadn’t realized the depth of his feelings for her. These past years he’d insulated himself from anyone or anything. He did his job the best he could, but as time went on he experienced less and less connection to the people he treated. Until she came along.

With the smell of a salt tang in the air he knew he was drawing close to the river. Wes was right. The switchback ahead was the perfect site for an ambush, but maybe Rufus thought it was too obvious. Maybe he’d decided to pick another spot to waylay them. Tracker also had a valid point. Rufus was no General Lee, more like General Custer who had a reputation for sacrificing his men to achieve his objectives. But Rufus Snead was clever in his own way.

Buck was perhaps fifteen minutes ahead of the coach when he reached the footpath that led to the top of the bluff. He continued to advance slowly, examining every tree and shrub along the narrow trail. He was vulnerable, he knew that, but the hair on the back of his neck wasn’t telegraphing any alerts. He kept going.

At the top of the promontory he removed the binoculars from his saddlebag and began scanning the terrain below. It seemed as peaceful and quiet as it had been two hours earlier. Nevertheless, something was making him feel uneasy. He surveyed the trees again.

Nothing.

He scanned once more.

And once more he couldn’t detect any movement.

Still he wasn’t convinced.

Dismounting, he tethered Gypsy, removed the Henry from its scabbard and crouched down behind a tree stump. He peered yet again through the lenses of his binoculars. In the quietude between bird calls and the buzz of insects, he began to discern the rattle of the approaching stagecoach. His heartbeat accelerated.

Lowering the binoculars he took in the broader perspective.

Suddenly in a tree that had been outside his restricted telescopic view he glimpsed movement. A bird? A squirrel? He raised the lenses again and focused on the spot.

A man with a rifle!

His pulse quickened. He willed it to calm.

He peered more closely. A man with a jagged scar across his cheek. The youth he’d met in the woods yesterday. No coincidence. And no innocent. One of Snead’s people.

Exchanging the binoculars for the Henry, he propped his elbow on the stump and took careful aim. Slowly he applied pressure to the trigger and squeezed off a round. Birds squawked and fluttered into the sky. For a moment his target remained motionless. Had he missed him? Then as if in slow motion the man tumbled to the ground.

Once again he’d killed a man. But there was no time to think about it. He levered in another cartridge.

Movement. This one closer. Almost directly below him.

Without conscious thought, he repositioned his rifle and fired again. Another man fell.

Two down. Neither had red hair. How many were left? Rufus Snead certainly. Somewhere.

Suddenly Buck became aware of an unnatural silence. What was he not hearing? It took a moment for him to figure it out. The coach.

The coach had stopped just before the entrance to the bend. Why? More precious seconds passed before he realized what had happened. He’d fired two shots in quick succession. The signal to halt.

Now the very people he’d vowed to protect were easy prey. Especially for a sharpshooter like Snead, who shunned moving targets.

Chapter EIGHTEEN

He had to get them moving. Fast. Buck lifted his rifle and fired into the grove of trees on the other side of the road. Three shots in rapid succession. Get the hell out of there.

Four things occurred almost simultaneously. The coach jerked forward into a full gallop. Another rifle shot sang out. Freddie rolled over on the top of the coach, clutching his left arm. His rifle fell to the roadway.

Buck watched the speeding wagon sway through the first turn. Wes was a man of his word, and a damn good driver. The heavy vehicle tilted and rocked but stayed upright. One last turn, this one more shallow, and they’d be out the shooters’ range. Unless there were more shooters beyond the switchback.

As the lumbering Concord with its precious cargo raced past the ambush site, Buck heard a stuttering of gunfire. Apparently the highwaymen were shooting wild. They probably hadn’t anticipated a galloping team. Wes had barely negotiated the second turn when a metallic screech split the air. Buck watched in horror as the left rear wheel flew apart and the coach tilted precariously. The frantic horses dragged it until they could pull no more.

That damned hub.

The jolt had thrown Freddie off the roof into the bushes. Buck jumped to his feet and watched helplessly as Wes valiantly clung to the reins. After several unsuccessful attempts he was able to reach down and pull the linchpin. Freed, the frantic team galloped off, and the unbalanced vehicle collapsed onto its side.

Buck vaulted up into the saddle and spurred Gypsy down the side of the bluff toward them. The gunfire had ceased. Why? To reload? To get to their horses?

The trees were huge. There was no clear path. Gypsy had been sure-footed in the past. He had to trust the animal’s instincts. Their course was contorted, the descent maddeningly slow. Minutes seemed like hours until he arrived at the bottom.

“The ladies all right?” he yelled out as he raced forward.

“They’re fine,” Tracker assured him. “I told them to stay inside while I checked the area.”

Sarah had pulled herself out of the topside door and was just reaching the ground when Buck came up to help her. She ignored him aside, however, and reached inside for Janey. The girl’s face was pale with fright as Sarah urged her over the side of the opening.

“Janey? Are you hurt?”

“No, Miz. Sarah. I don’t think so.”

“Y’all need to get off the road.” Buck looked around. “Where’s Freddie?”

“Here.” The young guard limped from the other side of the road, clutching his left arm.

Sarah rushed impulsively toward him. “You’re bleeding.”

“Get off the road and out of sight,” Buck ordered.

“How bad is it?” Sarah asked Freddie as she supported his injured arm.

“I’m all right, ma’am. Just nicked me. My arm ain’t broke.”

“Get into the woods, all of you,” Buck commanded them. “Now. Y’all have to take cover.”

Everyone but Tracker moved toward the woods bordering the road.

“Faster,” Buck urged. “When you’re safely out of sight, wrap it tightly to slow the bleeding. I’ll look at it later. Now where did Tracker go?”

#

Rufus was mad as a hornet. His plans had gone bad again. He was dealing with idiots and now two more had gotten themselves killed. Well, it was all their own fault. If they’d stayed still in the trees like he’d told them . . .

He put his thumb and forefinger between his teeth and let loose with a shrill whistle. His men began to lower themselves from the trees.

“Jake, bring up the horses, so’s we can catch up with ‘em.”

“Boss, this plan of yours ain’t working real good.”

“You want that gold, don’t you? Look on the bright side. Now there’s two less people to split it with. There’ll be more for everybody.”

“What about them women?” Clem asked. “You said we could have the women.”

“You ain’t getting nothing, gold or women, if we don’t get a move on.”

Jake rode up on a chestnut, pulling the reins of half a dozen equally emaciated nags behind him. Rufus mounted the bay. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Bobby, the youngest member of the gang, shook his head. “I’ve had enough. I don’t want nothing more to do with this here doctor of yours. He’s done killed four of us already. I ain’t gonna be the next one.”

“You will be,” Rufus snarled, “if’n you don’t do as you’re told. Here’s your choice. Ride out with me or die right here.”

The pimply-faced farm boy stared at him. It took a few seconds to realize Rufus meant what he said. “Sure, boss. Sure.” He grabbed the reins of a brown bag of bones and climbed into the saddle.

The rest of them mounted their horses without comment.

“They’s probably slowed down by now,” Rufus said, “maybe even stopped to catch their breath. Now’s the time to attack. Just remember, the doc’s mine. Anyone of you kill him, and I’ll kill you. Got that?” Heads nodded. “Now get going. I’ll be right behind you.”

They cantered off on the road toward the first bend. About halfway through it, Hank, who was in the lead, pointed to the overturned stagecoach. “Sitting ducks,” he said and laughed. “Boys, here’s the payoff.”

#

Wes, Freddie and the women were fleeing into the woods. Buck was about to follow when he looked past the overturned coach and saw Tracker sprinting toward him from the riverside bend in the road.

“Where the hell you been?”

Not even breathing heavy, Tracker answered, “Checking to see who’s behind us. Five of them, and they’ll be here soon.”

“Since you didn’t tell me about these explosives earlier, you better do it now and fast.”

“Leave the box in the coach,” Tracker told him. “That way they won’t see it and skedaddle. I’ll stick in a fuse. We can light it before we run. The tricky part’ll be the timing.”

Buck could hear hoof beats echoing off the bluff walls. How long would it be before Rufus and his gang appeared? Minutes or seconds? “Can your surprise be set off with a rifle shot?”

“I told you it can’t. That’s why it’s been safe for me to carry it the way I have.”

“How about lighting the fuse with a rifle shot?”

Tracker stared up at him incredulously. “You’d have to be exceptionally accurate. I don’t see how anyone—”

“You run fast. I shoot straight. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Buck dismounted and helped Tracker position the box on the upper side of the coach, snug against the rear wheel.

“Set your fuse, Mr. Bouchard. Do it fast and make it very short.”

“You’re ahead of me, doctor.”

“Put the end in a pool of powder about the size of a butterbean on the metal rim. I’ll fire into it and hope the spark it produces sets things off.”

“You that good?” Tracker looked at it skeptically.

“I’ll see it and I’ll hit it.”

Just as they completed the task, they heard the sound of horses approaching.

“Go,” Buck ordered.

The two men dashed into the forest twenty yards away. Buck stopped at the base of a hickory. Without having to be told what to do, Tracker boosted him up to the lowest branch, then took cover behind a towering cypress. More limber than the last time he’d gone tree climbing, Buck ascended hand over hand from bough to bough. He straddled a limb and faced the wrecked coach.

He’d barely had a chance to aim his Henry when the gang charged around the bend of the road. Whooping and yelling like a bunch of kids at the sight of candy, they kicked their sorry mounts into a gallop and headed straight for the wagon. The men jumped off their moving horses and ran to the coach, still yelling. Buck waited until they were within a few feet of the box before he squeezed the trigger.

The men paused at the sound of the rifle fire. The ricochet whined as the bullet struck the wheel rim. The fuse sputtered into life.

The explosion that resulted a few seconds later shook the earth.

A billowing cloud of smoke and dust erupted into the placid summer air. The silence that followed was broken by the spatter of debris falling from the sky. Not since the battle of Sayler’s Creek had Buck seen such carnage as the body parts of four men rained down, no piece fully identifiable. A red mist hung over the remains of the coach.

Buck looked back along the road. At the far bend he saw a man trying to calm a rearing horse. For a split second the two men made eye contact. By the time Buck had shouldered his smoking rifle, Rufus Snead had turned his mount and fled.

The redheaded man had escaped. Again.

#

Buck found the others in a small pocket of bushes in the woods not far from the second bend in the road. Janey was shivering in Sarah’s embrace.

“It’s all right,” Sarah said softly. “You’re safe.”

“Yessum, but all them men– I ain’t never seen—”

“Shh,” Sarah soothed her. “It’s all over now.”

Buck watched and listened, amazed at the woman’s strength and stamina. Her father had died in her lap. She’d been shot. Now she’d seen four men blown to bits in front of her, and here she was consoling a terrified black girl, though she had to be every bit as unnerved herself.

“What now?” Tracker asked from behind him.

What indeed? Buck had too many unanswered questions. Where had the redheaded man retreated to? How many men did he have left?

“How far are we from Charleston?” Tracker asked Wes.

“Three miles to the nearest settlement, another mile from there to the city.”

“We need a wagon or buggy to get the ladies out of here,” Tracker told Buck.

“Too dangerous. They’d be open targets.” Buck turned to Wes. “You and Freddie stay with the women and keep down. Y’all’ll be safe enough here.”

Buck examined the young man’s left arm. Whoever had wrapped the wound—Sarah, he was sure—had done a good job. The bleeding was no more than a slow ooze. It might require sutures when they got a chance, but for now he was in no danger.

“Sorry this happened to you, son.” Buck handed over his Colt. “If you have to use this—”

“You can count on me, doc.”

“Are you coming with us?” Sarah asked.

“In a few minutes. I need to talk to Tracker first about how we’re going to get y’all to Charleston.”

This has to end today. I have to go after the mankiller, otherwise he’ll come after us again sooner or later. I can’t let that happen.

“Stay with Freddie and Wes,” he told her. “We’ll join you in a few minutes.”

As soon as the others had started walking away, Buck motioned Tracker to join him behind a stand of pines.

“What do you have in mind, doctor?”

Ever since the coach had turned over, Buck had been trying to figure what his next move should be. It seemed to him he didn’t have many options. Stand fast and hope the mankiller got tired of waiting and left the area. But how long could they hold out, especially with Freddie’s injury. Try to get the others out of the area? Without a wagon, it didn’t seem possible, and even with a wagon they’d be easy targets. Or be aggressive, find Rufus and kill him. Buck knew without making a conscious decision that the last option was the one he’d chosen.

“If I were Rufus right now, I’d be climbing up that bluff from the other side.” Buck told Tracker. “That’d put him in a position with a clear view of the road. If I sneak up on him from the other side—”

“You don’t know where he is.” Tracker scratched his chin. “It’s a big bluff with a lot of trees. He might spot you first.”

“It’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

“Maybe I can even the odds.”

Buck regarded him skeptically.

“If you had a decoy to draw his fire—”

“A decoy? What’re you suggesting?”

“Give me your coat and hat. I’ll show myself for a second, pull back, then make a mad dash to the other side of the road. There’s a bar ditch over there I can take cover in.”

“No. Too chancy. You’d be out in the open too long.”

Tracker smiled. “You’ve seen me run. This time it won’t be in a straight line. Didn’t you say he has trouble with moving targets?”

“Still sounds like a suicide mission to me.”

Tracker studied him. “Doctor, I’ve done this before. I didn’t survive the Mexican War on my looks.”

Involuntarily, Buck cracked a smile.

“I’ll give you five minutes to get in a position where you can see the bluff. Then I’ll make a run for it. He won’t be expecting anyone to come out of hiding. If he’s lucky he might get two shots at me, but I run damn fast, especially when there’s a bullet chasing me, so it’ll probably be only one. That ought to give you enough time to pinpoint his location. Once I’m on the other side of the road I’ll be stuck there with no place to go, so you’ll be on your own. Think you can handle it?”

“Let’s go.”

#

Sarah had detached herself from the others with the excuse that she needed to attend to a personal matter. In fact, she’d doubled back to where Buck and Tracker were conferring with each other. What she overheard was a plan that both earned her admiration and alarmed her.

She started back to rejoin the others. Her mind was unsettled. Back’s plan was daring—and dangerous. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He was the only man she’d ever met who was selfless and generous, who inspired her rather than frightened her. His life was in peril. She couldn’t sit quietly in the forest waiting to find out if he lived or died. She didn’t know how she could help him. Maybe she couldn’t protect him the way he was protecting her, but she could be there if he needed her.

She was about to turn back the way she’d come when Janey glanced over her shoulder.

“Miz Sarah, ma’am,” the girl called to her, “you all right? You needs help?”

Wes turned as well.

“Go on,” Sarah said. “I’ll join you presently.”

The coach driver approached her. “You need to stay close to us, ma’am.”

“I will. You go on ahead.”

“Ma’am, I can’t leave you. You need to come with us.”

She looked him directly in the eye. “I’m not asking your permission. Now take Janey and Freddie and get on into the woods.”

“Ma’am—” Wes started to protest.

“Just go,” she insisted. “I’ll be all right.”

The driver paused a long moment, clearly unhappy at the dilemma he was facing, then, with a shake of his head and a shrug, he returned to the others. Janey looked back, clearly frightened, her hand extended to Sarah, but Sarah merely smiled and motioned her on.

#

Buck plowed his way through the underbrush until he had a panoramic view of the bluff above him. Once again he tried to put himself in the redheaded man’s mind. Rufus liked to fire from heights. He already had the advantage of elevation on the bluff, but Buck imagined he’d feel still more comfortable perched in a tree. A bird’s eye view certainly gave him an advantage, but in this cat-and-mouse game, it also limited his mobility.

All Buck could be reasonably sure of was that Rufus Snead would be facing south. The seconds kept ticking away. How long had it been since he and Tracker had separated? When would Tracker make his dash? He had to be ready to fire in an instant. How could he get a clear view of the road without making himself a target at the same time?

Which tree? And how high up?

A shot rang out.

It came from above, ahead of him. But where? He searched for the telltale smoke of a rifle. Nothing. Damn. Damn. Damn. He’d missed his one opportunity to locate the bastard.

#

From her hidden vantage point in the tangled shrubs under the pine trees, Sarah had watched Tracker, wearing Buck’s coat, dash out into the road and then back, only to do it again. But the second time, instead of darting into the woods a dozen yards from her where he’d started from, he zigzagged down the road to where it curved beside the fast-moving river.

He was nearly there when a report rang out. Tracker was moving as fast as any horse she’d ever seen. The bullet missed him and kicked up a gout of sand on his left.

She waited for the sound of Buck’s rifle up on the bluff. But none came. Either he wasn’t yet in place when the mankiller had fired or he hadn’t been able to establish his location. The trees were dense at the top of the bluff. One shot would be difficult to isolate.

She’d overheard Buck and Tracker making their plans, so she knew that Tracker was safe but trapped where he was. Any attempt on his part to get back up on the road would expose him. Since Buck hadn’t yet gotten his prey he would still be searching for the killer. What she had to do now was keep the sniper’s attention focused on the road until Buck was in position.

She listened for another minute. Except for the distant rush of the river and the songbirds twittering around her, all was silent.

Taking a fortifying breath, she reached between her legs, gathered her skirt and bolted out onto the roadway. She couldn’t run nearly as fast or deviously as Tracker, but perhaps the sight of a woman would unnerve the sniper sufficiently to affect his accuracy—and miss her.

#

A second shot.

This time Buck spied movement and a small wisp of smoke high up in a tree less than twenty yards to his right.

His heart pounded and euphoria coursed through him. At last, Buck had Rufus Snead in his sights.

Carefully he aimed. Slowly he tightened his finger on the trigger. A raven fluttered from the branches of a nearby pine. Buck fired. A scream erupted. An eternal five seconds elapsed before the redheaded man tumbled from his perch to the ground below.

Buck realized he was panting, as if he’d been running for miles. At last he’d killed the man who’d murdered his brother.

But Clay was gone forever. Was this justice? It didn’t bring his brother back. Buck tried to console himself that this misanthrope, as Clay had called him, wouldn’t be killing anyone else.

The winding footpath brought him closer to the sniper. He approached cautiously, smoking Henry still clutched in his right hand . . . just in case.

He heard a groan.

My God!

As Buck drew nearer, he realized Rufus Snead was still alive. The bullet had pierced his chest. Blood was oozing from the wound. He was still breathing but he didn’t have long to live.

Suddenly an emotion Buck thought he’d lost somewhere in the many battles of war again manifested itself. Kneeling beside the dying man, he cradled him in his arms the way he’d held his brother.

The redheaded man’s one eye gazed up at him, not so much in pain or anger, as in sorrow. “Sally Mae . . .”

“What about her?” Buck asked softly.

“The . . . only . . . good . . . thing . . . I—” He coughed. “I . . . wanted . . . to . . . help . . .”

Suddenly choked, Buck squeezed out the words, “I understand.”

Blood trickled from the corner of the dying man’s mouth. “Take . . . care . . . of . . . Job,” he whispered.

“I will,” Buck replied, his voice still husky. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“Em-ma . . .” Buck pictured Job coming out onto the porch and climbing onto the old woman’s lap. “Em-ma.”

“Emma too. I promise.” Buck’s throat burned. “They’ll be all right.”

“I’m sor—” His eyes closed.

The mankiller was dead.

Chapter NINETEEN

Sarah pushed her way through the underbrush and stopped. Buck was on his knees, tears running down his face as he cradled his victim in his arms as if he were a sacred treasure. What kind of man was this who cried over the death of his brother’s assassin? Could she weep for her father’s murderer? A knot formed in her chest when she saw the agony contorting his face. How can I ever be worthy of such a man?

Fighting the impulse to rush to his side, she started to turn away, filled with shame for her lack of compassion. She’d give him another minute to collect himself.

Tracker appeared at her side, his face stoic. They exchanged wordless glances.

For a moment Buck remained motionless, then lowered the dead body of his archenemy to the soft forest floor and slowly rose to his feet.

“Why are you here?” he asked Sarah.

He seemed so distant, she wondered if he would even hear the answer. “I thought . . .” But she didn’t know what to say. All she could do was envelop him in her arms. They wept together.

After a discreet interval Tracker shook a nearby branch, the distraction enough to raise their heads.

“Mrs. Drexel,” he said, “you’re a remarkably brave woman, but please don’t ever tempt fate like that again.”

Buck looked from one to the other. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

Over the next few minutes Tracker explained what Sarah had done to draw Snead’s second shot. She stood by, occasionally nodding, but said nothing.

When Tracker was finished, Buck looked at Sarah then grasped her hands. “Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to lose you.”

She smiled up at him. “You haven’t.”

#

Over the next several hours, everyone was busy. Falling back on old habits, Buck took charge. He told Wes where Gypsy was tethered and sent him to the settlement three miles away where he could hire a wagon and team to convey the ladies into Charleston. Meanwhile, he and Tracker buried the redheaded man. Janey was still trembling from the morning’s ordeal. Sarah did her best to assure her the danger was passed. Freddie, feeling useless, insisted on standing guard in case there were more members of Rufus’s gang around. Buck seriously doubted any survivors would be willing to show themselves, but he appreciated the young man’s concern and dedication.