Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(76)

“It looks too small for bears,” Price said. Then: “As if I know anything at all about bears.”

“I’ll go first,” Joe said. “If there’s enough room I’ll curl into a ball so you can come in and get around me. I want to be near the opening with the .22 if anyone gets too close.”

Price smiled bitterly. It didn’t need to be said that the chances of the cartridge in the rifle firing were fifty-fifty at best. Joe found himself grinning back, filled with a shared dark humor at their situation.

“We’re ready for something to go right,” Joe said.

“Let me know when that happens,” Price said.

Suddenly, out of view but above them on the rockslide, Joe heard Earl say, “Let me do the talking, boys.”



* * *



—

Joe slid into the opening on his belly as quickly as he could. It smelled dank and musky inside. He motioned for Price to follow as he jammed himself into the righthand V of where the slabs of rock met. He bent his knees up to make room for Price to scoot by. It was tight quarters, and Price grunted as he clawed his way over Joe’s legs and settled in parallel to him behind his back.

At that moment, Joe could feel a slight vibration in the rock ceiling itself. Heavy footfalls right over their heads.

Joe turned to Price and brought his index finger to his mouth. “Shhhhhhh.”

Then, through the opening, he could hear the clicks of horseshoes striking rock just a few feet to their left. One by one, the party went by, headed downhill toward the direction of the creek.





TWENTY-SIX


Sheridan tried to keep both warm and alert to her and Nate’s surroundings in the early-morning cold as they rode up the drainage. It was difficult to do both because the cold didn’t allow her to feel loose and aware. Instead, the chill made her want to fold in her arms and legs and tuck her chin into her coat collar.

Although they’d spooked a few mule deer who had come to water in the creek, they’d seen no sign of her dad or the hunting party. All of the two-day-old horse tracks on the trail were going up the mountain, and none of them were coming down.

She felt movement behind her and Nate clicked his tongue to move Gin along into a faster walk. As he pulled next to her—Nate had learned Gin was a good horse but she needed extra goosing to move along—his head was turned away from her toward the wooded slope to their left. He’d obviously seen something she’d missed.

“What’s up?” Sheridan asked.

“Let me get ahead of you. We’ve got company.”

The words sent a secondary chill through her that had nothing to do with the temperature. She sat back in her saddle to signal to Rojo that he should slow down. He obeyed, even though his natural inclination was to keep ahead of other horses who were trying to overtake him.

“What do you see?” she asked Nate. She studied the wooded slope as well. The early-morning sun had not yet penetrated the timber up there.

“Don’t stare,” Nate said softly as he cut in front of her. “Just ride along as if we don’t know they’re there.”

“As if we don’t know who’s there?”

“At least two riders.”

“How far away are they?”

“They’re right above us.”

Sheridan had learned to trust Nate’s uncanny observational skills. He always seemed to see things before anyone else could.

She eyed him as he slipped his right hand up and gently unzipped his jacket. The grip of his .454 Casull was within easy reach under his left arm, but it was concealed from outside view.



* * *



—

I think I see them,” Sheridan whispered a few minutes later.

Two horsemen were threading their way through the trees toward the bottom of the drainage. She caught glimpses of them between dark trunks. As they got closer, she could hear the tick of hooves striking loose scree.

“Damn it. I don’t think either one is my dad,” Sheridan said sourly.

“Hey there,” the lead rider called out. “Good morning.” He sounded cheery.

“Hello,” Nate called back. He pulled Gin to a stop. Sotto voce, he said to Sheridan, “Stay to my side, keeping me in the middle between you and them. If shooting starts, you need to make sure to slide off that horse and find cover. Don’t give them a clear shot at you.”

“Oh, God,” Sheridan whispered.

While she appreciated Nate looking out for her, this was more than she was prepared for. She glanced at the rifle in her saddle scabbard and hoped she wouldn’t have to pull it out and try to remember how it worked. She’d fired lever-action weapons at targets before, so she thought she could handle it. But for further assurance, she patted the solid weight of the .38 revolver in her parka pocket.

The two horsemen emerged from the timber in an easy walk. They didn’t seem to be trying to be either stealthy or in a rush. The lead horseman was a bulky man in his midfifties with a wide, round face and a growth of silver stubble. He wore a battered short-brimmed cowboy hat, a heavy canvas barn coat, and lace-up outfitter boots. He looked comfortable in the saddle.

Something stirred in her. He looked familiar, she thought. She’d seen him, or a photo of him, before somewhere. She wasn’t sure, but she knew he’d been dressed much differently than he was now. Sheridan tried to recall where it had been.