The Highwayman: A Longmire Story (Walt Longmire #11.5)(21)

Something loomed just to my left that I kept my boots aimed toward, but try as I might, my legs collapsed under me as I struck a much larger rock. I pivoted to the right and again tried to grab onto the thing, but everything was so wet and my hands so frozen that I might as well have been trying to grab hold with flippers.

Another swell caught me, and I rode it forward with a few seconds of visibility, thinking I might’ve seen something to my right. I reached out and made a grab for whatever it was.

A log.

Great, I was going to drown like a waterlogged rat.

Its benefit, though, was that it gave me a little buoyancy, and I was able to see where I was going. It slapped into another boulder and I almost lost my grip, but I held on as the damn thing pivoted, swinging me around and rolling over my head like a giant baseball bat.

I was beginning to question its advantages just as I started short breathing. As near as I could tell, my lungs were seizing up with the rest of me as my core temperature plummeted. I figured I had another couple of minutes before I would become so immobile that I would likely sink.

The log struck something on both sides this time, forming a bridge of sorts, and I was able to get my arms over it far enough to hold on. Kicking to the left, I caught purchase but then felt my right boot catch on something beneath the surface, something that moved.

I hoped it was Rosey. I shoved my face into the water and reached down between the two rocks that held the log. With my frozen fingers going numb on me, I knew I had only one shot. Hoping it wasn’t just a packing blanket that had flown off a passing truck, I yanked with all my limited abilities.

I flew forward but was able to get my legs spread far enough to hold my position and drag whatever it was up against my chest.

Rosey.

Pulling her in close, I tried to lean toward one of the boulders, but when I did, my footing started to give way, and the fire-hose current attempted to shoot the two of us back into the middle of the turbulent river.

My muscles continued to seize, and I had no feeling anywhere in my body. It was just a matter of time before my legs collapsed and we’d be sucked into the black water for good—literally stuck between drowning and a hard place.

With the last bit of energy I could summon, I applied all the pressure I could in an attempt to get Rosey above the water onto the boulder to my right. I’d almost made it when my leg slipped through the chute and I could feel myself starting to go.

It was at that precise instant that I felt a talon grip the collar of my shirt and pull me against the current like some giant bird of prey, and I saw Rosey being draped on the boulder, where Henry Standing Bear held on for a couple of dear lives.

He held Rosey with his right arm, his left fully extended in an attempt to hold on to me, and I could see the exertion it was taking just to keep me from slipping away.

“Grab my arm!”

I fumbled my hands toward him, but they were too numb to be of any use. “Save her!”

“Walt, grab my arm!”

I tried to grip his sleeve but couldn’t. “Get her out of here and then come back for me!”

His dark hair fell around his face only inches from mine, and he yelled back with his black eyes blazing, “You will not be here!” I felt the tug as his muscles bunched and, pulling me to the side with inhuman strength, he inched me against the current. It felt like a crane with steel cables was wrapped around my collar, dragging me toward safety.

I summoned the last vestige of energy to stumble forward, landing in knee-deep water. On my hands and knees, I coughed a couple of pints out of my lungs and crawled toward the rocky bank, finally collapsing on the hillside. Lying there and looking sideways through the high weeds still holding on to their pale winter color, I watched as the Cheyenne Nation lifted Rosey onto his shoulder and trudged up the embankment, his duster coattails flowing out as if taking flight just before the two of them disappeared over the guardrail.

I rolled over onto my back and turned my head to cough up more water.

I lay there for a moment, feeling the intense cold of the fog. Finally finding a small pocket of reserve, I leveraged up on one elbow and gripped the stalks of grass in an attempt to get upright. Half making it, I stumbled up the hill, mostly on my hands and knees.

When I got to the guardrail, it seemed to soar over me like a landscape. Putting a shoulder against it, I pushed myself over, falling onto the other side, and just lay there like a drowned albatross. I rested my head on the back of a hand and saw the opening of the north tunnel in the distance.

We hadn’t gone that far in the river, but it sure had felt like we had.

Raising my head and turning it a bit, I could see Henry about fifty feet away trying to resuscitate Rosey, his powerful hands laced over her chest.

I crawled toward them. It wasn’t that I thought I could do much, but lending some moral support might make the difference. I made it about halfway there when everything gave out, and my nose hit the pavement like a pickax, the blinding flash of concussion almost enough to put me out.

Stretching my right arm, I kind of side-stroked like some half-assed hermit crab, making about eight inches a minute until I got near the rear of her cruiser. I think I blacked out, but I can’t be sure. The back corner of the Dodge hung over me, but my eyes traveled down across the road to the entrance of the north tunnel.

Where a man stood looking at me.

He was dressed in some sort of uniform, and as he limped directly toward me, his fists at his sides, I could see he wore a flat-brimmed hat. The badges and decorations pinned to his dark jacket flashed underneath the black, rubber-coated canvas slicker. He wore dark slacks and highly polished boots that shone like mercury on the macadam.