Page 19 of Wild Sweet Wilderness (Missouri #1)
The trail along the riverbank was white with blossoming wild plums and dogwood trees. Frogs peeped in the marshy places, crows cawed. A flock of birds suddenly erupted into screaming flight. Berry laughed with delight, tilted her head against Simon’s shoulder, and watched the flock assemble, break apart, and reassemble overhead. Simon pulled Star to a halt. They shaded their eyes with their hands to peer up into the bright morning sunlight. The metallic green plumage and red-feathered heads of the flock gleamed like fire as they soared, dipped, and spiraled upward before disappearing over the tops of the towering trees.
“They’re so pretty!”
Berry said quietly, awestruck by the spectacular scene.
“They’re parakeets,”
Simon explained.
“In the winter they roost in great flocks. I’ve seen so many in one tree it looked as if the tree was lit by a thousand candles.”
Star danced in place, eager to be moving. Simon eased up on the reins. The horse moved slowly, not due to the added weight of the girl on his back, but because it was hot and for once his master was not in a hurry.
Sitting astride in front of Simon, his arms around her, Berry wiggled her firm buttocks against his groin, threw her arms wide, and laughed, a bubbling free laugh.
“I’m so happy, Simon, my love. We’ll be together every day, every night, for the rest of our lives. I can hardly wait to tell Rachel. How long before we get there?”
“Stop your wiggling or we’ll not get there at all,”
he cautioned teasingly.
“It’s not more than a couple of miles.”
“I like wearing your pants.”
Happy laughter gurgled up. She held out her legs, her bare feet protruding from the rolled-up buckskin breeches.
“I might make myself a pair.”
“Ah . . . no! I like feeling up under your skirt.”
His hand slid down her thigh.
“Nope . . . I’ll not have my wife in pants.”
Berry, hearing his chuckle, turned and, looking deeply into his warm dark eyes, held her lips up for a kiss. So this was how it was going to be from now on. Just the two of them, able to run, laugh, play, and make love when and where they wanted. Little flickers of anticipation shivered through her. Her urgent mouth found his, yet he kept his lips firmly closed from the onslaught of her determined little tongue.
“Behave yourself, you little witch,”
he said with a growl.
“If we stop we won’t get to Fain’s till suppertime.”
“You know you want to stop and roll in the grass with me,”
she said in an exaggerated, seductive whisper. Her fingers worked their way up and down his hard thigh.
“You’ve already introduced me to the pleasures of the flesh, made me a fallen woman, ruined me.”
Her laughing green eyes probed his smiling dark ones.
“You’re a tempting little baggage!”
His arms tightened and she nestled against his chest.
“Now sit still, or . . . I’ll swat that little butt that keeps wigglin’ against me.”
His voice in her ear was warm, loving, teasing.
“All right. But don’t blame me when Rachel sees that great lump in your pants.”
She turned and pressed her back to his chest. He felt the tremors of giggles she was trying to suppress.
Simon tenderly swept the ebony hair back from her neck and placed his lips there. He moved his hand from her rib cage to her breast and felt her heart beating rapidly. An exquisite pang of aching tenderness shot through him when he thought of all this small woman had endured. She turned to look at him. Her green eyes gleamed with mischief, then closed when he pressed her lips with his in a hard kiss. Her face found refuge beneath his chin. The brim of his hat shaded her cheeks from the noon sun. He nourished her in his arms, and they were silent in their contentment.
It was early afternoon when Berry and Simon arrived at Fain’s homestead. Simon had put his heels to the stallion a quarter of a mile back and they galloped into the clearing between the barn and the house. Berry’s laughter had preceded them. Conscious only of each other, they were unaware of the hostile eyes that watched them. Berry glanced around quickly, disappointed that Rachel wasn’t there to meet her.
“Rachel! Rachel!”
she shouted as Simon pulled Star to a halt. She threw her leg up and over the horse’s broad neck, grasped Simon’s hand, and dropped to her feet. She ran toward the house, her black hair flying.
“C’mon, slow poke,”
she called over her shoulder.
A man in a feathered, three-cornered hat stepped from the dogtrot and her running feet stopped abruptly. His sudden appearance startled her. The fact that he was so richly dressed was almost as startling. Her green eyes blinked, rounded, then sparkled.
“Fish? Oh, Fish, you look so grand, I didn’t know you.”
“Hello, Berry. I see Simon brought you back.”
“Yes, he found me. I’m anxious to see Rachel.”
She moved to go around him. He moved with her and blocked the entrance. She looked at him questioningly, tilted her head, and grinned.
“I didn’t find my pa’s land. It was a wild goose chase, Fish. I should never have gone. Oh, here’s Rachel. . . .”
Rachel came through the doorway, her face white and haggard. Berry rushed to her and threw her arms around her.
“Berry . . . oh, Berry . . .”
Rachel sobbed.
“I’m sorry. Truly I am. I swear to goodness, Rachel. I don’t know what made me do such a dumb thing.”
“It’s not only that. . . .”
Rachel grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face the yard.
“Something terrible is happening here. Look . . .”
Simon stood beside his horse, a man on each side of him. One of them held the barrel of a long gun against his side. Berry blinked, stared, then took a step forward. Rachel grabbed her arm and held her back.
“What . . . ? Is that . . .”
she stammered, her eyes on the man in the tattered shirt. Beard covered one side of his face, the other was horribly mutilated.
“Linc Smith,”
Rachel whispered hoarsely.
“Linc Smith?”
Berry jerked away from Rachel and spun around frantically, looking for a weapon. She came up against Fish. She grasped his arms, her green eyes looking into his imploringly.
“Oh, Fish! He’s a terrible man, a beast! Do something!”
Fish stood impassive, his arms folded across his chest.
“He’ll not help, Berry. He’s with them. He brought them here,”
Rachel said scathingly. She couldn’t resist letting him see her deep-seated contempt.
Berry stood for a dozen heartbeats as if she had turned to stone. Then, as if jerked by invisible strings, she whirled, her eyes wild, her hair flying. Rage blinded her. All she could see was Simon with the rope Linc Smith had looped around his neck. With a scream of rage, she charged from the dogtrot.
Fish caught her and flung her against the rough logs as she tried to dart around him. She screamed curses and clawed at his face. Her nails raked his smooth cheek. She felt the crack of his hand against her face, but still she fought, disoriented, half-crazed. Her knee came up between his legs to render him helpless, but he blocked it and they fell to the ground. Berry kicked, bit, and screamed like a wild thing. Her flying fists connected, but she felt no pain as her knuckles split on his sharp teeth. Blow followed blow as he struck her face in an effort to subdue her. Strengthened by her crazed fear for Simon, she fought until a final blow drew a curtain of darkness over her.
* * *
Berry awakened to a throbbing headache. Every beat of her heart felt like a hammer pounding on her head. She tried to press her temples with her fingers. Something was wrong. Her eyes flew open, and in spite of the blinding light she saw that her wrists were bound together. Her ankles also were tied.
“Simon . . .”
she croaked through swollen lips. She tasted blood in her mouth.
“Simon . . .”
she cried in anguish as near hysteria closed in on her.
“Shhh . . .”
Rachel knelt beside her. The wet cloth on Berry’s face soothed her flesh, but not her troubled thoughts.
“Where’s Simon?”
Berry whispered.
“What’s goin’ on?”
Her eyes were frantic in their search of the room. She managed to get an elbow under her and raised her head and shoulders. Rachel, with a dipper of water, blocked her view.
“Drink this. Please, Berry . . . don’t make a fuss. Simon’s tied up outside.”
Berry drank the water, then swung her bound feet over the edge of the bunk and sat up. Now she saw a man with a bushy black beard sitting beside the cradle, his chair tipped back against the wall.
“God Almighty!”
she murmured and shook her head as if to rid it of the puzzling thoughts that filled it.
“Talk so I c’n hear ya,”
Jackson demanded.
Rachel talked. She left out nothing.
“Fish killed Eben the morning you left. He bragged that he had gotten you out of the way and how you would be returned to him by the Indians who took you.”
Rachel spoke dispassionately. She told of the cold-blooded killing of Olson and said that she suspected they had killed Lardy too.
“Fish wants the breech-loader Fain is working on. He wants to sell it for a large amount of money. He’s given him today and tonight to finish it.”
“What’s he watchin’ us for? What does he think we can do?”
Berry swung resentful, hate-filled eyes to the man in the chair.
“If Fain don’t do what Fish says, he’ll . . . kill us. . . .”
Rachel broke down and sobs long held in check broke from her throat. She hid her face in her hands until she could choke off her cries.
“I just never dreamed that Fish was like this,”
Berry said, still looking across the room at the bearded woodsman who leaned so carelessly against the wall.
“Fish’s rotten clear through. He’d have to be to kill a man who had saved his life,”
Rachel said venomously.
“All the time he was here, he was play-acting. He bragged about it. He’d heard about the gun and came here with the excuse that he wanted to be a gunsmith. Fain is so good, so trusting. He took him at his word.”
“But how’d he get tied up with Linc Smith?”
“He’s using him, just as he’s using those other two stupid fools that came with him. They’re like big, dumb ox. They’ve not got brains enough to know they’ll get nothin’ from the gun.”
Rachel raised her voice and looked pointedly at Jackson.
“Does she have to stay tied up? Are you afraid she’ll overpower you and take your gun?”
she taunted.
“Ya c’n take ’em off her feet. Her hands stay.”
Rachel knelt and worked at the strip of rawhide. Berry looked over her head to the man in the chair. His eyes were as dark and intent as the ugly Indian’s had been and she felt chilled to the bone. Rachel stood, pulled Berry to her feet, and turned to the man whose presence was like a deadly gloom hanging over them.
“You may be part human after all, Mr. Jackson,”
she said with a proud lift to her chin.
Jackson said nothing, but pinpoints of light glittered in his dark eyes and his head moved in the briefest of nods.
“They’ll kill Simon.”
The dreaded words burst from Berry. She felt as if she were about to tumble into the pit of darkness again.
“Can’t we do something?”
Rachel put her arm around her and led her to the window. Silhouetted against the red wash of the evening sky, Simon hung, shirtless, his bound hands pulled up and tied to a branch. His head hung between his arms, and his legs sagged. He was making an effort to stiffen his legs to take the pressure off his arms. Berry couldn’t see his face, but she could see the red, bleeding cuts on his back made by a whip.
“God in heaven!”
Berry whispered in a stricken voice.
“They’ll kill him!”
“He’s not dead yet,”
Rachel hissed.
“Buck up, for God’s sake. We can’t do a thing if we fall to pieces.”
“What can we do?”
Berry’s lips barely moved. Huge tears blurred the figure of her lover.
Rachel put her arms around her, pressed her cheek to hers, and whispered, “A rifle under my mattress. We’ve got to bide our time.”
She moved back and with her fingertips wiped the tears from Berry’s cheeks.
“These men had all merciful feeling crushed out of them a long time ago. They have few human qualities. They’ve lived as vultures and scavengers so long they don’t know how to live like decent folks. I doubt that Mr. Jackson ever lived in a house. He spits on the floor!”
Berry vaguely heard Rachel’s words through the fog of her emotional turbulence. She glanced at the man beside the cradle. His eyes were on Rachel, and it seemed to Berry that they had not moved from Rachel’s face since she had first looked at him.
“Well . . . I see you’ve recovered from your swoon.”
Fish came through the door from the dogtrot. He removed his hat and carefully smoothed his hair with his palms. His boots struck dull echoes on the plank flooring, and Berry turned to look at him as if seeing him for the first time. The long, red scratches down his cheek and his puffed lips gave her a breath of pleasure that was instantly smothered as fury tore through her, shutting off her breath. She started to speak, choked, and gulped down spittle and air.
“You . . . pukey little weasel! You lyin’, wishywashy bastard!”
Berry shouted, blindly searching for some word that would convey her complete disgust.
“You pissant! You addle-brained fool! You got no feelings at all!”
She fought her rage in a shaking voice.
“You’re worse than a savage, worse than Linc Smith.”
“Watch your mouth, Berry,”
Fish said curtly.
“If I’m more of a savage than Linc, perhaps you’d like to join him. I tried to keep you out of this. I’m sure Rachel has lost no time telling you about that. I’ll not take you with me now. The picture has changed. Meanwhile, I’ll use you and Simon as a lever to keep Fain working. I’ve already told him that Simon gets five lashes with the black snake for every hour he delays. We’ll soon find out how much of a man your lover is. He’ll be begging for death before long.”
“Damn you to hell! I’ll cut your heart out!”
She was close to losing control. She took a long, slow breath to steady herself.
“You’ll die for this.”
For an endless moment Fish stood staring at the cold-eyed girl. He was not surprised by the lethal hatred he saw in her face. He expected it. She was the type of woman who loved with all her heart and hated passionately.
“You’re not using good judgment spewing your hatred, Berry. I can see now that it would have been a mistake to take an uncivilized woman like you back east to mix with genteel womenfolk, regardless of your beauty.”
His eyes were flat and still, his voice as void of resonance as a drum struck with the palm of the hand.
“If you’re so anxious to see killing done, perhaps we can start with Rachel.”
He paused to see the effect of his words.
“But then, I’ve half-promised her to Emil.”
The legs of Jackson’s chair hit the floor.
“Emil ain’t havin’ ’er.”
“So you fancy her too, Jackson? Things may get interesting before this is over,”
Fish said, grimly amused.
“That leaves Berry, the kid, and the nigger.”
He spoke to Jackson as if the women were not in the room.
“Fain would know I mean business if we hang the kid up out there where he can see it.”
A scream of acute agony came from Rachel. She sprang forward, snatched the baby up in her arms, and backed toward the sleeping room, her eyes wild in her white face.
Jackson, within easy reach of her, sat stoically. He didn’t move a muscle to stop her.
Fish rocked forward and brought both hands crashing down on the table with a violence that jarred the crockery.
“What the hell game are you playing, Jackson?”
His face was suffused with crimson.
“You getting soft? You’ll back my hand, or else you’re out!”
He straightened his bearing, his blue eyes hard in a face that looked young but wasn’t.
“I should have had Emil in here with the women.”
Rachel was crying silently, helplessly, her eyes shifting from one man to the other.
“I never dreamed that men could be such beasts!”
Berry said in a shaking voice.
Fish ignored her.
“Are you so smitten with the woman you’ll not carry out my orders, Jackson?”
Jackson spat on the floor.
“Time ain’t right.”
“You’re giving orders now?”
“Killin’ the kid’d rattle the man. I’m a-wantin’ him to get the job done so I c’n be gone.”
Jackson’s unblinking eyes never left Fish’s face.
Silence closed in so completely that Rachel’s ragged breathing was all that was heard. Fish swiveled his head around to look at her, then back to Jackson.
“You may be right,”
he said thoughtfully.
“We’ll string up the nigger.”
Berry felt as if she had been hit in the stomach. The air left her lungs. Her bound hands flew to her mouth. It was no idle threat. They would kill gentle, faithful Israel as if he were no more important than a dog.
“Please . . . please don’t hurt Israel. He’s simple-minded. He’d not hurt a fly.”
“Are you begging, Berry?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes. Please, don’t do this awful thing to Israel.”
“Where is he, Rachel?”
Fish set his hat carefully on his head.
“I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“I don’t know. He’s so scared he might’ve run off in the woods. He’ll come if you call him.”
“You’d better hope he does.”
He looked pointedly at the child in her arms.
“The hour is almost up. It’s time to give Simon another taste of the lash.”
“Fish, don’t? Berry cried.
“Please . . . don’t! I’ll do anything you want—anything at all!”
“Are you offering to sleep with me?”
He threw back his head and loosed a whoop of derisive laughter.
“Do you think I’d take you to bed after you’ve been in the woods with a couple of filthy Indians and a backwoods buck like Simon Witcher? That’s what he is, Berry, in spite of the little trading business he runs. You’ve nothing to offer me now. I’ve screwed the highest-paid whores in Europe. Save yourself for Linc.”
His mouth twisted sarcastically.
“He’s looking forward to showing you a few new tricks. He’s half-crazed since you made an animal out of him. He deserves some . . . consoling.”
Silence fell over the room when he left it, a strange unwanted silence. Rachel, her chin resting on her collarbone, rocked the child in her arms. This silent agony was harder for Berry to endure than moaning and wailing. She put her bound hands to her mouth in an effort to hold back the screams that were demanding release. Think, she told herself sternly, and forced her mind out of its crazy spin and into a calmer channel.
“Please . . . help us,”
she said to the silent man in a harsh croak.
“We’ve done nothing to you. If it’s money, Simon will give you some.”
Jackson’s eyes slid to her for only an instant, then back to Rachel. He tilted the back of his chair against the wall and with dark, unfathomable eyes watched the blond woman and the child.
Rachel lifted her head and looked at him. Her white face was contorted, and her full lips quivered. There was a soundless outpouring of grief from her blue eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come. She shook her head, her eyes still holding his. Finally she said in a hoarse whisper, “Thank you.”
* * *
The fire that blazed across Simon’s back hauled him up from the depth of darkness. He grunted under the searing pain. He heard the swish of the leaded whip as it came down across his back like a white flame. He sagged, the rawhide bonds tearing into the flesh of his wrists. He spun on his toes and exposed his chest to the white-hot agony of the next blow, which brought his voice tearing up and out of him. He lifted his head to the sky.
“Ber . . . ry . . . I love you! I love you!”
he bellowed.
Pinpoints of light danced crazily around behind his unseeing eyes as the whip sent flames of pain writhing across his back, shoulders, and arms. The enveloping heat engulfed him until his flesh could no longer send the message of torture and terror to his brain. He hung limply, accepting the blows. I’m dying, he thought. I wanted to tell Berry I love her. I wish I had time. . . .
From somewhere far away he heard a voice say, “That’s enough, Linc. You’ll kill him too soon.”
“Sonofabitch ain’t had half enough.”
“Cut him down! I got the goddamn gun ready to test.”
Fain’s bellow penetrated into Simon’s consciousness.
Simon opened his eyes and saw the tree dancing, swaying, then whirling faster and faster. The serpent fire was surrounding his back and shoulders, his chest and stomach. The hot, leaded tongue was seeking the symbol of his manhood and he was helpless to protect it. He tried to spin away, to pivot, but couldn’t control his ponderous weight. I can’t bear much more of this, he thought dully.
“Put the whip down, ya fucker, or I’ll blow your goddamn head off!”
“Careful, Fain. I’ll handle this. Give me the whip, Linc.”
He took the whip from the hand of the slobbering riverman.
“Calm down. Mr. MacCartney is about to demonstrate his wonderful new invention. If it works, we’ll be leaving here tonight.”
He looked steadily at Fain, who held the rifle centered on him.
“I suggest you be very careful that Jackson doesn’t get the idea that you’ve got the upper hand.”
“I said cut him down. I got a feelin’ I ain’t got nothin’ to lose. There’s a bullet in the breech ’n’ another in my pocket.”
“Jackson or Emil could pick you off easily.”
“Maybe. But my finger on this here trigger won’t do you no good.”
He threw a look of pure hatred at the riverman.
“Shootin’ a man’s one thing, beatin’ him to death is another.”
“You say the gun is ready to test?”
“That’s what I said, but don’t get any idea ya don’t need me to show ya how it works. Cut Simon down. I’ll not have ’im hangin’ there like a side of meat for the crows to pick at.”
For the space of a dozen heartbeats the riverman hesitated. Then he pulled his knife from his belt and held the hilt in his hand. Fain watched his muscles bunch.
“Don’t even nick ’im,”
Fain said softly.
“I c’n kill ya ’n’ reload in five seconds.”
The knife sliced the leather between Simon’s palms. His wrists came free and he fell helplessly to the ground. Even from the darkness into which he sank, he felt the agony as the boot connected with his ribs, and a haunting cry tore from his throat.
“Get that fucker outta here. I can’t stand to look at ’im. Tell ’im to leave the knife. I ain’t a-wantin’ to worry ’bout it gettin’ in my back while we’re atestin’.”
“Give me the knife, Linc,”
Fish said sternly.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get all I promised, and more.”
The riverman handed over his knife like an obedient child.
“Ya said I could—”
“I know what I said, and you shall,”
Fish said patiently.
“Go to Emil and tell him we’re going to test the gun.”
“I wantta see ’er. I ain’t seen her yet,”
he said stubbornly.
“All right. Go to the cabin, but don’t cause a ruckus. Wait there for me.”
He watched the man lumber away, then said to Fain, “Don’t forget that Jackson is with the women.”
He pulled his musket, cocked it, and leveled it on him.
“You can carry the rifle, but keep the barrel pointed to the ground.”
“I ain’t a fool, Fish, even if I did swallow your cock-’n’-bull story.”
He walked ahead of him toward the target set up in the woods.
* * *
Rachel walked the floor with the baby in her arms. It was as if her mind had become unhinged. She stared at Berry with dull eyes and passed her as if she were a stranger. Berry sat tensely on the edge of the bunk, straining her ears. She heard Fish calling to Israel and listened for the black man to answer, but she heard nothing. The full terrible horror of what was happening swept in on her. She found herself as a small child again needing her only friend to give her comfort. But Rachel had retreated within herself, and Berry was alone with the awful truth—they were all going to die. She would never again know the joy of being held in Simon’s arms. She would never hear him say that he loved her.
“No!”
Berry said vehemently. She jumped to her feet and crossed the room to Jackson.
“I can’t sit here doing nothing.”
She held out her bound hands.
“Take off the rope so I can make coffee.”
His eyes roamed over her, from her cut, bruised face and tangled ebony hair to the huge cloth shirt and buckskin breeches that failed to hide her slender form. Then his eyes swept up to meet her steady green ones. Without a change of expression he whipped out a thin-bladed knife and sliced the rope between her wrists. The rope fell to the floor and Berry turned away.
She rekindled the fire, filled the teakettle from the oaken bucket that sat on the shelf beside the door, and swung it over the blaze. At the workbench she opened a small wooden cask, peered in, and closed it. She uncorked a crock. It contained salt.
“Where’s the coffee, Rachel?”
She spoke louder than usual, not sure that Rachel would hear her or answer if she did.
To her surprise, Rachel shifted the sleeping child to her shoulder and came up close beside her. With her free hand she reached for the small bag on the second shelf and set it on the workbench. As she did so, she flipped back a cloth, exposing a small dirk, then covered it and walked away.
Berry scooped the coffee from the bag and poured the coarse grounds into the boiling water. Thank God! Rachel still had her wits after all! How could she get the dirk off the workbench and on her person?
A moaning cry from Rachel brought the front legs of Jackson’s chair crashing to the floor and a fresh stab of terror to Berry’s heart. She ran to the window and went up on her toes so that she could see over Rachel’s shoulder. Her mouth dropped and a wave of nausea rolled up into her throat.
“Oh, Lordy! Oh, sweet Jesus!”
The feeling of hate and terror clamped down around her.
Linc pulled back the whip and applied it to Simon’s back with all his strength. Simon’s body jerked and the skin split. A stream of blood blossomed and crisscrossed other streams of blood. The second strike wrapped the thin cruel leather around his body. A scream of rage tore from Berry’s throat. She turned and sped to the door. An arm as hard as steel closed around her and lifted her off the floor.
“Ber . . . ry! I love you! I love you!”
Simon’s agonized cry tore through her heart like a knife. She fell into a fit of helpless sobbing. The words she had spoken to him came back to haunt her cruelly. Someday you’ll shout it, she’d said. It’ll just come boilin’ up out of you!
“Simon . . . Simon . . .”
Berry went limp and the arm holding her let go. She dropped to the floor, lay there, then slowly got to her hands and knees and crawled to Rachel. She wrapped her arms around Rachel’s legs and buried her face in her skirts. She cried as she had not done since her mother died and left her so long ago.
Rachel pulled on her arm and said, “Stand up and look, Berry.”
Linc had cut Simon down from the tree and he lay face down in the dirt. They couldn’t hear what Fain and Fish were saying, but they saw that Fain had a rifle and was angry. Then Berry saw Linc coming toward the cabin. The silent approach of this evil man gave the whole scene an air of unreality that came to her like a numbing coldness rising from the ground and working its way through her. She was cold, yet her insides quivered hotly.
She sidled toward the workbench and the dirk hidden under the cloth. More than anything in the world she wanted to go to Simon, but first she would kill Linc Smith.
* * *
Fain led the way to the shooting range he had set up the year before to test his guns. He had marked the distances of sixty yards, eighty yards, and one hundred yards from the target with stakes driven into the ground. The target was a heavy-skinned log propped against the crotch of a tree. A piece of tin, showing many bullet holes, was nailed to the log.
Fain stopped beside the stake marking one hundred yards from the target. His hands caressed the rifle. He’d spent a year working on the gun and he considered it his masterpiece. His blue eyes bored into those of the man who had worked beside him as a friend, but who now stood beside him as a bitter enemy, a murderer. He knew better than to ask what would happen after the rifle was tested. There was no way Fish would allow any of them to live after he had stolen the gun and passed it off as his.
“Let’s see what it will do,”
Fish said impatiently.
Fain backed several steps from the stake, raised the gun to his shoulder, sighted carefully down the long barrel, and fired. The bullet smashed directly into the center of the target.
“By the Lord Henry! Good God Almighty!”
Fish proclaimed loudly.
“It works! This gun can win wars. It can change the course of history!”
He reached for it.
“I’ll show ya how it’s loaded.”
Sweat rolled from Fain’s face as if he had dunked his head into a bucket of water. He took the second bullet from his pocket. Fish watched closely. Fain could feel the prod of Fish’s silver-plated musket in his back and was careful how he handled the gun. In five seconds the rifle was reloaded and he shoved it into Fish’s hands. His own hands were trembling like leaves in a light breeze.
“Ya can’t best my shot,”
he said in a wintry voice that betrayed none of the agonizing suspense he had just endured.
“Move back.”
Fish gestured with the musket and Fain moved to the side.
“Over there.”
He pointed to a tree some distance away. Fain backed until he was against a huge oak. Fish tucked the musket into his belt. His face was flushed with excitement.
Fain watched Fish handle the gun. He lifted it for balance and sighted down the long barrel. It was the longest moment of Fain’s life. The cocky, deceitful little sonofabitch might turn the gun on him, using him for a target. He started to speak, to goad him about his marksmanship, but didn’t want to draw attention to himself unless he had no other choice.
“It galled you that I could outshoot you, didn’t it, Fain?”
Fish shot him a smiling, superior glance.
“Ya’ll have to hit dead center to beat me, and if’n ya wait much longer, your excuse’ll be it was too dark ta see.”
All of Fain’s muscles were bunched. He had never been so afraid in his life. This could be the last few seconds he’d spend on earth.
Fish spread his feet in the stance of a military rifleman and raised the gun to his shoulder. He moved the barrel up and down and swung it in a wide arc before he leveled it on the target. He sighted carefully down the long barrel. It seemed to Fain he stood there for an eternity before he pulled the trigger.
The explosion was deafening. The metal plate fragmented and flew off the side of the rifle as Fain had suspected it would. The flying metal took part of Fish’s head with it. He was thrown to the side like a sack of grain, his feathered hat tossed high. Bits of flesh and bone, blood, and tufts of blond hair were all that remained atop his body.
The echo of the blast was still resounding in Fain’s head as he leaped forward to get the musket from Fish’s body. There was a flash of color, a shot, and a bullet went whizzing past his head. Emil came running toward him, pulling his musket out of his belt, his rifle still in his hand. Fain wheeled. He had thought the man was at the landing on the river! If not for the musket, he could reach Fish before the riverman could reload. But now . . .
Fain’s stout legs carried him into the woods. He’d played the only card he had. He could hear Emil crashing through the brush after him. He ran on, praying he’d not sealed the fate of the others at the cabin.