Jodi Thomas - Lone Heart Pass

When he passed Thatcher, he whispered, “Stay close to the lady and make sure she doesn’t fall off.”

“Will do, boss,” Thatcher answered as he saluted.

As Charley expected, the kid rode as if he’d slipped from the birth canal directly onto a saddle.

On the mile ride to the pass, Lauren and Thatcher stayed on either side of Jubilee, giving her pointers, but she bounced up and down all the way. Charley had a feeling her shoulders wouldn’t be the only things red tonight.

As they entered the pass, Charley looped a lead rope from her horse to his saddle horn. Within minutes they had left the morning sun and ridden into the cool darkness of the passage. The walls on either side shot toward the heavens, and a slice of light slid down the rock, showing off the beauty of the stone that had stood silently against the weather for more than a million years.

When anyone spoke, the words echoed off the passage walls, bouncing back and forth like dueling chimes.

Every time Charley glanced back, Jubilee looked terrified. Her hands had a death grip on the saddle horn and her eyes were wide. But her back was straight and she didn’t cry out or demand they stop.

“You’re doing fine,” he offered, but she didn’t look at him.

Lauren’s calm voice whispered from behind them. “I remember how frightened I was when I rode through this pass for the first time. The night was cold, but I wanted to see the moon cross the opening above. There is a legend that if you see the full moon while in the pass, your heart’s wish will come true. Only that night I was too scared to wish for anything, even though my Pop was with me.”

From behind her, Thatcher added with a laugh, “I’d be scared if the sheriff was with me right now. I get the feeling he’s worrying his brain trying to come up with one more thing I’m doing wrong.”

Charley laughed, remembering when he was in his teens and felt the same way about Dan Brigman. Only since he’d been back from college, somehow they’d become friends. Dan had even asked him to help out a few times, manning a road block one night, rounding up drunks after a barn party and, once, directing traffic at a funeral for a ninety-year-old O’Grady. They’d had ten family cars that day. Charley didn’t want to be a deputy, but he didn’t mind being the sheriff’s friend.

After several minutes of silence, Jubilee whispered from just behind Charley, “It’s like we’re walking among ghosts in here. Like we don’t belong. Like this is a passageway only for the gods.”

“Trust me,” Charley whispered back. “If anyone were in here with us, ghost or human, we’d know it. I heard once that outlaws used this pass to disappear into the canyon.”

Thatcher didn’t help the tension by adding, “This would be a great place for snakes to hide. If it were warmer, we could probably find a whole nest curled up sleeping the day away.”

When no one commented, he added, “You know the young ones can be as deadly as the big ones. I saw a rattler not yet a foot long kill a pup once. Bit him on the nose.”

When no one joined the conversation, Thatcher started whistling softly.

Everyone took a deep breath when they made it to the other side. The small canyon, no more than a few hundred feet deep in this spot, opened out with colors ribboning the rocks and the first brush of wildflowers along the base.

Lauren and Thatcher took the lead, winding down to the bottom of the canyon so they could follow the shallow creek. From there they could look up and spot the sheriff easier.

Charley held back until Jubilee rode even with him. “You did good in there,” he encouraged. “Don’t worry about snakes. I’ve never seen one in the passage.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t worried about snakes. Or wishes, for that matter,” she said, her lips still white around the edges, showing her lie. “Only one thing I do need to say to you before we go any farther. Don’t put your hands on me again. I can manage on my own.”

“You got it, lady,” he snapped as he nudged his horse ahead of her without looking back to see if she followed.

All he’d done was help her up. She acted as though it was an assault. With his luck, she’d have him arrested when they found the sheriff.

A few moments later, Lauren yelled, saying she’d spotted her father.

Sheriff Brigman was riding toward them on a huge bay Charley recognized as part of the Kirkland stock.

Lauren handed him an envelope and the sheriff instructed her and Thatcher to walk their horses down along the stream to search for anything that didn’t look as if it belonged in the canyon. Then Brigman headed up the trail.

Charley waited, halfway between the bottom stream and the top ledge of the passage. He knew he needed to stay close to Jubilee no matter how much she wanted him to keep his distance.

Glancing back, he saw her slowly picking her way down to where he waited. The sheriff reached him first and Charley was glad of the opportunity to ask a few questions with no one around.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

Brigman touched his hat in greeting. “Thanks for bringing Lauren down. Knowing her, she filled you in.”

“She did, but she didn’t seem to know how the guy died. Natural causes, or something suspicious?”

Brigman tapped the file against his leg. “Coroner said he was in his late sixties or early seventies, signs of a hard life, lots of old scars and tattoos, no dental care, probably heavy drug use at one time.” He looked straight at Charley. “But someone had to be with him. Someone wrapped him in the burlap sacks. Maybe they didn’t kill him, but the man did not die alone. So, why didn’t whoever was with him simply turn him over to the police? The only reason I can come up with is that whoever was there either killed him, or caused his death.”

“Any hint as to cause of death?”

“Blow to the head. Caved the side of his skull in.” Brigman paused as if thinking through the crime. “Strange thing is the coroner said it looked like someone beat him after he was dead. Bruises, cuts, even dents all over him. A little blood soaked into the burlap, but not as much as would have if the heart had still been pumping. Some of the cuts must have happened after he’d been wrapped and tied up like a mummy.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Charley knew the kick of a horse could easily break bones or crack a skull, but why would someone put a dead man in sacks and then beat on him? Or, why would anyone leave his body here in the canyon?

Both men swung from their saddles as Charley asked, “Exactly where did you find the body?”

The sheriff pointed to a small ledge twenty feet to the left of them. It was not more than six feet wide or deep. “He was laid out on his back like someone put him on display. I saw no trail of how he got there because of the hard rain that hit the other night. Mr. Norton, the man who found him, said he remembered seeing drops of blood around, but it was all washed away before I got here.”

Brigman paced, thinking aloud. “The trail is too narrow for a four-wheeler, so whoever brought him here had to have carried him.”

“Or brought him out here alive. Killed him. Then beat the body bloody and left before the rain even started.”

“Possible,” the sheriff agreed. “Or he could have used a horse to transport the body. If so, he would have been on Hamilton land. He would have used the pass. Any other way in would have been too public for too long. Someone would have seen him.”

Charley shook his head. “I’ve been working for Jubilee Hamilton for a week. I can’t see the entrance to the pass from the headquarters, but I was working outside. I would have heard anyone crossing the land pulling a trailer. On horseback he might have stayed in the trees that run along the windbreak almost to the pass entrance.”