William Johnstone - Winter Kill

A point of land jutted out into the water ahead of them. Frank and Meg had walked around it without him really noticing it. That point cut off the view down the beach.

Instinct suddenly send Frank veering toward the trees on the point. “Follow me!” he called to Meg. He didn’t want to go charging blindly around there until he knew what the situation was. He whistled Dog back beside him, too.

They slowed as they reached the trees. The shooting stopped, and an ominous silence fell over the beach. Frank crouched and held the Winchester at the ready as he weaved his way through the trunks. The thick carpet of decaying pine needles muffled his footsteps. Meg started to say something, but Frank made a curt gesture that silenced her. He didn’t want to give away their presence.

As they neared the far edge of the trees, he went to his belly and motioned for Meg to do likewise. They crawled forward until they could look along the beach and see what was happening.

Meg’s breath hissed between her teeth in surprise. Frank didn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightened. He watched as eight roughly dressed, heavily armed hardcases rounded up Fiona and the nine remaining young women. Conway, Neville, and the other three cheechakos were sprawled limply on the sand. Frank saw blood staining their clothes, and none of them moved.

“My God,” Meg whispered. “Oh, Frank—”

“Shhh.”

She cast an anguished look over at him. “But we have to help them!”

“If we do anything to let those varmints know we’re here, they’ll just kill me and take you prisoner, too,” Frank whispered, leaning over to put his mouth close to her ear. “The only way we can help them is by waiting for a better chance.”

“But you’re a gunfighter—”

“And there would be eight to one odds against me,” he said. “I’d get half of them, maybe more, but they’d get me, too.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Meg, but we have to bide our time.”

She bit her lip as she thought about what he’d said. Then she nodded. “What do you think happened?” she asked as the men started forcing their prisoners into the trees at gunpoint. The hardcases had picked up all the packs of supplies and were carrying them as well.

“Those hombres ambushed our bunch. Conway and the other men put up a fight, but they didn’t stand a chance.”

“Who are those men?”

“Outlaws, most likely.” Frank had been studying the men. They wore fur coats and a mixture of headgear ranging from Stetsons to derbies to fur caps. Each man carried a rifle, and when their coats hung open, he saw holstered six-guns on each man as well, not to mention knives and a couple of hatchets.

“Did they do it to steal our supplies?”

“I’m sure that’s part of it.”

“Then why are they taking Mrs. Devereaux and the other—Oh. Oh, no.”

Frank nodded. “Yeah, they either plan to keep the girls for themselves or maybe sell them. Maybe both, eventually. Sorry to be so plainspoken about it.”

“This is no time for worrying about propriety,” Meg said. “What are we going to do?”

“Wait until they’re gone, then check on Conway and the other men to see if any of them are still alive. Then we’ll figure out some way of getting the prisoners away from those no-good scoundrels.”

“Why don’t you just call them no-good bastards instead? That’s what they are.”

Frank couldn’t dispute that. He smiled tightly and went on. “Even if we can free the prisoners, we’ll have to do something to keep those men from coming after us. Otherwise we’re liable to be in pretty much the same fix we are now.”

“You mean to kill them?”

“They can’t come after us if they’re dead,” Frank said.

Meg nodded and said, “All right. I’ll help you. Just tell me what to do.”

Frank motioned for her to be quiet again. He listened intently and heard hoofbeats in the distance. The outlaws had horses with them, and now they were riding away with their prisoners. Frank listened as the hoofbeats faded.

“Come on,” he said as he got to his feet.

With Dog following them, he and Meg hurried out of the trees and across the sand toward the bodies of Conway and the other men. Frank reached Neville first and saw that the little New Yorker was shot at least three times through the body. He grimaced in regret. Although there had been friction between the two of them at first, some mutual respect had developed, too.

The other three cheechakos were dead. Frank came to Conway, who lay facedown in a pool of blood. Frank rolled the young man onto his back, expecting to find a bullet hole in the middle of Conway’s face.

Instead he saw a deep gash on the side of Conway’s forehead with blood still seeping from it. But Conway was breathing, Frank realized. Head wounds always bled like crazy, but from the looks of it, the slug had glanced off Conway’s skull, knocking him out but not killing him. The outlaws must have seen all that blood and assumed that he was a goner, though.

“Pete’s alive!” Frank called.

Meg exclaimed in surprise and rushed over to him, dropping to her knees beside Conway. “What can I do?”

“Rip a piece of cloth off your dress and use it to try to stop that bleeding from his head. Hold it on there tight. Dog and I will go have a look around.”

With Dog’s sensitive nose to help him, it didn’t take long for Frank to find the place where someone had waited with the horses while the attack took place. That meant there were at least nine of the outlaws. Frank smiled tightly. The odds were already bad enough that one more hombre didn’t make all that much difference.

Dog was able to follow the trail without any trouble. He led Frank through the woods to the northeast. After a few minutes, Frank spotted a rocky ridge in the distance as he peered through the trees. The outlaws’ trail seemed to lead straight toward it.

They probably had a hideout somewhere over there around that ridge, Frank thought. He was confident that Dog could find it later, so for now he called out to the big cur and turned around to head back to the beach.

He hadn’t seen any sign of Stormy and Goldy so far, but he wasn’t surprised when he got to the beach and found both horses waiting there with Meg and Conway. They weren’t the sort to let themselves be captured. They had probably run off as soon as the shooting started.

Frank was glad to see that Conway was conscious again and sitting up. He held the torn piece of cloth from Meg’s dress to his injured head. His face was drawn and haggard with pain, grief, and anger.

“We didn’t have a chance, Frank,” he said. “They opened up on us from the trees before we even knew they were there. All I remember after that is what felt like the whole world falling on my head.”

“That was when a bullet clipped you,” Frank said. “Did Meg tell you that Fiona and the rest of the women were taken prisoner?”

“Yeah.” Conway looked up at him. “What are we going to do, Frank?”

“What do you think we’re going to do?” Frank looked toward the northeast, toward the ridge where he had a hunch they would find the outlaws. “We’re going to get them back.”

With the thick overcast that clogged the sky nearly every day, the high northern latitudes at which they found themselves, and the time of year it was, darkness came very early these days. It began to settle down over the rugged landscape as Frank, Conway, Meg, and Dog made their way toward the ridge. Frank and Meg led the two horses. Dog ranged ahead, following the scent left by the outlaws and their prisoners.

As they approached the ridge, Frank saw an orange glow lighting up the sky. “Looks like they’ve got a big bonfire burning,” he said quietly to his companions. “Probably celebrating their good luck.”