In the time that it took Fielding to make the recognition, he had stopped his horse and the pack string. He raised his right hand, hoping that Isabel would heed it and not ride around to catch up with him. From the instant he had seen the rifle, he knew there was no good prospect in making a run for it, and now he hoped Isabel would stay out of sight.
Still in the first few seconds, he took in the immediate scene. Adler had stepped out of an enclosure of gray rocks that rose from the trailside and sloped up to a height of about eight feet, leveled off, and rose again to a dome of fifteen to twenty feet. From there it sloped gradually to the ground on the left. The twisted remains of a tree long ago uprooted lay in the foreground, also on Fielding’s left, while a ways past it, standing by itself, a dead snag rose about ten feet in the air with one dead branch sticking out like a withered claw. Coming back to Adler, he saw the tops of dark green cedar trees between the first layer of rocks and the dome, which led him to believe there might be a passageway where Adler had been peeping out on the other side.
The packhorses were snuffling and exhaling, and dust was still drifting, when Adler spoke.
“Good afternoon, Fielding.”
“The same to you.” Fielding went to lower his hand.
“Keep your arm up there for a minute.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“You are, as if you didn’t know.”
“Did your man Foote make it back all right?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“If you’re lookin’ for Pence, he’s farther back in, waitin’ for you.”
“I know where he is.”
Fielding doubted what the man said. He wouldn’t have had time to go that far and back unless he had left the ranch shortly after Pence did, in which case he would not have come all the way back here to stage this meeting. “If you go there,” said Fielding, “you might want to keep an eye out for his horse. Probably wandering around with a set of broken reins.”
“You don’t know everything you think you do,” said Adler. “But it doesn’t matter much.”
“You’re probably right, on the last point at least. Anything I know, someone else does.”
The tip of the rifle came up a couple of inches. “Like what?”
“Like you say, it doesn’t matter much.”
While he was talking, Fielding was glad not to hear anything from behind the pack string. He hoped Isabel had taken cover.
“Enough of that anyway,” said Adler. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tuck that lead rope under your leg for a minute, and pull your gun out of the holster. Don’t get anywhere near the trigger. Hold it out at arm’s length, and drop it on the ground.”
With slow, deliberate movents, Fielding did as he was told.
Adler continued with his orders. “Now put both hands on the saddle horn, and come down off that horse. When you get down, come around front. I don’t want to have to shoot up everything, but I will if it comes to it.”
The lead rope fell to the ground as Fielding rose from the saddle and dismounted. His rifle stock was out of reach on the other side of the horse, and he wished he had left Foote’s pistol in his own saddlebag. He thought of trying to turn the buckskin, but he believed Adler’s threat that he wouldn’t scruple to put a bullet through the horse.
As Fielding came around the front of the buckskin, he held on to the reins. He could see his pistol ten feet away in the dirt, but he knew it would be fatal if he made a dive for it. Furthermore, dirt in the gun might cause it to jam.
Adler motioned with the rifle, and the gloved hands gave an impression of complete control. “Drop the reins and step over here,” he said.
In that instant, Fielding saw movement beyond where the man stood with the rifle. Isabel had come through the cleft in the rocks where the dark cedar trees grew.
Fielding did not budge. “I don’t understand,” he said.
Adler’s face tensed as he said, “What part? I said drop the reins, and get over here.”
Fielding still did not move. He heard the click of a revolver, then Isabel’s voice.
“You’d better drop the rifle, mister.”
As Adler turned and took a step back, still keeping an eye on Fielding, Isabel came into view. She was holding the .45 with both hands, and she stepped around so that Fielding was not in her line of fire.
“It’s a girl,” said Adler, stepping toward her.
“I said drop it.” Isabel held the gun pointed at him, but it wavered.
Adler took another step. “I think I know you,” he said. Then, with a quick backhand swing of the rifle, he knocked the gun from Isabel’s hand.
The .45 roared, and the bullet split the air as it passed a couple of yards to Fielding’s left. The buckskin jumped, but Fielding held on to the reins. The packhorses were shoving each other and trying to stampede, and both Isabel and Adler were scrambling for the fallen gun. Isabel got her hand on it, and Adler gave her a shove. The pistol clattered out of reach again. As Adler went after it, Fielding pulled the rifle from the scabbard and let the buckskin go.
“Run!” he hollered, hoping that Isabel would remember that she was to get out of the way if a shot was fired.
But she didn’t. She picked up a rock the size of both of her hands, raised it, and heaved it at Adler’s head. It glanced off his left shoulder but knocked him off course enough that Isabel made another try for the gun. When she did, Adler grabbed her lower leg and gave it a yank.
As she fell on her side, Adler reached for the .45 and got a grasp on it. With the pistol in his gloved right hand and the rifle in his left, he rose and turned, locating Fielding as he did so. The Colt blasted as a concussion of air walloped the left side of Fielding’s head.
He knew he had this one second in time, while Adler was standing in the clear. Fielding had the rifle up, and he lined the sights on the center of the dark gray shirt. Everything came together, and he squeezed the trigger.
The Colt fired into the air as Adler jerked backward. The rifle fell at his side, and the pistol went back with his hand and then fell.
Fielding took slow, cautious steps as he approached the man. A dark circle had appeared on the front of the shirt, and the body made no movement.
Isabel had come to her feet and now stood by his side as she spoke. “Is this one Adler?”
“It sure is. I didn’t recognize him at first, because he usually wears a white shirt and a brown vest. But that was just for a second.”
“Is he the last one?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do we do, then?”
Fielding cast another glance at the body. “I think we’ll leave him here. They’ll come looking for him.”
“His horse is tied in back of these rocks,” she said.
“Well, we should let it go.”
He followed her through the gap in the rock, then around to the back of the dome. When they came to the horse, he recognized it.
“See this?” he said. “A dark horse, with no white markings. Black slicker tied on back. This fellow Adler was fitted out for work.” Fielding untied the horse, then knotted the reins and slipped them over the saddle horn. “Whoever comes for Adler will find the horse. I didn’t think to look for Pence’s until much later.”
As Fielding and Isabel walked back to the trail, she asked, “And now?”
He held the rifle at his side as he looked around. “We pick up our things, gather the horses, and get going again.” He stopped and let his eyes meet hers. “Isabel, I’m sorry you had to see this.”
“Sorry? Tom, he had every intention of killing you.”
“Well, he didn’t get to. I have you to thank for that. I’ll tell you, I’m not used to having someone stick up for me.”