Cork wanted to scream so bad he could barely speak to Parmer. What he managed to say was this: “I have to know about my wife. If God himself were coming in an hour, I wouldn’t wait.”
For an instant, Parmer’s grip tightened on Cork’s shoulder, then released. “All right, I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”
Cork ran in a crouch to the next outbuilding, where Nightwind kept his backhoe. He tried the door. It opened easily. Inside, except for the silent bulk of the great machine, the place was empty. He motioned Parmer to join him, and he nodded toward the barn.
Cork slipped along the front wall toward the barn door, which was pulled wide open. From inside came a steady hum that Cork couldn’t identify. He motioned Parmer toward the rear of the building. Parmer climbed a rail fence and disappeared in back. Cork reached the door and edged his left shoulder and his head around the threshold. Slowly, the scene revealed itself to him. The barn was in disarray, tools and materials thrown about as if in the heat of an angry battle. A chair sat in the middle of the room. It was empty, but an uncoiled length of rope lay like a long, dead snake on the ground around it. The hum continued, coming from the corner of the barn that was still hidden from Cork’s view. His finger nestled the rifle trigger, and he eased himself farther into the barn.
What he saw stopped him cold.
A body hung upside down, its ankles tied to a rope that ran through a pulley suspended from a rafter. It was male, nude, eviscerated. Entrails hung from the gaping wound and lay in the dirt directly below. The body was black with a skin that seemed to ripple. Flies. Thousands of them. The source of the hum Cork had heard.
Parmer entered through the back door and came to where Cork stood.
“Jesus,” he said. “Is that Ben Iron?”
Because of the flies, Cork couldn’t tell. He walked to the hung body and nudged it with his rifle barrel. The flies dispersed. The body slowly rotated. Cork looked at the face.
“It’s Gully,” he said.
Parmer glanced around. “Where’s Mike?”
“Over there.” Cork walked to a stall where a body lay thrown on a bed of hay. Most of the lower jaw had been blown away, but enough of the face still remained for Cork to see clearly who it had been.
“What’s with the chair and the rope?” Parmer asked. “He tied Gully there first, then decided on this?”
Cork shook his head. “I can’t make heads or tails of Nightwind.”
“Where is he?”
“Only one place that I know of left to look.”
At that moment, the Arapaho truck sped past the barn.
Cork ran to the door and watched the trail of dust rise as the truck raced toward the cabin. “Goddamn it! Come on, Hugh.”
Under the threatening sky, they hightailed it to the Wrangler and followed the truck into the foothills.
When they reached the cabin, the truck was empty and the cabin door was ajar. Cork heard voices inside, talking loud and fast. He heard Adelle cry out. He grasped his rifle and jumped from the Jeep. Parmer leaped out the other side. The priest appeared in the doorway. He looked stricken and beckoned them forward. They came cautiously. Cork held his rifle ready.
“Nightwind’s gone,” the priest said.
Inside Cork found Ben Iron lying on the sofa. He was conscious but not in good shape. He’d been beaten severely, his face a mass of bruise and swelling. His midsection had been wrapped in gauze, and there was a large red stain over the left side. His wife sat beside him, fussing over his injuries. Nick stood behind them.
“Where’s Nightwind?” Cork said.
Ben Iron stared at him and said weakly, “Where you’ll never find him.”
“What happened, Ben?” the priest asked.
Through lips swollen and crusted with dried blood, the man answered, “A visit from the devil, Father.”
FORTY-THREE
Soon after Adelle and Nick had left that morning, the two men came. They did it quietly and caught Ben Iron in the barn. They shot him and then tied him to the chair. They were looking for Lame Nightwind. The Arapaho didn’t know where Lame was. They called him a lying redskin and laid into him. While they were at it, Lame slipped into the barn. He shot them both. Mike, he killed instantly. Gully wasn’t so lucky. Nightwind strung him up, tortured him until he confessed to killing Ellyn Grant, then went on torturing him until he was dead.
The Arapaho was only semiconscious through most of this. When Nightwind had finished working on Gully, he took Ben Iron to the cabin, laid him on the sofa, saw to his wound, and declared he would survive. Iron told him where his wife and Nick had gone. Then Nightwind went away, and after that everything went black.
He remembered next that Nightwind shook him awake and told him people were on their way to help him. And he put a note in Iron’s pocket and told him good-bye.
The next thing Iron remembered was his wife and grandson and the priest coming through the cabin door.
Cork walked to the sofa, reached into the man’s pocket, and drew out the note. The ranch belongs to you now, Ben. The papers are in my desk. I have unfinished business. Any man who tries to follow me is a dead man.
Cork read the note again. “Follow him where? His truck’s here and he can’t fly his planes.”
“I didn’t see Dominion at the barn,” Nick said.
Adelle looked out the open cabin door. “He probably went into the mountains.”
“Where would he go up there?”
“Anywhere he wants to,” Iron said. “He knows the Absarokas better than anyone.”
“He has a cabin up there,” the kid said.
“Nick,” his grandfather said and cut him off with a look.
“Where?” Cork said.
Nick stared at the cabin floor and didn’t answer.
Adelle said, “Ben, this man hasn’t hurt us in any way, and all he wants is to find his wife.”
“Lame’s been good to us,” Iron said.
“He’s the cause of this man’s sorrow, Ben,” Adelle said. “At least give him the chance to find his wife.”
“Lame’ll probably kill him anyway,” the kid said.
“Nick,” his grandmother snapped at him.
Iron squeezed his eyes closed in pain and finally gave in. “It’s supposed to be near Heaven’s Keep, but nobody except Lame knows where,” he said. “His uncle built it. Hunted and trapped out of it. Hid it somewhere nobody could stumble across it. There’s a trailhead not far from here. Lame always takes it. But God alone knows where he goes.”
Cork walked to the door and looked toward Heaven’s Keep, which he could no longer see because it had become shrouded in clouds spilling in from the west.
“I’ll need a horse,” he said.
Nick and Parmer accompanied him to the barn. Inside the doorway, the kid stopped and stared, horrified, at the hanging man.
“I’d cut him down,” Cork said, “but he needs to be left like that for the police.”
After that the kid did his best to avoid looking. He chose a dapple gray named Aggie. Next to Dominion, this was the best horse on the ranch, Nick said. While the kid saddled him, Cork and Parmer went to the ranch house to collect supplies.
“Look, I understand where you’re coming from, Cork. But you can’t go alone.”
“I’m not putting anyone else in jeopardy, Hugh.”
“You know anything about horses, Cork?”
“No.”
“I can’t turn you loose in those mountains trusting your fate to an animal you don’t understand.”
“I don’t figure I’ll need my horse for long, one way or the other.”
Into a canvas sack he’d brought from the barn, Cork had thrown a can of baked beans, a couple of cans of tuna fish, a can of peaches, a jar half full of peanut butter, most of a jar of strawberry jam, and a box of saltines. He opened a drawer and found a can opener, a spoon, and a sharp knife, all of which he threw into the sack.
Parmer grabbed him roughly. “Look at me. What the kid said is true. Nightwind’ll probably kill you. If you’re alone. Two of us stand a better chance.”