Crabbing along the edge of the stream like a crawfish, Longarm felt panic rising in his chest. He kept glancing over his shoulder to see Elliot hurrying down the mountainside. The man was as agile as a mountain goat, and Longarm cussed himself for not giving Elliot a secondboot in the balls. Anyone that ornery and determined had to be running on a pretty potent mixture of hatred.
Longarm couldn’t stand and run. His twisted knee wasn’t up to the strain, so the best that he could do was sort of scoot along the water, crawling over rocks and through heavy shrubbery. He was in a sea of pain and growing more desperate by the minute because damned if Elliot wasn’t almost down the Mountainside.
I have to find a place to hide and it had better be quick, he told himself, chest heaving with exertion.
And then sure enough, he heard the familiar slap of a beaver’s tail striking water and knew that he was about to reach a pond. Longarm bulled his way through the thick brush and sized up the pond, which was long and quite deep. Longarm’s first thought was to dive into the water. The pond was at least ten feet deep, and maybe he could bury himself in the mud and debris on the far side and thus avoid being detected.
“To hell with that,” he decided out loud, knowing that it would eliminate any chance he had of using his derringer and putting a well-deserved end to Elliot’s life.
Instead, Longarm chose to hobble along the edge of the pond and then duck behind the beaver’s dam. There, he could have at least a half-decent chance of catching Elliot by surprise and at a close enough range to make use of his derringer.
The water was freezing as he waded into the stream below the dam and then leaned in close to the barricade of sticks and mud. He dared not raise his head because he didn’t know how close Elliot was behind him. So he tried to block out the sound of the rushing water and listen hard for his pursuer.
Elliot wasn’t very cautious. Longarm heard him coming from some distance. He was panting heavily and cussing under his breath. Twigs and limbs were snapping under his feet, and it was obvious that Elliot believed that he was chasing a dying man and had cast all caution aside.
Longarm’s derringer was affixed to his gold watch chain, and it had saved his life on more than one desperate occasion. Trouble was, the two-shot derringer had no range at all. Beyond thirty feet … well, it all depended on luck.
Just sit tight and let him come to you, Longarm told himself. Not that you have much choice.
Elliot must have stopped at the top end of the beaver pond and realized that Longarm could have taken to the deeper water. Longarm eased his head up just a fraction of an inch above the uneven crest of the beaver dam and watched the revenge-crazed man study the still water.
“I’ll find you, gawdammit!” Elliot screamed. His threat echoed around in the deep gorge. “You ain’t getting away alive, you big bastard!”
That’s what you think, Longarm grimly thought. Come on and let’s get this over with! I’m freezing down here and I haven’t a clue as to how I’ll get out once I put an end to your miserable life.
“You might as well show yourself and get this over with!” Elliot bellowed. “I’ll put a quick bullet in your head. I know you’re hit and dying anyway. Be smart!”
Come on, come on!
Elliot turned very cautious as he began to skirt the beaver pond. Rifle held up and ready, he advanced very slowly. Longarm began to wonder if he’d chosen a very good ambush position after all. He’d just assumed that Elliot would come charging past the dam and become an easy target, but now it appeared that this was not going to happen. Because of his sudden caution, the odds had dramatically turned in Elliot’s favor. Longarm was quite sure that, instead of running past him, Elliot was going to anticipate his hiding place and stay too far back to come within the range of the derringer. Longarm knew that he had to do something, and do it fast.
He bent over and selected a water-worn rock. Then, he found another and stuffed it into his pocket as his mind raced, still uncertain as to his next move.
A diversion. Make him turn and look away, then, somehow, try to rush him from behind and give yourself enough time to get within the derringer’s range.
Longarm inched his head up just over the dam. Elliot was a real hunter, head swinging back and forth, every nerve in his body attuned to seeking his quarry. He was very close now. Another ten, maybe fifteen steps and he would reach the beaver dam. Longarm waited until Elliot’s head swiveled away, and then he gritted his teeth and tossed a rock in a high, looping arc. It crashed into the brush causing Elliot to spin around and fire in a blind panic.
Longarm knew that he wasn’t going to have a second chance to fool Elliot with a simple diversion, so he jumped forward, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his bum knee. His right hand gripped his derringer and he snatched the second rock out of his pocket as he charged full-tilt forward.
Elliot must have sensed his danger because he tried to pivot around and line his rifle up on Longarm. He’d have done it too if Longarm hadn’t hurled his second rock, which struck Elliot in the chest and knocked him a half-step backward. Elliot shouted and tried to regain his balance and take aim, but he was a fraction too late and Longarm shot him at almost point-blank range. Elliot gasped and staggered as Longarm shot him a second time.
The man toppled over backward, his head striking a rock and then slipping into the pond. Longarm retrieved Elliot’s rifle and pistol, then sat down to gather his wits and catch his breath. He was all battered and messed up. The bath that he’d never quite gotten around to taking in Jasper Rock would have been a waste of time and money.
Longarm tilted his head back to gaze up the steep slope toward the road high above. He wasn’t a bit sure that he was going to be able to hike out of this gorge, not with his bad leg. Well, he thought, there didn’t seem to be any choice but to try. Somewhere up there, Splash might still be waiting along with Elliot’s horse, which would be hidden off the trail. So if Longarm could get out, at least he’d have two horses, saddles, and rifles for his trouble.
It took Longarm nearly three hours to crawl back out of the gorge, and he had been fortunate to make it at all. Luckily, he’d chanced upon a game trail, one with solid footing. After that, it had just been a lot of grunting and groaning until he’d finally made it back to the top.
Splash was gone, and so was Longarm’s complete outfit. Fortunately, it didn’t take much time to discover where Elliot had hidden his own animal, so Longarm was able to mount up and ride back to the place where he’d been ambushed. It appeared that several wagons had passed on the road while he’d fought for his life down in the gorge and then had struggled to climb out. Reading the hoofprints as best he could, Longarm thought it looked as if at least two of the passing wagons had been heading for Leadville. One, however, had been going back down to Jasper Rock.
Guess I’ll go with the odds and hope that I can find my horse and outfit up ahead in Leadville, Longarm decided. If I can’t, I suppose that I ought to feel grateful for Elliot’s outfit, which isn’t all that bad.
Longarm struggled into the saddle and rode on into Leadville, aware that every passerby was giving him a real going-over. That wasn’t too surprising given that he was covered with dust and blood.
When he reached Leadville, he found the nearest livery and made hurried arrangements to have Elliot’s horse boarded for the night.
“Mister,” the liveryman drawled, “you look like you fell off a cliff or something.”
“Well,” Longarm said heavily, “that’s just about what happened, all right. Have you seen a good-looking paint horse wearing a saddle and bedroll come into town?”