Reaper's Fee Part 13

Since Kinman seemed more interested in the ground under his feet than the conversation at hand, Lester stood up in his stirrups and made a show of looking left and right. "I don't see him or anyone else around here. Maybe you're just trying to get me to agree to giving you most of the money we're set to find."

"You think so? Then maybe I should just shoot you and take you back into Rock Springs. I'll bet they'd know where to go to turn your carca.s.s in." Surprisingly enough, there wasn't a scowl on Kinman's face when he turned around. "Don't p.i.s.s yourself just yet, Lester. I think I just found what I was after."

"Really?"

Kinman drew his horse to a stop and climbed down from the saddle. Lester would have liked to climb down with him, but his feet were tied to his stirrups, which were also connected by another rope that crossed underneath the horse they'd stolen for him to ride. Leaning forward, Lester stared intently at where Kinman was going.

"You see Graves somewhere?" Lester asked. "I told you we shouldn't have circled town so much when we left."

Ignoring the other man's ramblings, Kinman walked to a small patch of open ground that was just a little way from the trail. He reached a spot where the dirt had been smoothed out and ran the tips of his fingers along the earth. Kinman looked around slowly, taking in everything. When he spotted the deep set of horse's tracks, he grinned and nodded.

"What'd you find?" Lester asked. "Where is he? I don't see n.o.body."

Standing up but not moving from his spot, Kinman turned and studied every inch of ground in the vicinity one more time. Only then did he allow himself to disturb another speck of dirt with his own boot. "He was here," Kinman said as he walked back to where his horse was standing.

"How do you know it was him?"

Plenty of things rushed through Kinman's head that would serve as good answers to that question. Things ranging from the freshness of the tracks to the direction they were headed would have been good enough. There were also things like instinct and a knowledge that he'd gained after spending years of hunting down his fellow man that would shed some light on the matter. With all those things in mind, Kinman simply looked over to Lester and grunted, "It don't matter how I know. I just do."

Lester's instincts told him a few things as well. Namely, that it wasn't a good idea to press the matter any further. "All right," he said. "I was just askin'."

Although the tone in his voice left no room for doubt, Kinman didn't turn his back on the spot he'd found. He bent at the knees so he could run his hands into the upper layers of dirt. In a matter of seconds, his fingertips found a few sc.r.a.ps of food and the remnants of what had to have been a very small fire. Those things were enough to tell him that Nick had been trying to stay out of sight when he'd stopped there.

If he'd been waiting for Kinman to arrive, Graves wouldn't have minded building a larger fire. In fact, he might have built a sizeable one to make certain he was spotted. There was always the argument that Graves wouldn't have been anxious to be seen considering the circ.u.mstances in which they'd left Rock Springs, but any man should have known that the law in that town would have had their hands full with more important matters.

Kinman nodded to himself and straightened up. Graves had been there, all right. There wasn't a doubt in his mind. Now, the trick would be to catch up to him without drawing too much suspicion.

"Looks like he headed to the northeast," Lester said. "I can see some horse tracks from here."

Kinman looked in that direction. His eyes followed the tracks, which he'd spotted less than a second after he'd spotted the campsite itself. The imprints were fairly fresh, which meant they'd probably been put down when the sun wasn't even high enough in the sky to chase away the shadows. They seemed to be evenly s.p.a.ced, so the horse wasn't taking off in a rush. That either meant the rider was taking his sweet time, or was level-headed enough to walk when he knew d.a.m.n well he should have been running.

Of course, there was always the third option. Nick Graves could have put down those tracks to give the impression of the first two possibilities. Having lost Graves' trail so many times over the years, Kinman knew that was a distinct possibility. He also knew it was useless to try and second-guess his prey's motives while standing still.

"Jesus Christ," Lester mumbled. "A slug could've gotten to the Dakotas by now."

Kinman wheeled around quickly enough to make Lester twitch in his saddle. As he climbed onto his own horse's back, Kinman said, "For the first time, I agree with you." He then snapped his reins and got moving.

Since Lester's horse was tied to Kinman's saddle horn, the other man had no choice but to follow.

Nick pulled in a lungful of air as the wind whipped past his head. Gripping the reins in a fist, he hunkered down low over Kazys's neck and leaned into the torrent of wind caused by the horse's galloping stride. The thunder of Kazys's hooves reminded him of the rumble of the train's engine that had carried them both all the way from California. At the moment, it was hard for him to believe that Kazys couldn't have covered that same amount of ground in half the time.

The entire country was spread out in front of him like a giant multicolored blanket. Mountains, rivers, plains and forests all rushed past him in a continuous display. As more dusty wind blasted his face, Nick grinned and choked down the grit that had collected in his throat.

The scenery was starting to look more familiar. Although he wasn't one for memorizing trails or shortcuts, he always had a good sense of where he was going. When he and Barrett had ridden together, the rest of the gang always knew that Barrett could figure out the quickest way to get where they were going and Nick could always get them home.

Nick was still amazed that he was the one riding back into the Dakotas wearing a few streaks of gray in his hair and Barrett was the one cooling his heels under several feet of dirt. No gambling man would have bet on Nick living through his twenties.

Kazys kept charging forward as if he was trying to rip away the upper layers of earth with his hooves. Nick steered away from the main trail at his first opportunity, while looking for the spot where he could eventually circle back onto the main course.

The tracks had grown deeper and farther apart. That caught Kinman's eye right away, telling him that Nick was moving faster. Even though there weren't many sets of fresh tracks in sight, Kinman had to trust his instinct that the ones he was following truly belonged to Nick Graves.

There were plenty of Indians in these parts. There were also scouts, messengers, couriers, and any number of men who might be riding by themselves and traveling in a rush. Come to think of it, Kinman guessed that anyone wanting to stay ahead of the Crow or Sioux would be riding pretty d.a.m.n quickly right about now.

Even as all that raced through his mind, Kinman didn't consider slowing down. There were times when a man needed to be careful and there were times when he needed to throw himself headlong into whatever path he'd chosen. This was one of the latter times and Kinman raced down his own path, not caring whether it led to a coffin full of jewels or a slow death.

There was no time to worry about what lay in between.

SEVENTEEN.

The next few days were spent with Nick doing one of two things: looking ahead or looking behind. Everything else fell to the wayside. While looking ahead, he tried to gauge where he was in relation to where he wanted to be. As Kazys took him out of Wyoming and into the Dakotas, the horse was having a harder time maintaining the pace he'd set when he bolted out of Rock Springs.

Nick wasn't about to jeopardize the animal's health, but he also wasn't about to jeopardize his own by allowing himself to fall too close to the men who were chasing him. Kinman's presence was always nagging at the back of Nick's mind. He could feel the other man closing in on him, even though he couldn't see or hear him coming. Nick had been hunted for too many years to overlook that anxious feeling in the bottom of his gut.

Kinman pulled back on his reins and slowed down gradually enough for Lester's horse to get the hint. The bounty hunter's chest was heaving as if he'd run the last couple of miles on foot, and his eyes darted back and forth within their sockets.

"What's the matter?" Lester asked. "Did you lose him?"

Still glancing around, Kinman slowed his horse so he was directly beside Lester's. He reached to his belt and drew the hunting knife that was sheathed there.

Lester squirmed reflexively in his saddle. "All right, fine!" he squealed. "You didn't lose him!"

But none of Lester's pleading was about to stay Kinman's hand. Seeing that, Lester clenched his eyes shut and waited to feel the blade cut through his flesh. Although he did feel the cool touch of sharpened steel, it was only for a second as it glanced between his wrists.

When he opened his eyes again, Lester found the ropes tying his hands to the saddle had been cut. The rope connecting his ankles was the next to go. Kinman leaned down and swiped the blade through the rope as if it was warm b.u.t.ter, causing both ends to drop down and brush against the ground. Even Lester's horse seemed surprised to have the rope removed, since it had gotten used to feeling them on its belly for all these miles.

"What's the meaning of this?" Lester asked tentatively.

"Don't you remember what we talked about? I said I had plans for you."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Now's the time to see those plans through."

Lester gathered up his courage and glanced up the trail. When he looked back at Kinman, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "We're still going after them jewels?"

"Of course," Kinman said with a humorless chuckle. "That is, unless you're about to tell me there ain't no buried treasure."

"Oh, it's there!"

"Then ride on ahead. I'll be right behind you."

Although Lester faced forward and gathered up his reins, he restrained himself from snapping the leather and setting his horse into motion. Every muscle in his body wanted to move forward. His legs tensed against the horse's sides. His chest tensed. Even his head stretched forward as if he was antic.i.p.ating the wind being in his face. Soon, however, he seemed more like a turkey stretching his neck along the chopping block.

"We should probably stick together," Lester said. "This is Indian country, ain't it?"

Kinman nodded. "Sioux."

"You think them Sioux'll be happy scalping me and just let you pa.s.s?"

"h.e.l.l no. If the Sioux are out for scalps, then they'll get both of us. It won't matter too much whether we're separate or in one spot."

"I guess that's true. Why are you letting me go?"

"We're crossing into the Badlands and we need to split up. Graves is bound to be watching his back right about now, but he's only looking for me."

"What if he sees me first?" Lester asked.

"That's what you should hope for. He's never met you, has he?"

"Not that I recall."

"Good," Kinman said. "Then he's got every reason to treat you like he'd treat anyone else. Don't tell him who you are, just to be on the safe side. Keep him occupied until I've snuck around behind him. If he sees me, the plan's the same, only it's you doing the sneaking while Graves comes after me. You've got the easy job, since I'll be doing most of the fighting either way."

"Do you think Graves knows you're after him?"

Kinman shrugged and replied, "I don't think so, but I ain't about to bet my life on it. You'll ride ahead, but we won't be too far apart. When one of us hears shooting, the other comes in to lend a hand. That's how you're earning your freedom, remember? You play your cards right, and I may still throw you a percentage of whatever we find in that coffin you've been going on about."

Eventually, Lester started to nod. "All right."

"Don't look so cautious, Lester. I could've killed you at any time if I wanted you dead. You bolt from me like a coward now, and I can still catch you any time I please. I ain't got no doubt about that. Do you?"

Lester studied Kinman's eyes for a second. That was all it took for him to get the answer he needed. "Nope," he said.

"Good. That proves you're a smart fellow. Now get moving toward that ridge," Kinman said, pointing to the east. "I'm heading up north and will keep riding that way for a mile or so."

Lester swallowed and nodded as all the color drained from his face.

"What's eating you now?" Kinman asked.

"I feel more like bait in a trap right about now."

"At least you're still live bait."

Seeing Kinman's hand inch a bit closer to his gun, Lester pointed his horse to the east and snapped the reins. Even with the sense that he might get shot in the back at any second, Lester did feel good to be somewhat on his own. It wasn't long before he'd worked most of the kinks out of his arms and legs so he could keep moving in time to the horse's motions. Soon he built up some speed and was racing toward the ridge Kinman had pointed out.

When he looked over his shoulder, Lester didn't see more than a cloud of dust to indicate the bounty hunter had been there.

He tapped his heels against his horse's sides and let out a sharp yell to get the animal moving even faster. For the first minute or so, Lester wasn't even looking for Graves. Instead, he kept his eyes open for a sign of Kinman's approach or a good spot to make a sharp turn before the bounty hunter got there.

What he found when he cleared the ridge was something that put a whole other kind of dread into Lester's gut. The cold touch of it seeped down like a poison that had been slipped into his water and it spread out in all directions once it got to his stomach.

"Oh s.h.i.t," Lester said under his breath when he spotted the row of horses approaching him from the left. He wasn't close enough to see the riders' faces, but he could most definitely spot the feathers tied to their heads, saddles and rifle barrels.

Lester counted four Indians, but knew there would be more coming from a small village he could see less than a mile or so away.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h knew this was gonna happen," Lester rasped as he bunched up his reins and used them to whip his horse's flank. "I don't know how he knew, but he knew. I'm sure of it."

Muttering a silent prayer, Lester steered away from the Indians and hoped that would be enough to get them off his tail. Sometimes, all they wanted to do was scare folks away from their villages or sacred burial grounds. Lester was no expert on the matter, but he had enough common sense to know when to give the savages a wide berth. Since he'd caught sight of the village, he figured they were just a couple of braves out to gain a reputation by putting the fright into a white man.

Lester's horse was breathing heavily and slowing down. He let the animal ease up a bit so he could turn and take a quick peek over his shoulder. The Indians were even closer than he'd thought, and were gaining ground fast.

"Come on, you sack of bones." Lester grunted as he turned back around and whipped the horse's side. "Get your a.s.s moving or we're both dead."

Lester knew better than to think his horse could understand him. The horse may not have even been able to hear him over the pounding of its own hooves or the sound of Indians sweeping in on him like a plague of locusts.

Every bit of sense in Lester's head told him to take a shot at those Indians before they got any closer. If he'd had a gun on him, he might have done that very thing. Even if he had a knife, he was getting desperate enough to turn and throw it at the first feathered head he could find.

Since he didn't even have anything in his pockets to throw, Lester snapped his reins again and hoped his horse wouldn't keel over before carrying him far enough away for those savages to lose interest.

Nick used his dented spygla.s.s to watch the Indians ride closer. He knew they'd be coming, since he'd been the one to ride past their village close enough to draw their attention. Just for good measure, he'd kept on riding to the nearby burial ground so that he would lead Kinman or whoever was following him straight through the spot where no paleface should go.

Having ridden through this section of the Badlands several times throughout the years, Nick knew that most anyone heeding the warnings they were given were allowed to change their course without too much trouble.

Anyone who pushed the Sioux further than that deserved whatever they got.

But Nick didn't see any surprised lawmen when he looked through the spygla.s.s. He didn't even see Kinman. What he saw was a stranger who looked as if he was about to p.i.s.s his pants because he was so afraid of the wild-eyed Indians coming his way. More than that, the frightened stranger seemed to be unarmed.

"Aw h.e.l.l," Nick muttered.

Since he'd gone through so much trouble to keep himself distanced from anyone that had been following him, Nick studied the surrounding area just to make certain he wasn't being drawn out. Not only was Nick soon convinced that the stranger was genuinely terrified, but he cursed himself for waiting so long when the man might just be ready to stumble into some serious trouble. So far, the Sioux scouts were only shouting and firing a few warning shots over the stranger's head. The longer the stranger held his course, however, the madder the scouts became. In no time at all, Nick was certain they'd start aiming their shots just low enough to draw blood.

Nick snapped his reins and got Kazys moving along a path to intercept the stranger. He was careful not to draw his gun. In fact, he rode with his back straight and his arms held at an angle so anyone could readily see that he was only holding the reins in his fists.

As soon as Nick was visible to the Indians, he could hear them yelling back and forth to one another. He knew a bit of the Sioux's tongue, but not enough to fully understand what they were saying. Nick didn't need a translator, however, to tell that the scouts weren't saying much of anything good.

Nick snapped his reins again and tapped his heels against Kazys's sides. The horse didn't appreciate the extra prodding, but responded by adding a bit more steam to his strides.

Using a method Barrett had always talked about, Nick continued to keep his back straight and his shoulders squared. He felt like he was doing a poor impersonation of paintings he'd seen of various Indian riders, but Nick kept up the brave front as he came to a stop in the middle of the s.p.a.ce between the stranger and the approaching Indians.

For some reason, the stranger tugged on his reins and circled back around to Nick rather than riding on. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" Lester asked breathlessly.

Nick held his hands up and out as he said, "Just don't make any more sudden moves. Point your nose south and keep riding."

"But I'm not headed south."

"That doesn't matter," Nick snarled, doing his best to keep his temper from flaring up. "Just go that way and I'll try to make sure you get away from here in one piece."

Nick felt as if he was speaking a different language. Lester just wouldn't follow his directions. As his frustration bubbled to the surface, Nick dropped his hands and gestured to the stranger to get moving.

Unfortunately, Nick's movements got more of a reaction from the Sioux than from Lester.

One of the Sioux raised a clenched fist, and the others fanned out, immediately surrounding Nick and Lester. A few of them carried bows with arrows already notched and drawn back to be fired. The remaining seven riders brandished rifles decorated with beaded strips of leather, strips of fur and a few long feathers.