Chapter 7

Lou lay hidden in the shadows of the rocks and brush watching and listening to the posse race up the spine of the ridge his horse had fallen from. They came in single file, pushing their horses as hard as the waning light and the roughness of that country would allow.

A big man on a black horse that must have stood sixteen hands tall at the shoulder led them. He was watching the ground as much as he was watching where his horse was going. Behind him the sheriff followed and then the rest of the posse. Lou couldn't tell their particulars with the light almost gone. But he could see there wasn't a slim Jim among them.

The last man in line had just trotted past where Lou and his horse fell from the ridge when they all reined up short. The horses bunched considerably, almost running into each other as they came to a skidding halt.

"There ain't no more tracks up here," the lead man called out over his shoulder.

"Must 'a turned off. Everybody turn around," the sheriff instructed. "Keep your eyes peeled boys. He's gotta be here close."

Turning around up there on that narrow bit of ground proved a mite hazardous. Their mounts didn't like it a bit. A roan stepped off the side with its hind legs and there was panic while it frantically fought its way back to firm footing.

"That damned horse thief had to put down tracks ta get off this here ridge. Watch close now."

"He didn't ride across that water way down yonder. We could 'a seen his tracks," one of the posse complained.

"There's no tellin' where he took ta the brush," the sheriff responded. "For certain, he didn't come this far."

Lou thought for a moment they would ride right on by. But that damned tracker was the one to spot where his horse's hoof dislodged a piece of the ridge when it fell. "Whoa now, sheriff," he called out. "Lookee here now. See them bushes tore up down yonder?"

"Damned if we can ride down that," the sheriff said. All the posse was looking through the gathering gloom at the steepness of the ridge right there. "We'll go back down the ridge, find a place we can get there without killin' our horses."

"Take my horse with ya," the big man said. "I'll slip down yonder on foot. Have a look before there ain't enough light."

"Good idea, ' the sheriff agreed. "Want a couple of the boys to go along?"

Lou held his breath waiting for the tracker's reply. "Naw, I'll take my rifle along. We could see him if he were still down there. I'll just find out which way he went. I'll wait 'til ya catch up before trackin' him"

It was getting dark down in the canyon bottom, even faster than up high where the posse was. If they took a while to get here, Lou still had a chance. He was desperate enough to try busting that jasper's head with nothing but a rock if he made it easy to do. Lou felt around himself for one big enough to do just that should the tracker give him the right chance. Having the man's weapons was almost worth the risk.

Lou watched the posse ride out of sight and the man begin picking his way through the rock and brush of the side of the ridge. The man stayed sure on his feet, chose his footing step by step so as not to end up laying as bent up on the bottom as Lou's bay. All of his wanting to take the guns off the man came to nothing quickly. It got so dark by the time the man finally reached the canyon bottom, neither of them could see their hand in front of their face.

The tracker found Lou's dead horse alright. The outlaw could hear him cussing a blue streak right after the flopping noise he made when he stumbled over it. Lou lay dead still. There was no way anyone could spot him now, if he didn't go making any noise trying to get away. He would lay up right there in that clump of brush until he knew exactly what the posse was going to do.

Pretty soon, maybe a half hour after full dark, the posse came walking their horses up the dried water way. Torches fashioned from the brush gave them enough light to keep from breaking their horse's legs. It looked to Lou as if the chase, for tonight at least, was over. To continue tracking by torch light would make them a spotlighted target. They had no way of knowing that Lou was wounded, gunless, and crouched within spitting distance.

"I found his horse sheriff. Way I figure, must 'a took a fall from up yonder," the tracker called out to the posse.

"It's too damned dark to keep after him now. Build a fire boys. We'll wait 'til mornin' before trackin' him. Afoot, he shouldn't be hard to find."

Lou smiled as their fire blazed up strongly behind him. He intended to be a damn long way from here by daylight. If it was necessary, he would crawl clear to Arizona. He'd for sure have felt better if he still had possession of a hand gun, but given the need, he could kill with only a rock. He was damned sure not going back to a hanging.

Huddled in his hidey hole in the brush Lou waited and watched. By the light of the posse's fire, they chawed down on jerky while resting their backs against their saddles and packs. When the tracker produced a bottle of liquor, it got passed around. No one was paying particular attention to anything beyond the circle of heat from the fire. It was time for Lou to take his leave.

Quiet as he could, Lou worked his cold, cramped limbs. Outside the throb in his shoulder and the knife like jabs that moving brought to his ribs, he was more than ready to skedaddle. That posse was doubtless expecting him to look for wild country to hide in. But Lou had no intentions of obliging them. The best way he knew of getting loose of their tracker was doing just the opposite of what they expected. Instead of heading deeper into the canyon, the outlaw circled the posse's fire and took out in the same way he'd come into this canyon. It worried him a bit to be heading out into that open, sage covered country he crossed while racing away from the posse, but they wouldn't be looking for him there. His rib was feeling a bit better, though it still pained him to take too deep a breath. Wasn't enough to make him stop traveling. His shoulder was more worrisome. It was throbbing fierce, and even though the air was cold enough to frost, his shoulder burned. He couldn't do much about it even if he took the time to try. It'd just have to get better on its own, or kill him.

The going was slow in that canyon. The moon wasn't up. All Lou had was star light. As he walked, his mouth set to watering over the steak he'd left on his plate back in Tehachapi. He'd hoped for a warm bed too. Lou chuckled, wishes ain't horses either. Least he'd found his sense of humor again.

But his good spirits were short lived. Approaching the opening of the canyon, Lou swore. The leader of this bunch was smarter than he'd figured on. The sheriff had four men stationed right at the entrance to the canyon. They had a big fire burning too, bright enough to spread a dim light right to the walls of both sides. These men didn't lay down all at the same time either. Two fellows stood watching with their rifles in their arms while the other two took their ease. Any other place in the canyon would have given him plenty of shadow and vegetation to allow him to slip past unnoticed. But they'd picked a good spot. Wasn't anything but sage and sand from one wall to the other.

Turned away from that escape, Lou back tracked far enough to be out of ear or eye range. With only one way left to him, he took to the walls themselves. By carefully easing himself up, feeling his way from toe hold to toe hold and working his fingers tips nigh raw, he slowly made the ridge. Lou took a few minutes to rest, sprawled on his back, gazed up at the stars and waited for his rib to ease its ache some. Then he began a slow climb into the hills, east, to Arizona.

Up here the starlight made it possible to walk at a decent pace. Least wise he could see better than down inside the canyon. He kept moving until almost daylight and then holed up, watching to see if that damn sheriff was smart enough to track him up the side of the canyon.

Mary could never have imagined a life as barbarous as the one she found herself living. Not in her worst dreams. As soon as Patrick left, after the initial wave of relief shuddered through her, she fetched a handkerchief from her trunk and tried to wash some of the filth from her body. It was the first opportunity she'd had since arriving. Patrick either didn't notice or didn't care about the accumulated dirt created by his rutting. His sweat mixed with the continually blowing dust of the desert, creating a carnal mud running in streaks and smears across her body. Her hanky was quickly as soiled as herself. At least her skin could be cleansed. She feared no amount of scrubbing would rid her of the feeling of filth filling her insides.

"I have no one to blame but me," Mary chided herself. "I never thought to consider anything could be worse than Miss Hamish and Mr. Jenkins." Now she had no friend's shoulder to soak up her tears. She'd never see Jolene again. Perish the thought, she might never see another living soul. With a shake of her head, Mary flipped her long auburn hair back over her shoulder. "Well, I'll not feel sorry for myself. I'll just have to make the best of it."

Examining her soiled hanky, a grimace formed on Mary's face. She grabbed up the water bucket and filled it from the pool of spring water. Dipping her handkerchief into the cool, clear water and rinsing it clean, she puzzled over other things. As she drifted through the past few days of her trying existence, she had noticed odd occurrences. Little gaps of time, for one. She'd be stirring beans for dinner, or lying under Patrick's weight, and next she knew she was somewhere else, busy at some other chore with no recollection of going from one to the other. Sometimes all of a morning or afternoon would be missing.

Wiping at the curve of her neck with the moist hanky, Mary's finely arched eyebrows wrinkled in bewilderment. The voices were much more disturbing. It was only Patrick and herself in this God forsaken canyon, but, she heard the voices of others just the same. Stopping her bucket bath for a moment, she giggled at herself. Patrick was enough to drive anyone crazy. But her laughter died quickly. It really wasn't funny at all. It was perplexing.

At first the voices were faint, only a background noise. She thought the eternal wind breezing through the canyon was creating sounds that tricked her ears. She'd asked Patrick what caused such a phenomenon. In return, he had given her a hard stare and told her to stop making up such nonsense. "Yer spoofin' me again, woman. There ain't no voices in this here canyon," he'd scoffed.

But over the past two days in particular, the voices had sharpened. They were focused. Mary could no longer put them off as echoes or tricks of the wind. And the voices weren't just a conversation playing out in her head, they were talking to her, and to each other. They were real. They made the hair on her arms rise.

Regardless of how long Patrick might be gone, she decided to take the opportunity to dress now that she was a sight cleaner. Rinsing her handkerchief and placing it on the fireplace stones to dry, Mary lifted the lid of her trunk and continued to puzzle over the increasing oddity of recent events. There were two distinctly different people talking to her, chattering on about all sorts of things. But, my Heavens, the things they were actually saying. The one voice, deep and ominous, distinctly male, whispered the most terrible things to her. It enjoyed pointing out Patrick's lewdness, his filth and cruelties. With dire warnings of the atrocities Patrick was yet to inflict, the voice urged her to remove Patrick from her life in most explicit and gruesome detail. She could hardly believe her own ears. Yes, she despised Patrick. But she had willingly married him. Mary was appalled at the voice's suggestion. She could never hate anyone enough to commit such a wicked sin. The second voice seemed bent on tempering the affects of the first. It's tones were soothing. When the evil promptings of the one became deafening, the softly feminine voice stroked away the headache caused by trying to close it off. Fortunately, the majority of times the voices spoke, they discussed less unpleasant things.