High atop a saddleback ridge north of Bordertown, Clive rose up in his stirrups to gaze out across the picturesque valley below him. To his left, the majestic Rocky Mountains formed a jagged, white-tipped skyline, and directly before him, across the valley, were the forests of southern Alberta. Isolated wisps of ground mist clung to low-lying areas, and hovered over the narrow stream that meandered through the valley.
Dom drew a deep breath, marveling at the rugged beauty of the North American west. "Oh, I wish Sally could see this. The view is magnificent."
Clive sank back into his saddle, feeling discouraged already, and they had barely started the search for his missing friends. "That's where we have to search," he said, soberly.
Under ordinary circumstances, he would have agreed with Dom. Having been born and raised in the eastern city of Toronto, the beauty of the west was not lost on him. But he was learning rapidly that it was a savage beauty, that could quicky claim the lives of those who did not respect it. The saddleback would have been a perfect spot for a picnic or an early morning ride with a choice companion, but such thoughts were far from his mind at that moment. Facing him was the difficult task of searching a wide expanse of remote area for his two friends, whose lives might depend on the speed and accuracy of his search. Inside, he was having doubts about his capability of accomplishing that task to a positive end. When it came to paperwork and matters of etiquette, the American lawman was no match for him, but when it came to searching and tracking in rough country, he knew he could not hold a candle to Jack Craddock.
Unaware of the nature of his thoughts, Archie was wagging his head slowly at the daunting task ahead of them. "I dunno, Boy-o. That's an awful lot of wilderness territory to cover. Since we don't even know the direction they took, we'd probably have better luck trying to find a needle in a haystack. Just because their horses were found on the north and west side of the barn doesn't mean that is the direction they came from."
Clive was silent for several moments, reluctant to admit that he had been thinking the same thing. Never taking his eyes off the forest ahead of them, he said, "I know that, Archie, but we have to start somewhere, and going on a hunch that they came from this direction is all we've got to go on. I know there is a lot of territory to cover, but we have to try. We can't just leave them to whatever fate they've encountered."
Archie gazed steadily at Clive's somber face, and understood that the Corporal was fond of Jack Craddock, even if he did not want to admit it, and he still had strong feelings for Marie, even though he was keeping company with the young schoolteacher. His relationship with them was complicated, but they were his best friends, and he was desperately worried about their safety.
He reached out and placed a fatherly hand on Clive's shoulder. He squeezed it once, just to let him know that he understood and sympathized, then released it. "I know, lad."
"We'll follow the same general path that Jack and I took when we tracked Knapp toward Antler Cove. It could be he's been hiding out somewhere between here and there. Maybe we can find some sign, some evidence, that he's passed through the area."
"You're still thinking along the lines that Knapp has done something to them?" Dom asked.
"I don't know, but he seems the most likely suspect. We know he was wounded last week when he took a shot at Craddock. It's possible that he could even be the wounded man that Marie was summoned to care for. We don't know how badly he was wounded, but it could be that he was hurt too seriously to travel far. That means he's been out there, somewhere, all this time, waiting for his chance to make another try for Marie."
"If he was wounded, he wouldn't stand a chance out here alone," Dom pointed out.
"He probably isn't alone," Clive replied. "Remember, he had a servant that was coming in on the stage, but he got off before the coach reached Bordertown. I'm sure Knapp stopped the stage and got him off. The servant has probably been taking care of him."
"Maybe the servant is the one who came to town to get Dr. Dumont," Dom suggested.
The other two men looked at him, startled that neither of them had considered that possibility.
"What?" Dom asked, puzzled by their reactions, and wondering if he had said something wrong.
"You may be right," Clive said. "Marie is so dedicated that she would go to him, even after everything he did. And Jack would have gone with her." He nodded. "That sounds probable, Dom."
All three of the men stared across the valley toward the forest, each one wondering what they would find, and dreading the worst.
Finally, Clive said, "We'd better get started."
Nudging his horse with his heel, he led the way down the ridge and into the vally, moving toward the edge of the forest.
Jack sat very still, his back against the cold wall behind him, careful not to disturb Marie. Exhausted from a nearly sleepless night, she had fallen asleep in his arms, warmed by the closeness of his body and lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.
Laying his head back against the wall, he tried to find additional sleep himself, but could not doze off. His cracked rib was bothering him, a dull ache that was just painful enough to be bothersome, plus he was too worried to relax, anyway. The chill of last night had been hard on both of them, but especially Marie. He knew it would be even harder if they were forced to spend another night there. If only there was something inside that cellar that they could use to cover up with, something to stave off the uncomfortable cold that was sure to return after nightfall. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could see, nothing useful that had been left behind by the house's previous owners.
Silently, he cursed himself for leaving his coat tied to the saddle the day before. At least it would have been something to throw over them during the night, and Marie could have bundled up in it until then.
He lifted his head from the wall, and gazed down at her inert form in his arms. Her head was tilted in such a way that he could not see her face. Her body was pressed close against him for warmth, and her skirt was draped across his legs. Gently, he pressed his lips against the top of her head, then laid his cheek on the same spot he had kissed, content simply to hold her.
Unknown to him, Marie was awake, and had been for a short while. It just felt so good to be held in a man's arms again that she was reluctant to move. In the rigid moral society, this sort of closeness would be regarded as unseemly, and would not be permitted, but at that moment, it did not feel improper. It felt right, and she was comfortable with it. She had felt his kiss, and marveled at the tenderness she felt in this rough-edged Texas-born lawman. He had known great hardship in his life, and she understood that it was sometimes difficult for him to express his feelings, but there was no mistaking the sentiment she felt in him at that moment. She had always liked him, in spite of his sometimes unclean appearance and his gruff mannerisms, but she had never felt closer to him emotionally than she did just then.
She drew a deep breath, and released it in a deep sigh.
Jack raised his head and leaned forward, trying to see her face, realizing that she was awake. "Marie?" he asked, quietly.
She tilted her head without raising it from his chest to look up into his face. "Hm?"
"Did ya have a nice nap?"
She nodded. "Mm-hmm. I didn't intend to fall asleep, though."
"Well, ya needed the rest."
She had needed the rest, but she did not feel any better because of it. Quite the contrary, she felt tired and groggy, and her ankle was starting to throb again. Reaching down, she massaged it with her hand. It was swollen and puffy, and her shoe felt too tight. She sat up and untied her shoe, loosened the laces, then retired it.
He watched with concern. "Is yer ankle hurtin' again?"
"A little."
"I wish Bennett would get here," he said. "We need to get you home, so's you can soak that ankle in some warm water."
Completing the tying of her shoelace, she noticed that Jack was unconsciously rubbing his hand over his injured side. "And I'd like to wrap a bandage around you to protect that rib," she told him. "Is it bothering you, much?"
"Some. Nuthin' I cain't tolerate."
"Any idea what time it is?"
"I left my watch at home," he said. "It's startin' to warm up, though, so it must be gettin' near noon."
Lunchtime
The word hovered in the air, unspoken by either of them, but they both felt it in the hollow emptiness in their stomachs that reminded them that it had been roughly twenty four hours since they had last eaten. The dryness in their mouths served as a reminder that they had had nothing to drink in the same length of time.
A cracking sound somewhere high above them jolted their minds away from personal discomforts, and directed them toward the matter of safety. The expanding and contracting of the wooden beans as the air temperatures changed, had caused the rubble to shift again. They could hear the groans and the alarming snaps of wood as it gave way under the pressure of the debris above it.
Jack grabbed Marie and pushed her into the corner. She crouched down, pressing as close as she could against the cold walls, and he leaned over her, shielding her from harm once again with his own body.
Fortunately, the only thing that cascaded down on them this time was dust and smaller pieces of splintered wood. For the moment, the longer beams overhead was holding.
When the avalanche ceased, Jack rose up and shook his head vigorously to shake the dust from his hair. Then, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling of their small enclosure with gravely concerned eyes, studying the long beams that were holding up the debris. It was easy to see that the wood was stessed by the weight pressing down from above.
Marie could read the nature of his thoughts on his worried face, and she knew that if she did not say the words, he would keep it to himself to spare her the anxiety. "Jack, when Clive and the others start trying to move that debris, this place could come crashing down on us."
He nodded his head in agreement, and placed his hand on one of the beams. "See the way this wood is startin' to bow?"
She looked, and felt her heart sink with dread. In time, it would snap, and free everything overhead to collapse on top of them.
"I need to shore up some of them beams, there," he told her. "Maybe that'll hold things up."
"I want to help."
He glanced at her anxious face and her wide blue eyes, and understood the need to do something constructive, something that would help protect them. "All right. Help me set this beam upright."
The beam in question had been shattered in the explosion, leaving a section of wood that appeared to be roughly four feet long. He grasped one end of it while she seized the other end, and together they set it on end, positioning it beneath the beam that he judged to be the most stressed. It was slightly too long, so Jack rose up on his knees and pushed the upper portion into place.
The strenuous movement sent an unexpected stab of pain through his injured side. Unable to suppress a strangled cry of pain, he doubled his body over the injury, and pressed his hand against the rib.
Marie responded instantly. "Are you all right?" she asked with concern, crawling to his side. She placed her hand over his as she looked anxiously into his face to gage the severity of his pain.
He nodded, briskly, but his eyes were tightly shut, and he bowed his head, as if attempting to hide his distress from her. "Yeah," he groaned. "I jus' fergot about it when I pushed on that beam." He sat quietly for several minutes, until the pain began to diminish enough that he could speak without clenching his teeth. "It hurts worse today than it did yesterday," he admitted. "It hurts jus' to breathe!"
"That is not unusual," she told him. "My ankle hurts worse, too. It's probably black and blue. Maybe I should take another look at that rib."
"No, it'll be all right," he told her. "There ain't nuthin' can be done about it down here, anyways. Jus' gimme a few minutes."
She knew he was right about that. She had lost her medical bag and everything in it, and thus had nothing in her possession with which to help him, so she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and rode out the pain with him.
After resting for about ten minutes, he rose up again, determined to resume the task of shoring up the beams. "It's better, now. Let's see 'bout gettin' them beams in place, shall we?"
"You should rest awhile longer, Jack," Marie objected.
"No. We need to be ready when Clive 'n the others get here."
She could still see the pain in his face as he reached for the next beam, but she knew it would do no good to argue with him about it. Grasping the other end of it, she helped him place it upright near the first one. One by one, they arranged the fallen beams to help support the weight of the rubble above them.
Clive knelt down beside the stream and firmly pushed his canteen beneath the surface of the water, watching with an impassive expression as air, released from inside the empty vessel, bubbled to the surface. The water was cold from mountain runoff, as the snow in the lower elevations had melted during the warming of the afternoon. When the canteen was full, he capped it, and wiped his hand on his coat to dry it, but he did not rise to his feet. Deep in thought, he continued to kneel beside the water, gazing at his reflection in the clear water, oblivious to the cold wetness that seeped through the knee of his trousers.
It was late afternoon, approaching three o'clock, and still they had found no sign of his missing friends. The search party had retraced the path taken by him and Jack the week before, when they had tracked Oliver Knapp north into the hills. They had long since passed the point where he and the marshal had turned back, but still, they found no indication that Jack and Marie had traveled in that direction.
Archie's eyes frequently went to the corporal as he and Dom watered the horses, farther downstream from where Clive was filling the canteens. They and their mounts were tired, for rest stops had been infrequent and brief. They had not even stopped for lunch. Clive was pushing them hard, but there were no thoughts of rebellion. However, it was only at Archie's insistence that they had stopped now to rest and water the horses.
When the horses' thirst had been quenched, they were tied to the trees, and their cinches loosened to allow them to rest before resuming the search.
Dom had brought a sack of corndodgers and beef jerky, and he withdrew it from his saddlebag to share with the others as a rather meager late lunch, but in their weariness and their concern, none of them were very hungry. He sat down near the stream to open the sack. Archie accepted a handful of the chunks of hard corn bread, and he nibbled on one of them as he leaned against a tree, observing his younger friend with sympathetic eyes.
Corporal Bennett was still on his knee at the stream, lost in his own thoughts, presumably worried about the fate of his two friends, but Archie suspected that the younger man was particularly worried about what might have happened to the marshal. Clive had frequently criticized Jack Craddock's methods, but Archie knew that Clive considered him his closest friend and confidant. They liked and respected each other, even if they often clashed on law-enforcement procedures and romatic interests. He could tell by the Mountie's posture that he was reaching some conclusions about the search.
After a while, Archie approached his friend and offered him one of the corndodgers. "What're you thinkin', Boy-o?"
Clive looked up, then slowly rose to his feet, brushing at the wetness on his knee with one hand. He accepted the corndodger, but turned it over and over in his hand without making any attempt to consume it. "I was thinking about what Dom said this morning," he replied. "That the servant may have been the one who summoned Marie. If that is the case, and if he is in league with Knapp, he may have led them right into a trap."
Archie's expression was very serious. "You're thinkin' that Marshal Craddock is probably dead."
Clive swallowed and grimaced, slightly, as if the notion had left a bitter taste, then nodded, slowly. With a heavy sigh, he averted his eyes. "I don't particularly like to think about that, but it has crossed my mind."
Dom felt his heart sink, unable to imagine Bordertown without Jack Craddock. "Why do you think he's dead?" he asked.
It was Archie who responded to the question. "Because we've been going on the assumption that Knapp has taken Marie hostage. The marshal would never allow that if he was still breathin'."
Dom nodded, reluctantly conceding that this scenario was more than possible. All three were silent for several moments, thinking about that.
Finally, Dom broke the silence. "They would have had to get the drop on him, though, wouldn't they? I mean, I've seen him draw. He's lightning fast. Very few people can draw faster than him."
"I know, Dom, but they may have ambushed him," Clive said.
"What about Doctor Dumont?"
"My guess is, she's probably still alive," Clive replied. "The only positive thing in this is that Knapp seems infatuated with her. I don't think he would kill her; not intentionally, anyway."
Archie looked at him, sharply. "I don't want to cause undue alarm, but we don't know that. His is quite clearly a mind that is not altogether sane."
"Jack would say he's a few bricks short of a load," Clive said with a humorless smile.
"That sounds like him," Dom agreed, fondly. "He does have a way with words."
"This Oliver Knapp is a violent man, Boy-o," Archie reminded him. "You need to step out of that Ivory Tower of yours, Corporal, and get in to the real world. I've known men who have killed the women they love out of jealousy, rage, any number of reasons that they think justifies their actions. We have to assume that he's capable of anything."
"Maybe we're wrong about all this," Dom suggested, hopefully. "We haven't found any evidence to support the idea that this Englishman is involved."
"We haven't found any evidence at all to indicate anything!" Clive retorted, raising his voice in frustration. Consumed by anger, he flung the corndodger into the stream and watched as it was carried away in the current. "This is all so useless! We don't even know where to look!"
Archie waited patiently, allowing the corporal to vent his frustration, and when he fell silent again, he said, "So we keep looking until we find something."
Clive took a deep breath, calming himself. "Yes. We keep looking."
"It'll be dark in a few hours," Dom said. "Maybe we'd best get a move-on."
Clive gathered up the canteens and passed them back to their owners, then they tightened the cinches on their saddles, mounted their horses, and resumed the search.
The sun was positioned just above the rugged mountain peaks in the west when Oliver Knapp returned to the scene of his crime. He was uncertain precisely what force had drawn him back to the house he had destroyed, but he was attracted to it like a moth to a flame.
Following the explosion the day before, he had retreated a short distance away to nurse the gunshot wound in his shoulder that had reopened after the blast that had flung him to the ground, and to wait in the event that Jenkins returned with the horse. To his anger and disappointment, that did not happen. It was becoming clear that his servant, once a loyal and dependable employee, had deserted him. Left on foot, he would be forced to walk, probably for days, before he could reach a ranch house or a farm that could sell him another mount. And if they refused to sell him a horse, he was not above taking it. After all, he was a Knapp, and in his mind, that gave him the right do to as he pleased.
He still carried his rifle with which to protect himself and provide for himself, so he had no doubt that he could survive on his own, even though it was a severe inconvenience for a man who was descended from nobility to be forced to care for himself. And, to make certain his job there was complete, he still carried several sticks of dynamite that he had saved just in case they were needed to complete his punishment on Marie.
However, his anger at Marie had abated during the long, cold night, just as it had abated following his punishment of his wife, Beatrice, so many years earlier. It had not been his expressed desire to kill either of them, but they had made him do it. Now, as his horrified eyes fell upon what he had done, he was beset by unspeakable grief. Dropping the dynamite to the ground, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted into the rubble:
"Marie! Marie Dumont!"
The sound of his voice managed to penetrate the jumble of debris. Resting in the dark cellar below following the work they had done to shore up the ceiling, Jack and Marie both raised their heads when they heard the muffled shout.
Excitedly, Marie exclaimed, "Someone has come for us!"
Jack had heard a quality in the voice that Marie, in her eagerness to be rescued, had failed to detect, and he quickly covered her mouth with his hand to prevent her from calling back to him.
"It's Knapp," he said quietly in her ear. "He's probably come back to make sure we're dead. Better that we let him think that. If we respond, he'll probably finish the job."
She nodded in response, grateful that he had prevented her from responding. He released her, and they both listened carefully for any indication of what he might be up to, but they heard nothing more from him.
Oliver listened intently, as well, cocking his ear toward the rubble, but heard nothing except the lonely rustling of the tree limbs in the mild breeze.
Sorrow filled his heart. What a lonely, isolated grave in which he had placed his beloved Marie.
Falling to his knees before the remains of the old house, he groaned, "What have I done? Oh, Marie, why did you make me do this to you? I loved you so much! Why couldn't you see how much I loved you? I didn't want to have to punish you like this!" Covering his face with his hands, he wept his anguish for his loss.
Concealed in the bushes nearby, Harvey Graham watched in silent curiosity as the stranger sobbed uncontrollably.
Harvey had seen the stranger as he had dropped the sticks of dynamite to the ground, and knew that this was the man who had stolen the explosive material from him. Shifting his gaze to the remains of the old house, it was abundantly clear that this was the purpose for the theft. He had heard the explosion the day before, as had everyone in the immediate area, and the reality of it angered the old prospector, for he had often wintered in that old abandoned house. Now, he would be forced to find another shelter.
Listening to the other man's anguished words of regret, he understood that the well-dressed and obviously wounded man had used the dynamite to commit murder. A chill of apprehension shuddered down his spine. He had intended to demand the return of what was left of his dynamite, but he knew that this was not a man to tangle with. His behavior was strange, evidence of an insane mind. Better to report it to the law in Bordertown, and let them take care of it.
Quietly, Harvey slipped from his hiding place and returned to his mule, which was tethered nearby. Daylight was fading rapidly, but with a little luck, he could make a few miles before darkness overtook him and forced him to retire for the night. He mounted the animal, and turned it toward Bordertown.
GO TO CHAPTER SEVENTEEN