Hard Winter Part 17

"They're not after you," I said. "They're looking for Missus Gow."

"Well, she sure ain't here." John Henry laughed.

"I know that. She's dead."

A heavy silence fell over the cabin. John Henry's head dropped, and he mumbled something that sounded like: "She was a real nice lady."

Tommy asked: "What happened?"

So I told them about Mr. Gow riding up to the Bar DD, telling us how his wife had gone crazy, run away, about the major leaving with Mr. Gow to look for Mrs. Gow. About me and Lainie finding her, froze to death, eyes and mouth wide open, hidden in a pile of hay. About me and Busted-Tooth Melvin cutting the trail, and me heading here while Melvin rode back to tell the others.

"Then they'll be here," Tommy said. "Soon."

"Most likely," I answered.

Bitterly John Henry swore.

"What did you do to Major MacDunn and Mister Gow?" I asked John Henry, and he glared at me.

"Nothing," he said.

I turned back to Tommy, my ears starting to flame. "And you, pard. You never answered me. You decide to be a line rider just to keep John Henry safe?"

It was John Henry who answered. "Kiddo, I didn't know he was here. I figured somebody would be here, though I hoped n.o.body would. Hoped they'd have given up the notion of putting a man in this cabin for the winter, what with the weather. Hoped that I could warm up here. Wasn't sure where I was going, but then I seen the Big Dipper one night. Appeared to be ladling out some good, cold water from the Sun River. I was thirsty. Would have preferred rye whiskey, but a roof over my head and a warm fire would suit me just fine. The stars give me the notion to come here. Thought about heading up to Tie Camp Creek, but I suspect I wore out my welcome with them hackers. No, Tommy didn't know I was coming." He snorted, his face and voice turning bitter. "Don't think he was too happy to see me. After riding out on me in the middle of the night. Ironic, ain't it? Us three pals meeting together like this."

"Busted-Tooth Melvin rode here," I reminded Tommy.

"And left," Tommy answered, "before John Henry showed up."

My head snapped back toward John Henry.

"Where's Major MacDunn?" I challenged him. "He was trailing you. Thought you might be Missus Gow, I reckon. What have you done with him and Mister Gow?"

"Nothing!" John Henry exploded, clenching his fists, hovering over me. I thought he'd slap me to the floor. "I told you I didn't do nothing. Knew I was being followed, so I led them away from this shack, then doubled back."

"They'd come here," I said. "Eventually. Unless you killed them."

"They was alive when I last seen them," he said. "I ain't no murderer."

"You derailed that train!" When I spoke those words, I deliberately looked at Tommy, not at John Henry, because I just had to know. Tommy's face registered total shock, and that made me feel better. He hadn't been involved in the derailing of the Northern Pacific train. He wasn't a murderer.

But. . . .

But John Henry Kenton was. Just like Bitterroot Abbott said.

"That train," John Henry said, "was hauling barbed wire. That train is responsible for Tommy's face. I ain't ashamed."

"That was no freight," I said. "It was carrying people."

"My G.o.d," Tommy whispered.

"Wire!" John Henry barked. "The Northern Pacific. . . ."

"People!" I yelled. "Four of them are dead, including a nineyear-old girl!"

"Northern Pacific all the same!" he yelled.

"Murderer!" I screamed back.

He slapped me, but I didn't fall, and John Henry reached for his Colt, but didn't pull it from the holster. "That's why you come here, you liar," he said, trembling, his face a mask of hate, or rage. "You come looking for me. Same as Gow and MacDunn and all them law dogs! Gow's wife ain't dead. You just want me to believe that."

"No." My head shook weakly. "But I wish it was a lie. No, she's dead. Mister Gow and the major rode off looking for her. I came here . . . well . . . because we've been pards, John Henry, and I don't want to see you hang."

"So you knew I was here!" He slapped the other side of my face. Blood trickled from my split lip, but I looked John Henry in the eyes.

"I knew the major wasn't following Missus Gow," I said. "We rode out looking for them. They've been gone. . . ." Couldn't remember. I had lost track of the days.

Tommy cleared his throat, and started gathering all his heavy clothes. "I'll find Major MacDunn," he said. "I'll tell him about Missus Gow."

"The h.e.l.l you will!" John Henry barked, but Tommy ignored him, went right on pulling on an extra s.h.i.+rt.

"I'll ride with you." I dabbed my split lip with my bandanna.

John Henry got his Colt halfway out of the holster, then angrily shoved it back. "You two are the biggest fools in Montana." He jerked open the door. "You feel that wind? It's getting colder. Look at those skies."

"We're going," Tommy told him as he grabbed his overshoes. "You can stay here."

"Not for long," John Henry said. "Everyone has fixed that. Sure as h.e.l.l I can't stay here. Riders from the Bar DD will be sure to come before long. MacDunn and Gow might turn back, seeking shelter. I ain't about to swing from some rope."

"They'll be coming," I agreed. "Least, someone will come, whether we go looking for the major or not. No matter if you kill us. Or not."

"Fools!" John Henry turned savagely. "It's started snowing again! You can't ride out of here. You can't leave . . . me!"

Without a word, Tommy pushed past him, and I followed.

Silently we saddled our horses in the pen, mounted, and eased the horses down the path between the cabin and a little grove of trees. John Henry stood at the edge of the cabin, shaking his head. Heavy flakes of snow already covered the brim and crown of his battered hat.

"This is plumb foolishness," he said.

Silently we rode right past him, but, when he yelled at us to stop, we obeyed, turning in our saddles, waiting.

I expected-well, I hoped-hoped he would tell us that he'd ride with us, but he just shook his head.

"I won't be here when you get back," he said. "If you get back."

Tommy nodded slightly, and looked down the slope toward the river.

"Hold up!" John Henry barked again, and let out a heavy sigh.

"You can't follow their trail. Snow's covered it by now."

He was right. I'd lost those tracks that night, and I didn't think even Busted-Tooth Melvin could pick up the trail by now.

"We'll find them," Tommy said.

John Henry swore again, and I thought he would go back inside, but he shook his head, staring at us. "Cross the river," he said at last, sounding defeated. "It's frozen solid, but be careful you don't step in an air hole. You'll come up by the old fence. Don't let your horses step on any wire buried under the snow. I led those following me north, up along that big mountain yonder." He pointed at Castle Reef. "Then I turned back when it got pitch black, figured they'd keep on north till they realized they'd lost my trail. Most likely, they'll make for the Seven-Three Connected. That's what you two kiddoes need to do. When you get on the other side of the mountain, turn east. Just ride north by east. North by east. Remember that. North by east. You'll likely find Gow and MacDunn, but, if you don't, keep on riding. North by east. When you hit Deep Creek, just follow it east. Stay on the creekbed, if you can. It'll keep you out of the wind. Just follow Deep Creek. That'll get you close enough to Gow's ranch to spit. I warrant you'll find them by the stove at Gow's ranch." He repeated the general directions. "You got that?"

"Yes," Tommy answered, and we rode off, hearing John Henry's final call.

"Good luck," he said.

We didn't reply.

The snow fell heavy, large, wet flakes, blanketing the horizon. Those clear skies were long gone, and me and Tommy rode in silence, following John Henry's directions.

I kept thinking we'd run into the major and Mr. Gow, heading back, giving up on finding the trail, and seeking shelter, and I wondered what we'd do. We'd have to go back to the line shack. The major would insist on it. Then what? I hoped John Henry would be gone.

The wind picked up, and the snow fell harder.

We stopped long enough to put on extra layers-the women's stockings over my sleeves, the face mask Melvin had made for me-and tied our bandannas over our hats, pulling the brims down. The snow kept falling. . . .

Harder.

Harder.

I quit thinking about John Henry, quit wondering about things like that, gave up hope on ever seeing the major and Mr. Gow because I could just barely see Tommy, and he was riding right beside me. The wind screamed. The snow blew sideways, no longer heavy, wet flakes, but frigid pieces of ice that slapped at us without mercy.

With a fury we had yet to see that winter, the storm raged. Our horses faltered. I yelled at Tommy, just a silhouette about to disappear, though he was no more than three feet from me. Yelled at him to dismount, that we had to turn back, find shelter. Yelled at him that we were about to die.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

The wind came from the north, terrible, brutal.

We turned back south-didn't have a choice-keeping Castle Reef to our right. At least, I prayed that big old rock face was to my right, prayed we were riding south. I couldn't see the mountain. Not a silhouette. Not a shadow. Nothing. Nothing but blinding snow.

Closing my eyes, I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake. Maybe we should have headed for the mountain. Maybe. . . . Too late now. Wasn't sure I could find it.

We moved with the wind, cold and miserable, and hearts filled with dread.

When Crabtown started faltering, I dismounted, holding the stiff reins, motioning for Tommy to do the same. For a moment we sheltered ourselves between the two horses, stamping our feet to get the blood flowing again.

"I'm sorry I missed Christmas," Tommy said.

I looked at him, worried. Peculiar thing to say. But I couldn't make out his face. With the shrieking wind, I could just barely hear his voice.

"It didn't amount to much," I told him. It hurt to talk.

I looked down. The snow was up to my boot tops. I bent low, checking Crabtown's feet, making sure the ice hadn't torn up his legs. No damage. No blood. Not yet, anyway. The horse snorted, and I rubbed his neck, the hair stiff, crusted with ice.

"Good boy," I whispered.

"I'm sorry I missed Christmas," Tommy said again. He sniffed.

I moved close to him. "Don't talk," I said. "Save your breath." I could make out his eyes now, wild, crazy eyes. Reminded me of the way John Henry had looked back in the line shack when he'd lost his temper. Kind of like that, but different. John Henry always seemed sure of himself. Tommy's eyes darted.

"I can't see anything!" he yelled.

I gripped his shoulder. "Listen to me," I said. I took a deep breath. Had to inhale with my mouth. Couldn't hardly get my nose to work. That was a mistake. It felt as if I'd filled my lungs with ice, that I'd frozen the insides. Hurt like blazes. I bent low, waiting for the pain to subside, slowly exhaling, then looking back up at Tommy.

The wind roared.

"We need to keep moving," I said. "I'll lead. You grab Crabtown's tail with your right hand, wrap the reins to your horse around your left. Keep your head low. Don't let go. Don't let go of the tail. Don't let go of the reins."

"How do you know we're going in the right direction?" he asked.

"The wind," I said. "Keep the wind at our backs. Storm's blowing in from the north. We'll keep going south."

"To where?" His voice ached with terror.

I had to keep my nerve, at least, sound like I knew what I was doing. If I broke down, we'd both die.

"Come on," I said.

He just stood there. I had to take his right arm, lift it, bring it to my horse. I watched him slowly grab a handful of tail. Then I pressed my hand around his, made sure he had a tight grip on that horsehair. Well, as tight as anyone could hold with stiff gloves. As I eased my way to the front of my horse, I tugged Crabtown's reins. Started walking. Pus.h.i.+ng through mounds of ice that kept getting higher. Pus.h.i.+ng on. Head down, whole body practically numb, moving with a purpose, although it seemed to take forever.

Every minute or so, I'd make sure Tommy was behind me. It was hard to see. It got harder to walk.

It got colder, and colder, and colder.

Concentration proved difficult. I had to remind myself how to walk. Right leg. Left leg. Right leg. Step. Step. Step. Stop. Look back. Right leg. Left leg. Forward. Forward.

G.o.d help me!

We had to rest frequently. Every fifteen minutes at first, but that soon shortened to ten minutes, then five. Before long, it wasn't minutes, but steps. Walking, though, seemed better than riding. The horses blocked some of the snow, ice, and wind. Being lower to the ground protected me and Tommy a little bit, and resting our two horses seemed prudent.