Rafe remained quiet, very aware of the three guns still leveled at him, at the hostile, disbelieving stares.
“Maybe you’re what you say you are.Maybe you’re not,” the lawman said.“But with all the robberies and killings around here, I’m not taking any chances.”He went to his horse and took handcuffs from the saddlebags.Rafe stiffened.
“I’m Russ Dewayne,” the lawman said, and Rafe remembered the name.Clint had liked him, thought him a fair man.
Dewayne set the handcuffs down on a rock and took off his bandanna.“Roll up your sleeve,” he said.“Let’s take a look at that arm.”
Rafe nodded and the sheriff turned his attention to the bleeding wound that had torn open the still-stitched ragged tear from the bear.“What in the hell happened to you?”
“A bear,” Rafe said.
His eyes narrowed.“You seem to have bad luck, Mr.…”
“Tyler.”It seemed useless to give another name, particularly with the brand that would soon be discovered.
The lawman said nothing else but tied the bandanna around the wound and then checked the leg.It had already stopped bleeding.“Just a crease, but it needs to be looked after.I’m taking you into Casey Springs.There’s a doctor there.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.The miner down there claims you shot at him.And there’ve been a lot of robberies.I’ll be real interested to see whether they’ll continue once you’re locked up.”He picked up the handcuffs, then looked at the arm he’d just bandaged and hesitated.Rafe realized what the lawman was thinking.It would be damned difficult to get down the mountain with the wounds and the handcuffs.
“Where’s your horse?”
Rafe deliberately put a hand over the bandage as if it bothered him more than it did.“Up above.”
“How far?”
“Quarter of a mile.”
The lawman signaled one of his men to go find it.“Let’s go on down,” he said.“Talk to that miner.”He tucked the handcuffs in his belt.“After you … Mr.Tyler.”
Rafe carefully made his way down the slope, very conscious of the guns still on him.His leg hurt, and his arm felt like fire, but he was damned grateful to the man behind him.He had a chance, a slim one, to escape.Or convince the miner he hadn’t been trying to shoot at him.
They reached the bottom of the slope.The miner stood there, rifle in hand, glaring at him, taking several threatening steps toward him.
The lawman stopped in front of the miner.“Take it easy, Charlie.He says he was just trying to help you.You see anyone else up there?”
“Yes, sir.There was two of them.Saw the sun hit the barrel of their rifles.That’s how I hit him,” he said with satisfaction.“Figure they was together.”
“Then why in hell do you figure he was shooting at me?”Rafe said.
“Well, now, I didn’t see that,” the miner said.“I just knew the dust was jumping up around me.”
“That first bullet,” the lawman said.“Do you know where it came from?”
The miner squinted back up the slope.“I don’t know.I just heard it coming from my back and grabbed old Herman here,” he said, lifting his rifle.“Saw the sun on the rifle up there and shot.Then a bullet hit real close, and I dived for the woods and started shooting.”
“So it could have been like he said?”
“Ain’t likely,” the miner said.“Why would he just happen along at the right time?More likely he’s one of them that’s been killing miners up here.”
Rafe saw the trap closing just as it had years ago.No one was going to believe him, especially when they saw his hand, and that, he knew, was just a matter of time, maybe even minutes.
He schooled his face to indifference.He had one chance now, and that was to keep those handcuffs off, to make a run for it, once he was on his horse.
One chance in a million.
He thought to test his captors, to see how closely they were watching him.He walked over to a tree and leaned against it as if too weak to stand any longer.The wounds had kept his hands free thus far.
