And in doing so Randall had created a very dangerous man, who was a threat to McClary as well as Randall.McClary had no doubt he would be Tyler’s next target.
McClary had considered killing Tyler on the trip to prison but never got the opportunity.He’d been able to take out his frustration on the prisoner though.The fact that Tyler, despite his chains, had viewed him with disdain, had only hardened his hatred.
Now Tyler had help.That much was obvious.McClary didn’t know who.He didn’t know why.But he did know they weren’t amateurs.Which made it very important that Tyler be caught, and caught quickly.The murder of a few miners might just spur on the law, place Randall even more under his control, and earn McClary a few dollars to boot.
He would wait until the miner left the creek and started the trek to his cabin.
Randall would know who did it, but Randall couldn’t turn in McClary without revealing his own past.And the same timid streak that saved Tyler would keep Randall from saying a word now.
McClary smiled.He’d been small for his age as a boy and bullied by his schoolmates in the Kentucky hills.But he could shoot.Damn, if he couldn’t pick off a squirrel at a thousand feet.This skill had made him a sergeant.But he still hadn’t won the respect he so badly craved.
The miner below him checked his pan again and threw away the contents in disgust.He took up the wool shirt he’d discarded on the ground, pulled it on, and tucked the tail carelessly inside his trousers.He then reached for the gunbelt he’d placed next to the shirt, buckled it on, and started toward the cabin a few feet into the woods.
McClary, who was already spread flat on the ground, carefully sighted his rifle, the barrel following the route taken by the miner.McClary’s finger slowly squeezed the trigger.
After several minutes he snaked his way down to the side of the miner, pulled the pouch from the man’s trousers, and weighed it in his hand.There were several ounces, anyway.
He thought about checking out the man’s cabin but decided against that.Most miners carried their pouches with them, afraid to leave the small amount of gold they collected in empty cabins.No sense staying longer than necessary.
McClary took one last look at the miner.Hell of a lot easier than rabbit hunting.He grinned mirthlessly.Another miner shot in the back.That should stir the folks up.
Randall debated with himself whether to tell Russ Dewayne about his daughter’s disappearance or go looking for her himself.
He’d had a long ride back from Casey Springs, weighed down as he was by guilt and regret.He kept seeing Sara, accusing him, blaming him.And he felt responsible now for what she apparently had feared most: that he would, in some way, ruin their daughter’s life.
The clerk at the Casey Springs express office said the woman who had approached him had light blue eyes, light brown hair, and a lovely smile.Sara had once possessed a lovely smile, quick and easy and guileless.
He would give anything to see their daughter.Even, he knew with sudden clarity, his life.
Would she be killed if he brought in the law?
If only he could talk to Tyler.Discover what he wanted.But he had no idea where Tyler was hiding.
He felt so damn helpless.Probably, he admitted to himself, as helpless as Tyler himself had once felt.What kind of man was he today?What did ten years of prison do to a man who had once been decent and honorable?Randall had avoided thinking about it these past few years, brushing the guilt away, performing charitable deeds that he hoped somehow made up for the one truly evil thing he had done.
Randall made his decision then.He would spend the next three days searching the mountains for Tyler and his daughter.If he found no sign of them, he would then ask the sheriff to form a posse.
And if he did find Tyler?He would bargain his life, his reputation, his freedom, if necessary.
If his daughter was dead?Randall knew he would kill Tyler and hope that Tyler’s men killed him in turn.
Shea was sitting outside when Ben returned from the fishing trip.She had taken the cub outside to be inspected again by the mother.Once more the she-bear had urged it to walk, but the cub’s clumsy attempts sent him sprawling, and so the she-bear had retreated.
Rafe was sleeping, so Shea, the cub in her lap, waited for Ben and put her fingers to her lips when he’d appeared.He gave the cub one of the fish at her insistence and at the cub’s begging, and then built a fire outside to cook the fish.
The sky was breathtaking, the stars so many twinkling diamonds on a deep blue backdrop.Everything out here was so incredibly lovely, so different from the dirty streets of Boston, from the noise and the lights and fog that so often rolled in at night.She felt as if she could reach up and grab a star and clutch it closely to her.She wanted to take it inside and show it to Rafe, to show him there was something besides vengeance.
And then she grew sad, hope fading to a painful, hollow ache that echoed throughout her, when she realized she could never comprehend how he felt, how she would feel if she’d lost so much.
She looked over at Ben.He was watching the cub more closely than he was watching the fish.The baby bear was nibbling on her good hand; her bandaged right hand was resting on its head.
Ben also kept a wary eye on the place at the edge of the woods where the she-bear had paced earlier; it had disappeared, apparently to find its own dinner.
“Why didn’t you leave when you had a chance?”He had asked the question before, and she had given him a nonanswer, one he hadn’t accepted.
Shea was tired of avoiding truths.“He was hurt because of something I asked him to do.”
“The cub, you mean?”
