The Ferguson Rifle

"Well, it was worth a try. I half expected you'd be a damned fool." He held out his hand to me, smiling. "No hard feelings?" Instinctively, my hand went out. He gripped mine hard. "All right, men, take him!" I jerked hard on my hand, but Falvey had uncommon strength and he hung on. Instantly, hearing boots grate on the rocks, I threw myself into hm. My move was unexpected and Falvey staggered, fought for his balance, but when I threw my weight down slope, he let go. I went flying, my left hand gripping my rifle, and rolled and tumbled down the slope into the darkness.

Two shots rang out, then a third. At least one bullet clipped leaves near me.

Falvey, who had fallen to his knees, was getting up, swearing.

I started to move, a branch cracked under my hand, and a shot clipped an aspen trunk close to me and spat bark in my face.

Yet I lunged to my feet and ran into the aspen, weaving in and out among the trunks.

Another shot was fired, but there was small chance of hitting me among the aspen. I ran on, heedless of sound, yet actually making little on the damp leaves. On my left was a dark clump of spruce... the camp should be there.

I plunged into the open, looking quickly around.

Nothing! Somehow I had lost my way among the trees, and-- But no.

The fire was there. The dark coals smoked slightly, and there was a tinge of red where one still glowed.

Gone... they were gone.

I was alone.

CHAPTER 15

Alone... they were gone. But where? And for how long?

My own gear was gone too. Everything had been taken but the fire. were they captives? Or hearing the shooting, had they simply fled, imagining me dead, or if not dead, able to survive and find them.

Survive... that was the first thing, and to survive I must move.

An instant I held perfectly still, listening.

Every sense put out its feeler, the wind, the stirring of brush. Carefully I eased back from the fire's faint glow, into the deeper shadow of the spruce. I could see nothing there, but neither could they.

Where to go? Higher there was no cover. Downhill toward water and easier travel was almost instinctive and therefore to be avoided. Along the mountain's face then, toward the north.

The spruce trees stood so close their boughs touched. Crouching I went under some, between others.

My mind held the thought like a ghost... move like a ghost... and I did just that.

The thin moccasins sensed every branch, every thing under my feet. I felt my way swiftly along.

Get away first, far away, survive first, and then find my friends and help them if they needed help. A dead Ronan Chantry was of no use to anyone but buzzards and coyotes. Along the face of the mountain. It was steep, but not too steep for travel. Here and there it was suddenly steeper, and glancing up, I could see the still peaks and shoulders of the mountain, majestic in the moonlight. I moved again, ran lightly for thirty yards, then paused.

The night was without sound. I waited, stilling my breathing, listening. Nothing.

Again I moved, more carefully now, angling slightly upslope. I wanted to see what lay above me in the open. If they were traveling there, they could pass me, move ahead, then cut downslope and I would be surrounded.

I saw nothing. Living in the wilderness had tuned my ears, made my senses more keen. I was more like the boy I had been than the student of later years. Now I was back, and in every fiber of my being I knew, this was my home, this was where I belonged.

Stopping suddenly I crouched close to the trunk of a spruce, under the drooping boughs. In the slight hollow there, I waited. Had I heard something? Or were my senses deceiving me?

A faint stir, and then a low whisper, only a few feet away... a dozen feet?

Possibly less.

"He can't have come this far. He's a Boston man, not no woodsman!" "Mebbe, but he surely done vanished into nothin' yonder, just when we had him." "I tell you we've come too far. He's back yonder. If we let him get away, Rafe will kill us all. I tell you, that man skeers me!" "So? You've et better, lived better, had more'n ever since you been with him. He scares other folks, too, and rightly. He'd kill you soon as look at you." My knife was in my hand. If there was to be close work, I wanted to be ready for it, and there's nothing better for close work than a blade. Mine was two-edged, razor-sharp, andwitha weighted haft... a beautiful fighting knife made a thousand years before, in India where they had the finest steel.

I had inherited that knife. Chantrys had owned it for a good spell. It had been given to an ancestor of mine by a Frenchman named Talon who got it privateering in the Indian Ocean, given to him by a girl. A pretty one, I would guess.

My rifle was in my left hand now, the knife in my right. I waited, stifling my breathing. I was even tempted to move out and attack them. I might get one before they realized anyone was near, but the other might shout and then they'd all be upon me.

My feelings at the moment were very unscholarly.

I felt like a savage, as some of my Irish forebears must have felt at such a time.

The night was cool. Now my eyes could see their legs. Their bodies were obscured by the thick, low-hanging boughs.

"We'd better get on with it." "What happened to the rest of them? That's what I'd like to know. They worry me. Solomon Talley was in that crowd." "Talley? The hell you say! Then this'll be a tougher lot than Rafen thought.

Talley wouldn't go to the mountains with a lot of tenderfeet." They moved off, making only small sounds, and I waited, not wanting to lose all by too sudden a movement.

Evidently the others had escaped, or if captured, these two knew nothing of it. Well, where would they go? Down toward the creek I suspected.

Carefully, I eased from my dark shelter, and moving like a wraith along the pine-needled carpet beneath me, I worked my way upslope and along it.

First, to escape. To get clear as the others had done. Then to find them.

A mile I covered. I was sure it was that, for I was skilled at judging distance. Then I found a place where rocks from off the rim had crashed into the trees, pushing some down, causing others to lean. The dark spruce boughs offered a shield and I crept into th place and sat down, suddenly desperately tired.

The tension that had kept me up was easing off, and the sleep I had missed was demanding repayment.

Crawling back into my natural shelter, I carefully made sure I left no signs at the opening, and then with my knife gripped in one hand, my rifle beside me, I slept.

Daylight found an opening in the boughs and touched my eyes. At once I was awake, but for a moment lay perfectly still, trying to remember where I was. The spot where I had taken shelter was one of those accidentally created places of which a number may always be found in the forest. Actually, it could have sheltered our whole party, exclusive of the horses, and the only trouble lay in the fact that while I could see a bit downslope, my view toward the crest of the mountain was completely blocked.

Sitting up, I looked down the slope but could see nothing, my view obstructed by the thick stand of spruce. I took up my Ferguson and carefully wiped it dry, slipped my knife into xs scabbard, and moved to the opening.

There I waited, listening. Meanwhile, my mind searched for a solution to the situation. Lucinda knew, as did the others, that we were in the near vicinity of the treasure's location, so even if they had moved, I did not believe they would move far.

The difficulty lay in the fact that Rafen Falvey knew this also.

For the moment I was secure and it was a temptation to remain right where I was. After all, what did I owe to any of them? Why go out there and get killed or wounded and left to die when I was not involved?