The Ferguson Rifle

The woods would be full of them, and somewhere Jorge Ulibarri was also, perhaps safe, perhaps dead, perhaps wounded, and needing help as Davy had.

Yet the futility of my efforts became obvious. In the darkness I could not tell friend from enemy, nor could I hope to find them, scattered as they were. Slowly, I worked my way back to Davy. He was still there, sleeping now.

Edging back beside him, I waited, listening.

To stay with him or return to Lucinda?

Reason told me she was safe, but it also told me Davy was sleeping and there was no more I could do to help him for the time. I decided to return.

Fifteen minutes it must have taken me to go the last hundred yards, and I am a good judge of time. The log with the bark scaled away lay white like a fallen temple column in the moonlight.

I went into the trees. No Lucinda.

I could not believe it.

I listened, and heard no breathing. I spoke softly, and had no answer. I felt about, and touched nothing.

Lucinda was gone.

I had told her to stay where she was, and she had not done so. My irritation changed to anger, then to fear. Suppose she had been taken?

Suppose Rafen Falvey had found her, or some of his men?

Crawling to where I had left her sitting, I felt all around... nothing.

And then my hand touched a knife. My fingers explored it in the darkness. Almost no guard.

single edge. She had no knife that I had ever seen, and this was a ski

Someone had been here. She had been taken.

but where?

There had been no outcry. In the silence of the night I could have heard it for a great distance.

Easing back into deeper shadow, I settled myself to wait for daybreak. To crawl around now would only disturb what sign was left, and there was nothing I could do, either to fight or run, until the day came again.

I thought of deliberately building a fire.

It would probably call some of them to me, friends or enemies... but the problem was to know one from the other in the darkness. So I huddled tight against the bole of a spruce, under the dark, down-bending branches, and waited.

It was very still. The small sounds of the night seemed only to make greater the silence. Somewhere an owl spoke mournfully across the moonlit meadow, a bird ruffled its feathers nearby, a pine cone dropped, whispering through the needles, then falling to the ground.

Under the spruces it was very dark. I sat, rifle across my knees, listening and waiting.

Alone in the night there are many sounds to hear, sounds always present but only heard in moments of stillness and waiting. How often, I thought, men had waited like this. The Greeks, concealed in their wooden horse outside the walls of Troy, must have heard such sounds as they waited.

Would the Trojans accept the bait? Would they leave the horse where it was? Draw it inside as booty? Would they destroy it? Set it afire?

The Greek soldiers had only to wait, to hope, and to remain absolutely silent.

Now I could see the fires down below were not as cold and dead as I believed. I could see red coals, like the eyes of beasts, waiting.

Not far away was Davy Shanagan. Had my quick treatment helped him? Had the bleeding stopped?

Long ago Irish soldiers at the Battle of Clontarf had used moss to stop the bleeding of their wounds, so perhaps my reading of history had taught me something after all.

What had happened to Lucinda? Why had she not stayed where I left her?

Dawn was going to bring many things to a climax with so many armed men in so brief a space. I must sleep. Even if only a little. And if I was inclined to snore, I hoped on this night I would not.

When tomorrow came, there would be much to do. Get those of our group that survived together again. Find Lucinda, get the treasure, if treasure there was, then escape.

To achieve this we must have some freedom of action, which meant freedom from attack. Hence, I must locate the enemy and move against him in such a way that he must defend himself. I must immobilize him for a time, at least.

He had lost his horses by my first action. If he had recovered them, or some of them, I must act to disperse them once more. What was it Sun Tzu had said in 496 B.C.? Speed is the essence of war. Take advantage of your enemy's unreadiness, move by unexpected routes, and attack unguarded spots.

Well... if possible. And in the morning.

I went to sleep.

Within me was wariness... fear, if you like. My eyes opened upon a cold light, the gray, dim light before the sunrise. Lying still, I listened and heard nothing. Slowly, group by group I began to flex my muscles, pumping blood into them that my actions upon rising would be quicker. Carefully, I sat up.

A quail called... another answered.

Wiping the Ferguson clean of dew, I crept away from the bole of the tree to a better view. First I swept the area with a quick glance, then a more searching one. Then I directed my attention toward where Davy lay, but could see nothing of him, which was as it should be.

Rafen Falvey would try to assemble those men who remained with him. I believed he had lost at least four, but there had been further shooting, and the numbers might have been trimmed still more.

First, Lucinda.

Easing from my cover after a careful study of my surroundings, I went back toward the place I had left her. The log where we had rested was there.

Getting to my feet, I looked all around.

Our tracks were plain enough, but she was gone.

A stir in the brush across from me and my Ferguson came level at waist height. Then a man emerged from the brush and it was Cusbe Ebitt. Behind him was Heath.

"They're movin'," Ebitt said. "Falvey has a skirmish line started up the slope.

maybe two hundred yards back. Looks like they're aimin' to sweep the woods clean." "Where are the others?" "Search me. Ain't seen anybody but Isaac in hours. Where's she?" My explanation was brief. Turning suddenly, the log came into my range of vision again. What was it Van Runkle had said? Something about a bare log, the bark fallen off... the cave was behind it, up the hill somewhat.

Beckoning them, I went into the trees. We worked our way up, and in low tones I explained what we were looking for. If we could hide in the cave, and then attack after they had passed.

There! Under an aspen, clearly cut into the earth, the right side of a heel print--the corner of the heel, the line of the side, and a slight bit of the curve at back. A small sign, but sufficient. Lucinda had come up the slope then, and through the trees in the darkness. Why?

Looking ahead, I saw nothing but the slim columns of the aspen, a few young spruce growing in their shelter, and a crisscrossing of fallen trees. The slope was steep. The light was better now.

A camp-robber jay was keeping us company on the lower branches. Once we heard a faint sound and saw an elk moving away, just vanishing.

The trees thi

Van Runkle! We followed on and found Lucinda's track, well defined, again.

Van Runkle had Lucinda. I said it aloud and Isaac looked over at me. "Who is he?" Explaining, I added, "He's been looking for the treasure, too. And he means to have it." "We'd better find 'em then, an' almighty quick. You can't tell about a man like that." We started again, searching for the cave, following the tracks.

And startled by this discovery, we forgot what we should have remembered.

Rafen Falvey and his men were coming up behind us.

CHAPTER 19

It was a moment of carelessness that saved us. They were still a good thirty yards off and most of them were among the trees when one of them stepped on a dry branch. It cracked, and I turned more swiftly than I have ever turned, and dropping to one knee, I fired.