Mankillers

“I’ll check things out first thing in the morning,” Buck said. “Y’all stay here till I get back. Is there any other route, if we can’t make it through there?”

“Could go to Monck’s Corner,” Wes commented, “but it’s a lot longer. Might not get to Charleston tomorrow, if we go that way.”

“Doesn’t seem like much of an option,” Tracker said. “The longer we’re on the road, the greater the risk. I don’t imagine your lady friend will feel safe till she’s in her own home.”

Neither will I.

#

Buck rose before sunrise the next morning, unable to shake a feeling of apprehension. The hours ahead would bring safe haven in Charleston for Sarah, if all went well, but that was a mighty big if. Wes and Freddie were of a mind that, since Buck had killed four of the gang, the redheaded man and any of his gang who were left had limped back to Lexington County with their tails between their legs. Buck’s gut told him otherwise. The man who’d murdered his brother wouldn’t give up that easily.

Tracker stirred in the other bed and sat up.

“Don’t leave till I return,” Buck told him. “Shouldn’t be gone more than two hours.”

“If you’re not,” Tracker said, yawning and stretching, “I’ll come looking for you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Protect the ladies.”

“I know my job. I’m not called Tracker for nothing, doctor. Remember that.”

A sliver of light was creeping over the eastern rim when Buck started down the road to Charleston. If Snead still wanted to attack, it had to be today. The macadam was level and wide as he trotted at a leisurely pace toward the coast. Did he smell a tang of salt in the still air? Probably his imagination, but he looked forward to spending time in the harbor city where he’d attended medical school.

The Cooper River was at high tide. The shale road skirted the river’s edge at intervals and wound its way through groves of hemlock, pine and bald cypress. Buck found the switchback Wes had described, where a bluff projected out over the racing river.

He headed Gypsy up a footpath to the top of the bluff, which gave him a clear view of the road below. Using his binoculars, he sca

Nobody.

He hoped.

Both dissatisfied and relieved that the way appeared to be clear, he pushed Gypsy into a faster trot on the way back to the i

“What did you find?” he asked, after Buck had dismounted and led Gypsy to the water trough.

“Just what Wes had described. The perfect ambush site, but not a soul around.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Rufus Snead hasn’t given up.”

“So what do you want to do?” Tracker asked.

“We’ve come this far. Not much choice. We go on.”

A minute later, the two men joined the driver and guard in the stable where Wes was harnessing the team.

“I found a vantage point up on the bluff you mentioned where I can watch y’all and see if anyone’s following or setting a trap ahead. Do we need to go over the signals again?”

Freddie wasn’t pleased at having his memory questioned. “Like you said, doctor, one shot’s continue on. Two’s stop, and three’s run like hell.”

Tempers were getting edgy, Buck realized. Not a good sign. Angry people didn’t always think straight.

“Another detail we need to discuss,” Tracker said. “That box I’ve been carrying.” He’d stored it in the corner of their bedroom every night and lashed it securely to the top of the coach every morning. “It contains an

equalizer— grenades and explosives.”

“Explosives?” Wes exclaimed.

“Just some black powder, nitro and fuse cord.”

“Nitro?” Wes backed away and stared at him. “Nitro? You’ve been carrying that stuff with you this whole trip? Are you out of your mind? You trying to kill us all?”

Buck was bewildered. “You’re carrying nitroglycerin? My God, man!”

Wes was less contained. Sputtering with rage, he threw his hat on the ground. “Dadgummit, I thought you were supposed to be protecting us. If this coach . . . had turned over when that wheel seized up back at St Matthews—” he paused to catch his breath “—Sweet Jesus, we’d all be singing with the angels.”

“Hold on and listen. You’re not thinking straight,” Tracker said emphatically. “First off, I’m no more anxious to die than you are. Second, we’ve hit enough bumps in the last three days to have already set it off by your standard. And third, even if the coach had turned over back there, this stuff wouldn’t have blown.”

Buck shook his head. “You should’ve told me.”

“If y’all will listen to me a minute,” Tracker said with exaggerated patience, “I’ll explain. This concoction’s no more dangerous than the cartridges in your rifle.”

“Nitro? Are you kidding?” Wes nearly shouted. “The way the coach bounces, it’s a miracle we’re still here talking about it.”

Buck stood by listening to the exchange, puzzled by Tracker’s rash behavior. “I’m still waiting for an explanation, Mr. Bouchard.”

Tracker narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly. “Dr. Thomson, I was the explosives ordnance officer on Colonel Canby’s staff in the Mexican War. I used this formulation every day and never lost a finger.” He held up his hands and wiggled the digits to show they were all there and functioning. “Each component’s separately wrapped, and the nitro’s been mixed with sawdust so even if it fell off a moving wagon, nothing would happen. It’s perfectly safe to transport because only a fuse will set it off.”

Wes huffed. “Well, we’ve come this far without being blown to smithereens,” he conceded, obviously still not pleased by the explanation. “I guess we’ll have to take you at your word. After all, you have been riding with us. But I can tell you I’ll sure be glad when this trip’s over.”

Tracker relocated the box to the inside of the coach. A minute later, the ladies joined them. Before they climbed aboard, Tracker motioned Janey to one side.

“We’re almost there,” he said, “but if we run into trouble, I’m counting on you to protect Mrs. Drexel. Get her down on the floor of the coach and get on top of her, if you have to.”

“You ‘spect something go

“I want us to be prepared. We’ve gotten this far. A few more hours and you’ll be home with your mistress.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Tracker. Yes, sir. You can count on me, sir.”

“Good girl.”

#

As the ladies were boarding the coach, Buck nudged Gypsy into a gentle trot ahead of them. He could make faster progress on horseback than the heavy Concord could and wanted to use the opportunity to scout out the trail one more time.

Sarah’s journey was almost over. Within a matter of hours she would be home and free of the danger of being associated with him. It was because of him she was in danger; it was because of him her father was dead. She should hate him. He didn’t understand why she didn’t. He was only grateful. But that made the burden he felt even heavier. His mission now wasn’t exclusively to kill the man who’d killed his brother. As important as that was, more important for him was to protect her. A few hours to go. Until this moment he hadn’t realized the depth of his feelings for her. These past years he’d insulated himself from anyone or anything. He did his job the best he could, but as time went on he experienced less and less co