Killer Summer

81

With the cowboy in stocking feet, the going was slow. Kevin and John followed Mitchum’s Creek out of the gorge to the elevated plateau that included the grassy field surrounding the lodge nearly a mile to the north. It was familiar territory for John, after years of maintaining the property, and he led the way through a dark forest, the creek to their left. He displayed a surprising amount of energy, now moving as if his unprotected feet didn’t bother him in the least.

Within thirty minutes, they crouched at the edge of the clearing around the lodge. John pointed out the dangling ropes in the distance, the sky now brighter, the stars all gone. Kevin followed the ropes higher and could make out four tiny figures. They looked like insects dangling on spiderweb threads. They were very near the top.

“That’s all of them,” John said, the relief in his voice palpable.

“Will we climb? I’m not great when it comes to heights.”

“No. As I said, they’ll have taken all the ropes with them, if they’re any good, and they’re good. They’ll pull them up behind them. If we’re going to catch them, we’ve got to get across the river and head upstream to that next zip line. That’ll get us across the gorge and, I imagine, just about even with them, depending how fast we can travel.” He looked again at the top of the cliff. “They won’t be running after all the energy they’ve wasted climbing. If we hurry, we’ve got a fool’s chance at it.”

“Is there any food in there?” Kevin asked.

“They could see us cross if we move now. For the girl’s sake, I don’t think it’s worth it. We’ll sit here a minute and let them all get over the top. Then we’ll provision in the lodge. I have a hunting rifle up in my room they won’t have found. It’s a beautiful gun and will outshoot anything they brought with them.”

Kevin felt the hairs on his arms stand up. There was a tone to the cowboy’s voice that said any possibility of forgiveness was gone. Whatever it took, he was going to free Summer. He’d kill them, if necessary. Kevin understood he was now party to that. They were going to hunt these men down.

John sensed Kevin’s reluctance.

“You don’t have to come along,” he said. “You’ve more than earned your keep, son. You’ve done good. I can handle this last part on my own. They’re in my country. This is my ranch-or that’s how I feel about it-and they’re about to learn what it means to do what they’ve done. You saved my life. I will get your friend back for you.”

“I’m coming,” Kevin said.

The cowboy smiled.

“How did I know that? But you and me, we have an understanding. I’m in charge. You do what I say. Exactly! And if it comes to killing, I’ll be the one doing it. It’s not falling to you, boy.”

“I want her back,” Kevin said.

“I know that. But you’re going to have a life after this. I’m not leaving you with memories you can never shake.”

“You make it sound as if you’ve done this before.”

John wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Some men,” he said, “live in isolation because they enjoy it. Others, because they deserve it.”

The cowboy leaned back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes.

“Ten minutes,” he said, “and they’ll be over the top.”

Sometime later-it felt like half an hour or more-the cowboy was in dry clothes and wearing a pair of lace-up boots. Army boots, Kevin thought. Both he and John wore backpacks, and John carried a military-looking rifle over his shoulder. He offered Kevin a nickel-plated snub-nosed.38 revolver. Six shots in it, and a box of rounds for his pocket. John showed him how to reload it, and he warned him not to use it unless his life depended on it. “Not hers, not mine, just yours,” he’d emphasized. And Kevin had agreed.

Amid chirping squirrels and singing birds, they jogged up the narrow path to the top of the canyon wall north of the airstrip. Here, as the path continued, there were amazing views to the right of the river sixty feet below and of the forest to the left.

The cowboy ran effortlessly in the high-altitude air, unencumbered by incline or load. Kevin labored to keep up. The older man had come alive, either because Kevin rescued him or he wanted to settle with the hijackers. One thing was clear: he wasn’t going to wait for Kevin. He was on his own mission.

It was only a matter of minutes before they reached the zip line spanning the canyon walls. It was antiquated, with a galvanized-steel tower on either side supporting a thick cable from which hung an improvised chair. Two ropes were attached to the chair, one allowing the passenger to pull himself across, the other allowing the chair to be pulled back to the other side.

As planned, Kevin went first. The chair sagged, feeling feeble and dangerous. He tried not to look down as he pulled on the rope across. The cowboy pulled the chair back and followed.

Another ten minutes gone.

Until that moment, Kevin hadn’t realized how tired he was. He felt like he couldn’t move.

“You said there’s an ATV, right?” he said.

“There is,” said the cowboy, “but there’s no trail between here and Morgan Creek, so it’s no use to us. We’ll go on foot. Don’t drop behind. If you do lose me, just hold to the river as best as you can and you’ll eventually reach the zip line about three miles upstream.”

Kevin eyed the cowboy. How dare the old man suggest he might actually fall so far behind that he’d need directions.

Just then, John took off running and quickly disappeared into the woods.