"They're up there somewhere, all right," said Sheriff Kraft. "And they'll be expectin' us to try exactly what we're tryin'. We just have to hope they don't spot us before we find them."

The sheriff punctuated his last remark by leaning over in the saddle and spitting a stream of tobacco into the bushes. Kraft was a wiry, leathery man with a huge white mustache stained brown in the middle by his lifelong habit.

"Do you reckon you'll be able to save us when the lead starts flyin', Pinkerton man?" Eddie Tucker asked through a gaping grin. Eddie was a deputy, and he had never liked Pinkerton men. He resented big-city dandies who thought they knew more about tracking and bandit-catching than he did. Besides, the very name "Pinkerton" sounded sort of feminine.

The Pinkerton agent ignored Eddie. He was staring up at the mountains which Kraft had indicated, staring and wishing he could magically divine where two bandits and one little girl could be hidden. Eddie took the Pinkerton man's silence as a personal affront, as he did most things.

The Pinkerton's name was Thomas Grady. He had been pursuing Fred Stein for several months, all the way from Chicago. Stein was dangerous, but had never been a priority for the agency; this had little to do with how dangerous he was, and much to do with the fact that the freight company he had robbed was a small outfit, with limited resources. Grady's superiors had decided that hunting down Stein was just the sort of undemanding task that Grady was capable of handling at this point.

The fact that Stein had made it all the way to California had certainly not eased the Agency's pressure on Grady. The additional fact that Stein had now hooked up with a vicious killer named Apache Bill and complicated things further by becoming a kidnapper was making Grady's job a lot more difficult.

"Why do they call him Apache Bill?" Grady had asked the local law officials when he first arrived in town.

"Because he's an Apache," Sheriff Kraft had said, in a tone which implied that he believed the Pinkerton to be a genuine idiot.

"I didn't think there were any Apaches this far north."

"He ain't from around here," Kraft said. "Way I hear it, he's so doggoned mean the Apaches don't even want him."

Now they made their way into the silent mountains. Eddie twisted nervously in his saddle, imagining the outlaws' eyes upon him with every step his roan took. He was annoyed to see that the Pinkerton was seemingly unaffected by the impending danger.

"Good Lord, Eddie," Kraft said. "If you don't set still you're gonna screw that poor horse right into the ground."

"It's this lousy army saddle," Eddie said. "I should've chewed Stoney down some more when I bought this horse from him. That old lunatic is so cheap he wouldn't even throw in a saddle." Seeing that his boss had begun ignoring him shortly after he had started speaking, Eddie changed the subject.

"Say, sheriff, how come we have to bring along this dude? Me and you can handle things fine."

"Me and you together can handle almost as much as I can by myself," Kraft said. Eddie was the son of the sheriff's idiot brother-in-law; Eddie's incompetence was not nearly as annoying as Mrs. Kraft's displeasure would have been.

"I've done told you, Eddie," said Kraft. "He's after the same feller we are. It's a professional courtesy."

Eddie snorted. "From what I've heard, a Pinkerton man is more likely to cause problems than to help out." He cast a vicious glance at Grady. "Everybody knows what they done at the James place in Missouri."

Grady had not yet spoken directly to the deputy. Now he fixed a hard stare upon him and spoke in a low tone, clipping each word tightly. "You don't know what you're talking about, mister."

"Now hold on," Kraft said. "I hate to say it, but Eddie's right for once. Those Pinkertons set out to catch Jesse James, and what happens? They throw a bomb in his mother's house, start a fire, kill her half-wit child, and hurt her real bad. Those fellers were either meaner than rattlesnakes or they were incompetent. Either way, that ain't the kind of folks I'd want watchin' my back in a pinch." Kraft spit again; with the back of his hand he wiped tobacco dribble off his chin.

"It wasn't a bomb," Grady said. "It was an accident. It was just a smoker, they were trying to empty the house  it must have landed in the fireplace, or knocked over some kerosene. Accidents happen sometimes."

Kraft chuckled. His anger had passed, and the customary look of weary kindness had returned to his eyes. "Them fellers friends of yourn?"

"No," Grady said. "I never met them."

"Huh. Touchy as you are about it, I thought you was takin' the whole thing personal for some reason."

Grady shook his head. "I don't take anything personally. I just know how easy it is for accidents to happen, that's all."

Eddie, who had started the discussion, was irritated that it had gotten away from him. He decided to change the subject again.

"Say Sheriff," he said. "How on earth are we supposed to find those men up here in these mountains? They could be anywhere. Shoot, they're probably more likely to find us than we are to find them." Eddie regretted the last sentence as soon as he said it. Vocalizing his fears just made them more real.

"Don't let your longjohns come unraveled, Eddie," Kraft said. "Stein and the Apache have only been in this area for a couple of months -I've been here for more than twenty-five years. I was panning for gold in these mountain waters before you was even born. I reckon I've learned my way around since then.

"If'n somebody wanted a secure hidin'-place," he continued, "I know just the spot they'd decide on. There's others, if you know where to look, but the big rock I've got in mind is the first place a couple of newcomers would find." He smiled broadly. "And I know a half-a-dozen ways to get there, too -each one sneakier than the last. We'll get the drop on 'em, all right. If we ride 'till dark and then make camp, we'll get to that rock mid-mornin' tomorrah."

Grady cast his eyes from one side of the trail to the other. He thought about the photographs he had seen of Stein, and the descriptions he had heard of the man's accomplice; he tried to picture them together in his mind, sitting on some rocky ledge and checking their weapons as they waited for him. If he could only picture them, it might help in determining exactly where they were. They would be drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet.

His mind was drawn back once more to the cabin in Arkansas, a year ago. He had tried to keep that night, and Johnny Bains, out of his head but it seemed hopeless. Grady and his men had waited outside that cabin for hours, waiting for the unsuspecting bank robber to step outside. Grady had focused on Bains, mentally drawing him out into the cool night air and his destiny. He could still smell the food inside the cabin. Bains had prepared a feast for himself while his pursuers starved.

"How long have you been at this, son?" Kraft said. "This Pinkerton business, I mean."

"A few years," Grady said. Long enough, he thought to himself, that he should never have lost Stein's trail in Tucson. But Grady had been distracted, had never in fact given much thought to Stein, and the criminal had slipped away. He had slipped away and joined up with Apache Bill; together they had come to California.

The two outlaws had concocted a grand scheme. Stein got a job as a stableboy on the estate of Gabriel Sloane, in San Francisco. Sloane was an extremely wealthy man, having made his fortune supplying meat to the gold fields decades before. All the while Stein had his eye fixed on his employer's six-year-old daughter Amy. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Stein and the Apache grabbed the girl and fled into the mountains. They had left behind a poorly-written note informing the heartsick father to bring two hundred thousand dollars in gold in one week's time to the foot of these mountains. That had been five days ago.

Sloane had immediately started getting the money together. The authorities would never have learned of the crime were it not for a hysterical maid. Sheriff Kraft had spoken frankly with Sloane, telling him that the bandits would almost certainly kill the little girl once they got their money; he secretly believed that they might already have done so. The child's only hope was a speedy rescue.

After the sun fell, the three men made their camp. Eddie was anxious to continue the journey, all night if necessary; every minute counted, in his view. In addition, he was not too happy about sleeping the night in the woods when there was an Apache around.

"You go on ahead and keep ridin' if you want to, Eddie," Kraft said, winking at Grady over the campfire. "Of course, when you go crashin' around in the dark, Apache Bill will know you're comin' two hours before you get there."

Eddie spoke no more about riding through the night.

Kraft picked up a stick and started drawing designs with it in the dirt. "Come over here, boys," he said.

Grady stared intently over the sheriff's shoulder. So did Eddie; he said, "What kind of game is that?"

Kraft looked genuinely pained. "It ain't no game, you ignorant jackass. I'm tryin' to show you fellas where those buzzards are hidin', and how things are laid out there. Now this here," he said, pointing to an awkwardly-drawn circle, "this here is the Rock. It's as big as that fancy mansion of Sloane's, and its sides are naked stone. You can't reach it on horseback. There's some trees on top, which gives whoever is up there some cover."

Eddie screwed his face up in confusion. "Then how are we supposed to get 'em?"

Kraft nodded cheerfully. "That's the thing, my boy. That's where experience and knowledge of the land gives a man the edge. You see, what I know and they don't is that there's a spot, right here." He made a diagonal slash in the dirt beside the circle, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

"This here is a ridge," Kraft explained. "It ain't as impressive as the Rock, it's easy to get to and hard to defend. But -it looks down on the Rock. From a distance, yeah, but a fella with a good rifle can get a clear shot at anything on top of that chunk of stone." Kraft reached over and patted the stock of his Sharps. He looked up at Grady and said, "Good rifle."

"Reckon you can hit 'em?" Eddie said, suddenly excited. The prospect of someone else doing the actual shooting  and from a great distance was very appealing to the deputy.

"Shoot yeah, I can hit 'em. Here's my plan. We're gonna settle in on that ridge and wait for a good shot.  Shouldn't have to wait long. I'm gonna pick off that Apache first thing. He's the dangerous one. From what little I know of the Stein fella, he's apt to panic when everything falls apart on him, maybe even freeze up -at least for a few seconds, and that's all the time we need to kill him, too. If the whole thing is over by the time you can say 'Jack's-your-uncle', we have a good chance at savin' the girl." Kraft shuddered. "If she's even breathin' now. I'd hate to think of any grandchild of mine bein' held by Apache Bill."

"What if you miss the first shot?" the deputy said.

"Well, Eddie, that's when we have to start re-thinkin' our strategy." Kraft cocked his head and looked at the Pinkerton agent. "What about you, Mister Grady? This is your baby, too. Have you got anything to add?"

Grady's face was expressionless. "Only that you can't do it that way."

Kraft's smile faded. He looked like a man who had just twisted his ankle in a hole in his own backyard, which he had never known was there.

"Why can't we?" Kraft said. "It's the only way that'll work."

"It's too dangerous."

Kraft sputtered. "And I thought Eddie was nervy. Good Lord, Pinkerton, we're gonna be hidin' on a ridge barely in rifle range, and that's if they have good rifles. How much safer can you get? No wonder you've been chasin' this character for so long."

Grady was not visibly upset by the sheriff's comments. "I'm not talking about our own safety," he said. "I'm thinking of the girl. Too many things could go wrong, and we could get her killed."

Kraft stood up, his freckled hands clenched. "Do you think I want that girl hurt? Even if I was heartless enough not to care about her, I'd still have the sense to know that her daddy is one of the richest men in this state. Gettin' the child of a rich man killed could cause a fella no end of problems. But if we wait around, it's gonna happen for sure. Now what other choice do we have?"

Grady stared into the fire a moment, his eyes distant. "We could go talk to them," he finally said. "Tell them they're surrounded and give them an opportunity to surrender the girl."

"Give them an opportunity to blow our fool brains out," Kraft said. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of in my life."

"The girl has a better chance that way."

"The girl has no chance that way," the sheriff said. "And we won't have much of one."

"That's only us," said Grady. "Our lives don't matter."

"Yours might not, and I ain't real sure about Eddie's, but mine sure as hell does. I might lose it someday doin' my duty, but I don't aim to just throw it away."

"We can't endanger the child," Grady said. "Doing that has to be our last choice, not our first one."

Kraft leaned over, his face inches away from Grady's. "Im gonna be on that ridge with my rifle tomorrow, and that's all there is to it."

Grady sighed. "All right, sheriff. I'll climb the rock alone, then. If my way doesn't work, you'll be in position to try it your way. At least I will have had the chance to get the girl out of there."

"Fine," said the sheriff. "Of course, if you mess things up, I might get mad and shoot you."

Sheriff Kraft slept soundly that night, years of facing danger had given him the ability to view it with an objective eye. Grady dozed fitfully, and Eddie barely slept at all.

At one point Grady awoke and saw the deputy pacing around the fire -the man's anxiety was made obvious by his posture. Grady was reminded of the care-worn figure who had shuffled out of the Bains cabin on that night the previous year, evidently to answer the call of nature. Grady had barely been able to control his excitement; after the long tense wait, their quarry had shown himself.

Grady and the detectives in his charge had run forward, guns at the ready, warning the short, heavy man to surrender. The man made a sudden move, reaching inside his coat, and the detectives opened fire -including Grady. A dozen bullets tore into the figure.

They were distracted by a desperate yell another large man had come charging out of the house at them. He had a huge knife, and was almost upon Grady before the detective shot him. Grady had stared uncomprehending at the hysterical man's dying face.

The man with the knife was Johnny Bains. They turned over the first corpse, the one that was riddled by bullets; it was Bains's wife. From a distance she had looked as bulky as her husband, due to the fact that she was had been very pregnant.

Grady's hand convulsed as he blinked back the memory. His knuckles showed white as bone as he clutched his blanket. He noticed that Eddie was standing a few feet away, staring at him and grinning. Grady had no idea how long the deputy had been there.

You ain't as steel-eyed as you let on, are you Pinkerton?"

"I suppose not."

Eddie laughed. "Truth is, you're scared! So scared your hands are shakin', huh?"

Grady exhaled. "Sure, Tucker. Whatever you say. If it makes you feel better, yes, you're right."

"Makes me feel real good, Pinkerton. Sleep tight."

Grady woke just before dawn to the smell of coffee. Before he had raised himself up and cleared his head the sheriff was pressing a cup into his hand.

"Drink up, friend," Kraft said, not unkindly. "This here is what's gonna pass for breakfast this morning. I hope you slept of that crazy idea of yours." He looked at the Pinkerton agent expectantly, but Grady said nothing. "No," Kraft said sadly, "I reckon not."

The cloud of impending danger was enough to silence even Eddie for the morning. The three men drank their coffee and resumed their ride without another word being spoken. A few hours later they were within site of Kraft's rock formation; the sheriff held up his hand and half-turned in the saddle.

"Set still, perfectly still," Kraft said, and pointed toward the top of the formation. Grady stared at the spot; at first he detected nothing unusual. Then there was a slight movement in the trees and a flash of white. The white speck was Fred Stein's shirt. He was prowling around on the Rock.

"I'll be goddamned," Eddie said. He had the shocked look of a man who wakes up and finds that his nightmare is still with him. "You was right, Uncle Dave."

"I've told you," the older man said, "while you wear that star, I'm Sheriff Kraft to you. Now come on, both of you -we're fixin to climb that ridge yonder " he pointed to the north "and we're gonna set to business."

Thomas Grady spoke. "I've already told you  "

"And now I'm tellin' you, Pinkerton. I'm in charge here."

"This isn't a posse, sheriff. I'm not under your orders -I have a private assignment to fulfill. We'll do this the way we discussed it last night. You climb the ridge if you want to, and I go up on the Rock and try to get the girl." Grady dismounted and walked toward the formation.

"They'll shoot you full of holes before you get halfway up there, Pinkerton," Kraft said. Grady did not answer him. "You mean well, son," the sheriff continued, "but you ain't thinkin."

Kraft sighed. "Come on, Eddie. Let's go up that ridge and make the best we can out of this god-awful mess."

Grady had circled through the dense woods at the bottom of the Rock, and eventually approached it on the side opposite Stein's last location. The climb was not as bad as Grady had expected. His chosen route was actually a forty-five degree slope; it was tiring and time-consuming, but it still required the skills of a hiker more than those of a mountain-climber. Grady was glad. He was many things, but a mountain-climber was not one of them.

As he struggled up the rocky slope he thought of the child, Amy. How frightened she must be. Kraft was right; the girl might have already endured more at the hands of Apache Bill than it was healthy to contemplate. Returning her safely to her father was the most important thing in Thomas Grady's life, much more important than apprehending Stein had seemed during the past several months.

Grady had never been so deeply affected by a case before. The fact was, he had never even liked children that much. He had always found them to be annoying. He had examined that attitude closely in recent months, and decided that it was a personal failing. Perhaps it even revealed something about the coldness of his soul.

He saw once more the dead, anguished face of Laura Bains, her hand still pressed tightly, instinctively against her swollen stomach. An innocent life no, two lives snuffed out at Grady's command.

He walked faster.

Grady reached the top, finally, and made his way through the trees which Kraft had warned him to expect. The detective left his gun undrawn. His luck had held out so far, more than he could have hoped; he was still undetected.

Then he stepped out of the woods and onto the flat, rocky surface which made up the rest of the formation. Amy sat beside the remains of a campfire, hugging herself fiercely. Apache Bill was next to her, a rifle across his knees. Fred Stein stood behind them. He was the first to spot Grady walking toward them -he yelped like a kicked dog.

"Hey!" he said. "Who are you?"

Apache Bill was on his feet in an instant, the barrel of his gun trained on Grady's midsection. His finger tightened on the trigger.

"Wait a minute," Stein said. "I remember you. You're that Pinkerton that's been doggin' my tracks for so long."

"A Pinkerton, huh," said Apache Bill. "Goodbye, Pinkerton."

"Wait," Grady warned him. "You'd better hear me out first."

Apache Bill nodded. "All right, then, I'm listenin'. But I get bored easy."

"I've come up here to warn you two to surrender."

Both outlaws laughed wildly. "I reckon you wasted a trip," Stein said, almost breathless with laughter.

"It's your only choice," Grady said. "Unless you put down your guns and hand over the child, there's no way you'll come down from this rock alive."

They laughed some more. "We better kill him," Apache Bill said, smiling. "He's almost got me convinced."

On the ridge, Kraft was taking careful aim at the Apache. "This could work out better for us, Eddie. The detective has got 'em distracted -of course, Pinkerton won't make it. A real shame, too, but it was his call." He stared down the sights, almost desperate to see the kidnappers' blood.

Grady was still trying to gain Amy's freedom. "You'd better listen to me," he said. "There are gunmen all" As he was speaking, his eyes wandered to the ridge where he knew the sheriff waited. The sunlight glittered brightly as it struck something metallic. Grady looked more closely, and saw Kraft kneeling beside a tree with his rifle trained on Apache Bill.

"No!" Grady cried out. "Not yet, damn it!"

Apache Bill threw himself to the side, raising his own weapon in the direction he had seen Grady looking. A moment later a boom came from across the little valley, and a tiny puff of smoke rose from beside the distant tree. At the same moment a bullet passed through the air where Apache Bill's head had been, and scarred the rocks near Grady's feet.

The detective's hand dropped to his holstered revolver. Even as he took that action he watched Apache Bill helplessly. In a single fluid motion the Indian raised his rifle and fired. Sheriff Kraft tumbled, lifeless, from his hiding place.

Grady pumped two bullets into the outlaw as he turned back around. Apache Bill also fell, angry perhaps that his marksmanship had gone unappreciated. Stein grabbed Amy. who still showed no signs of emotion, and used her as a shield, his own pistol pointed at the Pinkerton agent.

Grady charged, throwing his gun aside. A red fire had sprung up before his eyes when Kraft fell. His rage was primal, completely indifferent to Samuel Colt's inventions. Grady screamed like a wounded animal as he ran. He barely felt the burning sensation of the bullet which creased his side just before he reached his enemy.

Thomas Grady launched himself at Stein's chest, knocking him into the cold ashes of the old campfire. Amy fell too, a few feet away, and watched the struggle dispassionately. Grady threw the man's weapon over the edge of the precipice. Then he was on top of Stein, smashing his fists into the criminal's face over and over again. He was still shouting; deep tormented sounds which had no specific meaning.

"No more!" said Stein. "Please! No more!"

Grady did not listen. With one hand he squeezed his opponent's throat, and with the other he picked up a jagged, fire-blackened rock. Stein's eyes bulged madly.

Then the detective saw Amy's face. She was finally showing emotion: terror. After all that she had endured, she was terrified now. She was terrified of Thomas Grady.

"No," he said hoarsely. "Don't be afraid, little girl  not of me. Don't be afraid." He reached out for her, the rock still in his hand, and she began to whimper and cry.

"Not of me," he said again, and made no further move to attack Stein. He did not loosen his grip on the man's throat, however, nor did he lower the rock. Eddie found them like that when he arrived a few minutes later. He pulled Grady off the surviving kidnapper, then placed Stein in shackles.

"You got 'em," Eddie said. "And the girl too. Do you reckon there'll be a reward?" Eddie was thinking of his own sizable contribution to the mission, and of his chances at the next sheriff's election.

Grady still stared at Amy, who was afraid to look away. He searched her eyes, seeking redemption, and found only naked fear.

"Dont be afraid," he whispered. "Please. Dont be afraid."

*~*~*~*~*

Copyright © 2000 Troy Smith. All rights reserved.