The Last Ride by Thomas Eidson

Author:Thomas Eidson [Eidson, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007396832
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2010-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

Dot wasn’t certain when she first knew that something was wrong. The thought was just suddenly there in her mind. One moment they were riding through a narrowing place in the gorge, the next, she had this nagging feeling of fright sifting like sand through her. Then her grandfather and the gray stopped abruptly in front of her, the old man sitting still and rigid in his silver saddle, listening to the night and giving added rise to her sense of alarm.

The canyon was barren sand and stone and this spot didn’t seem different from the miles of ravine they had already passed through. But watching him, the way he held the Sharps high over the saddlehorn in both hands, she knew he was expecting trouble. Even Alice was tense, her ears perked forward, listening hard. Then the gray snorted and started backing up. Jones put his heels softly to her flanks and she held steady.

Dot probed at the surrounding darkness with her eyes and ears, worried there might be a panther somewhere up in the wind-chiseled bluffs. She was holding Chaco cradled in one arm and she quickly unbuttoned her blouse and slipped the little terrier inside against her skin. Then she pulled her shotgun from its scabbard and gripped it hard, letting her gaze move carefully over the boulders and jagged creases in the cliffs, searching for something – the flick of a tail, a glint of yellow cat’s eye – anything to ease the bad feelings building inside her. Nothing. Things seemed normal enough. But things weren’t normal. Alice sucked in air and held it, the way Dot knew mules will when they’re frightened or angry. She could hear the faint calling of migrating geese overhead in the cloudless canopy of black, the sound lonely and strange in this desert land.

‘Grandpa?’

He didn’t say anything.

‘Grandpa, what’s wrong?’

‘Men.’

‘Where?’ she asked, her eyes darting quickly down the deeper darkness along the walls of the canyon. But she saw nothing unusual.

He didn’t answer her.

‘How do you know?’

Jones continued to ignore her, concentrating hard on the silence, then said, ‘The crickets, their rushes and lulls,’ as though talking to himself. He went back to listening.

That was crazy, she thought. Nobody could tell anything about anything by the sound of an insect, not even her grandfather. She turned and watched as her mother reached her hand slowly for her pistol grip, the act scary in a way Dot didn’t want to think about. She glanced back quickly at her grandfather for some reassurance.

‘That’s sill—’ she started to say.

Jones held up his hand, cutting her off. She caught her breath and tried to hear in the darkness that surrounded them whatever it was that was bothering him and his animals. But there was nothing. No wind. No voices. Just the chirking sound of the crickets and leather noises from their saddles. Then her mother’s roan began to spin the metal roller in his bit and to turn nervously, Maggie reining him in hard. Dot shivered.

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