Kate padded from tree to tree, glancing over her shoulder. The Stranger, a small black figure among the other human silhouettes, aimed his pistol at two of them, Bart and Cora, who lifted their hands. The distant shouts ceased.
I’ve learned all I can from Bart, she thought, and darted away into the pines. She stopped again and peeked from behind yet another tree. She couldn’t see them any longer. Only the dark shadows that gathered in the pines.
“He’s counting on you to come back for them.” Cracked Beak perched on a branch above her.
“Who is that man? The odd pale one,” she asked.
“He’s under the employ of the Armadillo Shaman. One of the Restless.”
Kate gripped the bark, ducking, tilting her head, trying to peer through all the trees and shadows.
“He cannot be killed,” Cracked Beak said. “It’s best that we continue on. We’ll have somewhat of a head start, depending on his method of dispatching Cornelius and that red-headed woman.”
“His real name is Bart Hazeleton.”
Cracked Beak gazed down at her.
“Isn’t he your friend?” She asked.
“Our relationship was advantageous for both of us,” the ghostly raven said. “Utility. I needed his help, and he needed mine.”
“You cannot be so cold.”
“And what exactly is your affinity to him?”
Kate looked up to the raven. He bent low, craning his neck down toward her, so his head stretched below the level of the branch that he perched on. “We need to get out of here, while the Restless One is distracted. He has an advantage over us. While you need rest and sleep and food, he does not. Come.”
He leapt from the branch, his wings blurring into clouds of smoke as he flew. Kate followed, mindful of the sticks and pinecones scattered on the ground. Yet, after a few dozen yards, she stopped and gazed back toward where she had come.
Cracked Beak swooped around, alighting on the ground directly in front of her.
“What are you doing?”
“You can’t just leave him,” she said.
“He knew the risk,” he said. “For my sole purpose is your protection up until we confront the Armadillo Shaman. He was aware of where my loyalties lie. He knew the dangers.”
“We must help him.”
“He’s only ever concerned with money. A man like that is worthless.”
“He’s not,” Kate found herself saying, the words trickling out like the last drops of a maple syrup from the bottle. “He saved my life.”
“I made a promise, She Laughs at Fire,” Cracked Beak said. “And a man’s word must be iron. If not, then what is he?”
Kate gazed into the dark pines. There came shouts, wading through the night and the trees, dissipating as they washed about her ears, now only a gentle hum like the faint roll of a retreating wave on the beach. And then silence.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But, you do not have much of a choice, Cracked Beak. How could you stop me?”
His feathered breast puffed and swelled. “You do not even have a gun.”
She sighed. “It is dumb, isn’t it?”
“To go back, unarmed, and rescue Cornelius, a dishonest man, from the clutches of an unkillable enemy and his partner, who both carry pistols? Yes. Yes it is.”
She was nearly grateful that he answered so, for she was also afraid. Her heart pounded and her hand glazed with sweat. If it was prudence that guided her steps, then she didn’t have to face the fear. There would be no need to be brave, to stir her courage, she could confidently run with Cracked Beak, abandon Bart to his fate, because, in the name of wisdom, she had made her choice. There were others that depended on her, there were other righteous deeds that she needed to accomplish: justice for her brother and the freeing of her father, He Sniffs the Sky. But, she couldn’t even remember what he looked like? Nor her brother, only the flames. Yet, Bart she knew. She could see his face now, the black mustache, the dark eyes. She could hear his voice, hear it as she laid in the bed. She heard it as she recalled the itchy feeling of the damp bandages on her nub.
Her first step from behind the tree was heavy and clumsy, like the first groggy step after a deep nap. She thought her heart would punch right out of her breast and her mouth dried up, barren as a river bed in the desert.
“You’re not,” Cracked Beak said.
Kate closed her eyes, squeezed them tight, seeing, right there behind her eyelids, Bart being beaten and tortured by the Stranger, by Stick.
“It’s a trap,” the raven snapped. “He is baiting us!”
She breathed in deep. Her nostrils flared when she exhaled, the air of her resolve rustling the pine straw on the ground. She ran back toward the Dugout, padding softly.
“Stop,” Cracked Beak hissed as he flew over her head.
“I can’t just leave him.”
“You can! And you must!”
“They’ll hear us if you keep yelling.”
Cracked Beak dove in front of her, darting to cut her off, a flapping, fluttering cloud of smoky bluster. Only momentarily distracted, she sidestepped the frantic specter and continued on. The bird persisted in his dives, but his efforts did not deter her even in the slightest. In fact, as he gradually realized, they spurred her on. Perhaps fueled by spite, her resolve grew grim and she ran all the harder (yet stealthily) for the Dugout, feeling her way through the trees. Soon, with a massive sigh and a steely look in his eyes, he soared behind her, following her through the darkness.
The air between the tree trunks began to lighten, in gradients from black to dark blue, defining clearly the straight, towering pillars of the stems of the pines. Ahead was the Dugout, sitting quiet and dark as she peeked from behind a tree.
“Where did they go?” She asked.
Cracked Beak alighted on the ground near her feet, hopping onto a bulbous root that was still hidden from any vantage within the Dugout. Kate crept from behind the tree.
“Stop,” the ghostly raven hissed. “Wait a moment.”
She slipped back behind the tree, her nostrils flaring, as she studied the darkened windows of the rustic structure. Hints of pink, above the dark spear tips of the trees, spread along the eastern horizon. Birds began to sing. A chirp here and there up high in the branches. Sweet melodies trickled down. Kate had crouched, but now, as the first rosy rays of the sun fell upon the dew-covered shingles of the roofs, making visible the wisps of the midnight mists that curled up and up, she stood. Cracked Beak reached out with a wing, touching her knee with his spectral feathers. “Again, it’s most likely a trap.”
And, as soon as he finished, the door opened and out stepped Stick. He peered ahead, scanning the trees in front. There was light from the sunrise, but still there were many inky shadows caught in the pines and Kate took full advantage. Cracked Beak gave her a knowing look.
“She ain’t out here,” Stick said, turning back to the open door. Cora, then Bart, stumbled out, most likely pushed. Stick caught Bart by the elbow, but he let Cora fall into the dust. He snickered as the Stranger stepped out of the door. The Stranger had his thumbs in his gun belt and he inhaled deep. Sharply. The sound of it silenced the birds. The Stranger’s gazed out at the trees, trees ever brightening as the sun rose, shining its light, illuminating the corridors of the forests, dispelling the darkness, yet casting new shadows upon the ground. Kate gasped at the sight of her, so clear and outlined, doubtless visible from the Dugout, and she hopped into the pillar-like shadow of the pine tree, hiding once more. The Stranger looked her way. Only fifty yards away.
Cora, her hands bound in front of her, sat on the ground in a posture of frustration and defiance. Bart stepped toward her, but Stick yanked him back.
“She’s long gone,” Stick said. “Saved her own skin if she had any sense.”
“I’m not particularly fond of pursuit,” the Stranger said.
“Well,” Stick said. “I reckon our business is complete.”
The Stranger turned toward him. “Is it?”
“I helped you wrangle the three of them. No offense intended, but after I handed the ugly one over to you, it was you that let her go.”
“You want the other half of our agreed upon price?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Mister?”
The Stranger pivoted and helped Cora back up to her feet. “There are things more precious than money.” He shoved Cora at Stick. The sudden jolt shook Cora and as she stumbled toward Stick, she raised her bound fists to bash in the head. Stick caught her angry hands. She spat in his face, the spittle stinging his eyes, splashing on his lips. He swore, flung her to the ground like some yapping terrier, unsheathed his saber and rose it high over his head. The Stranger stepped in between Stick’s sword and Cora. “I have another idea,” the Stranger said.
Stick’s chest heaved as he lowered the saber. “What?”
“I don’t want to spoil the surprise now.”
“Don’t toy with me.”
“Never dreamed of it.” The Stranger studied the branches overhead, looking left and right, as he pulled Cora along. “We simply need a strong enough branch.”
The frustration melted from Stick’s face into a sadistic smile. He sheathed the saber and shoved Bart along after the Stranger and Cora.
Kate followed them. Silent as a shadow, gliding from tree to tree. She kept a safe distance back, yet kept them in sight. Cracked Beak bit at her britches, tugged at the collar of her shirt. “Trap,” he whispered.
She only glared at him.
The Stranger and Stick led their prisoners back to their horses. Again the conspirators whispered. They appeared to argue, but Stick nodded and took a rope, tying both Cora and Bart to it. Stick swung up onto his horse and led his prisoners. The Stranger glanced back. Kate ducked behind a tree. The sun hung above the horizon, still climbing, the forest pines illuminated by the golden rays. The dew covered pine straw shone like copper wire and a misty veil rose from the ground. She dare not peek. Not yet. Not till she was sure the Stranger wasn’t looking her way. Wait. Wait. Her hand crept along the bark of the trunk she leaned against. Slowly, she pivoted her head, strained her eyes, venturing only the littlest of exposure in order to glimpse the Stranger. His back was toward her. He sauntered to his horse, swung up into the saddle. He looked back from the saddle, right at the tree she was hiding behind, but Kate had already concealed herself again.
Cracked Beak crept along the ground. His spectral form was perfectly camouflaged within the morning mist. She mouthed a phrase, but the raven stared. Shook his head. Again, she mouthed her words. Follow him.
Again, he stared, not with confusion, but with complete apprehension. Yet still, he shook his head.
“If you don’t help me,” she whispered. She bit her lip, afraid she may have spoken too loudly, but there came the swishing clop of hooves on the pine straw. She dared a peek. The Stranger walked his horse away from them, in the same direction that Stick and the prisoners had gone. “I will be caught if you do not help me.”
“Too bad you did not forget your stubbornness.” Cracked Beak leapt into the air. The silver outline of his ghostly form sparkled like the curls of the mist as he flew up into the tree tops, vanishing from sight in the brilliant light of the morning. Kate crouched before peering around the edge of the trunk. The sun shone through the line of trees and in a small space between two giant pines, stood the silhouette of the Stranger atop his horse, staring back at Kate. She did not move, trusting that she was not clearly visible from that distance, and especially since her head nearly touched the ground, probably looking similar to the knobby roots. She also feared that if she did move, the Stranger would see her, and be on her in an instant, galloping at full speed. The Stranger laid the reins across the horse’s neck, turning away, and trotted off through the pines.
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