Page 103 of The Veteran

‘Think,’ snarled the rancher. ‘Think. He’s a man alone on a horse, heavy-laden. Limited range. Where would he go?’

The former Green Beret, Max, studied a wall map of the county.

‘Not north. He’d have to cross the Yellowstone. Too deep. So, south. Back to that replica fort in the hills?’

‘Right. I want ten men, mounted and armed. Go south, spread out over a five-mile front. Ride like hell. Overtake him.’

When the ten wranglers were saddled up he addressed them outside.

‘You each have radiophones. Stay in touch. If you see him, call for back-up. When you corner him, get the girl back. If he attempts to threaten her, or you, you know what to do. I think you know what I mean. I want the girl back, no-one else. Go.’

The ten riders cantered out the main gate, fanned out and broke into a gallop. The fugitive had a forty-minute start but he was carrying two riders and saddlebags, a rifle and heavy buffalo hide.

Inside the ranch lawyer Valentino reported back.

‘The sheriff seems pretty relaxed about it all. But he is going to mount a search. Patrol cars on the roads and probably a helicopter,’ he said.

‘I don’t want him to get there first,’ snapped Braddock. ‘But I do want to know what information he gets. Max, get to the radio shack. I want a band-sweep of every police channel in the county. Permanent listening watch. Get my own helo up in the air. Get ahead of the riders. Find the bastard. Guide them to him. We’ll need more than one. Rent two more out of the airport. Go. Now.’

They were all wrong. The professor, the sheriff, Braddock. The frontiersman was not heading for the Pryors. He knew that was too obvious.

Five miles south of the ranch he had stopped, taken one of his saddle blankets and wrapped it round Whispering Wind. It was bright red but it hid the glaring white of the dress. But he had never heard of helicopters. After the halt he slanted south-west towards where he recalled having crossed a long strip of black rock the previous spring.

At a mile, he could make out a row of upright posts with wires strung between them. They ran across his front as far as the eye could see. They were the phone lines running above the Burlington rail line that paralleled the highway.

At half past three Jerry called in from his hovering Sikorsky.

‘Paul, I thought you said there was a lone rider? There’s a goddamn army down here.’

Braddock’s pursuers, thought the sheriff.

‘What do you have, exactly, Jerry?’

The voice crackled over the distance.

‘I count at least eight riders abreast, galloping south. Ranch hands by the look. And they’re travelling light. Also, there’s another helo, up ahead, hovering over the foothills, close to that replica fort.’

Lewis swore softly. He wished now he were with the helicopter instead of stuck in an office.

‘Jerry, if the fugitives are up ahead, try and get to them first. If Braddock’s hoods get to the boy he won’t be worth squat.’

‘You got it, Paul. I’ll keep looking.’

In the ranch house the head of the radio operator came round the door.

‘Mr Braddock, sir, the sheriff’s helicopter is right over our own team.’

‘That makes an eyewitness,’ said Max.

‘Tell my boys to keep looking,’ snapped Braddock. ‘We’ll sort out any court case later.’

Sheriff Lewis was glad he had stayed in overall control in his office when a call came through at five minutes before five. An excited voice shouted, ‘Got ’em.’

‘Speaker, identify.’

‘Car Tango One. On the Three-Ten. He just crossed the highway, riding south-west. Caught a glimpse before he went behind some trees.’

‘Where on the Three-Ten?’

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