<Rogue in the woods,> he got back. <Quiet water. Quiet grass. Us coming in the gates.>
“The hell— shut it!” he screamed at Carlo, and kept his aim while the riders moved for the gate and two scared kids shoved the heavy gates shut and dropped the bar.
“Kid!” he heard Harper yell, the other side of the gates. “Kid, open up. Open it, or we’ll leave you for the rogue!”
<Harper frozen sitting at fire. Quig with icicles. Us warm. Ham cooking.>
“Son of a bitch! Open the gate!”
“You had your chance, Harper! You want supplies, we’ll give you supplies, right over the wall. But hell if I owe you anything but a cold bed in hell! Go find a shelter. You and Quig go tuck in for the winter and hope to hell I don’t come after you myself!”
<Rogue in the ambient. Bones breaking. Watt falling.> He sent that to them. That was what he remembered. And they didn’t like it.
Stuart had been there. Stuart had been that close to the gates and spooked off. He’d felt Stuart’s presence and Stuart might not know anything right now except someone here had shot a gun off at him. Jonas and company had gone after Stuart and might not intend to come back—which left him with Harper and Quig, sitting here in the biggest, most attractive stationary target the rogue had, if the Goss kids were right about their sister.
In that light he could useHarper’s help. He could use a couple of good shots and he didn’t want to think of anybody dying out there in the Wild the way all Tarmin village had died.
But Harper wasn’t interested in anything but Harper—Harper was damn crazy, dead set on shooting Stuart, for reasons that had gotten further and further from any reasonable fear of Stuart’s going rogue. Harper wanted into Tarmin gates because if the Westmans came back Harper might shoot all of them and have the supplies, and spend all winter hunting Stuart, if Stuart didn’t get him in his gunsights first.
There was no dealing with this man.
<Harper talking to Westmans,> came back through the gate. <Harper and Quig riding with Westmans through the snow.>
<Cattle,> Danny sent. Cloud added, <Cattle dung.>
“Who are they?” Randy asked. Randy’s teeth were chattering and he tried not to show it. Cloud was sending into an angry ambient, <bite and kick,> and violence shivered over his skin and down into his gut. “They’re not who we’re looking for. Are they? Where did Jonas and them go?”
“These two are thieves.” Danny said. “Damned bandits, is all. They’re up here hunting Stuart for some crazy grudge. I hope to God he got away clear.” It dawned on him Jonas might have kited out like that in honest fear that Stuart or his horse might have been hit and need help out there in the storm. Luke would have gone after his brother—no fault in Luke for that, or Hawley for going to protect him. But right now he wished Tarmin had a gun-box the way Shamesey had, because, damn, he’d dust Harper and Quig right off their doorstep.
“Kid,” Harper said, from the other side of the gate.
“My name’s Dan Fisher, Harper, get it straight.”
“Look—” Harper said. “Call yourself anything you like. One horse is no match for this thing. Who’s that with you? Kids?”
“You just camp right there, Harper. We need bait.”
“You’re real damn brave on the other side of that gate!”
“You’re real damn stupid, Harper. That’s why you’re on the other side of that gate.” God, he hadn’t lost a bit from his bad-boy days and Randy thought it was wildly funny. Harper clearly didn’t. Carlo looked a shade more maturely worried.
But Cloud sent <cattle rear ends> into the ambient, loud as Cloud could be.
“You damn fool!” Harper said.
“Camp out there. Be our guests.” He was thinking, <Jonas and his friends coming back, guns firing.> And wasn’t altogether confident of that fight going the way he’d like.
“You listen to me,” Harper said. “You listen. I know what I’m talking about. My own brother—my brotherwent that way. You hear me?” <Man and horse coming into firelight. Harper shooting. Shooting. Shooting until there weren’t any bullets.> “You son of a bitch, you hear me? Your friend Stuart knows about it. Sodamn righteous!”
<Weather coming down, clouds over the mountains. Men and horses in whiteout.
<Stalled-out truck. Riders and truckers struggling with a truck on the edge, trying to winch it—
<Winch cable snapping—
<Recoil through the air, hitting horses and men—
<Man with bleeding face, horse knocked down—men over the edge as the truck falls—>
“Maybe you can talk to Jonas,” Danny said. “Convince himyou’re a good guy.” Give the son of a bitch at least the idea of talking it out, if it didn’t naturally occur to dim brains. “He might think you were worth it. Or he could let you camp out there. Who knows?”
“My brother, kid. His name was Gerry Harper. You hear me? Took that hit in the head, him and the horse— ‘Oh, we can make it through the pass, yeah, we can make it.’ Stuart talks a good game to the truckers, but he’s never on the end of the cable when it breaks. — Gerry Harper. You hear the name, kid?”
“That’s a real sad story, Harper, but it doesn’t get you in here.”
“You listen to me. I shot him. Ishot him. Who’s going to pull the trigger on this one? You better get a manin there—you hear me? You hear me, kid? That thing’ll have you for breakfast.”
“Hasn’t yet. If you want to shoot it, shoot it from out there where itis! You don’t rough me up and threaten my horse and ask my charity, you damn jerk! —And Watt’s dead! You hear me, Harper? Watt’s dead out there. If you want to do something really useful, ride up to the High Loop villages and get some help down here!”
“Quit being an ass and < open this damn gate!>”
“No.” He was shaking. Shot his brother, it was now. He was dealing with a crazy man.
“Kid, —”
“You’re losing ground with me, Harper. I said I had a name. You keep forgetting it.”
“Fisher, then.” The ambient was wholly uneasy. There was complete lack of worry in the voice. “You can be a fool if you like.”
Damn, he thought, realized he’d gotten caught up in the images and dived into the <quiet water> image to mask himself, signaled the boys away from the gate, farther and farther. Cloud drew back with them, mad and still wanting <fight.>
<Cloud at gate,> he sent, and Cloud stopped following and willingly turned back to <fight.>
“I’m a fool,” he said to the boys, not trusting his ability to keep his intentions and his worries out of the ambient. But he had Cloud’s attention occupied with a nerve-jangling flare of <angry horse. Bite and kick.> He looked at the guard-post, where, if he climbed it, he might get a shot, but he couldn’t go thinking about it. “Rider gate, Carlo. Fast. Can you get a shot off from there?”
Carlo looked mortally scared.
“ Ican’t do it,” Danny said. “Cloud and I’ll keep him talking. Scare them off. Put shots around them. Whatever. Fire fast. Spook them out away from the wall—I’ll get up there—” A cut of his eyes to the guard-post aloft—and down, as he grabbed Carlo’s arm. “Don’t for God’s sake get shot. Or let them in.”
Carlo didn’t want to. Danny jerked his arm. “They can hearme any second, dammit! Do it!”
“Yeah,” Carlo agreed then. “—Randy, stay with him.”