Brother Against Brother Read online

  "Anything you say," Joe said soothingly. He managed another step forward, then swung his arm quickly, batting the rifle aside. After a quick scuffle, he had the weapon in his hands, a little amazed that he had won in his weakened condition.

  But the man before him was even more feeble. He could have been anywhere between forty and fifty. But he looked wasted. His face and neck were gaunt. His skin had a pale, pasty quality, and his eyes showed both fear and sleeplessness.

  "Go ahead," the man said, his face stony. "Shoot me. End it!"

  But Rita screamed. "Don't! It's my uncle!"

  Joe glanced from the man to Rita, then lowered the weapon. "Do you always carry a rifle when you go out for supplies?" he asked suspiciously.

  "Uncle Delbert and I are down here for a hunting trip," Rita explained. "We're from Wyoming."

  "Right," Delbert said. "Whenever I go out, I carry the gun. I might get a lucky shot at something."

  Or someone, Joe thought. He looked back into the cabin. Plenty of wood had been cut and was stacked near the stove. Provisions lined the kitchen shelves. These people weren't there for a simple vacation, and it didn't look as if they needed supplies.

  "How long have you been here?" Joe asked.

  "A couple of days," Rita said quickly.

  "Shot anything?"

  "Nope. All I've seen so far were a couple of jackalopes," Rita answered, smiling slightly.

  "Jackalopes?" Joe echoed. An image flickered through his mind. "Knock it off, Rita. Anyone who spends time in the Rockies knows jackalopes don't exist. I sent a gag postcard with a jackalope to my brother."

  "Your brother," Rita said. "Then your memory is coming back." Eager to change the subject, she explained about Joe's memory loss to her uncle.

  Joe stood very still, trying to recall more images. A mall — a sporting goods store, where he had bought a pair of — "My boots," Joe whispered. "My hiking boots."

  Rita stared at him. "What's that?"

  "There's something hidden in one of my boots," Joe told her.

  Uncle Delbert raised his head. "Hidden?" he repeated.

  The three of them went back into the cabin, and Joe found his hiking boots by the door. Rita had cleaned and polished them. He picked up the right boot, feeling along the sole. Then he twisted the heel — it swung out!

  Nestled inside the hollow heel was a small capsule.

  Joe pulled the capsule open, and a scrap of paper dropped into his hand.

  Eagerly, he unrolled the paper. He smoothed it against his palm and stared at it in frustration.

  "What does it say?" Rita asked.

  "It's just a line of letters." Joe tried to pronounce them. " 'On - ot - ow - at - ish - ik - a.'"

  "May I try?" Rita asked. Joe handed her the message. "'On - ot - ow - at - ish - ik - a ?' Maybe it's an Indian name?"

  "It's a code," Joe said. "And I don't have the key!" He paused for a second. How had he known that?

  Delbert snatched the paper from his niece's hand. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

  "I can't remember," Joe said miserably. "I can't even read what it says!"

  Delbert's face was hard and suspicious as he looked at Joe. He had just opened his mouth to say something, when frenzied snarling and barking rang out from outside the cabin.

  "Lucky!" Rita moved to a window.

  But Delbert grabbed her arm. "Stay low," he said, stretching his hand out to Joe. "I need that rifle, youngster."

  Joe handed it over, and Delbert jacked a round into the chamber. He threw open the door and dove outside. After rolling across the porch, he came up in a crouch.

  Lucky gave a yelp of pain and ran to the door.

  Both Joe and Delbert scanned the area, looking along Lucky's line of flight. No one was there. Delbert backed through the door, his finger still on the trigger.

  Rita was kneeling on the floor, checking Lucky. "His whole side is sore. I think someone hit him or kicked him!"

  Delbert ran from window to window, pulling the curtains tight, blocking the view from anyone watching outside. Then he sat down by the stove and looked at Joe's coded message. "This has gone far enough," he said. "You kids have to get out of here!"

  ***

  Moving methodically, his senses alert and supercharged, Frank bushwhacked his way through the woods. The floor of pine needles had been disturbed, here and there, giving him a path to follow. He stopped to check out a muddy patch. Footprints — the same footprints he had seen near the river. Farther on, losing the trail again, he found some white strands caught on a branch. Clothing threads, he thought.

  He continued on, but stopped when he came to a steep rocky slope. No one could drag another person up there — but which way had they gone around?

  Frank decided to give ten minutes to the right-hand trail. If I don't find anything by then, I'll turn back and try the other side.

  He pushed on, finding no hint of a trail. At a gap in the rocks where a small stream trickled downhill, he stopped to look for tracks. There was something in the soft mud. He leaned down for a closer look. A large animal had passed by there, its paw pads shaped like a cat's. "Great," Frank muttered. "That's all I'd need to do — meet a mountain lion."

  He turned around and slowly retraced his steps, keeping an eye out for anything he might have missed. Returning to the place where he had turned, he headed left. The way was smoother. Yes, it was the trail to try.

  A few minutes on he stopped and inspected a blurred footprint. With renewed confidence, he quickened his pace, thinking that something must lie ahead!

  ***

  In the cabin, Rita stared at her uncle. "What do you mean, you want us to get out of here!"

  Delbert glanced at Joe. "I think you should get him and his message to the law as soon as possible. That means the county sheriff in Corralville."

  "But that's so far away!" Rita objected.

  "Then you'd best be going," Delbert said. "That message may be important."

  "I'm not leaving you alone here," Rita told her uncle.

  "Well, I'm not leaving the cabin empty with some prowler out there," Delbert answered. This time, both of them gave Joe a look.

  Joe felt as if he'd come in at the middle of a movie. The whole conversation didn't make any sense.

  Delbert dug into his pocket. "Here're the keys to the Jeep. I want both of you out of here. Now!"

  He moved to a small pantry off the kitchen and took out a box.

  "What are you doing?" Rita stared at the box.

  "I just want my old things nearby," Delbert said, setting the box on the table before him. "You two had best be going while you still can."

  Rita seemed on the verge of tears. Joe walked to Delbert's Jeep, wondering what was going on.

  "Do you feel well enough to drive?" Delbert asked Joe.

  "Yes." Joe got behind the wheel. His head was still a bit foggy, but Rita was visibly upset and in no condition to drive.

  "Stick to the main roads — Rita will give you directions," Delbert said. "You take good care of her," he added in a softer voice.

  Joe was completely baffled. Until then Rita had been taking care of him. He started the Jeep and pulled away from the cabin. They headed up an old logging road, bumping over half-buried rocks.

  When they were out of sight of the cabin, Joe stopped the Jeep and turned to Rita. "You're not from Wyoming. Right?"

  "Right. We're from the East Coast. And I didn't want to come here. The idea of living out in the wilderness scared me. But I've gotten to like the quiet. The chance to see nature."

  Joe was getting tired of not understanding. "Rita, what's going on here?"

  Tears began to stream down her face. "I — I can't tell you."

  "What's so important about that box your uncle took from the pantry?" Joe pressed.

  "Please!" Fear filled her eyes.

  "We're not moving until you tell me why that box is so important." Joe stared at her, waiting for an answer.

  "All right." Rita
seemed to shrink in her seat. "I never even knew that he'd brought that box along. But I know what he keeps inside it. A pistol—and plenty of ammunition."

  "A pistol," Joe repeated. Suddenly an image popped into his head. It was the dark-haired stranger from his dreams, a gun in his hands.

  And two words swam up to his consciousness—hit man!

  Joe grabbed Rita's wrist. "Your uncle — he's afraid for life, isn't he?"

  He swung the Jeep around and headed back down toward the cabin.

  "What are you doing?" Rita demanded. "You're going the wrong way."

  "We've got to stop him!" Joe shouted above the roar of the Jeep.

  The Jeep bounced along the road, throwing up a trail of dust. Joe held on to the steering wheel, and Rita gripped the seat beneath her.

  "Stop who?" she shouted.

  The Jeep reached the clearing where the cabin stood, and Joe leapt out. The Jeep sputtered and died in its tracks. Rita jumped out and tried to stop Joe, but she couldn't catch him.

  He was running flat out when a pistol shot rang out!

  Chapter 8

  Frank halted at the edge of a clearing and saw a cabin. He stepped back into the bushes, out of sight of any watchful eyes peering from the windows. Crawling on hands and knees, he eased forward to scout the place out. It looked deserted. No smoke rose from the stone chimney. There were no cars parked in front. The windows and the door were closed.

  Frank, resting his hand on the ground as he crouched, felt something beneath his fingertips. He held up a small shred of thin paper—the kind used to wrap cigarettes. The paper was still white, so it hadn't been there very long. Frank smelled it — there was still a hint of smoke.

  Someone had been watching the cabin just as he was. But the person had smoked a cigarette, then field-stripped it to hide the fact. It was dumb luck that Frank had found the paper. Why such secrecy—unless the other person was up to something unpleasant! .

  Frank was about to start circling the cabin when he heard a dog bark. He stayed crouched in the brush as the barking and snarling continued.

  Then Frank heard a car engine and an instant later saw a Jeep roar into view and stop. Someone vaulted out and ran for the cabin. Frank squinted, trying to identify the person. Could it be Joe? No. It looked as though this guy was wearing a turban.

  Frank blinked. But that made no sense. He strained for a better view. The figure was too far away for Frank to see him clearly.

  Then the sound of gunshots exploded just above his head. Frank dove for cover. He had been spotted!

  After staying quiet for a minute, he crept back - to the edge of the clearing to a new observation site. But when he got there, the turbaned person had disappeared.

  Frank waited a moment or two. Part of him wanted to throw caution aside and rush the cabin, settling this thing right away. But the person he saw didn't look exactly like Joe. And someone inside that cabin had a gun and was willing to use it. No point in taking foolish risks.

  So Frank crept deep into the woods. He would eventually make his way to the cabin.

  ***

  At the first pistol shot, Joe whirled and tackled Rita, dragging her to cover behind the Jeep as two more shots sounded.

  "Wait here," he told her.

  "No! I'm going with you," she said through gritted teeth.

  " "Rita, I'm just going to check out the cabin. If Delbert is all right, I'll signal for you. But if I'm not back in a few minutes, you have to take the Jeep and get the sheriff."

  Rita gave him a mutinous glare but said nothing.

  Joe, crouching low, faded back, and used the trees for cover as he sneaked behind the cabin. He crept up to a window, and slowly rose to his full height and peered through the glass.

  Inside, Delbert appeared to be alone. Frightened and agitated, he darted back and forth at the front windows, looking out. He held the rifle 'in one hand and a pistol in the other. The dog stood guard near the door, barking furiously.

  Delbert sure has a nervous trigger finger, Joe thought. What's he afraid of?

  The words hit man went through his mind again.

  Joe shrugged. Whatever was going on, one thing was certain. When they left, he and Rita would take Delbert with them. He was in too much danger, alone in the woods. Of course, there was still the job of getting inside to tell ! - Delbert without getting shot.

  Gingerly, Joe unwrapped the bandage around his head, planning to wave it as a flag of truce. Then he heard Rita shouting, "Don't shoot! It's me, Rita!"

  Frank, hearing the girl's voice, peered out of the brush. A young woman came running from the Jeep toward the cabin.

  Then another figure came to join her from the far side of the cabin. Frank gasped. It was Joe! His younger brother looked much the worse for wear — but he was alive and apparently all right!

  Frank was about to shout to him when a man waving a pistol stepped from the cabin door. Frank remained down as the man motioned Joe and the girl inside.

  Still hiding, Frank tried to make sense of the situation. A cabin in the mountains, Joe hurt, a man with a gun — Wait a minute! Joe was heading for a cabin in the first place! Could'it be this place?

  He shut his eyes, trying to trace the route Joe was supposed to follow. Of course, that route would have followed roads. Frank had cut crosscountry on foot. Without a good map, he couldn't be sure. Still, it made a reasonable theory.

  But the guy with the gun? Was he the fugitive witness? Or could Joe have walked into the arms of the hit man? Frank was determined to find out as he moved deeper into the woods so he could use its cover to circle to the rear of the cabin.

  Behind the log walls, Rita's Uncle Delbert shouted, "Why'd you come back?"

  "Who were you shooting at?" Rita asked.

  "I saw someone moving outside. At least I thought I did — now I'm not sure. No one returned my fire. Must have been my nerves making me see things."

  "You don't understand," Joe cut in. "Someone is trying to kill you!"

  Delbert seemed to sag. "I understand plenty, he said quietly, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs. Rita stepped behind him and began to rub his shoulders and neck.

  "Try to relax," she told him. "It makes no sense for you to stay here. Come with us. Please come with us."

  "I can't!" Delbert moaned. He looked up at Joe. "Why did you come back? Did you start remembering?"

  Joe reached into his pocket and took out the undecipherable message. He held it out to Delbert. "Was this meant for you?"

  Delbert gave him a calculating stare. "If I say yes, you'll stay and try to help me. So I'll just tell you to get it to the sheriff—along with Rita."

  "I'm not leaving you," Rita insisted. "We'll see this through together." She was shaking with tears.

  "No, we won't," Delbert said. "I'll end it here. See, honey, I don't have much time left for running, anyway. I'm terminally ill. The doctor in Corralville told me months ago. There's no hope for me."

  He picked up the box on the kitchen table and ' reloaded his pistol, looking totally drained. Then he slumped down in his chair, facing the door. The golden retriever came over and lay down at his feet.

  "There's only one thing I want," Delbert said. "And that's seeing Rita safe." He stared at Joe. "I can't escape. And I'd just as soon die here. Maybe I can take out the guy who's chasing us."

  "You don't have to die," Joe said. "All three of us may die if you two insist on staying here," Delbert said. "Now go, and that's an order. Take the Jeep and clear out."

  "Let him go," Rita said, motioning at Joe. "I'm staying."

  Delbert pushed himself to his feet. For a moment it looked as though he were about to lose his temper, then his expression softened. "Rita, girl, you are my life. Please. If you won't leave because I order you, leave because I'm begging you. You must go on without me."

  Rita ran into Delbert's arms. They embraced each other fiercely—as if they knew it was their last goodbye.

  After a moment Rita reluctantly pulled a
way. "Come on," she said to Joe. "We'd better get going."

  Delbert tried to give Joe the pistol. "Here," he said, "you may need this."

  Joe shook his head.

  Delbert gave him the ghost of a smile as he saw them out the door, but his face was set and pale. All he could manage was a wave of his hand as Joe led Rita from the cabin.

  They got into the Jeep, threw it into first, and climbed the ridge behind the cabin. The road was steep and loaded with hairpin turns, so the cabin was in and out of view, getting smaller and smaller with every turn.

  Rita, her eyes swollen and teary, stared over her shoulder at her home.

  Joe wanted to console her, but didn't know what to say. Instead, he concentrated on his driving. It was so weird. How could he remember how to drive a Jeep—yet not remember his own name?

  The Jeep came around a sharp hairpin turn, and, below, the cabin came back into view. It looked so peaceful down in the clearing, like something in an enchanted forest.

  And then it exploded! A star of brightness appeared on one wall, and chunks of wood and stone shot high into the air. Flames blossomed in the wreckage.

  As smoke and ash filled the air, Joe braked to a stop, staring in disbelief. For a moment, he wasn't seeing the cabin anymore. He was seeing a car exploding in a mall parking lot, the girl he loved vanishing in a ball of flame.

  "Iola," he heard himself whisper.

  Rita's screaming brought him back to the present. She had vaulted out of her seat and was running blindly back along the road to the cabin.

  He gave chase, running in front of her to get her to stop.

  It was as though he were invisible. Rita rammed right into him, and tried to keep going.

  Joe wrapped his arms around her as she tried to pull free. Now he could hear what she was yelling. "No, no, no! Dad! Dad!"

  "Dad?" Joe's grip slackened as he stared at Rita in amazement.

  But Rita stayed where she was, sobbing wildly. "He wasn't my uncle," she choked. "That was my father down there — and now he's dead!"