Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (39 page)

They watched the man arrive at the hotel hidden in the shadows
across the street. "You searched every inch of the cottage," Reid said
lowly.

"Every inch. I'm telling you, Boss, it isn't in there. Either the
woman carries it or it's gone."

"Could they have given it to him?"

Both studied Bryce again, dismounting and leading his horse
toward the stables. "Could be."

"We need to determine if the mine is as rich as we suspect. One
way or another, we have to find out if McAllan or Odessa knows
where the hidden entrance is. And McAllan won't let us near Odessa,
so we may as well start with him." Decided now, Reid turned to
the shorter man. "Take him outside city limits and determine if he
already knows how to find his way into the mine that O'Toole left
him. Maybe the old man showed him."

"And then?"

Reid studied Bryce as he rode down the street. "I'd prefer he
died far from here, but at some point he must, so our investor may purchase the O'Toole property. Dispose of the body where no one
will ever find him. Understood?"

"Understood."

Bryce was halfway down the alley to the stables when he heard the
horses, coming fast.

He pulled his horse up short and listened intently. Two, maybe
three ... no, there were definitely four.

Acting on instinct, he urged his horse away from the stables and
down another alley, and around the corner of the next building, a
mercantile. In moments the group reached him, barely discernible in
the dark, feigning ease but clearly on the hunt. It was the way they
moved, their silhouette that said they were alert, not heading in for
the night.

His horse shifted and whinnied as they passed, and Bryce froze.
But they rode on by, never pausing, intent on their end goal, whatever it might be.

He waited there for another few minutes, laughing at himself
over his paranoia. It was probably nothing. Nothing. If they were
after him, they'd be back by now. No, they were just men coming
in after a night's foray into Colorado City.

He made a low sound to his horse and stepped forward, intent
on a clean bed in a good room.

That was when the first man rounded the bend, filling the
alleyway.

Bryce frowned and turned back, just in time to see a club come
down upon his head.

Bryce came to; he was slumped over the back of his own horse as the
group trotted along the road. It was too dark to make out where they
were and Bryce didn't want to alert his captors to the fact that he had
regained consciousness. He carefully reached for his gun, but both
holsters were empty, his revolvers confiscated. But he knew from the
pressure at his belly that the knives remained hidden at his waist.

He tried to judge how far they were from town, but he had no
idea how long he had been out. Soon enough, however, the leader
signaled the group to pull off the road and into a stand of pinon
pines. Bryce eased a hand beneath his shirt and grabbed hold of the
small knife.

"Get him down," demanded a man, and shortly thereafter, Bryce
was hauled from his horse and deposited roughly to the ground. He
heard the sound of a cork and then quickly detected smelling salts
as they wafted beneath his nose. It was easy to feign that he had just
come to.

He opened his eyes groggily. Four men. All with handkerchiefs
about their faces. "What? What do you want?" he groaned.

The leader leaned in and grabbed hold of his hair, forcing his
head back. Two others grabbed hold of his arms at the same time.
"You're being robbed," sneered the leader. "Search him."

They went through his pockets and then ripped open his shirt, discovering the remaining hidden knife, but not the small blade in
his hand. He fingered it, glad for the deep darkness of this night
and the short, squat blade of the weapon that allowed it to remain
undiscovered. Please, Lord, he prayed, help me find a way out of this.

"Take all I have," he said. "Then let me go."

The man nearest him lifted his hands toward the leader. "Nothing.
Nothing but his purse."

"You have my money," Bryce said, fully aware of what these men
truly sought, "now leave me be."

"You're in no position to order us about. Do you have it? The
map to O'Toole's claim?"

"O'Toole? You mean Sam? I have no idea of what you're talking
about."

"Give it up, McAllan. Either you have it or your pretty fiancee does.
You better pray we don't have to go after her again." He laughed. "Not
that I'd mind." He came closer and yanked Bryce's head back by taking a
handful of hair in hand. "Trust me, she wouldn't escape this crew."

Bryce gritted his teeth. "There is no map. No letter. Odessa
would have no idea what you're talking about."

The punch came then, from the left, meeting his eye and sending
a cascade of light shooting across his head, as if he were witnessing
Chinese fireworks. But then, nothing. He could see nothing from
that eye. "I don't have it!" he cried.

The men around him laughed. One even patted him on the
shoulder. That was when Bryce struck, ramming his knife into the man's
kidney and then whirling to slash the other across the face. He laid
hold of the man's pistol, but a third man hit him across the cheek
with a powerful punch that doubled the pain in his eye, following up with two punches to his ribs. Bryce went down. But as the fourth
man came near, he flung his knife and heard the man gasp and falter.
Bryce whirled, disappearing into the trees.

"Find him!" shouted the man.

Bryce had no illusions. They meant to kill him.

And then they'd go after Odessa.

The man closed the door at the jailhouse, hat in hand.

Reid rose from behind his desk. "What are you doing here?" he
hissed. "You know I don't want you seen with me, and my deputy's
due back any moment."

"I know it," the man said, clearly miserable.

"What is it? What happened?"

"I'm sorry, Boss, but he escaped."

"Escaped?" Reid swore under his breath. "How'd one man escape
four of you? Four!" He hit his thigh with the palm of his hand and
paced away.

"He had a knife hidden on him. Caught us unaware."

"I'll say," Reid said, shaking his head. "How bad? You lose any
men?"

"One. Two injured."

Reid ran a hand through his hair and stared out the window, the
hint of dawn on the horizon. "Now I'll have to find a way to fix it.
Dispose of the body. Take your injured to Denver to seek care. Find
a doc who won't ask questions. Understood?"

Garrett walked in then, and paused when he saw the stranger.
His eyes shifted back and forth between the sheriff and the man.

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Smith," Reid said smoothly, reaching
out to shake the man's hand as if they had just met.

"Any time, Sheriff." He placed his hat on his head, nodded at the
deputy, and departed.

"What was that about?" Garrett asked him when the door shut.

"Reporting some shooting up on Mount Hermon."

"Before sunup?"

"Dedicated citizen, I guess. We'll have to check it out tomorrow.
What've you got?"

"On my way in, I ran into two drunks hauling in a man who was
beaten pretty badly. Found him on the road to Colorado City."

"Who is it?"

"Bryce McAllan."

"Bryce McAllan! What was he doing out at this hour?"

"I don't know," Garrett said. Reid didn't care for how his deputy
was looking at him, studying him almost. "We've awakened Doc
Ramsey and he's seeing to him now."

"How bad is it?"

Garrett winced. "Pretty bad."

Reid walked to the door and took his hat from the peg. "I best
go inform the St. Clairs."

"You prefer I do that, Sheriff?"

Reid paused at the door, back still to his deputy. "Why?"

"You know ..."

"When I want your help, Deputy, I'll ask for it." And with that,
he shut the door firmly behind him.

Pounding at the door awakened all three in the quaint cottage on
Nevada Avenue.

Odessa sat up and tossed aside her covers, pulled on her housecoat, and went to the door. Dominic, thankfully, was already dressed.
She could smell the burned odor of boiling coffee, so he'd been up for
a while. Moira emerged from her room too, hair in similar disorder
to Odessa's, but Nic was already opening the door.

Sheriff Reid Bannock stood outside, hat in hand. "Mornin'," he
said, his eyes lingering over Moira, covering her from head to toe,
then shifting to Odessa.

Nic stepped into his line of vision. "Sheriff?"

"I apologize for the early hour, Miss Odessa," the sheriff said
somberly, looking over Nic's head. "But last night it appears your
beau set off toward Colorado City."

"No, no. Last night he was with us. He left us quite late."

"Yes, that makes sense. I believe it was quite late when this
occurred. He must've gotten it into his head to go and get a drink at
the saloon and set off down the road."

Odessa glanced at Nic. Surely not. "There must be some mistake.
He's not the sort of man to go out drinking. Especially at that hour."

"Maybe he was after something else. All I know is that he was on
the road at an hour beyond the realm of respectability."

Odessa could feel her chest tighten, her breath coming in quick
pants. She didn't like his tone. "What happened?' Nic cut in.

"What?"

"What happened to Bryce? Quickly, tell us," Nic repeated.

The sheriff stared back into his eyes without blinking. "It appears
he was waylaid by highwaymen."

"Highwaymen," Nic said, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "An
awful lot of that going around lately, don't you think?"

"We're a prosperous and growing town. We're doing all we can."

"Was he robbed?"

"Appears so. Nothing on him when he arrived." He eyed Odessa
again. "He's been beaten. Pretty bad."

"Where'd you take him?"

"Doc Ramsey's. Some drunks found him and hauled him in with
them, during the wee hours this morning."