Long Road to Cheyenne (14 page)

Leach didn’t answer, so Roach continued to press. “Where’d you and Fuller tangle with this feller? On the stage road?”

Leach wasn’t sure he could trust them, but he feared he was going to need some help if he did survive the wound. “No,” he finally answered, “on the North Laramie.”

“What in the world were they doin’ up there?” Roach asked. “Was they in the mountains?”

“Nah,” Leach forced painfully, his insides hurting so badly that he didn’t care whether he told them or not, “’bout ten miles west of the fork with the Laramie.” That was as much as he planned to share, so he pretended to lose consciousness.

“Leach!” Roach prodded. “Can you hear me?” When there was no sign of a response of any kind, he turned to Cheney. “I reckon we’d better go get Foley. I think he’s done for.”

“Looks that way,” Cheney agreed. “Foley might be able to do somethin’, but I doubt it.”

Back in the saloon side of Foley’s trading post, they told him that the dying man in the smokehouse looked as though he was halfway there. “Well, I told him I’d try to dig that bullet outta him if he didn’t get no better. I’ll go see what I can do.” He walked to the back door and called his wife to come watch the bar while he was gone. Roach told him he needn’t bother because he and Cheney were riding out right away.

“Where the hell are we goin’?” Cheney wanted to know when they headed for the door.

“’Bout ten miles east of the fork of the Laramie and the North Laramie,” Roach answered. He looked back over his shoulder to see Foley go out the back door, then stepped to the bar, reached over, and quickly grabbed a bottle of whiskey before Foley’s wife, Mabel, came in. He then continued toward the front door. “I’m gonna need somethin’ to celebrate with tonight. I just found that son of a bitch that ruined my hand.”

“Hell,” Cheney responded. “Is that what you’re thinkin’? There’s about a fart’s chance in a dust storm that the feller who shot Leach is the same one that shot you.”

“Too many things add up that says it’s the man, and I got a feelin’ to boot. It’s him. I knew I’d pick up his trail one of these days.” He kept walking, straight to Foley’s small barn where their bedrolls were, Cheney right beside him, shaking his head the entire way.

“That feller is long gone from there by now,” Cheney insisted.

“Listen, Cheney, if you don’t wanna go with me, just stay here, but Leach and Fuller were tailin’ those people ’cause they was haulin’ gold on their packhorses. That right there is enough reason for me to take a little ride up that way and see if I can pick up a trail. Hell, if they weren’t tryin’ to stay outta sight from ever’body, they’da been on the stage road.”

“I swear, maybe you’re right,” Cheney said, allowing for the possibility that Leach and Fuller might have been onto something that promised a big payday. What Roach was saying was beginning to make sense, even though at high odds. “Hell, I’ll go with you just so you don’t have to drink that whole bottle of likker you just stole by yourself.” They were saddled up and riding out the path from Foley’s Place in a few minutes’ time, anxious to eat up some of the distance before dark.

Behind them, Foley prepared to perform surgery on the hapless Leach. “Take another slug of whiskey if you can hold some more,” he instructed his patient. Leach, who had opened his eyes as soon as his two visitors had left, tilted the bottle back with a shaky hand and gulped as the fiery liquid scalded his throat. It came back up almost immediately. “You ready?” Foley asked when Leach stopped retching, his skinning knife poised over the suffering man.

“Go to it,” Leach replied gamely, then arched his back up sharply when he felt the knife probe into the swollen wound.

Foley recoiled from the rotten smell that escaped from the incision he had just made, but continued to probe deeper and deeper, thinking he was bound to find the bullet if he kept going. Leach screamed in pain, arched his back again, then fainted dead away. Finding it easier with Leach’s body relaxed, Foley prodded first one way, then another, but could feel nothing that felt like a piece of lead. His patience soon began to run out, so he withdrew the knife, pulled Leach’s chin up, and with one firm stroke, neatly slit his throat. “You was gonna die anyway,” he said, thinking now of the horse and saddle he had just gained.

Mabel came to the smokehouse door then. “How’s he doin’?” she asked, with little interest one way or the other.

“He didn’t make it,” Foley answered. “Now I’m gonna have to dig a hole for him.” He cleaned his knife blade on Leach’s shirt. “I reckon it’s worth it, though. I got a right fine-lookin’ horse, and I’ll take a look in his saddlebags and see if there’s anythin’ else.”

“You gonna want your supper now?” she asked in the bored tone that was typical of her manner of speech.

“Nah, I’m gonna plant him in the ground first, so I’ll be a while.”

How much they could trust Leach’s testimony was hard to say, but it was Roach’s opinion that the encounter with the man with the red bandanna more than likely had occurred on the North Laramie River as he claimed. Exactly where was the hard part, but it had to be somewhere between the fork with the Laramie and the mountains to the west. Leach could have been truthful in saying it was about ten miles from the fork. It made sense that it would have been in that general area if, in fact, these people were traveling south while trying to avoid seeing anyone on the stage road. Roach was convinced that it was the same man who had crippled his hand, so he started his search at the fork of the river with himself on one side and Cheney on the other.

By the time they had ridden what Roach estimated to be about ten miles, it was time to stop to rest the horses. There had been no sign of any activity along the banks, save for a few places where single, and sometimes two or three, riders had crossed over the river. But there was nothing that would indicate a gunfight had occurred, and they were rapidly approaching the foothills. “That lyin’ bastard, Leach,” Cheney complained as he filled the coffeepot at the water’s edge. “He sent us off chasin’ our tails.”

“Maybe,” Roach allowed, “but I ain’t ready to give up yet.”

There were two good reasons to keep going—the chance to even the score with Red Bandanna and the prospect of gaining a large amount of gold. His resolve proved to be valuable, for they continued on, following the river into the hills, and soon reached a section where it split one high hill in the middle, forming a narrow gulch. It was in this gulch that they found the sign they had searched for. “Now, by God, I reckon you’ll see I know what I’m talkin’ about,” Roach boasted while the two looked at the obvious evidence of a major confrontation. The many hoofprints and other tracks told of the activity of people and horses moving around.

“This look like Fuller?” Cheney asked when he stopped to stare down into a gully running parallel to the gulch.

Roach walked over to look at the corpse lying in the bottom. “Yep,” he replied, “best as I recall.” He snorted a chuckle. “He looked a little better the last time I saw him, though.”

They didn’t spend much time looking around the site of the gunfight, for there was nothing else they needed to learn there. An obvious trail led away from the river to the south, tracks left by at least half a dozen horses. Roach easily pictured Red Bandanna, the woman, and the two little girls riding away from the scene of the shoot-out, leading a couple of packhorses loaded down with gold dust that was his for the taking.

It was late in the afternoon when the two outlaws reached the banks of the Laramie and another obvious campsite of the people they followed. “They didn’t ride very far from their last camp, did they?” Cheney remarked. Both men dismounted.

“Looks like they stayed here awhile,” Roach said, after walking a dozen yards away from the remains of a campfire and finding the head and the few remains of a deer the scavengers had not finished.

“They got fresh meat,” Cheney said, when joining his partner at the edge of the gully. “Wish to hell we had some.”

“Well, there’s a little bit of gristle left around that head,” Roach japed. “Help yourself.”

Upon a thorough search on both sides of the river, they could find only one trail out of the camp and that was to the west, into the mountains. It was puzzling to Roach, for he figured they would continue south. “What the hell would they be headin’ that way for?” he asked aloud.

“I don’t know,” Cheney answered him. “Maybe they changed their mind about where they’re goin’.” He turned his head to spit a stream of tobacco juice at a lizard, but missed. The lizard was unmoved by the attempt, so Cheney worked his chew up again and fired another stream of brown tobacco juice at the insolent reptile. When he missed for the second time, he lost interest and returned to the discussion. “One thing for sure, though, there ain’t no other tracks outta here.” Roach had to agree, so the next morning they followed the only trail left for them and headed up into the mountains.

•   •   •

On the second morning after reaching Ardella’s cabin high up near the top of a mountain, Cam awoke after a full night’s sleep. For a few minutes, he didn’t move, unsure if moving was going to bring pain, and for the moment, he was comfortable except for the incessant reminder of nature’s call. Knowing he was going to have to answer that call before very much longer, he reached over and felt the bandage on his shoulder. The wound was sensitive to his fingertips, causing him to use a more gentle touch, so he took his hand away. He remembered then that he was in a bed instead of his bedroll. Since there was only one bed in the tiny cabin Long Sam Swift had built for Ardella and himself, Cam immediately felt guilty for driving Ardella out of her bed. It had not been his intent to do so, but Ardella and Mary had practically forced him to lie down on the bed after he suffered a dizzy spell and could hardly stand alone. Ardella was sure it was from the loss of blood.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around him. Two large quilts had been hung up on a line to form a wall for his bedroom, and the voices on the other side were almost in whispers, in order not to bother him, he figured. He swung his feet over on the dirt floor and his head started spinning at once, causing him to grasp the blanket, fearful that he might fall over on the floor. He sat perfectly still for a time, hoping his head would settle itself. Ardella had mixed up a potion the night before and insisted that he should drink it. Whatever the ingredients were, it had certainly knocked him out for the entire night. He knew it was a good part whiskey, but she wouldn’t tell what else it contained.

In a little while, his head stopped spinning, so he decided he could make it to his feet without falling through the quilt curtain. It was evidently not without noise, for the curtain was pulled back at one side, just enough for someone to peek in. “Well, goodness’ sake, he’s already up.” Ardella pulled the quilts aside. He was greeted immediately by an instant burst of loud conversation, a result no doubt of having to have been so quiet for such a long time. “You feel like you could handle some coffee?” Ardella asked.

“That’d be mighty good right now,” Cam answered, “but first I’ve got a powerful need to make some room for it.” He headed toward the door. Still unsteady on his feet, he lurched to one side, catching himself on the doorjamb to keep from falling.

“Here, lemme help you,” Ardella said, “before you fall in the stream outside.” She dived under his good arm and straightened up again, supporting his weight on her shoulder. “Now, let’s go.”

“Cam,” Emma said, “Ardella doesn’t have an outhouse. You have to go in the woods.”

Cam managed a smile for her as he replied, “I reckon that’s what the woods are for, Skeeter.” Outside the door, however, he told Ardella, “I can make it by myself now.”

“Horse feathers,” she replied. “I’d end up right back here pickin’ you up off the ground. I’ll walk you over to that pine tree yonder, and you can hold on to it while you get your business done.” He started to protest further, but she cut him off. “My goodness alive,” she told him, “I’m old enough to be your mama. I ain’t gonna look, anyway. I’ll turn the other way till you’re done.”

With her only feet away, it took him a minute or two to convince his bashful bladder that it was all right to release its contents. “Don’t look this way,” he warned her once when she took a quick peek in his direction.

“I was just checkin’ to make sure you ain’t fell down,” she laughed. “I didn’t wanna see you lyin’ flat on your back, peeing straight up in the air.” Chuckling to herself, she murmured, “Damned if you ain’t the shy one.” Reasonably sure he was not going to fall, she turned and headed back to the cabin. “I pulled out an old shirt of Long Sam’s,” she called back to him. “It might be a little big on you, but not too much, and that bloody shirt of your’n is about ruined.”

•   •   •

Cam was a strong man. He didn’t remain an invalid for long. After that first night, he insisted on returning to his bedroll and surrendering the bed to Ardella. She embarrassed him by remarking that she might not wash the bedclothes for a while, because it had been so long since she had the scent of a man in her bed. “Ha!” Mary blurted, unable to contain her delight upon seeing Cam blush. “I can understand that right enough.” Both women enjoyed a laugh, causing him to retreat from the cabin.

“I’d best go see about the horses,” he mumbled as he went out the door.

Another day found him rapidly getting his strength back, bringing a comment from Ardella that he must be building his blood back up. “Long Sam was like you,” she remarked, a wistful look in her eye. “He could come back from a wound or injury faster’n any man I ever saw. I remember one time he went huntin’ the day after he got caught between a mama bear and her cubs, and she damn near mauled him to death.”

“Well, that’s what I’m fixin’ to do,” Cam said. “I think I’ll walk back down the mountain a piece and see if there’s a chance to add to our meat supply.”

“Are you sure you’re ready to do that?” Mary asked. “You might not be as strong as you think.”

“Can I go with you?” Emma asked at once.

“Not this time, Skeeter,” Cam told her. “The last time I took you huntin’, I came close to shootin’ Ardella.” He hated to disappoint her, but in truth, he felt as if he needed some time alone. Emma screwed her face into a pout, but Mary told her she wanted her to stay close to the cabin.

Cam picked up his rifle and went out to check on the horses before he left. The small patch of grass around Ardella’s cabin was soon going to be grazed bare, so he knew he was going to have to move them before another day or two, and look for some grass somewhere else.
Maybe tomorrow,
he thought as he walked toward the path that led down the mountain. It would be handy if he ran up on a deer, but he really didn’t expect to see one. The mountain offered very little to attract any kind of game—gaunt, hard-looking heights with trees on very few slopes. He was surprised to find game trails in some of the more barren stretches. His real purpose was to get away from the four females for a little while. His life had changed so drastically since meeting Mary and the girls, from one of a loner to one constantly in female company. It was good to get out on the mountain alone.

He had made his way a fair distance down the narrow game trail when it occurred to him that he might have gone far enough, for he reminded himself that he was going to have to climb back up the steep incline, and he was a long way from being fit again. The path wound through a belt of scattered pines at that point, still some one hundred feet or more above the foot of the mountain. He decided to walk over to a large outcropping of rocks that would give him a view of the valley below and the way he and the women had approached the mountain on their way to the cabin. It would be nice, he thought, if he spotted a herd of deer moving through the valley, even though he knew he was in no position or physical shape to go after them. But there was nothing moving in the valley—until he started to return to the path. “Damn!” he uttered, for two men on horseback suddenly appeared at the mouth of a wide ravine.

He remained there, watching the progress of the two riders, for as he could best remember, they seemed to be riding the same trail Ardella had chosen to lead them to her mountain. He knew for sure they had ridden up the middle of that same ravine. There was no doubt in his mind, after watching the way the men studied the ground before them, that they were tracking his party. Conflicting thoughts raced through his mind as he continued to watch their progress. From that distance, he couldn’t tell much about their features. He could only tell that one of them rode a black horse, the other a paint. It mattered little, for he was convinced they were coming after him, and for the same reason the others had. Stand and fight, lie in ambush, or clear out before they found them? He was not sure which would place the women and children in more danger. The last ambush had resulted in the wound he was now trying to recover from.
I’ll stand and fight,
he thought, but first, he must protect Mary and Ardella and the girls. His next thought was to get back to the cabin to warn his people while there was still a little time to prepare.

As he hurried back up the mountain, he couldn’t help feelings of regret that they had now pulled Ardella into their problems. The tiny game trail that led to her cabin had been free of tracks from deer or any other game before they came. There was now evidence of hoofprints and not from deer, but from half a dozen horses. They would be found. As he approached the cabin, his lungs heaving from the exertion he had placed upon himself, he studied the situation as the two men would see it. The cabin was nestled back in the mouth of a ravine and hard to see. But that also made it hard to defend because of its vulnerability on three sides, and the steep ravine behind. It would afford the attackers possession of the high ground on two sides of the cabin. He didn’t like the setup. He would prefer to have the high ground. The next thing that struck him as he neared the cabin was the fact that his horses were all bunched there in front of the cabin.
This ain’t worth a damn,
he decided, but there was no place else to take them within a reasonable distance from the cabin. There were too many signs that told him their best chance was to run.

“Mary! Ardella!” he shouted as he ran up to the door. His shouts emptied the cabin at once, as everyone responded to his frantic alert, immediately alarmed. “We’ve got to get outta here!” he told them. “There’s two riders trackin’ us, and I don’t think we’ve got much more than forty-five minutes’ or an hour’s head start on ’em.” Accustomed to quick escapes by now, Mary reacted immediately and returned inside to gather up her belongings and those of her daughters.

Ardella moved to help with the horses, and started saddling Mary’s horse while hurriedly giving Cam instructions. “You and the girls go down the ravine back of the cabin. It don’t look like a trail, but you can make it if you do just like I tell you. And it’ll lead you to another game trail that leads to the other side of the mountain. Long Sam moved some of the rocks that were there. He said it was our back door, if we ever had to make a run for it. They’ll have to look pretty damn hard to find it.”