Stained Snow (19 page)

He took a sip of his beer as he strained for any conversation that might help him determine where his brother had gone. By the time he’d drained the beer, he had nothing. Unless he was interested in a range war or where it looked like the next gold strike would be. Neither of those meant anything to him. He wanted to stop his brother and get back to Maggie.

A slice of pain went through him at the thought of her. A month. He’d sent updates through the telegraph to George. It wasn’t the way to communicate to her. There really wasn’t a way to. He hoped she understood and didn’t think he’d abandoned her too. He set the glass back on the counter and closed his eyes.

“Another one?” The barkeep wiped down the surface of the bar as he came over to Will.

William shook his head then opened his eyes. “Is there a place I could get a hair cut and a shave?”

“Yeah, we got a barber here. Down the street, between the diner and brothel.” At William’s raised eyebrow, the man laughed. “Even whores gotta eat. And the men like to get cleaned up before they go back to their wives.”

That made William a little sick. He’d never had the desire to pay a woman for a night. Of course, he’d been married to Anna before he even turned nineteen. He’d never wanted anyone else after that. Not while she was still alive.

He nodded at the barkeep, and left the saloon. Maybe Thomas hadn’t even come through here. He hoped he hadn’t lost him completely. If he had, there wasn’t much more he could do. He couldn’t follow an invisible trail.

He made his way down the street to where the barkeep said the barber was. His leg nearly gave out on him once. After the shave, he would have to find a bed somewhere. He didn’t usually mind sleeping on the ground, but it made his hip pain him more. In the morning, he’d decide which way to go next.

When William stepped into the barber’s, one older man stood back in the corner. The man turned at his approach. “Help you?” he asked.

“Need a shave. Maybe a cut too.”

“Sit then.”

The barber wasn’t long on words. That didn’t bother him. William wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He sat in the chair and closed his eyes while the barber came over and lathered up his face. He drifted off while the blade scraped at the hair on his cheeks and chin. He startled slightly as it moved to his neck but settled again when the barber put a hand to his shoulder. He didn’t close his eyes again. He needed that bed.

As the barber finished up his shave, his stomach rumbled, reminding him he needed food as well. He climbed out of the chair and dug out coins to pay the barber. He didn’t have a whole lot more to spare. He needed to find Thomas or he would either go hungry or need to find some work. He could spare enough for another meal and a room. The rest would have to go to his supplies.

He walked back to the diner, not even venturing close to the brothel. He smiled at the waitress who led him to a table. He wanted to eat and get some sleep. He tipped his chair back while he waited for his food to arrive and almost drifted off again until a conversation at the next table broke through.

“Heard Tilden down in Byers hired him some new gunman to go after those squatters.”

“Heard they weren’t squatting. They were on that land first.”

“Still he wants to get rid of them. This hired gun business though, I don’t like it.”

“Not really any of our business. Long as it doesn’t come up here.”

“That’s where it’s headed. They’re trying to shove our cattle into a corner. Too many damn farms sprouting up.”

He didn’t understand why their conversation had caught his attention. Except the talk of a hired gun. Rumors had gone around for years of Thomas selling his gun to the highest bidder. He was a good enough shot and didn’t have any qualms about killing. Sometimes, he wondered if his brother had a conscience at all. He let these thoughts brew until his food came. There wasn’t much he could do about it now; dark would be coming soon.

He’d leave for Byers in the morning.

#

Byers, Colorado

June 15, 1888

William rode down the street of Byers and noticed it seemed quiet for the middle of the day. Especially if there was a range war going on here. He’d wanted to get down here sooner, but he’d run into storms nearly every day, slowing his progress. His food had been stolen from his camp during the night. He’d had to take on a job for a month so he could make some money.

He didn’t even know if Thomas would still be here. If he had been in the first place. Those men could have been talking about anyone. It sounded so much like what Thomas would go for, he’d had to check it out.

He dismounted at the saloon and headed inside. He still moved with a limp in his gait, even though the hip didn’t pain him nearly as much. He might always limp. He walked up to the bar and leaned against it, taking some of the weight off his bad leg. The barkeep swiped the counter with his rag as he made his way down to William.

“Beer,” William told him. He waited until the man slid it across the counter to him. “It’s quiet around here,” he commented. “I’d heard there was a war going on.”

The man’s eyes sharpened. “Was. Marshal ran a man out on the rails. He started killin’ too many of the wrong side.”

Something tightened in his chest. “Who was this man? One of the squatters?”

The barkeep glanced around then brought his gaze back to William. “Who are you, boy? You look like a ranch man.”

His fingers twitched against the glass. “Not anymore. Lost my place up north. I’m not anything right now.” He didn’t think he would be until he made Thomas pay. “I don’t have a side in this.”

The barkeep studied him for a moment then nodded. “Hired gun for one of the ranches. Tommy something. I have no interest in what goes on out there, long as they come in here to drink. I didn’t like him coming in here. He drove a lot of my business away.”

Sounded like Thomas. William wanted to curse. “You said he was driven away from town.”

The barkeep nodded. “He didn’t stop with the squatters. Started taking out some of the other ranchmen as well. One of them had a lovely wife.” He grinned then. “She also knows how to handle a gun. He tried to take her, and she faced him down then brought the marshal into it. Couldn’t prove he’d been the one to kill her husband, but the marshal didn’t want him around no more.”

“Do you know which way he went on the rails?”

The barkeep stilled, and his eyes narrowed. “Thought you didn’t have a side in this.”

“I don’t. I’m lookin’ for him for my own reasons.” He ran a finger through the moisture on the glass. “This rancher’s woman wasn’t the first he tried to take. He killed mine a year ago.”

William closed his eyes at the long stream of curses. Then opened them again when the barkeep said, “Sorry, son. The train went west, headed to Denver. That was more’n a week ago. I can’t tell you more than that.”

William drained his beer and tossed some coins onto the bar. “A few extra for the information,” he said as he turned to leave.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Try to find my brother before he hurts anyone else.”

He left the saloon and walked down to the train depot, hoping there would be a telegraph there. He hadn’t been able to get word to George since leaving Brighton, nearly a week ago. He didn’t want to admit it, but he hoped George would say at least one word about Maggie. He hated not knowing how she was doing. Hated he’d had to leave her. He wouldn’t let Thomas hurt her again.

He stepped inside, and the depot clerk standing behind the counter looked up at him. “I need to send a telegram.”

“Who, where, and what?” the clerk asked as he turned to the telegraph.

William smirked at the terse questions. He hadn’t been asked like that before. “George Barnes in Lay, Colorado.” William waited for the man’s nod then told him, “Heading to Denver. Getting close. Hope to return soon.”

The clerk scowled as he typed out the words. “You want to put your name?”

“No. He’ll know who it’s from.”

“You expect an answer right away?”

“Not likely.” He might not get one at all. “When’s the next train leave for Denver?”

The clerk turned to consult the schedule. “Tomorrow morning. You need a ticket?”

William nodded. The clerk turned to get that for him when the telegraph machine started clicking. “One moment.” He turned back to the machine. When he pulled off the sheet of paper, he turned back. “You Will?”

William took a step back in surprise then nodded. The clerk held the paper out to him. “Looks like you got a response a lot quicker than you expected.”

William took the paper from him and scanned it. He had to go back and read it again, his hands suddenly shaking.

Will,

You need to come home. Maggie needs you.

George.

That was it. Not even a dozen words, and it shook him to his core. The clerk’s voice finally cut through the buzzing in his head. “What?”

“You going to respond?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Ask him what happened.”

What could have happened? Had Thomas circled back? Hurt her again? He closed his eyes against the fear. From Denver, he could have taken the train north. It would have only been a couple days’ hard ride back to the ranch. If Thomas had done something, he would never forgive himself.

“Just two words.” The clerk handed the paper over.

William looked down at it.
Get home.
He swore under his breath. The clerk seemed concerned but not too disturbed. “Forget the ticket to Denver. How far northwest will the train take me?”

“Here in Colorado, it can get you to La Porte. If you wanna get to Wyoming Territory, you can ride to-”

William stopped him. “I need to go to La Porte then. When does it leave?”

The clerk checked his schedule again. “About an hour.”

“I need a ticket and passage for my horse.”

The clerk handed him the ticket, and William passed him the money. “You can board your horse any time before the train leaves. Should be in La Porte in the morning.”

William nodded and thanked him then walked back outside. He held the telegrams in his shaking hand. If things went his way, he could be back out to the ranch less than two days after he left La Porte. He hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

Chapter 22

Barnes Ranch, Colorado

June 18, 1888

William reined his horse in as the ranch came into sight. In the three days since he’d received the telegrams from George, he hadn’t stopped worrying over them. He’d made it to Walden by nightfall after getting off at La Porte.

This morning he’d started out before the sun rose. Now, it lowered toward the horizon. Still a lot of movement in the yard below him. When he had left, only Adam had been there. Now at least half a dozen men moved between the barn and bunkhouse.

He looked for Maggie and felt like a tight band wound around his chest. He could barely breathe through it. His gaze swept the yard then swung back to the porch when someone stepped out. That band released, and he could breathe again when he recognized her. He shifted in the saddle and loosened his grip on the reins before urging his horse forward.

By the time he reached the yard, Adam walked up to the porch. He focused his gaze on them and the hand Maggie held against her stomach. The careful way Adam approached her. The tears drying on her face.

Something clutched in his stomach. Was she sick? Is that why George said she needed him? She couldn’t be dying. It just couldn’t happen.

He nudged the horse, pushing him to go faster, and would have ridden straight to the house if two cowboys hadn’t suddenly stepped in his way, their rifles crossed in front of them. William yanked on the reins, and the horse’s hooves dug into the ground as he tried to stop before running over the two men. “Out of my way.”

“Not until you tell us who you are and what you’re doin’ here,” the younger of the two men said. “We had enough trouble here as it is.”

Something twisted around him, squeezing until he thought his insides had been crushed. “What happened? George. Is he-?”

“I’m fine, son.”

The voice came from behind him, and William whipped his head around, releasing a breath when George stood there. “What happened?” he asked again.

George looked past him. “Daly, Holt, go on. He’s fine. I sent for him.” The two men lowered their rifles and turned away, both still looking suspicious. George drew William’s attention back to him. “Get down here, Will. We’ll go up to the house.”

William swung his leg over the saddle and dropped down to the ground. George called to one of the other hands headed toward the bunkhouse, and he came forward. “Take care of Will’s horse. Looks like he’s had a hard ride.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said.

“I can take care of my own mount,” William told him.

“You need to come up to the house with me. Your horse will be taken care of. Better than you’ve been doin’ by the looks of him.”