Trail of Golden Dreams (3 page)

“Excuse me, Miss Hart.”

“Yes?” Josie spun and found herself face to face with a small,
bespectacled man in a loose, wrinkled suit. She recognized him as Mr. Bailey,
the undertaker and the man she was on her way to see. 

“Are you alright, Miss Hart?”  His eyes squinted behind the glasses.

“Yes.  Just out of breath from walking through this mud.  Thank
you, sir.  I was on my way to speak to you.”

“I anticipated you would require my services.  I have a wagon hitched
and ready.  My men dug two graves early this morning.”

Reaching into her saddlebags, she pulled out some coins and placed them
in his outstretched palm.  “You anticipated correctly.  How long
before my father’s service can be held?”

“The preacher just stepped into the Last Chance Saloon.  I’ll fetch
him and ask him to meet us up on the hill in thirty minutes, if that suits
you.”

“That will be fine. Thank you, Mr. Bailey.”

“My pleasure, miss.”  The undertaker tipped his hat.  “One more
thing.  Would you happen to know if Mr. Williams has any people here in
town?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t know Mr. Williams.”

“Well, it’s a pauper’s funeral for him then.”  Bailey turned on his
heel and began to walk away.

“Wait.  What’s a pauper’s funeral?”

He faced her.  “He’ll go in the hole we dug, but without benefit of
the preacher saying words over him.  It’s the fate of those who aren’t as
lucky as your pa, I’m afraid.  The deputy found no money on the
unfortunate fellow, and if he has no wife or family… Well, it’s not for you to
worry about.”  The undertaker waited and searched her face with
hope. 

When she frowned, his eyebrow lifted.

“I didn’t know my pa’s friend, but everyone deserves a Christian burial.
I’d like to pay for Mr. Williams’ funeral,” Josie said, fishing a few more
coins out of her saddlebags.

“Thank you, Miss Hart,” the undertaker replied.  “That’s kind of
you.” A sly smile split his thin lips. “We’ll get his and your pa’s boxes
nailed up and loaded onto the wagon.  The preacher and I will meet you on
Cemetery Hill shortly.”

She nodded, turned full circle, and raised her eyes back to the hill,
afraid of meeting the gaze of the man in black once again.  But there was
no need for apprehension, because the white stallion and dark rider were
gone. 

Thirty minutes later, Josie stood at her father’s gravesite. 
Richard and Ben Johnson, Mr. Bailey, and a few ladies from the church attended
the brief service. She laid a small bouquet of wildflowers on the casket. 
The preacher read the 23
^rd
Psalm from the Bible and then tossed a
handful of dirt on both Leroy and Johnny Williams’ boxes.  “Ashes to
ashes, dust to dust,” he said solemnly.  The ceremony ended with him
singing the first verse of the hymn,
Softly and Tenderly
, in a robust
voice. She winced when he loudly intoned the chorus, in which the sinners are
called home.

When the service was over, Ben and Mr. Johnson offered her their
condolences.  “If you need anything at all, you let us know.  Ben and
I will be happy to help.”  Richard patted her hand like a father
would. 

“I appreciate that, Mr. Johnson.  I’ll see you next time I come to
town.  Goodbye, Ben.”

“Bye, Josie.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bailey.  Thank you, Preacher.”  She shook each
man’s hand and then ambled over to Traveler, who stood under a cottonwood tree
sleeping. 

“God be with you, sister,” the preacher said.  His milky eyes
followed her as she passed with her hand gripped firmly on the saddlebags. When
he and the undertaker exchanged a subtle glance, she squeezed the saddlebags
even closer to her body.

Josie took the
reins in her hand and climbed into the saddle.  “Walk on,” she ordered the
mule. She swayed from side to side upon his wide back as the sure-footed animal
trekked down the steep hill.  When they reached the bottom, she sensed the
man before she saw him.  Her head pivoted.  Standing in the distance
next to a clump of sagebrush was the rider and his white stallion.  There
was no doubt about it this time.  The man glared directly at her.  He
was over twenty feet away, but she could feel his hot pupils boring into her
like razors.  His mouth stretched tight across his tanned face. 

The rhythm of her heart stopped beating for a moment. 
Who is
he?  What does he want?  Why is he looking at me that way? 

Having spotted
the white stallion, Traveler’s ears pricked forward rigidly.  His lip
curled up to expose the two rows of his huge yellow teeth.  Then he brayed
loudly and jerked his head toward the horse. As Josie kicked him, urging him
down the street, a cold shiver ran down her spine.

Will that
man follow me? What could he be up to?  Do I know him?

His hat had shaded his face, making it impossible for her to see his
features clearly.  Spurring Traveler on, she could still feel his eyes
drilling holes into her back. She twisted around in her saddle; scared to find
him following her, but also wanting to catch another glimpse of the dark
stranger.  For some reason, she felt strangely drawn to him. She glanced
around, scanning the hill, the sage, and the street behind her. Like phantoms,
the enigmatic pair had disappeared again.

Good. 
He’s gone. He probably thought he knew me, and then realized his mistake when
he got a better look at me.

A long breath escaped through her lips. 

Originally she had planned on having supper at the hotel and perhaps
staying overnight, but seeing her pa hung had turned out to be more of an
emotional drain than she’d expected.  All the memories of her childhood
and growing-up years had flooded back in a heartfelt rush as she’d watched the
hangman place the bag over her pa’s head and tighten the cord around his neck.
She’d been brave, for her pa’s sake—not crying out when the lever was pulled
and the floorboard went out from under him.  But now, she felt sad and
bone-tired.

Leroy Hart never would have won any father-of-the-year prize, she thought
rationally.  But he was not the horrible man people had made him out to
be.  Deep in her heart, she knew he’d had some good qualities.  After
all, her ma had loved him.  She’d been a good woman. Pa must have been a
decent fellow at one time, or Mama wouldn’t have married him. That little shred
was all Josie had to hold onto at the moment. 

She bounced along in her saddle thinking about her pa’s final
words.  In the jail, he’d begged her forgiveness and rambled on about how
her life was about to change.  What had he meant?  She had no idea.

Feeling melancholy and more alone than ever, she decided it would be best
to skip supper at the hotel and go home. It’d be smarter to save what little
money she did have, rather than spend it on a fancy meal and room. 
There’d been little rain so far, and she feared the garden might not produce
the quantity of vegetables she normally harvested and sold for cash. 
Besides, it didn’t sit well for her to line the hotel owner’s pockets, a man
she knew to be a cheat at cards.  If there was one thing Josie couldn’t
stand, it was a cheater.  There were fixings back at the little cabin for
cornbread and beans that she could cook over the fire, and her cot would
suffice—as it did every night. 

She reined Traveler down the wide, dusty street.  At the exact
moment she passed the jailhouse, Marshal Kendall stepped out of the door and
stood on the walk with Del close on his heels.  It was as if they’d been
watching and waiting for her to come by.  Del crossed his long arms across
his chest.  The marshal splayed his legs apart and hooked his fingers into
the waist of his trousers.  Doing so caused his jacket to flap open, once
again displaying the gun at his hip. Unsmiling, they both nodded their heads. 
Josie hesitantly returned the greeting. 

She followed the marshal’s gaze, which fixed on the leather bag draped
over her saddle horn. 

I’ve had enough of this town for one day, and the people in it
. 
A sour taste filled her mouth.  When she reached the edge of Dry Gulch,
she spurred Traveler into a full gallop. Leaning forward in her seat with her
heels in his sides, the mule ran all the way home as if his tail were on fire.

Chapter Three

It was close to dark when the pair trotted onto the farm.  Josie
allowed Traveler a long drink from the water trough, and then walked him into
the barn and tied him to a post.  She patted his neck and tossed a fleck
of hay on the ground, which he began to crunch between his strong jaws.

On the ride home, her thoughts had centered around her pa, of course, but
also on the stranger with the white stallion.  If he’d wanted to get her
attention, he’d done a good job of it.  Her heart hitched thinking about
him and his piercing dark eyes that had seemed to look straight through her.

Why did she wonder about him?  He was sure to be another gambler, or
a cowhand who’d stumbled into town looking for ranch work, although that hardly
seemed likely.  He didn’t look like a ranch hand, duded up all in black
the way he was.  Could it be he was something completely different? 
Like an outlaw?

Why had the man been following her? 
Had
he been following
her?  Or had it been mere coincidence, him looking down on her from
Cemetery Hill and then again amongst the sage after the burial?  No. His showing
up in both places had not been an accident, she was certain.  He had
watched her as if he knew her, or had some business with her.  But she
hadn’t recognized him.  If his goal had been to meet her, he’d done a poor
job of it. What kind of a man was he if he couldn’t introduce himself like a
proper gentleman?  

She huffed as she got out the grain bucket.  The man was probably a
hustler hoping to take advantage of a defenseless woman. He’d chosen the wrong
woman for
that
, she thought with the confidence she’d developed through
the years.  She’d dealt with plenty of his type before.  Dry Gulch
was full of con artists.  There was no use in wasting another minute
thinking about this one, no matter how mysterious or handsome he’d looked from
a distance.  She’d push thoughts of him out of her mind the same way she
swept cobwebs from the barn rafters.

Another strange
man Josie planned to steer clear of in the future was Wade Kendall.  She
didn’t like the way he’d stared at her when she rode by the jailhouse. 
Del, she expected to gape.  He’d been sweet on her for years.  But
the marshal, he was another story altogether.  His eyes were as cold and
hard as the bullets nestled in the cylinder of his gun.  She believed the
rumors about him having been a gunfighter. Chill bumps rose on her arm as she
wondered how many men he’d killed so far.

She had just reached under Traveler’s belly to loosen the cinch when she
heard the distinct sound of snapping twigs outside the barn.  Her back
straightened, and she tilted her head and listened.  Traveler’s ears
twitched.  After quietly unbuckling the latch on her saddlebags, she
retrieved the little derringer she carried with her at all times. Sliding her
hand across Traveler’s rump, Josie slinked next to him as she watched for
movement out in the dirt yard.  She crossed over to the barn door on
quick, silent feet and heard footsteps. 

Her eyes darted in the direction of the pinon tree that had fallen
recently during a strong wind. Someone hid amongst the broken limbs.  She
could hear ragged breathing, and it certainly wasn’t the wind because there
wasn’t a hint of a breeze on the air.  The fool, whoever he was, would
have made a terrible cat burglar.

Josie raised the derringer shoulder high and peeked around the
door.  Across the barnyard, the cabin sat in total darkness.  She
gazed into the sky, which was starless and dark as pitch, and sent a little
prayer up to heaven.  The gun remained rigid in her hand. 

Traveler made slurping noises while inhaling the grain, and it was
exaggeratingly loud amidst the otherwise silent comfort surrounding the
night.  Suddenly, she heard another branch snap.  Cocking the hammer
on the derringer she whispered, “Prepare to meet your Maker, whoever you are.”

A stray cat streaked across the yard, screeching like its tail had been
yanked into a knot. While dumbly watching it spring up and over the water
trough and run into some tall weeds, Josie lowered the gun and shook her
head.  Releasing the breath that had been stuck in her windpipe, she
mumbled, “Stupid cat.  Liked to have scared me to death.”

She strode back to her mule and flipped open the saddlebags.  Her
hand stopped in midair. There it was again—the sound of moving feet.  She
twirled and came face to face with the preacher. Dumbfounded by his uninvited
presence, her mouth gaped.  The whites of his eyes were red with tiny
veins snaking across them. Had he been drinking?  She was sure of it once
he opened his mouth and his words came out thick and slurred. 

“Evening, Miss Hart.  I’m glad to see you made it home safely.”

She whipped her right arm behind her back to hide the small gun. 
“What are you doing here, Preacher? I paid Mr. Bailey for the funeral. 
Did he give you your share?” she asked, taking a step backward.  Her mind
raced.  She couldn’t imagine why he had followed her home. 

“Yes, yes.  I got it.  Thank you kindly.” Although he talked
friendly, his eyes blazed like a wild animal’s.  He took a step forward
and stumbled over his own boots, but caught himself before falling down.

“Stay right where you are, Preacher.”  Josie stuck her left hand out
to halt him.  “I’m not sure what you want, but whatever it is, you won’t
find it here.  You should be getting home.  It’s late.”

He grinned and his hand dropped to his crotch, which he scratched.
Tugging at his britches he said, “I’m not tired.  And I’m not going home
until I get what I came for.”