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TITUS WALKED ACROSS the old camp for the third time sifting through the tracks and signs of the attack on Jed.
He’d found three sets of tracks all headed in the same direction and after collecting more ore and picking up some of the items they’d left behind he turned the mule along the trail.
It didn’t look like anyone had come back toward their camp, the site was just as desolate and empty as always, but the emotion building in Titus’ chest was pure fury.
How could anyone treat an old man the way these men had treated Jed? Not only had they beaten him senseless and left him for dead, they’d shot his oldest friend.
Titus tugged at his bandana, lifting it to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Summer was coming and soon the Nevada territory would sizzle like a fry pan.
Looking up at a bright white sun, he hoped he wouldn’t have to travel through the desert for too long.
He wanted nothing more than to see the outlaws brought to justice then turn back to Hester and Jed. The old man had taken him in when he’d known nothing about him, and his kindness had sparked loyalty in Titus.
Titus still didn’t know who he was, but he knew what it meant to be a friend, and he’d be glad to get back to see that Jed was well.
***
A WEEK HAD PASSED LIKE the dusty miles, hot, dry and weary, and Titus had barely been able to follow the tail laid down by the other men.
He was tired but determined, and he kept his horse turned down the trail. He was surprised that the men who had jumped Jed hadn’t made their way to Hester, but it was obvious they were headed north into Utah.
Surely he’d find them at the town that was coming into view on the horizon. Men like that would spend their ill gotten gains as fast as they could get them, but would they have already blown through what they’d taken from Jed and moved on?
The sun was creeping toward the western horizon as Titus road into the little town, his eyes scanning the darkening alleys for danger.
Spotting the jail house, he made his way toward it hoping the local law might know something about the outlaws that had attacked his friend.
“Howdy son,” A short stocky man called as Titus walked into the small log structure. “What can I do for ya?”
“I’m looking for three men,” Titus said, his eyes hard. “I’ve been deputized to find them for jumping an old miner on his claim.”
“Well, we got all sorts passin’ through here, a good number of ‘em ain’t worth the time to learn their names.” The sheriff pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket and took the paper Titus held out to him.
“Hm,” he mused, “seems to me we did have a few that fit this description pass through about a week ago. Caused a bit of trouble over at the saloon; you’d better come with me.”
Titus took the paper the older man offered, folded it and put it back in his pocket, then turned to follow the sheriff out the door.
“Where we headed?” he finally asked as they passed two saloons, a general store, and an eatery.
“Undertaker,” the sheriff replied simply.
“Sheriff, you got more business for me?
a skeletal figure intoned as he stepped around an unfinished coffin.
“Not at the moment Mort,” the sheriff said. “I was wantin’ to see if you could show us the sketch of the miscreant you planted last week.”
“Sure, sure,” the other man said, eyeing Titus as if for a new suit. “Got it right here, I like to keep sketches in case they turn out to be wanted and worth a few pennies.” He finished rifling through a box full of papers. “Here ya are,” he finally said handing a crisp slip of paper to the sheriff.
“What’d ya say son? This one of them?”
Titus studied the sketch. Jed had given a detailed description of each of the men, pointing out identifying markings with care.
“I was kinda up close and personal like with ‘em.” The old prospector had declared with a grimace, when the sheriff of Hester had spoken to him.
“I think this is the one that kept kicking my friend when he was down,” Titus finally agreed: “tall, thin, scar behind his left ear, and dark brown hair.”
“I’ll hang on to this for a bit if you don’t mind Mortimer,” the sheriff said. “I’ll be sure you get a cut if there’s a bounty on him.”
“Appreciate the business, Sheriff,” the man grinned, his whole face pulling back into a series of grooves and hollows.
“Here it is,” the sheriff said a half hour later as they sorted through a number of wanted posters. “Looks like he’s been up to no good for a long time.”
Titus took the paper from the Sheriff and read through the description. “I’d have to agree Sheriff,” he said. “How’d he die anyway?”
“Fella he was playin’ cards with shot him: big man with a black beard.”
“According to my friend Jed, black beard was the leader of the gang.”
The sheriff scratched his jaw. “Maybe they were having a difference of opinion about the money they stole from your friend,” he mused.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Titus agreed. “Well at least that’s one down,” he finished.
“You gonna stay around a bit?” the sheriff asked.
“No, I’ll be trailing along. I’m not stopping until all those men are captured.”
“I hope you know how to use that side iron then son,” the sheriff said seriously. “From the accounts I heard the man with the black beard was deadly quick with a gun.”
Titus looked at the pistol on his hip, he’d hardly had any time to practice with it, but he’d been able to hit everything he’d aimed at so far.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, stretching out a hand to the sheriff. “Thanks for all of your help.”
