Chapter 24

 

Lenora pulled out the short-handled shovel she’d tucked in her saddlebag. She walked to the middle of the clearing to the old twisted pine that stood as a lone sentinel in this high mountain canyon—a sentinel that had stood watch over the box of gold at its feet.

As she tromped back through the ankle-high alpine grass that spread like ratty green carpeting, she looked up the canyon beset with narrow slots and crevices to the snow-topped mountain peaks of the Rockies. The only way out of this boxed-in meadow was back down the way she’d come, which led to the Poudre River. She wished now that she’d tied Nugget up, so she could fetch him later. Her stomach grumbled at her for forgetting to bring food along. In her haste she’d done a lot of fool things. But she was determined to get out of the mountains in one piece, even if she had to crawl on all fours lugging the sack of gold behind her. Nothing and nobody would stop her now.

More than anything, she hoped Clayton had been captured by now. Or shot dead. There was no telling—not from here. She didn’t dare sneak close to the trail, where the posse could spot her. And she couldn’t take the chance of them seeing her footprints.

As much as she wanted to watch his demise, she couldn’t take the chance.

The snap of a branch startled her, and she swiveled around, stiffening. She pushed back her sunbonnet to scan the far woods and fisted her hands. Was someone coming?

She pulled her pistol out and hefted it in her palm, eyeing her surroundings, keenly aware of her vulnerability in this exposed field. Hank had spent hours teaching her how to shoot—and shoot well. She could hit a bird between the eyes on a stump from fifty feet without a second’s hesitation. Clayton wasn’t all that great a shot, but she sure didn’t intend to put his skill to the test, nosiree. And if that posse discovered her—well, why would they take umbrage with a woman traveling alone in the mountains? She’d read stories about that Englishwoman Isabella Bird. The fool woman spent years traipsing alone around the Rockies, fording dangerous rivers and waiting out blizzards holed up in some stranger’s cabin.

A scent of smoke wafted up her nose. She looked to the north, where Hank’s hideout was. A small dark cloud hovered above the tops of the pines, and flecks of ash rode on the soft breeze drifting down into the valley where she stood, wary, pondering.

Was the cabin on fire? Why? She hadn’t heard any gunshots. Had the posse set it on fire to force Clayton to come outside and surrender? Wouldn’t that be nice.

But she didn’t have time to postulate on what might or might not have transpired. She was wasting time. The longer she tarried, the bigger the chance someone would spot her.

Lenora set her pistol beside her as she knelt at the base of the gnarled pine. With a grunt, she pushed aside the big stones she’d rolled onto the flat spot. Then she poked the shovel’s tip into the ground until she hit the big flat rock she had laid atop the strongbox. In less than a minute she had the foot-long rock uncovered. She set down the shovel and with her gloved hands worked the rock free and lifted it out.

Her eyes widened as her pulse raced. The gray metal box sat undisturbed where she had left it the last time she’d been up here. A giggle burst out of her as she hurriedly wiped dirt clods off the top. It was hers! The gold—all of it. All she had to do was fill her saddlebag and—

“Well, fancy runnin’ into you out here by yer lonesome.”

Lenora gasped at the gruff voice and jumped up. Standing not ten feet from her was Clayton!

How had he snuck up on her like that, without her noticing? She had to think fast. It took all her resolve not to glance at her gun that lay inches from her boot. She knew if Clayton saw where she was looking, he’d shoot her without hesitation. Drat!

“Why, Clay,” she said, pouring on the sugar and delicately wiping the dirt from her hands. She straightened and smoothed out her skirts. “We were s’posed to meet at the cabin. I was just gettin’ your gold—”

Clayton stood erect, scrutinizing her. His hand dropped to the gun at his hip. Lenora gulped.

“Sure ya were,” he said, a cynical chuckle following. “And I was jes makin’ sure you were bringin’ it.”

“Where’s Billy?” she asked innocently. But the icy rage searing his eyes told her the answer before he spoke. Billy Hill Cloyd was dead. Lenora guessed why—Clayton wanted the gold all for himself. She struggled to paste on a look of calm reserve, but her insides twisted with fear.

“He’s . . . indisposed.” He laughed. “An’ I indisposed ’im.”

Lenora took a step toward Clayton with her arms out and a big smile on her face, hoping the terror crawling over every inch of her skin was not telltale. “Oh, Clay, we can—”

“Jes hold it right there,” he warned, pulling out his gun and fingering it by his side.

Lenora stopped, then took a step back, mindful of where her pistol lay. Fear filled every pore in her body. If Clayton had killed Billy for the gold, she was next. She had to think of something to distract him so she could shoot him first. Think, think! Where was her serendipity now, when she needed it most?

Her palms sweaty, she wiped her hands on her dress. The afternoon sun baked her head, and perspiration dotted her forehead. The smell of smoke was thicker now.

“What did’ya do? Set the cabin on fire?”

He humphed. “I reckon more’n likely ’twas that posse o’ yours. Huh, don’t look at me like that. You think I didn’t figure on you alertin’ the law? How stupid d’ya think I am?”

“I did no such thing,” she protested. Didn’t need to, you lunkhead. You think the sheriff wouldn’t’ve heard about the kidnapping?

He pointed the gun at her. “Reach on down there and take that box out. Set it over there. Nice and easy and no funny stuff.” He moved a few feet to her left, to get a clear shot of her without the tree in the way. She sidestepped enough to block his view of the gun, which was now hidden under her petticoats.

With his pistol aimed at her head, he watched her with a keen glare, never taking his eyes off her hand.

“For goodness’ sake, Clay. Why are ya being like this? I’ll give you the gold. I told ya I would. I don’t need it.”

“Sure ya don’t,” he said, his mouth in a twisted smile.

Lenora made herself breathe, but her corset suddenly squeezed the air out of her lungs. She knew she had to move slowly. One quick misstep and she’d find a hole in her heart.

“Hurry up!” he ordered, waving his gun.

For a brief instant, Clayton looked across the field. His eyes narrowed. He must have seen something. Or someone. Now was her chance.

With her head bowed, she pried the box up with one hand, while her right hand slid under her skirts, feeling around until she touched the warm metal barrel of her Colt. She inched the gun forward until she could get a good grip on the handle. Her hands shook, but she grasped it tightly.

Sucking in a breath, she pulled the edge of the box up, aware of Clayton’s distracted eyes glancing at her hands as she peeked up at him from underneath her lashes. She pulled her other hand out from under her skirts, and as she got to her feet, she cocked the hammer back.

Clayton’s eyes widened as she yanked the gun up and pointed it, straight-armed, right at his chest. “What are you—?”

She fired, the kick of the gun throwing her off balance. Clayton rolled to the ground as the bullet whizzed by his arm. Before she could get off another shot, he ran behind her.

She spun around—only to face him and his pistol head-on.

She threw her hands up, and a whimper escaped from her throat. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t shoot. I . . . I was afraid. I thought if you killed Billy, you’d kill me—”

Clayton smiled, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. His hate and fury smoldered hotter than any fire. “Well, you thought rightly,” he said, cocking back the hammer of his gun.

“Clayton, please—”

“Sorry, Lenora. You tricked me one time too many. Adios.”

Clayton fired his gun. Lenora shrieked as the bullet sliced into her gut. A hot knife of pain seared her flesh and doubled her over. She heard the gun fire again. Another hot knife struck her shoulder. She screamed and toppled to the grass.

Her heart stuttered as her body convulsed. The hot sun burned her eyes, and she closed them. In her mind, she saw herself standing on a bright stage, in a fancy theatre house in San Francisco, spotlights baking her as she recited her lines—she was a star, and everyone applauded and threw bouquets of flowers at her as she took her many curtain calls.

She slipped along in her dreamy vision of her fame, gold coins raining down on her head and plunking on her shoulders. Gold, all that gold, all hers . . .

Tears welled up as her lifeblood seeped out, as the harsh pain careening through her body dulled to numbness. She tried to move her hands and her legs, but was unable to. She heard a voice. It sounded as if coming from miles away, the words drifting to her ears as inky blackness clouded her mind and she sucked in shallow breaths that couldn’t fill her lungs.

“Good-bye Lenora. And good riddance.”

 

 

Eph Love reined in his horse, skidding to a stop in the middle of the stand of aspens. Gunshots!

His deputies halted alongside him, alarm streaking their features. The shots were close—not even a mile away. He listened, then heard horses pounding soft earth. Eph drew his gun, then relaxed. Eli and LeRoy emerged from around a thicket on their mustangs. The two trackers trotted in quick step over to him.

“It’s Wymore. He’s in an open field over yonder,” Eli said, animated and pointing in the direction from whence he and his brother had come. “He just shot a woman—she’s got black hair. It’s not Grace.”

“Anyone else there with him?” Eph asked, smoothing his moustache, his pulse quickening. What in tarnation was a woman doing up here, dealing with the likes of Clayton Wymore?

The brothers shook their heads. Love looked behind him and took a head count.

“Where’s Connors?” he asked Marcus Coon. Last Eph had seen, the surveyor had been riding alongside the hotel owner.

“Don’t know. I told him to follow. Guess he had other intentions.”

Eph pursed his lips. Maybe the sight of Cloyd dying scared him off. But they didn’t have time to worry about Connors’s whereabouts. He probably headed back to town, thinking he wasn’t needed.

And he wasn’t. Six against one made the odds look pretty bad for Clayton Wymore. Six men who were all pretty good shots too.

“Well, let’s have at ’im,” he told his posse. “Ezra—take Colin and try to find another way around, so we can surround him.” He looked back at the trackers, questioning them with his eyes.

LeRoy nodded and said to Stapleton, “When we get beyond that narrow cut, where the trees thin out, you’ll see a wider deer trail to the right. Just follow that for about a quarter mile, then swing sharp toward the mountain. You’ll circle the meadow and come out on the north side of the ridge.”

“Okay,” Eph said. “Good.” He shifted in his saddle and sidestepped his horse to face the five men. “Men, I don’t have to tell you Clayton Wymore’s wily and dangerous. He’s a murderer. Don’t hesitate to kill him. He’ll hear us coming, and he’ll find some cover, no doubt. So keep your wits about you.”

Eph checked his pistols and nodded at his deputies to follow. He gestured at the brothers to lead the way. As they trotted across stony ground up through a narrowing pass, Eph smiled, the eager anticipation of this moment building like a ball of snow growing in size as it tumbled down a hill. Billy Cloyd was dead. There was one remaining member of the notorious Dutton Gang on the loose—but not for long.

Eph had no intention of capturing Clayton Wymore alive—knowing the outlaw’s propensity to escape every trap that had ever been set or sprung on him. Eph would not take that chance. He had not a lick of mercy in his heart for this thieving, murdering piece of work that had no resemblance to a man made in God’s image. No, Wymore would breathe his last upon God’s good earth at the top of this mountain, and then Eph and his men would haul the body back to Fort Collins, where his death would be welcomed and broadcast across the thirty-seven united states. Eph could hear it now—the applause, the praise, the acclaim. He would go down in history as the man that put an end to the trail of victims that suffered at this monster’s hands. His appointment to the office of state marshal was a done deal.

Suddenly, the Indian brothers reined to a quick stop in front of him. They had arrived at the top of the draw, and Eph noted it opened out onto an alpine meadow dotted with wildflowers, clover, and patches of snow. His gaze snagged on the woman’s body lying prone in the tuft grass.

“There’s the varmint,” LeRoy said, pointing across the wide expanse. “Gettin’ on his horse.”

Eli’s mustang pranced in place. He gazed off toward the mountain peaks. “LeRoy,” he said, his voice arresting.

“What?” LeRoy asked him.

Eli only stared hard, facing west, at the towering western wall of the Rockies.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” LeRoy said.

“What is it? What do you see?” Stapleton asked, riding up to them, craning his neck to look off in the distance.

Eph saw only something that looked like a haze of dust. Buffalo? Not this high up.

“Horses,” Eli told Stapleton, then looked over at Eph, his face shining with excitement. “That’s the herd we’ve been tracking.”

“For two years now,” LeRoy answered wryly. Eph noted a wistfulness in his gaze.

“You boys want to go after them, go ahead,” Eph told them. “We can handle Wymore.”

“No,” LeRoy said firmly. “We’ll see this through. Won’t be hard to pick up that herd’s trail from here.”

Eli nodded and looked to Eph for instructions.

“All right then. Let’s get Wymore . . . and then we have to find the woman and her baby.”

O’Grady nodded. “She couldn’t have gone far. Maybe Connors found her.”

“One thing at a time,” Eph said. “Least it’s warm and sunny. Not a cloud in sight. She’ll fare all right until she’s found.”

He hoped Wymore hadn’t done anything to that woman before he fled. He couldn’t imagine the fright he’d have if someone stole away his Sally. He’d spit nails chasin’ down the scalawag, and he’d show no mercy. But this woman—she had no one. No one but him and his men. He’d find her and take her safely back to town. But not until Wymore got his comeuppance.

He wished Cloyd hadn’t died on him. He wanted the kid to explain why they’d taken Grace Cunningham and her baby. And tell him who this woman was. Although, now it appeared the woman was dead. If they killed Wymore, then all his unanswered questions would be buried six feet under. Would he ever uncover the truth behind this puzzling mystery?

He spurred Destiny into a run, his posse right behind him. Across the meadow, Wymore stopped and turned at their approach. In a flash, he mounted his horse and raced away to the southwest, as if the Devil were hot on his heels.

He is, Eph thought, giving his mare her head and galloping after the outlaw. And I’m right behind him.