When it began to rain, Booker stopped. "No use going any farther. We can't see no tracks now. All we can do is hope Ron caught up to them."
Gil didn't want to stop, but Booker was right. The downpour looked like it could last all night and there would be nothing of the tracks left in the morning.
Tethering the horses, the sheriff took his bedroll and spread it out then put his slicker over it.
Gil gathered some firewood that hadn't been soaked by the rain and brought it to the camp. They camped under a big tree. The rain sounded lonely to Gil. He didn't remember being lonely for a long time, but the rain's music emptied his heart.
"If he hurts her, I'll kill him," Gil muttered as they built a small fire and huddled about it.
The sheriff spread his hands out to warm by the fire. He cast Gil a sideways glance. "Now, son, that's no way to talk. I'd be duty bound to bring you back and put you in jail, so what would that accomplish?" Booker squatted down and poured himself some coffee. Gil joined him. "I know you want your woman back, and I don't blame you. We are gonna do everything we can to see she gets back in one piece, so stop frettin' and thinkin' like that. It'll do no good for her or yourself."
"As many as I've seen come and go in a game, I can't get used to it. He was just a cowboy with a bad temper. Who would have thought he'd pull something like this?" Gil muttered.
"Cowboys have a bad habit of being bad sports sometimes. I guess some are born that way. And some acquire their meanness from bein' on the trails too long. No women for a long time. Not much sleep, or rest. Gotta be a hard life." The sheriff sipped some of their coffee and set his tin cup down by the rocks around the fire. "You get some sleep. Ron's a good tracker. If he wasn't, I wouldn't have sent him. He'll let us know what he finds."
"Sheriff, I know you are doing all you can. I do. But there is no way I'm gonna sleep." Gil jumped up and began to pace in the rain. "She's my responsibility."
"Well, then be quiet while I do," the sheriff said.
"You say he's a good tracker?" Gil muttered as he laid his head on his saddle. "How do you know that?"
"Mighty good. That's why I hired him. He's no fast gun, but he can track anything. He's part Indian. He was a scout with the army for some years, and he's very good. They want him back, but he's tired of it and wants no part of the military. He keeps his eyes open, sees things others might miss. He's a good man, a good scout."
Gil almost laughed. "Can't say as I blame him for wanting to stay away from the military.."
"You been in the army?"
"I did a short stint with them. Hated it. Don't know if it was the orders they kept trashing me with, or what, but when I could, I got out. I was with a regiment that seemed to take particular pride in raiding the Indians. Indians who were simply trying to find some sort of life on a reservation where there was little food or shelter. I got out before I overloaded my mouth about it. It wasn't a popular subject."
"Well, sir, the Indians didn't get a fair shake from the government, but then they were guilty of a lot of murders too. It's a two-sided subject, for sure."
"True, that was my problem. I couldn't decide which side I was on."
The sheriff smiled and scooted down in his bed, covering everything but his face. "Get some sleep."
Sleep eluded Gil most of the night. Was he in love with Trish? Did he have any right to be? And if he wasn't in love with her, why did he miss her so terribly? This new feeling made him uneasy.
The next day was no better, it was still raining and the sheriff didn't look as though he was going to go any farther.
"Aren't we gonna move out?" Gil asked.
"Nope, we're gonna wait here for Ron."
Gil was ready to strangle him. How could a man use such logic at a time like this?
The sheriff watched him pace and stare out through the rain. "You might as well forget it, son. There's no way you can find your way in this. Sometimes Mother Nature has more to say about things than we do, and right now, she's sayin' stop."
"Where'd you get all that backwoods logic, Sheriff?"
"From an old aunt who raised me. If she wasn't preachin' to me, she was tellin' stories of the old timers and how hard they had it. My folks died early on, so she was all I had. I loved that old woman. Guess some of what she said stuck. Some things a man doesn't talk about but…do you believe in God?"
Gil thought about that. "A timeless question, sheriff. Yes. You see… there was this old gambler, the one I learned from. He made money and lost money, sometimes in the same night. He believed. He was shot during a poker game. His dying words affected me more than I care to admit. He looked up at me as I held him in my arms and said, 'There is a hereafter, son. There is a God. Believe it, son, believe it or throw your chips in the pot…for you cannot win the game without him.' He died in my arms, and the look on his face was so peaceful, so dramatic. He hadn't lived a perfect life, but I truly think he died a content death. I somehow knew he was in a better place. Although many had preached to me before, but when I saw his face, I knew…"
The sheriff stared at him a long while. "A man that don't believe can't die like that. Can't die content. And I believe the good will prevail, no matter what."
"But there are a lot of people who don't. A lot of people who die morbid deaths and sometimes the expressions on their faces are grotesque."
"Yeah, I've seen a few of those, especially on the gallows. Only had one hangin' I really felt bad about. He was a young fella, and I was just the deputy who brought him in for trial. He was convicted on circumstantial evidence. I didn't think him guilty. When he went to the gallows though, well, you should have seen his face. It was different I tell ya. His face shone, he smiled, and that smile was still there when they dropped him. I think he was innocent, and I think God took care of him up there on that gallows. To this day, I'll never forget his face. The man had to be innocent or right with God, that one."
Gil nodded. "Sometimes things like that live with you for the rest of your life. As though you were meant to see it, to remember it."
"Yeah, I think you're right." After a moment, the sheriff turned away, not looking at Gil. "You and this lady are not married, are you?" the sheriff asked out of the blue.
Gil startled. "H-how did you know that?"
"Just a hunch. A sheriff works from hunches a lot. I do sense a silent commitment there. Something more than just you wanting to help her."
Gil wrestled with that. "A silent commitment?"
"You haven't told her how you feel. How come?"
"Sheriff, I don't want to bore you…"
"Oh, we got time. Ron won't be back for a spell. Go ahead, tell me," he offered.
Gil wasn't a man to confide in a person, but there was something compelling about this sheriff that had him recounting the story.
When he was through the sheriff shook his head. "So she's still married?"
"Hard to say how the law would look at it. He abandoned her and then refused her a divorce. He also mistreated her. She's had some raw deals in life. I want to help her."
"Legally, they are married. But, what he did… even though it's been done before, it ain't legal. He abandoned her, is what he did. I can't begin to imagine why since I've seen her myself. But sometimes, what we see on the outside isn't the same as what is on the inside. But you seem to think that what is on the inside is good, and I imagine you would know. So, what are you going to do about it?"
"Do?" Gil asked.
"She's your woman, isn't she?"
"N-no, she isn't. You don't own a person. She is my… companion."
"Hell, man, she's the woman you love. You got a contract with her for three years. She can't be free for three years. And yet, I can see just by looking at you that you love her. If I was you, I'd tell her how I felt about her."
Gil squirmed. "It's complicated."
"You are a gambler. A good-looking man, young, and, by the looks of you, can make good money. You could have your choice of women it would seem. Yet you hook yourself up with a woman who is married and can't do much about it, who has been with other men. Why…"
"I've asked myself that question before. The only answer is… she brings me luck."
"In more ways than you seem to realize." The sheriff chuckled.
"Look, she went to this Chester Smith to get a divorce. He wouldn't give it. She offered to pay for it herself. He still wouldn't budge. She's stuck. I feel sorry for her. If I hadn't have taken her in, she would either be in the streets begging for food or in a saloon."
"You may not be ready to admit it, but you feel more than sorry for her. You don't have to involve yourself, yet you do. You didn't even have to take her on from the bet, but you did. That makes you a man of character. Now you have to be an even bigger man and admit the truth—why you really saved her."
"We're partners."
"Yep, in more ways than one."
"Now, look, I've never touched her," Gil blurted.
"Well, that's a first. I guess I've never met a real gentleman gambler before." The sheriff chuckled lowly. "But somehow, I sorta guessed that about you. Men like yourself are hard to find. Men with character."
"Is that what it is? Character?" Gil asked as he made his bed and climbed in.
The sheriff eyed him closely. "I think so."