THEY REINED UP IN SIGHT of the town. A scurrying crew of workers were tearing the buildings down as fast as they could move. They were loading tents onto wagons and ripping up the lumber floors. There must be another gold strike up in the mountains.
Gamblers, dancehall girls, and merchants were hauling down a big saloon tent as Sam rode up. A big man in a bowler appeared to be in charge, giving orders to everyone.
Sam rode over and reined up. “Mister, I’m looking for a man, got a large scar over his right eye and a big, blond Swede.”
The superintendent nodded. “Rode through three, four hours ago. Wanted to know where they could catch a stage.”
“Where’s that?”
“Alkali Flats, about ten miles east. Rain may have slowed it down, but it usually comes through about sundown.” The man held up a hand and stomped over to two men moving some glass windows. “Dammit, be careful! You dummies break those glass windows, and I’ll pin your hides to a tree!”
“Yes, sir! Sorry, boss!”
The big man shook his head. Squatting down on the high porch, he turned his attention back to Sam. “What’d they do?”
“Robbed a man, shot him, and left him for dead.”
“Hard cases, then.” He shook his head and chewed on a plug of tobacco in his cheek. “They got a good start on you, I’m afraid, son.”
Sam thanked him, reining the gray out and short loping over to where Doe held the pack string.
“They’re making for the stage, about ten miles away. We got one chance to catch them before they get there. If I make a run for it, I may catch them. You bring the pack horses slow. I’ll meet you there. No sense running all of these horses into the ground.”
Doe started to protest, but stopped when saw the look on his face. She simply nodded instead.
Already primed, the gray pranced around. Turning him, Sam let the long-legged steed have his head.
Watching them go, Doe jerked the bay and pack horses into a hard trot. Using her heels, she kept the brown pony and the others in a trot, despite their reluctance. Bouncing occasionally in the stiff gait, she scolded her charges along.
The iron-colored gelding ran flat out on the soft road—Ears pinned back, his long legs pumping ground as he reached for more with each stride. Nostrils flared to get maximum air to the great heart beating beneath Sam’s girth. Sweat wet his shoulders and soon turned into foam. Breathing easier, the gelding seemed to get a second wind as he topped the sagebrush ridge, far beyond Doe and her charges. The land ahead was level as they raced on. Hooves drumming a rhythm, Sam kept urging the horse on.
With the wind in their face, they flew past a slow team of oxen and freight wagons. Waving, Sam leaned into the horse’s gait, and they swept on. He could see the distant buildings ahead. He was sure he could make out the dust of a stage coming up from the south.
If the great horse’s heart would last, they could intersect that line. He felt the steed weakening under him. Conscience would not let him push the gallant beast any harder. Unfolding before him, it was plain how the stage would come and go before he could reach it. Sam considered reining the weakening gelding in, but there was still a chance. He topped the last ridge to see the vanishing boot of the coach pulling northward, fresh horses racing away from his vengeance.
Riding the heaving wet horse up to the stage stop, he hailed a green-visored agent. “Wait, mister.”
“The stage has already left.” The agent studied the snorting, foamed horse with his head low and sides pumping painfully. He pursed his lips in disapproval, then the agent looked up at Sam.
“Did two men get on that stage? One big and blond, the other with a scar over the right eye?”
“You run that horse that hard for them?”
“They’re wanted for murder.”
“They’ll be in Denver, noon tomorrow.” The man shook his head in disgust at the horse’s condition.
Sam didn’t have time for his disapproval. “When’s the next stage south?”
A shrug “Be one tomorrow, like today.”
Sam dismounted heavily. “I need to get a letter on it to the Denver police.”
Turning, he led the trembling gelding back and forth, up and down the dusty ruts. He needed to walk him until he cooled off a bit. There was a sudden emptiness inside him that left him feeling weak. Had he pushed hard enough to catch up with the two outlaws?
Did he really want to?
Horses puffing and hooves thundering, Doe came sliding in hard under her flat-brimmed hat. Screaming “whoa” at her charges, she nearly collided with him in the last red light of day. Jolting in the stirrups to stop, she searched his face, then slumped in the saddle.
“Too late?”
“Yep.”
Dismounting, she snatched the reins from him. “I will cool gray one.”
“All of them need it. Why in hell did you race all the way here like that?”
“You need help. Come pretty quick.” She ducked, then grinned at him.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. We need to find a camp.” Sam shook his head and hugged her shoulder.
She smiled in pleasure at the show of affection. “Dark now.”
Sam tossed his head down the street toward a corral in the distance. “We can afford to put this crew up in the livery. God knows they deserve it after all this.”
One by one, they got the horses soon cooled down and let them drink from a nearby water trough. When they reached the stables, the livery man inside hobbled over to join them with his yellow lamp. He kept stealing glances at Doe while they negotiated the price. Finally satisfied, Sam asked for some whiskey to rub down the gray’s legs and led him into an empty stall to eat.
He nodded to the stableman. “Thanks for your help.” ‘
The old man sneaked on more look at Doe. “Fine, I’ll check him a couple of times in the night.”
“Do that.”
Their horses munched grain noisily as he and Dor sat on the stable floor eating canned peaches and crackers in the dark. Their backs against the wall, they could hear a dancehall girl singing off-key somewhere down the street.
“I would rather hear a wolf howl.”
Sam slurped syrup from his can. “Much rather.”
“We go to Denver now?”
“No. I’m going to write a couple of letters. One to the Denver police. My friend, the judge in Fort Collins, will take a dying man’s deposition. Then, I’ll write Cheyenne for a claim on that reward for Joe Sunday.”
“Take long?”
“A week, maybe. Are you in a hurry?”
“No.” She laughed freely, leaning back against the rough boards.
Chirping crickets were busy with their nightly concert as Doe shut her eyes. This was a good time with a man she had never dreamed of. The warm sweet taste of peaches lingered in her mouth as she rested.
——————————
ANSWERS CAME IN LESS THAN a week, as it turned out. The judge’s reply promised swift justice once the outlaws were apprehended. As for the reward for Joe Sunday, a bank transfer for fifty dollars from the Cheyenne-Laramie Lines came in on stage two days later.
The couple’s new camp was set up on a thin, muddy stream. Cottonwood proved a poor firewood, though, and dry chips were at a premium. Doe had scoured the area in search of fuel and found nothing. She was ready for them to move on, and not shy about telling him about it.
“No damn thing burn here. Bugs bite all the time. Water is bad to drink. Why we stay here?”
“You mad?” He barely looking up from his repairs on the pack saddle. He’d heard this about a hundred times already.
“Nothing burns good here.”
He nodded. “We’ll head for the mountains tomorrow, okay? I’ll have the horses all fresh shod, and they’re rested and slick. Two days we’ll be back in the mountains, I promise.”
“Good! Why do white men live here?”
“Don’t know. We’ll head out early, okay?”
“Fine!”
Hiding a grin, he got up and stretched his back muscles. He was unsure of what they should do next. Give up the chase? Find a place to settle down? Those bastards who’d murdered his family were gone. With his descriptions in hand, maybe the Denver police would get lucky and find them.
Or maybe they wouldn’t.
He glanced back toward the fire. The emptiness in his gut nagged at him. He owed it to Agnes and the girls to bring their killers to justice, didn’t he? Yet looking at Doe as she fussed over her cooking, a part of him longed to simply put the whole thing behind him and get on with his life. A new life, with Doe, free from the pain and misery of the past.
The question was not whether he could do it or not. It was whether he could do it without looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, wondering if or when those bastards would show up again to rob him of everything he loved.