Chapter Thirty-Two

I un-wrapped the reins from the hitching post and drew them into a bunch in my fist. I had to love the poetic justice of using Berger’s horse for our getaway.

“You ready?” I asked Tumbleweed. His face looked mighty pale. “When was the last time you had any water?”

Wendell’s gun boomed once, then a second time.

“I’ll be fine,” he answered, settling his hat on his head.

“Give me a push,” I told Tumbleweed, digging my left foot into the stirrup. I bounced a few times, then swung myself up, kicked my leg over, and was—incredibly—sitting dead-center on the saddle. I grinned, but not too broadly. I wanted to act like I did this sort of thing all the time.

The horse shifted nervously under me, but I reached down and gave it a pat. Then, I slid forward, reaching for Tumbleweed as he fumbled for my hands. “Get on, quick,” I said.

“Hang on,” he said. Just then, he wobbled and started to fall. He yanked my wrist, and I lurched forward, nearly falling out of the saddle. Feet dangling, I squeezed my legs against the horse’s middle to keep from sliding off. There was a lurch below me, and the horse started forward at a walk. Tumbleweed flopped onto the horse. His left foot was in the stirrup, but his body lay sideways behind me.

“I thought you said you were fine. Can you get on?” I asked.

“I’m trying. Why did you tell him to go?”

“I didn’t,” I said, reaching for the reins.

“Wait, don’t—” I gripped the reins, and the horse instantly broke into a trot. I tugged back, but she was already around the corner and heading into the valley.

“Ready or not, here we go,” I called back to Tumbleweed. He flung himself upright, and I flicked the reins. There was no point in taking it slow now. As soon as Berger saw us, we’d be a prime target. The appaloosa bolted forward with the first flick of my reins. Though I had been preparing myself for the force of its pull, I nearly dropped the reins, and I felt Tumbleweed slipping backward. I clutched at him with one hand, the other gripping the reins. We shot out into the valley, and I could hear Berger’s surprised yell. Digging my heels into the horse’s flanks, I spurred us into a gallop. The bulls were dead ahead, though just far enough away that if I could actually steer the horse, I could avoid them. But if Berger started shooting, I didn’t know what I’d do. All I could do was ride hard and hope he’d think twice about shooting at his own horse.

The wind whipped my face, and with every thudding beat of my heart, I kept waiting for a rifle blast. We charged up the slope of the valley, taking the last fifty feet or so toward Wendell’s perch like a bullet from a gun.

A shot rang out, and I heard a high-pitched whine whizz past me.

“Dang it. He’s shooting at us!” Tumbleweed said.

With one final push, we crested the slope and flew through the stand of aspen trees, past Wendell’s blurred figure. Only when I knew we were safely out of range did I tug back on the reins. Berger’s horse slowed and stopped, and I turned to glance at Tumbleweed. His eyes were wide, and his swoop of red hair was dangling across his forehead. He opened his mouth to speak just as Wendell rode up beside us astride Jubilee.

“Great Jehosaphat,” he said, moving beside our horse and running his hand down its neck to calm it. “You’ve got him.”

“That was Wendell shooting back there?” Tumbleweed asked. “I thought—”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Wendell didn’t have anything to do with the robbery, but he showed up at exactly the right time to help break you out.”

“That’s mighty fortunate, then,” Tumbleweed said from his perch on the appaloosa behind me. “I reckon I owe you a lot more than a thank-you. But still, you know, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Wendell said. “I’m sorry you boys got mixed up in all of this, even if you kind of mixed yourself up in it. I reckon Gene can fill you in on the missing bits on the ride back to town.”

“We’ve got to go,” I said. “Berger’s hotter than a pepper back there. His men won’t be too far behind now that we’ve found their hideout.”

“You’re right about that.” Wendell glanced at Tumbleweed. “That leg going to take the ride?”

Tumbleweed licked his lips. “Hurts a fair amount, but not like someone’s taking a hacksaw to it. That was yesterday.”

Wendell smiled. “You’ll be in a heap of pain for a little while now, but that’ll pass in a day or two. As long as we get you to a doctor, you’ll be just fine. Might even have a scar to show the girls.”

Tumbleweed’s face relaxed. “Well that’s good.”

“He needs some water,” I said.

Wendell’s eyes narrowed. “Sure does. Here, take a swig.” He handed his canteen back to Tumbleweed, who drank for several long moments. Finally, he pulled the canteen away from his mouth, letting the water drip down his chin. “It ain’t cold,” he said, “but it tastes like a little bit of heaven.”

“Then we’d better—” Wendell began. But the sound of a voice from the valley below stopped him cold.

“Silas Hayes!” Berger boomed, his voice echoing like the rifle blasts of a few moments earlier. “Silas, if it’s you up there blasting away at me, you listen good. I expect you’ll be wanting to bring the law out here after my gang,” Berger continued. “But it ain’t going to be that simple. We’ve got some surprises in store for ya, Silas. You hear that?” I looked at Wendell. But his face only revealed a studied concentration.

“We’ve been busy setting a few traps for you in town. And when all is said and done, you’ll be the one who takes the fall for all of this. And we’re going to love watching it happen!”

The last of Berger’s words died away, and I looked again at Wendell. He frowned and gripped the appaloosa’s reins. “Sounds like he ain’t planning on coming after us, then,” he said.

“Yeah, but, you heard him. What’s he planning?” I asked.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Tumbleweed said from behind me on the horse. “Now’s our chance. Let’s get out of here.”

“That’s the most sense I heard outta you yet,” Wendell said. He tugged on Jubilee’s reins, and settled himself center on the saddle. “Let’s ride,” he said. Jubilee set off at a trot. Swallowing hard, I flicked my reins, and the appaloosa broke into a trot behind her.

“Hey,” Tumbleweed said. “All this bumping is downright rough on my posterior. You mind taking it down a notch?”

“We ain’t going to get back to town any time soon at a gentle saunter,” Wendell shot back. “Now toughen up, Tumbleweed.”

I did my best to keep pace with Wendell, who was putting Jubilee through her paces. The horses would need ample rest after the ride they’d taken from Rattlesnake Junction the day before. We neared the looming spires of Diablo Canyon, and Wendell slowed Jubilee on the rocky ground.

“Hey, uh, Gene,” Tumbleweed called from behind me. “I’m…much obliged to you for what you did back there. It was a pretty swell thing.”

“Thanks.”

“Trick shooting, trick riding—guess we’re going to make a frontier boy out of you yet.”

“I reckon.”

“So how’s Wendell involved in all this, anyway?”

We trotted through the canyon, and I recounted for Tumbleweed the story of Wendell and the Clean Shave Gang. The further away from the ranch house we got, the easier it became to leave Berger’s threats behind and picture Rattlesnake Junction again. What would Ma and Pa say when I explained where I’d been? What about Charlotte? How good it would be to be home.

One hour slipped by, then another. The sun was dipping down in the sky when the grassy flatland gave way to the woods and dirt roads of home. Finally, we emerged from the woods and broke onto the beginning of North Street. I could see the familiar steeple of Mount Carmel Church looming in the distance.

Wendell clicked his tongue, and Jubilee sped up. Soon, we were into the town proper, the two-story rooming houses of North Street passing in a blur. Wendell slowed Jubilee to a walk, and I did the same with the appaloosa. The town square gleamed green in the fading afternoon light. Wendell veered right at the circle, guiding us toward his shop.

“What’s that?” Tumbleweed asked. I peered ahead and saw a crowd gathered just past the green. We slowed, and I caught sight of another clump of townsfolk filling the road ahead.

“What’s going on?” I called down to a man in the middle of the road. But his eyes only widened, and he pointed at Wendell.

“It’s…him,” he said.

Instantly, my heart began to drum hard and fast in my chest. “Who?” I asked. “What do you mean?” But the man said nothing else, only grabbed the arm of the woman beside him. They both moved away.

“Look!” Tumbleweed said. I glanced up the street, and saw Marshall Boggs, flanked by two other men. His eyes flashed as we rode up, and his right hand drifted down to his gun belt.

“Well, well,” he said. “You boys go missing for a day and a half, worry your folks half to death, then come riding back into town beside a train robber. Looks like we owe you quite a debt of gratitude for bringing in this outlaw.”