Cole was careful not to skyline himself as he steered his horse up into the mountains. He felt sure that by now Bowden would have men out looking for him and he was determined to find somewhere safe to hide while he perfected each and every detail of his plan of attack.
He needed to stay hidden for a few days before the stage carrying the judge arrived. And he was hoping the Bowden’s would think he had skipped town with his tail between his legs after their showdown. They were in for a shock and Cole had justified to himself the reasons for his lack of any fight yesterday afternoon. He’d had other people to consider before himself and all shame of removing his badge had been replaced by a fiercely burning anger.
Riding back into Squaw with the stagecoach would be risky, and possible could provoke a further gunfight, but it was the only way Cole could think of bringing things to a head and seeing justice done.
Cole of course had killed the sheriff. The fact that the man had been rotten and only wore the star to serve Bowden’s purpose and ensure his son got away with a murder charge would be neither here nor there. Technically he was an outlaw, wanted for the murder of a lawman, a hanging offence. The fact that only hours before he himself had been sheriff would count for nothing. No doubt Bowden would tell it so it looked like he (Cole) had been bitter at losing his job to the other man and had sought revenge with the gun.
That wasn’t how it had been and Cole was going to make the law see that. As far as he was concerned he was still the sheriff of Squaw and he had killed the pretender in a fair fight. He never enjoyed killing and wouldn’t unless there was no other way.
Steve McCraw had gone for his gun first, it was he who had pushed the situation the way it had gone.
He thumbed tobacco into his pipe as he rode and soon had a smoke burning away nicely. It still smarted to hold the pipe between his teeth but he ignored the pain, figured it was a minor inconvenience given that the man who had almost shattered his jaw was in a whole worse state. He guessed he could put up with his aches and pains, which were far preferable to pushing up daisies in Boot Hill.
Cole knew the country well and he enjoyed the irony in the fact that the land he now rode upon and planned to hide out in was part of the sprawling Bowden ranch. He continued to push the horse higher into the mountains, knowing the further he went the less likelihood there would be of him being found. He was careful to keep out of view of anyone in the plains below that stretched out to an impossibly distant horizon. He guessed he was being overcautious but it was clear that Clem Bowden would want him out of the way before he could contest whatever version of events he had dreamed up. And now with Cole, effectively on the run, the rancher had his best opportunity to kill him without fear of legal reprisals.
Cole cursed the day he had first set eyes on the Bowdens.
Sam Bowden had been a thorn in Cole’s side ever since he had arrived in Squaw and took up the post of sheriff. That had been over three years ago and during that time the younger Bowden had come up against him for offences ranging from rowdy behavior to willful damage of public property. Usually as fine would be paid and nothing more said. But this time it had been different. This time there was a body involved, a whore cut up and mutilated. Sam Bowden had been the last one with her and when Cole had tracked him down his shirt was blood stained and his face was scratched and torn where the poor girl had fought back.
It would have been a simple case, open and closed immediately, were it not for the fact that Clem Bowden was a powerful man with friends in high places, people he wouldn’t hesitate to manipulate if it served his purpose.
This was cattle country and the old man owned most of the water rights for miles around and pretty much had all the big business in town beholden to him in one way or another. He owned a controlling interest in the Squaw Cattle Company, a prosperous firm that held a lucrative contract with the army nearby at Fort Brenner, and the bank he fronted held the papers on a lot of property in both the private and business sector. His power was such that a proposal was currently up before the town council to have Main Street renamed Bowden Avenue. It was a proposal that everyone expected to go through the town committee with no problems. Clem Bowden had, after all, supplied a great deal of the funds to build the town hall and schoolhouse and it was he, above all others, who largely drove the local economy.
Clem Bowden, it was said, could be a ruthless man. This was a trait he shared with most truly successful businessmen, but he rarely came into town and went about his affairs in a quiet efficient way.
Samuel Bowden, on the other hand, was a different critter.
The son hadn’t worked for any of the family wealth, had been born into it, had been over indulged by both his father and late mother, things had come too easy for him. He was used to having life to his own liking and he treated anyone who stood in the way of his enjoyment with contempt. He didn’t care who he stepped on or hurt, just so long as he got what he wanted.
He relied on his father’s importance to ward off any trouble he found himself in.
And there had been troubles a ‘plenty.
Cole had a reached a flat area, a valley between two towering peaks. There was running water and shelter from the sun and so he dismounted and allowed his horse to go over and drink. He had a sack of coffee in his saddlebags, having taken provisions from Jessie’s place before leaving, and he decided that it was safe to set up a fire and camp here for a few hours.
Nightfall was still some way off and it was now entering the hottest part of the day.
An expert outdoors man, having spent hard years in the war between the states and longer still as an Indian fighter, he had a fire going within minutes. There was plenty of dead wood around, branches that had snapped from the tress during the storms of winter and now died, the moisture sapped from them, making them perfect for fuel. And the water he had collected from the stream was soon boiling away.
He poured the coffee into a tin cup and carefully sipped at the bitter liquid.
Cole suddenly felt hungry and he supposed it made sense to eat now before he rested. He threw a few handfuls of beans into a pot and chewed on a piece of jerky while he waited for the beans to soften.
Afterwards he felt the need for a little sleep and he judged by the sun’s position that it was somewhere around early evening He’d allow himself a couple of hours and then move on, find a more secure hideout in the caves at the top of Squaw Ridge. He knew the caves well and there was no way anyone would have been able to approach without him seeing them. From the highest peak, near the caves, he would be able to see forever in all directions.
The Squaw Mountains extended for miles, running clean into the next territory. Many years ago geological pressure had created the continental folds now known as Squaw Mountains. In some areas heat from geological forces had created formations of crystal and novaculite. The latter being a rock that was only ever found here and in the mountains of Northern Arkansas and had a ethereal greenish tinge when the sun struck it in a certain way. Deep cavernous caves, like arteries, ran through the mountains, many too deep to be explored.
The horse was chewing on grass and Cole tethered it to a tree before removing his bedroll and lying down, his gun in his hand and almost instantly went into a deep sleep.
Long ago during his army days Cole had learned to sleep whenever and wherever he got the chance. Sometimes a man never knew when the next opportunity would come and it was important to catch what a man could. A rested mind stayed alert and in certain situations a wandering concentration, dimmed from fatigue, could prove fatal.
~*~
Em mouthed the last of the potatoes and used a large piece of bread to mop at the gravy. By the time he had finished and sat back in his chair his plate looked as if it had been licked clean by a ravenous dog.
‘Thank you, most kindly.’ He said and rubbed his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time had had eaten so well. Or, for that matter, the last time he had eaten a woman’s cooking, a real home cooked meal. He tended to fend for himself a lot and the most extravagant dish he could manage was beef stew. And that usually turned out runny and left a person hungry even after consuming gallons of the tasteless liquid. Not like this stuff that stuck to a person’s ribs and filled the belly.
‘You’re very welcome.’ Jessie said and collected the dishes and took them over to the stone sink. She placed a large pan of water on the stove to boil and started about preparing some coffee.
‘You can smoke if you so wish.’ She said.
‘Don’t partake in that particular vice,’ Em said and bit off a chunk of chewing tobacco from his ever present plug.
Jessie considered chewing tobacco, which turned a person’s teeth yellow and gave their breath an unpleasant earthy scent, an equally undesirable vice but she said nothing. It was funny but Cole’s pipe smoke had always annoyed her and yet she would have given anything right now to smell the pungent pipe smoke drifting through the room. She smiled and for a moment closed her eyes as she remembered Cole’s customary after dinner smoke.
‘Never thought I’d miss a man smoking?’ She said as much to herself as the old man.
‘You worried about Cole?’ Em asked and leaned back in his chair. He patted his stomach in contentment.
Jessie was surprised at how perceptive the old man could be and she nodded while she took the now boiling pan from the stove and made the coffee. She took a cup over to the old man and handed it to him.
‘Yes.’ She said, sitting herself down in the soft chair besides the stove. ‘I can’t think of anything else. I’m worrying myself sick.’
‘Don’t,’ Em said. ‘He’s doing the right thing. If I know Cole he’s got every single detail worked out. It’s in his nature to be careful. Never did know a man so careful.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes,’ Em said. ‘If he stayed in town then the Bowden’s would keep on pushing him until he snapped. With the judge coming to town they’d want Cole out of the way. Cole is the one man who could still put Sam Bowden behind bars and Clem’ll do anything to save his rotten son.’
‘If that was the case,’ Jessie said. ‘Then why didn’t they just shoot him the other day instead of humiliating him so? They had him hopelessly outnumbered as well as outgunned.’
‘Too many folk about to see it,’ Em said. He had no doubt that Clem Bowden would want Cole dead before the judge arrived and would have liked nothing better than shooting him dead. ‘They’ll try to get him on his own. When there was no-one about to contradict whatever wild story they came up with.’
‘It could come to that,’ Jessie said. ‘When Cole returns.’
Em shook his head. ‘It’ll be too late then. Clem won’t risk anything with a territorial judge in town. That’s why he’s gotten where he is without a blemish on his character.’
The fact that Clem Bowden had taken up residence in the jailhouse troubled Em but he kept his concerns to himself. And that fact only added to his conviction that Cole was being prudent in hiding away.
He had a good idea where Cole would be and he knew that there was little chance of him being tracked down.
He would be turn up when he was good and ready.
Jessie smiled, wryly. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said. ‘I do hope so.’
‘I’m right sure enough,’ Em said. ‘This’ll all work itself out and you and Cole will have the biggest wedding this town’s ever seen.’
Jessie went to the window and stared out at the darkness. She wondered where Cole was and what he was doing at this particular moment. She prayed he was safe.
‘I’d best be going,’ Em said shortly. ‘Try not to worry too much.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Good,’ the old man smiled. ‘I’ll call round in the morning and walk you to the schoolhouse.’
‘Thank you.’ Jessie said and showed the old man out. Once he had gone she stood there, for a long while, her back against the door listening to the silence.