Will halted Buck and raised the Winchester. The Morgan continued to step skittishly. “Steady, boy, steady.”
Will took a deep breath, blew it out, drew the stock firmly back against his shoulder, aimed, and fired. Buck moved again at the moment Will pulled the trigger. The shot whined high over Paddy’s head.
Paddy glanced back, then dug his heels hard into his horse. “Hie, hie!” he shouted.
Will tapped Buck with his heels. It was as if the big Morgan sensed they were pursuing revenge for the snake attack. He leaped forward and gained easily on Paddy.
Paddy kept looking back, whipping and kicking his horse, and shouting encouragements.
“Stop, Paddy!” Will shouted. “This is a Winchester. I have fourteen more shots.”
Will watched Paddy reach down to his boot. The moonlight glinted off the blade of a huge knife. Paddy cut the leather thongs tying his saddlebags to the rump of his horse and pushed them off his mount.
A few yards farther along, Will reined Buck in beside the saddlebags and dismounted. He gathered up the bags and rummaged through them, finding a thick money belt among the contents. He opened the belt and whistled softly. He held more money in his hand than he would probably earn for years to come.
In the distance, Will saw Paddy disappear over the next ridge. Will had confidence that Buck could catch the other horse, but the risk at night of Buck steeping into a hole was too great.
“We’d better get the count’s money back to him, Buck. We’ll find Paddy O’Hannigan another day.”
CHAPTER 47
Paddy returned the mare to the livery stable in Benton, after two days of hard riding from the count’s hunting camp along the Sweetwater River.
“What’d you do to her?” Ezekiel Thomas, the stable owner, ran a hand along the sweating flank of the horse. “Look at her tremble. She’s wore out. Didn’t you water or feed her?”
“Sure, Zeke, and I didn’t have time to stop.” Paddy slapped dust from his vest and pants. “Had to ride hard to get here.”
“That’s the last time I rent one of my horses to you, O’Hannigan. I don’t cotton to mistreating an animal this way.”
Paddy shrugged. “Suit yerself, old timer. Sure, and there’s other folks what have horses for hire.” He waved a hand, as if to push Ezekial away, and left the stable.
Up and down the street, men worked to dismantle buildings and tents and load their components onto a string of flatcars parked along the rail siding. The time had arrived for moving Hell on Wheels again. The UP’s construction train was gone. How far west had the rails stretched since Paddy had left here over a week ago?
The Lucky Dollar Saloon still stood intact. Mort Kavanagh always kept it open until the last minute in order to sell whiskey to the workers when they took a break from disassembling the ramshackle elements of Hell on Wheels.
Paddy slipped around to the rear of the saloon and entered the tent area through its back door. He raised his bowler hat in salute to Randy Tremble, the bartender, who just shook his head and grimaced. Paddy didn’t care for Tremble either, but he pretended to be nice because the bartender doubled as Kavanagh’s bouncer.
Sally Whitworth rose from a table where she’d been entertaining some card players. “Mort’s been wondering where you were,” she said. She flipped her red curls off both shoulders with a sweep of her hands.
“Where’re we moving to now, me beauty?” Paddy asked.
He kept walking and Sally hurried to keep pace. “Green River . . . tomorrow.”
He’d usually stop to ogle the beauty, but he didn’t have time for that now. He wanted to get this business over with. He stepped up onto the false-front’s wooden floor and rapped on the door that led to Kavanagh’s corner office. Sally stepped up behind him.
“Come in.” The brusque summons was unmistakable.
Paddy took a deep breath and opened the door. This meeting with his boss wasn’t going to be a pretty one. He entered the office, but before he could push the door closed, Sally slipped in too. Paddy closed the door behind him.
Sally sidled over to Kavanagh’s desk and sat on the edge of it. She crossed her legs and dangled one high-buttoned shoe in front of her, swinging her foot back and forth—knowingly teasing Paddy.
“Ah, Paddy, my lad. Welcome home.” Kavanagh pushed a stack of papers away and leaned back in his swivel chair. “You’ve returned with the count’s money?”
Paddy remained standing in front of the door, shuffling from one foot to the other. He removed his bowler hat and looked down at the floor. “Well, now, Mort. There was a bit of a problem, don’t ye see.”
Kavanagh leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean . . . problem?”
“Sure, and I had the money for a wee bit. But, sure, and it got away from me.”
“It got away from you? It just up and ran away from you.”
“Well, not exactly.”
“And just exactly what happened?” Kavanagh stood and rested his knuckles on the desktop. “You’d better be explaining yourself . . . and it better be good.”
Paddy described what happened at the count’s hunting camp and how he had to cut the saddlebags loose when Will Braddock threatened to shoot him.
Kavanagh’s fingers clutched into tight fists. Paddy watched the big man’s jaws clench and unclench. He felt as if his godfather’s eyes would burn a hole through him.
“Can’t I trust you to do anything!” Kavanagh slammed a fist on the desk.
Sally jumped at the force of the blow, slipped off her perch, and stepped to the side of the room.
“Sure, and it’s Elspeth McNabb who’s to blame.” Paddy clutched his bowler hat closer to his chest, trying to use it as a shield. “If she’d done her part, like ye told her, I’d have had plenty of time to get away with the money.”
“I’ll take care of Miss McNabb as soon as the count’s hunting party reaches Green River. But for now, I want you out of my sight. You’re on half-pay effective immediately.”
“What?” Paddy surely hadn’t heard correctly.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve regretted promising your mother I’d look after you. You’ve brought me nothing but grief. Stay out of my way until I send for you.”
Paddy’s mouth dropped open. He blinked hard, staring at Kavanagh. “Half-pay? What about my ma and my sister? How am I going to support them?”
“I don’t care. That’s not my problem. Now, get out! And don’t come back until I say you can.”
“Mort, please.”
Kavanagh reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a revolver. He pointed it at Paddy and cocked the hammer. “Out!”
Paddy glanced sideways at Sally, whose smirk only added to his frustration and humiliation. He returned his gaze to the pistol in Kavanagh’s hand and backed up to the door. He reached behind him, turned the knob, and stepped outside the office without turning his back on his godfather.
He jammed his bowler hat on and slipped out the front door of the saloon into the bright sunlight. He didn’t want to have to walk past Randy Tremble by going out through the back. If it hadn’t been for Will Braddock this wouldn’t be happening.
“I’ll be getting ye for this, Braddock. Just see if I don’t. And ye too, Elspeth McNabb.”
CHAPTER 48
“Wapiti.” Lone Eagle pointed with his bow up the slope into the trees.
“Elk?” asked Count von Schroeder. “I don’t see any. How can you tell?”
“They are up there,” Lone Eagle said. “I saw a big buck moving on the ridge top.”
“If he says there are elk up there,” Will said, “I believe him. I suggest we split up, sir.”
Conrad Eichhorn jacked the lever down on his Winchester Yellow Boy and drove a cartridge into the breech. “Ja. That is what I advise as well, mein Count.”
“It’s too steep for the horses,” Will said. “We’ll have to leave them here. And it’s too warm to wear a coat on such a climb. You may want to leave yours behind
too, sir.”
Will dismounted from Buck and removed his buckskin jacket. He rolled it neatly and tied it behind his saddle. The other members of the hunting party shed their coats as well.
“All right,” the count said, “Herr Eichhorn, you and Lone Eagle head up to the right. Herr Braddock and I will go off to the left. When we reach the crest turn inward and come back together. Hopefully we can drive the elk between us. Careful. Don’t shoot each other.”
For the past three weeks, after the count’s party had left the North Platte River, they had slowly made their way up the Sweetwater following the old Oregon Trail, then crossed the Continental Divide at South Pass, before continuing along the southern base of the Wind River Mountains. Will knew they should be approaching Green River, which the count’s map showed flowing around the western end of the mountain range.
Elspeth, Rupert, and Homer had set up camp a mile from the base of the ridge the four hunters now climbed and would be preparing for the meal at the end of the day. At least Rupert and Homer would—Elspeth might set the table if she were in a good mood. Ever since Paddy’s attack, she’d withdrawn into herself. Will stopped beside the count as they paused to gasp for breath on the steep climb through the pine, fir, and spruce trees. His eyes searched for the elk that Lone Eagle had spotted, but he could see neither movement of the thick brush nor antler racks appearing above the greenery.
“Still a ways to go to the top, sir.” Will spoke softly, so his voice would not carry and spook the elk. He bent forward, using the butt of his carbine as a brace against the steep hill, and took in several deep breaths.
“Ja. Let us continue.”
The count pressed on, and Will fell in behind him. The count carried his Winchester and Will his Spencer. The Winchester could definitely bring down a big elk at a distance, but Will would have to get close to make a kill with a single shot from his smaller caliber carbine.
The count had shot several elk, as well as a mule deer and a couple of mountain sheep, over the past several days. But he was still not satisfied with the size of the elk they’d found. He was determined to find a more impressive specimen to add to his museum collection.
They topped the ridge and stepped out into a large meadow devoid of heavy brush, its floor covered in a panoply of wildflowers scattered over dozens of yards.
“Whew! Some climb,” the count said quietly. “But the view is spectacular.”
Will joined him in admiring the high, snow-capped mountains that stretched far beyond the ridgeline where they stood.
A rustling in the trees on the far side of the clearing caught Will’s attention. A magnificent elk stepped out of the woods and froze. Will doubted he could span the spread of the elk’s antler rack with both his arms extended full width. This elk would certainly meet the count’s requirement for a superb specimen.
The count raised his Winchester and settled it against his shoulder. Will could see that the elk’s attention was riveted on something, but it didn’t seem to be the count or him. The elk’s eyes stared off beyond them. At what? That didn’t seem right.
The count fired. The elk reared upward and leaped, but fell immediately.
The explosive crack of the rifle was joined by a loud roar.
Will spun around.
Standing on its hind legs not twenty yards away stood a huge grizzly, its claws extended toward him. This bear towered higher than the one that had killed Bullfrog Charlie.
“Mein Gott in Himmel!” The count seemed to freeze, dropping the rifle from his shoulder.
Will stepped in front of the count, raised his carbine, and fired. Dust flew from the bear’s shoulder, but the animal swiped at the wound as if it were a bee sting. Will levered another round into the breech and raised the gun.
The bear dropped onto all fours and charged.
“Shoot, Count! Shoot!” Will shouted and fired the Spencer again, the shot smashing into the bear’s face.
The sting of the bullet caused the bear to rear onto its hind legs, swatting at its snout with a paw.
The roar of the Winchester beside Will’s ear let him know the count had regained his composure. The power of the rifle’s bullet jolted the bear, causing it to drop to all fours again. But the shot did not stop the bear. It kept coming.
Before Will could chamber another round into the Spencer, the bear closed the gap between them and reared onto its hind legs. The massive head lunged forward.
Will almost gagged when he smelled the strong breath accompanying the deafening roar that blasted him in the face. He raised his carbine to fend off the blow he knew was coming. The bear’s powerful swat swiped the Spencer out of his grasp. Will threw both hands up to protect his face.
Sharp claws slashed across Will’s chest muscles. Excruciating pain engulfed his left side. Was this what Bullfrog Charlie had felt when the grizzly attacked him?
Will dropped to his knees, looking at the bear as it raised a paw for another strike. Suddenly, in rapid succession, through eyes filled with tears, Will watched three arrows plunge into the bear. The bear’s paw swatted at the arrows buried deep into its massive chest. Lone Eagle had fired the arrows faster than a rifleman could reload, even with lever action.
Then both Winchesters blasted another time. The count and Conrad Eichhorn had each fired.
The bear bellowed, staggered, and dropped. A final groan escaped from the wide open jaws. Then silence.
Will fell forward onto his hands, gasping for breath.
Lone Eagle stepped up to the bear and paced off the length of the carcass. “It is the biggest grizzly I have seen,” he said.
“Two magnificent trophies to add to your collection, mein Count,” Eichhorn said. “A mammoth bear and a beautiful elk.”
Lone Eagle reached down to help Will stand.
“Oh!” Will groaned. He sank back to his knees, grasping his left side.
“What’s wrong?” Lone Eagle asked.
Will stared up at his friend and pulled his sticky hand away. Four bloody gashes appeared through rents in his wool shirt.
CHAPTER 49
Jenny McNabb had just wiped her hands on her apron and slipped it off over her head, when her father entered the front door of the Green River home station.
The McNabb family had transferred from their old assignment when the Union Pacific completed its tracklaying across the Red Desert from Benton and the railroad no longer needed the interchange with Wells Fargo at the North Platte River Crossing. Each westward leap of the railroad caused the stage line to contract. Once the UP joined up with the Central Pacific, probably someplace in Utah next year, Wells Fargo would be out of the cross-country stage business.
“Papa,” she said, “I’ve got to run over to Abrams’ store to buy some flour, some spices, and other things. I can’t prepare a decent meal with what I’ve got here in the kitchen. The passengers will expect better.”
“All right,” her father said. “Don’t be gone too long. As soon as you return, Duncan and I are heading out to Fort Bridger. Those new horses Wells Fargo promised are ready for us to pick up over there. It may take us several days to get there and back, moving a small herd.”
“It won’t take long to get what I need. I’ll be gone less than an hour.”
“Jenny?” her father asked. “Are you sure you can handle things here?”
“Yes, Papa. Don’t worry. Franz and the drivers can change the teams for the few days you’ll be gone. I’ll lend a hand. We just won’t be setting any speed records, without you here.” She grinned at her father.
Franz Iversen, the elderly stockman, had moved with the McNabbs from North Platte Crossing. He routinely complained of his rheumatism, but he never let it slow him down.
“I’m not worried about speed records,” her father said. “I’ve asked Sean Corcoran to keep an eye on you.”
Corcoran had the task of establishing the Union Pacific’s switching yards and maintenance facilities at Green River. Jenny frequently saw him, since the depo
t was close by the stage station.
Jenny pulled on her bonnet and opened the door. “Be back soon,” she said. Closing the door behind her, she walked down the dirt street that led toward the center of the new town that had sprung up almost overnight along the banks of the Green River. A temporary railroad bridge stretched across the river and workers were busy constructing a more permanent one with stone buttresses. Interspersed among a few more substantial structures were the ramshackle huts and tents that comprised Hell on Wheels, which had transferred from Benton along with the railroad.
One of those transplanted shacks was Abrams General Store. Jenny opened the door to the tinkling of a bell suspended overhead and stepped up onto the board floor of the canvas-covered store. “Morning, Mr. Abrams,” she said.
“Good morning, Miss McNabb.” Benjamin Abrams wiped his hands down the front of his apron and leaned forward on the glass top of a counter. “Nice to see you. What can I do for you today?”
“Need flour, salt, assorted spices, maybe some bacon, if you have any.”
“That I do. Follow me.”
Jenny followed Abrams through strands of swinging beads that served as a curtain separating the front of his store from the back. Hanging from a beam that supported the side wall of the tent were half a dozen slabs of bacon.
“Choose whichever one you want,” Abrams said.
The door bell tinkled again, and Abrams returned to the front.
“Afternoon, Mr. Abrams.” Jenny moved away from the row of meat and peeked through the curtain to see who had come into the store.
“Afternoon, Miss Whitworth,” Abrams said. “How can I help you?”
“Mort sent me to pick up that shipment of playing cards he ordered. He sent O’Hannigan to carry the box.”
“That shipment arrived this morning, but I haven’t had a chance to unpack it. It’s still in a crate out back. I’ll get it, if you have time?”
“Certainly,” Sally said. “I’ll look around a bit to see if you have anything new that catches my fancy.”
Bear Claws Page 19