Early Dawn

by Catherine Anderson

  He was breathing a sigh of relief when he came to a narrow gorge, commonly called a defile where he hailed from. As he rode along the west rim to find a way across, he finally saw what he’d been praying he wouldn’t—churned earth. His heart jerked in his chest when he hunkered down to examine the hoofprints. They couldn’t have been any fresher if the horses had still been standing in them.

  The hair at the back of his neck prickled. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Shit. Glancing at his watch, he determined that he had been riding for only two and a half hours. Pulse starting to hammer, he swung back up on Smoky and followed the trail. No mistake. He recognized the odd paddle gait of Wallace Sebastian’s gelding. The gang was way too close for comfort.

  Matthew longed to stay on their trail to see where they were headed, but another part of him wanted to get back to Eden as fast as he could. While it was important that he learn what the Sebastians were up to, he didn’t want to leave his partner alone for too long.

  Matthew felt pulled in two different directions and couldn’t think what to do. Damn it. He had just decided to turn back when he heard voices. He dropped to the ground as if he’d been shot from the saddle, then slunk in a crouch to a copse of tall brush, pulling Smoky along behind him.

  “When we find that bastard and kill him, I’m gonna take my time with the woman. No more playin’ by the fire at night. I’m gonna rape the little bitch.”

  The deep male voice rang as clear as it would have if the speaker and Matthew had been standing face-to-face. He cupped his palm over Smoky’s muzzle, a signal for the horse to be quiet. If the gelding so much as snorted, the Sebastians would hear him. Perspiration ran into Matthew’s eyes. He didn’t dare draw his hand from the horse’s nose to clear his vision.

  “About time you smartened up, Wallace,” another man said. “To hell with sellin’ her across the border. I never thought it was a good plan, anyway.”

  “Me, neither. Makes me mad that we didn’t enjoy her proper while we had her.”

  “Oh, shut up, all of you! I done what I figured was best. She’d still bring a fine price. I’m just too riled right now to care.”

  “You’re riled?” another man cried. “It was my damned bay that got stole. It ain’t you who’s stuck with a draft horse. When we stop at night, I feel like I been split clean in two. I ache from my gonads clear up to my gullet. I’ve never seen a horse this wide across the back.”

  “Oh, stop your bellyachin’. At least you got somethin’ to ride.”

  The men had come abreast of the copse where Matthew was hiding. Peering through the branches, he was afraid to even breathe. He could have lobbed a pebble and hit any one of them. They were just that close. If Smoky blew or fidgeted, Matthew would be in a fine fix. He wasn’t afraid to swap lead with the five men. He wanted to. But he couldn’t put his life at risk when Eden was counting on him.

  Using the arm with which he held the reins, Matthew wiped the sweat from his eyes with his jacket sleeve so he could see more clearly. Pete was the one riding the draft horse. Even at a distance of several feet, Matthew noted a gray tinge on the man’s skin—the kind that came from months of not bathing. The stench of unwashed bodies drifted to Matthew on the afternoon air. The smell was so bad it burned his nostrils and gave him an urge to sneeze. He swallowed hard and held his breath. If he sneezed—well, he just couldn’t—that was all.

  Pete continued to complain about the discomfort of riding such a huge horse. “I hate ridin’ bareback. His goddamn backbone is crushin’ my balls. When we catch up with that son of a bitch, I’ll be too sore to dip my pecker in that little whore’s honeypot. Why can’t we stop for a break?”

  No, Matthew prayed. They had to move on. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep Smoky quiet.

  “Confound it!” Wallace cried. “I swear, Pete, you’ve gone softer than a down-filled mattress. We took a break two hours ago.”

  “Only for a few minutes. You try ridin’ this sunbuck and see how you like it.”

  A few yards beyond the copse, the brothers dismounted, tethered their horses, and sat in the shade of a tree. James drew a jug of whiskey from his saddlebag before joining the others. They passed the bottle, each of them swilling the liquor as if it were water. Matthew had little hope that they’d drink themselves into a stupor so early in the day, and his heart jumped inside his chest like a child playing hopscotch. Smoky was bound to snort or whinny sooner or later.

  “So which way you reckon we oughta go next, Wallace?” Pete asked.

  “My gut tells me they’re west of here.” Harold wiped his mouth with the back of a grimy hand and returned the bottle to James. “I think we should go that way again.”

  “They ain’t west of here.” Wallace snatched the jug from his youngest brother and took another slug of booze. “We went that way yesterday and didn’t see any fresh tracks.”

  “I think that Coulter fella is rubbin’ ’em out,” Harold retorted.

  Matthew was startled to hear the man call him by name. Except for the night when he’d rescued Eden, he’d seen only one of the Sebastians in the flesh, and that brother hadn’t lived to tell the story. How the hell did they know his name? The answer came to Matthew straightaway: He’d gone into a number of towns over the years and asked questions about where the gang had last been seen. The Sebastians must have visited some of those places and been told that a man named Coulter was tracking them.

  “He couldn’t have rubbed ’em all out.” Wallace snorted in disgust. “I swear, Harold, if I looked in your ear, I’d see daylight out the other side. After riding cut for a few days, we’re headin’ south. No more tryin’ to follow the son of a bitch. He’s goin’ in circles, no rhyme or reason to it. The only way to find him is to ride every which way ourselves until we cut across fresh tracks.”

  “Why would he go south?” Pete asked.

  “’Cause that’s the way he has to go before turning east for Denver,” Wallace answered. “That’s the only town big enough in these parts to have any law enforcement that’s worth a fart. His big concern right now is protecting that fire-haired little bitch, and she has to be played out by now. If he sees no sign that we’re still following him, that’s where he’ll head soon enough, Denver. All we need to do is park ourselves in one place, ride cut a few times a day, enjoy ourselves, and wait for the fool to make a run for it. When we see sign that he has, we’ll be on him like flies on shit.”

  Pete held up his hands. “Yesterday you said he wouldn’t make a try for Denver because he knows that’s what we’d expect him to do.”

  “That was yesterday.” Wallace took another swig of whiskey. “I got a feelin’, and I always listen to my gut. If he gets that woman to Denver, this is finished and we lose. You wanna catch him and get your horse back or not?”

  “I wanna do a whole lot more than that,” Pete grumbled. “Ain’t nobody gets the best of the Sebastians and lives to tell about it. Same goes for taking my horse. I’m gonna do some fancy work with my knife on that son of a bitch and shove his dick down his throat while he’s still alive to choke on it.”

  Matthew listened to them discuss his agonizing demise, each of their suggestions more creative than the last. He wished they’d stop yammering and leave. When they didn’t, he decided he had to get moving himself. Staying there in the bushes with a restive horse was too risky. Better to make a run for it and ride like hell.

  The son of a horseman, Matthew had worked with Smoky from the time he was a foal. The gray not only knew when to keep quiet, but also how to walk backward. Matthew had originally taught him that in case he ever needed the horse to pull him out of a bog by the reins. A rancher never knew what might happen when he was off somewhere alone. A well-trained horse could save his life.

  Now Matthew needed Smoky to walk backward for an entirely different reason. They had to get out of this copse, and going forward wasn’t an option. Keeping his palm cupped over the horse’s muzzle, Matthew whispered, “Back.” Smoky dipped his h
ead, then brought it up. “Back,” Matthew commanded again. The gelding’s withers twitched, but he finally started moving.

  “You hear something?” Pete asked, interrupting Wallace.

  Silence. Matthew drew Smoky to a sudden halt, his body so taut with tension his legs ached. He knew the gang members had their ears cocked.

  Finally, Wallace said, “It was just one of the horses, is all.” Then he guffawed. “What you thinkin’, Pete, that Coulter’s got brass balls or somethin’? He’d have to be crazy to sneak in on us in broad daylight.”

  “I heard something, I tell ya.”

  “You heard somethin’, all right. It was them rocks rattlin’ around inside your head.”

  Matthew got his horse moving again, hoping that the drone of conversation would drown out the sound of Smoky’s hooves. No such luck.

  “There it is again!” Pete cried.

  Matthew heard the men scramble to their feet. He swung up into the saddle, reined his horse sharply around, lay forward over Smoky’s neck, and dug in with his heels. The gray leaped forward, plunging through the tall bushes as if they weren’t there. Once they cleared the tangle of branches, the gelding broke into a full gallop. Behind them, Matthew heard shots ring out. A bullet whizzed by, coming so close it almost parted his hair. Grasping a rein in each hand, he angled his head closer to Smoky’s ear.

  “Go, boy, go.”

  The horse had always been fleet of foot, but never had Matthew believed him capable of the speed he exhibited then. Maybe it was the gunfire, with dirt kicking up all around them like geysers. Matthew expected to take a bullet in the back at any moment.

  He gave Smoky his head, and the horse came through for him, zigzagging through the trees, streaking across clearings, never slowing the pace. The gunfire continued, telling Matthew that the Sebastians had given chase. At one point, he felt something hit his upper arm. Not a slug. It felt more as if a man’s bunched fist had plowed into him. A rock, possibly, that had been kicked up by a bullet.

  Smoky raced like the wind. Matthew had always prized the gray as a trusted friend. Now the horse was giving him everything he had. Matthew hated to run him this hard, but he had no choice. Soon the gelding’s neck was flecked with lather, and Matthew heard him blowing. A loyal horse would go until he dropped. When that happened, he was a goner. Not Smoky. Please, God, not Smoky.

  Matthew lost all sense of time, but he guessed someone heard his prayer, because the gunfire finally petered out. Smoky had outrun the Sebastians’ mounts. Knowing that he had to slow the pace before he killed his horse, Matthew nearly whooped with relief when they came upon a stream. He drew Smoky to a brief stop, took stock of the situation, and circled back to ride south for a bit until he came upon some shale-strewn ground where the gelding would leave no hoofprints. Once on the other side, Matthew cut a bough from a pine tree. Leading Smoky on foot, he stopped every few yards to go back and feather out their tracks. He continued to erase all evidence of their passing until they reached the stream again.

  He led the gelding into the hock-deep water, waded back onto the bank to feather away the last few yards of prints, and then, keeping hold of the bough, remounted the horse. He hated to go downstream in an easterly direction, which would take him farther away from Eden, but he had no choice. If he headed west and the Sebastians followed him, he might lead them straight to her. He had a hunch this was the same stream that meandered past their camp.

  Smoky was blowing hard. His gray coat had gone white with lather. Matthew wished he could stop to let the animal rest, but walking was the only safe way to cool him down. He was glad of the rushing water. Maybe the sound would drown out the clap of the gelding’s hooves on the rocky streambed. Pete apparently had sharp ears, and noise could carry quite a way if the wind was just right. Matthew had no desire to meet up with those bastards again. He tossed the branch away on the north side of the stream into a thick stand of brush.

  Minutes ticked by, and the tension slowly ebbed from Matthew’s body. He felt uncommonly tired, as if he’d been the one who’d done all the running. He guessed the bad fright had sapped his strength. He even felt a little light-headed. Just then he glanced down and saw something red all over his left hand. Blood. Drawing Smoky to a stop, Matthew stripped off his coat to see where he was hurt. His shirtsleeve was soaked with crimson from the shoulder down.

  Incredulous, Matthew realized that the punch he’d felt on his shoulder hadn’t been from a rock, after all. He’d been shot.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matthew had warned Eden that he might be gone until well after dark, so she didn’t start to worry until it grew really late. Where on earth was he? She’d waited until after the sun went down to cook, hoping to keep the food warm for him, but now it had gone stone cold. She had no watch to check the time, but she suspected it was close to midnight. He never would have stayed gone so long by choice. Something had happened. She felt it in her bones.

  She thought about saddling the bay and trying to find him, but in the dark it would be next to impossible to follow his trail. If he didn’t come back, she would have to wait until morning to head out after him.

  Far too worried to sleep, Eden sat by the fire waiting, her ears pricked for the sound of his horse. When she finally heard hoofbeats, she pushed erect, her first impulse to run out to meet him. She quickly thought better of it. The approaching rider was most likely Matthew, but what if it wasn’t? She slipped behind a tree, hands curled over the handles of the Colts. She heard the horse plod into camp, then the squeak of saddle leather as whoever it was dismounted.

  “Eden? Where are you?”

  Relieved to hear Matthew’s voice, she stepped out from behind the tree. “Right here. I wanted to make sure it was you before I showed myself.”

  “Good thinking.”

  She moved toward him and grasped his forearm. “I’ve been worried half-sick. I never expected you to be gone so long. What in heaven’s name kept you?”

  He moved away from her into the sphere of flickering light. “I met up with the Sebastians.”

  As he related the afternoon’s events, Eden joined him by the fire. “Oh, God, Matthew, you might have been killed!”

  “Came close.” He held up his left hand, which was covered with what looked like blood. “One of the bastards shot me.”

  “What?” Her heart started to pound. “Where? How bad is it? Get your jacket off so I can see.”

  As he peeled off the coat, he said, “It’s not that bad, honey, just a flesh wound. I got a little light-headed from the bleeding at first, but once I got that stopped, I was fine.”

  He had cut off the sleeve of his shirt at the shoulder seam and bandaged the wound with the length of cloth. With shaking hands, Eden untied the material to assess the damage. The slug had dug a furrow through the flesh of his upper arm, but the wound wasn’t deep or in need of stitches. She was glad of that. She didn’t want to perform that service ever again.

  “We need to clean it,” she told him.

  When she returned to the fire a few minutes later with what remained of the whiskey, Matthew took a hefty swallow before allowing her to douse the cut. He hissed air through clenched teeth at the sting.

  Eden decided not to rewrap his arm. “The cut isn’t that deep. As long as it doesn’t start bleeding again, I think we should let it breathe.”

  She went to find him another shirt and brought it back to him.

  As he slipped the garment on, he looked out into the darkness. Eden followed his gaze. “Are you afraid they may have followed you?”

  “I don’t think so. Smoky ran his heart out for me and lost them. Then, after laying a false trail, I rode east in a stream for about three hours before turning back.”

  If he wasn’t worried that he had been followed, Eden wondered why he looked so concerned. She decided to let it go, though. He would tell her what was bothering him when he was ready and not before.

  “Would you like me to take care of Smoky for you?” s
he asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m starving. I’ll get the horse if you’ll heat up my dinner.”

  While Matthew rubbed Smoky down and fed him, he recalled the conversation he had overheard among the Sebastians. They’d figured out his game, changed tactics, and were now riding in a straight line in one direction and then another, much as Matthew had done today, hoping to cut across fresh tracks. It was only by the grace of God that they’d failed in the endeavor yesterday.

  He and Eden needed to light out in the morning and ride like hell to get completely out of this area, then erase their tracks to lose the gang before they headed south for Denver. He wished they’d finally cross paths with Eden’s brothers. He and Eden could use the backup manpower. So far, she’d been great about keeping up without complaint, but Matthew doubted she could maintain the pace if he pushed her any harder. And he would definitely have to push with the Sebastians closing in on them.

  After eating supper, Matthew cautiously broached a subject that he knew would prick Eden’s mercurial temper. He smoothed the dirt near the fire with the palm of his hand to draw a rudimentary map with a stick.

  “We’re about here,” he told her, trying to lead into the subject slowly. “And when I ran into the Sebastians, I was about there.”

  She threw him a startled look, her blue eyes wide with alarm. “That’s not very far away.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He told her about the conversation he’d overheard. “We’re damned lucky they didn’t cut across our tracks yesterday and come in on us.”

  “I had no idea they were so close.”

  “I suspected it. That’s why I rode east today.”

  Her gaze sharpened on his. “So you weren’t really hunting.”

  “Oh, I was hunting, all right, just not for deer.” He tried to think how he might explain. “I get feelings sometimes—hunches, I guess you’d call them. Over the last few days, I’ve been getting the whim-whams for no reason, and once I thought I smelled campfire smoke that I didn’t believe was our own. If the wind is just right, the smell of smoke can travel quite a distance, so just to be safe, I needed to check it out.”