The Coming Storm

by Tracie Peterson

  “I knew better than to give Jack his head. If I’d been paying attention, this never would have happened,” she muttered.

  Eventually Dianne managed to work the ends of the material into a knot. With this done, she slipped the loop around her neck and under her left arm. It was a little tight, but better that than loose and hanging down too low. Having accomplished this, Dianne realized she was almost dizzy from the pain and exertion. She steadied herself, closing her eyes momentarily until the spell passed.

  Looking heavenward, she shook her head. “Well, Lord, you certainly have your hands full with me.”

  Heading down the hillside, Dianne looked to the mountains and the grandeur they offered. The day was lovely with a lemony sun, pale blue skies, and only a hint of wispy clouds. Had she not been injured, it would have been perfect. Spring was always lovely in the mountains, and while it was still chilly, Dianne found it a pleasure to be outside.

  “Lord, I need to count my blessings, I guess.” The walk was jarring every injured portion of her body, but Dianne pressed on. There was no sense waiting around for rescue when she knew she could meet them halfway.

  She remembered Charity Hammond once saying that a person could get through just about anything if they put their mind to praising God instead of complaining. Dianne had tried this on more than one occasion and knew it worked. It was just hard to praise when she hurt so much.

  “Lord, I am grateful that the accident wasn’t worse. I could have been killed, and that would have left a lot of folks in a bad way. I thank you for watching over me and not allowing the accident to be any worse than this.” She went on thanking God for one thing or another—forcing her mind from the pain and the long walk home.

  It wasn’t long before Dianne heard her name being called. Apparently there was more than one person coming to her aid, for several people called to her.

  “I’m here!” she called, easing onto a convenient rock. The pain was robbing her of energy. “I’m here!”

  She looked to the skies once again. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered, knowing her focus on God had helped her get through the worst of it.

  Koko finished setting Dianne’s arm and offered her a cup of tea. “This will ease the pain. Drink it and then try to get some sleep.”

  “Thank you.” Dianne drank the entire cup without pausing. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d become. But more so, she wanted whatever help she could have to eliminate the pain.

  Handing the cup back to her aunt, Dianne eased back into her bed. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

  Koko shook her head. “You’ve been so strong for the rest of us; it’s time you let us do something for you. You aren’t indestructible, you know.”

  Dianne chuckled despite the pain. “I guess I learned that lesson today—the hard way.”

  Koko nodded. “Dianne, I’m blessed to call you family. I know I would have died along with Bram had it not been for your love and kindness. Now you have to let us help you. Faith and Charity and I can be your hands and feet. You need to rest, and you won’t get well unless you listen and obey.”

  Dianne grinned. “You know me pretty well. I was just thinking how tomorrow or the next day I needed to go visit Jack.”

  “Oh no you don’t. No more riding for you—not until this arm heals up.”

  Gus peered in through the open door. “How’s our girl?”

  “She has a broken arm, but otherwise she’s doing well,” Koko told him. “I’m trying to get her to rest, however, so make your visit short. You know how she can be. She’s just like Bram.”

  “That she is—ornery through and through,” Gus agreed.

  Koko nodded in agreement and then left them, taking up the goods she’d used in ministering to Dianne.

  “I’ll be brief, I promise.” Gus came closer to Dianne’s bed and offered her a sympathetic grin. “Guess you’re broke in now. A real horsewoman.”

  Dianne thought he sounded almost proud. “Yes, well, I certainly learned a valuable lesson about paying attention. I knew better, but I let my mind wander.”

  “That black wasn’t one to be daydreamin’ with. I think you’re gonna have to stay away from him.”

  “Maybe for now, but I want another chance at him. I have to have it,” she said, sleepiness overtaking her. She yawned and added, “It’s important to me, Gus.”

  The Texan nodded and stroked his chin. “Guess you won’t be able to make the roundup now.”

  “Don’t you dare say that,” Dianne declared. “I’ll be there. You’ll see. I may not be able to sit on a horse, but I’ll come in the wagon with Malachi. I can help with something—cooking or—”

  “Whoa, now,” Gus interrupted. “Let’s get you on the mend first, and then we’ll talk about the roundup. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Dianne appreciated his concern but wasn’t about to back down from her stand. “I’ll be there, Gus. You’ll see. And I’ll ride Jack again as well. He and I have a long future together. I just know it.”

  “Well, he ain’t gonna have much of a future at all if Levi sees him causing you more grief. I thought we’d have to tie that boy up to keep him from puttin’ a bullet in ol’ Jack’s head.”

  The thought alarmed Dianne. “Tell Levi that if he cares one whit about me, he’ll take good care of Jack so that I can ride him when I’m well. We don’t shoot those who show spirit around here. Uncle Bram always told me you have to be tougher than the land to live here. I am tougher than the land—tougher than that black too. I’ll show all of you.”

  Gus laughed and slapped his hat against his leg. “By golly, little girl, I’ll bet you do just that.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Colorado Territory

  March 1871

  TRENTON CHADWICK SCRATCHED HIS STUBBLY CHIN. HE hadn’t had a bath in four days, nor had he been able to shave, and his face itched something awful as the start of a beard formed. Years in the company of Jerry Wilson and his little brother, Sam, had seasoned Trenton to long stretches between personal grooming.

  “You gonna just sit there all day scratchin’ your face?” Sam Wilson asked, throwing a dirt clod at Trenton.

  “What do you expect me to do?” Trenton asked. “Jerry said to wait here and that’s what I’m doing.”

  Sam laughed. “Just like a good boy. You better do what we say. We saved your sorry neck from the hangman and you owe us your life.”

  And well Trenton knew it. Sam and Jerry, along with the other members of the Wilson gang, never failed to remind Trenton of the night they broke him out of jail. Trenton had been falsely accused of being a part of the Wilson gang’s bank job where three men had died in the crossfire. Trenton had been elsewhere and certainly not a part of the gang, but because of the company he’d kept, he’d been associated with the gang. They were planning to execute Trenton, so he felt there’d been no choice but to accept Jerry’s offer to rejoin the sorry lot. Of course, Jerry didn’t exactly ask him to rejoin but rather forced the issue. Jerry was always one for forcing issues.

  “Come on, Sam. We’ll take the bank,” Jerry said, finally returning from his reconnaissance ride into the small Colorado town. “Mark, you and Chadwick post a watch just to the south of the bank. I figure that’s our best route of escape.”

  Of late, the Wilson gang consisted of only the four of them. Some of the others had come and gone, including the Swede, who had been a particular favorite of Jerry’s. Mainly because the Swede knew how to use explosive material and didn’t tend to blow up entire buildings like Jerry and Sam did.

  Trenton went to his horse and mounted. The years of his association with the Wilsons hung on him like an old unwanted garment that had long since worn out its usefulness. Trenton had gone along with their forced companionship because at the time, sitting in that jail and knowing they were about to hang him, Trenton saw no other way to survive. God certainly hadn’t cared about his survival. But now, years later, Trenton had wearied of the game. He didn’t have the he
art of a bank robber or killer, yet that was the life imposed upon him.

  The gang moved out in the early morning light. Trenton felt his heart begin to pound like it had on all the other occasions they’d robbed banks. Jerry Wilson used to watch Trenton like a hawk, but over the last year or so, he’d eased up his vigil, realizing that Trenton was in too deep to merely walk away and hope for the best. His face was on a Wanted poster, same as Jerry’s.

  The town was barely big enough to have a bank, but Jerry had heard that some local rancher had deposited a large amount of money. That rumor was good enough for Jerry, but Trenton thought it rather lame. How could they be sure the money would even be there? Worse still, how could they be sure it wasn’t just a trick to trap the gang? After all, the Wilson brothers had been terrorizing banks all around the Denver area.

  Trenton felt for the gun on his hip. It was little comfort. Mark motioned him to a position on the far edge of town, yet still close enough to see the bank, while the wiry man moved in for a closer view. Trenton was glad to be left behind. Being out here, away from the actual robbery, Trenton could distance himself from what was happening—at least he tried to. Sometimes Jerry insisted he come into the bank. Those were the times Trenton hated the most. Especially if someone was wounded or killed. Trenton knew he had no power to stop Jerry, but he felt guilty for simply going along with the man. He could remember the face of every person he’d encountered during these robberies; the terror on their faces burned in Trenton’s memory. I caused that terror, he’d remind himself from time to time. I’m no better than Jerry. And those were times Trenton found a bottle of whiskey a better companion than any human soul. He remembered his old friend Henry and finally understood why the man drank—even though it certainly would mean his death. Those moments of blissful ignorance—even ignorance brought on by a drunken stupor—were better than remembering.

  There were very few people out and about in the town. Trenton felt a wave of nausea come upon him. He usually got weak in the stomach when the tension mounted. He was just about to search his pockets for a peppermint when shots rang out. Thoughts of more innocent lives being lost worsened his condition. He might have lost his breakfast right then had Jerry not come running from the bank.

  Sam was holding the horses, as Jerry figured this job was small enough for one man. But Jerry had apparently underestimated the situation. Three gunmen emerged from the bank, raining lead as they came. Jerry fell first and then Sam. Their attackers fired on them without mercy. There was no doubt they were dead.

  Mark turned his horse and headed back toward Trenton at an accelerating pace. “Get out of here, Chadwick!” he yelled.

  By now, Trenton could see that the three gunmen were mounting horses and heading after them. It was all the encouragement he needed to heed Mark’s warning. Turning his horse, he put his heels into the animal’s side and flew from the scene in a rage of hooves, dust, and sheer terror.

  He passed Mark without effort, knowing his mount was the better of the two. The last bit of shared money Jerry had given him had gone into improving his horse situation. Apparently it had been the best possible choice.

  Mark cried out just as Trenton passed him. The hairs on the back of Trenton’s neck crawled as if infected with lice. He hunkered down against the horse’s neck but couldn’t avoid the bullet that grazed his arm. There was no time to react. Trenton knew his life depended on escape. He urged the horse to go faster and did his best to stay low.

  He never had a chance to look back, so he never knew if Mark had been killed or taken prisoner. Trenton only knew the urgency to save his own life. He had no lost love for any of the Wilson gang.

  The thought struck him as he ducked in and out of pine trees: I’m free. I’m really free. Jerry and Sam are dead. I can change my name and move off to Montana with Dianne. If she’s still there. If I manage to stay alive.

  A bullet whizzed past his head, letting Trenton know that the men were still in pursuit. He knew the area well enough and figured his best chance might actually be to take cover in Denver. The city was growing every day with miners coming west to try their luck and railroad officials looking to prosper their lines with expansions to those hard-to-reach mining towns. It would be easy to lose himself in the bustle of that city—of this, Trenton was certain.

  Working his way deeper into the trees, Trenton felt fairly confident that he could lose the posse. He knew of a cave where the gang had camped several weeks ago and thought maybe he could make his way back there momentarily, then change his course and head into Denver. If the gunmen thought his destination was the wilderness of the territory, rather than civilization, Trenton just might make his escape.

  After ten minutes of silence, Trenton slowed his horse and tried to regain his bearings. He looked at his arm and saw that the wound wasn’t too bad. Once he found the trail to the old hideout, his confidence returned. A surge of excitement filled his heart. He could almost imagine coming face-to-face again with his family. Almost.

  He maneuvered the horse down the side of a ravine, remembering that the trail would soon dead-end. The steepness didn’t seem to bother the horse. The gelding handled the transition with the same surefootedness that had brought them this far. Overhead, Trenton could hear voices. He wasn’t at all sure how far away the men were, but it motivated him to hurry the horse through the narrow canyon and across the icy waters of the small mountain river.

  Trenton feared they might figure out what he’d done, but there was no choice but to keep moving. If they caught him, they’d kill him. Maybe not here, but surely on a gallows.

  Portia read to her mother from the Denver newspaper. She knew her mother enjoyed being informed about the events of the world, and the reading helped Portia forget that her mother was growing weaker by the minute.

  At least the doctor had agreed to increase her dose of laudanum. The pain seemed so much stronger now than it had a week ago, when Portia had arrived. The doctor said she might linger like this for weeks, although he’d assured Portia death was imminent.

  “Well, it appears the Langford silver mine has pulled out a record load of silver,” Portia voiced as she scanned the story. “‘Ned Langford, son of the wealthy silver baron R. E. Langford, reported from his apartment at the Bradbury Hotel that the Little Maribelle mine shows no signs of slowing in production.’ ” There was a sketch of a smiling Mr. Langford, who looked to be somewhere around Portia’s own age of twenty-seven. He seemed very appealing, and Portia began to see possibilities for making the man’s acquaintance. After all, she was a woman of means and he was a wealthy man.

  She put the paper aside and considered how she might just happen to run into the man. A smile crossed her face. His hotel, of course. She could move from her establishment on Tenth Street and make her residence the Bradbury Hotel. A plan began to formulate in her mind.

  Her gaze traveled back to her mother. The woman’s eyes were closed, but her uneven breathing proved that she was still alive. It seemed cruel that anyone should have to linger and suffer so much pain. Portia looked toward the open door. Why do they ignore her here? Privacy was a wonderful thing, but her mother was all alone. No one cared if her mother continued in this sorry state. No one.

  Except for me, she thought.

  Portia looked to the door again, then slowly got to her feet and walked over to close it. Leaning back against the frame, she closed her eyes. It simply couldn’t be allowed to go on.

  As the sun lowered behind the Rockies, Trenton began to relax. Either the men had given up on him or they’d made camp. Either way, Trenton wasn’t waiting around to find out. Gingerly, he lifted the makeshift bandage on his arm. The bleeding had stopped and the wound looked clean. Two very good things. Taking a strip of cloth, Trenton bound his arm and changed clothes. No sense showing up in Denver in a bloody shirt.

  Leading the horse out of the canyon, Trenton headed toward Denver. There wasn’t a single sound except the rush of the river. He pressed on, crossing the wat
er once again and hurrying with a sense of urgency up the ravine and toward the back roads he knew so well. Jerry and his gang hadn’t limited themselves to pulling bank jobs—after all, folks were constantly bringing in ore from the silver and gold mines in the area. Highwaymen lurked in all parts of the mountains—eagerly waiting their chance to strike it rich.

  That was how Trenton had met Ned Langford only a few months back—on this very road. Ned had been most unfortunate to be making his way from Central City to Denver. He wasn’t escorting a load of ore, but rather he was in a hurry to make a train to Kansas City. He hadn’t been paying attention to the road, and when Jerry and Sam assaulted him, the man was theirs for the picking. Jerry forced Ned from his horse and without even giving the man a chance, hit him over the head with the butt of his pistol and emptied his pockets.

  Trenton had been posted to keep watch down the road, but seeing Jerry act in such a fashion distracted him from his duty. He rode back to the robbery, dismounted as the other mounted, and firmly told Jerry he was going to tend the man lest he die.

  “You just go ahead and do that, Chadwick. Oh, and be sure and tell him who you are when he wakes up.” Jerry’s raucous laughter still rang in Trenton’s ears.

  He took care of Ned long enough to rouse him from his unconscious state and get him back to his horse. Ned indeed asked for the name of his rescuer, but Trenton refused, reminding the man there wasn’t time for such things. Trenton led the wounded man back to Denver, leaving him with a doctor before disappearing into the less desirable parts of town.

  Trenton thought himself free and clear of any other encounters with Mr. Langford, but without much ado at all, he ran into Ned on his way to a poker game. Ned instantly recognized him.

  “My champion,” he declared enthusiastically. He took hold of Trenton’s hand and shook it so hard and long that Trenton felt as though they were experiencing an earthquake.

  Thoughts of Ned gave birth to an idea. Trenton knew from the local newspapers that Ned was back in town with a record load of silver. He’d seen the article just that morning—just before they’d headed off to the bank.