by John Legg
Rhodes stopped at the fork, gathered some firewood, and made some coffee. The temperature had plummeted, and Rhodes didn’t like just sitting here. But he could see nothing in the pitch black. He had gotten this far simply by letting the palomino follow the road on its own.
When the light finally broke, feeble in its grayness, Rhodes packed up and pondered which way to go. The more heavily traveled road beckoned, but Rhodes thought that it might be too obvious a way to take.
On the other hand, with snow coming regularly, heading into the unknown, probably deadly area seemed foolhardy. He opted for the well-known road, figuring the outlaws would probably head for Denver where they could hole up for the winter.
It was still snowing and seemed to be coming thicker and wetter. The wind had picked up, but the temperature still hovered somewhere around zero, Rhodes figured. The heat of his rage warmed him, and kept him going.
Sometime in the afternoon with the wind ferociously whipping the snow at him, Rhodes began the climb up into Berthoud Pass. He had no idea of how far into the pass he was when a particularly savage blast of wind knocked him off his horse, and slammed the palomino onto its side.
Rhodes managed to get up before the horse and he made a desperate lunge, barely grabbing the reins before the horse got completely away. But the whinnying horse bolted anyway, dragging Rhodes along in the deep, drifted snow. Rhodes bounced and hopped, hands and shoulders aching from trying to hold on. He was soaked from the snow, and had to keep spitting out clods of snow so he could yell at the horse to stop. Not that his bellowing had any effect on the horse.
All the galloping through the deep drifts began to tell on the horse, and it slowed quite a bit. Gathering up his reserves of strength, Rhodes jerked himself upright and flung himself into the saddle just as the palomino bolted again. The combination of deep snow, Rhodes’s weight, and his calm, soothing, familiar voice brought the horse to a stop. The animal stood there, big sides bellowing in and out.
For the first time in his life, Rhodes began to doubt himself. He doubted his abilities, his sense, and his wisdom. None of that, though, would get him out of this trouble. He dismounted and wrapped the reins tightly in one big fist. He walked into the hellish roaring wind, staggering through mushy snow that was two feet deep already. He managed to find some rocks and a few twisted, gnarled old trees almost up against the mountainside. He worked into the boulders and trees, relieved that much of the wind was blocked out. It did nothing to raise the temperature or keep out the snow, though.
He tied the horse to one of the trees and then he leaned back against a boulder. He was puffing almost as much as the horse. He was in deep trouble, and he knew it. Trouble was, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Not in a blizzard. He would have to wait it out, and hope it didn’t last too long or get more severe. He figured that as a last resort, he could kill the palomino and keep himself alive on the horse meat. That would make it mighty hard to get back to Intolerance, but if forced to it, he would do what he needed.
After two days—give or take a half a day—the blizzard wore itself out. Rhodes breathed a sigh of relief but did not venture out right away. He managed to scrape up a little more firewood and made himself the last of his coffee and the last of his bacon. He also managed to scrounge up a little feed for the horse.
After eating, and finishing off his coffee, he packed up. “Well, old horse,” he said quietly, “time we was gone home.” He saddled the horse. Just before pulling himself into the saddle he looked up at the dark, gloomy clouds. “I’ll avenge you yet, old man.” He rode out slowly.
Rhodes wanted to rush back to Intolerance, to get out of this infernal weather. But the horse had been hard used, and Rhodes could see no benefit to pushing the palomino any more than was necessary. He made a camp that night on the side of the trail amid the thick pines. Here a little grass remained under the trees. The horse went to grazing right away. Rhodes built a fire and watched the palomino still trying to nibble up any greenery it could find.
“Well, at least one of us has something to eat,” he said. He soon climbed into his bedroll and went to sleep.
It seemed to take forever to get back to Intolerance. In an effort to help the horse even more, he walked alongside the horse as much as he rode, if not more. But finally the town was in sight, and the thumping from the mills could be heard.
He pulled himself wearily into the saddle and began the last long walk. As he entered Intolerance, he sensed something unusual. It took him a, little while to realize what it was. The few people outside stopped and were staring at him. There was not a single friendly face among them. Rhodes wondered what had gone wrong.
The ride to his office seemed almost as interminable as the time on the trail had been, what with everyone gawking at him. Not only had he not seen a friendly face, he had seen some hatred.
Instead of going straight to the livery, as he had planned, he went instead to his office. He dismounted out front and tied the palomino to the hitching rack. There was no one in the office that he could see through the frosted window, though it looked as if the cells were occupied.
Curious, he went inside. “Where’s Deputy Hickman or Deputy Malone?” he asked the four prisoners. They all looked at him and shrugged.
He shook his head, and turned, ready to head out again.
Hickman burst through the door. “I just heard you were back, Travis,” he puffed.
“What’s going on here, Fin?”
“Nothing,” Hickman mumbled.
“That’s a crock of shit, Fin, and you know it. I come ridin’ into town and see everybody looking at me like I just killed their mother or something, and you tell me nothing's wrong.”
“Macmillan’s been spouting off about you,” Hickman volunteered.
“What’s Ham Macmillan got to be mad at me about? At least now.”
“Not Ham—Logan.”
“You best tell it, Fin. Fast and plain.”
Logan Macmillan charged into the office. “So, you’re finally back, eh, Marshal?” he said more than asked. His voice was thick with sarcasm.
“What the hell’s your problem, Logan?” Rhodes asked, his own temper beginning to simmer.
“My problem? You want to know what my problem is? Well, goddammit, I’ll tell you what my problem is. My problem is you, you hardheaded, stupid son of a bitch. That’s my problem.”
“You’re this angry ’cause I wanted to go get Joe’s killers?”
“No, goddammit. I’m angry because you, goddamn you, disobeyed my orders and went—”
“Whoa, boy, right there,” Rhodes snapped. “I disobeyed your orders? You don’t give me any orders.” Logan was livid but he managed to gain some self-control. He spoke in measured tones, as if weighing each word. “True, but I had asked you not to leave just yet because of the gold over at the bank.”
“So?”
“So, goddammit, Dalton Turlow and his men were here while you were wandering around the countryside on your merry little quest.”
“And?”
“And, they made off with a good goddamn portion of the gold.”
“When?”
“The morning after you left.”
“How many of them?”
“We counted ten, though there might’ve been a dozen.”
“How much did they get?”
“More than half a million.” Logan’s face was red with anger, and grew more red with each question. “That’s a pretty good haul weight-wise.”
“Yes, goddammit, it was a good haul. They used two goddamn wagons pulled by eight mules each.” That seemed mighty strange to Rhodes, but he just filed the information for later, when he could examine it at his leisure. “Nobody chased ’em?” he asked. “Hell, outlaws slowed down by two wagons full of gold couldn’t have been going very fast.”
“We got a posse going and gave chase, but those bastards killed three of ’em. The posse decided they’d be better off back here in Intolerance.”
/> Rhodes nodded. To him things did not quite add up, but he couldn’t figure out what. He was not gifted with logic at the best of times, he figured, and now, what with being tired, underfed, and cold, he didn’t want to think at all.
“All right,” Rhodes said. “Fin, take my horse over to the livery. Have Pace wipe him down good and then fill him with oats. Have the palomino saddled and ready to go in two hours. Round up Malone to—”
“Sean’s quit, Travis,” Hickman said, embarrassed. “After the robbery, people started making fun of him and me. Sean couldn’t take it, and quit.”
“And you?”
“I’m a Saint, Travis. We’ve been persecuted from the beginning.”
Rhodes nodded. “All right, see if you can round up Andy then. You and him go get me enough supplies for maybe two weeks and load ’em on my old mule. Think you can do that?” he asked. “Or do you want nothing to do with me either?”
“I’ll get it done.”
“Just what are you figuring to do?” Logan asked as Hickman headed for the door. Hickman stopped and looked back, intent.
“I’m going after them.”
The older man laughed. “You’re a card, Rhodes. You really are.”
“I don’t see that there’s anything so funny here.”
“Let me ask you this, Travis. Did you get the other ones?”
“Nope.” The word was filled with shame and anger.
“Hell of a lawman you are,” Logan said nastily Rhodes reached up and touched the gold star. “You want it back, you can have it.”
“Nope. No, sir. Not at all,” he said, laughing again. “I want to see the great marshal in action. So does everyone else.” Logan walked out, still laughing.
“It’s been that bad, Fin?” Rhodes asked.
Hickman nodded. “You want me to send Andy over? And Hallie?”
“If they ain’t afraid of being seen with me. If they are, tell ’em to stay where they are. No reason to have them made fun of. Oh, and just one more thing. See if somebody from Hornbeck’s can bring me some supper. I’d hate to have to sit in that damn restaurant with everyone gawking at me. Most of ’em probably would sit there hoping I’d choke on a chicken bone.”
“A suggestion?” Hickman said.
Rhodes shrugged. “Anything that’ll help.”
“I’ll send Minerva over to your place here. She can cook something for you and won’t anybody have to be gawked at.”
“Thanks, Fin,” Rhodes said wearily.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rhodes kept his head high and his back straight when he rode out of Intolerance, despite the hoots, catcalls, and malevolent stares thrown his way. He could have taken a roundabout way, over on the eastern edge of town, where there were few people, but he refused to do that.
He was in a bitter, foul, festering humor as he walked the palomino down the main street. He fought back the urge to grab the scattergun and start blasting some of these smug, scornful townsfolk. He decided that such a thing would not do, but he vowed that when he brought the Turlow gang to justice he would come back here once more. With luck, he would leave Intolerance then for the last time. Whether he would leave alone that time or not depended on Hallie St. John, though that looked even more doubtful than the idea of succeeding at his hunting down the Turlow gang.
Hallie had come to the house while he was eating his supper. She looked confused, hurt, worried. She glanced askance at Minerva Hickman, but then she sat across the table from Rhodes.
A moment later, Minerva said flatly, “I expect you two want to be alone.” She paused. “There’s more biscuits and potatoes, Marshal, if you’re still hungry. You need anything else, send someone to fetch me over at the house.”
Rhodes nodded. “I’m obliged, ma’am.”
“Why?” Hallie asked in a plaintive whisper after Minerva had left. “Why’d you have to go and leave like that?”
“It was my duty,” Rhodes mumbled with a mouth full of beefsteak and biscuit.
“Your duty was here, Travis. Here.”
“No it wasn’t!’
“Yes it was, darn you. You’re the marshal of Intolerance, not a county sheriff or a federal marshal. Your job doesn’t stretch outside the city limits.” Her voice was rising in tone and pitch.
Rhodes shrugged. “That might be, but if I had been here when that gang robbed the bank, I would’ve gotten a posse up and rode after ’em.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, I’d be riding out of Intolerance—my jurisdiction. That’s all I was doing when I went after those others. They killed a man—no matter that he was my friend, he was a lawman for the town, and was gunned down while he was trying to do his duty. That’s why I went after those three. There ain’t no one, includin’ you, who can tell me I did wrong in that.”
“I suppose not,” Hallie said grudgingly.
“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Rhodes said, punctuating his quiet remarks with jabs of the biscuit in his hand.
“Why riot?”
“I’ve got to go after the robbers now.”
“By yourself? That’s suicide. Get a posse up and go after ’em.”
“You think there’s any man—except maybe Fin or Erastus—that’d join any posse that I was forming? I’d have as much luck trying to fly.”
“Don’t do it, Travis,” Hallie said earnestly. “Please don’t. Just forget about them. Quit your job, and let’s go away someplace.”
“I can’t do that, Hallie.” He sighed. “I’ve got to get the robbers, and then go after the men who killed Joe. Then, if you still want me, we can go away someplace.”
“That’s likely to be a long, long time, Travis. I wait for you, I’m liable to end up an old maid soon.”
“It won’t take long,” Rhodes said confidently. “How can you say that? How? You were gone three days and found no sight of Joe’s killers. You waited out a blizzard, and more snow’ll be comin’ any time.”
Rhodes shrugged as he shoveled more food in. “And what’re you gonna do if you catch up to ’em? There was ten or twelve of ’em robbed the bank. I’ve heard that Turlow has even more men at his beck and call. What can you do alone against all those men?”
Rhodes had thought of that and come to no conclusion. Most importantly, he had to find them first, then he would decide what to do about them. He knew one thing, though: after the humiliation Turlow’s gang had caused him, there were going to be at least several of his men that would never make it back for a trial.
He would not tell that to Hallie, though. He just said quietly, “I don’t know, Hallie. I really don’t.”
“What about me, then?”
“What about you?”
“You’re gonna just up and leave me here, alone, with Ham Macmillan still to bother me.”
“He been pestering you?”
“No, not since you arrested him that time. But I know he’s around, and he’ll know you’re gone. I expect he’ll come around then.”
“Fin’ll warn him off. Just go tell him.”
“I don’t want Fin. I don’t want Ham. I want you, darn it. Don’t you understand?”
“I understand. I want you, too. But some things got to come first.” His voice was a dull monotone. “But...”
Rhodes put his fork down and stared into Hallie’s eyes. “Hallie, we can sit here and argue over this till the end of time. But it ain’t going to change my mind, and it ain’t going to make what I have to do any easier.” He paused, wondering how much he should say. He didn’t want to seem weak in her eyes.
“What I need most from you right now is your full, undivided support, if you can give it. It’d help me a whole lot to know I got one person in all of Intolerance that I can trust and count on. One person who gives me a reason to come back to this goddamn place.”
“I don’t know if I can do that, Travis,” Hallie said honestly, tears streaming down her face.
Rhodes popped the last piece of beefsteak and biscuit in his mouth. He
chewed slowly, feeling the twisted knot of loss growing in his belly. When he swallowed, he said quietly, “I reckon you best go then, Hallie, if that’s the way you feel. It’ll be better that way—for us both.”
“But…” Hallie blubbered, looking at him with red-flecked eyes.
“There’s no more to say, Hallie. I can understand your feelings. I don’t have to like ’em, but I can understand ’em. Go now. Go and find yourself a decent, hard-workin’ man. I ain’t worth you givin’ up your dreams and your wants.”
Hallie was crying full out now, her shoulders shaking with the fury of her sobbing. Rhodes stood and walked into the back room. He picked up Bonner’s old percussion Hawken in the fringed buckskin case. Rhodes had never been all that good with a rifle, but he thought it might come in handy. He grabbed the shot pouch and powder horn, too.
He heard the front door open but not close. He looked through the doorway into the kitchen and could see the front door swinging open. Beyond it, Hallie St. John ran, stumbling and slipping on the snow and ice. With a sigh, he went to shut the door but saw Fin Hickman coming.
“You got everything I asked for?” Rhodes asked. Hickman nodded. He held out a sack. “Why more pistols?”
“If I catch these boys, there’s a good chance I’m going to be a wee bit outnumbered.”
Hickman nodded. “I can still ride along with you.” Rhodes shook his head. “No, you got to take care of things here. Like a wife and kids. There’s no call for you to be out in the middle of the winter hunting down men.”
Hickman nodded. He felt almost useless, but he knew he would have his hands full here. “All right, Travis. Andy and Erastus are down at the stable, packin’ the mule and all. You sure two kegs of powder’re gonna be enough for you?” He smiled weakly. “Or maybe too much?”
“There’s always that.” Rhodes reached into the sack and pulled out two .36-caliber navy-style Colts and a box of metallic shells for them. He loaded each pistol with five rounds. He dumped the rest of the cartridges from that box into his outside coat pockets. The three other boxes of cartridges he would put into his saddlebags.