“The what?” Sprole asked.
Sensing the bounty hunter’s fuse was burning quicker with every question he asked, Wes said, “The Wayfaire! That’s all I know! I never even been there before!”
Once the outlaw ran out of breath, the only sounds left were the rustle of a hot, dry wind and the steady clomp of hooves upon baked earth. Suddenly Sprole retracted his pistol and eased its hammer back to a resting position. “I suppose I believe you. What do you say, preacher?”
Paul didn’t answer right away, and before either of the other men could check on him, the crack of a distant shot rippled through the air.
“I knew it!” Sprole said as he pointed the .44 once more at Wes.
The outlaw blubbered to himself and turned his head so he didn’t have to look down the wrong end of that gun barrel one more time.
“Stop it, both of you,” Paul said.
Sprole had his eyes fixed on Wes. “This one’s leading us into a trap.”
Noss had already drawn his .45 and was searching the horizon for a target. “I heard that shot.”
“So did I,” Paul told him. “But it wasn’t fired at us. Hand over those field glasses.”
“What do you see, Father?”
When Paul twisted back around in his saddle to look at the sheriff, his face was that of a man who wasn’t about to be refused. “I don’t know yet. Just hand me those field glasses!”
Keeping his pistol in hand, Noss leaned over to dig into his saddlebag for the glasses. He found them and tossed them over to Paul. To Sprole, he said, “Stuff that scarf back into his mouth and pay attention. Whatever threat is out there, it sure ain’t him.”
Wes’s labored breaths were once again muffled by the bandanna, making it easier for the rest of the men to hear not only another shot but some shouting as well.
Paul had the field glasses up to his eyes and was pointing them toward the east.
Now that Noss was looking in that same direction, he could see the small group of people huddled around a covered wagon parked about a quarter of a mile away. “Is that our man?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then what’s the commotion about?”
“It’s . . . hard to say.”
“Don’t bother saying anything else,” Sprole snapped. “If it’s not Price or Terrigan or anyone else with a bounty on their head, it ain’t our concern.”
“Maybe it’s not your concern,” Paul said as he handed the glasses back to Noss, “but it’s mine.” With that, he snapped his reins to ride away from the trail, across the rocky plain toward the wagon.
“Let him go,” Sprole said with a dismissive wave. “We’re better off without him.” Wes started to protest with a chorus of muffled cries, which Sprole ended with a backhanded swat across the outlaw’s head. “You just want him around because he’s the soft touch among the three of us. I got news for you, friend. He ain’t enough to save you anymore.”
“And I’ve got some news for you,” Noss announced. “We’re following Father Lester.”
“Why?”
“Because it looks like the family in that wagon is in trouble and I ain’t about to let ’em die out here.”
“Family?” Sprole grunted. “What are they doing out in the middle of a desert?”
Taking a quick glance through the field glasses, Noss replied, “Looks like they’re being robbed. I can see a few young’uns and what looks to be a woman.” He dropped the glasses back into his saddlebag. “If this man’s an outlaw, he may know something more about Terrigan’s gang.”
“Or he may just be some robber that ain’t worth our time.”
“I’m wasting time talking to a man that’s been cross ever since the sun came up this morning. I’m not about to waste any more.”
“Suit yourself.”
“You stay here with the prisoner,” Noss said. “If you’re not here when me and Father Paul come back, then don’t expect my help once the lead starts to fly in Raynor.” With that, the lawman snapped his reins and rode in Paul’s wake.
For a few seconds, Sprole watched the other two. Then he cursed under his breath and snatched the reins to Wes’s horse. “Try to hang on,” he said. “We’re going somewhere to keep an eye on them, and I won’t waste the time to collect you if you slide off along the way.”
Thanks to the bandanna stuffed in his mouth and the rumble of hooves against dry rock, Wes’s muffled screams went mostly unheard.
Chapter 17
Paul rode toward the covered wagon as if it were his own kin in the midst of the shots that had been fired. Sheriff Noss wasn’t far behind and he tapped his heels against his horse’s sides in an attempt to catch up a little faster. Since Paul didn’t have a weapon in hand, the lawman didn’t like the notion of letting him lead the charge. As far as that was concerned, he didn’t like the idea of there being a charge at all. He’d heard the shots that had been fired and could now see four people standing near the wagon, but he had yet to discover who was doing the shooting.
“Hold up!” Noss shouted once he’d closed a bit more of the distance between himself and Paul. One of the tricks the desert could play on a man’s eyes was to fool him into thinking something was a lot closer than it truly was. With so much open space that was heated to the point of giving off shimmering waves, it seemed as if they were galloping in place instead of getting any closer to the people gathered around the wagon.
When another shot was fired, it was followed by a shrieking cry. Those things caused Paul to grip his reins tighter, lean over his horse’s neck, and coax even more speed from the animal’s powerful strides.
Noss hung back until he was certain the ground in front of him was nice and flat. Although he was able to hold his reins and use his left hand for some basic tasks, that shoulder still hurt like a bear and he wasn’t about to race ahead if there was a chance he might fall off again. Despite his reservations, his horse had soon built up a good head of steam to race alongside Paul’s.
“Ease up, Father,” he shouted. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I see at least two small children,” he replied. “Whoever is there must have noticed us because the shooting’s stopped.”
As if waiting for that particular moment, another shot was fired.
Before Paul could answer that shot with some sort of foolish display, Noss gave his reins another powerful snap and surged past the other horse. He could tell Paul was close by, but as long as he was behind him, Noss was fine with it.
The wagon in front of him looked as if it had been in the desert for months. The tarp was covered in layer upon layer of gritty dirt, and the two horses pulling it hung their heads in fatigue. The children Paul had spotted stood near the back end of the wagon. One was a short girl with dark red hair pulled into a messy braid who had her arms wrapped around a skinny reed of a boy with a mop of messy black hair hanging down to nearly cover his eyes. A woman stood between them and a man wearing baggy brown trousers held up by suspenders that had probably been taken from a more formal suit of clothes. His simple white cotton shirt covered a thick chest, and both sleeves were rolled up to expose muscular forearms. Solid pawlike hands were wrapped around a shotgun, which he pointed at the woman.
“Stay away from me!” the man shouted as Noss and Paul came to a halt amid the rumble of hooves.
Noss eased back a few steps and motioned for Paul to do the same. “Put the gun down, mister,” he said. “I’m a sheriff. You hurt these people and there ain’t no going back, you hear me?”
“He’s right,” Paul said. “You don’t want to do this.”
The man’s face was twisted into a desperate grimace. Sweat rolled down both cheeks to drip off a stubble-covered chin. “You don’t know who I am or what I want!”
Easing himself down fr
om his saddle, Paul held his hands up and out with his fingers splayed wide. “You’re right. We don’t know each other. I’m Paul Lester.”
The man’s eyes were drawn to the white collar Paul wore beneath his morning coat. “Are you a preacher?”
“Yes, sir. I am. What’s your name?”
“Chesterfield. Gabe Chesterfield.”
Still looking along the barrel of his pistol, Noss said, “It don’t look like these good people have anything worth stealing, Gabe. Throw that weapon aside and step away before someone gets hurt.”
“I ain’t stealing from them,” Gabe said.
“Then why are you holding a gun on them?”
The next several moments were as heavy as they were quiet. When Paul stepped closer to the wagon, each of his steps crunched loudly enough to echo in everyone’s ears. “He’s not a robber,” he said. “He’s riding with them. Gabe, these people are your kin, aren’t they?”
Several more quiet seconds passed.
Gabe’s face twisted into an expression that was almost as confused as the sheriff’s.
Finally Gabe nodded. “Yeah. They’re my kin.”
“Do you know these folks?” Noss asked.
Paul shook his head slowly and took another cautious step forward. “We’ve never met, but I can see for myself. That boy looks like Gabe and that pretty lady standing right there. And the little girl . . . she’s got her daddy’s eyes and hair.”
Gabe twitched as if the wind rustling his own dark red hair scraped against his skin like an unwanted touch.
Having dismounted, Noss started to move forward, but was stopped by one of Paul’s quickly extended arms. “You’re pointing a gun at your own family?” the lawman snarled. “What in blazes is wrong with you?”
“Something happened here,” Paul said. “Isn’t that right?”
“Happened several miles back,” Gabe said.
“Back along the trail?”
Gabe nodded.
“What was it?” Paul asked.
Slapping away Paul’s arm, Noss took one more step and planted his feet when he saw Gabe lift his gun to take aim. “We can continue this conversation after you put that gun down, mister.”
Gabe’s expression was that of someone who was drifting far away from everything he knew. “No . . . I—I can’t.”
“Do it!” Noss said. “Or . . .” He stopped when he saw Paul walk forward to stand directly in front of Gabe’s shotgun. Once the preacher was standing almost close enough to bump his chest against the shotgun’s barrels, Gabe didn’t quite know what to do.
Something rustled behind the wagon, causing Gabe to turn in that direction. “No, you don’t, boy!” he shouted.
“Forget about them,” Paul urged.
“No! Come out where I can see you!”
The rustling stopped for a moment or two before the sounds became heavy, determined steps. Soon a young man in his early teens stepped around the team of horses hitched to the wagon with both hands held high above his head.
“Get back, Mason!” the woman cried.
But the young man stood his ground. Although he tried to look defiantly at Gabe, he couldn’t prevent the tears from trickling down his cheeks. “I won’t go nowhere, Ma,” he said. “Not until I put a stop to this.”
“Ain’t no stopping this,” Gabe said. “Not no more.”
“What are you talking about?” Noss asked. “Tell me before I—”
“Yes,” Paul cut in. “Tell us what happened.”
“You ain’t nobody to me,” Gabe said. “And they already know what happened. Don’t you, Nora?”
This time, Paul did bump the shotgun’s barrel as he inched forward. The jostle snapped Gabe’s attention away from the sobbing woman and drew it straight to him. “Forget about them for now,” he said. “I want to hear what happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s troubling you.”
“This ain’t got a damn thing to do with you,” Gabe snarled.
Although he didn’t move much, Noss tensed every muscle in his body like a coiled snake that was about to strike. “It involves me now,” he said. “You either explain yourself or deal with me. Your choice, but I promise you don’t wanna deal with me right now.”
“He’s right,” Paul said. “On all counts. We’re here, and from where I’m standing it seems I am very much involved. Tell me what happened, Gabe. It will do you some good to get it off your chest.”
Sweat poured down Gabe’s face and he shook his head as if he was refusing the insistent advances of demons only he could see.
“You lost someone,” Paul said. Then he nodded, convinced as if he’d listened to what those same demons were whispering into Gabe’s ear. “That’s it, isn’t it? I can tell.”
“H-how?”
“Because I’ve seen that look on plenty of men’s faces.”
Almost immediately, Gabe’s expression shifted from tired confusion to rage. “You don’t know me!”
“Maybe not, but I know sorrow when I see it. A preacher’s job is to shepherd folks through sorrow brought about from loss, strife, or just having to find your way through this terrible world.”
A single laugh gurgled from the back of Gabe’s throat, sounding more like a cough than anything else. “Mighty dark words coming from a preacher. I thought you men were about joy and light and God’s grace and all of that.”
“We are,” Paul assured him. “But this world has just as much shadow as it does light. Can’t have one without the other, you know. They balance each other out.”
As Paul went on in that vein, Noss slipped back and circled around toward the woman and children huddled near the back end of the wagon. Keeping his pistol aimed in Gabe’s general direction, he motioned to them with his free hand. The young boy was the first to start running toward him, and with some insistence from her mother, the little redheaded girl was next.
Paul stepped closer to Gabe and inched to one side to block his line of sight while also making sure to keep the shotgun’s barrel pressed against his own chest. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem like much of a balance, though, does it?” he said as a way to hold Gabe’s eye.
“No, sir.”
“Sometimes the dark just doesn’t seem to end. When enough of it piles up on a man’s shoulders, it makes him think things he might not normally consider. Maybe he’d do things that would never seem right otherwise.”
Gabe’s fingers clenched tighter around the shotgun’s grip. Holding the weapon was enough of a strain, but Paul doubted that was what made his hand tremble now.
“You lost someone,” Paul said. “Who was it?”
“Mae,” Gabe sighed. “My sweet little Mae.”
Nora and the two small children were now gathered around Noss. The lawman stood vigilant while she wrapped her arms around her children. “Our sweet Mae,” she said.
Gabe barely seemed to hear her words, but nodded absently. “She was just a baby. Born a few months before we all struck out across the territory. We was bound for California and it seemed that sweet, dear little one was a sign from above that we was gonna make it just fine. She picked up a little cough after a bad storm, but we kept going. I insisted we keep going.”
“Of course you did,” Paul said.
Gabe’s eyes flared wide and for a moment it seemed he might pull the shotgun’s trigger. “I should’ve turned back,” he snarled while glaring at Paul over both barrels. “I should’ve stayed put. I should’ve insisted that Nora and Mae stay behind until they was better.”
“You should have split apart your family?” Paul asked. “Abandon your hopes?”
“We kept moving,” Gabe continued. “Kept rolling along as Mae coughed and I complained about the noise when she would keep us awake at night. We saw a doc
tor a few towns back, but all he did was give us some elixir in a dropper to drip onto her tongue. That didn’t keep her from crying! Didn’t keep her from fussing every hour of every day! Didn’t . . . didn’t . . .”
In a steady voice, Paul said, “Didn’t keep her from dying?”
Gabe’s eyes were bloodred around the edges and they narrowed as if they were staring into the heart of the sun. “That’s right.”
“This world can be a terrible place,” Paul told him. “It’s harsh and cruel, but things don’t happen without good reason. You may not know what the reason is, but it’s there.”
“You want me to pray?” Gabe asked as if the very words he’d spoken had somehow burned his tongue. “You want me to fall to my knees and thank God for what he’s done?”
“No. I can do that for you. All I ask is that you take comfort in knowing that I’ll never stop praising your little Mae. You can take care of your family and you all will never forget her. You just think about her face and her laugh. You brought your family this far. You worry about the loved ones you can see and feel. Trust Mae with the higher powers. I promise . . . I won’t let her fall.”
Gabe was speechless.
“These all seem like fine children,” Paul said. “And they seem to love you very much. Otherwise, I’m guessing your son would have picked up that gun by now.”
Gabe barely had to turn his head to notice the eldest son standing so close to a discarded pistol that the toe of one boot rested against its handle. He looked down at the weapon before slowly bending at the knees to reach for it.
“It’s all right, son,” Gabe said. “You’re old enough to fend for yourself as well as your ma and the rest.”
“No,” Paul told him. “That’s your job, remember?” Turning to the young man who had yet to pick up the pistol, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Mason,” the young man replied.
“You won’t need that gun, Mason. Go on and join the others. Your pa and I need to have a word alone.”
Despite all that had happened, all that was still happening, Mason still looked to Gabe before making another move.
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