by Jodi Thomas
The preacher hurried up from the barn. “I thought I’d go into town after lunch and have a talk with a few more of the churches. Let them know I’m offering to preach next Sunday to whoever asks first.” He stopped a few feet away. “It’s been months since I’ve stood at a real pulpit. Most places I come to are lucky to have a barn or a tent they use for services.”
He held the door open as Nell and Mrs. O’Daniel walked inside. When Nell lowered herself back into her wheelchair, the nurse whispered, “Before supper we’ll do the same thing.”
Sheriff Parker rode out from town to join them for lunch. The moment he saw Mrs. O’Daniel, he smiled, knowing he’d have someone new to tell his stories to. Nell pumped him for any word about Jacob, but all he knew was that a posse hired by the railroad rode out from Fort Worth a few hours after the robbery. They’d have little chance of catching the bandits unless weather or Jacob slowed them down. He told Mrs. O’Daniel about how he and three other lawmen rode into the Indian Territory after a gang of outlaws who’d rustled a hundred head of cattle. The outlaws had caused so much trouble that the Apache living near the border gladly handed them over. Unfortunately, no one seemed to know what happened to the cattle.
Sheriff Parker agreed to stay at the house while Brother Aaron made his trip into town. After lunch, he helped Harrison round up the stock and get them inside the barn. By the time they returned to the house, rain was tapping at the windows.
Harrison lit a fire more to chase away the gloom than for warmth. Wednesday claimed her chair where the light was best for sewing. Nell read a book, while Harrison worked at his desk. She looked up when the clock chimed four and noticed that Mrs. O’Daniel, Gypsy, and the sheriff were all asleep. The rhythm of the rain blended with their snores.
A few minutes later, Mr. Harrison knelt beside her to show her the figures he’d totaled on last year’s running of the properties. “I’ve seen barn raising that made less noise,” he whispered as he pointed with his head toward the snoring section of the room.
She smiled. “I’ve read the same page three times. It’s hard to concentrate.”
He laid his hand over hers. “How about we disappear to the kitchen? I think I smell Marla’s cobbler.”
She rolled backward until she was several feet away from the nappers, then turned her chair around and passed through to the kitchen as Mr. Harrison held the door open.
Marla was starting supper and happy to have the company. They drank tea and ate cobbler around the kitchen table.
After finishing his second serving, Mr. Harrison told Marla she’d better make another one, because he didn’t think there was enough left to serve for dinner.
Nell laughed. “Well, there might be enough if you and I skipped dessert tonight.”
He frowned.
Marla reached for the apples.
Nell couldn’t believe she’d eaten two helpings herself. When she’d taken her meals upstairs, more often than not, the tray came back to the kitchen untouched.
Maybe it was all the exercise.
She looked at Harrison and Marla talking quietly about how much the preacher ate. Or maybe, she reconsidered, it was the company that made her hungry. Randolph Harrison seemed more relaxed around Marla than he did when he was with the others. He was still very proper, but he didn’t seem quite so emotionless. With the shy cook he let his guard down a little.
She thought again about what a good husband he’d make and wondered if he realized, as she did, that there were only three days left until she’d promised to give him an answer. She knew if Jacob was still gone, she’d have to ask Mr. Harrison to wait a little longer for the answer.
Nell told herself it was because she’d promised Jacob she’d wait until he returned, but deep down she knew it was more.
CHAPTER 19
THE RAIN POUNDED JACOB DALTON SO HARD HE FELT like it might cut into the oil-soaked slicker he wore. Still, he forced himself to push onward. In order to catch the outlaws, he had to move faster and longer than they did. These men had killed six innocent people two days ago, and he had to do everything in his power to see that they didn’t get the chance to take any more lives.
With the clouds so heavy above, he had trouble telling the time. It looked like just past twilight, but he guessed it had to be before six in the evening. A pocket watch was tucked away inside his coat. Nell had given it to him a few Christmases ago, but he didn’t dare take it out and risk ruining it in the rain. What difference did the time make anyway? He wouldn’t stop until it was too dark to see, and he’d eaten the last of his food, so there would be no supper to look forward to.
He rubbed his whiskery chin. The shortage of food was shy Marla’s fault. Her cooking was so good he hadn’t wanted to ration it out. He’d pay for the few good meals he’d had from her supply bag by going without until he got back home.
He knew there were a few strips of jerky in his saddlebags, but after eating Marla’s cooking, they didn’t seem very appetizing.
Home. There he went again, calling Nell’s place home, like he had a right to claim it any more than he could claim he belonged anywhere. But it wasn’t the house, or the town he’d be riding back to. It was Nell.
A half hour later, Jacob pulled his hat low and studied the horizon, watching for any sign or movement. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the terrain had changed from rangeland to rocky, uneven ground. In the distance, distorted by moisture in the air, he thought he saw a trail of smoke pushing toward the clouds. Someone had lit a fire in the back of a small canyon where they’d probably be out of the wind and most of the rain.
That someone might be who he had been looking for.
He rode on, knowing he’d probably find a farmer or maybe some travelers, but Jacob hoped that for once he’d get lucky.
The wet earth muffled any sound as his horse closed the distance to the smoke. A hundred yards out, Jacob could make out a campfire. He tied Dusty in the shelter of a mound of rocks about twenty feet high and pulled his rifle from the saddle.
It was fully dark before he moved toward the fire. By now he was soaked to the bone and hungry, but he couldn’t wait to know who warmed by the campfire. If he’d stayed with his horse for the night, whoever camped might be gone at dawn.
Twenty yards out, he stood in the open, still as a cotton-wood. On a clear night, they could have seen him in the moonlight, but tonight he’d stay a part of the darkness until he was within a few feet.
He made out six men. Two rolled in blankets close to the fire. Two squatted with cups cradled in their hands. One man worked with the horses several yards away, while another seemed to be examining the packs. He’d been right. If these were the robbers, they were traveling with two pack mules.
Were these the men? Jacob didn’t want to jump to conclusions. They might just be cowhands stuck out in the storm. After all, they’d built a fire.
Or they might be the robbers and guessed anyone trying to follow them would hole up out of the rain and not be fool enough to try to track them.
Cowhands would have known to tie their horses closer, keeping the animals sheltered from the rain. It might have meant building a smaller fire, but without horses in this part of the country, a man could die.
Jacob took another step. He had to be sure. Then he had to figure out a way to take all six gunmen without getting himself filled with bullet holes.
He smiled, remembering what he’d told Nell when she’d worried about him. He’d said, “It’s only one gang,” like he saw no problem. Right now he’d give a month’s pay to have one other person with him.
If he opened fire, he could kill two, maybe three before the others took cover. Then he’d face a shoot-out in the dark with no one to cover his back.
Silently, he circled round to the horses. His one chance to catch them was to make sure they couldn’t ride away. The animals were skittish from the storm. He whispered to them and patted each one. The man who’d checked on them had gone back to the fire, and from the sou
nd of it he was arguing with the two drinking coffee about doing more than his share of the work.
By the time the horses settled, all the men had turned in for the night. They’d left a guard, who found a dry spot near the edge of the cliff and looked like he was dozing. He was a big man who sat cross-legged with his slicker over him like a tent.
One by one, Jacob untied the mounts. When he reached the mules, he saw the mailbags from the train and two locked Wells Fargo boxes. The robbers hadn’t had time to examine their loot. They also must not have planned ahead, for repacking whatever was locked away in the boxes would have been much easier to carry.
The animals were strong, but they’d been greatly mistreated. Jacob felt sores on the mules’ backs where they’d been whipped, and one had a jagged cut on his side where one of the boxes must not have been strapped on tight enough. Jacob ran his hand along the animal’s neck, wishing he had some way of doctoring the wound.
He led the mules off first, wanting to get the injured animal to more shelter. It took him almost an hour to make it back, but he wanted to get the mules far enough away so that they wouldn’t be found easily. He tied them between huge cottonwoods so they’d be out of the wind.
Then he returned to the camp and carefully moved three of the horses away.
The guard still remained on the corner of the ledge, a blanket now wrapped over his head. Jacob guessed he was supposed to wake someone else to relieve him of duty, but he’d fallen asleep. No one would stand guard on a night like this any longer than demanded.
Jacob took the last three horses in a different direction. He rode one and led the other two so that he could cover more ground.
When he returned one last time to the camp, he felt like a walking dead man. The constant rain had drained him, but he knew it would also help him, because the robbers would have no idea where to look for the horses. They’d been fools to use what little dry ground they had for themselves. They should have pulled the horses in closer. Even the noise the mounts made as he moved them was muffled by the storm and the blanket over the guard’s ears.
Jacob took one last look at the sleeping guard and moved back into the blackness. He knew that at first light, when the others discovered the horses were gone, the guard would be dead.
And then there would be five.
Jacob returned to his mound of rocks close enough to the outlaws to see their fire. He lay among the rocks, no longer caring that he was wet. He lowered his hat and tried to remember how nice it had been out by the windmill that night with Nell. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
It seemed he’d just closed his eyes when a single shot rang out.
Raising to one elbow, Jacob saw the gray dawn spreading through the fog. Lowering his hat back in place, he tried to relax. It would take them some time to figure out what happened. They’d probably make coffee, maybe breakfast if they had any food. Then, they’d talk about what to do.
Jacob tried to work through their logic. They’d have to leave one, maybe two men to watch the loot. At first they’d think that the horses probably got spooked by the storm and wandered off. Maybe they’d decide one had jerked out a stake, leaving the others free to move away.
He smiled. If he were lucky, they’d blame one man and shoot him. Then there would be only four.
After a few circles, they’d spread out, heading in different directions, and that would be his time. Hidden among the rocks, he was close enough to the camp that they’d all soon be past him in their search. Then, all he had to do was take care of those left in camp first and wait for the others to return one by one.
It seemed simple enough, but Jacob had to take into account that he hadn’t slept more than a few hours in two days. His bones ached from the cold, and he was so hungry he could eat one of the mules.
He watched from above as the men circled the clearing beyond their camp. When they met up an hour later, he saw what must be the leader pointing for each man to take a different direction. The land here was uneven and spotted with cottonwoods as well as bushes big enough to hide a horse. On foot, the men would probably never go far enough to find any of the mounts.
Only one man walked back toward the camp, which surprised Jacob. It told him two things: the leader trusted the one man, and he still didn’t suspect that someone might have taken the horses. If he’d even guessed there might be someone watching, he never would have left the camp and the loot to one man’s care.
Jacob made sure he was in the clear, then he climbed down from the rocks and moved toward the camp. He figured the leader had planned some kind of signal for the others to return. If so, it was probably one gunshot. So that left out shooting the man in camp as an option. The last thing Jacob needed was to shoot one man and have the other four come running with guns ready.
In the daylight, Jacob had no cover, so his only armor had to be guts. He walked into the camp like he was just out for a stroll.
The kid by the fire jumped two feet when he saw Jacob, spilling his cup of coffee all over his leg.
“Sorry.” Jacob smiled and raised his hands high. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, kid. I just saw your smoke and hoped you could spare a cup.”
The boy of about fifteen reached for his gun, but Jacob just kept talking. “My horse went lame two days ago, and I’ve been walking ever since. I thought I’d find a farm-house, or at least a road, but you’re the first sign of life, except jackrabbits, I’ve seen.”
The kid raised his gun. “You’d be wise to keep walking, mister.”
Jacob glanced at the coffeepot. “All right, son. I don’t mean to bother anyone. I’m just a cowhand looking for work.” Jacob stared into the boy’s eyes. He was wild, but not a killer. Not yet. Jacob would bet his badge this member of the gang hadn’t done any of the killing. “You wouldn’t offer me a cup of that coffee would you, son? Then I promise I’ll be on my way. I’m near starved and so cold I’m not sure I’ll ever get warm.”
The boy pointed with his gun. “You can have one cup, but drink it fast. My pa and his friends will be back with the horses soon, and they don’t like strangers.”
Jacob lowered his hands and reached for the pot. “Much obliged.” He knew he was fast enough to draw and kill the kid, but Jacob waited, hoping for a few answers.
“You traveling with your family?”
The kid sat down on a log without putting his gun back in its holster. “Yeah. My pa. Only family I got. My ma died last year.”
“Where you heading?”
“You ask a lot of questions, mister. What d’you care?”
Jacob poured himself a cup of coffee, noticing that it was thick as mud, but he didn’t care. “I was hoping you all were heading someplace where you know there’s work. I’ve been out of a job most of the winter.”
The kid shook his head. “We ain’t looking for work.” The boy reached over and offered Jacob a biscuit that was hard as rock.
Jacob decided to play it safe. One too many questions might get the kid scared enough to set off the alarm. “That was one mean storm last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Our horses must have got spooked and ran off. They’re probably not far, and you’d be wise to be long gone before my pa gets back. He’s been in prison most of my life and, like I told you, he don’t take to strangers.”
Jacob stood, careful not to look in the direction of the bags. They were in plain sight, but he knew if he even glanced that way, the kid wouldn’t be able to let him go. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Thanks for the coffee. You’re a good kid.”
“No I ain’t,” the boy mumbled and looked away from Jacob for a few seconds.
That was all he needed. In one quick jump, Jacob grabbed the gun from the kid’s hand and slammed it up against the boy’s head. The kid didn’t even have time to groan before he tumbled in the mud.
“Sorry,” Jacob mumbled, knowing that he may have just saved the kid’s life.
He tied the boy up and gagged him, then carried him back to the rocks. Caref
ully lowering him between two boulders, Jacob guessed the kid would be scared to death if he woke up. But when this was over, at least the young man would be alive.
Which, with any luck, Jacob thought, so would he.
CHAPTER 20
JACOB DALTON MADE IT BACK TO THE OUTLAWS’ CAMP and finished off the last of their coffee while examining the mailbags and the two Wells Fargo security boxes. The train robbers must have been riding hard, for nothing seemed to have been opened. They’d been prepared to travel when they’d hit the train. Most of the saddle packs were filled with supplies enough to last a week.
He circled the camp, widening his search with each pass, until he stepped outside the shelter of the cliff ’s ledge. Cold rain soaked him so completely he could feel his flannel shirt sticking to his body even beneath his coat, but he didn’t slow. Ten feet outside the camp he found the body of the man who’d been on guard the night before. The outlaw couldn’t have been more than twenty and had taken one shot in the head. He had no weapon on him, and his pockets were turned out. His partners in crime apparently hadn’t been satisfied with splitting his share of the loot, they robbed him in death as well.
The boy Jacob had left tied up said his father was one of the men looking for the horses. What kind of father allowed his son to watch such a senseless killing? Jacob asked himself as he dragged the man’s body toward the fire.
Lifting the boy’s slicker, Jacob slipped it over the dead man’s shoulders, then leaned the body on a bedroll so that it looked like the boy had fallen asleep by the fire while the others were gone. He found the kid’s hat and shoved it low over the dead man’s face. Anyone walking up might think the body was the boy sleeping, if they didn’t look real close.
Jacob built up the fire so that it blazed between the dead man and whoever might be approaching. With any luck, the posse that would be following the men had kept moving during the night and were now close enough to see smoke if there were a break in the storm. The wood he used was wet, so steam rose along with the smoke.