Cheyenne Reckoning

by Vivi Holt

  The horse stopped between them and the house. The rider dismounted quickly, the shotgun still in his hands. “Hurry!” he said, “Grab those horses over there – we gotta get out of here.”

  She stared at him confused, still holding Gracie in her lap.

  “Mama, I’m all right,” said Gracie.

  Claudine looked over her shoulder and saw the man that had been chasing them lying on his back in the dirt. “You shot him?” she asked, her mind whirling.

  “We don’t have much time – c’mon!” the rider cried. He vaulted onto his horse, slid the shotgun into its scabbard, then waved them toward the other mounts.

  Claudine shook off her surprise, grabbed Gracie by the hand and pulled her up. They ran back to where the horses were hitched, and she fumbled with the reins, tugging them free. She hoisted Gracie onto the back of a gray one, a little shorter than the others, then climbed onto a long-legged bay. She’d never ridden a horse before and she figured Gracie hadn’t either, but they didn’t have a choice. It wouldn’t be long before someone else found them, and now there were two men down, both likely to be blamed on Claudine. “Kick it with both feet,” she told Gracie.

  Gracie nodded, raised her feet high and brought them down on the animal’s sides. It lurched forward and she kicked it again, sending it into a gallop. Claudine was right behind her, digging her heels into her own mount. The man watched them a moment, then spun his horse around and thundered down the drive, with Claudine and Gracie following him.

  Claudine was grateful the horses seemed to know what to do – it was all she could manage to hold on as her galloping steed jolted her one way, then the other. She grabbed the saddle horn and held on for dear life.

  5

  Dan tugged Goldy’s reins and slowed him to a walk. Behind him, the woman and child had already done the same – their horses trudged with loose reins and low-hanging heads through the evergreen grove. He’d led them to the first tree cover he could find in hope of shelter from the posse who were likely already on their trail. They’d had good luck getting away from Kellogg’s ranch without pursuit, but that wouldn’t last long once Angus’ body was discovered.

  He shook his head and spat in the dirt. He’d shot Angus O’Leary, just like that. He hadn’t planned on blundering in and shooting the place up. On the way to Cheyenne, he’d decided on a more subtle approach, figuring he couldn’t get to Kellogg any other way. He’d intended to ask for work and see if he could ease his way into the household. It’d only work if Angus didn’t recognize him, and he’d let his beard grow since leaving Paradise Ranch hoping that it’d help. His plan was to get close enough to Kellogg that he could kill him, go after Angus, and hightail it back to Montana.

  But now his planning was in shambles, thanks to his new companions. When he’d reached Kellogg’s ranch, he’d heard a gunshot. He’d ridden down the driveway to investigate and had seen them running for their lives with Angus on their heels. When Angus drew his weapon and aimed at their backs, he knew he had to stop him. Now Angus was dead and he’d never get a chance to get close to Kellogg.

  He pulled Goldy to a halt and dismounted, then walked over to the others and grabbed their reins, making them stop as well. “We’ll camp here,” he barked.

  The woman nodded, awkwardly slid to the ground and helped the girl down. They both carried a carpetbag over one shoulder, and they let the bags fall to the ground with what looked like relief.

  “I’m Dan Graham,” he said.

  “I’m Claudine Hopkins,” the woman replied, her dark eyes watching him closely. “And this is my daughter Gracie.” She grinned as she said the last part.

  He nodded silently, lifted the saddlebags and bedroll from Goldy’s back, set them on the ground and picketed all three horses close by before setting up camp. From the look of the woman and the girl and the way they rode, neither one of them was likely to know the first thing about taking care of horses, or making camp. Just his luck to get saddled with two greenhorns.

  Dan frowned. Things couldn’t have gone much worse than they had. And now he needed a new plan.

  Claudine studied Dan’s back as he led the horses away. Who was he? What was he doing at Kellogg’s? Why had he shot the man who was chasing them? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t know them – why would he risk his own life to rescue them?

  Gracie stood beside her, trembling, and she gently rubbed the girl’s back. “Everything’s going to be all right, Gracie. We’re fine now.”

  Gracie nodded, seeming unconvinced.

  “We’ll just camp here for the night, then we’ll head north. We can’t go back to Cheyenne now, not since I shot that man and killed him. And since no one saw it, they’ll likely think I killed the second man as well. Oh Lordy, I just don’t know how things got so bad.” She chuckled to herself to keep from crying and scooped up her carpetbag. Her heart lurched at the thought of what lay ahead for them if she was caught. “Come on, Gracie, let’s see if we can get a fire going.”

  She found a clearing in some junipers and set their bags down at the edge of it. Then she and Gracie foraged for small sticks and branches for a fire. The sun was setting, and as her adrenaline faded she felt the cold taking hold of her. They’d best get the fire going soon so they didn’t freeze to death. Her stomach grumbled and she wished for a moment they’d grabbed more than just the bread and jerky from the kitchen, then thanked the Lord that they’d at least thought to take those.

  By the time Dan Graham returned, the fire was blazing. He looked at her with surprise. “Nice fire.” He took off his hat, revealing brown hair bleached golden in places by the sun, and sat on his bedroll.

  She smiled and handed him a piece of bread and jerky. “Would you like some supper, sir?”

  He nodded. “Much obliged.”

  As they ate, she studied him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed like a good man, a decent man. Still, she couldn’t help wondering what had prompted him to ride in like a hellion down the drive and shoot the man who was chasing them.

  “What were you doin’ at Kellogg’s?” he asked, as though reading her thoughts. “And why was Angus O’Leary chasin’ ya?”

  She swallowed. “He was chasing us because I shot a man in that house – killed him. But it was self-defense – he came after me and held a gun to my head. He was going to kill me and likely my Gracie as well. I did what I had to.”

  “I see.” He took another bite.

  “It was an accident,” she continued, her chin lowering.

  “You did what you had to,” he repeated back to her.

  She nodded. “I did. Are you going to report me?”

  “Who to?”

  “The sheriff. I killed a man.”

  He chuckled and took another bite. “Nope. I’ve no more desire to see the local sheriff than you do. Yer forgettin’, I shot a man myself.”

  “Angus O’Leary,” piped up Gracie.

  “That’s right,” stated Dan. He smiled at the girl.

  “What were you doing there? I mean … if I may ask.” She swallowed, her heart jittering in her chest. She didn’t want to get this man offside, seeing as how she and Gracie were out there all alone with him.

  He stood suddenly and put his hat back on. “I’m gonna check on the horses. I found ‘em some grass back there, and that should do for now, though I’ll need to stock up again soon.” He turned on his heel and walked away

  Claudine frowned. Had she offended him by being too nosy? The last thing she needed was to make her rescuer angry. Her life was already difficult enough without that.

  Dan left the campfire, his thoughts in turmoil. All his careful planning, all the training and practice he’d undertaken every day since he left Paradise Ranch, had been for nothing because a crazy woman had chosen today to shoot one of Kellogg’s men dead, bringing Angus O’Leary after her. He didn’t doubt her story, but what had caused the first man to attack her? Given what he knew about Angus and Kellogg, probably nothing of substance – those kinds
of scoundrels would jump a woman over nothing, and one like Claudine over less than nothing.

  He ran a hand over his face with a sigh. Well, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. The element of surprise was lost – he’d have to come up with a new plan to find Kellogg and exact justice for Dolly’s sake.

  “Can I come too?” asked a small voice behind him.

  He glanced back to see the girl, Gracie, staring up at him with wide brown eyes. “I guess.” He kept walking toward the horses.

  “Does your horse have a name?” asked Gracie as he fixed a feedbag to Goldy’s head.

  “This here’s Goldy.”

  “Such a pretty horse.”

  “Why don’t ya give him a pat? Here …” He took her hand and raised it to Goldy’s neck, then let it go. Her hand glided down the horse’s neck, and her face glowed with a joy that made him smile. “You should name your horse too.”

  She looked at the gray, who nudged the frozen grass he’d pawed clear of snow. “I’ll call him Bolt.”

  He chuckled. “’Cause he runs so fast?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never run that fast in my life. It was like he flew!”

  “He moved well enough. Though you and your ma need to learn to sit the saddle better. I thought you’d land on your rears in the dirt ‘fore it was over.”

  She laughed, and the sound lit up the hollow. It reminded him of Aurora, Antonio and Lotte Sanchez’s adopted daughter back home in Paradise Valley. “Where are ya from?” he asked.

  Her smile faded and she dropped her head to her chest shyly. “From here. I mean, Cheyenne. Before that I lived in Fayetteville.”

  “I know the place.”

  “How about you, Mister? Where are you from?”

  “You can call me Dan. I’m from Montana Territory up north, a beautiful place called Paradise Valley. Though I don’t rightly know if that’s where I’ll go when all this is done with.”

  She frowned. “Why not?”

  “There are some things … let’s just say, they might not want me back after I do what I came to do. Perhaps I’ll go further north.”

  “That’s where we’re goin’ – to Canada.” She beamed. “You can come with us.”

  “Is that so? Well, I guess we’ll talk to your ma about it and see what she says.”

  Back at the fire, they found Claudine huddled with her arms around her legs, staring into the flames. The dark was falling fast, and the temperature along with it. Dan shivered and tugged up the collar on his coat. “I’ve got a spare bedroll, if you’d like to use it,” he told her.

  “That’s mighty kind of you.”

  He brought it to her, along with a couple of extra blankets, and she spread them out on the ground. The three of them ate some jerky, and Dan brewed tea, handing cups full of the hot liquid to the others. Afterward Claudine wiped the cups and the teapot clean and handed them back to Dan. “Thank you,” she said. “Gracie, fetch your extra coat, mittens and wool cap.” Gracie did as she was told, and she and Claudine laid together in the bedroll, covering themselves with the blankets and their coats.

  Dan sat up a while, his back against his saddle, and watched the fire, his mind buzzing over everything that’d happened and was yet to come. He heard them whispering together beneath the blankets, some muffled sobs and soothing words, and frowned. What was their story? There was something odd about them he couldn’t quite put his finger on – the way they interacted was almost as if they weren’t mother and daughter at all, but strangers thrown together by circumstance. Perhaps they hadn’t told him the whole truth.

  Never mind – they were likely to be on their way north the next day. He intended to stick around a while to make good on his promise to himself and to Dolly’s memory, that Augustine Kellogg would pay for what he’d done to her.

  Angus O’Leary groaned as he rolled onto his back in the dark room. He raised a hand to feel the side of his head where the bullet had grazed him and found a long, wet bandage. Mrs. Tilly had tended his wound when she found him unconscious in the yard. He couldn’t say for sure how long he’d been out, only that when he sat up to the sound of Mrs. Tilly repeating his name over and over in alarm, the man on the palomino horse was gone. Along with the colored woman and Gracie.

  He grimaced as he touched the back of his head, where he’d hit a rock when he fell. A large knot had formed there and it pained him to lay on it. He turned his head to the side and stared into the black night. Who was the man that shot him? He’d recognized him briefly before the bullet struck – a distant memory, faded and half-washed away by pain. He knew that face, that horse, but where had he seen them before?

  He groaned again and shifted onto his side. Whoever he was, he’d remember him soon enough, and there wouldn’t be a place in this wide world he’d be able to hide. Angus didn’t take kindly to being shot, and any man who tried had better make sure his bullet hit home, or he’d answer for it. As soon as he was able, he’d be going after the man on the pale horse.

  Hank Oster stood over the dead calf and scratched his head. Someone had killed the poor critter, but he couldn’t tell why. It hadn’t been for food, since the carcass was still undisturbed. And where was the calf’s mother?

  He glanced around and saw Coop riding toward him, trotting on the back of a bay mare. “Whatcha got there, Ost?” called Coop.

  “Dead calf.”

  Coop dropped from the mare’s back to stand beside him. “That so? Doesn’t look like a wolf or a bear did it.”

  “Nope.” Ost squatted, turned the calf’s head and saw a bullet wound. “It’s been shot!”

  “Shot? What in tarnation … who’d shoot a longhorn calf and why?”

  Ost shook his head. “Can’t say why. Though it does seem strange to me his ma ain’t nearby.”

  Coop scanned the snow-covered field. “They weren’t out here all that long.”

  “I know. Only a few hours since they were locked up nice and safe in the barn. But it’s such a nice day, they were enjoyin’ the sunshine. They traveled quite a distance.”

  “So where are the rest of ‘em?” asked Coop.

  “Some are down there.” Ost pointed down by the banks of the Yellowstone River. “Some are still up in the north pasture near the main barns.”

  Coop squatted and pointed to a pattern in the snow. “See that?”

  “Yeah – horse tracks.”

  “And over there too. At least six of ‘em, I’d reckon.”

  “Lots of movement around here.” Ost swept his arm in a circle.

  “I think we’ve got some rustlers on our hands.”

  “Looks that way.” Ost set his hands on his hips. “Tom won’t be happy about it. And why would they shoot a calf?”

  Coop nodded. “Best go and tell him anyways. I don’t know what their reasoning for killing this fellow was, but I’d reckon it had somethin’ to do with not wanting to be slowed down.”

  The ride back was quiet. Ost considered what Thomas would say: what had happened to the cattle, how many had been taken? The herd had scattered quickly that morning – eager to get out, stretch their legs and find some remaining grass to graze on.

  Now that the herd numbered close to four thousand, it was hard to keep track of them all. Paradise Ranch was one of the first ranches in the Territory to put up fencing around most of their pastures. It’d taken a lot of back-breaking work over several summers, but it was done. And now it looked like all that had gone to waste, with rustlers stealing the herd in dribs and drabs anyway.

  To save a headache, the herd had been divided in three and sent to different pastures. He and Coop had been checking on the northern herd. Dusty and Tom were monitoring the eastern herd, while Antonio was helping Adam, the new kid, with the southern herd. Normally, Dan would be with the southern herd, but he wasn’t there and no one seemed to know where he’d gone. Cookie saw Dan leave, but didn’t have any more information other than that he would be back when he was ready, and that he sure looked determined.
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  Ost sighed and leaned low over his horse’s neck. It wasn’t the same without Dan around. Ost had been young when they first drove the herd up to Montana Territory from Fort Worth, and the cow boss had become something of a father figure to him, or at least an older brother. He always encouraged Ost and helped whenever he needed it. Dan had taught him so much about horse wrangling and cowpunching that he felt a little lost without him around.

  Back at the ranch house, Coop knocked and they waited, hats in hand. When Genevieve opened the door, Ost asked to see Thomas. “He just got back – I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said with a smile. “Come in and warm yourselves by the fire.”

  They took off their boots, shook off their coats to hang by the front door, and padded in stocking feet to stand by the hearth in the den.

  “You’re back,” Thomas O’Reilly said as he joined them by the fire. He was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and canvas pants, his damp hair combed back and his face freshly washed. “How did it go?”

  “Boundary fence looks fine,” Coop began.

  “But we think some of the northern herd’s been taken by rustlers,” added Ost.

  Thomas frowned. “Oh?”

  “There were a ton of tracks,” responded Coop. “And a calf shot in the head.”

  Thomas blanched. “What? Those dang varmints! All right – Ost, you ride into Bozeman in the morning and let Sheriff Stanton know what’s happened. Coop and I will follow their tracks and see what we can find. And I’ll send Adam to pull the carcass back to the house.”

  Ost nodded, wishing he was the one going after the rustlers. But as the second-youngest cowboy, ahead of only the new lad Adam, he was given the safer or easier tasks. Sometimes it really got his goat, but he knew better than to say anything. Much as he hated it, it did make sense. “Yessir.”

  “Get some sleep – you’ll need all your energy for tomorrow,” finished Thomas.