Cheyenne Reckoning

by Vivi Holt

  Ost and Coop walked back to the door, donned their coats, hats and boots and headed outside. They still had to rub down and stable the horses and do their chores, and already the yard was bathed in the cold light of sundown. “You all right going to Bozeman on your own tomorrow?” asked Coop.

  “’Course I am. You and Tom are the ones who’ll have all the excitement. I’ll just be riding the trail all day there and back.”

  “Maybe you should ask for leave and spend the night in town,” suggested Coop with a wink.

  Ost shrugged. “I’d just as soon come home to my own bed.”

  Coop chuckled. “Ah, boy, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Ost breathed slowly through the scarf over his mouth and nose and leaned forward in the saddle. Tom had let him borrow a horse, and his black coat shone dark against the white snow all around them.

  The horse was a new purchase, brought to the ranch just that spring, and this was the first chance he’d gotten to ride it. Tom had named him Auger due to his size. He was the ranch’s first Arabian mix, with a barrel chest and a thick neck that arched as he trotted. He was full of energy and raring to go when Ost had saddled him that morning. Ost marveled at the feeling of power beneath the saddle as he rode – he wasn’t sure he could go back to riding his little brown mare again after this.

  At the top of a rise, he pulled Auger to a halt and studied the snow ahead. Hoof-prints met the trail there, a lot of them. It looked mostly like cattle, and they’d been moving fast when they passed through, given the choppy snow they’d left behind.

  He frowned. If the rustlers had gone this way, it would be hours before Tom and Coop reached where he was, since they’d doubled back to where the animals were first taken. They’d never catch the men if they started out so far behind. The rustlers had already had an entire night to move, though Tom said they’d likely have camped when they found no one was pursuing. Still, if he followed their trail, he could discover their location a whole lot sooner than Tom and Coop would and he could turn right back around and let his boss know just where to go.

  He grinned and yelled, “Hi-yaaaa!” Auger shot forward, his hooves disappearing into the thicker snow alongside the trail. Soon he’d left the track completely behind him, following instead the route taken by pounding longhorn hooves.

  When he reached the banks of the Yellowstone, he found the tracks crossed over the waterway at a rickety wooden bridge. He dismounted and walked Auger across, anxious not to let the horse strain a leg or bruise the soft underside of a hoof. He’d never live it down if he brought Tom’s new stallion home lame. On the other side he wiped his boots down after stepping in a half-frozen puddle. He could feel the water leaching through the leather and soaking his feet. They’d be stone cold before long. He mounted up and hurried the stallion forward again.

  When he spotted the herd, the rustlers had stopped for lunch. He could hear their laughter as they lounged around a small campfire talking amongst themselves. They thought they’d gotten away, that no one was coming after them. Likely they believed the cowboys at Paradise Ranch hadn’t even discovered the cattle missing yet, given the fine weather.

  Ost dismounted, hitched Auger to a low tree branch and skirted around the camp on numb feet, counting the men, his loaded Henry rifle resting over the crook of his arm. He intended to be as informed as he could about the group before he went to find Tom and Coop. They’d have questions and he wanted to give them answers.

  There were five men, each with a horse. The cattle grazed close by, about fifty in total. He took a quick breath – he hated to see longhorns sporting the Paradise Ranch brand, a mountain peak in a circle, in someone else’s hands.

  “Hey, someone’s there!” cried one of the men. He jumped to his feet and soon all five of them were shouting orders and racing around their campsite.

  Ost sprinted back to Auger and leaped onto the horse in one swift movement. He steadied the animal and raised his rifle to train it on the men. One had already pulled a pistol from his holster and was pointing it directly at Ost. But Ost pulled the trigger first, sending the man diving for cover. He swung around and shot again, and this time hit a rustler, who fell with a cry into the snow.

  The other four men scrambled for their horses, shooting back over their shoulders with their revolvers. But their guns at that distance were no match for a sixteen-shot .44-caliber rimfire lever-action breech-loading Henry. Ost hoped his superior firepower would make them forget about the cattle, and it seemed to be working. With a great flapping of elbows and feet they disappeared through the woods, leaving their campfire, the longhorns, their dead friend and his chestnut nag behind.

  Once they were out of earshot, Ost dismounted and walked over to where the man lay. He nudged him with a boot, his eyes wide, but the man didn’t move. He’d never killed a man before, and his stomach heaved. He threw up behind a snowy bush, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his sleeve. His feet ached and the cold had begun to work through his coat and pants as well – he’d better get moving if he was to make it back to the ranch before sundown.

  He led the rustler’s horse over to him, picked the man up and heaved him over his own saddle, using a rope from his saddlebags to tie him in place. He kicked snow over the fire, drank an untouched cup of coffee he found balanced on a smooth rock close by to rinse the bile out of his mouth and bring a little warmth back into his body– and mounted up, leading the rustler’s horse behind him.

  The longhorns seemed to sense he was taking them home. He sung a familiar song, and they followed him with a swish of tails and a tossing of heads. Soon they were on their way back over the river on the rickety bridge and headed for Paradise Ranch.

  Ost grinned beneath his scarf. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Thomas’ face when he got there.

  6

  Claudine’s eyes flicked open and she yawned. She felt Gracie lying beside her on the bedroll. Between them they’d managed to stave off the night’s cold, and she’d slept well enough.

  Gracie wriggled and murmured something, then leaned up on one elbow to stare at the embers of the fire. “Did you get some sleep?” asked Claudine.

  Gracie nodded, stretched a hand above her head, then immediately yanked it back beneath the covers. “It’s cold out there.”

  Claudine chuckled. “Sure is.”

  “Where’s Dan?”

  Claudine scanned the campsite. His bedroll was already rolled up beside his saddle on the ground. “I don’t know …”

  Just then he walked into camp with an armful of sticks, caught Claudine’s eye and half-smiled. “I’ll get the fire goin’ in no time.”

  She nodded, her cheeks flushing. He was a handsome man with sparkling brown eyes and a full dark beard. She hadn’t noticed the previous night, what with everything that’d happened, but now it was daylight and she couldn’t help it. His broad shoulders and narrow waist caught her eye as he set the wood down on the ground beside the fire ring. She slipped from the bedroll and tucked the covers back around Gracie. “I’ll fix us some breakfast.”

  “I’ve got beans and salt pork,” he said.

  She smiled. “Thank Heaven for that.”

  He reached into his saddlebags, withdrawing a can and a packet wrapped in brown paper. He set the can on the ground, pulled a Bowie knife out of a sheath on his belt and cut the lid open, then sliced off several generous pieces of salt pork. He rewrapped the rest, tucked it back into his saddlebag, and handed the slices and the can to Claudine, his fingers brushing hers.

  Her heart jumped. “Thank you,” she managed. His eyes met hers and she saw a moment of hesitation in their depths. Had he felt it too?

  “We’d best get movin’ early in case Kellogg’s men come after us. They’ll likely track us from first light – that’s what I’d do if I were huntin’ someone.”

  She shivered. “Gracie, time to get up,” she called.

  Gracie had slumped back beneath the covers. She sat up and rubbed her eyes with cle
nched fists. “Huh?”

  “We have to get moving early, honey. I’m going to make us something good to eat, then we’ll ride. All right?”

  Gracie nodded and stood. “I’ll get water.” She trudged over to the saddlebags and pulled a canteen from Dan’s bag, then saw Claudine frowning. “It’s fine, Mama – Dan said I could get water whenever I wanted.”

  “Dan?” She admonished.

  “He also said I could call him that,” stated Gracie with a giggle.

  Claudine couldn’t help smiling.

  Dan headed for the horses, so Claudine began rebuilding the fire – it was still lit, but only smoldering. She stacked up a frame of sticks and bent low to blow air beneath it until the flames leaped up. She glanced at Gracie, who sipped water from the canteen. “Do you know when your birthday is?”

  Gracie stopped drinking and shook her head. “I never had a birthday.”

  Claudine’s heart ached. “Oh, child … everyone has a birthday. Yours is the twenty-third of April, 1862. You’re eight years old, and halfway to being nine.”

  Gracie’s face broke into a broad grin. “Twenty-third of April … twenty-third of April,” she mused.

  “And next year when it comes around, we’ll have a big party,” added Claudine as she piled more sticks onto the fire.

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.” She could hardly wait. Now that she’d found her daughter, she intended to do everything she’d always wanted to with Gracie: birthday parties, Christmas stockings, singing lullabies and hymns together, picnicking in the summer and so much more. They could do it all now and no one could stop them. They just had to get to Canada first.

  She set the pot of beans on the fire to heat, found a frying pan in Dan’s things and held it with a towel wrapped around the handle to fry the salt pork. It sizzled and spat, and she had to set it down several times to keep from being singed, but before long the heady aroma made her mouth water.

  “That smells good,” said Dan, leading the saddled horses closer to the fire.

  “It’s ready.” She spooned the beans and salt pork onto three plates, handing one to Dan and another to Gracie. She sat beside Gracie on their bedroll and ate with one of the tin spoons Dan had passed around. They were quiet while they ate, then Gracie collected the empty plates and wiped them out with a little water from the canteen and a clean rag while Claudine and Dan packed everything back into his saddlebags.

  “We need to find a creek first thing,” he said. “The horses are thirsty, and it’s a good way to muddy our tracks, maybe throw ‘em off if we can.”

  Claudine’s heart thundered. She hoped Kellogg’s men had decided not to track them, though she knew deep down it was a vain wish.

  They mounted up and set off, with Dan standing in his stirrups to look ahead. “There – do you see that line of trees and bushes in the distance? That should be a creek. We’ll head thataway.”

  Claudine frowned. “But that’s south, isn’t it? Aren’t we going north – to Canada?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not, at least not yet. I’ve got things to take care of back in Cheyenne. After I’m done, I’ll most likely be headin’ north.”

  She chewed her lower lip and considered his words. If he wasn’t going north, should they just break with him now? No – he had all the supplies, apart from their half a loaf of bread and a few pieces of jerky. They’d slept in his bedroll as well. Without him, they’d likely starve or freeze, if Kellogg’s men didn’t find them first.

  “Fine,” she said, glancing at Gracie. The girl seemed oblivious to their discussion, staring off into the distance and humming to herself. Where did she get that from? Certainly not from Claudine, who was always listening, thinking and fretting over everything around her. It must’ve been her father.

  The memory made Claudine’s gut lurch. Master Williams had taken advantage of her, and she felt ill even thinking about him. The memories flashed before her made her reel in the saddle. She’d only been a few years older than Gracie was now … dear Lord, what she’d endured at his hands …

  She let her eyes drift shut and took a long, slow breath as the churning in her stomach continued. She began purposefully filling her mind with images of pretty things: gardens, flowers, the sunshine on a spring day, a stream bubbling over boulders. Slowly her pulse returned to its normal rhythm.

  “Are you well, Mama?” asked Gracie, shielding her eyes from the morning sun’s glare as it peeked through the high branches.

  She forced herself to smile. Gracie need never know about her father. Though one day she might ask, and Claudine prayed she’d have the strength to tell her the truth if that day came. “I’m fine, honey.”

  Dan stared at her over his shoulder, concerned. “Here’s the creek.”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  They rode down the sloping banks, and in the shade of the trees the horses drank their fill of the cool, clear water. Ice edged the stream, but in the center it flowed smooth and sweet. Claudine dismounted and drank from her hand, letting it refresh her body and spirit, then filled the canteen attached to her horse’s saddle.

  After they were all full, Dan set off on his pale horse down the center of the creek. “Follow me.”

  Claudine kicked her horse forward, Gracie’s gray trotting just ahead of her. They went along the middle of the shallow creek for an hour, taking breaks along the way and rubbing down the horse’s legs to warm them, before it grew too deep, then clambered out on the same side as they’d entered it. After they’d dried off their mounts again, they continued on their way.

  “Are we heading back to Cheyenne now?” asked Claudine as she stroked her horse’s neck with a gentle smile. She really was growing fond of the animal, and had decided to call him Sam. Things were going much better than they had the previous day – she was managing to ride in a way that didn’t threaten to bounce her off at any moment.

  Dan took a piece of beef jerky from his pocket and chewed on it thoughtfully. “Not us. Me.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “You can’t go into Cheyenne. You killed a man, so it’s likely you’re wanted. You might be arrested the moment you set foot in town.”

  Her stomach lurched. “Oh, I didn’t think about that.”

  “Someone other than Angus O’Leary and that fella ya shot musta seen you at the house, right?”

  She nodded. “Mrs. Tilly. The cook”

  “Right. And by now, Mrs. Tilly has told the Laramie County sheriff’s office all about it and about you. A poster with your pretty face on it is likely hanging on his wall this very moment.”

  She swallowed hard, not allowing herself to ponder his ‘pretty’ comment too long. She had more important things to fret over, like being wanted. Her heart raced – what would she do now? She had money for supplies, but it wouldn’t do her much good if she couldn’t go into a town to buy them. “I was defending myself,” she objected. “He came after me!”

  “Good luck gettin’ a judge to take your side on that,” he muttered.

  Claudine nodded ruefully. She knew the way the world worked. Getting a white man to think you were pretty was easy – Master Williams was proof of that. Getting a white man to believe you killed another white man in self-defense was different matter entirely.

  Dan stood in his stirrups and scanned the horizon in all directions. So far he hadn’t seen any sign that they were being followed. Perhaps they’d managed to outsmart Kellogg’s men after all.

  He smiled and was about to lower himself back into his seat when movement caught his eye in the tall grasses to their left. “What was that?” he asked, staring hard.

  “What?” replied Claudine, her brow furrowed.

  “I saw something …” There it was – a fleeting shift in the grass about fifty yards away. Something was there, something he couldn’t quite see until it moved …

  … there it was – a wolf, peeking just above the grass line, then sinking back down again. And where there was one wolf, there w
as more, trailing the group, looking for their supper.

  “What is it?” asked Claudine, trying to follow his gaze.

  “Wolf-pack,” he replied. “Let’s keep moving, but not too fast.”

  Her eyes widened and she nodded. “Gracie, stay close to me.”

  Gracie nodded nervously and kicked Bolt in the sides until he trotted even with Sam.

  “What should we do?” whispered Claudine.

  “You don’t have to whisper,” replied Dan. “Just stick together, keep moving, but don’t go faster than a trot. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are they gonna eat us?” asked Gracie, her voice thick with tears.

  “No, honey. Dan’s not going to let that happen and neither will I.”

  Gracie sniffled and wiped her nose on her shirt sleeve.

  Dan leaned back and handed Claudine a handgun. “It’s a Colt single-action revolver – I bought it right before I came down here. You know how to use it?”

  She shook her head.

  He lifted the reins and let his horse fall back beside hers. “See here? This is the safety. You let it off like this … pull back on the hammer like so … point and squeeze the trigger. Real simple.”

  She frowned. “I think I can do it …”

  “Try it, just the way I did.”

  She held it in both hands, bit her lip and went through the motions. “You flip this, pull back on this, then point and squeeze.”

  He nodded and smiled. “That’s it. We’ll do some target practice later. But for now, just remember – put the safety on when yer not usin’ it.”

  She flipped the safety latch back into place, looking relieved.

  He examined her saddle, then pointed out the built-in holster. “Put it in here – it’s built for a pistol or revolver, so you can get at it fast if you need to.”

  She did as he said, then grinned.

  Still, Dan’s stomach was clenched in a knot – he didn’t like the idea of her wielding a gun she wasn’t familiar with. But with a pack of wolves trailing them, it made sense for more than one of them to carry. And he knew he’d have to leave them on their own when they drew closer to Cheyenne, which meant they had to be able to defend themselves.