Cheyenne Reckoning

by Vivi Holt

  “Dan, you comin’?” asked Kellogg, his voice breaking through Dan’s reverie.

  Dan nodded and tipped his hat. “Sheriff.”

  “Fisher. Sheriff Willie Fisher.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “And you, Dan.”

  Dan could feel Fisher’s eyes boring into his back as he left. He seemed suspicious, though given the lack of a wanted poster on the wall, perhaps it was all in Dan’s head. Or maybe Fisher was suspicious of everyone.

  Dan followed Kellogg and his men all over town. It seemed Kellogg’s routine was to check on the books for his businesses, taking time to deal with any issues that arose. In one of his gambling halls, he took an employee who’d stolen money from the till outside and had one of his men beat him until he could barely stand, then told him he was fired and left him laying in the mud. Kellogg made it very clear to everyone who worked for him that he wasn’t to be trifled with.

  When they were done, it was less than an hour before sunset. Dan’s thoughts returned to Claudine and Gracie. Had they stayed where he left them? Were they afraid? He should make some kind of excuse and leave Kellogg behind to head back to camp. But something inside of him wouldn’t let go – this was his chance to get close to Kellogg. If he kept up the ruse, it wouldn’t be long before he got time alone with the man – then he could keep his vow to Dolly and Emily. If he left now, he didn’t know when or how he’d get that chance again.

  He sighed and stared into the gathering darkness on the open prairie as the group rode silently north toward Kellogg’s ranch. Claudine and Gracie would have to fend for themselves for the night. He’d left them enough food, they had water close by and two horses to ride if they needed them. He’d pointed out to Claudine the way back to Cheyenne before he left. If she had to, she could lead Gracie to town and they could bed down at a hotel for the night.

  When they reached Kellogg’s, one of the men approached Dan. “Name’s Thaddeus Smith. How d’ya do?”

  Dan nodded back. “Dan Graham.”

  “Follow me, cowpoke. That over there’s the bunkhouse where we all sleep – apart from Mr. Kellogg, of course. Your bed’s inside. I do believe it still has some of Stan’s personal items … huh. Stan and Dan. Ain’t that somethin’?” Thaddeus grinned, revealing two stained front teeth.

  “Sure is,” Dan grunted.

  “Anyhow, breakfast is served in the bunkhouse in the morning. Mrs. Tilly sends it over just after sunup. Anything else you need, just holler.”

  Dan nodded. “Thank ya.” He found a stall in the stable out back for Goldy, rubbed the horse down and fetched him a bucket of oats. “Sorry, boy – ya’ll have to stick it out here tonight with the other horses,” he whispered as he rubbed the animal’s sleek neck. “But I won’t be far off. I’d rather sleep out here with you, but I’m tryin’ to fit in.”

  Goldy nickered softly and nuzzled deeper into the bucket of oats.

  Dan chuckled. “All right, boy. I’ll let you be so you can finish your supper in peace.”

  A bell rang loudly across the yard. Dan followed the noise to the bunkhouse entrance. It was a long dark building between the stables and the main house. Smoke curled from a small chimney, and when he walked inside the smell of steak and beans wafted over him. His stomach growled as he hurried to sit at the table with the rest of the crew.

  The men chattered noisily until two young boys set plates of food in front of them with a clatter. They dove in, filling their plates without regard for manners, eating as quickly as the boys could refill the plates. Dan helped himself but ate slowly, studying each of the men in turn. If it came down to it and he had to deal with any of them to get at Kellogg, he wanted to know what he’d be up against.

  “You’re a quiet one,” said Thaddeus beside him, chewing loudly on a piece of steak. “Where you from?”

  “Montana Territory.” Dan ate a spoonful of beans.

  “Oh? I’ve been up that way myself, though not too far in. Gets mighty cold up there.”

  “That it does,” Dan grunted.

  “Whatcha in Wyoming Territory for?”

  Dan bit off a piece of steak and chewed thoughtfully. “Keepin’ a promise I made.”

  8

  Angus dismounted with a grunt. He fingered the bandage beneath his hat briefly, wishing the ache in his head would finally leave, then crouched on the ground, studying the tracks in the soft dirt in front of him. Horses … at least two, maybe three. They’d ridden out of the creek there and scrambled up the bank. He grinned – they’d entered the creek a mile further up and no doubt followed it downstream to throw any pursuers off their trail.

  Angus had turned upstream first and ridden for five miles without finding a single track leading away from the waterway – only the occasional buffalo print, wolf paw, or deer trail. Which led to one conclusion: the man on the pale horse had led the womenfolk downstream. Now why would he do that? He knew the creek circled back toward Cheyenne, where they’d come from. Why would they want to return there? Perhaps the man who’d shot him didn’t know that Kellogg owned the town and would hunt him down before he had a chance to get away.

  That is, if Angus had told Kellogg about the man who’d shot him. But he hadn’t. Mrs. Tilly had insisted he raise the subject with Kellogg, but he’d convinced her to stay quiet. He didn’t want Kellogg getting involved – the man on the pale horse was his to shoot down and send back to the dirt he came from. It was personal. No one in Cheyenne would ever dare shoot Angus O’Leary, so he must have come from elsewhere. Wherever it was, it hadn’t taught the stranger about respect. Angus was just the man to remedy that.

  Really, he’d wanted to shoot the lot of them, but Mrs. Tilly told him plain that she needed Gracie back and to bring the girl’s cousin as well. Normally, he’d pay no mind to what a gray-haired cook had to say about anything, but given Kellogg’s fondness for Mrs. Tilly, he’d agreed to her terms. She’d stay quiet so long as he brought Gracie and her cousin back to the ranch house alive.

  He remounted the black horse and gathered the reins in his gloved hands, staring southeast along the creek line. They were out there somewhere. He’d counted on them going north, heading for Canada or at least Montana Territory. Instead they’d chosen to go southeast, back toward Cheyenne. Were they planning to catch the train someplace? Or maybe they had other ideas, ones that involved Kellogg. He shook his head, searching his memory to see if he could place his prey. Who was the man on the pale horse, and why had he come to Kellogg’s wielding a gun?

  Just then, the image of a dark cabin flashed across his mind’s eye and he frowned. There’d been that woman and child up in Montana Territory by the Yellowstone, where Kellogg was setting up a new mining operation. Angus was supposed to go back there come spring to head up the development, and he’d worked hard to clear the land the previous fall. At the cabin he’d seen the man on the pale horse – he’d visited the woman while Angus was there …

  His eyes narrowed and he jabbed his horse with his spurs, sending it into a brisk trot. That was it – the shooter had come to Wyoming Territory for him, not Kellogg. He’d come to find him and kill him over that British bird and her mewling child. He grunted to himself, winced again at the head wound, then glanced at the ground, satisfied to see horse tracks stretching out ahead of him, following the bank of the creek as he’d expected them to.

  Whatever the man on the pale horse had come to do, it didn’t matter much now. He’d find the man and kill him before the scoundrel could kill him, then put the whole thing behind him. And when he returned to Montana Territory in the spring, he’d drink a toast to remember him by.

  Claudine stood with her hands on her hips, staring east over the prairie. There was still no sign of Dan, and as the sunrise painted the sky pink and orange she felt her gut stir with worry. What had become of him? Where was he? He said he’d be back before dark yesterday, yet he still wasn’t there. Had he just forgotten them? Or perhaps something had happened to him …
>
  She’d had a restless night with little sleep. Gracie lay peaceful and quiet beside her in the bedroll, but she’d heard every rustle in the grasses, every animal call, every cry of an owl overhead. Her eyes would fly open and she’d listen intently, heart pounding out a rhythm that would keep her awake for another hour before she’d finally drift back into shallow slumber, only to be awakened again a few minutes later.

  “Mama?”

  She turned, the single word making her throat ache. “Yes, Gracie?”

  “Is he back?”

  Claudine shook her head.

  “Where is he?”

  “Don’t you worry, child. He’s likely been busy. We can’t count on him to take care of us anyhow – we’ve got to look after ourselves.”

  Gracie yawned, sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes with clenched fists. “Yes, Mama.”

  “Now come on, let’s get this fire going again. You can find some buffalo chips and dry grass, and I’ll walk along the creek bank to look for sticks.”

  Gracie climbed out of the bedroll with a shiver and pulled on her extra coat. Wearing two coats made her arms stick out almost straight and brought a smile to Claudine’s face.

  After rebuilding the fire, they heated some beans and fried the last of the salt pork for breakfast. Then they washed up as best they could in the creek’s frigid water.

  “I’m going to saddle the horses,” said Claudine, eying the animals grazing on the sweet grass beside the stream.

  “Then I’ll pack up camp,” added Gracie.

  “Thank you,” replied Claudine, feeling pride swell within. Whatever had happened or been done to her child, she’d still grown into a sweet, polite and helpful girl. She hid the tears in the corners of her eyes with a smile, gathered the bridles and hurried toward the horses. She’d never saddled a horse, though she’d seen people do it, including Dan. Where to start?

  She began with Bolt – Gracie had told her what she’d named the horse and it made her smile. The pony looked anything but lightning-fast, though to a child’s eye everything seemed different. She loosened the rope around the animal’s head, then slipped it up and over his ears. His head darted upward and he stepped away from Claudine. She grabbed for him, but he jerked his head away and snorted. She stopped still and drew a long slow breath. “Come now, boy. Nothing to worry about …”

  She reached for his head again and slipped the bridle up over his nose. When the bit reached his mouth, it hit his lips and she frowned, tugging gently against it. He pulled away, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  She couldn’t lose one of the horses out here on the prairie – then they’d have no hope of making it to Canada on their own. She touched the side of his mouth even as he began to walk away from her. His mouth opened and she slid in the bit. Jogging alongside him, she slid the bridle up over his ears and into place, then grabbed the reins and tugged him to a stop. “You didn’t make that easy on me,” she sighed in relief, then chuckled and did up the clasp beneath his jaw.

  Now she turned to face her own horse, Sam, and her eyes narrowed – how could she hold onto Bolt while bridling the other? She drew a long breath, led Bolt over to where Sam was grazing at the end of his picket line, and hitched the first horse to a sapling. Hands free, she had Sam bridled before long, and led them both back to camp and their saddles.

  Meanwhile, Gracie had packed up the campsite and fashioned a saddlebag out of one of their blankets. The girl chewed her bottom lip as she wrapped their frying pan, saucepan, plates and utensils in the blanket. “You can use one of the picket lines to tie it if you need to,” Claudine suggested, and Gracie nodded, trotting over to where the lines still lay in the grass.

  Claudine turned back to the horses. Carefully she let go of their reins, fetched one of the saddle blankets and tossed it onto Bolt’s back, then hefted his saddle over her head to set on top of the blanket. But as she raised it, the horse walked away. She grumbled, put the saddle back on the ground, retrieved the horse from where he’d wandered to graze, picked up the saddle again … only to watch him walk off once more.

  This time she followed him with the saddle. He could crop grass while she got him ready, it made no difference to her. She lifted it, and off he went again, this time with ears laid back and a swish of his tail.

  She frowned and rested the saddle against her leg. He was doing it intentionally, the rascal! Her eyes narrowed and she lugged the saddle after Bolt once more. This time, she grabbed the reins first and held them even as she lifted the saddle up – and landed it on his back with a “hah!” of triumph.

  As she did, her eyes fell on the revolver in the saddle holster. She’d kept close to the saddle all night in case she needed the gun, but never drew it. Truth be told, she was afraid to. Dan had shown her how to use it, but so far she’d never shot it. Perhaps she should practice, now that he seemed to have left them behind. She’d sure need to know how to use it if they were to travel alone.

  Claudine led Bolt back to where Sam was grazing. Gracie had tied up the blanket and stood waiting by their things. “Could you please hold tight to these rascals while I fix their saddles on their backs?” she asked the girl.

  Gracie nodded and came quickly to take hold of the reins. She stared up at both horses with wide eyes and reached to stroke first one head, then the other. Both animals lowered their heads and Bolt’s eyes slid half-shut.

  Claudine frowned – apparently he favored Gracie over her. Oh well, she couldn’t blame him for that. She patted Gracie’s hair lovingly, then noted that Bolt’s saddle had slid dangerously to one side. She straightened it and tightened the girth strap as much as she could. When she was done, she smiled with satisfaction – one horse saddled. She soon had Sam done as well, what with not having to chase him all over the prairie, then tied the bedroll behind his saddle and secured the blanket full of supplies with it, using part of the picket line. They were ready to go.

  Claudine helped Gracie onto Bolt’s back, and he tossed his head as if anxious to get moving. Sam followed suit, also side-stepping with a snort as Claudine tried to mount. Every time she went to put her foot into the stirrup, he moved sideways, his eyes rolling back in his head as though he was afraid. Soon Bolt was acting agitated as well, jogging in a circle.

  Gracie held the reins high and tight to one side to keep him from galloping off across the open plain. “Mama, what’s wrong with him?” she cried in fear.

  “I don’t know. I can’t get this one to stand still long enough to climb on.” Claudine took a deep breath, lunged for the stirrup, got her foot in … and heard a snarl. The bay danced sideways, but she still managed to mount, reins held tightly in her fist. She glanced over her shoulder … and saw a predator’s eyes staring back.

  The wolf-pack hadn’t left after all – they’d just been waiting.

  “Mama!” screamed Gracie as one of the wolves lunged for her.

  “Gracie!” Instinctively, Claudine pulled the Colt revolver from the saddle holster and turned Sam to face the pack, even as one of them leaped for her throat. She blocked it with her arm, but its teeth closed around the limb, making her cry out in pain. It shook its head, snarling and growling as it attempted to pull her down to the ground.

  She watched in horror as two wolves snapped at Gracie’s feet, which she’d pulled up onto Bolt’s back. Bolt whirled in a circle, stamping and whinnying with fear, eyes wide and hooves flailing. He managed to kick one of the wolves, and it whimpered and ran off to watch the melee from a safe distance.

  Claudine wrestled her arm free, but the wolf lunged again for her neck, lips pulled back to reveal bloody teeth. She hit it in the side of its head with the gun, but it came at her again, undeterred.

  She heard Gracie’s screams as if from a distance and rage built within her. After all these years of searching for her daughter, they were not going to die out here on the prairie, eaten by a pack of mangy wolves. She freed her foot from its stirrup and kicked at the wolf over and over. She got him once in
the head, but he kept coming, and she yelled with frustration and fear.

  Just then, a shot rang out through the campsite. The wolf stopped snapping and slid to the ground with a whimper. She stared at the gun in her hand. No, she hadn’t fired – in her terror, she hadn’t even released the safety yet. Another shot, followed by a third, and two more wolves dropped to the ground. Two others dashed off into the tall grass, tails between their legs. Gracie clung to Bolt’s back, sobbing in the still morning air.

  Claudine saw a man on a black horse, dressed in a black vest, dark leather chaps and a black ten-gallon hat. She took a quick breath as she realized that one predator had just been replaced by another.

  It was the man who’d chased them from Kellogg’s house the day she escaped with Gracie. He wasn’t dead after all! He sneered at her, two gaps where teeth should’ve been. “Good mornin’, ladies,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’ll take that.” He tugged the revolver from her hand. She only whimpered, still staring at the wolf that lay dead next to her horse. He took Sam’s reins too, even as the horse launched forward in an attempt to run.

  She looked over at Gracie, still on Bolt’s back, eyes wide and terror-stricken. The horse tossed his head and stepped backward, but she kept her seat. “Are you hurt?”

  Gracie shook her head. “Not really. Just my leg here.” She pointed to her calf, and Claudine saw a line of blood dripping from the girl’s stocking. It wasn’t big – probably just a claw mark. “What about your arm, Mama?”

  Claudine glanced at it. Blood had soaked her sleeve, and she frowned. She wasn’t sure how much damage the animal had done, but now that it was over, the pain made her teeth clench. She tore off a piece of petticoat and wrapped it around the wound, using her good hand and her teeth to tie it in place.