"Oh, hell, boy, call me Yancy." Rowlett opened his coat and spread it out behind him as he reversed the chair in front of the desk and straddled it. "How'd you come to be wearing a badge?"
"I never intended to until I came here earlier this year. I'd been working for the Union Pacific, hunting buffalo to provide meat for their work crews. Before that I did some scouting for the Army and guided a few wagon trains over the Oregon Trail. I came into Wind River on the first train, when the UP moved the railhead up here." Cole shrugged again. "After that, things just started happening, and it didn't seem like I had much control over them. I pinned on the badge to sort of settle things down around here."
Rowlett grunted. "Place looks pretty settled to me."
"What's that old saying about how things aren't always like they look?" Cole chuckled. "That about tells the story on Wind River. It's not hell with the hide off, like it was six months ago, but trouble can still bust loose in a hurry around here. I figure I'll stay a while longer."
"Sounds to me like you're settling down, Cole," Rowlett said with a grin.
Cole frowned. The big man didn't know it, but he had hit on the very thing that had been bothering Cole lately. Did he really want to settle down? Or was the lure of the wild places still too strong in him? Could he be happy living permanently in a town, or would the urge to see something new one day grow too strong to allow him to stay?
His father had been to see the elephant . . .
"I reckon I'll be moving on again one of these days," he told Rowlett. "But until then I intend to be the best marshal for this town that I can."
"Damn right. Ain't no point in doing anything if you don't want to be the best at it."
Cole leaned back in his chair and said, "So tell me about the shining times. My pa spoke of those years a lot, but I never knew if he was telling the truth about them. He loved to spin a good yarn, but I reckon things weren't quite as wild as he made them out to be."
"No, I reckon not," Rowlett said, and then another broad grin broke out on his bearded face. "They were wilder, son, they were wilder . . ."
* * *
The morning passed quickly and enjoyably. The small fire that Cole built in the stove warmed up the office, and he listened eagerly as Rowlett told him about the time he had spent trapping beaver in the Rockies with Drago Tyler. From the sound of it, the two men had tramped all over the Wind River range to the north, which had given the settlement its name, and through the Bitterroots, the Grand Tetons, all up and down the Snake River and the Yellowstone, had seen Colter's Hell and the Great Falls of the Missouri.
In those days there had been very little advance of so-called civilization into the mountains, and few white men other than the free trappers.
Cole recalled hearing of a few fledgling communities of settlers that had given themselves optimistic names like New Hope and tried to make inroads in the wilderness, but all of those tiny settlements had long since been abandoned, even in the days when Drago Tyler and Yancy Rowlett were wandering through this part of the country.
Also by that time, most of the Indian tribes that had welcomed the white men peacefully at first had turned against them. Some, like the Blackfoot, had been hostile right from the start. Drago and Rowlett had had quite a few harrowing adventures which had nearly cost them their hair, at least according to Rowlett.
Caught up in the big man's reminiscences, Cole didn't realize how much time had passed until his stomach reminded him it was the middle of the day. He frowned suddenly and looked out the window at Grenville Avenue.
More people were moving along the street now, and the snow that had covered the broad avenue with a pure white blanket that morning had been churned up into muddy slush by wagon wheels and the hooves of horses and mules. It didn't look nearly as pretty now.
And it matched Cole's abrupt shift of mood, which was downright worried.
Rowlett saw that something had distracted the younger man, and he stopped spinning a yarn to ask, "What's wrong, Cole?"
"My deputy should have been back by now."
"Where was he gone to?"
"He and the town doctor went out to a farm north of here last night to tend to a sick youngster."
Rowlett frowned back at Cole. "They went out in that storm?"
"Didn't have much choice. The boy was bad sick, and Judson Kent's not the kind of man to stand by when he can do something to help. Billy—that's my deputy, Billy Casebolt—went along to make sure the doc got there all right. I figured they'd be back before now, though."
Rowlett's massive shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "Could be the boy was even sicker than they thought. The doc could still be tending to him."
"Yeah, I reckon you're right," Cole said with a nod. He stood up, went over to the window, and peered out. "I think I'd better go see if I can find them, though. Just to make sure nothing's happened to them."
Rowlett put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. "Sure, that's a good idea. I'll go with you."
Cole looked around at him. "You don't have to do that. This is my job."
"Hell, I don't mind. Long as you can come up with a horse for me to ride, I'd be glad to come along. Reckon I could use some fresh air after being cooped up all morning."
Rowlett would never be plagued with the same sort of doubts that had been bothering him, Cole realized. The big man would never be able to stay in a town for very long, not if a few hours inside made him feel cooped up.
Cole could understand the desire to see some of the big cities back east, but he knew Rowlett wouldn't stay there long. In a matter of months— maybe even weeks or, hell, days—Rowlett would be heading west again, heading for the land that was high, wide, and lonesome.
In the meantime, Cole would be glad for the company as he rode out to search for Billy and Dr. Kent. He nodded at Rowlett and said, "Let's go."
Rowlett left his war bag behind the desk after Cole assured him it would be safe there. Together, they slogged down the street to the livery stable where Cole kept his big golden sorrel, Ulysses. The livery owner was happy to rent a horse to Rowlett, who chose a big chestnut gelding. "That horse looks big enough to carry a gent like me," Rowlett commented.
"I rent him to our local blacksmith, Jeremiah Newton," the liveryman explained. "He's nigh as big as you, mister. That chestnut'll carry you just fine."
With Rowlett beside him, Cole rode out of Wind River, taking the trail to the north that ultimately led to the Diamond S. Between the settlement and Kermit Sawyer's ranch, however, were quite a few farms belonging to sod-busters who were buying their places from the land development company—which meant they were buying from Simone McKay. She had started selling off the land following the death of her husband, and for several months there had been a steady stream of immigrants arriving in the area. That stream had dried up to a trickle with the coming of winter, but next spring Cole expected the land boom to continue. This wasn't the best farming country in the world, but there were plenty of folks back east working in factories and such who were willing to give it a try in return for a chance to have a place of their own. Cole couldn't blame them for that.
Several snow-covered, smaller trails branched off the main path and led to the various farms. Cole tried to remember which of the places belonged to the Flahertys. He swung Ulysses off the main trail onto a narrow track that led through a mile or so of rugged ground marked by gullies and outcroppings of rock. It seemed to him that the Flaherty farm was on a flat bench beyond the rougher terrain.
"Got quite a few nesters moving in around here, have you?" asked Rowlett as they passed some small cabins.
"They're not nesters," Cole replied. "They're either buying their land or working it on shares."
"It's not free range?"
"Not this close to town," explained Cole. "All the land was claimed by the development company, and now it's being sold off. Further north, up around Sawyers spread and the other ranches that have gotten started recently, there aren'
t any homesteaders."
"Yet," Rowlett said meaningfully.
Cole glanced over at him. "You're thinking that there'll be trouble sooner or later between the farmers and the ranchers, like there's been down in Texas?"
"A rancher looks at land and thinks about how he can use it without changing it. A farmer looks at the same land and tries to figure out what all he can make different about it. And there's a hell of a lot more farmers than there are ranchers. Bound to be some run-ins along the way. Only reason I know about it is because the same thing is starting to happen up in Montana Territory, too."
"Well, I don't think we'll have any trouble around here. Most of the folks who have settled in these parts seem to be pretty reasonable."
Even as he spoke, though, Cole thought about Kermit Sawyer. Reasonable wasn't a word that could ever be applied to the Texan. Sawyer was accustomed to getting his own way in everything and running roughshod over anybody who opposed him. If some sodbuster tried to move onto land that Sawyer considered his . . .
Well, Cole could see the potential for trouble there, all right. A lot of trouble. But he didn't expect it to happen any time soon, and besides, he had a deputy and a doctor to find. Besides his official duty, Cole had to consider the fact that Billy Casebolt and Judson Kent were his friends, too. All in all, he was mighty worried by their failure to return to Wind River.
"What the hell's that?" Rowlett suddenly grunted.
Cole looked over and saw the big man pointing off to the south, in the middle of those rugged folds of ground. The snow had fallen heavily here, too, blurring the distinctions of the landscape. But the white blanket provided a sharp backdrop so that the dark shape a hundred yards off the trail was clearly visible. As Cole reined in, he saw a figure detach itself from the shape and wave something—a hat, more than likely—in the air over its head.
"By God, I think that's Billy!" Cole exclaimed. "And that must be Doc Kent's buggy he's standing beside. But where's the doc and their horses?"
Without waiting for an answer to his question, Cole sent Ulysses charging over the rough ground as quickly as he dared, letting the sorrel choose his own path for the most part. Ulysses was sure-footed and had an instinct for finding the safest route. Rowlett followed closely behind.
When they were about thirty yards from the buggy—which Cole could now see was overturned—Casebolt waved his hat in the air again and called, "Hold it, Marshal! Don't come any closer on those hosses!"
Cole reined to a halt, unsure why Casebolt had made the request, and called back, "What the hell's wrong, Billy?"
Casebolt jerked a thumb at the overturned vehicle. "This here buggy's perched right on the lip of an arroyo. It's liable to slide off in there if anything jars it even a little. And Doc Kent's under it!"
"Son of a bitch!" Cole breathed as he swung down from his saddle, Rowlett following suit. The two men advanced carefully, walking as lightly as they could, until they were close enough to see past the buggy. As Casebolt had said, the wrecked vehicle was poised on the rim of a deep gully. Cole circled the buggy and crouched so that he could look underneath it. The side of the gully sloped sharply, but not so sharply that Dr. Judson Kent couldn't lie on it, right under the overturned buggy. Kent's left leg was actually underneath the vehicle that loomed over him.
The slash in the earth was perhaps fifty feet deep. At the bottom were Casebolt's horse and the horse that normally pulled the buggy. Both animals were dead.
Kent was conscious and alert. He turned his head to look at Cole, who was leaning out over the edge of the gully and peering anxiously at him. "Are you all right, Doc?" Cole asked.
Kent nodded. "I'm not hurt badly . . . at the moment. When the buggy overturned, I was taken unawares and thrown out. It landed on some rocks so that little of the weight is actually resting on my leg. But I do seem to be pinned here. I can't pull my leg loose without upsetting the buggy and causing it to slide down the rest of the way."
And if that happened, Cole knew without asking, it would slide right over the doctor's trapped form and crush him.
He glanced over at Billy. "How in blazes did this happen?"
"We got off the trail a mite," the deputy answered, his leathery face flushed with shame. Obviously, he was taking this accident as a personal failure. "I let Doc Kent get too close to the edge of this here arroyo, and his nigh front wheel dropped off. The whole shootin' match turned over 'fore I knew what was happenin'."
"What about the horses?"
"The buggy hoss got pulled over, too, and busted his leg. When I rode over as fast as I could, my old feller slid into the gully and got busted up, too. I jumped off just in time to keep from goin' down with him." Casebolt shook his head sadly. "Had to shoot both of 'em, which I done once I'd cut that buggy hoss loose from his harness. If I hadn't, he'd've pulled that buggy right on down over the doc with his flailin' around. The whole thing was the worst damn run of luck I ever saw."
Cole nodded. The accident had been a fluke, all right, but that didn't make it any less dangerous. It had already cost the lives of two horses—and Kent was in deadly peril every second he spent lying under that precariously balanced buggy.
"We've got to get the doc out of there," he said as he straightened from his crouch. "We'll get ropes and tie 'em to the buggy, use the horses to set it upright again."
"That's what I would've done, had them hosses of ours not busted their legs," Casebolt said.
"Please hurry," Kent said tightly, his voice beginning to show the strain he was under. "It's rather uncomfortable under here."
"We'll have you out of there as fast as we can, Judson," Cole assured him. "Come on, Billy. By the way, this is Yancy Rowlett. He was partners with my pa back in the old days, and now he's passing through Wind River."
"Howdy, Mr. Rowlett," Casebolt said, shaking hands with the big man as they hurried over to Ulysses and the rented chestnut. Both horses had coiled lassos fastened to their saddles. That was a common precaution in this part of the country. Cole and Casebolt got the ropes and began uncoiling them as they started back toward the buggy.
At that moment, there was a small grinding sound, and the buggy lurched, sliding a couple of inches farther into the gully. Kent gave a strangled yell. The buggy stopped its slide, but it was rocking back and forth slightly, ready to move again. Cole let out a curse and broke into a run, his boots sliding a little on the snow.
"We've got to get the doc out of there fast!" he said. "That buggy's going to slide on down any second!"
"I'll stop it," Rowlett said. "You get the ropes on it and pull it back!"
Before Cole could stop him, the big man lunged ahead, his long legs carrying him to the edge of the gully. He slid over the edge and moved carefully along the slope until he was directly underneath the buggy and the trapped physician. Then, planting his boots in a secure spot, Rowlett reached up and got his hands on the buggy, shoving upward with all the strength in his massive shoulders.
Kent gasped in relief as some of the crushing weight was taken off his pinned leg. Rowlett grunted with effort and said between clenched teeth, "I got it! It ain't going nowhere for a few minutes. Tie those ropes to it while you can."
"I'll do that," Cole said. "Billy, go get the horses."
While Casebolt fetched Ulysses and the chestnut, Cole tied the ropes securely to the frame of the buggy. By the time he was finished, Casebolt had the horses standing by. Cole took one rope and mounted Ulysses while Casebolt held the other rope and swung up into the saddle of the chestnut. Both men dallied the lassos around the saddlehorns with practiced efficiency, then began backing the horses away from the gully.
"Don't jerk the ropes," Cole warned. "Slow and steady, that's what we need." He lifted his voice. "You doing all right, Yancy?"
"Yeah . . . I reckon. I'll . . . push up . . . while you boys pull!"
The ropes that stretched from the horses to the buggy grew taut, and then as Cole and Casebolt carefully continued backing the animals away, the
buggy began to rise. Balanced on its left-side wheels, the vehicle lifted from the edge of the gully. Rowlett let go of it and reached down to grab Dr. Kent by the shoulders and pull him quickly to the side, out of the path the buggy would take if it fell again. The doctor gasped as his injured leg was dragged along the rough ground.
The buggy reached the point where gravity took over and it came upright, falling onto all four wheels with a heavy thud. Cole and Casebolt let the ropes loose from their saddles and rode over to the spot where Rowlett had gently placed Kent on the ground. The physician was already sitting up and probing his own leg with experienced fingers. His bearded features were pale, washed out from the ordeal he had endured.
"There don't seem to be any broken bones," he announced. "The leg is strained and badly bruised, of course, and it will be quite sore for a while. But I think I shall recover nicely."
Cole had to grin at the calm tone in the doctors voice. Kent had a cool head, Cole had to give him that much. "We'll put you in the buggy and get you back to town. Ulysses can pull it. He won't like being hitched to something, but he can stand it for that long. I'll handle the reins and Billy can ride double with Yancy. We'll take it easy, but I expect you're about froze. You need to get thawed out."
Kent nodded. He looked up at the three men surrounding him and said, "Thank you. Thank all three of you. You undoubtedly saved my life."
Casebolt said, "It wouldn't have needed savin' if it wasn't for me, Doc. I'm mighty sorry I let you down."
"Nonsense. I wasn't watching where I was going. You can't be held responsible for that, Deputy."
Casebolt shrugged, obviously not convinced by Kent's argument.
Cole hitched Ulysses into the buggy's harness, then led the vehicle well away from the edge of the gully before Rowlett lifted Kent into it. The marshal tucked the blanket that was in the buggy around Kent, then said, "I clean forgot . . . how's the Flaherty boy?"
"His fever broke this morning," Kent replied. "I'm sure he's going to be fine. That's why Deputy Casebolt and I had started back to Wind River."
Wolf Shadow (Wind River Book 3) Page 8