by Jack Ballas
“When I seen a way to git outta the mess I done got myself into, an’ took a good look at the kind o’ woman I wuz, I decided to try an’ make it up to Mr. Colter; know I cain’t never undo what I done, but maybe he’ll forgive me.” She put her cup to her mouth and emptied it, then pinned them all with a hard look. “Ain’t askin’ forgiveness, jest askin’ that y’all know where I’m comin’ from.” She’d had her hands clenched in front of her on the table. Now she dropped them to her lap. She stared at them, then raised her look to take them all in. Her eyes swam in tears.
“Reckon while ever’body else wuz sleepin’ I wuz wonderin’ if they wuz any way I could make it up to ’im.” She shrugged. “Know now, a body cain’t make up fer nothin’ like I done been a party to, but I’m offerin’ to be a servant to ’im fer the rest o’ my life.” She looked straight on at Miles. “Don’t want no pay; jest a place to sleep, eat, an’ stay in outta the cold.”
She turned her gaze on Emily. “Know they’s some o’ that you figger you want to take care of, but, Miss Emily, I’ll take care o’ you both.” Her shoulders slumped. She stared at her hands once again.
The tangy smell of straight whisky in front of her prompted Emily to absentmindedly grip the bottle and pour them all another drink, and she’d never had more than one drink in her life. She stared at it a moment, then looked at Maddie. “Don’t know as how I could allow you to do that, Maddie.” With her words, Maddie seemed to shrink, become less than a woman, or even a human being.
Emily placed her hand over Maddie’s. “Slavery was abolished during The War Between the States. What you’re offering is to be Papa’s slave. He wouldn’t have that, nor would I.”
Maddie reached in her reticule to finger the few coins in there. Her eyes swam. “Well, reckon when the stage comes, if y’all will show me the way to git to Durango from here, I’ll take it outta there whichever way it’s goin’.”
Before she could finish, Emily’s head moved from side to side. “No. You don’t understand, Maddie. You see, I might have things to do in my own life, and Papa’s gonna have to have someone to look after him. I’m sayin’ you will be that person—but only if we pay you to do it and if you want to do it.”
Every person sitting there had tears flowing down their cheeks. Maddie brushed at hers. “Well, dadgum it, don’t reckon I’m gonna have to catch that there stage after all. Looks like I got me a job.”
Emily shook her head. “No, Maddie, I wouldn’t say you have a job, I’d say you found yourself a family.” She pushed back from the table, walked around it, and pulled Maddie to her breast. There were a lot of sniffles around the table, then all hoisted their cups and drank of the strong whisky despite the burn it made down their throats.
They talked long into the night, each of them trying to draw Miles Colter into the conversation, each trying to say something that might trigger a small bit of his memory. He seemed to enjoy the family atmosphere, but his eyes still showed a haunted vacancy as though he wanted to be a total part of this gathering, but the parts to make it so were still missing.
Finally, they decided that if they were to get anything done the next day they’d better get to sleep. The cabin barely held all the pallets, but those that slept in them didn’t worry about space; somehow they’d all become family. Now all they needed was a big man who was deeply loved by at least four of them.
The next morning, sleepy-eyed, and not moving as briskly as they usually did, they gathered at the breakfast table to sort through chores they would take as their own. There was no bickering; each of them wanted to do more than that spiked out for them.
Colter watched them, feeling a part of them but yet not belonging. He strained to fit the parts together. Sudden flashes showed him a small, young girl in his past, but his mind didn’t associate that young’un with Emily. Finally, his mental strain exhausted him. He sat back, relaxed, then made up his mind to let things come to him as they would; all the trying in the world wouldn’t help. Too, whether it all came back to him or not, he had friends around him like he’d never had before. Yes, he’d let it come when and if it would.
He cornered Sam. “Slagle, Bartow’s reason for torturing me was to find out where a rich vein was that I supposedly had found.” He shrugged. “Based on that, I think maybe I did find one.” He shook his head. “Can’t remember, but when we get back to Silverton, I’m surely going to look.”
Sam shuffled his feet, stared at the floor a moment, then looked at Colter. “You trust me, I’ll hep you find it. My claim’s givin’ me more’n a good livin’, more’n I ever figgered to have in one lifetime.” He nodded. “You think on it awhile. Jest wanted you to know you got hep, if you want it.”
Miles looked Sam in the eye. “I don’t need to think about it, but I need to see if I can still handle a single jack, see if my old body’ll take the punishment.” He smiled. “But I’ll tell you right now, I appreciate the offer—an’ yeah, after what you an’ Maddie have done for me, I trust you.”
To Colter’s thinking, Sam’s face took on a new light. He smiled. “Know what, Miles, it ain’t been very long ago, the onliest folks I knowed wuz them in Silverton. I couldn’t count them as real friends, jest folks I said howdy to when I went to town.” He shook his head as though in wonder. “Now, lookin’ ’round this here room, I’d say I got me a whole bunch o’ real friends.”
Colter chuckled. “You and I’ve been in the same boat, Sam. I suppose, without realizing it, we were both lonely; now I think neither of us’ll ever be lonely again.”
Sam only shook his head, then swept the room with a look. “Now ain’t that somethin’—really somethin’. Hot dang it, I feel so good I could jest ’bout bust.”
Colter’s chuckle became an outright laugh.
Wes came in from outside, shivered, and shrugged out of his sheepskin. “Thaw didn’t last long, it’s gittin’ colder by the minute. Don’t look like it’s gonna snow though.” He looked at Kelly. “Been thinkin’, if we gonna git outta this valley anytime soon, we better make a move fer it right soon.”
Emily had been standing by the stove stirring a kettle of soup. She dropped the laddle into the mixture of beef, carrots, potatoes, and beans. “You’re thinkin’ about goin’ to Durango?”
Wes nodded. “Been givin’ it some thought. If it’s like Sam says that Lingo’s tryin’ to find the man what took you off’n that stage, I’d bet my saddle he’s done figgered out who done it an’ is after ’im like a coyote in a henhouse.
“I figger we can head for Durango, stop off at Cantrell’s place for a night, let them meet you, Sam, Kelly, Miles, an’ Maddie, maybe spend an extra night, then one more night ’longside the trail ’tween there an’ Durango, then ride on to town without puttin’ you women in any danger.” He swept them all with a grin. “Dang! I figgered y’all would be sayin’ no by now.”
Kelly and Emily engulfed him in the biggest hug he’d had in a long time. His grin widened. “Sonovagun, reckon I got an answer better’n any words.” He looked at Colter. “You feel up to climbin’ back on a horse another two or three days?”
Colter’s face hardened. “I’d crawl if it meant seeing that man brought in.” He frowned. “I don’t know how Barnes is going to tie Bartow in with being responsible for Emily’s kidnapping though.”
“Miles, Lingo’s got a good head on his shoulders. I’m bettin’ he’s got it figgered right down to a gnat’s rear end.” As soon as he said it Wes’s face felt hot as a poker. He looked at the women. “Aw heck, I didn’t mean to say nothin’ like that ’fore y’all.”
The women, to the last one of them, obviously tried to hold back their laughter. They failed. Every one of them turned red, then guffawed.
“Well, dang it, let’s git to packin’ fer a visit to town. We’ll leave in the mornin’.” With those words, Wes, not thinking of anything better to do, started cleaning his rifle and handgun.
After brushing the snow aside, Quint spread a bed of coals on the barren rock where t
hey would sleep, left them there until he thought the ground would be warmed enough such that cold wouldn’t seep through their blankets and ground sheets, then raked the coals aside, put the palm of his hand to the rock, grunted with satisfaction, and spread their bedding over it. He poured himself another cup of coffee, spiked it with whisky, then sat by the fire to wait for Lingo’s return.
He sat there only a few minutes, sipping his drink, when he felt, rather than heard, Lingo at his back. “C’mon, pour yourself a cup o’ coffee. Whisky’s over yonder in my saddlebag.”
“How the hell you know it was me, Cantrell? It coulda been anybody, maybe even the Easterner.”
“Nah, I smelled you, Lingo. You ain’t had no bath in two days.” He chuckled. “The fact is, they ain’t no Easterner as good a Indian as you. I knowed when I felt somebody at my back it had to be you.”
“That’s gonna get you in a heap o’ trouble one o’ these days, Cantrell. I ain’t the only Indian around.”
Quint grunted. “The life Elena’s makin’ me live these days, I’ll be so tamed, ain’t no way I kin git into trouble without you bein’ ’round. Now with you done found your woman, looks like I’m gonna jest dry up an’ blow away. Tell me what you done to that man we been followin’.”
Lingo squatted next to the fire, poured himself a cup of coffee, spiked it, then lowered himself to the ground. “Cantrell, I didn’t have to be much of an Indian to sneak up on ’im; all he seemed to think about was tryin’ to get warm. He built a fire damn near big as the one that burned his cabin to the ground. If there had been more trees around I’da worried ’bout ’im startin’ a forest fire.”
He wrapped both hands around his cup to warm them, then shook his head. “You know what? He had only one blanket. He wrapped ’imself in it, an’ huddled up so close to the fire I figured he was gonna catch on fire. Then finally, even with bein’ cold, he lay down an’ went to sleep.” He took a swallow of coffee, poured more whisky into it, and slanted Quint a disappointed look. “I hunkered there, not ten feet from ’im an’ wondered what to do to make him more miserable. Couldn’t take ’is rifle without wakin’ ’im, so I looked around. Finally I settled on takin’ his saddlebags; that’s where he had his provisions.” Lingo grinned. “That man’s gonna get mighty hungry ’fore he has a chance to eat again.”
Cantrell opened his mouth to say something and Barnes cut him off. “What I didn’t tell you is, if his rifle ain’t loaded to the hilt, he won’t be shootin’ very much. His bullets are in those bags along with his food.”
Cantrell grunted, then cast Lingo a disgusted look. “It ever enter that pea-sized brain o’ yours that that Winchester’ll have ’nuff bullets in it to blow both you an’ me to hell?”
“Nah, we won’t give ’im that many shots at us. If this trail don’t bend back on itself so he can look back an’ see us, he might not get even one shot at us.”
Cantrell’s look turned sour. “You ever figger that one shot could put one o’us outta business?”
Lingo grinned, then nodded. “Thought ’bout that, then figured if he shot anybody it’d be you so that’d leave me still able to get ’im.”
“Hell, let’s have ’nother cup o’ coffee and get some sleep.”
They slept warm, woke up at daybreak, and cooked a good breakfast of beans, bacon, biscuits, coffee, and peaches, which they ate from the can, spearing peach halves with their knives.
Less than a half mile up the trail, Bartow, having slept very little during the night, and still huddled in his blanket, went to a fallen pine tree at the side of the trail, dragged a limb about the size of his wrist to the fire, dumped it on the coals, and went to the edge of camp where he’d picketed his horse. He was sure where he’d left his saddlebags, but they weren’t there. A long search around and he still didn’t see them. He frenziedly rushed from one side of the fire to the other, looked under the scrub brush close to the tree in case he’d stashed it there, and then saw the footprint. It was a bootprint, unlike what his own shoes would make.
He walked back down the trail until he came to bare rock where the wind had swept it clear of snow. He stood there gazing at the rock. It never entered his mind that the one who had stolen his provisions would be someone who trailed him to take him to the law.
He looked up the mountain. It couldn’t be much more than an hour to the top. Then he thought of the twists and turns the road made between here and Silverton, and he studied the upgrade of the narrow trail. That hour he’d figured on might take more than a day.
For the first time, he allowed himself to think of what he could do without provisions and less than a half-magazine of shells in his rifle. His gut tightened, a knot swelled his throat, sweat popped out of his every pore, fear took hold of him and held his chest in a vice. He walked to his fire and sat by its side. He had to think. He’d always been able to think his way out of tight scrapes. Yeah, those times he’d always been in a city, familiar territory. Here, he was at a loss.
He considered going back to Silverton. Yes. That was a good idea. No one there could place him at the site of the stage robbery.
Then his mind centered on Colter, on Maddie. They would certainly have spread the word of what he’d done to the old man, and Maddie knew his entire plan. He shook his head and stared up the barren rock to where the trail curved. He’d have to chance getting to the summit, then on the other side he might find a miner who’d feed him and maybe sell him a blanket or two. If not, he’d kill him, take what he wanted, and move on. Fact was, if he killed him there wouldn’t be anyone left behind to tell that they’d seen him. Fear continued to squeeze sweat from him. He rolled his bedroll, saddled his horse, and headed up the mountain.
Bartow had not ridden much more than a hundred yards when he reined his horse to a stop. Those tracks he’d followed until he ran out of snow had come from down the mountain, then gone back down after taking his provisions. He thought on that awhile, wondering if whoever had done it had been going up or down. He finally decided the man had been heading up. If he’d been going down, he’d have been in Silverton in a day, or so, and could have stocked up then.
He mulled that over awhile, then nodded. He’d find a good place to hide, then hold them up, take everything they owned, including their horses, and leave them to freeze to death without any gear with which to survive. His fear cut back to a small, festering sore in the middle of his gut.
Back down the trail, Cantrell and Barnes were only then breaking camp. They were in no hurry.
While tightening the cinches on his horse, Lingo felt Cantrell studying him. He looked over his shoulder. “What you lookin’ at me for?”
“Well it damn sure ain’t ’cause I think you’re pretty.” Cantrell grinned. “Lingo, if somebody done to you what we done to that man, what’d you do?”
Barnes pushed his hat back and stared at Quint a moment, then nodded. “See what you’re homin’ in on. Reckon both o’ us would figure on gettin’ even. Right?”
A slow smile spread across Cantrell’s cheeks. “You nailed that horseshoe on tight. We better be right careful. Ain’t wishin’ to make Elena a widow woman right sudden.”
Lingo shook his head. “Would agree with you, old friend, but that man’s runnin’ scared. I don’t figure he’s gonna slow down enough to try gettin’ even.”
Quint shook his head. “Damn, don’t see how you done stayed alive so long. Think ’bout it. That man’s provisions are gone. He ain’t got much ammunition left, an’ while he’s got some left, an’ him starin’ at starvin’ or freezin’, I figger he ain’t thinkin’ ’bout gittin’ even—he’s thinkin’ ’bout stayin’ alive.”
Lingo slowly nodded. “Reckon you’re right. So you think he’ll try to hold us up for whatever we’re carryin’?”
“That’s eggzactly what I’m thinkin’.” Cantrell frowned. “How you think we oughta play this hand?”
Lingo shook his head. “ ’Fore we go chargin’ ahead, we better give it some thought.”
> Cantrell said, “Way I figger it, maybe we oughtta split up.”
16
WES LED HIS party to the hitching rack in front of the huge BIM ranch house. Ian McCord, Elena’s father, pushed through the doorway. “Hey, Wes who you got there with you? Step down, rest your saddles.” Venetia, his wife, came out and stood at his shoulder.
Wes stepped from the saddle, helped the ladies to the ground, introduced them all around, and Ian hearded them into the front room. “C’mon in. Supper’s ’bout ready.” Elena came into the room, and after introductions, went to the kitchen to bring in the coffeepot.
While sitting over coffee, Wes told them all that had happened, and that they were headed for Durango to see if Lingo needed help.
Elena smiled. “They won’t need help.”
Emily frowned. “What makes you say that, and why do you say ‘they’?”
Elena studied Emily a moment. “A messenger came out from town a few days ago. Quint had sent him. He said that Quint and Lingo had joined up to chase down a couple of stage holdup gunmen.” She shook her head. “As for needing help, I can’t think of two more dangerous men than my Quint and Lingo Barnes. No, I don’t think they’ll need help.” Then in a quiet voice, said, “But I still worry. Someday, if he keeps on this way, there’ll be a sneak who’ll take a backshot at him.”
Emily looked at Wes. “There it is again. Everyone I have met seems to think Lingo can handle anything, now I find there is another man who people think of in the same way.”
Venetia put her cup on the table beside her. “Honey, if I had a month, I couldn’t tell you of all the scrapes those two men have been in; some together, and some all by their lonesome.” She glanced at Wes, then back to Emily. “And if he wasn’t sitting there next to Kelly, I’d do some bragging about that young man who brought you folks here.” She stood, poured coffee, then sat.
Emily stared into her coffee cup a moment, then back to Venetia. “I probably don’t have the right or the reason to worry that you all do, but every time I hear of Lingo doing anything like that I’m terrified.”