by Jack Ballas
A slight smile broke the corners of Venetia’s lips. “Do I detect more than friendly caring in your words—and voice?”
“Mama! How could you ask such a question? Look, you’ve embarrassed the poor girl to death.” Elena turned her look on Emily. “You’ll have to excuse Mama, she did the same thing to Quint and me.” She grinned. “The fact is, if she hadn’t hounded my poor man, I don’t know if he’d ever have proposed.”
Venetia chuckled. “If he hadn’t, you would have. In fact, if you’ll think back to that day after the Durango gunfight, I would say that you did propose.” Her chuckle grew to a full-blown laugh. “And your father almost had apoplexy.”
Elena, used to mimicking Quint, said, “An’ I reckon I ain’t never been sorry fer it one day.” She looked at her father. “And I don’t believe Papa has either.”
Ian, who was known as Lion to his friends, nodded. “If I’d of chose your mate myself, it would of been Quint.”
They talked until called to supper by Rosita, the motherly Mexican woman who had helped Venetia raise Elena. They ate, talked another couple of hours, then Venetia showed them the rooms they were to occupy for that night—and maybe the next one.
The next day Lion took Colter and Slagle around the headquarters to meet Wyatt Mann, his foreman, and Art King, Quint’s saddle partner, among others, and by the time he’d taken the time he wanted to make sure the menfolk felt at home, it was too late to leave for town.
At supper that night, Elena told them that she, her mother, and father would ride into Durango with them. It was time for a town visit, and maybe some dinner and dancing. Emily had never thought to wonder if Lingo danced, but she had thought about his arms holding her.
She asked Kelly if Barnes finished his job along with Quint, and if they went dancing, did she suppose the big man would dance with her—if he could dance?
Kelly answered with a sly smile, and a knowing look. “Don’t know if he can dance them fancy dances y’all do back yonder in Baltimore. Fact is, don’t know if he can dance at all. Reckon you jest gonna have to find that out for yourself.”
Emily sighed. She would have to get Lingo’s attention all by herself. It wasn’t fair. Elena had had Venetia’s help—but she stood alone. Well, if she had to, she’d resort to the same methods Elena had used with Quint—if he didn’t take notice of her, notice that she was a woman, notice that she maybe wasn’t pretty, but she wasn’t ugly either. According to Wes and Kelly, the only thing Lingo thought highly of was his ranch and cattle. Well, darn it, she’d make like a cow if she had to.
Lingo looked at Quint a moment. “You sayin’ you think we oughtta split up?” He shook his head. “Don’t think so. We split, he can pick us off one at a time. Together, if he hits one o’ us, the other can get him for sure.”
Cantrell frowned, swung his saddle onto his horse, and busied himself tightening cinches. They both rode a Texas rig. Then he looked at Lingo and nodded. “Okay, we ride together, but bein’ mighty careful.”
They rode up the incline, paying more attention to the few trees ahead and the boulders stacked at trail’s edge than they did the trail. The next bend went to their left wrapping itself around the mountain, so they couldn’t see around it. If it had gone to the right, they, as well as the Easterner would have been in the open.
Cantrell reached over and took Lingo’s reins in his hand. “Hold up. We ain’t goin’ ’round that bend without scoutin’ it. He might be settin’ there waitin’ fer one o’ us to show. Fact is, he might think they’s only one o’ us. I’ll take a look.”
He slipped off the side of his horse, handed his reins to Lingo, and eased up to a tree to try to see. He couldn’t. He looked up the trail for a pile of rocks, a tree, anything that might hide a man. He saw nothing large enough for a man to conceal himself behind, but the trail continued to bend left.
He slid farther to his left and came up against the steep bluff that edged up the mountain. Despite having done this sort of thing maybe a hundred times, his gut tightened, and his shoulder muscles pulled at his neck. He inched forward, and with each step he searched farther around the trail, and with each step he braced for the feel of a slug tearing through him. He grinned to himself. Despite his fear, this was living, this was what man was made for—without it he became just another dumb animal.
Another step and about fifty or so yards ahead a pile of boulders reared up on the outside of the trail. He ducked back, but not before the whir of a bullet zinged by his head. A second shot chipped rock off the cliff next to his face. He reached behind and waved Lingo up close to the rock wall.
He searched the pile of rocks for any sign, anything to draw a bead on. Nothing.
He pulled his head back far enough to know that no part of him showed to the rifleman up ahead. He looked at Lingo. “We done found our man. Now we gotta see can we take ’im without killin’ ’im.”
Lingo nodded. “Damned straight. I wouldn’t swap even a little bit of seein’ you hurt just to keep him alive.” He shrugged. “If we have to, we’ll drag his rotten carcass back to Durango for Nolan to bury.”
Cantrell sneaked a glance around the edge of the cliff, drew another shot, ducked back, then looked at Lingo. “All right, but just so’s you know, I’m takin’ a danged strong dislike to that man up yonder. Gonna do all I can to see it like you do. I wantta see a bright shiny rope ’round his stinkin’ neck.”
Barnes grinned, then tugged on Quint’s coat. “C’mon, let’s squat here a minute an’ see if we can’t come up with some way to keep us from gettin’ our pretty pink bodies ventilated.”
Cantrell swept the area with a glance. “Sure would be nice if there wuz somethin’ to make a fire of while we wait.” He shrugged. “We passed the last tree ’bout a hour ago.”
Barnes wagged his head from side to side, slowly. “Sure is terrible how much a friend can make a man feel deprived of the necessities of life.” He grinned. “Now we know we can’t have any coffee, let’s put our heads together an’ see can’t we figure how to get him.”
They finally decided for one of them to lie flat and fire from a prone position, while the other stood and tried to make Bartow expose himself enough for them to draw a bead on him. Cantrell nodded. “Don’t seem they’s a better way. You do the standin’, fire an’ pull back behind the cliff. I figger he’ll show enough o’ himself to git off a shot right after you fire, an’ when he does, I’ll see can I hit him from where I’m lyin’ on the ground.”
“All right. Let’s give it a try.”
Barnes eased his head around the cliff’s edge, then out of the side of his mouth, said, “Okay, get ready. Next time I take a look, I’m gonna fire.” He slowly moved his head out to see. The only thing in sight was the smooth wind-and rain-polished surfaces of the pile of boulders uptrail. He raised his Winchester, aimed at a crack between two of the rocks, and pressed the trigger. As soon as he fired, he pulled his head back to safety.
He’d not gotten his head back and jacked another shell into the chamber when Cantrell’s and Bartow’s rifles fired, sounding almost as one. “Damn! Fired too fast. Now he know’s how we figgered to git ’im, he ain’t gonna bite on that one agin.”
Barnes frowned. “Reckon we gonna just have to wait ’im out. Bet money he never saw the patience two Apaches can have.”
They didn’t have to test their own, or Bartow’s patience. Steel shoes rang against the smooth, rock trail.
Cantrell ran a patch down the barrel of his Winchester, jacked another shell into the chamber, then looked at Barnes. “Maybe we got lucky. Maybe he’ll try to plow through the deep snow up toward the crest an’ we can take ’im ’fore he freezes to death.”
“Maybe it’s a trick, maybe he’s not ridin’ that horse.”
Cantrell shook his head. “Don’t think so, Lingo. He ain’t gonna put hisself up yonder without nothin’ to ride.”
While Quint talked, Barnes eased himself farther around the cliff’s curve. No shot. “Get the horse
s. I’ll search those rocks, then we’ll see how far he can get ahead of us before he hits deep snow.”
“Why don’t I take a little longer, go back down the trail a ways, an’ collect some firewood, maybe even rope one o’ them logs an’ drag it to a good place to camp.” He chuckled. “If he’s close enough to see the flicker o’ our fire, an’ cold as he’s gotta be, he might even walk in an give ’ imself up.”
“Don’t bet on it. He knows his sorry butt’s gonna hang if he’s caught.”
Cantrell, holding a sober look, said, “A man gits cold enough, seems like a rope would look mighty good.” He walked back a few yards, toed the stirrup, led Lingo’s horse to him, and reined his horse back down the road.
Lingo, leading his horse, warily approached the pile of boulders. Although he knew, within reason, that Bartow had vacated the spot from which he’d fired on them, his gut still tightened, but not enough to put the taste of brass at the back of his throat like fear usually did.
In the rocks, Barnes searched for cartridge casings, found three, then looked for signs that the Easterner had firewood. He found no tree bark to indicate Bartow had prepared to stay anywhere until he crossed the crest. Lingo smiled to himself. The man just flat out didn’t know this country, didn’t know how much snow he’d soon face, didn’t know the chances he’d take of sliding over the edge into nothingness on the icy surface. And he sure didn’t know the toughness of the two men following him. He gave a jerky nod, even though there was no one there to see it. “Yep, we gonna get you, Bartow. I just wish Em could be there to see you hang.”
Cantrell rode to the edge of the rocks, dragging a pine sapling about six inches in diameter behind his horse. In his arms, he had a load of branches. He grinned. “We gonna sleep warm tonight. An’ we gonna eat hot victuals. Doubt that man’s even got any provisions to fix for ’imself.”
Lingo looked at the wood, nodded, and looked at Cantrell. “Good work, amigo.” Then he glanced up the trail. “Figure he’s gonna run into snow pretty quick. It’ll take him a little while to get it through his thick city skull that he can’t get far before he’ll kill ’is horse—maybe himself. Then he’s gonna have one choice—come back down the mountain an’ take his chances against us.”
“Figger you’re right.” Quint smiled, and to Lingo’s thinking, that smile was colder than the snow and ice on which they stood.
Cantrell shrugged. “If I wuz gonna have to face two hombres like us, don’t know but what I’d try to go on up the mountain and chance the snow.”
Barnes laughed, and even to his ears it sounded as cold as Cantrell’s smile. “Either way, he’s gonna die. But we gotta be mighty careful from here on. If he comes back down, he’s gonna be crazy with fear. He’ll take chances no sane man would think o’ takin’.”
While they sat drinking their coffee, Lion suggested they take the big, luxurious coach so the ladies could be more comfortable, since it was a two-day trip from the ranch into town.
Elena shook her head. “Papa, it’d take us another day to make the trip that way. We’ll go horseback; in the end it’ll be easier on us.” Abruptly she frowned and looked at her mother, then at Kelly, Maddie, and Emily. “Oh there I go again. I s’pose I’m so anxious to see my big man I didn’t think of anyone else. Why don’t y’all have your say in this?”
None of them were anxious to spend more time on the road than they had to, so Elena won out, but not without a guilty feeling that she had unduly influenced them.
Lion sent word to Stick McClure, his wrangler, to have their horses ready soon after sunup—they’d each pack their own blanket roll. They each drank another cup of coffee, while Elena told them of the time she, Quint, and some of the crew shared a cabin, due to an early snowstorm, with several men who rode The Outlaw Trail.
She also told them she’d taken them out of town despite Cantrell’s saying they shouldn’t go. She and Quint had not been married then, and being the boss’s daughter, she won the argument.
After a few more stories, they went to their rooms. All seemed anxious to get on into town.
The two-day trip into town went without undue incident. They rode directly to the hotel, where Lion insisted on setting them up in rooms of his choice and on his account. He kept rooms there year round.
It was well past suppertime, but the dining room was kept open for them. None of the help seemed to mind, which surprised Emily, and she said so to Elena. In the short time they’d known each other, they had become quite close. Elena smiled. “Emily, Papa will leave them each more money than they make in a week.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t—for that matter none of us would—keep these people working late like this if we thought for one minute even one of them minded. They need the money, Mama and Papa have the money, and they like to make sure it goes where it’ll do some good.”
She smiled. “Many of them knew Papa when he didn’t have more than the next payday. Then he met Mama, and she wouldn’t let him ride on down the trail. She captured him much like I did Quint.” She looked Emily straight in the eye. “Emily, that doesn’t sound very ladylike, but when you meet your man, you’ll know it.” She chuckled. “And I’ll say it like Quint would, ’Git your rope round ’im, woman, pull it up tight, an don’t let ’im go fer nothin’.”
Emily thought how like Lingo Quint sounded, not in grammar, but in the way they thought. She put her head close to Elena’s. “He sounds an awful lot like my ma—” She cut herself short, then corrected herself. “That sounds like something Lingo would say.”
Elena showed a know-it-all smile. “And that sounds like something a woman in love would say.” Then despite Emily’s deep blush, she added, “If you need any help, Venetia and I are experts. We’ll capture that big man for you. We won’t let ’im get away.”
Emily’s blush, and her being on the verge of calling Lingo “her man” had shown she cared a great deal about him, and now she told herself the truth. She was in love with him. She looked Elena in the eye. “I guess I’m gonna need all the help I can get. He’s not said one word to make me think he cares about me.”
Before they could say more, Wes finished the last of his coffee, and pushed back from the table. “Gonna go see Marshal Nolan. Any o’ y’all wantta come with me? Gotta find out what Cantrell an’ Barnes went outta here for, an’ who they’re chasin’.”
Elena and Emily nodded and stood. “We’ll go,” they said in unison.
On the way out, Wes paid for their supper, despite Elena protesting that Lion would take care of it. He left a sizable tip also.
In Nolan’s office, he made sure the women sat in the only two chairs with which his office was furnished. The grizzled old lawman swept them with a glance. “Know what you’re here for, an’ I’ll tell you right now, Cantrell an’ Lingo headed outta here for Silverton. They wuz after an Eastern man by the name o’ Bartow.”
He looked at Emily. “Reckon you’re the young lady Lingo told me about. He finally figured it wuz that man Bartow what had you taken off that stagecoach.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t reckon he’s any closer to findin’ your pa. Him an’ a feller by the name o’ Sam Slagle’s been tryin’ to find ’im.”
“Sam and my father are over at the hotel with Lion and Venetia McCord, along with Kelly and a woman by the name of Maddie who took good care of Papa.”
Nolan smiled. “That right? Well, when we get more time I wantta hear how y’all come to git together, but for right now, I’m gonna say how happy I am fer you, young’un. That’s had Lingo some worried. Now all we got to do is wait for your men to bring Bartow back down the mountain.” He frowned, then nodded. “Yeah, reckon they had to go on toward the pass chasin’ him or they’d a been back by now.”
Wes slipped his Colt out of its holster, then settled it back carefully, gently. “How long they been gone?”
Nolan shook his head. “No, no, you don’t, you young hellion. You ain’t goin’ up yonder after ’em. They been gone a couple o’ days; don’t
figger you could catch ’em anyway.”
Elena hadn’t taken her eyes off of Wes since he’d toyed with his handgun. “Wes, don’t you think Lingo and Quint can handle it alone, or are you so much like them you can’t stand the thought of them getting into some action and leaving you out of it?”
He grimaced. “Well, hell, Miss Elena, ’scuse me fer cussin’, but you know danged well they coulda used me up yonder.” He grinned. “An’ yes’m, reckon I’m sorta put out that they didn’t take me with ’em.”
Elena chuckled deep in her throat. She looked at Emily. “See the kind of thing you’ll have to put up with?”
Wes stared at the two of them. “What you mean?” He pinned Emily with a know-it-all look. “You done admitted to Elena how you feel ’bout Lingo?”
Emily felt her face turn hot. Right here before a total stranger they’d stripped her bare. Didn’t these people think anything was private—sacred? “Mr. Wesley Higgins, I don’t see that it’s any of your business what Elena and I have discussed.”
As soon as she blew up at him, she was sorry. “Oh, Wes, I just can’t get used to everyone knowing, or guessing my innermost feelings. I’m sorry.”
“De nada, reckon I should learn to keep my mouth shut.” He gave her a shy grin. “Least ways that’s what Kelly tells me.” He twisted to look at Nolan.
“Well, Marshal, reckon ’tween you an’ Emily you done put me in my place. I’ll stay here in town another day, then if they ain’t showed up, I’m goin’ lookin’ fer ’em.”
Nolan nodded toward the door. “Now why don’t y’all go back to the hotel an’ get a good night’s sleep. If your men show up, I’ll send ’em right over so won’t any o’ you worry.”
When they went out the door, Wes said over his shoulder, “Buy you a drink later. I’ll be over at Miss Barret’s Golden Eagle.”