Chance Reilly

by Patrick Lindsay

  Sherriff Stanton remained lost in his thoughts as he approached the Carson ranch. He turned through the gate and noticed that nothing seemed in good repair on the place. The gate hung loosely on its hinges and didn’t appear to swing more than a foot or two in either direction. The grass was grown up in front of the house and he could see no cattle. Two horses were tied to the porch rail in front of the house. He pulled up, keeping both hands in the air where they could see clearly that he was not holding a gun. He had left his rifle back at the jail, and his pistol remained in the holster. He sat motionless for perhaps thirty seconds, hands remaining in the air as he called out to the house.

  The sheriff never heard the shot that killed him. It rang out from the house through an open window. The bullet struck him squarely in the heart and he was dead before he slumped backwards off his horse and hit the ground. His horse shied away, then moved over and began cropping the overgrown grass in the yard.

  Jack Carson pushed the window shut and propped his rifle against the wall near the door, where it had been until just a minute or two earlier. He watched through the window for another minute or two until he was satisfied that Stanton had come alone. He came back to the table and drained his glass, then stared at Santos, who sat across the table, saying nothing. Jack Carson reached for the bottle again, then looked over at Santos. “Bury him.” Santos nodded and left the room. Carson refilled his glass.

  The Sangre de Cristo pass was two days behind me as I rode down the main street in Denver. The nights had been cold, but I found I got happier with each step Archie took away from those mountains. It had been a pretty chancy thing to go up there on my own, and I know I’d had more than my share of luck. I’d found those two partly refined balls of gold left behind by someone else, and I’d found a good site and made another ball and a half or so of my own. And most importantly, I’d come away with my hair. That was the best part.

  I’d had my eyes open for a mining supply store as I rode up the Denver main street, but it was a busy town and I decided I needed to ask if there was a new mining store around. It occurred to me that I didn’t know Tim’s last name. I swung Archie over to a railing in front of a general store when a sign on the side street caught my eye. “Tim Mulder: Mining Supplies.” I swung Archie around, keeping Fred in close behind, and tied off at the railing outside the store. I lifted my heavy saddle bags off Archie and carried them through the door.

  “Hey! Chance! Still got your scalp! How’d it go?” Tim crossed the room in a couple steps and wrung my hand. He stepped back and eyed the saddle bags, his eyebrows lifted. “Any luck?” There was no one else in the store, but I still found myself glancing around before answering. Tim followed my glance around the room then motioned toward a side door. “We can go in my office if you want to talk. I’ll hear the bell if anyone comes in.”

  We went into the office and sat down on either side of an old desk. I thumped the saddlebags down on the desk, and his eyebrows lifted again. Tim didn’t make a move toward the bags so I opened them, took out one of the gold balls and handed it to him. Tim tested the weight in his hand and swung toward the light to examine it. “Nice.” He set the ball down on the desk and opened the bags. He reached inside and lifted the other three out, once again testing the weights and looking at them in the light. Finally he set the last one down, leaned back in his chair and whistled. “Two more the size of the first one and another half that size. You did all this in a few weeks?”

  I shook my head and had started to answer when a bell from the front door interrupted us. Tim stood and motioned at me to keep my seat. “I’ll see what they want and come right back” he told me, then left, closing the door behind him. I sat in my chair and fidgeted, wondering what they were worth. I had little appetite for going back for more of them if they weren’t worth what I hoped. Eventually the door opened again and Tim took his seat across the desk from me. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for me to tell him the story.

  I began by explaining how I had found the cave with the first two balls of gold, and how I had eventually decided to keep them. He nodded. “Nobody left those if they were able to come back for them” he assured me. “Too much money to leave behind. Either the Apaches got them somewhere out in the mountains, or they left for some reason and couldn’t find their way back. Either way, they’re yours now, fair and square.” I nodded and finished the story by telling him how I’d mined and processed the last one and a half balls, with a short account of my skirmish with the Apaches.

  Tim studied my face while I talked, and when I was done there was a small smile on his face. “Well,” he said eventually, “you’ve been a little busy. What do you want to do with these now?” “Sell them” was my immediate answer. “That’s my nest egg for the future, and I don’t feel like lugging these things around. Can you put me in touch with someone?” He nodded absently. “I can.” He seemed to stare at the wall behind me for a while, then cleared his throat and looked back at me.

  “I can put you with someone who will buy these” he said eventually, “and I think they’ll give you a fair price. The only thing might be that word will get out where it came from, and you might have to deal with people following you around and prying in to where it came from.” He paused. “There’s one other thing we can do, and the choice is yours.” I said nothing and waited for him to continue. “I can buy these things,” he said eventually. “I would pay a little less than you could probably get from someone else. But, if I buy it, no one will know where it came from and you can leave here with nobody on your trail.”

  I asked the obvious question: “How much would you give me for them?” Tim looked me in the eye without blinking. “$5,000. You could probably get five or six hundred more if you go through someone else. Up to you how much you want to slide by without anyone noticing all that money.” It dawned on me I knew nothing about how to get paid that much money or what to do with it, so I asked that next. Tim put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. “I could give it to you in U.S. Banknotes this afternoon if you want,” he said. “If you do not want the money to spend right now, that might work for you. You could open an account at the bank and put most of it in there. You might want a couple hundred in gold dollars for spending. Do you have a bank you use?”

  I shook my head no. “We could walk across the street now and open an account for you at my bank—Colorado National Bank. You could have the money there this afternoon. If’n you want gold dollars, that might take a few days but we could do it. What do you say?” I thought it over for a minute while Tim went out to check on another customer. I realized that I didn’t know much about banking and finance and didn’t know anyone else in the entire state of Colorado, so I decided I had to trust Tim. When he came back through the door, I stood up and extended my hand. “Deal.”

  We crossed the street and I walked out about forty minutes later, $5,000 richer and with 100 gold coins in my bags. First I needed a place to stay, so I headed down the street with my bags and walked into Parker’s Boarding House. Ma Parker was behind the desk, but I didn’t think she’d remember. She looked me over as I walked up to the desk and asked for a room. “Chance Reilly?” I nodded; surprised that she had remembered me. She signed me into a room, then reached behind her and pulled out a letter. “I knew the face but wouldn’t have known the name. My memory ain’t that good, except this came for you a few weeks ago.”

  I took the letter, noticing it was written in feminine handwriting. My pulse quickened a bit as I scanned the letter and came to the name at the bottom. All thoughts of staying around to celebrate in Denver left my mind. It was from Kate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kate glanced through the kitchen window, surveying the yard and the porch. Things had been quiet for the last week, but still none of them believed this was over. Her father Jim sat in a chair at the corner of the porch, rifle by his side. He sipped a cup of coffee but his eyes never stopped travelling over the lower pasture and the trees surrounding it
. A second visit from Doc Chapman had confirmed that the leg was healing. A slight limp might be par for the course from now on, but Kate knew he would never let it slow him down. Her eyes travelled to the other corner of the porch, where Sam sat with his rifle across his lap. He had been a fixture at the ranch since the day her father had been shot, and she knew they wouldn’t have survived without him.

  Mike had been at the ranch from time to time. They had debated whether he should return to town and keep the saloon open, but the risk was too great. The Carsons may not know that Mike had been in on the gunfire in the ranch yard, but they would probably suspect, and that would be enough for them to take action. Mike had been very valuable as it was, making an occasional trip to town for ammunition and supplies. He had been to see Sheriff Stanton to make a report on the attack last week, and was planning to return for a couple days, later on that night. Luckily there was plenty of ammunition in the storeroom at the saloon, and he was able to get food supplies at night from the grocer. They were hoping for news on the sheriff’s action concerning the Carsons, if he had taken any.

  Kate’s thoughts returned to Chance Reilly and the letter she had sent him. She was anxious to know if he’d received the letter and if he was coming. Beyond that, though, she was worried about what he would walk into to if he simply showed up at the ranch. She had sent the letter before open hostilities had erupted. He might have no way of knowing that he could be the target in a shooting gallery. She walked over to the dining room table and sat down with a cup of coffee. She had talked to Sam a couple days ago to tell him about the cave in the hills where she had gone with Chance. She had thought this might be a way to meet up, and Chance, if he came, and might even find a way to mount a surprise counterattack on the Carsons, should they come back.

  Sam had listened carefully and asked a few questions. In the end he’d pointed out that it was guesswork on when Chance would get the letter and come, and that it would also divide their forces. If another attack were to be mounted when two of them were up in the cave, it would probably be the end for whoever was left behind. Kate had agreed with the logic of what he’d pointed out. In the end though, if she felt certain that if Chance had returned to the area, she would find a way to get a message to him in the cave.

  I tore my eyes from the name at the bottom of the letter and began to read:

  Dear Chance,

  When you left, you told me that you would absolutely come to help if I ever had need. I

  never dreamed that day could come so soon, but it seems I wasn’t seeing Yates or his

  brothers very clearly. Things have changed so suddenly since you left.

  Sam says the Carson brothers are both in town now, and he is convinced they will move against us. Sam and Dad were setting up defense positions in the ranch yard today, and we’re pretty much expecting them to come any time.

  Sam and his nephew Mike will help us, but we’re not sure how many we are up against.

  Probably Red is with them, and maybe others. We will seek help from Sheriff Stanton

  but I’m sure you know he is reluctant to help.

  Will you come to help us? I would be so comforted by your presence, both to defend the

  ranch and to be here with me.

  Kate.

  I felt anger rushing through me as I turned to look at Ma Parker. She took a look at my face and took a step or two back from the counter. I stopped to get a grip on myself, and then looked back at her. “Can you tell me,” I said “how long ago this letter came for me?” Ma wrinkled her brow in thought and stared at the floor. “I would say,” she said eventually, “about two or three weeks ago.”

  My heart sunk and I stood indecisively for a few moments. Ma stood there and watched me out of the corner of her eye. Finally I pushed the sign-in sheet back in her direction. “Thanks Ma,” I said. “I won’t be staying here this time around after all.” She nodded and took the sheet back. I scooped up my Winchester and saddle bags and headed back for the door. “Good luck” I heard her call after me. I waved the hand carrying the saddle bags in the air as I headed through the door.

  I stood on the sidewalk outside the boarding house and collected my thoughts. It was two days of hard riding to get back to Cimarron and I’d pushed Archie and Fred pretty hard to get here. I was going to need to sell Fred, make sure Archie was well fed and watered, then get some supplies before heading out. I headed for the livery stable, and made a mental note to make the general store my next stop. Right after food, ammunition was going to be at the top of my list.

  Mike let himself in the back door at the saloon quietly. It had taken a couple days at the Randolph ranch before Sam had finally decided it was safe for him to come back into town. He’d been to the general store to get some food, and had talked to the owner and his wife. Sheriff Stanton had not been seen or heard from in nearly a week. Word had spread around town about the attack on the Randolph ranch, and the general opinion was that the sheriff had intended to go to see the Carson brothers about it. Mike shook his head as he eased inside the back door. He had passed along Sam’s words of caution about the Carsons, but the sheriff had always done things his own way. It may have cost him his life. So far, nobody in town had wanted to look for the sheriff.

  Mike lit an oil lamp and placed it in the store room, pushing the door nearly closed as he moved along the shelves, taking down boxes of ammunition for the rifles, as well as the revolvers that both he and Sam carried. So far they still had plenty of ammunition. He and Sam had decided to bring most of what they had left out to the Randolph ranch. They could always transport it back in the happy event they didn’t need it.

  The news most disturbing to Mike was the tidbit passed along by the storekeeper about the last sighting of Caleb Carson. Word was he had been seen passing along the road south to Mora, where it was known the Carsons had a cousin and a couple of partners who weren’t exactly known for conducting themselves on the sunny side of the law. If a couple new gun hands were to come, it looked very bleak for the Randolphs as well as he and Sam. Absorbed in his thoughts as he stuffed a couple boxes of cartridges in his sack, Mike suddenly froze as he heard a slight noise coming from the back door. He eased his gun from the holster and listened. He heard a slight knock from the door again. Gun in hand, he eased out of the storeroom and toward the door.

  I rode down the main street in Cimarron, wondering whether or not it was a good idea. It was dark and the street was quiet, but all the same, there were a number of people I didn’t want to see. Either of the remaining Carson brothers, for starters. Sheriff Stanton, for another. That being said, I needed information and I’d already seen that the saloon was closed. I’d hoped to have a word with Sam to get up to speed on some things. I wasn’t careless enough to ride up to the Randolph ranch and knock on the door. There was no telling what might have happened out there. I swung Archie into the alley in back of the stores and rode up to the back door of the saloon.

  As I swung down from the saddle, I thought maybe I saw a bit of light escaping under the back door. Easing my Colt into my hand, I stepped up and tried the door. It was locked. I thought about my options, then tapped on the door with my gun and stepped back, moving a little to the side. The door swung open slowly and I recognized Sam’s nephew Mike, also holding a gun, partially shielded by the door. We both breathed a sigh of relief and I stepped into the saloon, holstering my gun as I came inside.

  We dragged a table and a couple chairs into the storeroom so we could have some light and still have a seat. Mike broke out some whiskey and spent about 45 minutes bringing me up to speed on the things that had happened since I’d left. He finished by telling me that Sheriff Stanton had disappeared after being appraised of the situation at the Randolph’s, and that Caleb Carson was thought to be bringing in more gunmen from Mora. I rolled my whiskey glass across my forehead and thought about what he’d told me.

  “It seems to me,” I said, “that if those three from Mora haven’t arrived yet, we might be abl
e to stop them on the road and persuade them to go back to Mora. Are you in on that?” Mike grinned slowly and nodded. “How are you fixed for weapons?” he asked. I told him I had the Colt he’d already met plus my Winchester. “I could let you have a shotgun from the back room,” he told me. “That makes a mighty good persuader, don’t you think?” I agreed that it did. I told him I needed some sleep, having been on the road for two days. We made plans to be up early and see if we could turn back the gunmen coming from Mora.

  Morning found me stationed at a bend in the trail a few miles south of town. I chose to stay out of sight, and sat on Archie in a stand of juniper trees to the side of the trail. Mike was dismounted and had placed himself across the road seated on a rock behind a fallen tree, his rifle resting across the tree with a clear field of fire across the trail. We had arrived at daybreak and had been there for a couple hours now, with only one traveler passing by us, no doubt unaware of our presence. Archie was cropping what vegetation he could find beneath the trees, and I was beginning to wonder if this was a waste of time.

  I was glancing over towards Mike’s position when I sensed that Archie’s head had come up and had swung toward the road in front of me. I saw a bit of dust in the air and watched as three horses and riders became visible, coming in our direction. My gaze swung back to Mike and I saw that he was tracking their movement through the scope in his rifle. As they drew closer, I could see that each was wearing a pistol and carried a rifle in a scabbard on the horses. I decided they were worth checking out, and as they drew close I picked up the reins and nudged Archie into the trail in front of them. My shotgun lay low across the saddle, but I needed to lift it only a few inches to have them covered.