“So, you would not suggest we track them?” Pope asked.
“Let’s see what the blizzard gives us. I suspect your grandfather could track them in this weather, given planning and supplies. If he taught you like he seems to have, you could probably trail them and survive, even if the people you were after didn’t.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Pope said. He looked at Sarah who shook her head “no” and made a gun with her hand and pretended to shoot him in the leg with it.
Akin gathered what their earlier conversation must have been and smiled. Beautiful or not, he would not want to cross Sarah Watson. He had just seen her draw, fire and kill a man. She did it far faster than he could. He was pretty sure she took half the time he needed to do the same thing.
The snow continued to come down lightly and the weather got colder.
Late in the afternoon, Pope and Sarah met with both the sheriff and Akin.
“I’m thinking they only have a four-day jump on us. They don’t know we are on to them and bad weather seems to be setting in. Sarah and I are thinking about going to the ranch and picking up the mule. We could use him as a pack animal with some serious camping gear on a sawbuck packsaddle. I saw one in the stable there. We will pick up a tent, cook gear and food, and axe. We could take both dry fuel for fires, a small keg of water and feed for the mule and horses.
I suspect they are hunkered down. We have a one-time opportunity to locate them. Whether we engage with them depends on the situation on scene. It might include their condition when and if we find them, or how we perceive their aggression. If we get into weather which is too rough, we will have the gear to settle in and wait. Or turn around and come back to the ranch. Sheriff, do you think it’s doable?” Pope said.
“Pope, I see your point, but only if the weather doesn’t get worse. If this thing becomes a big blizzard, it would be foolhardy to start out in it. Two good detectives dying isn’t worth the chance of catching six or seven bad men. I think we should revisit it tomorrow morning. I agree, the outlaws are probably hunkered down wondering where their next meal is coming from right now.
In the meantime, I’d like for the four of us to continue interrogating these prisoners. And y’all ought to plan on getting some rooms at a hotel tonight.” Sharple looked at Sarah who nodded in full agreement.
Pope nodded his acceptance of the wisdom the local lawmen proffered. It was just so hard to sit when there were fugitives, perhaps within a day’s reach. But, nobody knew how bad the storm was going to be yet. Another night should not make a significant difference.
They continued to work their way through the interrogations. The rest of the men corroborated what Shorty had said. All four of the questioners agreed the ones in custody were rustlers, not shooters. The man who pulled the Derringer was an aberration. He panicked. The rest just wanted to steal cattle and got hoodwinked into the stage and train robberies. Once they realized the other gang with which they combined forces was violent, they kicked the others out.
In the accounting, Pope and Sarah began to see the larger part of the stolen treasure was stolen by the violent gang after the break-up. The four thousand dollars recovered was half of the take until then.
Subtracting their four thousand from the total of twenty-three proved the others were still in possession of nineteen thousand dollars. The detectives and their local law enforcement counterparts surmised there was nowhere to spend the money. It should be retrievable as long as they apprehended them before they reached a place to spend it, such as a town or trading post.
They walked back outside for Horatio Akin to roll a cigarette. The wind was so strong, he had to roll and light it inside.
“This storm is not letting up, John,” Sarah said. “We’d better try to get some rooms like the sheriff said, before they are all sold out.”
He agreed and they walked down the street to the Western Hotel, leaning against the strong wind and blowing snow.
They took the last two rooms. They only had trail gear with their horses. Their long guns were still at the Sheriff’s Office. They would retrieve those before returning for the night. A change of clothes for tomorrow would be nice, but shops were starting to close an hour early.
They walked back and told Akin they had found rooms and were going to get dinner while they still could.
Ramsey’s Restaurant was still open. They had steaks and potatoes and coffee before returning to the office to pick up their long guns.
People were starting to crowd into the hotel due to the inclemency of the weather. There were many new people in the fast-growing city of Cheyenne. They had not experienced a winter there and feared the worst.
The two moved into their rooms then met in Pope’s room. They thought, if they had to be summoned by the sheriff or Wells Fargo, it would be where the knock on the door came. Pope would just crack the door, keeping Sarah out of sight.
The room was still fairly chilly. Sarah got an additional blanket from the wardrobe and placed it on the bed. Stripping down to her shift, she crawled in and soon the top of her dark hair was the only proof the long lump under the covers was her. Pope followed suit and soon there was just one big lump in the covers.
Soon, there was a light snoring under the covers. Pope chuckled to himself at his sleeping beauty partner’s snores. An elbow in the ribs proved she was not fully asleep.
She obviously did not appreciate any recognition of her snoring. Still laughing to himself, he rolled over. Soon, she was pressed against his back sleeping soundly. And very happily.
A look out of the window at dawn showed the storm had passed and less than a foot of snow was on the streets of Cheyenne. They were not sure of the conditions further north in the plains.
“Want to go to your room and we can conveniently meet to go downstairs for breakfast?” Pope asked.
“Not yet,” she said as she kissed her partner. “Maybe in a half hour.”
Roughly half an hour later, she rolled over and said, “Aren’t you glad we didn’t go running off in the blizzard?”
“I am.”
“You know, you should listen to your forever partner,” she suggested.
“Umhmm.”
“Pretty noncommittal,” she said.
“No, it was a positive response. I just didn’t use words.”
She punched him in the shoulder lightly.
“Now, I’m hungry,” she said. He was sleeping already. She shook him awake and they went downstairs for breakfast.
After, they checked out of the hotel and advised at the Sheriff’s Office they were heading to the ranch.
They arrived at the EB Carson ranch midday. The road was worn by Indians, bison, and settlers. The horses did not have a hard time transiting it. They packed the sawbuck pack saddle on the mule, spoke with Willy and Roscoe and headed north.
Pope did not expect to find any tracks or people the first day.
Towards dusk, they found a likely camping place. It was his favorite kind. Off the road, on a rise, and by a stand of trees. The latter always a good find in the prairie.
He did his half mile circle to make sure the rustlers nor other hostiles were in the immediate area.
Sarah gathered wood to save the fuel they had brought. She broke longer limbs with the axe and took a trowel to make a fire pit. Pope taught her it used less fuel. More importantly, it emitted less smoke to give away their position.
She used the big Bowie from his saddlebag to shave a dry twig and make a fuzz stick. One Lucifer had her fire going in the larger pit. It drew air in through the tunnel from the smaller hole.
By the time Pope got back and pronounced their site seemed safe, she was getting bacon out and getting ready to mix water and cornmeal for fry bread in the iron skillet after the bacon grease lubricated it.
While she did the cooking, Pope put the iron coffee pot on and set up the tarp as a lean-to. He moved saddles, long guns and their bedrolls under it.
Pope and Sarah were never happier
than when they were together. They were very compatible trail and camp partners and enjoyed the meal.
They spoke for a while, then turned in. It had been a long day with a lot of riding. Both were asleep quickly. Pope arose once to stoke the fire. He was up before dawn and put coffee on. Breakfast would be reheated left over bacon and cornbread.
As the sun rose, they were several miles into the ride north. They rode all day, seeing nothing. The camp and meal were just as the one before.
Pope built a reflector behind the campfire to reflect heat into their lean-to. He cut the thick branches longer to be able to push the unburnt ends into the fire. It would allow stoking the fire without getting up.
They were covered by blankets and a waterproof tarp. Luckily, no precipitation was falling. They slept well and prepared to hit the trail early. Pope studied the map.
“Sarah if we continue due north to the North Platte River, we can stop at the old trapper’s post and stage station at Deer Creek. It has a telegraph. We could wire Ft. Federman. It’s on the N. Platte about maybe thirty miles from where we’ll be. We can ask if men meeting the description of our fugitives have ridden in to get out of the storm. We’ll swing through there either way. It’s a straight shot on what the map shows to be a bigger road than this trail will ever be. It goes directly to Cheyenne. We can regroup our thoughts there and see when we have to testify,” Pope said.
“You know what bothers me?” Sarah asked.
Without waiting for him to respond, she said “Why would Cigar Man and the one from Appalachia head north if New Mexico was where he wanted to go? I mean, it’s exactly the wrong way to ride!” she said.
“It’s been worrying me, too. He headed without gear into an oncoming storm and in a direction, which wouldn’t put him anywhere near a train of a big enough city to disappear in. Colorado was a lot closer. He could get a room in a sleazy part of Denver and nobody would pay him any attention. I’m beginning to think he’s just plain stupid. There was no call for him to panic. To this day, he has no idea we’re on his trail. There’s no way he could know. He’s got eighteen or nineteen-thousand dollars in bills and gold coins.”
“It’s perplexing. The trappers canoed the North Platte or hiked the Oregon, Mormon, or Bozeman Trails. There’s no riverboat service.
If he wanted to set up a camp along the faint trail where we are riding, why didn’t he take axes and a wagon and supplies? He sure had enough money.”
Without answers, they rode along.
Midday, they came upon a camp. There were three bodies. One was lying on the ground. Two were propped against trees, blankets wrapped around them for warmth.
The detectives dismounted to investigate the ghastly sight.
“This could be half his men,” Sarah said.
Though shivering uncontrollably and starting to turn a bluish tinge, the two against the trees were alive.
“My non-medical guess is he froze to death a few days ago. Nobody here looks like the cigar smoker,” Pope said, checking the prone one.
“Nor the Appalachian,” Sarah added.
“Their guns are still here. We better confiscate those and see if we can help these two survive,” Pope said.
Sarah found some rotten wood which was somewhat dry on the bottom. Instead of wasting valuable time to make a fuzz stick or pick up and sort dry kindling, she ripped a couple pages out of her notebook and balled them up. Within minutes, she had a fire going and was brewing hot coffee for the two men well on the way to death by freezing.
Pope was busy doing what the men should have done. He took the saddle blankets from their three rigs. He moved the two together near the new fire and rewrapped the blankets around them and then covered them with saddle blankets and one of his and Sarah’s tarps. He put their hats on their heads for additional warmth. Western men should have known better how to survive. And these were supposedly cowboys who tended herds in the cold. As they warmed, the teeth chatter subsided. Sarah made them drink their coffee warm instead of hot.
Soon, he felt they were out of danger of death. He began to speak with them as Sarah warmed cornbread and fried bacon for them.
Within several hours, the two men were able to speak a little. Their names coincided with three on the list of names Shorty provided during questioning.
“We had a discussion about whether to ride on or weather the storm. Rufus decided not to have a shoot-out over the money and he, Cletus and two others rode out. I think they were going to Deer Creek, then east past the fort. Rufus had originally told us when we were all going together, we’d head south to Denver. He said it would be a good place to hide.”
Each man had two hundred fifty dollars on his person. Pope put the money in an evidence bag.
“So, we have recovered a total of four thousand five hundred dollars out of nineteen thousand,” Sarah said as she entered the figure in her own notebook.
“Yes. For purposes of our investigative notes, I have no idea where in the prairie we are until we hit the North Platte River. Once there, we can estimate the distance south to here by the time it took to traverse it.”
“In other words, we are going to back into a wild-ass guess?” Sarah said with a mischievous grin.
“Exactly!” Pope said. “We have to estimate the location. We can’t say ‘found three fugitives somewhere,’” Pope said.
“What are we going to do with the men?” Sarah asked.
“As soon as they are ready to ride, we will have them put the corpse on his horse and we will escort them into Deer Creek. We will wire for the army to send a patrol to take them back to the brig. All of which will be after we see about Rufus, Cletus and the other two.”
“‘See about’ usually means killing, doesn’t it?” Sarah asked.
“We’ll see,” Pope shrugged.
Each of the detectives had a pair of nippers. The prisoners, who had recovered enough to represent a danger, spent the night handcuffed to each other. They had some spare feed for the men’s horses and Sarah melted snow in the coffee pot for water for the animals.
All had more coffee and a little more of the diminishing food, then turned in.
Pope and Sarah took turns sleeping.
They rode on the next morning, half expecting to find the bodies of Cigar Man, Appalachia, and one or two others along the way. They hit the south bank of the North Platte River at Deer Creek first.
They entered the little village, guns loose in their jacket pockets. There was a good chance they might encounter their fugitives.
The first place they went was the stage station. It was a Wells Fargo station. The telegraph was there. Before they wired the army, the detectives wanted to see if the rest of the fugitives were in Deer Creek.
The identified themselves to the manager.
“We are on the trail of some train and stage robbers and murderers. Has an older man and maybe three others ridden in the last three of four days?” Pope asked.
“We had some riders come in about three days ago. Cold and hungry. They went to the saloon and ate and drank themselves silly. Two are probably still there. The older one and another rode on the next morning,” the manager said.
“The older man who left. Did he smoke a cigar a lot?” Sarah asked.
“Yep. A real sweet-smelling one. Then, chewed on it so’s it would not go to waste.”
“How about the other man who left with him? Anything real memorable about him?” Pope asked.
“He talked like a real hillbilly,” the man said giving Pope exactly the answer he wanted. “He was short on temper. I was over at the saloon the first night. I thought he was going to shoot a fellow over cards. But the older one brought him under control with a couple of words,” the station manager said.
“Is there a lawman in Deer Creek?”
“No. Nearest law is down the river at Ft. Federman in the form of the army. Ain’t no civilian law up here yet. ‘Cept maybe you all. You got badges. It’s more than anybody else has.”
�
�Thanks. Would you walk over to the saloon and identify the other two to us? We will arrest them,” Sarah asked.
“I will walk over and point them out through the door and watch from outside. I don’t want to be in the gunfight.”
“Are you sure there will be one?” Pope asked.
“Pretty sure.”
“Can we leave our two prisoners handcuffed to the hitching rail and our heavy coats here? We need you to walk us over now and point out the two fugitives.” Pope said.
The man nodded and the two detectives transferred their revolvers into holsters and checked the loads of all four guns. Both repined their badges on the fronts of their lapels.
“How do you want to do this?” Sarah asked.
“How about you do the talking and I’ll back you up from about eight feet to your right rear?” Pope suggested.
“I’ll surprise them as a lady detective and you will shoot whoever needs it if they get out of hand?” she asked.
“Alright. Though, I’m sure you will hold your own when the shooting starts.”
“Thank you, my forever partner. Let’s do it!”
The manager led them over to the saloon. It was really cold without the heavy coats.
Both kept their hands in their jacket pockets to stay warm and flexible for gun handling.
The manager pointed out the two gang members from the door, then ducked out of sight.
“We don’t allow no women in here,” the barkeep yelled as Sarah paraded in, Pope flanking her to the side.
She pointed to the badge on her lapel.
“I don’t care...” the barkeep began.
“Shut the hell up or you will regret it for the rest of a very short life,” Pope told him. His voice was so deadly sounding it even gave Sarah a thrill.
“You two men sitting at the table. We are Wells Fargo detectives. You are under arrest for murder, train robbery, stage robbery and cattle rustling!”
They had enough alcohol to cloud reasoning, though not hamper alacrity.
One rose and began to draw.
Wyoming Shootout (Gun For Wells Fargo Book 2) Page 9