Chapter 14 #2
As she lay down, Owen and Morgan returned. She watched them move about the camp, splitting up night-watch duty. Sighing silently, Delaney wondered what love was exactly. She felt so much. She wanted to take care of him. Talk to him about his lost friend, kiss him again . . .
For a few seconds, Owen, ready to leave the camp and take up the watch for the Duncans who were coming after them, probably looked at her for too long.
She was bathed in shadows in the night. Could he see her watching him?
Did he want to come over where she lay near Boone and ask how she was feeling?
It was hard to know since he didn’t do it. Instead, he waved at her, a little salute to what was between them. She lifted her hand in response, surprised that his vision was sharp enough to see her eyes were open, that she was staring at him.
A firm jerk of his chin said he was thinking of what had passed between them. He was remembering that he’d told her he finally had a reason to stop wandering. He’d said a lot and yet not much. He was a confusing man.
Her ma had managed for years with a wandering man. The love they’d shared had survived all of those years. But Delaney had witnessed Ma’s loneliness. Did she want to start up a life that followed the same path as her ma’s?
A week ago she’d’ve said no. Absolutely no! Now, if that life was with Owen and she felt the abandonment her ma must’ve felt, but it was for a special man she loved and respected and was willing to wait for . . . her no was far from absolute.
Closing her eyes to break the connection with him, she thought maybe yes. And with that turmoil and attraction and doubt, she fell into a sleep haunted by dreams of being alone in a wild land.
Grizzly and Hester got an early start. They’d eaten breakfast, bought supplies from the general store, had their horses saddled and packed, and were riding out of town just before sunrise.
They found the turnoff to the west and took a good look at the tracks and bloodstains once more before setting off into the mountains.
Grizzly headed straight for a mountain that looked too steep to climb. She admitted to a few qualms.
Before they began climbing, Hester saw something that about scared her to death. “Grizzly, look at this.” She pointed at the spot.
Her husband drew his horse to a stop and stared down at a freshly dug grave.
Someone had been killed. Had it been one of her kids? Was it Boone or Delaney lying cold and dead here beneath the ground? Then she studied the tracks again and knew.
“It’s the same men who attacked Pa. Mind the tracks. They’re coming straight from over the crest where they lay in wait like the low-down cowards they are.”
Grizzly headed up the steep slope, his horse walking as if he were climbing a set of invisible stairs. The critter must be following a scent because there was no visible trail, and yet the mountainside was passable enough as her horse followed Grizzly’s without any hesitation.
Before long they reached the top of the cliff they’d just walked up, and Grizzly said, “It’s just the beginning.”
“Do you see all these tracks?”
Grizzly pulled his horse to a stop. “I do.” Together they stared at the ground.
“It looks like Morgan is headed for home, and he led a parade up that cliff.” He swung down next to a patch of blood on the ground.
“If they were being pursued, and they made it to the top—which it looks like they did—then they’d’ve found cover.
It appears someone here, watching their back trail, killed one of their attackers. ”
Hester rode beside him as they picked up a trail with the hoofprints of different horses. Likely the riders were her children, their Marshal escorts, and the men pursuing them.
It didn’t take long for the trail of the lead party to vanish, while the folks who were following them were easily tracked. Whoever the varmints were, they’d worked hard to follow the trail they were on but hadn’t bothered to cover their own tracks.
“Let’s keep going, Grizzly. Get to those outlaws before they catch up to our youngsters.”
Grizzly fell in beside her, and on the stony, steep path, the two of them pushed as hard as they dared. And maybe a little harder.
“They went over the cliff right here.” Owen couldn’t read the signs as well as Morgan, although no one could, so he didn’t let it bother him overly.
But he could read it well enough. Especially since Tex’s hat was lying on the ground here, and his rifle was on the ground far below. On the shore of a river.
At least Tex’s body wasn’t down there. He must’ve hit water. Stella too. If they survived the fall, they had a chance.
“We can’t get down there.” Morgan lifted his eyes, and the frustration in them was vivid, almost frightening.
Owen might’ve been frightened if he didn’t know his friend so well.
“Let’s get back to camp. Get the two prisoners we’ve got down out of these mountains and get on the trail to Fort Russell. We’ve got no choice but to ride up there and deliver the Bridgers and the prisoners, then come back and search for Tex.”
Morgan said, “I think we should start our search on the far side, because if Tex can, he’ll get to the other side, climb out, and head for Fort Russell. Maybe he’ll beat us there.”
Their gazes met. Neither of them believed it’d be that easy. Assuming Tex had survived the fall, he had no supplies, no horse, and likely no weapons either.
And somewhere out here, the rest of the Duncan Gang still roamed.
Maybe still on foot, but stealing horses was an easy enough trick if they could find some.
The trail they’d followed to come to Roz’s place was rugged and stony.
Very hard to follow, especially on foot.
Tex had brought up the rear, and he’d done his best to hide their tracks.
But they had a herd of horses with them and three wounded riders—four counting Tex, which Owen tended to forget about.
He’d as good as shaken off the bullet graze to his arm.
Following that trail would slow the Duncans down but not stop them.
“Do you know how to get out of these mountains?”
Morgan looked a little sheepish. “Roz does.”
Owen sighed, reached down, and picked up Tex’s hat. He’d loved that hat. That’s when he caught himself thinking of Tex as if he were dead. Well, he wasn’t.
If he’d gotten himself into a tight spot, they’d find him and drag him out of it, then find that no-good Stella Duncan. She was to blame for this since she’d been in on the escape and was the one Tex had gone after.
Owen looked forward to seeing Stella locked up along with her no-account family, a bunch of outlaws. “Let’s get back,” he said.
“Grizzly, there’s a campsite.” Hester pointed to a thick grove of trees.
They swung down and hitched their horses so they could munch on the grass. It was time for a break anyway. This was the second camp they’d come upon. The crew who’d shot at her children had been working out a trail mighty slow, not caring that they were leaving their tracks behind them.
Grizzly and Hester walked into a small clearing with the remnants of a fire left behind for all to see.
“The embers are stone-cold. I’d say this isn’t from last night.” Hester noticed where four men had bedded down. They were good at setting up camp, like men who’d done it a lot.
Grizzly laughed as he wandered around the edges of the campsite.
Hester found the laughter jarring considering how serious their business was. But she knew Grizzly. Whatever had tickled him would be worth checking out.
She went over to where the group of riders had picketed their horses.
Once there, she saw the tracks of horses as they were being led away on what she figured to be a saddle string.
Riderless horses judging from the tracks, which showed a lighter weight than what the horses had carried before.
And it looked like two men had walked away on foot from the camp.
“Look,” Grizzly said, pointing. “Saddles left lying there on the ground, as well as bridles and a fair amount of supplies. Someone must’ve stole their horses.” Which was something Delaney might do.
“Started with four of ’em in the camp, but then two walked away for some reason.
And then there’s these tracks.” Grizzly crouched down and brushed his hand over one of the hoofprints.
“This horse here led the way up the first cliff and has been in the front of the pack ever since. I’d say this is Morgan Sawyer slipping into the camp.
The hoofprints right alongside tell me someone came in with Sawyer and rode out bringing up the rear.
This second rider was with Morgan for certain. ”
Hester nodded. “Probably another Marshal. I doubt they’d let a civilian, even one as talented as Boone, ride out to capture prisoners.
Sawyer is leading them all to his home. I’d say he and his fellow Marshal came back to see how close their pursuers were.
They stole the men’s horses and took two of them captive. ”
“It’s all easier to read now,” Hester said.
“Morgan and the Marshals were doing excellent work covering their trail from the first, but now with a saddle string, it’s much harder to hide.
And the men chasing on foot are leaving an even more noticeable trail.
We can catch up to walking men a whole lot faster. ” She was ready to move on.
“If there are two of them,” Grizzly said, “maybe we can just sweep them up and bring them along as prisoners for when we catch up to Boone and Delaney.”
The trail was narrow, so Hester fell in behind Grizzly.
“You said Morgan’s good in the wilderness? You met him during the war, is that right?”
“I did, but I didn’t know him much then.
I’d heard his name, and I figured he was the youngster I’d known when I roamed these hills long ago.
Morgan started out as a drummer, just a kid, maybe fifteen years old.
I told him I knew his pa. He said they’d parted on bad terms because his brother was fighting for the South, while Morgan had signed up for the North.
He ended up as a sharpshooter, and I doubt he was even sixteen yet.
I don’t know how good he is on a trail, but I doubt his pa would let his boys grow up without teaching them such skills. ”
“U.S. Marshals are strong, savvy men.” Hester had known a few. “Looks like they’re thinning the herd. Least we can do is try and help ’em.”