Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The news was a mule kick in the gut.
If what the judge said was correct, Sheila Burnett had been right to worry about her father.
And Caleb suddenly regretted every easy reassurance he’d given her outside on the boardwalk.
“How do you know they have Doc?”
“Yesterday morning, a miner named Smith came to town. He’s got a claim about ten miles east of here, not far from the Denver road. He’s been scratching out silver by himself for a couple of years. Some folks saw him riding out early with Doc.”
Caleb figured that was the miner Gabriel Rogers had seen at the livery stable.
“Not far outside of town, a pair of gunslingers were waiting for them.” The judge got up and poured himself another drink.
“What makes you think these were the same fellas you’re looking for?”
“It makes sense. When the Wells Fargo stage was held up two days ago, it was the bloodiest attack yet. The driver and the stage guard were killed. There was blood inside the coach as well. We don’t know the identity of the passenger yet, but it appears he was wounded and taken.
Probably for ransom. Smith’s claim is not a mile from where the stagecoach was found. Do I need to say more?”
Doc Burnett was the only sawbones within a hundred miles of Elkhorn. If the passenger was hurt and the outlaws wanted him alive, they’d come for Doc.
But when they didn’t need him anymore, his life wouldn’t be worth a Reb dollar.
And somewhere in town, Doc’s daughter was sitting alone, waiting for her father to come home.
“Anyone gone up to Smith’s cabin?” Caleb asked.
“My men were out there yesterday. No sign of him or anyone else.”
Damn. Caleb had been telling Sheila Burnett that Doc was fine, but he was wrong.
“What did you say to the daughter this morning?”
“Nothing of what I’m telling you. She’s better off not knowing.”
“I agree.” Caleb nodded to the judge. “I’ll go after them.”
“I thought you would.”
Patterson reached inside his desk again and produced a WANTED flyer. “This is a state-issued notice. The governor is offering a reward of a thousand dollars for the arrest and delivery of the leader of these outlaws and a hundred dollars for any gang member.”
“Them folks over at Wells Fargo must be leaning pretty heavy on him.”
“I’m sure you’re correct.” Patterson handed over the flyer. “But holdups across the state have become bloodier of late, and the governor wants people to feel safe traveling in Colorado. As do I.”
Caleb looked at the proclamation. It contained no sketches of the road agents. No names or descriptions.
“How could any bounty hunter prove he had the right fellas?”
“Recovering stolen property would be proof enough.”
“Do they even know how many men are riding with this gang?”
The judge shook his head. “Not with any certainty. Could be four. Could be a dozen or more. Each time, some of them stay in the woods. During a recent robbery, one of them was wounded, but the outlaws still escaped into the hills with the strong boxes. They seem to be very careful about concealing their identities.”
“But it’s definitely the same fellas?”
“That seems to be the case.”
“And you think they’re holed up somewhere near Devil’s Claw?”
“That’s as far as my men have tracked them. Beyond that…” Patterson shrugged. “That’s why I need you. A real tracker. Someone who can follow the scent and run them to ground.”
That was rugged country up there beyond Devil’s Claw.
Thick pine forests that suddenly ended at walls of rock that rose straight up a hundred feet or more.
Ravines and gulches that had snow and ice ten months of the year and flooding rivers the other two.
Trails that disappeared under ice or rock slides.
There were few better places to go if a man or a gang didn’t want to be found.
The kind of country Caleb understood as well as most men understood the streets of their own towns.
“And you want to get Doc back.”
“Absolutely. We need him in Elkhorn.” The judge motioned to the flyer in Caleb’s hand. “Bring Doc and the leader of those road agents, and I’ll give you thousand dollars of my own money as reward. And I have no preference how you bring that outlaw in.”
Serious money, Caleb thought.
“No preference. You mean dead or alive.”
“I have no desire to hamstring you, Marlowe. You might not have a chance to negotiate. Last night, with those six rustlers, I know it was killed or be killed. You did what you had to do. Now, I don’t know how many are up there, but you will undoubtedly find yourself outnumbered and outgunned.”
This wasn’t the first time.
And once, not so very long ago, Caleb would’ve ridden into a situation like that without a second thought.
“These are desperate men, and they are not just hiding themselves. They’re hiding all their ill-gotten gains. So I want you to know you have a free hand. And I’ll stand by that.”
Caleb was no bounty hunter. But if doing this job saved Doc’s hide as well as helping get the ranch up and running smoothly, then he was just fine with the arrangements.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that stepping back onto a trail like this might cost him something he’d only recently begun building.
“And that letter for Henry Jordan?”
“I’ll sign it now.” Patterson picked up his pen and scratched his name at the bottom. As he sealed it, he called to his secretary, who came running. “This goes to the governor in the next mail pouch.”
The judge held out his hand, and Caleb shook it.
“We have a bargain, and I trust you, Mr. Marlowe. I believe you will do right for me, for Doc, and for Elkhorn.”
Caleb strode out of the judge’s office, looking for the sheriff.
Pig Face was standing by himself. Neither man spoke, but the big guard spat contemptuously in the general direction of the spittoon.
He wasn’t finished with either one of them, Caleb thought as he descended the stairs and went out onto the street.
But he had more important things to take care of.
He crossed the busy street toward the livery stable, waiting as a wagon filled with sacks of flour lumbered past. Caleb considered all he had to do.
He needed to go back to the ranch for provisions and ammunition.
And while he was getting his horse, he also had to arrange for Gabriel to go out there and look after his dog and the cattle while he was away.
And somewhere in all of that, he needed to decide what to say to Sheila Burnett before riding into the mountains after her father.
Caleb stopped in front of the livery and gazed up at the mountain peaks to the east. Doc was his friend and in real danger. He wasn’t making less of that. But the thought of going out on the trail again made the blood pulse in his veins.
It was months since he’d been alone in the mountains, surrounded only by the tall trees and the cool breeze.
He missed the cold, clean taste of spring-fed water.
The smells of the pine forest. Of silence broken only by the chittering of birds and the rhythmic thudding of his horse’s hooves.
And the night sounds of wolves and owls and a crackling fire.
Staying in one place and ranching was a responsible thing for a man. But that other life—simple and pure and solitary—called to him still.
That was the trouble. Part of him still belonged to the mountains. But another part—one he barely recognized yet—wanted the ranch, the cattle, and the kind of future a man could have if he stayed put long enough.
Shaking off these thoughts, he went through the open doors of the livery stable and called out for Gabriel.
There was no sign of him or his father. Caleb’s buckskin gelding was tied in a stall next to a small paint, and he leaned his Winchester against the wall of the enclosure.
A sound behind him drew his attention. It wasn’t Gabe.
Out of the shadows came a young fellow, little more than a boy. He was wearing a battered old hat and wool coat that were both too big for him.
So was the Colt Dragoon in his hand. But he was having no trouble leveling it at Caleb’s chest.
“You killed my brother, mister.”