Chapter 13 #2
The thought of losing Sheila tightened something deep in his chest.
He was still a mile from town, and the trail was following the river.
Suddenly, Pirate’s ears flicked forward, and Caleb felt his hackles rise.
Reining in the gelding, he listened carefully but heard only the sound of the river flowing over the rocks.
Just ahead, the river widened out into a marshy area.
Scanning the forest around him, he saw nothing unusual. A squirrel was busily gathering nuts for the coming winter. Some black-capped chickadees were flitting about, as well as a pair of Gray Jays. But if he was heading into an ambush, he saw no sign of it yet.
Caleb unfastened the thong on one of his Colts and drew it slowly from its holster. Urging Pirate ahead, he kept his eyes in motion, scanning the shadows and dappled light coming through the trees.
When he passed a sapling, he saw it. It stood in the water on the far side of the marshy area, less than forty yards away. Way too close.
The moose raised his massive head and stared at Caleb. His majestic antlers spread close to seven feet across, and marsh grass hung from his muzzle. He wasn’t chewing. Just staring.
Caleb considered the chances of the beast charging. He knew from experience that there was no way of knowing how it would go.
Years ago, he and Old Jake had been leading a party up into the Montana gold fields.
One night, they’d camped alongside the shallow end of a broad lake.
The wise old frontiersman had wanted to bed down for the night on a rise some distance from the water, telling his charges they’d be pestered by bloodthirsty insects of every variety.
But the miners, exhausted from the trek, had simply thrown down their gear and set up camp close to the water.
Jake and Caleb had retreated to the rise for the night.
Just before dawn, the two scouts arrived to gather the travelers, only to find a bull moose standing in the shallows. Some of the miners lay wide-eyed in their bed rolls. Others stood frozen with fear at the sight.
Even in the dim light, Caleb saw the eyes of the moose widen, showing the whites.
His ears flattened back against his head, and the animal threw back his head like a horse.
That should have been warning enough. When he charged, the closest men to the water couldn’t get away quickly enough.
One was tossed a good six feet into the air, scooped aloft by the wide antlers.
A second was knocked down and kicked. Before he could do any more damage, Old Jake took the animal down with a single shot from his .
45-110 Sharps, a rifle designed for far greater distance, but certainly lethal.
Caleb holstered his Colt. He’d never stop this one with it, and he’d only make him angry.
Slowly, he pulled Pirate’s head around and nudged him off the trail and into the trees. Working through the forest, he cut a wide arc around the marshy spot. When the man and horse finally returned to the trail, he saw from a safe distance that the moose had returned to his feeding.
Even though it was nearly midday when he rode into Elkhorn, Main Street showed far less activity than usual.
A few wagons loaded with supplies and homesteaders still worked their way along, and the noon stage was loading up in preparation for the trip up the Denver road.
A few urchins ran with dogs, drawing the ire of miners and shopkeepers.
But the temperature was dropping, and a sharp wind whistled down from the hills.
For the most part, folks on foot went about their business with purpose, coats and collars pulled snug, hats clung to tightly.
No one paid any attention to Caleb as he rode through town except for one of Zeke’s deputies, who stood in the door of the jail with a heavy blanket around him.
The lawman signaled to two guards standing on the sidewalk in front of the judge’s courthouse and land office, but they shrugged, not caring.
Caleb figured Elijah Starr hadn’t yet returned to town.
Turning the corner, Caleb dismounted under the sign MALACHI ROGERS LIVERY. HORSES BOUGHT, SOLD, AND BOARDED.
The greeting was far more cordial as Paddy ran out from the stable with a broad smile and took the reins from Caleb.
The livery establishment belonging to Gabe’s father was one of two in Elkhorn.
A large, wood-plank barn with a good-sized loft space for hay, the business had a wagon yard and a fenced corral.
Inside the wide entry doors, the left side of the building consisted of a small office space with a cot where Paddy slept, and beyond that was a row of enclosures for storing oats.
The back wall had stalls for horses, and on the right side, Malachi’s forge and anvil sat under wide, overhanging eaves facing the corral.
“We didn’t know you was coming to town, Mr. Marlowe,” the boy said. “Gabe and I are planning to come to the ranch tomorrow. But everyone says we got snow coming, and Miz Rogers says we can’t go if it’s bad.”
Malachi Rogers himself came out of the stable. “And you always listen to what Miz Rogers says. Don’t you, Paddy?”
“Yessir.” The ginger-haired boy hesitated and reddened. “Well, mostly.”
Caleb figured there was more to this than they were saying. He knew the twelve-year-old had his moments. And from what he could recall, not always following directions and leaving jobs half-done was not so unusual for a fella that age.
“Take Mr. Marlowe’s horse in and take care of him.”
“Yessir,” Paddy said, leading Pirate in.
“Trouble?” Caleb asked.
Malachi chuckled. “Nothing that a talking-to from Miz Rogers won’t fix.”
A former buffalo soldier, Rogers was clear-eyed, dark-skinned, and of medium height.
He had the broad shoulders and massive arms of a man who’d put in his years muscling livestock and hammering hot iron into horseshoes and other necessities.
He was wearing a well-brushed black stovepipe hat and a gray wool coat over a black waistcoat and cotton shirt, buttoned at the neck.
He was carrying the leather apron he wore when smithing.
The first time Caleb brought his horse in to be boarded, he spotted the blue cap of the 9th Cavalry hanging from a peg on the wall of the tiny office. In the conversation that ensued, Malachi had been happy to talk about how he’d ended up settling with his family in Elkhorn.
Rogers had served as a corporal in a unit stationed at Fort Stockton.
While he was there, he’d seen more action than he cared to.
Luckily, his hitch was up around the time his regiment was sent to Fort Union in New Mexico in ’75.
It hadn’t been a difficult decision. He’d hung up his spurs and made his way north to Colorado.
At the time, Elkhorn was little more than a ragtag community of tents, log cabins, and mud.
The son of a blacksmith himself, Malachi knew his trade, and the fledgling town needed him.
Caleb heard the boys laughter from inside the livery and thought of what Henry suggested before he’d left.
“You and Miz Rogers done real good by Paddy since taking him in last spring.”
Malachi looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Tough little varmint, but he’s a good boy.”
“I know I ain’t in any position to be making a decision right now, but sometime in the future, how’d you feel about him moving out to the ranch?”
The words felt strange coming out of his mouth. A year ago, he’d have laughed at the notion of being responsible for a twelve-year-old boy. These days he found himself wondering whether the ranch needed another pair of boots—and whether Paddy needed a place that felt permanently his.
Rogers glanced inside the barn again. “The way my wife thinks, the more is always the merrier at our table. And that table will be stretching soon.”
“Is the missus in a family way?”
“No.” Malachi shook his head. “I got two nephews coming out from Memphis, so it’ll be four of them running around here by spring.”
“Won’t things be a mite tight for you?”
“We’ll make do. Always have,” Malachi said. “But Paddy has a fondness for you. And although he and Gabe have become good friends, you ain’t so far away.”
“I still have a lot of sorting out to do.”
More than Malachi knew.
Sheila. The ranch. Elijah Starr. The future.
Some days Caleb felt as though he was trying to hold all four in his hands at the same time.
“I understand. But whenever the time comes that you’re ready for Paddy, we’ll be good with it. And of course, he’ll always be welcome here.”
“All right,” Caleb replied, looking into the barn. He had a few things to take care of right now. One of them involved a stop at Doc Burnett’s house, whether he admitted it to Henry or not.
“All this talk about the boys and I got distracted with telling you the news.”
“What news?”
Malachi tossed the apron onto his shoulder. “Three fellas arrived at the livery around dawn. Two of them were shot, one pretty bad. I sent them up to Doc’s house.”
John Burnett’s medical skills were sought after from here to Denver.
The man’s value on the Colorado frontier was without measure.
And since Sheila’s arrival in Elkhorn, she’d become her father’s right hand with the patients who came through the house.
Caleb admired her for it. It also worried him.
Not everyone who arrived at Doc Burnett’s door was an upstanding citizen.
Some were desperate. Some were dangerous.
And Sheila, God help her, had a habit of ignoring the dark sides.
“One of them knew you.”
The uneasy feeling he'd carried since leaving the ranch returned at once. Trouble had a way of arriving before a man was ready for it.
Caleb felt a bad taste rise into his throat.
“A lean, tough Mexican cowboy. Stands about this high.” Malachi held up a hand, indicating the man’s height. “Talks like a Texan, and he’s near as dark as me. Said his name’s Ortiz.”
Damn.
Duke Ortiz. The fella driving Caleb’s thousand head of longhorns up from Texas.