Chapter 10
The seven men helping Rafe all appeared around noon the next day. Clint and Ben Edwards, Johnny Green, Bill Smith, Carey Thompson, Simon Ford, and Skinny Ware.
Shea Randall was locked securely in the cabin, the one window closed. She wouldn’t see any more of his men.
Through sheer force of will, Rafe had remained distant and cool toward Shea Randall the night before and the next morning.
She hadn’t mentioned making the dawn trip to the pool again, and he hadn’t offered.
He had ignored her searching look when he’d locked her in the cabin for the evening after opening several cans of food for her.
He’d taken several for himself along with a few crackers for Abner and a dried apple for the horse, and sought refuge in the barn with creatures he understood.
He sure as hell didn’t understand her. Or himself.
He needed all his concentration for the meeting. The next strike against Randall. He couldn’t be thinking of a woman. Particularly that woman.
But he did, dammit. Damn him.
Clint arrived first, a tense, worried look on his face. He dismounted and approached Rafe, who was working with the bay.
Rafe cocked his head slightly. Clint usually was even-natured, easygoing.
“A miner was killed two nights ago,” Clint said. “It’s being blamed on the same riders who held up the stage.”
Rafe stared at him without speaking.
“And there’s more. You mentioned a McClary. He showed up at the ranch several days ago. He’d been here before, but for some reason I didn’t recognize the name when you first said it. Perhaps because we didn’t see much of him, and what we did see, we didn’t like.”
“Sam McClary?”
“Yep. Tall, thin as a rail, yellow hair.”
Rafe nodded, waiting for more.
“He was also gone the night the miner was killed.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked around the bunkhouse whether anyone had taken out a horse. A man remembered McClary because he’d ordered the hand to unsaddle and rub down the animal when he came in near dawn.
Everyone else takes care of their own horses, even Randall, but Randall told us McClary was a guest, that we should do what he said. Didn’t sound happy about it.”
“A reunion of thieves,” Rafe said. “Wonder whether it has anything to do with me?”
Clint shrugged. “I’ve been doing my damnedest to listen in, but they always close the door when they’re together.”
“Seems like we might be making progress.”
“Or they might,” Clint said grimly. “Russ Dewayne is thinking about forming a posse.” He hesitated, then continued.
“Russ and his sons will be riding with the stage, so Randall said he would send the payroll by stage after all. He had been planning to send some of his men for it, along a separate route, which would have been perfect.”
“Russ?” Rafe furrowed his eyebrows together in surprise at the friendly way Clint mentioned the name.
Clint met his eyes directly. “I’m seeing his daughter.”
“What do you think of the father?”
Clint hesitated. “I like him.”
Rafe was silent for a moment, regretting again that he’d drawn the young man into his own battle. “You’re out of this, Clint. Both you and Ben.”
“No,” Clint said. “We’ve worked on this for five years. I’m not leaving. Besides, the woman has already seen both Ben and me.” He glanced toward the closed cabin. “How is she?”
“Angry but safe.” Rafe was the one who was no longer safe.
“There’s been no mention of her at the ranch. Maybe she was lying.”
“From what she says and the letters she carries, I don’t think her father—if he is that—even knows she exists.”
“Then that explains why I’ve never heard anything of her,” Clint said.
Rafe nodded.
“Someone’s going to find out she was asking questions at the express office,” Clint said.
“I know,” Rafe said. “That should bother Randall some. Everyone in the territory knowing he has a daughter he never acknowledged. Should damage that respectable image of his.” He couldn’t hold back the bitterness in his words.
Just then the sound of hooves against earth interrupted their discussion, and Ben along with Johnny Green, Bill Smith, Carey Thompson, and Simon Ford appeared.
They rode up to the two men and dismounted. “Skinny?” The question came from Clint.
“He’ll be along,” said Johnny, a short, pudgy man who many people underestimated. He was the fastest among them with a gun. “He’s at a meeting with the miners. They’re talking about a vigilante committee.”
Rafe closed his eyes. A posse and a vigilante committee. And he damn well couldn’t get it out of his mind that Randall was behind the killing. This time, though, Randall wasn’t going to succeed.
“We suspected he would do something if we pushed him,” Ben said.
Clint was silent. Rafe looked at him. “Clint?”
“I keep wondering about McClary. Although he’s a guest, Randall doesn’t seem to like him much.”
The five new arrivals looked toward Clint, who quickly told them about McClary’s arrival and his role in Rafe’s court-martial.
Apparently, Ben had already told them about the woman, and they had darted curious looks toward the cabin but discreetly said nothing.
Each had noticed he had not been invited inside for a drink.
Johnny sprawled down on the ground. “Got any whiskey?”
Rafe nodded toward the barn. “Clint, it’s in the far corner of the stable.”
When Clint disappeared inside, Rafe turned toward the others. “I think it’s time you move on. I can take it from here.”
“Just when it’s getting interesting?” The question came from Carey Thompson, a tall, thin man who had a talent for rustling.
“Ain’t no way we’re showing our back,” Bill Smith said. “It’s not just you, Rafe. Don’t think it is. We went through hell those three years, and I don’t like the thought of a yellow belly benefiting from the war.”
The others nodded. “What did Clint say?” asked Simon Ford.
Rafe’s silence answered the question.
“You’re stuck with us,” Simon said. “We haven’t got anyplace to go, and that small claim is paying my keep.
I don’t like the idea of someone out there killing miners.
” He didn’t say he filed for the claim simply to justify his presence in Rushton, or that its yield didn’t even come close to what he had been making as a top horse hand.
“Hell, you’re all a bunch of fools,” Rafe said. The words had been difficult to say. It had been a long time since he’d known this kind of loyalty.
He looked at them helplessly as Clint returned. Clint looked around and grinned. “They’re not buying it, either, huh, Rafe?”
Rafe gave him a disgusted look. “I don’t want to be responsible.…”
“You won’t be,” Ben said with a crooked grin. “We were all damned bored. Things were becoming too tame.”
“Is the woman pretty?” asked Simon, the womanizer of the group.
Rafe scowled. “She’s a damnable nuisance.”
“That means she’s right pretty.” Simon grinned. “Can we take a look?”
“Not unless you want your face on a poster,” Rafe growled, and then was saved from saying anything else as Skinny Ware rode up.
Clint passed around the bottle, each man taking a swallow, as at ease with each other as they had been ten years earlier before a battle.
More, in fact. Now they knew what to expect and how the others would respond.
They were a family, like brothers. Rafe knew they wouldn’t leave him now, no matter what he ordered.
How did everything get so damned messed up?
Clint told them of the possible posse and the sheriff’s escort of the stagecoach.
Until now the stagecoach robberies had been carefully planned, and there had been no shedding of blood.
A boulder or tree had blocked the road; six masked men with guns prevented any reckless action.
Both driver and escort had quickly surrendered each time; neither was paid enough to die.
But Clint knew Russ Dewayne and his sons wouldn’t give up without a fight.
“We’ll have to take the payroll before it’s placed on the stage,” Rafe said.
“Rob the bank?” Clint asked with surprise.
“The express office,” Rafe said. “Didn’t you say the money is usually transferred to that safe the night before, since the stage leaves so early?”
Clint nodded. “It has been.”
“Randall’s payroll will be marked, won’t it?”
Clint nodded. “It should be. Randall’s arranged for a loan, but it might be the last one he gets. He’s just about run his credit out, according to the foreman.”
“Does the money belong to Randall or the bank?”
Clint grinned. “Randall’s already signed for the money. He was talking about it at the dance; that’s why he was thinking about taking special care of it. It’s his, all right.”
Rafe stood. “Anyone know about explosives?”
Skinny nodded. “I’ve worked with them in mines.”
“We have two days to get dynamite.”
Skinny shrugged. “No problem. I can buy some, say I need it to clear some rock.”
“Sure it won’t be traced back to you?” Rafe worried.
“Miners are always buying dynamite. ’Sides, I can get it here at the general store. No one will connect it with an explosion in Casey Springs.”
Rafe nodded. “I’ve learned a little about picking locks.
We shouldn’t have any trouble getting in.
” They all looked at him. “The last year I was in prison,” he explained, “the man in the cell next to me could open any damn lock, including the cell doors, and he taught me. Since I had just two months left to serve, I decided to wait and leave the legal way.”
“When will we go?” Simon’s eyes were gleaming in anticipation of action.
“You don’t, Simon,” Rafe said. “The fewer, the better. Skinny, because I need his expertise, Ben, and myself.”
“Dammit,” Johnny Green said. “I didn’t come here to sit on my hands.”
“We may need you for an alibi for Skinny and Ben,” Rafe said. “Both you and Bill. Go into the saloon in Rushton, make it clear you’re meeting Skinny and Ben later.
Disappointment clouded Simon’s eyes, then they brightened. “I could stay with the girl.”
“The wolf guarding the lamb,” Ben said wryly, saving Rafe from saying it. They all laughed.