Indigo Sky (25 page)

Charley nodded and urged the quivering mustang to its feet. He looked over his shoulder at the passengers. “Y’all have to hole up here for the night. Gentlemen will be housed in one o’ the barracks.”

Cornelia smiled. “Thank goodness we can stay at least one night.”

Rork, however, was agitated to be on his way. “This is all I need—another damn delay.”

Michael grabbed his arm. “We’re stuck Rork. They have to make repairs. How would you travel anyway? You can’t even think about leaving now, especially not with Indians roaming the plains.”

“I know. But if I’d come alone, I would have taken my chances.”

Kate glared at him. “Then you would have been a fool, Rork Millburn!”

“I am a fool,” he said, stalking off. “A fool in love.”

Chapter 33

The early call of a rooster pierced the dawn, rousing Rork from a disturbed sleep. He needed real rest, but it was impossible in a room filled with snoring, road-weary men. The hard straw pillow offered no comfort. He threw off a threadbare blanket and rolled out of the bunk. He opened the creaky door and slipped through onto a low-roofed porch.

Rork groaned, flexed his shoulders, and rubbed the stubble on his chin. He leaned on the porch railing, and a cool breeze caressed him. The rising sun soaked the mountains.

“Pretty, ain’t it?”

Rork glanced at the soldier. “Yes, it is. Can you tell me? Is this Charley a good driver?”

“One-eyed Charley is among the best drivers around these parts.” He stuck out a gnarled hand. “Bobby is the name.”

“Millburn.” Rork shook his hand. “How did Charley lose his eye?”

“Horse kicked him. But even havin’ only one eye, Charley is right nifty with four or six in hand. He ranks up there with the best drivers, like Foss, Monk, and George Gordon.” He leaned on the railing. “Ol’ Charley is brave, too. Last trip, Sugarfoot, a bandit what’s been robbin’ travelers left an’ right, demanded Charley hand over the strongbox, which he did, but now he has it in for Sugarfoot. Reckon that bastard won’t be so lucky if he tries to rob Charley again.” Bobby hawked up phlegm and spat. “No, siree. Once old Charley’s dander is up, best watch out.”

“Sounds like Indians are a bigger problem.”

“Ah, redskins don’t rattle ol’ Charley. Long as the passengers do their bit and help keep ‘em at bay.” He straightened. “Ya want coffee?”

“That would be great.” Bobby ambled off, and Rork looked at the distant snowcapped mountains.
Why the hell couldn’t Leila wait for me
?
Why indeed? Because like a fool, I took off to paint without leaving instructions
. The strong aroma of coffee drew him from self-incrimination.

Bobby handed Rork a cup of the brew. “Thank you.” Rork gazed down at the dark brown liquid and took a deep breath. “Ah, just what I needed.”

“Yup, people come to blows wantin’ to sit up front with Charley. It’s an honor to share the spare driver seat with him.” He squinted in the early morning light. “There goes Charley. Must be fixin’ on repairin’ that pole chain an’ gettin’ an early start.” Bobby drained his cup and set it down. “Charley needs help.”

“I’ll join you.” Rork downed his coffee.
Ugh, that doesn’t taste anything like it smelled.
He grimaced at the overly sweet, strong brew, but it did revive his spirits.

Charley gave him the good eye. For an hour, they worked in silence, repairing the damage. Dripping sweat, Rork sighed with relief. The mustangs were hitched and ready.

Passengers and goods were loaded, and Charley clambered onto the driver’s seat and looked around. “Y’all set?”

“Yes,” Rork ground out, impatient to be on his way.

“Yah! Yah!” Charley cracked his whip just above the horses’ ears, and the red, canvas-roofed coach took off, raising a cloud of dust.

Rork wrinkled his nose. “Best we ride alongside to avoid choking to death.” They urged the girls’ horses and pack mules, tied to their mounts, to move faster.

The coach moved briskly over the grassy plains. Rork, Joshua, and Michael settled into an easy gait. The rumble of wagon wheels and rhythmic pounding of hooves was soothing. Warm sunshine blanketed the prairie and cast a golden glow over the grasses.

Without further mishaps, they crossed a vast stretch of desert. The horses breathed heavily, snorting sand from their nostrils.

Rork studied the barren surroundings with longing. He itched to paint. Exerting caution, they negotiated a narrow, winding road leading up to vast plains.

Five hours later, they reached the mountains, and the heat intensified. The horses struggled to pull the coach over the rocky terrain. Charley’s gruff voice urged the team on, along with deft cracks of the whip.

Rork unhooked his water canteen and drank deeply, slaking his thirst. He moved closer to the coach and handed the canteen to Cornelia. “The dust must be killing you,” he yelled above the rumbling of the stagecoach.

Pale faced, the girls nodded and drank.

Rork kept a watch out for trouble. Veering toward Michael, he scanned the tall cliffs. “This looks like a place for an ambush. Never know if Indians will attack. How about you ride shotgun on the coach? I see a spare seat behind.”

Michael nodded. “I hope you didn’t suggest it because I’m a cripple.”

“No, because you’re a soldier. I’ll speak to Charley.” Rork tapped his horse and drew close to the coach again. “Charley,” he shouted, “I’ll pay another fare to have my friend, Hargreaves, ride shotgun.”

“No need to pay.” He slowed the coach to a halt. “Sounds like a good idea.” Charley glanced at Rork, his eye twinkling. “I hear tell Mr. Hargreaves was a soldier.”

“Yes, it’s perfect that he ride shotgun. He was a sniper in the army.”

“I could use a good gun up front with me.”

The passengers alighted. They groaned as they stepped away from the coach and agreed that the ride was worse than uncomfortable. There were too many feet, too many heads, and too many supplies all squeezed into the coach. Unlike the rocking and rolling of a cradle, this rocking and rolling made their heads spin.

Michael slid off his mount and untied his crutches, which were strapped to the saddle. Cornelia came to him. “How are you holding up in that rattler?” Michael asked.

“I’m fine.” She leaned against him.

“I’m going to ride up top with Charley.” She raised her brow. “No, it’s not because I’m in pain or tired. I’m riding shotgun. This is a bad area, apparently. Not surprising. These mountains offer plenty of places to launch an ambush.”

Kate sought the shelter of Joshua’s arms. “I’m frightened.”

“We’re all armed.” Joshua led her to a rock. “The coach doesn’t look too comfortable.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “It’s nasty. My knees must be bruised by now. We sit so close to the other passengers that our legs interlock and we bang against each other.”

They sat and ate jerky and dry, worm-infested biscuits. The women refused the biscuits. “I’ll vomit if I have to eat those.” Cornelia wrinkled her nose.

Michael grinned and hit the hard biscuit on a rock, dislodging worms. “Even if I get them out for you?”

“Even then.”

“Right folks, all aboard. Times awastin’,” Charley hollered. He ejected a stream of brown spittle. “Shame we don’t have time to bag them prairie chickens grubbin’ through the horse droppings. Let’s hit the road, folks.” The horses took off with a will, ascending the mountain pass leading to the next way station.

Once free of the pass, Rork surveyed the land with an artist’s eye. Signs of human occupation disappeared, and prairie chickens became less abundant. The sun sank behind clouds, gilding the edges. Dark clouds piled on distant, jagged mountains. Brilliant stabs of lightning forked from the billowing mass, sending wild patterns across the massive cliffs.

Within an hour, the sky turned to a blinding mass of white flames, accompanied by thunderclaps. The wind increased, and dust devils swirled across the plains.

Jamming his broad hat down on his head, Rork lifted his coat lapel as rain pelted down, cursing as it dribbled down his back. The horses continued at full tilt, galloping fetlocks deep in water that rushed over the hard ground in a torrent.

There was a lull in the storm, and the magnificent display resumed, illuminating a deserted house. A raging river under tall cottonwoods careened past the house, dragging broken trees in its wake.

Charley halted the team. “We need light,” he yelled. Rork dismounted, and Charley handed him four kerosene lanterns. “Tell the passengers to light ‘em. At least it’s dry in the coach.”

Leaning into the wind-driven rain, Rork carried the lamps to the carriage. Once lit, he made his way back to Charley. “Let’s stop here.”

“Nothin’ stops me.” Charley leapt to the driver’s seat and sent the horses plunging into the stormy night.

Shaking his head, Rork mounted and followed, riding knee to knee with Joshua. “That man is insane,” he yelled above the storm and clatter of hooves and wheels.

The hours ticked by to the monotonous thunder of hooves. Sagging with exhaustion, Rork and Joshua rode on doggedly. “Doesn’t that old bastard ever sleep?” Rork yelled.

Ebony face gleaming with sweat and rain, Joshua removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh to rid it of water. “One of the men did take over for a few hours.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to give a damn about us poor mortals. We need to stop and get some sleep.”

“Talk to him at the way station.”

Rork peered through the gloom and rubbed his gritty eyes. Exhaustion became a real problem as they ate up the miles, changing to the girls’ horses to relieve their mounts.

A farm appeared on the horizon as dusk washed over the waterlogged land. Charley spotted the farmer in the field, hauled on the reins, and jumped down.

He glanced at Rork and Joshua. “Yer lookin’ a bit worse for wear.” He popped a wad of tobacco in his mouth. “I’ve been thinkin’ o’ ya ridin’ nonstop and decided to break my rule. We’ll ask to bed down here for the night.”

“Mighty generous of you,” said Rork, dismounting. “My backside is numb.”

“Yup, ridin’ a horse for so long is a real ball crusher.” Charley roared with laughter.

“And you’re the damn court jester.”

Charley called out, “Hello.”

The farmer meandered over. “Hello, what can I do for you folks? Where you headed?”

“We are in need of a warm place to rest. We got two pregnant and their mates, and a few others. We be on our way to San Francisco. Can ya help?”

“We sure can. Welcome to the Comstock farm.”

Rork and Joshua shook the man’s hand. Rork led his thirsty horse to a trough. He took off his jacket and dunked his head in the water. “Ah.” He blew out a breath, shaking off the drips. “Good for a wake up.”

Joshua followed. “Think the farmer would swap our horses?” He pointed to a pen. “There are some mighty fine mustangs in the corral.”

Joshua bit down on his lip. “The Comstocks can set us up, but there are only two rooms for us all. The smallest is for the women.” Joshua walked off. “I want to make sure Kate is comfortable.”

Morning arrived to the roar of Charley’s voice. “Rise an’ shine, folks. Times awastin’.”

Still fully clothed, Rork groaned and rolled off the narrow, lumpy bed. He stood and stretched. “I’ve had better nights on a bed of rocks.”

Joshua and Michael sparked right up, ready to go, at the aroma of coffee, griddlecakes, and bacon. Michael reached for his crutches.

The Comstocks had food waiting. Charley did not want to use up time sitting down. Grab somethin’ and let’s get going.” He shook the farmer’s hand and slipped some money to him.

“I’ll be damn glad when we reach our destination,” said Michael.

Rork slapped on his hat and picked up his saddlebag. “Yup.” He strode out.

Charley was hitching horses. “Well, ‘bout time ya showed.”

“We need fresh horses.” Rork threw his bag on the ground.

Charley said, “Speak to my groom. He’ll set ya up. Seems y’all exchange horses with us for a small fee.”

As the sun crept onto the horizon, they were once more on the road and heading for the mountains. Upon entering a pass, Charley slowed. Cliffs soared above them. Horses slipped on the trail as they negotiated the narrow, rocky road. “Keep close, fellas. This is Cheyenne country.”

“This pass is airless,” Rork said with apprehension.

Charley’s lead horses shied away and whinnied. Dripping sweat, they struggled over the rough terrain.

Rork and Joshua rode to the coach. They stopped and drew their pistols.

A man in a long, ragged coat leveled two revolvers at Charley. “Give up the strong box like a good fella, Parkhurst.” He pointed a gun at Rork and Joshua, waggling it. “Now, fellas, ya don’t want to go bein’ dead heroes. Just put away them guns.”

“You son of a bitch!” Charley growled, slowly reaching for his rifle. “Ain’t this off yer beaten track, Sugarfoot? Santa Cruz is yer usual picking ground.”

Sugarfoot grinned, exposing a row of rotting teeth. “Aye, that it be.” He moved a piece of straw to the other side of his narrow lips. “Needed a change o’ scenery is all.” He wiggled the revolvers and stomped a burlap-wrapped foot. “Enough idle chatter. Hand over the loot.”

“Like hell!” A shot exploded from Charley’s rifle held at his knee. “Ya got me last time, but this time, ye’re shit out o’ luck, ya scaly bastard!”

The bullet slammed into Sugarfoot’s side. He screeched and dropped his guns then staggered away, disappearing between boulders.

Pulling out a revolver, Charley fired four more shots. The bullets ricocheted off the rocks where Sugarfoot had disappeared. Shoving the revolver in his belt, Charley lifted his whip and flicked it across his team. “Ya! Ya!” They took off across the uneven terrain.

Rork chased after the coach to catch up. “Aren’t we going after him?” he yelled above the rack of hooves.

“No time. With a wound like that, he’ll be dead before sunset.”

“Sugarfoot is an odd name. How did he come by it?”

Charley chuckled and popped a wad of tobacco in his mouth. “On account o’ the fact that he wears burlap on his feet and stomps to enforce his point.”

“You said Sugarfoot robbed you before.”

Charley slowed the coach. “Aye, I was on a run through Santa Cruz ‘bout a year ago an’ the bastard took the strong box off me.” Charley spat a stream of brown tobacco juice. “I swore that day I ain’t gonna let that happen again. An’ I didn’t.”