Long Road to Cheyenne (16 page)

Cheney tried, but each time he tried to pull a leg up under him to lift himself up, the pain was enough to almost make him faint. “I can’t do it, Roach. I can’t move.” He realized how desperate his situation was and he began to beg. “Roach, you gotta pick me up and put me on your horse. I can’t do it by myself.”

“Shit, partner, I can’t pick you up. Besides, my horse can’t carry double down this mountain. I’d never catch up with that bastard.” He shook his head as if in deep concern. “I can’t stay around here. I’ve got to get ridin’.”

“What about me?” Cheney exclaimed, seeing the handwriting on the wall. “You can’t leave me like this!” When Roach did not reply, he cried, “Roach! You wouldn’t ride off and leave me here to die!”

“No, sir,” Roach told him, “I wouldn’t do that.” In one swift move, he reached across and drew the .44 and placed a bullet in the back of Cheney’s head. “There, now you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” Pausing then to decide whether to waste another bullet, he shrugged and put the injured horse out of its misery. He studied the pistol for a moment before holstering it. “I swear I’m faster with my left hand than I ever was with my right.” That thought brought his mind back to the urgency he felt to catch the man who had ruined his right hand.
I’ve got to get moving,
he thought, and wasted no further thought on his damaged hand.

He turned Cheney over and quickly went through his pockets to take the little bit of money his late partner had managed to save. The small amount of cash caused him to grunt his disappointment. “By God, you wasn’t lyin’ when you said you was about to run outta money,” he told the corpse. “Well, your six-gun and belt are worth more’n you are right now.” He pulled the belt from around the body, then went to Cheney’s horse and searched the saddlebags before pulling the rifle from its scabbard. When he had taken everything he thought worth something, he took his horse’s reins and started walking along the ledge where it widened as it led around the mountain. “It was nice knowin’ you, partner,” he called back over his shoulder facetiously. “I’m sorry I can’t take that saddle with me, but I know where it is if I ever wanna come back to get it. I doubt anybody’ll stumble on it.”

After following the ledge almost all the way around the mountain, he reached the end of it and stood glaring down at a sheer drop of several hundred feet. Cursing his luck again, he yelled out over the empty space before him, “What’d they do, fly off this damn mountain?” With no option but to reverse his path and go back the way he had come, he continued to fume, still convinced that the people he chased, with women and children and heavily loaded packhorses, could not have come down the way he had.

They had hoped to strike the Chugwater by nightfall, but because of their late start from Ardella’s and the difficult country they crossed, darkness found them short of their destination. They were fortunate to come across a small stream that ran along beside a line of low, treeless hills, so they stopped to make camp there. Several times during the long day, Cam had waited while the others continued on, watching to see any sign of the two outlaws. And at the end of the day, he was halfway convinced that they had managed to lose them. Still, he climbed up the hill beside the stream to keep watch for as long as there was enough light to see anyone approaching. When supper was ready, Emma climbed the hill to bring him a plate of beans and sowbelly, and sat with him while he ate. She had attempted to bring him coffee as well, but barely half of it made the trip up the hill successfully.

“Cam,” the little girl said after a long moment studying his eating, “you know, I don’t have a daddy anymore.”

“I know, Skeeter, but you’ve got a fine mama and now you’ve got an aunt Ardella, so you’ll be all right.”

She paused to consider that, then continued with what was on her mind. “You know, you could be my daddy,” she said.

He chuckled. “I don’t know about that. I think it’d work out better if I was your uncle Cam. How ’bout that? That’d be all right, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose,” she replied, disappointed that he didn’t accept the job she was interviewing him for.

“You never can tell what’s gonna happen down the road,” he said. “Your mama ain’t that old. You might have a new daddy one day.”

“Do you like my mama?”

Cam chuckled again. “Sure, I like your mama—got no reason not to. We’re good friends.” The precocious little miss didn’t say anything more, but Cam laughed to himself, thinking that marrying Mary was maybe the last thing on his mind. In fact, he seriously doubted that he would ever settle down with a wife.
Foolish thoughts,
he told himself, and let them go.
I wonder how old she really is
. It was hard to tell.

When it became too dark to see farther than the base of the hill he was sitting on, he decided that there were going to be no visitors that night, and he went back down the hill, where Mary and Ardella were sitting by the fire. “I bet you’re ready for some more coffee,” Ardella said. “You ain’t had but one cup.”

“I didn’t get but about half of that one,” he said. “Emma pretty much sprayed the side of the hill with most of it.”

“I told her not to hurry up that hill carrying that cup,” Mary said.

“Don’t matter none,” Cam said. “She thought she was helpin’ out, and I got a little bit of coffee, anyway.” He looked around to see if the girls were about, but Mary said they had gone to bed.

“I declare, she’s a caution, that young’un,” Ardella remarked, and changed the subject abruptly. “You think we’re clear of those two murderers?”

“I don’t wanna speak too soon,” Cam told her, “but we’ve either lost ’em for good or they’re way to hell behind us. I think that you guidin’ us through those rough parts of the mountain is what shook ’em off our trail.”

There was a definite sense of relief in the camp that night when they decided to turn in. However, Cam slept very lightly, waking several times to listen to the horses and take a quick look around the perimeter of their camp. When morning brought no threat of attack, the mood of the travelers was almost cheerful as they set out again to find the Chugwater. They were not in the saddle long before they reached the creek and turned to follow it south.

Shortly after noon they came upon a log cabin of sorts that, at a distance, appeared to be a farm or ranch house, for there was a small barn and what was probably a smokehouse close beside it. However, there were no fields or pastures, although there was a small garden beyond the barn. “Don’t look much like a homestead,” Cam speculated. “Could be a tradin’ post.”

“Oh, I hope it is,” Mary said. “We really need some things.”

“I’ll ride on ahead and take a look,” Cam said. He nudged the dun gelding with his heels and departed at a lope.

There was a short path leading from the creek to the cabin, and it was not until he had turned the dun onto it that he saw the roughly carved sign by the front step,
FOLEY’S PLACE
. It appeared that Mary’s wishes might have been answered.
I’d better take a look inside to make sure it’s not just a saloon,
he thought, and rode on in. There appeared to be no one about as he stepped down from the saddle and looped his reins over a short hitching post, stepped up on the low stoop, and pushed the door open. There was no one inside, but he found that the large room consisted of a bar at one end and what appeared to be a general store at the other. “Howdy,” a voice came from behind him, and he turned to find a woman following him up the one step from the stoop. She carried a bucket with a handful of string beans in it. “I saw you ride up,” she said. “I was in the garden, pickin’ the last of these summer beans. They didn’t do much this year, not like last year’s crop.” She pushed by him to walk toward the counter. “You lookin’ for Foley?”

“Ah, no, ma’am,” Cam replied. “I don’t believe I know Foley. I was lookin’ to see if you sold supplies like flour and coffee and such. The rest of my folks are coming along behind me.”

“Oh,” Mabel Foley responded. “You’ve got some other folks with you. I thought you were wantin’ a drink of whiskey.”

“No, ma’am,” Cam replied politely.

“Well, sure, we’ve got flour and coffee beans, and some other staples—be glad to help you out. You’ve got family with you?” she asked.

“I guess you could say that,” he said. “Anyway, I’ll signal my folks to come on in. We weren’t sure this wasn’t a homestead—didn’t see the sign till I got to your front door.”

“Most people around here know we’re here,” Mabel said. “I’ve told Foley he oughta put a sign at the head of the path, up by the creek. I expect there’s been other folks that mighta thought the same as you did.”

The small talk finished, Cam went back outside and rode up to the creek to signal Ardella and Mary. Then he waited for them to catch up to him. “It’s a store, all right,” he announced when they rode up. “Looks like a saloon and a store, but this time of day the saloon half is empty, so I reckon it’s all right for you ladies to go in and buy what you need to.”

When Cam had left to get the rest of his party, Mabel went into the back where her husband was sleeping off a drunk incurred the night before in a contest with two of his regular customers. He raised himself up on one elbow when his wife walked in the room. “Who is it?” he groaned.

“Nobody you need to worry about,” she told him. “Just some folks passin’ by and needin’ some supplies.”

“Hell, I was gettin’ up anyway,” he said with a groan. “I can’t stay in this bed all day.” He sat on the side of his bed and started coughing violently. Since this was the usual reaction after a night of heavy drinking, Mabel walked over to the other side of the bed to fetch the chamber pot. She set it down beside his feet, then left him to deal with his demons.

Back in the store, she walked to the front door and looked out to see the party of one man, two women, and two children. The man was now leading two heavily loaded packhorses, one of them carrying two colorful suitcases on top of the load. She didn’t notice until they pulled up to tie their horses that the suitcases had what appeared to be several bullet holes. She didn’t give it a great deal of thought; she was accustomed to an assortment of odd people following the trail along the Chugwater. “How do, ladies?” she greeted them, and nodded toward Cam. “He says you might be needin’ some supplies.”

“That’s right,” Mary replied. “I surely hope you’ve got some flour. I haven’t been able to bake any bread for a while now.”

“We could sure use some grain for the horses,” Cam said. “You got any of that?”

“Sure do, young feller.” Cam turned to see Bill Foley entering the store, having won another round in his battle with the whiskey demons. “I can let you have as much as you want, at a reasonable price, too. How you folks figurin’ on payin’? Paper? Gold?”

“Dust,” Cam answered, “if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Foley answered without hesitation. “That’ll be just fine. I’ve got an accurate scale.” His attention now fully captured, he offered Cam a drink of whiskey while the ladies did their shopping. When Cam declined, saying it was a little too early in the day for him to partake of any strong spirits, Foley said he was going to need a little hair of the dog that bit him. “I’ll go out to the barn and fetch a sack of grain,” he said, while walking to the bar at the opposite end of the room. He poured himself two shots of whiskey, then went out the front door. Cam remained with the ladies as they called out the things they needed, while Grace and Emma searched the counter in vain for the hard candy they usually found in most general stores. Watching them, Cam decided that Foley’s Place most likely did only a small part of their business on that end of the store.

Outside, Foley came from the barn with a sack of oats on his shoulder. Not having paid much attention to his customers’ horses on his way to get the grain, he paused a moment now to consider their load. Like his wife, he noticed the bullet holes in the suitcases and thought,
They must dearly love them suitcases. I believe I’da already throwed them away. Them horses are loaded down pretty good
. His mind was beginning to come out of the fog induced by the alcohol, and he started adding up coincidences.
They’re paying with gold dust,
he thought. He stared at the canvas covering the major portion of the packs as if trying to penetrate it. Then the facts started adding up more quickly, and he thought of Leach’s tale of the man who shot him and killed Jed Fuller. They were after a man and woman with two small children. The only difference from his story was there were two women in this party, instead of just one, but everything else pointed to its being the same party Leach and Fuller were after. And Leach was convinced that these folks were riding out of the Black Hills with a substantial load of gold dust. He and Fuller caught up with them, but ran into an ambush. “Glory be,” he exclaimed. “That’s the folks Cheney and Roach took outta here after.” They had not shared that information with him, but it had not been hard to figure out. “And they wind up right on my doorstep,” he whispered, unable to suppress a chuckle for the irony of it.
I wonder how much gold they’re toting,
he thought, unable to guess just by looking at their packs. Convinced that he had a fortune in gold sitting out front, he went back in the store.

“I got your grain outside,” he announced as he went in the door. “Where you gonna put it?”

“Up behind the saddle on the black,” Cam answered. “I’ll take care of it.” He figured that next to Grace and Emma’s bay, Mary’s horse was carrying the lightest load. He would tie what supplies Mary bought onto his and Ardella’s horses.

When Mary and Ardella had finished with the shopping, Mary took a small pouch from inside her jacket and watched closely while Mabel weighed out the payment in dust. Foley helped Cam carry the sacks of supplies Mary was paying for. “You know you folks are welcome to camp here for the night,” Foley said as he watched Cam tie a sack behind Ardella’s saddle. “There’s a dandy little place on the other side of the barn on a little stream that runs into the Chugwater. We don’t get many women visitors, and I know Mabel would be tickled to death to have some female company for a change.”

“Thanks just the same,” Cam said, “but I expect we’ll get on our way.”

“It’s already past noon,” Foley pressed. “Don’t look like you’ll make many more miles today, anyway. You could rest up them horses.”

“We’re kinda in a hurry,” Cam said, “but ’preciate the offer.”

Inside the store, while Cam was talking to Foley, Ardella was asking for information from Foley’s wife. “Where would we end up if we keep followin’ the Chugwater?” she asked.

“Keep followin’ Chugwater and it’ll take you to Laramie,” Mabel told her.

“Laramie,” Ardella echoed. “We don’t wanna go to Laramie, do we, Mary?” Mary shook her head.

Not realizing that her husband was outside, trying to convince Cam to stay overnight, Mabel was free with information for customers who had made such a substantial purchase. “Well,” she offered, “if you follow the creek for about twenty miles, you’ll come to a place where it kinda loops around more to the west. The Chugwater Stage Station is there, so you can’t hardly miss it. Easiest thing to do then is to just follow the stage road south to Cheyenne.” She could tell by the expressions on both women’s faces that Cheyenne was more what they had in mind, although neither expressed it. “You’ll know it when you get there. They built an inn and a store there.”

Ardella thanked her as she and Mary herded the girls outside, where they ran to Cam to be lifted and placed aboard their horse. Ardella hopped up in the saddle, surprisingly sprightly for a woman her size, while Mary allowed Cam to give her a helping hand. When Cam stepped up in the saddle, Mabel noticed a look of anxiety in her husband’s eyes, approaching panic. She favored him with a bored look of disgust, naturally thinking he was still feeling the results of a wasted night of drinking and would no doubt run for the outhouse any minute. Had she any notion of the real cause of his feeling of helplessness, she would have endeavored to persuade them to stay over, with no concern or conscience for what might happen to them during the night.

As for her husband, Foley’s mind was whirling with wild thoughts about making some attempt to stop them from leaving. If he had guessed correctly, and he was almost dead certain he had, he was helplessly watching a millionaire’s fortune ride away from his front door. There were no witnesses to see what might happen here, but he was held back by the memory of Leach lying in his smokehouse, and his telling of the man with the rifle who did for both him and Fuller.
Red Bandanna!
The thought leaped to his mind then. Leach had muttered something about the gunman wearing a red bandanna. And this fellow had a red bandanna tied around his neck! He had no doubt now that it was the same man. Seeing the tall man in person, and the way he checked his rifle to see if it was resting easy in the saddle sling, Foley was not confident in his ability to go up against him. It didn’t help his courage when he looked at the rawhide-tough woman on the sorrel with a .44 strapped around her waist. Had he known that Cam was still healing from a serious gunshot wound, he still might not have had the courage to make a move against Ardella.