Long Road to Cheyenne (17 page)

“What is it, Bill?” Mabel asked when their guests rode up the path. “You look like you’re about to turn green. Go on and throw up and get it over with. You oughta had better sense than try to outdrink them boys last night.”

He stood there fidgeting nervously, like a dog at the end of a rope, watching helplessly as a golden opportunity rode out of sight. “It was them!” he finally exclaimed.

“Who?” Mabel asked.

“Them,” Foley responded impatiently. “Them folks with the gold that Leach was chasin’, and Roach and Cheney went after. And I had to stand here and watch ’em ride right outta here, pretty as you please.”

Mabel’s mouth dropped open and she turned to stare after the party of three adults and two children, now almost to the end of the path. “Well, I’ll be . . .” she muttered. “How do you know that?”

“Can’t be nobody else,” he exclaimed.

She took another look at the departing horses. “I coulda charged that woman a helluva lot more for them supplies, if I’d knowed that.”

“Charge ’em more?” Foley replied, astounded by his wife’s witless remark. “We coulda had enough gold to live like kings and queens if we coulda just talked ’em into stayin’ here for the night. If I coulda got that stud horse to drinkin’ some of that rye whiskey that damn near done me in last night, I’ll bet it woulda been no trouble a’tall to slit his throat while he was tryin’ to sleep it off. The rest of ’em wouldn’ta been no trouble if we took care of him first.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mabel said. “That one ol’ woman looked like she was part she-bear.” Still stunned by what Foley was telling her, Mabel was trying hard to decide if her husband was serious or had simply lost his mind. “You talkin’ ’bout killin’ women and children?” she asked.

“I’m talkin’ ’bout two packhorses loaded with gold, enough gold to take care of us in style for the rest of our lives—instead of sellin’ a little bit of whiskey to every low-down outlaw that comes through here, and scratchin’ in the dirt for every dollar we can cheat ’em out of. That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. They just rode right in here and fell in our laps. Yeah, I’m talkin’ ’bout killin’ women and children. A man’s gotta take what’s dangled in front of his nose. That gully out back’s deep enough to hold the lot of ’em. Ol’ Leach won’t mind sharin’ it with ’em.”

Mabel was somewhat dazed. Her husband’s wild ranting did not horrify her; far from it. She knew he was capable of any degree of foul play, and it would not have been the first time she played a part in it. “Well, what are you aimin’ to do about it?” she asked, thinking of the things that a vast fortune could buy. “I mean, they’re just gettin’ farther away, but ever’body that’s tried to take that gold away from those folks is dead, maybe even Roach and Cheney, too.”

“I don’t know,” Foley answered honestly. “That ain’t my line of work to go up against that son of a bitch riding guard over that gold. But I swear, I’m thinkin’ it couldn’t hurt to trail them folks and just take a little look at their camp tonight. As late as they started out, I’ll bet they don’t get all the way to Chugwater Station tonight. I’m a fair shot with a rifle, if I was to get a shot at him while they’re asleep, and maybe one at that ol’ she-bear. I might not have to kill the younger woman and them two little ones. I could just ride off with the gold and there wouldn’t be nothin’ she could do about it.”

“Maybe show up here with a U.S. marshal,” Mabel countered, “or a troop of soldiers.”

“Not if I’m wearin’ a mask,” Foley said, warming up to the idea. “As far as she knew, I’d just be one of them road agents that rob the passengers ridin’ the stagecoach. She wouldn’t have no reason to think it’s me. Besides, you and me would hightail it outta this damn hole before anybody knew we was gone.”

As Foley had stated, armed robbery was not his line of work, and he was a bit too old to start, but he was rapidly talking himself into giving it a try. The stakes were high enough to warrant it. Mabel reminded him again of the fate of Leach and Fuller, but he assured her that he intended to be very careful. And if he couldn’t get a safe opportunity to assassinate Cam and Ardella, he had no plans to take them on face-to-face. She followed him out to the barn and talked to him while he saddled his horse, cautioning him to be careful. “Don’t leave me here by myself for too long,” she said.

“If I get the chance I’m countin’ on,” he assured her, “it’ll be tonight when they camp. I just hope they don’t go a long way before they decide to stop. I’ll be back before mornin’. You oughta be all right for that long. Just keep that shotgun where you can get to it quick.”

“Don’t forget to tie that bandanna over your face,” she reminded him, “and pull your hat down low. Make sure that woman don’t recognize you.”

“She won’t,” Foley assured her. “I’m takin’ my rain slicker, so I’ll put that on before I walk into the camp to take the gold.” He climbed up into the saddle. “I’d best be goin’. I don’t want ’em to get too far ahead.”

She stepped back when he turned his horse toward the path, and stood watching him until he reached the trail by the creek and disappeared from her sight.
That old fool,
she thought.
He ain’t got no business going after a man as handy with a rifle as the gunman riding with those women
. She turned to look back at the store with their living quarters behind, and it suddenly struck her that it was a lonely place, maybe the loneliest place in Wyoming Territory. “I hope to hell he makes it back, with or without that gold.” For she never really thought he’d get up enough nerve to go through with the plan. It was just talk.

•   •   •

Overcome with the frustration of not being able to find a trail left by six horses, all carrying riders or packs, Cotton Roach reined his horse to a stop and looked left and right at the mountains before him. “Damn it, they couldn’t just disappear!” he complained aloud. It was bad enough to know that he had wasted so much time back on the mountain when Cheney had fooled around and broken his neck or whatever it was. Then on top of that, he had followed a ledge that only led him to a cliff. He was still convinced that the people he stalked had taken some other trail down that mountain, and he was concerned that it might have increased their lead on him even more. Whoever joined them at that cabin must know every inch of these mountains, he thought, for he had spent the rest of the day searching every pass and draw he could find with no results. And now he was faced with rapidly approaching darkness. He was going to be forced to make camp, so he had to forget the search for the day and try to find some water if he could.

He found a small trickle coming down from a mountain before darkness set in. It was the first piece of good luck that had struck him all day, and his mood was hardly lifted by it. At it again early the next morning, he worked his way back to the eastern side of the mountains he had left the night before. Around noon, he finally admitted defeat, knowing he could not possibly search every ravine and gully in the whole mountain range, looking for a trail that was getting older as each hour passed. Cursing his luck, he decided to head back to Foley’s, for want of a better idea. It was a bitter pill to swallow, after having come so close to finding Red Bandanna, to have to admit defeat. He would find him again, he swore it. He would show up again,
and this time maybe I’ll be there
. After resting his horse, he set out for the Chugwater.

With no more than four or five miles left to go, Roach was reluctant to stop for the night, even though it was already getting dark. His horse was in need of rest, but he decided to push on in to Foley’s, feeling in need of something to eat and a stiff drink to go with it. He had downed the last swallow from the bottle he had stolen from Foley while resting his horse that afternoon. He and Cheney had done most of the damage to it before finding that game trail up to the cabin.

When at last he struck Chugwater Creek, he guided the weary horse along the trail that led to the trading post. It was somewhere around nine or ten o’clock by the time he turned down the path and rode up to the store. There was no light in the store or the rooms behind it, but Roach did not hesitate to pound on the door until a light from a candle appeared in a small window in the living quarters. “Open up!” Roach shouted.

“Who is it?” Mabel called back.

“Cotton Roach,” he answered. “I need somethin’ to eat. What the hell are you all locked up for?” He had never known Foley to go to bed early.

“Foley ain’t here,” Mabel answered. When there was no immediate reply to that statement, saying he’d come back in the morning, hopefully, she said, “Wait till I get my robe on and I’ll let you in. I reckon I can find you somethin’ to eat. Go around to the front of the store.” With a tired sigh, she put her candle down long enough to pull a robe around her and tie the sash. She was not happy to see Roach show up again now that Foley was making a move on that gold. If Roach found out what her husband was up to, he was going to insist that he be made a partner. If Foley was successful and returned with the gold, it was going to be difficult to deny Roach a share. He was too dangerous to fight over it. The result might very well be that she and her husband would end up with nothing.

“Where’s Foley?” Roach asked as soon as she unbarred the door.

She looked past him while she formulated an answer she thought he might believe, then answered with a question since she saw only one horse behind him. “Cheney ain’t with you?”

“Nah, Cheney’s dead, broke his neck in a rock slide,” Roach replied. “Where’s Foley?”

“He’s gone lookin’ for some horses,” she answered. It was all she could think of at that moment.

“Lookin’ for some horses,” he repeated, “in the middle of the night? What the hell’s he doin’ lookin’ for horses? What’s Foley gonna do with horses?”

She tried to make her story as believable as she could. “A feller told him about some wild horses on the other side of the creek, and he went to see if he could find them.”

“Foley don’t know nothin’ about horses,” Roach said. “What’s he gonna do, try to sell ’em?” She nodded. It sounded pretty strange to him, but he wasn’t interested enough to pursue it, especially when his belly was running on empty rumbles. “You reckon you could rustle me up some coffee and a little somethin’ to eat? I ain’t had much all day.”

“I reckon,” she said. “There’s still a little bit of coals in the stove. I can warm up some biscuits left over from supper. If you need more’n that, it’ll take a little time.”

“That’ll do,” he said. “I’ll go take care of my horse while you’re doin’ that.” He went out the door and led his horse down to the barn, pulled his saddle off, and fed the horse a healthy portion of Foley’s oats. By the time he returned to the store, the coffee had boiled and was sitting on the corner of Mabel’s iron stove. She placed a plate of warmed-over biscuits she had heated in the oven with some dried apple slices on a table in the corner of the room, then poured two cups of coffee.

“Might as well have a cup myself,” she said, and sat down at the table across from him. “I don’t reckon you caught up with them folks totin’ the gold.”

“Who said me and Cheney was goin’ after somebody?” She shrugged in answer to the question. He thought about it a second before deciding it made little difference now if she knew what they had left there to do. “Nah,” he said, “they got away, just seemed to vanish to someplace. I couldn’t find ’em.” That reminded him. “Where’s Leach? Is he still here?”

“No, he didn’t make it,” she replied. “Foley tried to save him, but he was shot pretty bad.” She watched him eat for a few minutes before asking, “What are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know,” he said, then paused to take a sip of the hot coffee. “Ain’t nothin’ changed. I’m still gonna track that son of a bitch down.” He raised his right hand and stared at the rawhide binding holding his fingers in a cupped position. “I’ll get him.” He studied the crippled hand a few moments longer before abruptly changing the subject. “So Foley’s gone chasin’ wild horses in the middle of the night?”

“Yep, don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Left you all by yourself. You interested in makin’ a little extra money, doin’ somethin’ besides cookin’?”

“Reckon not.” It was not that she was above such doings. It was more the eerie feeling she got when looking at the sinister-looking man, what with his long white hair and those crazy eyes.

“Thought I’d ask. How about a drink of whiskey, then?” He wasn’t especially attracted to the weary-looking, matronly woman, so he was not overly disappointed. But it was worth a try, he figured. She got to her feet and went over to the bar to get a bottle and a glass. She poured him a drink and left the bottle on the table, thinking it might be a good idea if he drank himself into a sleepy stupor, all the while wondering what kind of situation her husband might be facing.

•   •   •

At that particular moment, Bill Foley was crawling up the side of a low rise on all fours, dragging his rifle behind him, aware of his heartbeat pounding inside his chest. So far, everything had gone just the way he had told Mabel it would. They had stopped after riding no more than ten miles. He had followed a fresh trail left by the horses carrying Cam and the females, and had almost ridden right in on them until he caught sight of the horses hobbled in the trees beside the creek. Stopping just in time, he backed slowly away and guided his horse over behind a sizable swale back some distance from the creek bank. There he left the horse and crawled up to the top to see if he could look into the camp from that position. He found that he couldn’t get a clean look at the entire camp because they had pitched their bedding behind a stand of cottonwoods. He moved several feet from side to side, trying to find an unobstructed view of the camp. In his thinking, it was mandatory that he should be able to pick two clear shots. He was afraid of getting Cam and missing Ardella. He had to have two clear shots. If he didn’t, he wasn’t going to risk a shot.

Perplexed, he looked at a stand of high shrubs a good twenty yards closer to the creek bank. From that spot, he should be able to see into the side of the clearing beneath the cottonwoods, but he was not willing to risk moving across a small clearing between his present position and the shrubs until they had gone to bed. So he waited. Although he could hear voices muffled by the trees, he could not get a clear view of everyone in the camp.