Long Road to Cheyenne (21 page)

Lou didn’t answer right away. Judging by the stranger’s appearance, that shock of white hair that reached his shoulders and eyes like marble chips, he wasn’t sure he should. Seeing his reluctance, Roach said, “He stole them horses and I’ve been trailin’ him for a couple of days.”

Lou was surprised. “Are you a lawman?”

“That’s right,” Roach said.

“Well, I’ll be . . . That feller was here, all right, couple of days ago. I never woulda took him for a horse thief, though—seemed like a nice feller, and those folks he was with—”

“Wearin’ a red bandanna tied around his neck?” Roach asked.

“Yeah, I think he was,” Lou said, pausing to remember. “If that ain’t somethin’. Goes to show you can’t judge a man by his looks.”

“Which way’d they head outta here?”

“The women and two little girls got on the stage to Cheyenne,” Lou said. “The feller you’re lookin’ for rode outta here on the stage road, and he was leadin’ your horses.”

“The women took the stage, eh?” That was something he had not anticipated. He was thinking about the gold they were carrying, and wondered if it went on the stage or with Red Bandanna. If it went on the stage, that meant it was already out of his reach. It was enough to frustrate him, especially when he was so certain that he and Cheney had them cornered on that mountain where Cheney broke his neck. But he still had the one driving force to keep him on his quest to find the man who had ruined his hand. He was determined to have his revenge, and that might be more important to him than sacks of gold. “I’ll go get me some supper and a room,” he told Lou. “I’ll be leavin’ early in the mornin’.” He had no way of knowing how far ahead of him Cam might be, but his horses were in no shape to start out after him tonight, so he resigned himself to the possibility of a longer hunt. There was a chance he might pick up Cam’s trail, but he would be lucky to do so, since there were many tracks on the stage road. It seemed pretty obvious to him that Cam was headed for Cheyenne, just as Mabel Foley had said, and it figured that he would follow the road, especially so if he was no longer carrying a fortune in gold.

“Right,” Lou replied. “I’ll be here before sunup, always am.” He watched the man depart, saddlebags over one shoulder, rifle in hand, as he walked toward the inn. “No, sir,” Lou mumbled, “you sure can’t judge a man by his looks. That’s one lawman I wouldn’t want comin’ after me.”

•   •   •

It was still early in the morning when Cam left Lodgepole Creek for the short ride into Cheyenne. When he arrived, he was amazed to see how much the town had grown since the last time he had seen it. The first thing he came to on the main street was a stable, so he pulled up in front of it and dismounted. “Good day to ya,” a short, gray-whiskered man with a bald head greeted him as he came walking out of the stable. “You lookin’ to stable them horses?”

“Howdy,” Cam returned. “No, I’m lookin’ for a fellow who has a ranch near town, name of Jim Pylant. You wouldn’t happen to know where that is, would you?”

“Well, sure I do,” the stable owner answered. “Everybody knows where Jim Pylant’s spread is.”

When he went no further, Cam prompted him. “Everybody but me,” he said.

“Right, except you,” the owner agreed, and laughed. “Excuse me, young feller. I reckon it’s too early in the day to get my brain workin’. I figured you might be in town for the cattlemen’s meetin’. That’s where Jim Pylant is.”

“Where’s that?” Cam asked.

“Over at the Cheyenne Star.” He turned and pointed to a saloon about halfway down the main street. “Jim left his horse here.”

Cam thought that over for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. “A cattlemen’s meetin’, you say?”

“Yeah, it ain’t a big to-do, just three or four of the bigger outfits havin’ a meetin’ to talk about boundaries and whatnot, so as not to step on each other’s toes, I reckon. They’re meetin’ in the back room at the Star. Just a chance to see which one of ’em can hold the most whiskey, if you ask me.” He paused for a moment while he watched Cam deciding. “If you’re just lookin’ for his ranch so you can deliver those horses, I can tell you how to get there.”

“Well, I’m hopin’ to sell four of these horses, and I heard he buys horses,” Cam said. “Course, I’m lookin’ to sell those saddles, too, since I won’t have no use for ’em if I ain’t got horses to go under ’em, or fannies to sit on ’em.”

The bald little man laughed again. “Well, that makes sense. I couldn’t help wondering when I saw you leadin’ horses in with empty saddles—couldn’t help wonderin’ what happened to whoever was settin’ in the saddles.”

Cam smiled in response. “I reckon it does look kinda strange at that, but it ain’t what it looks like. The folks who were ridin’ in those three saddles took the stage in from Chugwater night before last, two ladies and two little girls.”

“I saw ’em,” the man exclaimed, “saw ’em when the stage rolled into town, with that one ol’ gal ridin’ on top of the coach with a rifle!” He paused at once and said, “Don’t mean no disrespect.” When Cam merely smiled, he went on. “My name’s Porter Thompson. Folks call me Smiley.”

“Cam Sutton,” he returned. “So they made it all right?”

“Yep,” Smiley replied, “and I know why you’re askin’. That one lady put a whole load of gold dust in the bank this mornin’. Mr. Proctor over at the bank said Bob Allen and Larry Bacon—they drive the stagecoach—sat up guardin’ it all night at the stage office till the bank opened.”

Cam smiled at the picture that created in his mind. “Well, it didn’t take long for word to get out about what the lady was carryin’, did it?”

“Hell, half the folks in town knew about it last night,” Smiley said.

“How safe is her gold in that bank?” Cam asked, immediately concerned that, after all they had come through to get it to Cheyenne, it was now known by everyone in town to be sitting in a bank, waiting to be robbed.

“Safe enough,” Smiley assured him. “Mr. Proctor’s already hired a couple more guards, and the sheriff’s gonna keep an eye on the bank, too, till they change it to paper money and ship the gold out on the train.”

“How ’bout if I turn my horses out in the corral till I find out if I’m gonna stay in town or not?” Cam asked. Smiley nodded. “I’ll go down to the saloon and see if I can get a chance to talk to Mr. Pylant.”

“That’ll be fine. You know, I buy horses from time to time. How much are you lookin’ to get for them four?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Cam said. He paused to stroke his chin while he thought. “They’re all good, sound horses, but I ain’t lookin’ to ask a lot for ’em—about fifty dollars apiece, I reckon.”

“Whoa!” Smiley blurted as if shocked. “Two hundred dollars for the four of ’em? That’s a little steep, ain’t it? I mean, they ain’t nothin’ but plain ol’ cow ponies.”

“Maybe Pylant might look ’em over a little closer,” Cam told him. “That bay is as strong a horse as a fellow could want, and that black one is a Morgan as far as I can tell. What would you give?”

“I don’t know,” Smiley said, then proceeded to look the horses over with a close eye. Although he tried, he could really find no obvious flaw in any of them. After another look at the bay’s teeth, and an inspection of the gray’s hooves, he finally stood back as if to look at them as a group. “I swear, that gray’s got a wild look in his eye, kinda spookylike.”

“He’s the gentlest of the bunch, but he’s strong as an ox,” Cam commented, and he thought of the dappled gray gelding the first time he had seen him, with the black Spanish-style saddle and the scornful killer astride him. “What’ll you give?” he asked again.

“I don’t know,” Smiley repeated, “a hundred dollars.”

“Apiece?” Cam responded.

“Shit no!” Smiley blurted. “For all of ’em.”

“Hundred and fifty, and I’ll throw in the three saddles.”

“Why, them saddles are pretty wore out,” Smiley protested. “They ain’t worth much.”

“I expect I’d best go see if I can talk to Mr. Pylant. I’ve been told he pays a fair price for good horses,” Cam said, and put a foot in the stirrup, preparing to mount.

“All right,” Smiley said, “a hundred and fifty.”

Cam took his foot back out of the stirrup, and extended his hand. They shook on it, and Smiley said, “I’ll have to get you the money outta the bank. I don’t keep that much money here in the stable. Whaddaya say I run over there before the bank closes and I’ll meet you in the saloon afterwards and we’ll have a drink?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Cam said. “I’ll help you take the saddles off the horses you just bought, and I might as well leave my two here for the night, too, since it looks like I’ll be stayin’ over.” He pulled his saddle off the dun and relieved the packhorse of its small load, then stowed it all in the stall Smiley said would be his. “I’ll go on over to the hotel and get myself a room. Then I’ll meet you at the Cheyenne Star.” He drew his rifle from the saddle sling, picked up his saddlebags, and started out across the street.

“I’ll be there directly with your money,” Smiley assured him.

•   •   •

Cam felt like treating himself for a change. His little adopted family had arrived in Cheyenne safely, Mary’s gold was secured, and she was probably on her way to Fort Collins. The men who had chased them were no longer constantly on his mind. He had evidently lost them, thanks to Ardella’s knowledge of the mountains she had lived in for so many years. So he asked for a room on the second floor that faced the street, paying in advance. “That looked like a bathhouse on the back of the building,” Cam commented to the desk clerk.

“Yes, sir,” the clerk replied. “Would you like to get a hot bath?”

Cam hesitated for a moment before answering, “Yes, sir, I believe I would.” He had never had a bath in a tub with hot water, and he figured it was about time he tried it. Having never before been so flush with money, he decided he’d spend a little of it. Turning his attention back to the clerk, who was awaiting his decision on when he wanted his bath, he said, “First, I need to buy me a new shirt and a couple of other things. Then I’ll order up one of those baths.”

“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “All I’ll need is enough time to heat up some water, so you just let me know. You should be able to find a shirt across the street at Freeman’s.” He pointed toward a dry goods store next to a barbershop.

“Much obliged,” Cam said, picking up his room key from the counter. The barbershop put another idea in his head that he might consider, but first he had to meet Smiley in the saloon. As he ascended the stairs to the second floor, he realized that he felt like the first day upon reaching a cow town at the end of a long cattle drive—with the exception of having a hell of a lot more money in his pockets. He even forgot for a few moments that he missed Mary and the girls.

When he got to his room, he went inside and turned the key in the lock to see how securely the door closed. Satisfied that it was a sturdy enough barrier to discourage curious petty thieves, he looked around the room in search of a hiding place for the sack of gold dust in one pocket of his saddlebags. “Ain’t that fancy?” he muttered when he spotted the washstand with a pitcher and basin. He walked over and looked in the pitcher, and found that it had been filled with water. He was truly living like a rich gent, if only for a night. There was no obvious place to hide his gold, however, and he immediately reminded himself that if it was obvious, it wasn’t a good place anyway. Then he saw another item that spoke of affluence, a chamber pot.
So you don’t even have to walk out to the outhouse behind the bathhouse,
he thought.
That’ll be the best place to hide the gold
. He peered into it to make sure it had been cleaned since the last use. Then, holding the sack over the pot, he hesitated to consider if he should just give it to the clerk. They probably had a safe. He gave it another moment’s thought, then dropped it in the pot.
Anybody figuring to rob the place knows there’s money in the safe. Most likely wouldn’t bother with my room after one look at me
. Satisfied that the odds were in his favor that his gold would be safe while he was gone, he locked his door and went downstairs on his way to the Cheyenne Star.

Smiley was not there when he walked into the saloon. He hesitated to look over the few men sitting around a couple of tables playing cards before going to the bar and ordering a glass of beer. He took his beer to a table and sat down where he could watch the door for Smiley. He sipped the beer slowly, but was almost finished, and beginning to wonder if Smiley was going to show up, when the bald little man pushed through the swinging doors. “You been waitin’ long?” he asked. “It took me longer’n I figured at the bank.”

“Just long enough to finish a glass of beer,” Cam said. “You got the money?”

“Right here,” Smiley answered, and produced a neat stack of bills. While Cam quickly put the money away, Smiley called out to the bartender, “Fred, lemme have a shot of whiskey and a glass of beer.” Then back at Cam, he asked, “You want another?” When Cam said he did, Smiley ordered that from Fred, too, and then he produced a folded-up paper from his pocket. “I need you to sign this,” he said.

“Sign it?” Cam asked. “What is it?”

“It’s a bill of sale,” Smiley told him. “When that U.S. marshal comes to town lookin’ for them horses you stole, I’ll show him that I paid for ’em, fair and square.” He grinned to show Cam he was joking.

Cam signed the bill of sale, and then sat awhile with Smiley, who seemed anxious to tell him all the things that were happening in Cheyenne that were going to make it a better town. “Sure, it’s got a reputation as a wild, wide-open town, but there’s a lot of good solid folks moving in around Cheyenne, folks like Jim Pylant that you was askin’ about. It’s gonna be a decent town for women and children, people like that lady you were askin’ about.”

“Mary Bishop?” Cam replied. “She’s headin’ back home to Fort Collins, might already be on her way, if she was able to arrange transport.”

“She’s stayin’ right here in Cheyenne, accordin’ to what Mr. Proctor told me when I was in the bank.”

Cam couldn’t believe he heard right. “Mary Bishop, the woman with two little girls?” he asked incredulously. “Why would he say that?”