“So that’s all a man needs to do to get away with a crime? Just run far enough away and the law will throw up its hands?”
“There won’t be any real law in Deadwood until my appointment becomes official,” Bullock snapped. “Besides that, I’ve got reason to believe there was more than enough money passed around to muck up the whole process anyway. I intend on doing the best I can, so cool your goddamn heels and give my men some peace and quiet. It’s been a long night and I won’t freeze to death on your say-so.”
Silence fell upon the men that cut deeper than any chill in the air. Even though he couldn’t quite make out the faces of all the men involved, Caleb was still grinning from ear to ear. He remained on his belly amid some dead bushes for a few more seconds, even though the naked branches were digging into his back and several cold rocks were grinding against his ribs.
“Fine,” Samuel muttered.
“It certainly is,” Bullock replied before Samuel could get another word in. “And I’m damn glad you approve.”
That exchange, followed by Samuel’s pointless muttering as the rest of the men rode away, made all of Caleb’s discomfort worth his while. Dark shapes moved away, leaving Samuel by himself on the edge of the clearing.
Caleb was about to move back, but stayed where he was when he saw Samuel urge his horse a few more paces into the clearing. Narrowing his eyes, Caleb held his breath to protect against the off chance that steam from his nose or mouth might be spotted drifting through the air.
Samuel was a small figure perched atop his horse, huddled against the cold. His eyes caught a few stray beams of moonlight as they slowly took in the clearing. The promising patch of land that he’d acquired from Creek Johnson was now in shambles. Rocks were strewn everywhere after having been picked through and kicked in all directions. The river was cracked and shattered.
Most important, there wasn’t a trace of gold to be found.
Even though nobody would expect to find such a treasure in plain sight, there was also a feeling a man got when standing upon that claim. It was a sense most miners had that ran all the way down to an instinctual level.
That land was picked bare.
Caleb knew it.
Samuel knew it.
Whatever gold that may still be there was buried so deep under rock or was so far at the bottom of the river that it made the clearing just as valuable as any other random chunk of land in the Black Hills.
After muttering something under his breath, Samuel turned his horse around and followed in Bullock’s tracks.
Waiting until he could no longer hear the stomping of hooves in the distance, Caleb backed out of the bushes that had kept him hidden just across the frozen stream. Doc was waiting right where he’d left him. The pale man slouched in his saddle as if nothing more than good balance and the lack of a breeze was keeping him from falling.
“They’re gone,” Caleb announced as he climbed onto the back of his own horse.
Doc coughed into his hand, started to speak, and then was cut short by a fit of hacking that shook his shoulders.
Even though Doc was doing his best to keep from making too much noise, Caleb looked around nervously for any sign that someone else may have heard. “You all right?” he asked.
Once his breath tapered off to a wheeze, Doc filled his lungs as best he could and lowered the hand from his mouth. “They might have circled back. One of them’s got to know another way to cross this stream. Any one of those men could know this land a lot better than we do.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think any of them were interested.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because Bullock was talking to that shifty fellow like he was a kid,” Caleb replied with a smirk. “I also heard mention that there’s no official law in that camp just yet.”
Doc nodded, but that simple motion seemed to have dislodged something in his throat. He lowered his head and fished out a handkerchief from his pocket so he could clear the mess that had been kicked up. “Folks were talking about that at one of the games I attended,” Doc explained. “Quite amusing, really, to hear the same locals complain about having no law while also grousing about there being too much of it.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said as he studied Doc’s face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Doc pulled himself up so he could sit regally in his saddle. With blood trickling from the corner of one mouth, he declared, “Don’t I look all right to you?”
With that, Doc promptly let out a breath and slumped forward.
As Caleb lunged forward to try to get ahold of the Georgian’s arm or anything else that could be used as a handle, he thought about all the warnings Doc had been given from one physician or another regarding his condition. No matter how vehemently a doctor insisted that consumption be treated diligently and held off by plenty of rest and any of a dozen special diets, Doc would always continue doing whatever the hell he wanted.
Whether that meant gambling for days on end without sleep or scrambling across frozen streams at all hours of the night, Doc did what he pleased. No matter how pale his skin became or how sunken his cheeks may get, Doc had a tongue that was quick enough to convince most anyone that he was just as capable as anyone else on God’s green earth.
Strangely enough, there were times when Caleb forgot Doc was sick. There were plenty of times when it seemed that Doc had enough of a spark in his eye to let him outlive damn near anyone. Considering everything they’d been through, it was hard for Caleb to believe a cough could do someone like Doc much harm at all.
All of that flooded through Caleb’s mind in the time it took for him to get within arm’s reach of Doc and extend his hand. The instant Caleb’s fingers closed around Doc’s elbow, the slender dentist shook free of his grasp.
“Don’t bother,” Doc snapped. “I’m fine.”
“You nearly fell from your horse.”
“But I didn’t,” Doc said as he straightened up and pulled in a haggard breath. “As you can plainly see.”
Caleb studied the other man and had to admit that Doc was doing just fine without his help. Somehow, Doc always managed to stay upright and keep riding while also looking like death warmed over. Then again, considering the nasty bite in the air, not much of anything could stay warmed over for very long.
“Let’s get out of here,” Caleb said. “No matter what Bullock wants to do, I think that skinny fellow intended on finding us.”
“Let him come. He can bring as many outlaws from Texas as he pleases. That little bastard probably doesn’t even know Dave Rudabaugh.”
“But . . . we saw them both at . . .” Rather than finish his observation, Caleb took a closer look at Doc’s face. He’d seen the dentist drunk plenty of times, but there was usually more life in his eyes than there was right now. “Come on,” he said while refraining from laying a hand on Doc or his horse. “I know a place we can go that’s not too far from here.”
“You mean that place where we found Rudabaugh?” Doc asked.
“Not hardly. It’s a trading post that has a few rooms to rent. Shouldn’t be more than a mile or so from here.”
“What about this spot?” Doc asked as he warily looked around. “I’m always being told the mountain air will do me good.”
“We can’t afford to build a fire and we’ll freeze to death without one, so your idea is out of the question.”
“Then by all means, lead on.”
Caleb led on.
Fortunately, the terrain required them to take their time and ride slowly from one patch of rocks to another. Even if they’d both been in their prime, Caleb and Doc would have had to slow down to navigate from the hills and back onto a more accommodating trail.
Once they got some level ground beneath their horses’ hooves, they pointed their noses east and snapped the reins. On some level, Caleb wanted to see Doc fall from his saddle just to prove that he needed to accept a bit of help every now and then. He kept a close eye on the slender figure b
eside him throughout the next several hours, waiting to see if that hard lesson would be taught that night.
It was close to morning by the time they reached the trading post. Doc’s eyes brightened when they arrived, but dimmed once he was staggering through the door to his room. There was little wonder as to why all the rooms were available. Instead of being over the trading post as Caleb had thought, they were tacked onto the back of it. The rates were cheap, but still seemed expensive for a closet with a cot propped against one wall. The air stank of its previous tenants and offered next to no protection from the cold night air. Fortunately, the paper-thin walls made it easier for Caleb to keep track of Doc’s well-being.
He could hear Doc in the room next to his. The Georgian coughed every couple of seconds as he shuffled heavily across the floor and dropped onto his cot. Once he was down, the coughing stopped for the amount of time required for Doc to take a pull from his flask. As always, the whiskey eased his coughing just enough for him to fall asleep.
Despite the fact that a posse could be nipping at his heels, that a known killer was probably out looking for him, and that his own partner may be knocking on death’s door, Caleb curled up on his rented cot and closed his eyes.
It wasn’t the best night’s sleep he’d ever had, but any little taste of unconsciousness was a welcome change of pace.
14
When Caleb woke up the next morning, he threw on some clothes and staggered out of his room. The trading post was even shoddier than it had seemed the night before. In fact, there were no boards beneath his feet and no real walls around him. Instead, large wooden slats were laid over canvas-covered ground. The walls were made of similar slats that weren’t even tall enough to reach the top of the tent that had looked vaguely like a building to wearier eyes.
There were doors within frames, but those could have been knocked over by any shoulder with more than fifty pounds behind it. Caleb rubbed his eyes and looked at the next room to find that door partially open. He knocked a few times to announce himself, but knew that wouldn’t do much good. He realized just how true that was when he stuck his head into the room and took a look inside.
Doc was gone.
Even though Caleb had braced himself to find the dentist curled up in a heap or splayed upon the floor, he hadn’t been prepared to find an empty room. Doc was really gone and Caleb couldn’t even hazard a guess as to how a man in Doc’s condition had so easily given him the slip. As soon as he spotted someone who looked like they worked at the trading post, Caleb walked over to them and asked, “Where’s the man who rented this room?”
The person Caleb had spotted was a small woman who had her arms loaded with folded blankets and towels that were more likely meant to be sold up front rather than distributed to the rental rooms. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she reflexively took a step back. “I don’t know who you mean,” she said. “I just got here.”
Caleb forced a friendlier expression onto his face and took a step back so his holstered pistol wasn’t so prominently displayed. “He’s a friend of mine,” he explained. “He’s also sick.”
“Oh, you mean the man with the horrible cough?”
“That’s the one.”
She nodded toward the front of the tent. “He stepped outside after breakfast.”
“He’s already eaten?”
“Yes,” she replied. “You can help yourself to whatever’s left, since you’re a paying customer and all. Just go next door to Bud’s place.”
“All right. Thanks.”
The woman was all too eager to move away from Caleb and she did so as quickly as her feet could carry her. As he walked to the front of the trading post, Caleb glanced around as if it was the first time he’d seen it. Considering he’d only passed by the trading post once before over a month ago, Caleb wasn’t too shocked to discover the place wasn’t exactly as he’d remembered it.
Now that there was more than the occasional sputtering lantern for light, he could see the canvas walls fluttering against the wooden frame supporting them. The trading post was large for a tent, but it was still most definitely a tent. To the right of the front door, there was a flap held open by a hook and eye, leading to another smaller tent where breakfast was being served. Caleb could smell coffee and biscuits coming from that direction, but wanted to tend to another matter before filling his stomach.
Stepping outside was akin to being shoved into a tub of cold water. The moment he made it through the crooked doorway, Caleb was enveloped in an icy wind that lanced straight through his chest and put such a grip upon his lungs that it became impossible to take a breath.
Doc stood a few paces out with his arms crossed and his chin raised to the unrelenting cold.
“You trying to freeze to death, Doc?” Caleb asked as he stepped up beside the dentist. “Mountain air’s one thing. This is about to snap my fingers off one at a time.”
When he looked over at Caleb, Doc showed the usual spark in his eye. His skin hung off his face in much the same way that the canvas hung off the wooden frames of the tent behind him. “It’s bracing, Caleb. Makes a man feel happy to be alive.”
Taking a moment to try to see what the fuss was about, Caleb closed his eyes and pulled in as much of a breath as he could. When he opened his eyes again, he saw wide-open terrain littered with boulders and trees that had been stripped of everything other than their bark.
Even though he felt like he was being stabbed by icicles, Caleb smiled. “You know what makes me feel happy?” he asked. “Not seeing anyone pointing a gun at us.”
“And do you know what will make you feel even better?” Doc asked.
“What?”
“Some of those biscuits. I can’t say much about the presentation, but Bud is one hell of a fine cook.”
Caleb looked over at the dentist to see if Doc was kidding. Not only was Doc serious, but he seemed to be in better spirits than Caleb himself.
“Maybe I will have some breakfast,” Caleb said. “Just as long as the coffee’s hot, it’ll be better than standing out here.”
“I believe I’ll join you.”
Both men stepped into the smaller tent situated beside the trading post and found a few empty chairs around a lopsided table. After waiting by themselves for a minute or two, the woman who’d been carrying the sheets earlier rushed inside and placed some dented tin cups in front of them.
“Back for more, I see,” she said with a cheerful smile. That smile became a bit more forced when she aimed it at Caleb. “And you, as well.”
“I recommend the biscuits and gravy,” Doc said.
“That and the coffee should be fine,” Caleb said. “That is, unless you’ve got something else cooking?”
“That’s all we got,” the woman replied. Before long, she returned with a kettle of coffee to fill the cups. “I’ll just leave this here so you can help yourselves.”
Doc stirred his coffee and fished out the bigger clumps of grounds with his spoon. Although he seemed completely focused upon his task, he also seemed to know the exact moment when the woman had gone far enough away from him to speak without being heard. “As much as I hate to be forced away from a place as delightful as that mining camp, we should probably put some more distance between ourselves and Deadwood.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. You still set on Laclede?”
“There are a few other towns in Kansas I’d like to visit along the way.”
After sipping his coffee, Caleb winced and grumbled, “Alice gave you the talk about Dodge City, huh?”
“We must go where the winds of fortune guide us,” Doc said as he spiked his coffee with some whiskey from his flask.
“After what happened so far, I’m surprised the winds of fortune haven’t blown us both straight to hell.”
“Give them time, my friend.”
The coffee was as strong as it was gritty. Every sip Caleb took, he could feel the brew pulling his eyelids open from the inside and the wet grounds gathering on the
back of his throat. “We may not have much time before Bullock and the rest come hunting for us.”
Doc shrugged his shoulders and then shook his head. “I don’t think they got much of a look at us.”
“What?” Caleb asked as he nearly dropped his cup. “How the hell could you think something like that? Were all those men blind?”
“No, but they couldn’t see in the dark, either. Most of them barely made it out of those trees before we had our backs to them, and it sounds like Samuel’s word doesn’t hold much water with Bullock.”
“We were close enough to spit on that posse, Doc.”
“We were also trying to keep our heads down while running for our lives. Judging by how wild their shots were, I’d say that posse was doing the same. Can you honestly tell me you remember the faces of all those men that were in that clearing?”
After a bit of consideration, Caleb had to shake his head. “No, but I knew Bullock and Samuel were there.”
“That’s because you knew Samuel might be there and you recognized Bullock’s voice.”
“If that asshole told Bullock what he needed to hear to get him to that clearing with all his men, then those men must have known we’d be there, too.”
“Yes,” Doc said with a smirk. “But we are not bound to the letter of the law. We can use our instincts a lot more than your average posse. They need to justify what they did and prove they were right.”
Caleb let out a short, humorless laugh. “Sounds to me like you think awfully highly of peacekeepers.”
“It’s all just a game, my friend. If you want to come out ahead, you’ve got to know what’s going on across the table from you. Once you’ve got the other players figured out, everything becomes a whole lot easier.”
“Sure. You’re having the time of your life while we both become wanted men.”
Caleb heard a clipped sigh behind him. When he turned around, he saw the woman who’d brought him his coffee carrying his breakfast on a few loaded plates. She set the plates onto the table before asking, “Those wanted men are around here?”
The Accomplice: The Silent Partner Page 13
