The Outlaw's Return

by Victoria Bylin

  Resigned to losing her, he put the note for Gus in his saddlebag, packed his things and then stretched on the bed and slept.

  Morning came hard and bright.

  So did hunger.

  So did the knowledge he wouldn’t be washing dishes for Mary ever again. He swung his feet off the bed, looked for Fancy Girl out of habit and felt melancholy. He tried not to think about Mary.

  He shaved and washed, put on dark clothes and went to the kitchen for breakfast. He ate quickly and in silence, then returned to his room, where he put on his guns and duster. He’d told Roy twelve noon, but he wanted to arrive first. J.T. knew the road to the Slewfoot Mine well. He’d ridden it a week ago with Gus, and two weeks ago when he’d arrived in Denver with foolish dreams. The ride to the mine glistened with memories of the camping trip. It was by the dying fire that he’d come to understand love. It was in the same spot he’d won back Mary’s trust and dared to hope for a future with her.

  His hope was dead, and the old J.T. was back in business. Riding slowly, he approached the played-out mine. Someone had boarded up the rectangular entrance, but time had eroded the planks and a man could get inside. Overhead the sky burned with a blue heat broken only by billowing white clouds. Today he felt no wonder at their distant beauty, only an awareness that clouds came and went. He rode past a hillside covered with gravel-like rock, then looked to the right where scattered boulders offered cover. The mine loomed in front of him. Knowing it led to a maze of dark tunnels, he turned away from it.

  “Quinn!”

  The raspy voice didn’t belong to Roy. It belonged to Griff Lassen, and he sounded as mean as ever. J.T. was high on his horse in open space. He needed cover and he needed it now, so he backpedaled the buckskin to a lone boulder. Sliding out of the saddle, he gripped his Colt and sized up the terrain. He didn’t like what he saw at all. The apron of rock above him would give neither cover nor purchase, and the road he’d just ridden stretched for a quarter mile before it turned. A couple of cottonwoods offered protection, but not much. Aside from the mine, he had nowhere to go.

  He’d picked this place so he could see someone coming. Instead he’d ridden into a trap. He felt like a fool. Instead of Lassen doing in Roy, Roy had tricked J.T. into facing off with Lassen. There was bad blood between J.T. and Griff, but today they had a common foe in Roy. Before J.T. did anything, he needed to know where he stood with his former partner. “Is that you, Griff?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he called back. “I can’t say I was expecting you. Desmond’s supposed to show up with the money he owes some friends of mine.”

  Griff sounded downright pleasant. Maybe he’d forgotten about Fancy Girl and the squatters. “Funny you’d mention Desmond,” J.T. called with equal friendliness. “He’s got business with me, too.”

  “Maybe we should come out from behind these rocks and talk.”

  “I don’t know, Griff.” If J.T. moved, Griff would have a clear shot. “You weren’t too happy with me about that dog incident.”

  “I know.”

  “I left you in a lurch.” He wouldn’t apologize, but Griff would get the drift.

  “Forget it, Quinn. I say we let bygones be bygones. Come on out.”

  As a precaution, J.T. took off his hat and put it on a stick. “Here I come,” he called, waving the hat.

  A bullet went through the brim. Pivoting around the boulder, J.T. jammed the hat on his head and fired back.

  In the volley of gunfire, Griff cursed. “You’re a traitor, Quinn! That squatter in Wyoming put out my eye. You’re going to pay for that.”

  J.T. had no intention of dying, but he’d gotten himself in a bind. The entrance to the mine offered cover, but he’d be trapped in the maze of tunnels—dark tunnels that went nowhere. He turned and looked down the road he’d just taken. It offered no protection at all. His best chance lay in making a deal with Lassen.

  “Let’s talk,” J.T. shouted. “You want Desmond. So do I.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Sure you do.”

  Lassen answered with a low laugh. “Face it, Quinn. You’re about to die.” He fired to prove his point.

  J.T. counted to three, twisted around the boulder and fired back. He caught a glimpse of Lassen and fired again, but not before Lassen got off a shot of his own. The bullet ricocheted off the rock an inch from J.T.’s face. He’d die if he didn’t make a move, so he broke for the mine, firing as he ran at full speed until his foot landed in a hole and he stumbled.

  He heard a crumbling like dead wood, and then he was falling…falling…falling into a black hole without a bottom. Cool air rushed by him. His shoulder banged on the side of the shaft and he lost his grip on his gun. Rocks and dirt tumbled with him until he landed on his back thirty feet below the surface. Pain shot through his chest and shoulders. He couldn’t breathe, not even a gasp. Vaguely he realized he’d fallen down an air shaft and landed in the belly of the mine. His thoughts formed an unwilling prayer.

  Dear God, what have I done?

  He’d gone off today like a stupid kid. He’d left Mary and Gertie at Roy’s mercy, and now he was going to die. Silently, he endured the pain in his body, not crying out because he couldn’t make a sound.

  He managed a small, painful breath. Then another. Finally he could breathe a little and he realized he wouldn’t be dying in the next ten seconds. Lying flat on his back, he took stock of his injuries. He’d had the wind knocked out of him, and he couldn’t move his right shoulder without knife-like pain. He checked it with his good hand and decided it was dislocated and not broken. His head hurt so bad he couldn’t focus his eyes. He tried to sit up, but the pain forced him down.

  Staring at the circle of blue sky, he thought of his horse. Lassen would steal it and take the money in the saddlebag. He’d also look for J.T.’s dead body and maybe fire down the shaft to finish the job. No matter how much it hurt, and how much he hated the dark, J.T. had to take cover. Swallowing bile, he dragged himself six feet into the pitch-black. Twice he nearly passed out, but he made it to the chiseled rock wall. Cradling his arm, he sat up and vomited. Whether the nausea came from the knock to his head, the pain or fear, he didn’t know. He could only hope the mine had another way out.

  Looking up, he saw a waterfall of light but not the mouth of the shaft. As a shadow erased the glow, a small landslide of dirt and rock tumbled over the edge. “You down there, Quinn?”

  J.T. held in a curse. He couldn’t let Lassen know he’d survived the fall.

  “I saw you go down.” Lassen’s chuckle echoed down the shaft. So did the click of a gun being cocked. “The mine caved in a year ago. There’s no way out.”

  Sweat poured down J.T.’s back. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t let the man know he’d survived. If he did, Lassen would shoot into the shaft. He didn’t have a clear shot, but bullets could ricochet. Instead of leaving, Lassen pulled the trigger of his gun. The bullet hit two feet from J.T.’s thigh. By a sheer act of will, he didn’t shout. Lassen fired again and again. The bullets flew and ricocheted until he’d emptied his pistol. Roaring with laughter, he holstered the weapon and walked away.

  J.T. didn’t have lead in his belly or his head, but sweat was pouring out of him in rivers. He could breathe almost normally, but his bones felt as if they’d been crushed. Sitting up, he spotted his Colt six feet away in the circle of light. A lot of good it would do him. No one except Roy knew where he’d gone, and Roy wanted him dead. He’d never been more alone in his life. He stared at the gun a long time, then crawled to it and put it in the holster still tied to his thigh.

  The walls closed in on him. So did the dark. He had to get out. There had to be a way…. Panting with pain, he leveraged to his feet and hobbled into what seemed to be a tunnel. He moved forward cautiously, dragging his good hand along the wall. Dirt collected under his nails. With each step, the mine grew colder. He sniffed for fresh air but smelled only dust and sweat. Ten paces later he reached a dead end. He backtr
acked and stumbled on a downed timber. He circled the area again, then a third time, and still there was no way out.

  Cold and bleeding, he limped to the light. With his pulse thundering, he looked up at the sky and screamed for help at the top of his lungs.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mary didn’t expect J.T. to show up to wash dishes, and he didn’t. She served breakfast as usual and then went upstairs to check on her sister. When Adie arrived with a box of chocolates for Gertie, she told Mary that J.T.’s buckskin was missing from the carriage house, but that he’d left his pack horse.

  “Maybe he just went for a ride,” Mary said hopefully.

  “I don’t think so.” Adie’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Someone kicked down the side door to the Newcastle.”

  It had to be J.T. Mary imagined Roy dead at his desk with a bullet between his eyes. She hated the man, but she couldn’t tolerate murder. She braced herself for bad news. “Has anyone seen Roy?”

  “Josh saw him this morning.”

  Relief flooded through her, but it disappeared in a wave of fresh worry. Had Roy bested J.T.? It was possible but unlikely. She’d been about to bring Gertie a lunch tray, but she set it down and headed for the door. “I have to find J.T.”

  Adie gripped her arm. “You can’t go after him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Roy might try to hurt you the way he hurt Gertie. Josh is talking to Deputy Morgan right now, then he’ll go to J.T.’s boardinghouse. Brick offered to check Market Street, and some of the other workers are looking, too.”

  J.T. had friends, and he didn’t even know it. Mary felt a bit calmer, but nothing could ease the burden of having parted with angry words. She’d thought a lot about Caroline’s story. She could forgive J.T. for anything, and she loved him enough to wait for him to come to his senses. She might not always trust J.T.’s judgment, but she could trust God. She just had to be patient.

  Adie broke into her thoughts. “Do you have any idea where J.T. might be?”

  She thought for a minute. If Roy was walking around Denver, J.T. would have stayed in town to watch him. Was he lying low until Lassen made a move? Perhaps he was setting up a ruse of his own for Roy and Griff Lassen. The other possibility, that he was dead or dying, scared her to death.

  “He could be anywhere,” she admitted to Adie.

  Her friend squeezed her hand. “When J.T.’s ready, he’ll come to you.”

  “I hope so.”

  “He loves you,” Adie said with confidence. “He’ll be back.”

  Mary wanted to believe her, but she knew life could be unkind. She didn’t always understand God’s ways, but she could pray for J.T. with every breath. It was the best and only thing she could do.

  The remainder of the first day passed with J.T. trying to climb out of the air shaft. He found a rope, but it crumbled in his fingers. Even if it had been strong, what could he have done with it? His shoulder was hanging like a broken wing, and he’d fallen too far.

  He took off his gun belt and set it on the ground. Of all the useless things to have…he needed water and food, a blanket and clothes that weren’t soaked in sweat. He needed someone with a rope and a horse to pull him out, but no one knew where he’d gone. He controlled his fear by looking up at the circle of sky, but dusk brought total darkness. He preferred physical pain to the panic, so he decided to try and fix his shoulder.

  Lying flat, he maneuvered the arm forward and back. His groans echoed in the shaft, but he worked the joint until it popped into place. Relief from the pain was instant, but the panic made him sweat again, and sweating reminded him of how badly he needed water. He tried to moisten his lips, but his tongue felt sticky and dry. A man couldn’t go long without water, and J.T. had consumed just one cup of coffee at breakfast. The day before he’d been so worried about Mary that he hadn’t eaten anything, and he didn’t recall drinking more than a few sips of water while cleaning the café. The coolness of the mine worked to his advantage, but he didn’t have more than three days, maybe four, before he’d be a corpse.

  Fighting to stay calm, he searched the patch of sky for even a single star. A white dot emerged from the gloom, growing brighter as he stared. He wanted to pray, but he’d pushed God away. Mary had pleaded with him to wait before going after Roy, and he’d pushed her away, too. Now he was buried alive and Roy was walking around Denver, a threat to Mary and her family. He wanted to shout and break things, but no one would hear him and he had nothing to hit. Instead, he closed his eyes and recalled the nights Fancy Girl had warmed his toes. He remembered his talk with Gus about babies and love, and mostly he thought about Mary. For a short time, she’d carried his child. He couldn’t think of a more generous gift, and what had he given her in return? Nothing but heartache.

  His leg cramped, a sign of needing water. Straightening it to kill the pain, he opened his eyes and looked again at the star. It hadn’t moved, and he drew comfort from the point of light. He’d have given anything to climb out of the hole, but he could only lie in the dark, dreaming of Mary and wishing he’d done things differently.

  On the second day, Mary woke up early and dressed for church. She’d never seen Gus so glum, and Gertie’s mood matched the plum-colored bruises on her face. The girl didn’t feel ready to answer questions, so she asked to stay home from the Sunday service. Gertie needed time to heal, so Mary hugged her sister and left with Gus.

  They arrived at Brick’s place early. Instead of an empty saloon, she found Josh in a circle of men, quizzing them for news about J.T. Brick had made another tour of Market Street, and he’d learned J.T. had met with Roy at the Alhambra. The meeting had seemed amiable to the barkeep, and the men had left separately and an hour apart. Mary didn’t know what to think. Had J.T. set up a future confrontation with Roy? And what had happened to Griff Lassen? No one knew what he looked like, which made finding him impossible.

  Just as disheartening, Josh had made a second visit to J.T.’s boardinghouse. This time he’d asked the landlady to unlock the door and he’d inspected the room. Wherever J.T. had gone, he’d taken his things.

  When people started arriving for the service, the meeting broke up. Mary took her place in the front row, but she couldn’t stop turning to the door with the hope she’d see J.T. She sang the usual hymns, but today they brought no comfort. She could believe J.T. would do something stupid to Roy, but she couldn’t believe he’d leave without a final goodbye. He loved her. He loved Fancy Girl, and he cared about Gus. Nor would he have left Denver with Roy still a threat.

  At the end of the service, Josh led a prayer for J.T.’s safety, ending it with a hushed “Amen.” He gave the usual invitation to supper at Swan’s Nest, but Mary made excuses and left. Alone and scared, she walked the streets, looking in every crevice and corner for the man she loved, until her feet were sore and her knees were throbbing. At the end of the day, she dragged herself up the steps to her apartment.

  Gus came out of his room. “Is he coming back?” he asked.

  “I hope so.”

  But with every minute, she grew more convinced he was dying or dead. Aching inside, she went to the window and stared at the horizon. Clouds towered in the west, boiling and churning as thunder announced the coming of a storm. Mary bowed her head. “Please, Lord,” she said out loud. “Keep J.T. safe. Show Yourself to him, and remind him that You love him.”

  Choking on tears, she whispered, “I love him, too.” She’d have given anything to have said the words before he left. Instead she’d let him leave in bitter silence. Tomorrow she’d look for him again. She’d search until she found him, just as he’d been looking for her when he’d come to Denver.

  J.T.’s second day in the mine began with a shift in the light from black to gray. His belly ached with hunger, and his throat felt as dry as sand. Predictably, his head hurt worse than yesterday. He could move his shoulder but not easily. As the hours passed, the pain sharpened his thoughts to the simplest of facts.

  He was going to
die here.

  He’d left Gus without saying goodbye.

  He’d never see his dog again.

  Worst of all, he’d left Mary twisting in the wind. Not only had he left her in danger from Roy, but she’d never know what had happened to him. They’d quarreled, but J.T. didn’t doubt she cared for him. By dying in this hole, he’d done the unthinkable to the woman he loved. He’d left her to worry and wonder forever.

  “Mary, forgive me,” he whispered.

  He closed his eyes and pictured her face. Two days ago he’d earned back her trust. He’d had hopes for marriage and had wanted to find a decent way to make a living. He’d dared to believe that God cared. Then Gertie had been attacked, and again he’d lost confidence in anyone but himself. Prideful and sure, he’d dug this grave with his arrogance.

  For hours he stared at the circle of sky. As the sun rose to high noon, the pale glow turned into hot gold. It warmed his face and blinded him with the same light. He couldn’t see, couldn’t blink. He felt the goodness of the light and almost wept. He wanted to be a man, not a squalling child, so he took a breath to steady himself. It worked, but just barely.

  More hours passed. His mouth turned to cotton and he felt feverish from lack of water. He thought of Fancy Girl and the puppies and how she’d licked them into life. He relived the camping trip with Gus and the water fight, the way he’d fallen back in the stream and how the water had rushed over him. He imagined Mary singing songs he’d heard in Abilene, then the hymn she’d been singing when he’d found her in church. Two weeks had passed, but it seemed like a lifetime.

  He tried to moisten his lips, but he didn’t have enough spit. He wished he’d stayed with Mary. He wished he’d done things her way instead of his own. His belly hurt with hunger, but the thirst plagued him far more. He had the shakes and his legs wouldn’t stop cramping. He didn’t have much time, maybe a day or two. The end would come soon. He’d go crazy and soil himself like a baby. He’d die alone and without dignity.