Gambling on the Outlaw

by Margaret Madigan

  But tonight Big Black had put his foot down.

  After leaving the long mountain valley we’d headed northeast into Deadman’s Canyon, and shortly after nightfall, near a stand of Pinyons, Big Black had stopped in his tracks and refused to move any farther.

  I still wasn’t ready to risk a fire, but I collected some pine nuts from the trees and sat and ate those while I started to plan.

  I figured my best bet, in the long run, was to head up to Montana Territory and sign on with another cattle outfit. It wasn’t likely they’d have ever heard of Dearborn or the problems of Palmer, Nevada. Now, the stage robbery and murders, having happened nearby Virginia City, they might have heard of that up in Montana, but I could always give them another name, and they’d never be the wiser. It still ate at me that I’d have to abandon my good name, but thanks to Dearborn it wasn’t good anymore. Though I had to admit, having worked as a hired gun hadn’t done much for my good name, either. But it was still work, and not an accusation of killing women and robbing a stage—things I’d never done.

  More than anything I wanted to go back and finish what I’d started, because even more than my reputation, I just couldn’t tolerate being set up and allowing Dearborn to get away with it. But I had nothing to do the job, and if Beth had done her part, Dearborn was somewhere else chasing my ghost.

  I tried to convince myself that I was better off to just take my leave while the taking was good, and start a new life. It was the practical thing to do. But it sure didn’t feel right.

  Big Black laid himself down in the dirt next to me and sighed his exhaustion. I rubbed his neck, then shifted so I could lean my back against him, making the most of his warmth.

  “You’re as good as Beth said. I’m much obliged, boy.”

  He snorted.

  “But don’t get too comfortable. We’re not staying here long.”

  Beth had been on my mind, at least part of the time over the last two days, and now with her horse at my back, I had some time to wonder about her. I’d just about choked when I saw the posse heading for her place, and I’d figured it would be the end of me right then and there because there was no way I’d go easy and let them have their sham trial, then the public humiliation of a hanging. I was ready to find a weapon and fight it out on the spot. But Beth didn’t even hesitate. She’d given me one of her most valuable possessions and told me to run. All that after I’d insulted and rejected her.

  Guilt gnawed at my gut for leaving her with the mess she’d have to deal with. Dawson and Dearborn would make things difficult for her, especially if she sent them in the wrong direction, and she must have, because I saw no signs of a posse riding hot on my trail. When they discovered she’d lied to them, it would go hard for her.

  That led me back to wondering about her. Why had she done all that for me, a stranger and a wanted man? I’d told her I didn’t want her, but damned if she wasn’t a stubborn fool and ignored me. Maybe she’d seen me for the liar I was, at least where she was concerned, because I most certainly did want her.

  I just couldn’t have her.

  She had to know there was no future for us, especially now. It must be that she just hated Dawson and Dearborn enough to want to see them outwitted. Of course, that didn’t explain away the passion she kissed me with, or the eager way she responded to my touch.

  I shook my head, unable to untangle the woman’s thinking. Still, she was a fine woman, beautiful for sure, but clever and spirited, and exactly what I’d want if I were in a position to take a bride, which I wasn’t and never would be.

  I shifted some, finding a more comfortable position huddled against Big Black’s belly, and as I drifted off to sleep, I allowed myself the luxury of imagining what life with Beth Caldwell would be like.

  I woke when Big Black stood out from underneath me, dumping me in the dirt. Light peeked into the canyon, though it would be hours before the sun actually made it’s way over the edge of the rock walls.

  “’Morning to you, too,” I said.

  Standing was an unpleasant experience. My body ached, and my stomach growled, then squeezed, reminding me how blasted empty it was. Last night’s nuts hadn’t been near enough to satisfy my hunger. As much as I didn’t want to waste the time, I needed to find some real food, and that meant staying put for a while longer and being patient.

  “Looks like you win, boy.”

  Boreas blew his relief, and nibbled at a patch of grass growing between the trees.

  I built a few traps and set them in spots that looked like rabbit trails, hoping to catch something. Then I went to work on what I figured was a more likely source of food—turning rocks in search of grubs. They were a nasty source of food, popping in the mouth, their slimy insides warm and sour on the tongue. But even thinking about how unpleasant they tasted, my stomach growled. It took some patience, but after turning over several rocks, I flipped a rotten log and found a handful of grubs and some ants. They tasted horrible, but it was something in my empty belly.

  It wasn’t enough, though. With a little food, my body protested for more, so I grabbed a sharp stick and jabbed it into every crack I could find in the canyon walls and between boulders. After several jabs I was rewarded with an angry rattler.

  He slithered out of his hole, tail clattering up a storm. As soon as he had me in his sights he struck, but I managed to dodge him. He tried again, and I jumped away, and again, and when he missed a third time he regrouped, curling up to wait me out. But when he sat still, I aimed the sharp end of my long stick at him, hoping to pin him down long enough to kill him. I knew I’d only have one shot at it because if I missed he’d strike at me again, and I’d be close enough he couldn’t miss. So I eyeballed him while he eyeballed me, his tail still rattling an angry warning. Today wasn’t his day. I was just too damned hungry to be cautious, so while he sat there trying to scare me off, it was my turn to strike. I sprang so fast and stabbed him so hard, that poor rattler didn’t even know what hit him.

  With a squirming, skewered snake hanging from the end of my stick, I picked up a nearby rock and bashed his head in, then headed back to the clearing to make a small fire. While I searched for dry firewood, I checked my traps. All of them were empty, so it looked like my stomach would have to be satisfied with a handful of grubs and a tough old rattler.

  There were enough dead branches on the trees, and dry twigs nearby so I could build a small fire and not worry about too much smoke. It was bad enough I’d be eating rattler for breakfast, but I’d be damned if I’d eat the thing raw. A little fire was worth the risk.

  It didn’t take long to cook, and when it was done, I settled onto the ground nearby and started peeling off charred skin, trying not to burn my fingers. The flesh I managed to salvage from the carcass was tough and flavorless, but it was food in my belly. I ate most of it so fast I didn’t even notice the little bones sticking in my teeth. By the time I got to the end of it my stomach had stopped hollering at me, and I figured I’d live another few days without starving to death.

  It was then that Dearborn came to mind, and the snake meat in my mouth suddenly tasted sour. I glanced up at Big Black, who scrounged for what grass and pine nuts he could find.

  How did I let myself get here?

  I’d been reduced to running for my life like a real criminal, watching over my shoulder for the law when I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d let Dearborn get under my skin, let him push me into digging in the dirt in search of food, and feeling grateful for a meal of a handful of larvae.

  I tossed the rest of the rattler into the fire, my appetite gone.

  “What the hell am I doing?”

  Big Black’s head swung in my direction, his black eyes watching me, and then he blew and turned away. I couldn’t help thinking I’d seen disgust there, like he’d judged me yellow for not staying and standing up to the posse, and I had to agree with him.

  I’d seen that posse coming and not being armed, and not wanting to put those women in danger, I’d tak
en off as fast as a jackrabbit. But now that I was out of immediate danger, it was time to go back.

  I kicked dirt on the fire and stamped it out, then hefted the saddle back onto Big Black.

  I’d rather die than spend my life running and hiding like a common coward. That wasn’t the way I was brought up. It wasn’t how I got through the war, or the years after. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to start doing it now.

  “Going to need a weapon,” I said, mounting the saddle and pointing Big Black northeast to cut through the mountains and hook up with the Carson River. I’d head downriver to Dayton or Silver City. I’d be able to find something there. Then I’d head back for the Lazy D and wait for Dearborn to show his dirty lying face again.

  …

  Near sundown, the trail got steeper and the walls of the canyon narrowed. It had been a long day in the saddle and the fire in my belly to go back for Dearborn gave way to exhaustion. I must have dozed in the saddle. It wasn’t until Big Black stopped and the reins slipped from my fingers that I finally came to enough to notice my surroundings.

  We stood in a small dirt clearing on a ledge with a dirt-and-rock wall on one side and a cliff overlooking the main trail below, on the right. A miner’s cabin that had seen better days lay straight in front of us, nestled between the wall and the cliff, partially surrounded by aspens and some pines.

  Black nibbled at a patch of grass, and I slipped out of the saddle, looking down my back trail, which was a steep, narrow dirt track. I don’t know how he even found it, never mind why he followed it, but another look at the cabin, and I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  I tied Black to a nearby tree, then reached for my gun, cursing when I grabbed air at my hip. I’d been without one since being on the run from the Lazy D, and having no gun felt as naked as having no clothes.

  I watched the cabin closely as I took my time approaching it. I didn’t see any movement, and with no smoke rising from the stovepipe chimney, and no light in the windows, it was a good bet the cabin was abandoned. A piece of paper stuck to the door fluttered now and then when the breeze caught it. Still, it never hurt to be careful. No sense rushing into a possible ambush.

  Without any weapons, though, it was pointless to creep up on the cabin. I settled for staying close to the sloping hillside, and as far out of target range as possible. When I reached the small porch and stepped up under the shelter of the roof, I snatched the note from a nail on the door. It read, Make yerself at home.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I said and opened the door.

  Inside was dark and smelled like years of dust and stale wood smoke, but it was a roof if nothing else. Just enough evening light shone in the windows to identify shadows, so I fumbled until I found an oil lamp and some matches on a shelf, and lit it.

  The light didn’t do much for the inside of the place. The space was hardly big enough to turn around in anyway, but whoever’d lived there had filled nearly every inch of it with junk. A bed filled almost half the space, and a small potbellied stove and a table and two chairs cluttered the rest of the room. Another lamp hung from the ceiling above the foot of the bed, so I lit that, too. Shelves littered with more junk crowded the walls, but I was happiest to see a rack with three rifles hanging from it, behind me on the wall near the door. I checked them all, only to find them empty.

  “Dammit.”

  It could take days to find anything on the shelves, despite the size of the place, but at first glance, I didn’t see any bullets anywhere.

  “What good’s a rifle without ammunition?”

  I figured I’d better deal with things in order of importance, and the first things I’d need were heat and food. After that, I could search for bullets.

  Whoever’d been there last had been kind enough to leave a pile of kindling and firewood near the potbelly, so I arranged it all inside the stove, and lit it. The room quickly heated up to a cozy warmth.

  A row of long nails was driven into the log wall to the left of the stove, and from each one hung a pot, pan, or utensil. I grinned when I saw the hunting knife. If I couldn’t have a gun, then a good blade was fine by me, and definitely better than nothing. Testing it with my thumb, it was a bit dull, but that could be fixed.

  On another shelf I found a couple of cans of pears, a tin of jerky, and some coffee. If the owner of this place had coffee, there had to be water nearby. Which reminded me that I hadn’t bathed in days. The thought of being clean sounded wonderful.

  I found the well pump behind the cabin, so I filled a bucket for drinking and a bucket for bathing, and took them inside. I made coffee and after shaking out the ratty old bed quilt, and wiping the dust from the table, I sat down to the best supper I’d had in days.

  I felt downright domestic.

  Chapter Ten

  ~Beth~

  I rode most of the night, stopping only to drop Carrington’s bullets on a rock about an hour from the campsite, and then again a couple hours later at the end of the mountain valley to decide which trail to take. One trail led northwest, and looked to be more traveled, while the other led northeast and being steeper, tighter, and rockier, it probably saw less use. I stood at the proverbial fork in the road.

  Little Sister had taken off with enthusiasm, leaving Carrington hollering behind us, but after a while, she’d settled into a solid, disheartened plod. When we reached the forked trails, though, she didn’t hesitate at all. Her head came up, her ears perked, and she set her hooves on the northeasterly trail.

  “Hold up there, girl.”

  I had an idea. If and when Carrington caught up, I didn’t want to make it easy for him to follow us, so I untied his horse’s lead from my pommel and aimed it at the northwesterly trail, then slapped it hard on the flank and hollered at it. After the steady and boring pace we’d set for the last few hours, the sudden slap on the rump and my scream startled him into a gallop down the trail. We took off at a gallop down the other trail.

  Carrington’s horse would probably realize after a short time he had nothing to run from, and stop at the first tasty grass or water, and wait for his owner to catch up. Thing was, when Carrington reached the two trails, he’d have to figure out which prints to follow, so that would slow him down even more.

  If he ever caught up to me, he’d be good and riled, for sure. So I figured I’d better not let him.

  After we left the mountain valley we entered a small canyon that was more a long slash in the mountain than anything else. About midday we came on a campsite near a stand of Pinyons. The coals of the campfire looked to be only a few hours old.

  It had to be Isaac’s.

  “We’re getting close,” I told Little Sister, and climbed back into the saddle.

  She took off at a trot, like a predator who’d scented nearby prey.

  By dusk we were still moving, with no Isaac or Boreas in sight. I didn’t want to quit, sensing that we were close, but I was just plain exhausted, having slept only a couple of hours in the last two days.

  “Let’s camp, Little Sister. We’ll catch them tomorrow.”

  But when I pulled the reins to stop her, she fought them and stubbornly kept moving.

  “Come on, girl. We’ll get them, but I need to sleep.”

  She just kept going, and I was too tired to argue. We must be closer than I thought if Sister refused to stop. But I couldn’t keep my eyes open, no matter the hope that we’d almost caught up, and it wasn’t long before I drifted off to sleep in the saddle.

  I woke when I nearly fell to the ground.

  “Hey, whoa, Sister!”

  I scrambled to grab the reins and the pommel as she climbed a steep, narrow path. It was fully dark, and I found myself completely disoriented, until the path leveled out some and Little Sister whinnied. I heard an answering whinny not far ahead. Dear God, did that mean we’d finally caught up?

  I’d never been happier than when Little Sister sidled up to Boreas and they nuzzled each other. I had to assume that Isaac was in the l
ittle cabin at the end of the path, with the warm, inviting light glowing in the window, and the cozy smell of wood smoke curling from the chimney.

  I slid from the saddle and collected my saddlebags and rifle, then trudged toward the cabin, eager to see Isaac, but just as excited at the thought of a bed to sleep in. Several steps from the porch, the cabin door flew open and the backlit form of a man filled the doorway. He seemed larger than I remembered, and something about his stance made caution seem prudent. His face was cast in dark shadow, but one hand grasped the doorframe, and the other was somewhere in front of him and I couldn’t tell what he held there, if anything.

  I stood in the little splash of light that managed to escape around his body, hoping he’d recognize me and not shoot, if he had a gun.

  “Who’s there?” Isaac growled in a voice so deep and threatening, I almost didn’t recognize it. “Stop right there if you plan to live much longer.”

  I’d forgotten I wore a man’s clothes, and it was likely he wouldn’t recognize me, so I dropped the saddlebags and yanked the hat off my head.

  “Isaac? It’s me, Beth.”

  “Beth?”

  I grinned. “Yessir. In the flesh.”

  He didn’t move a muscle or say a word, just stood in the doorway casting a long shadow on the dirt in front of the cabin, like some demon on the threshold of hell. I had no idea what he was thinking, but this wasn’t the greeting I’d expected. I’d imagined relieved hugs, maybe a kiss, and perhaps an irritated finger-wagging, but certainly not this tense, furious silence.

  I squared my shoulders and jammed the hat back on my head. I’d ridden too long, and risked too much, to put up with his ill temper. He’d made it clear before he left that he had no romantic interest in me, but there was no need for this kind of hostility.

  I bent down to pick up my saddlebags, then marched toward the cabin.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I grumbled.

  “What in the holy blazes of hell are you doing here?” he blurted as I placed my boot on the step of the porch.