Gabe screamed and pawed air, jerking the reins from Calder’s hand. His heart filled his throat, and, “Gawd almighty,” exploded out of him. No way he could help it.
Smith uttered a string of curses. One of the curs locked onto Calder’s leg, gnawing at his boot like it was his favorite bone. A vicious kick only made the brute more intent on the kill.
Out of sight, but not out of hearing, Smith continued to grunt and curse. There must’ve been five or six of the mutts, all doing their best to bring down both men.
Calder fumbled for his gun, dragged it out and started shooting. The pack yelped and took off, looking for easier prey.
“You hurt?” Smith hobbled over to him. “Hope none of them had hydraphoby. Damn, we gotta get out of here.”
“Too late,” Calder said.
Four armed men appeared out of the darkness. Still holding his .44, Calder figured he could bring down one or two of them before they got him, but why start killing now? They’d have him anyway. He holstered his weapon and stuck his hands up.
With much whooping and hollering, he and Smith were dragged back to the jail where both were tossed into the cell Calder had only recently left. Both were disarmed. Calder’s rig hung back on the hook, Smith’s shotgun propped in the corner beneath it.
“You won’t be needing these again,” one of the men remarked, and they all laughed.
Sheriff Calumet was sent for, and he arrived looking sleepy and more than a little pissed.
“What the thunder’s going on, you can’t let a man get a decent night’s sleep?”
The lank jawed deputy, whose excitement wouldn’t let him be still, said, “It was a jail break, sheriff. And they’d a got away too, it weren’t for that pack of dogs.”
Calumet squinted at his deputy. “The ones you was supposed to get rid of?”
The man nodded and grinned.
“Well, congratulations,” Calumet said. “Fer once your laziness has paid off.
****
Settled against the trunk of a cottonwood to wait for Smith to return with Calder, Wilda and Tyra were startled when they heard the faint barking of dogs followed by gunshots.
“I think they must’ve shot them,” Wilda said, clutching Tyra close.
“What should we do?”
“I don’t know. Let’s wait a little, see what happens.”
Hoof beats approached and a rider-less Gabe appeared out of the darkness. He danced nervously before settling down and allowing Wilda to take hold of his reins.
“Oh, Tyra. It’s Calder’s horse. He must be dead.” She tied him with the others, then leaned her forehead against his flank and burst into tears.
“Now, not necessarily. They might have just caught them both.”
“Do you think so?”
A long pause. “I don’t know, I wish I did.”
They clung to each other in the darkness under the trees, staring at Hays City, neither one talking for a long while. The town was once more quiet.
“I think I should go in and find out what happened,” Tyra finally said.
“No, they’ll catch you, maybe throw you in jail too.”
“Why would they do that? I don’t look like an outlaw, do I? I’m just a poor orphan wandering around the west looking for a home.”
Wilda thought about that for a while. “I don’t know. It’s too dangerous.”
“Well, what do you suggest? That we wait out here till the end of time?”
“We could go to Rachel’s, I guess.” Grief overtook Wilda once again and she began to cry.
“Oh, honey, don’t take on so.”
“I love him. We were going to go far away and start a new life. And now he’s dead. I can’t live without him.”
“Yes, you can. You and I both know we can live without someone we love when they die.”
The unspoken reference to their parents overcame them both. Tyra joined Wilda and they both cried for what seemed like ages.
At last cried out, Wilda dried her face on her shirttail. “Smith said he had enough money for Rachel to buy tickets home. Hope he left it in his saddlebag. We need to take it to her. At least that way, she’ll be happy.”
“I thought he said he was buying her tickets home. Didn’t he do that when he went after you some clothes?”
“Oh, no. What if they’re in his pocket?”
“Let’s look through his saddlebags first. And if they’re there, then we can take them to her. If not, then we’ll decide what to do.”
Wilda sobbed a couple of times, wiped her nose again. “Okay. One thing at a time. You check the bags on his horse, I’ll go through the stuff on his pack animal.”
Tyra looked up finally from her search. “Nothing here.”
One last pouch was yet to be searched, and Wilda went through it quickly. “I guess if he bought tickets he has them with him. I didn’t find any money either, did you?”
“Nope. Must be in the pockets of his britches. Now what?”
“Well, I guess we have to find out if they’re alive or not. Do you suppose we could both pass for orphans looking for a home?”
Before they left for Hays Tyra showed Wilda how to hobble the horses with strands of rope from Smith’s pack.
“Orphans wouldn’t own such fine animals unless they stole them,” she explained, looping the last rope between Jeb’s front feet. “We’ll need to leave them here and walk into town.”
“Let’s get our stories straight.” Wilda spared a glance for the town of Hays in the early morning sunlight, and fought another attack of tears.
In the silence, a bugle blew reveille, and Fort Hays came alive with the sound of men shouting.
She swallowed emotions burning in her throat. “Here’s our story. We were supposed to have become maids in Victoria, but when we arrived, the family said we weren’t suitable and they sent us away. We think we can find work in Hays City as laundresses or cooks for the soldiers. How does that sound?”
Tyra frowned. “Okay, but I sure don’t want to end up washing some filthy man’s clothes.”
“Well, we won’t. We’ll only stay long enough to learn what happened to Calder and Smith.” She caught her breath, forced down a sob, unable to get her mind off the man she loved lying dead in the dusty streets of Hays.
“Then what?”
Wilda shook her head. “I don’t know. It depends on…if, well, if they’re alive or not. If they aren’t, I guess…” She swallowed hard. “Then we’ll go to Rachel’s. Maybe we can help her figure out how to get enough money to go home.”
“Yeah, maybe we could rob the bank. Three outlaw women.” Tyra giggled.
“Maybe we could,” Wilda said, and wondered if she actually meant it. “Come on, let’s go.”
Holding hands, they headed for Hays City, where citizens of the town were beginning to stir awake. The sun lifted above the horizon, forecasting another scorching day on the plains. Bugs large and small flew up from the grass ahead of them.
A column of soldiers rode out of Fort Hays and followed the road west. In their wake a pillar of dust rose into the morning sky.
Nerves jittering, Wilda grasped Tyra’s hand tighter. “It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”
It wasn’t easy to believe everything would be fine. Life had turned cruelly against them, but hadn’t it always been so? Beginning with their parents’ deaths up to this minute. If only Lord Prescott had been a kind man. If only Calder hadn’t been an outlaw. The words if only could drive one crazy.
At the edge of town, she and Tyra stepped onto the boardwalk to avoid getting run down in the bustling road that spread wide on both sides of the railroad tracks.
“Hello, young’uns,” a bearded gentlemen said from a bench in front of Dalton’s Saloon. “Looking for someone?”
“Nope,” Tyra said. “Thank you, though.”
Wilda marveled at her ability to sound like these westerners. The man studied them with beady eyes, then lost interest when shouting inside the saloon att
racted his attention.
“Come on, let’s find the jail.” She grabbed her cousin’s hand once again and they hurried off.
It seemed every business along the row was a saloon or gambling house. Wilda had never seen so many drinking pubs in all her life. Across the road, it appeared were the legitimate businesses. And houses of all sorts, crammed in every space. Soddies, plank and stone structures. What a mix.
“Let’s go over there.” She pulled at Tyra and stepped down off the boardwalk.
Wagons moved in both directions, as did men on horseback. How would they ever cross the road without being run down?
Beside her Tyra hollered and darted into the road, pulling her along behind. It was like taking her life in her hands. In the center, they waited between the tracks for the way to clear, then raced on across.
“There.” Tyra pointed toward a square log building with a sign out front declaring that this was the county jail.
Now what? They couldn’t just walk in and announce what they wanted. Or could they?
“Hold up. One of us could say we’re looking for our uncle or something. Act afraid that he’s been arrested cause he drinks too much. He’s all we have. Our folks are dead. Cry maybe, while the other gets a look around.”
Tyra grinned wickedly. “That could work better than the maid story. I’ll do the talking and the crying. You poke around.”
Dragging in a deep breath, Wilda drew herself up. “Ready.”
Tyra nodded. “Me too.”
She rubbed at her eyes, produced a few tears and shoved her way through the door, Wilda on her heels.
A young deputy sat behind the desk reading a dime novel, feet propped on a crate.
“Is my uncle here?” Tyra cried, her sobs sounding real.
The young man peered over the top of his book. “Well, now, who might your uncle be?”
“Uncle Jake, that’s who. We can’t find him anywhere.” She broke into loud, uncontrollable sobs.
Laying down his book, the deputy leaned forward. “Now, now. Take it easy, young’un. What makes you think we’ve got your Uncle uh, Jake?”
“’Cause he came to town, and he always drinks too much. And women, and our folks is dead. Please, can’t you help?”
Wilda slithered around behind the deputy and peered toward the back of the square room where bars marked off a common cell. Her heart flip-flopped when she saw Smith standing at the window, his back to her. With an anxious glance toward Tyra who still had the full attention of the deputy, she inched closer. Someone lay on a cot against the back wall.
About that time, Smith whirled. “What’s all that ruckus going on out there?” he hollered, then spied Wilda.
Eyes wide, mouth open, he stared for a moment, then gestured for her to come closer. He dug in his pocket and handed her a pouch. “Take it girl, and git.”
She stuffed the pouch into a pocket.
The man on the cot turned over and came to his feet. It was Calder.
“Are you hurt?” she said.
He stumbled toward her, apparently so surprised he couldn’t think what was happening.
Behind her, Tyra let out a loud squall, and Wilda covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “You’re alive. I was afraid they’d killed you.”
He came to her, reached a hand through the bars to cup her cheek. She stared up at him, eyes filling. “My heart broke,” she whispered.
“Smith told me…said you were out there waiting. But then we figured you’d gone on, like he told you to do if we didn’t come back.”
“How could I leave you? We’ve got to get you out of here somehow. What can I do?” She rubbed his hand, held it tightly for a moment.
“What you can do is get out of here before they slap you in jail too.”
“No, I won’t do that. Anyway, what reason would they have to putting me in jail? I haven’t done anything.”
He scowled and pulled away. “Foolish woman. What makes you think I want you here, anyway? I’m on my way alone, soon as I can get out of here. I don’t need any wailing woman to hold me back. Leave, now.”
He might well have slapped her. Surely he didn’t mean it. But his features had grown harsh and he refused to say more, just glared at her.
Silent tears trailed down her cheeks.
Behind her, things had grown suspiciously quiet, and a hand clamped her arm.
“All right, young man. Let’s go. You trying something funny here or what? You and your little friend.”
“No, no. Let me go, let me go and I’ll leave.” She jerked from his grip.
Tyra tried to smooth things over. “We just…just wanted to see if he knew…knew Uncle Jake. That’s all. I promise.”
“Well, we ain’t got no Jake in here, as you can see. So the both of you scat now, ’fore I call the sheriff and he flings you in there with them no-account owl hoots. You understand me.”
Wilda grabbed Tyra and pulled her out onto the boardwalk.
The young girl jerked from her grasp. “They’re there, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but h-he doesn’t want me, he s-said he didn’t want a woman trailing him around. Oh, Tyra, he doesn’t love me. I could cheerfully ring his neck. What does he mean by that?” Fury overrode her sorrow.
“Oh, he didn’t mean it, surely.”
“Yes, he did. You should have seen his face. I don’t know what to do now, where to go. We need to leave, let him hang. If I’d never come along, that would have been his fate. And now he says he doesn’t love me, so let him hang. Come on, let’s get away from here before the sheriff comes back.”
Not sure where to go, and growing more and more furious with Calder and his attitude, she cut through an alley to the back of the buildings that faced the main street, Tyra on her heels.
“I’m hungry,” Tyra said.
“Me too, but it can’t be helped.”
“Maybe we could go in a store and I’ll start bawling again. I’m good at that, and while everyone’s looking at me, you can grab us something to eat.”
“Steal?”
“Well, yes. It’s not stealing if it’s to keep from going hungry.”
Wilda snorted. “Who told you that?”
“Well, Seth. It’s the western way. But what does it matter who? We won’t take much. Your Calder steals all the time, so what’s the difference?”
“He’s not my Calder, not anymore.” The words barely came out. She wanted to weep and wail, tear at her hair. Grab a gun and go back in there and… She took a deep breath and got a hold on her emotions. “Besides, stealing’s not right. Maybe we could ask someone for food, but I’m not going to steal any.”
“Oh, all right.” Tyra kicked a toe into the dirt. “And while we’re at it, maybe we could get something to drink.”
So this is what it was like to be on her own. Wilda couldn’t have imagined the harshness of such a life, but it appeared she was about to be forced to face it. Hungry and thirsty, dirty and hot, and carrying a broken heart, she walked despondently along the back of the buildings. Maybe someone would throw out something they could eat.
There was only one place she could go, and that was back to Fairhaven. Perhaps she could convince Lord Prescott to take her and Tyra back in. She’d agree to be a servant, or whatever he wanted. She could not live like this, begging for food like some lost dog. And she couldn’t allow Tyra to do it either.
Damn that Calder Raines to hell. How dare he do this to her?
Chapter Nineteen
For a long while after Wilda and Tyra fled the jailhouse, Calder stood at the bars, gripping them tightly, remembering her whispering about her heart breaking. It was like he couldn’t take another breath thinking about living without her. But that wouldn’t be for very long. The only woman he’d ever loved, and he’d had to send her away so cruelly. Damn shame, too, but he couldn’t do anything else. He was going to hang, that was for sure, and he couldn’t have her painted with the same brush. She’d fool around and end up on the gallow
s with him, as stubbornly determined as she was. Best to do it this way.
Smith continued to watch him for a long spell without saying anything. The man’s silence finally got the best of him.
“Well, say it.”
“You broke her heart.”
“Better than her being caught trying to get us out. She’d have more than her heart broke then. It’d be her neck too.”
“I suppose. I managed to give her the tickets I bought for Rachel and her little ones to journey to St. Louis. And some coins as well.”
The announcement caught him by surprise, brought a tickle to his throat. “I didn’t know…I mean, thanks. That was downright generous of you, considering. You’re a good friend. At least one good thing’s come out of this mess.”
“From what I hear, more than one good thing has come from your misguided life.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Did you ever kill anyone?”
“No, not me or the others. I wouldn’t allow it.” He picked at his thumbnail. “Did you hear from Baron or Deke?”
“Nope, nary a word. They didn’t try to rob the bank, though. I figgered they’d left the country after hearing you was in jail.”
“I’ll see to it that you don’t get caught up in this, Smith. I appreciate you helping Wilda and Tyra.” Even the mention of her name brought on a deep sadness. How close he’d come to getting out of this worthless life and starting over. Now, he had nothing left, no reason to care if they hung him or not. Still, he wasn’t anxious to die.
“I’m damned sorry about all this, Smith. Wish it could’ve been different.” He embraced the man, slapped him on the back, then turned away so he wouldn’t see his tears.
From out on the street, a great ruckus exploded. Guns fired, men shouted, women screamed. Someone stopped at the door of the jailhouse and hollered, “Banks being robbed. Hurry.”
The deputy ran outside. More shots were fired, but from their cell, they couldn’t see much. The bank was down the road a piece. For a while women and children scampered in one direction, while armed men ran and rode the other way. A few more shots and then deadly silence.
“Oh, hell, you don’t suppose it’s Baron and Deke.” Calder peered out the door the deputy had left ajar in his haste but couldn’t see much. “Have to be crazy to rob a bank in Hays with all those soldiers so nearby.”
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