Long Road to Cheyenne

by Charles G. West

  “No, ma’am,” he answered. “They’re right there.” He pointed to the window. “Right where I can watch ’em.”

  She seemed relieved. “It looks like you loaded the packhorses differently.”

  “I sold that black saddle—made it a little better to rig up the packs.” He unconsciously glanced around him before commenting, “I don’t think you can tell what we’re carryin’ now. I doubt anybody’ll take a second look at ’em.”

  They didn’t linger long over breakfast, since both he and Mary were eager to escape the casual glances that might fall upon their little pack train. They decided to leave when two rough-looking men walked in to sit at a table next to them, obviously seeking to dispel the mental cobwebs left by a night of drinking. Both men looked Mary over thoroughly, averting their gazes only when Cam rose to his full height. Outside, after Mary insisted upon paying Atsuko for the meal, Cam tied the luggage onto the sorrel packhorse while Mary and the girls visited the outhouse.

  They rode out of Hat Creek on the stage road, but with thoughts of the holdup they had experienced in the breaks about five miles south of there, Cam veered off the road after about a mile and took to the prairie. Behind them, the two men had watched them through the dining room window when they had taken the stage road toward Rawhide Buttes. “They had them horses loaded down, didn’t they?” Leach commented. An outlaw by profession, he was always interested in what other folks owned.

  “Pilgrims, I reckon,” Fuller replied. He got up from the table and walked over to stand by the window to get a better look. “You notice that one gray horse? Had a circle under his eye, like the horse Rafer Knoll rides. Rafer called him Evil Eye. That horse looked just like ol’ Evil Eye.”

  “Damned if it didn’t,” Leach allowed, now that he thought about it. They were familiar with the notorious killer, having had the occasion to ride with him on one stagecoach holdup. They would have ridden with him again, but Rafer preferred to work alone. A meaner man neither Leach nor Fuller could recall, so it was doubtful anyone else could have come by that horse honestly. “I swear, that horse was a damn twin to Rafer’s.” The talk about horses prompted the pair to think about collecting theirs and starting out again on their way to the Black Hills. The pickings were easier there with miners staking out claims in all the gullies and gulches in the mountains. They had decided it unhealthy for them a few months before when they had to kill a man and his partner who didn’t want to yield to their demand for their gold. A group of vigilantes out of Deadwood got on their trail, so they decided to leave the territory for a spell. Feeling that things had to have cooled down again by now, they were determined to give the territory another try.

  Bill Freed was busy polishing the leather on his new saddle when Leach and Fuller walked into the stable. He looked up to greet them. “Well, I reckon you fellers have come to get your horses. I give ’em each a ration of oats, like you said. I guess you decided not to stay over another day or two.”

  “Nah,” Leach said, “we drank up all the whiskey in town last night. We might as well get on our way.” He and Freed laughed at the comment. When he turned toward Fuller, his partner was not laughing, staring instead at the saddle Freed was working on.

  “Where’d you get that saddle?” Fuller asked.

  “Why, I just bought it from a fellow who left his horses here last night,” Freed replied. “Ain’t it a fancy one? I didn’t give him but forty dollars for it.”

  Fuller looked at Leach, who by then was staring at the saddle as well. There was no need to say anything. They were both thinking the same thought. Fuller turned back to the stable owner. “What’s the feller’s name who sold it to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Freed replied, aware now that there was some reason for their interest. “I didn’t ask him his name. Hell, I didn’t ask you yours.”

  “How did he come by that saddle?” Leach asked. “Did he say?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Freed said, concerned at this point by their attitude. “Now, listen, if you’re thinkin’ this saddle was stole, that ain’t got nothin’ to do with me. I paid him good money for this saddle, and gave him free board and oats to boot.”

  “This feller,” Leach asked, “he the same feller with them packhorses, one of ’em gray?”

  “One of his horses was gray,” Freed said, still uncomfortable with the questions.

  Ignoring Freed’s apprehension, they settled their bill and saddled their horses, waiting until outside the stable before discussing the probabilities, based on the clues they had stumbled upon. “By God,” Fuller stated, “that was Rafer’s horse and Rafer’s saddle. There ain’t no doubt in my mind. The thing I’m wantin’ to know is how that young feller with the woman and children came by ’em.”

  “That’s a good question, all right,” Leach said, “and I’m wonderin’ somethin’ else. What was in them packs they’re haulin’? That packhorse was loaded down, and the other horses was carryin’ a helluva lot of stuff to boot.” He looked Fuller in the eye, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Rafer didn’t do anythin’ unless there was big money tied to it. I’d like to see what them folks are totin’ on them horses.”

  “I would myself,” Fuller agreed. “Deadwood can wait till we pay a visit to that little family party.” The decision made, they climbed on their horses and rode past the hotel on the road to Rawhide Buttes.

  Chapter 7

  “We oughta caught up with them folks by now,” Fuller complained as he reined his horse back. Leach followed suit and they let their tired horses walk for a while. “There ain’t no way they coulda stayed ahead of us this long.” The two outlaws had held their mounts to a steady lope all the way from Hat Creek, and they were going to have to let them rest before too much longer. Fuller looked down at the roadbed and remarked, “There’s still pretty fresh tracks.”

  “Hell,” Leach scoffed, “there’s always fresh tracks on this road anymore.” He leaned to the side and spat on the road for emphasis. “We just got bamboozled, that’s all. They ain’t stickin’ to the road. We just missed the place they cut off. Fresh tracks, shit—you ain’t no good at trackin’, anyhow.”

  “I don’t recollect that you’re any better,” Fuller retorted.

  “I don’t claim to be. That’s the difference between me and you,” Leach came back. “But if them folks didn’t wanna travel on the stage road, that tells me they’re totin’ somethin’ they’re afraid of losin’, scared of gettin’ robbed, and I’m thinkin’ I gotta have a look at it myself. So I say we turn around and go back till we find where they left the road. Maybe that’ll give us an idea about where they’re headin’.”

  “I expect they’re headin’ to Fort Laramie, or maybe on to Cheyenne,” Fuller said. “Maybe we oughta push on ahead of ’em and wait for ’em.”

  “Maybe they ain’t goin’ to Fort Laramie or Cheyenne,” Leach said, his tone heavy with sarcasm for his partner’s reasoning. “And how in hell would we know where to wait for ’em if we don’t know which way they’re ridin’?”

  “Oh,” Fuller muttered. “I reckon we’d best go back and see if we can find where they cut off.”

  They were halfway back to Hat Creek when Fuller sang out, “I got ’em!” Leach pulled his horse over to that side of the road and both men dismounted to inspect the tracks.

  “It’da been hard to miss these tracks if we’da had sense enough to look for ’em,” Leach said with some disgust. Both men paused then to look in the direction the tracks led. “Looks like they’re plannin’ to stick close to them hills to the west of the road. They don’t wanna meet up with nobody. I’m tellin’ you, partner, I smell gold.”

  Fuller grinned, then had another thought. “What if these ain’t their tracks? You reckon we oughta ride on back a little farther to make sure.”

  “Hell,” Leach insisted, “of course they’re the right tracks. Look at ’em—four or five horses, fresh. Wh
o else could it be?” He stepped back up in his saddle. “Let’s get after ’em before they get any bigger head start, but we’re gonna have to be more careful now, or we’re liable to lose ’em.”

  More anxious than before to see what the two packhorses were carrying, they started out again at a brisk pace in spite of their obviously tiring horses. They had at least seven or eight miles to make up, but they were confident they could overtake their prey before very long, gambling on the idea that the woman and children would slow them down. Reluctantly they stopped to rest the horses when they came to a small stream running to join the Rawhide River. Fuller took a few moments to study the tracks left where the horses had crossed, double-checking to make sure they were the right ones, even though they were the only set of tracks heading that way. “Might as well make some coffee while we’re settin’ here twiddlin’ our thumbs,” he finally commented, and started looking around for enough twigs and limbs to start a fire.

  “Their horses get tired, too,” Leach said. “They’re gonna have to stop, same as us.”

  • • •

  Leach was correct. The people they trailed were stopped beside another stream some half a dozen miles ahead of them. While the horses rested, Cam helped Mary fashion a spit made from a green branch of a laurel bush to roast some of the smoked venison from their packs. For most of the morning, Cam had generally followed the course of the Rawhide River. His plan now, when the horses were rested enough to continue, was to veer away from the river and ride in a more westerly direction. He was still undecided if they should go into Fort Laramie or avoid it altogether. He leaned toward staying out of everybody’s sight as much as possible.

  “How much longer are we gonna ride before we stop for the night?” Grace asked her mother. “I’m tired of riding that horse. My bottom’s sore.”

  Mary refrained from confessing that her bottom was getting a mite tender as well, not to mention a rather sensitive chaffing on the insides of her thighs. She had never spent much time astride a horse. When she set out from Fort Collins to find her husband, she anticipated traveling by stagecoach, not bouncing along on the back of a horse. She attempted to emulate Cam’s easy motion on the dun gelding in front of her. He seemed to flow with the horse’s motion almost as if he were a part of the animal, and never appeared to be surprised by any sudden changes in the horse’s gait. She was unsuccessful in copying him, for it seemed that the black horse she rode was possessed of a gait in total contrast to her bottom’s natural rhythm. So she could sympathize with Grace’s complaint. Nothing, on the other hand, ever seemed to bother Emma. She bounced, just as her sister, but she never gave it a thought. Mary wondered if she might even ride comfortably while standing on her head.

  Looking up at the sun, Mary answered Grace’s question. “We’ll still ride for a few hours yet, honey. It’s still early in the day. I’ll get a blanket out of the packs and you can lay that across the saddle for a little padding. Maybe it won’t be as bad with something soft to sit on.” Her answer drew a frown of disappointment from her daughter’s face.

  Cam couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Grace and Mary, and he was sorry that he couldn’t ease up on their day in the saddle. But to get to Fort Collins as quickly as they possibly could was foremost in his mind. He was riding shotgun on a gold shipment that would have called for an ironclad Concord coach and three messengers with rifles for protection. The responsibility weighed heavily on his mind. “Maybe it’s just the horse you can’t get used to,” he told Grace. “If you wanna try it, I’ll swap horses with you and Emma. I’ll ride the bay, and you can try the dun.”

  They tried that for the rest of that day with little improvement in the state of Grace’s bottom. In order to give the child some relief, Mary asked Cam to look for a campsite while there were still a couple of hours of sunlight left. Unaware of the two desperate men racing to catch up with them, Cam took the time to scout out a narrow creek that emerged from a notch in a line of hills almost barren of trees. Selecting a spot where the creek took a gentle turn around a group of cottonwoods, he called for Mary and the girls to follow him.

  “Perfect,” Mary said when she saw the spot he suggested. “The girls and I need to clean some of this dust off. We can go around those trees where the creek curves around.”

  “Ah, Mama,” Emma immediately protested. “I don’t feel dusty.”

  “We’ll cook some supper first,” Mary said, ignoring Emma’s protest.

  Cam gave the youngster a sympathetic grin and winked. “I’ll get us a fire goin’,” he volunteered. “Then I’ll take care of the horses.” He didn’t express it, but he was in sympathy with Emma. He was sure he had never met a woman who was so strong on taking baths. She’s gonna rub the skin right off those young’uns, he thought. The subject was forgotten for a time until they had eaten their supper, but while Cam prepared to have another cup of coffee, Mary made good on her threat. She got the towels and washcloths out of one of the packs and marched her daughters off around the bend. Cam gave Emma another wink when she looked back over her shoulder at him with a look of exasperation on her face. He filled his coffee cup, found a cottonwood to use as a backrest, and sat down, propping his rifle against the tree, where it would be handy.

  She must have been afraid I was going to hear them, he thought, for he could hear no sounds of the girls or splashing in the water. She’s probably going to suggest that I go next, he thought, and rubbed his chin. I guess I could use a shave. His rambling thoughts were suddenly brought back to the present when a couple of the horses whinnied. He was immediately alert, and reached for his rifle. There was no time to scramble behind the tree before he heard the voice.

  “Ain’t no need to grab a hold of that rifle,” Leach said as he and Fuller walked out of the trees and into the clearing. “We was just makin’ a neighborly visit—saw your fire as we was passin’ by.”

  Cam looked quickly back and forth between the two men. He knew damn well that they hadn’t just noticed his fire. He was certain the fire couldn’t be seen outside the notch between the hills. They had to have been tracking them, and he berated himself for letting them walk right in on him before he was even suspicious of their presence. They were up to no good, that much he was sure of, for they had been careful to split up, with enough distance between them to make it difficult for him to defend against both of them. I hope to hell Mary doesn’t come walking in on this, he thought. Playing along, he said, “Too bad you didn’t drop in on us before we ate. And I just finished the last of the coffee.”

  “What’s in them packs?” Leach asked, already through with beating around the bush.

  “Nothin’ but household goods,” Cam replied.

  “Why do I get the feelin’ you’re lyin’ to me? Where’s your wife and kids?” Leach asked, assuming it was a family they had been trailing.

  “Well, right now she’s standin’ behind that biggest cottonwood at the bend of the creek, with a Winchester 73 aimed right at your back. She’s a fair shot with that rifle—waitin’ for you fellers to make your move, I reckon. We figured if you were plannin’ on tryin’ somethin’, I’m quick enough to get one of you for sure and she’d take care of the other’n.” He raised his voice then and called out, “You take the one wearin’ the vest, honey. I’ll take the other one.” He had no idea where Mary was, and he knew for certain that she didn’t have a rifle with her. If these two called his bluff, he could probably take one of them down, but the other one was bound to get at least one bullet into him before he could cock his rifle again. Knowing it was all or nothing, he cocked his rifle then, as if preparing to shoot.

  “Whoa!” Leach yelled. “Hold on there, mister! You got the wrong idea. We didn’t mean you no harm. No, sir, we’ll just be on our way.” Both men began backing away immediately, looking side to side cautiously. “Ain’t no sense in anybody gettin’ shot over a little misunderstandin’.”

  Cam go
t to his feet, his rifle before him ready to fire, and followed them as they retreated to their horses, tied in the trees. “Keep your rifle on ’em, Mary,” he called out while Leach and Fuller got on their horses. He continued to walk behind them until they cleared the notch and rode out on the prairie.

  “I don’t have a rifle,” Mary called out from behind him, frightened by what she and the girls had almost walked into.

  “I know it,” Cam replied, “but you did your part anyway. You and the girls hurry up and get packin’. We’ve got to get outta here before those two have time to figure out that I was bluffin’.” He went at once to the saddles and packs to ready them for a quick departure.

  “We were scared to death,” Mary blurted breathlessly. “We hid under the creek bank. I wasn’t much help, was I?”

  “You did what I hoped you would do. Now let’s get the hell outta here. I’ve got to get you someplace safer than this.”

  Everyone hurried to get ready to ride with no time to talk about being afraid. There were no complaints about having to break camp except one negative comment from Grace as Cam lifted her up on the saddle. “Oooh, here we go on my sore bottom again,” she moaned.

  With no time for patience, Mary said, “It’s better than a robber’s bullet in your bottom. Don’t complain about it again.” She didn’t wait for Cam to help her up in the saddle.

  When all were mounted and ready to go, Cam decided to follow the creek all the way through the notch and go out the other side of the hills. Once they were free of the hills, he turned south again, knowing he didn’t have much time to find a campsite before the light faded away completely. There was another line of hills about a mile off to the right that looked to be larger than the ones they were leaving, so he veered farther west again.

  By the time they reached the rugged breaks, it was already growing dark, so there was little time to make camp. There was no water, so they would have to be content to make a dry camp, making use of the water in their canteens. They were fortunate in that the horses had been watered just before they had evacuated their first campsite. Cam figured they would be all right until morning. He planned to leave early and they would water the horses again as soon as they struck a stream or creek. His objective at the moment was to find a place that might not be so easily seen and could be well defended. He selected a rugged ravine that led up the tallest of the hills. It was deep enough to hide their horses and their fire, and afforded him a good lookout post at the top of the hill. He was satisfied that anyone approaching the camp would have to come up the ravine, just as he had.