To Hell on a Fast Horse

by Peter Brandvold

  “We don’t make a habit of it,” Burrow objected. “It just so happened Chaz Savidge stomped a boot down in Prophet’s and that crazy blonde’s bear trap before we had a chance to ensnare him ourselves. We got a whole lot more money riding on Savidge than Prophet does.”

  Meyers gave Burrow a castigating look.

  “Oh?” Chivington said with interest, arching a brow the size of a small sparrow. He tugged at his chin whiskers with a mittened hand. “I had me a feeling. How much will you be getting for Savidge—if you don’t mind my askin’, of course?”

  “None of your business,” Meyers said. “Now, why don’t you pull foot before we grease you right here!” He closed his hand over his gun handles.

  “Gents,” Chivington said. “I saw what happened here. You started out with seven men, and you’re down to only two. What makes you think you two are going to be able to take Lou Prophet and Louisa Bonaventure down alone?”

  Burrow and Meyers glared at him, ears burning. They looked at each other. Then they glanced at the long rifle hanging down the side of the Englishman’s stud horse.

  They looked at Chivington, who grinned at them, showing a mouthful of large, horsey, grime-encrusted teeth.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Prophet saved his own horse to saddle last, after he’d saddled Louisa’s pinto and Savidge’s dapple. He took the heavy wool saddle blanket down off a stall partition, shook it out, and tossed it up and onto Mean and Ugly’s back.

  As Prophet reached for his saddle, Mean gave a shake.

  The blanket billowed off the horse’s back to the floor.

  Prophet turned to the horse, his cheeks warming in fury. “Why you cussed beast,” he said. “What in the hell did you do that for? You don’t think I been through enough trouble so far today?”

  Mean and Ugly kept his head facing forward, ears back slightly. He gave his tail a single, ornery switch.

  Prophet walked around to the other side of the horse to retrieve the blanket. Again, he shook it out and tossed it up onto the dun’s back.

  “I don’t got no time for your high jinks today, Mean,” the bounty hunter warned. “You wanna hit the trail as bad as I do. You’re just bored and the shootin’ made you cankerous, and you wanna play games. Well . . .”

  Again, the horse shook the blanket off his back.

  This time Prophet grabbed it before it hit the floor.

  “Goddamn, you wretched, ugly cuss!” he bit out. “You know what I’m gonna do as soon as I strike Denver? Even before I turn Savidge’s head in for the reward money? I’m gonna find me a glue factory, and I’m gonna—”

  Prophet stopped and whipped toward the barn’s double doors, his Peacemaker already in his fist and his thumb raking the hammer back. He held fire when he saw the silhouette of the girl from the cabin standing between the partly open doors, against the wintery, washed-out daylight behind her.

  “Mr. Prophet?”

  Prophet depressed the Colt’s hammer. He strode quickly forward, glanced around the yard, and then ushered the girl inside the barn, drawing the doors closed. “You shouldn’t be out here, miss. I left three of them shooters alive, and they could be back at any time.”

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said. “I didn’t mean to be any trouble.”

  At first, Prophet thought she was being sarcastic. He and Louisa and Chaz Savidge had led a whole pack of trouble to her front door. Her place was so shot up that if it hadn’t been constructed of stout logs, it likely would have disintegrated into a pile of oversized matchsticks by now.

  She stared up at him sincerely, the light streaming through the cracks between the logs of the wall glistening in her wide, brown eyes.

  Prophet chuckled. “You’re no trouble, miss. We . . . my partner an’ me an’ our prisoner . . . we’ve been trouble.”

  “Yes, well, there was plenty of trouble here before you arrived.” She looked down. “But you already know that.”

  Prophet drew a deep, slow breath, frowning down at her. “Miss, what’s your name?”

  She looked up at him again. “Josephina Hawkins.”

  “Which was your husband?”

  “The older one. The younger one was . . . he was my husband’s hired man.”

  “Enough said.”

  She placed a hand on his forearm. “Mr. Prophet, will you please take me with you? To wherever you’re going? I don’t care where it is. But I can’t live here anymore.”

  Prophet considered this, nodding. “Why, sure. Why, sure. You can’t live in that house now. I should have figured on that. Tell you what—we’ll take you to the nearest neighbors, and—”

  “No!” Josephina dug her fingers into his forearm.

  “I can’t stay anywhere around here anymore, after what happened. My folks . . . my family . . . they live only five miles away. When it gets around that Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Otherday . . . fought over me . . .”

  She let her voice trail off. Tears shone in her eyes and began to dribble down her cheeks. “No, no. I can’t stay here. I can’t live around here ever again. I’d never be able to look anyone in the eye again. Certainly, no one would marry me. Please, Mr. Prophet, take me to wherever you’re going.”

  “Well, hell, Miss Josephina, Louisa an’ me—we’re riding clear down to Denver with—”

  “That’s perfect! Denver’s a long ways away from here, isn’t it? Denver’s perfect. If you get me there, I’ll figure out my next step. But I can’t remain here. Please, you must take me with you!”

  “Miss Josephina, I’m sure your family would come around. It might take some time, but, they are your family and this is your home.”

  “If I remained here, Mr. Prophet, for the rest of my life the shadow of what happened here yesterday would follow me around. My family would disown me. No man would ever have me. Why, just to survive, I’d probably end up working down at the woodcutters’ camp!”

  The thought seemed to chill her. She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered.

  Prophet caught the drift of what the woodcutters’ camp was. Judging by the girl’s expression, fellows probably did more than just cut wood there.

  Prophet silently opined that there was really no reason that anyone need know exactly what had happened here before he and Louisa had showed up. There were enough dead men around and enough bullets in the cabin for several interpretations.

  But, of course, Josephina would always know. And folks would still wonder and come to their own conclusions.

  “Earlier,” the girl said, staring desperately up into Prophet’s eyes once more, “when those men were shooting and the bullets were flying around inside the cabin, I wanted to lift my head up off the floor so that one of those bullets would find me and put me out of my misery. For some reason, I couldn’t do that. I didn’t have the courage.”

  Her lips quivered. She tucked the bottom one under her front teeth, dropped her chin, and sobbed.

  “All right,” Prophet said, placing his hands on her shoulders and drawing her against him, holding her. “All right. I’ll saddle whatever horse you want, and we’ll take you just as far as you want to go.”

  She stopped sobbing, stepped back, and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Prophet.”

  “You might not be thanking me for long, Miss Josephina. It’s a long ride to Denver, and there’s no telling how many other bounty poachers are going to be doggin’ our heels.”

  “I’ll take my chances, Mr. Prophet. I’d like the coyote dun. His name is Herman. My pa gave him to me for a wedding present.”

  “All right, then.” Prophet led her over to the doors, which he opened, glancing cautiously around the yard. “You best go on back to the cabin. I’ll lead the horses over when I’m done saddling them.”

  The girl slouched out of the barn and angled across the yard toward the shack. Louisa was standing on the boardwalk fronting the place. She looked at the girl walking toward her, and then she looked at Prophet. She frowned curiously.

  Pr
ophet shrugged, then moved back into the barn to finish his chores.

  When he had all four horses saddled and ready to go, Prophet threw the barn doors open and stepped out into the yard.

  He left the horses in the barn as he walked around, holding his Winchester up high across his chest. He scanned the yard and the terrain surrounding it, making sure that the three surviving poachers hadn’t returned. He’d wounded one of the three fairly severely, judging by the amount of blood the man had left in the grass by the barn.

  That made two healthy men left of the seven who’d originally ambushed the ranch. The third likely wouldn’t be a threat.

  But those two . . .

  Burrow had seemed determined.

  Determined enough to make another play on Prophet and Louisa, when he had only himself and one other man? Prophet had to assume he’d make the attempt. Three thousand dollars was an alluring bounty. Prophet wouldn’t mind getting his hands on that much money himself, but the three thousand he and Louisa would have to split between them would have to suffice.

  However, he’d like to discuss with the territorial governor of Utah the vermin he’d hired to fetch the head of the man who’d murdered his granddaughter. The governor had essentially, albeit unknowingly, put a bounty on the heads of both Prophet and the Vengeance Queen.

  As satisfied as he could be that the yard was clear of bushwhackers, Prophet led the horses out of the barn and across the yard to the cabin. It was midafternoon. The air was cold but the snow had stopped falling. Prophet thought they could reach the rail line by noon of the next day if today they got at least three more hours of travel behind them.

  He stopped the horses and took another look around. Apprehension caused the short hairs under his collar to bristle. Still, he spied no movement anywhere around the yard.

  Behind him, the cabin door clicked open. He glanced over his shoulder to see Louisa step out, clad in her coat, hat, and scarf, and holding her rifle in her gloved hands.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Not sure.”

  “What are you feeling?”

  “I feel like someone’s drawing a bead on me.”

  “I’ve been keeping pretty close watch, and I haven’t seen any riders—or walkers, for that matter—approach the yard since you went out to the barn.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you have that feeling . . .” Louisa sounded uneasy, herself. She’d come to begrudgingly respect the short hairs under her partner’s collar.

  “Yeah, I got that feelin’. Let’s hope it’s just a feelin.” Prophet walked up onto the boardwalk. “We have to pull out or we’re gonna miss that train for sure. I think it only runs once every couple days. You keep watch while I get our prisoner out here and mounted.”

  Prophet went inside. Josephina stood near the door. She had a bag of grub and a carpetbag packed. She wore a heavy buffalo coat and knit cap and heavy mittens. She looked worried. Obviously, she’d seen Prophet and Louisa through the window.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe something, probably nothing.”

  Prophet dropped to a knee beside Savidge, who looked up at him skeptically. “You sure them headhunters ain’t still out there? You look spooky as the devil on the Sabbath, Proph.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey, listen, amigo,” Savidge said as Prophet unlocked the shackles from around the man’s ankles. “I ain’t really worth all this. I mean, your life’s in danger here, Lou. Why don’t you just turn me loose? Shit—I got me a grand idea? How about if—?”

  “Shut up.”

  “How ’bout if you and me and the purty Vengeance Queen ride on down to Arizona Territory? Hell, Miss Josephina’s welcome, too, if she so desires!” He cast the frightened-looking girl a lusty wink. “I got me a little cache of gold hid down there. I been addin’ to it every year. You know—a little nest egg of sorts for my later years.”

  “You been sockin’ nuts away for retirement, Chaz?”

  Prophet slung both sets of cuffs over his shoulder, then swept the Richards off his arm and aimed both stout barrels at his prisoner.

  Savidge said, “I got pret’ near fifty thousand dollars saved up. Now, don’t fifty thousand split four ways sound a hell of a lot better than three thousand split two ways? Especially when you prob’ly won’t live to buy a spoonful of whiskey with that measly fifteen hundred!”

  “Hmmm,” Prophet said, stepping aside and wagging the Richards at Savidge. “Hmmm. Food for thought.”

  Savidge walked out onto the boardwalk.

  Behind him, Prophet said, “Louisa, we’re headin’ for Arizona Territory!”

  Savidge swung around, eyes snapping wide in shock. “Really, Lou?”

  “No, not really,” Prophet snarled. “Get up there on that horse before I beef your ugly hide!”

  “Ah, hell, Proph! You ain’t thinkin’ sensible. What chance you think you have—any of us has—of reachin’ Denver in one piece?” He swung up onto the dappled gray and looked around warily. “I could get my head blown off just any old time!”

  “Don’t get your shorts in a twist,” Prophet said. “Your head is worth too much to get it blown off. Chopped off, maybe . . .” He glanced back at Josephina, who’d followed them out. “Ready to ride, miss?”

  “I reckon I am, Mr. Prophet. Thank you.”

  “Ain’t she polite?” Savidge said. “ ‘I reckon I am, Mr. Prophet. Thank you.’ ”

  “Shut up, Chaz,” Louisa scolded the man as she crouched to close a shackle around his left ankle. “Do you have to talk every second of every damn minute?”

  “See there?” Prophet said, handcuffing the outlaw’s wrists behind his back. “Now you got her cussin’ like a brakeman. Miss Bonaventure ain’t normally one to sport a blue tongue. She’ll fill you full of lead and send you dancing off to hell screaming, but she’s as reluctant as a parson’s wife to curse.”

  “Some of us were raised properly,” Louisa said.

  Prophet chuckled ironically at that.

  When he and Louisa had their outlaw secure, Prophet helped Josephina onto the saddle of her coyote dun to which she’d strapped a blanket roll. She’d also hung her carpetbag and grub sack from the horn. Prophet handed the girl her bridle reins.

  “You can ride, I take it, Miss Josephina?”

  “Oh, yes, I can ride,” the girl said. “My husband preferred I stayed home and tend chores around the cabin, so I haven’t ridden for a while, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”

  “What’s gonna come back to you, miss—if you’ll forgive me for sayin’ so—is a whole mess of ugly, nasty saddle sores!” Savidge laughed.

  Louisa swung her carbine up and buried the stock in the outlaw’s belly.

  “Ohhh!” Savidge groaned as his breath was hammered from his lungs, jerking forward in the saddle. “Ohhh—Lordy—that . . . just . . . wasn’t . . . nice!”

  Prophet chuckled as he swung up onto Mean’s back. He didn’t laugh long, however. As he turned his horse out away from the cabin, the reins of Savidge’s mount in his left hand, he cast a cautious look around the yard.

  Those short hairs spiking the back of his neck were twitching like a watch witch over an underground ocean.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  From a distance of a quarter or a half a mile away across the gently rolling prairie, the fire was little more than a pinprick of orange, faintly guttering light.

  Prophet studied the light from a rise to the north of where he, Louisa, Savidge, and Josephina Hawkins had bivouacked just after sundown and built a small cook fire of their own. Prophet had spotted the distant flames an hour ago, when he’d scouted around the camp for more possible poachers.

  Well, he’d found said poachers.

  Of course, the fire could belong to range riders or hunters or even to woodcutters or sheepherders. But Prophet was no juniper. He was new neither to the west nor to the business of bounty hunting. He had to assume the fire belonged to men shadowing him and Louisa,
out for the improbably valuable head of Chaz Savidge.

  Grass crackled behind Prophet.

  He turned to see Louisa’s vague shadow moving up the slope. Their own cook fire guttered behind her, a coffee pot hanging from the iron tripod over the flames.

  Savidge sat against a birch tree beside the fire, the man’s knees raised to his chest. He was staring up the slope toward Prophet. The girl, Josephina, sat on a log on the opposite side of the fire from Savidge. She had a blanket over her shoulders. She leaned forward, hunched against the cold, the coffee cup in her hands sending steam up to bathe her face, which the fire’s umber flames caressed with dim light and deep shadows.

  Josephina, too, was staring up the slope toward Prophet.

  Louisa dropped down beside the bounty hunter. She held a steaming plate in one hand, a steaming cup in her other hand. On the plate was a charred venison steak resting on a mound of pinto beans, and a baking powder biscuit. Josephina had contributed the grub, and she’d cooked it, too, insisting on doing her part.

  “What has you so preoccupied up here?” Louisa asked, setting the plate down beside Prophet. “Eat. Just don’t expect such service every night.”

  “Holy shit—that smells good! I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  Prophet picked up the chunk of venison, and dug into it, chewing ravenously.

  Keeping her head beneath the brow of the rise, Louisa stared toward the north. “Campfire?”

  Prophet groaned in the affirmative as he chewed.

  “How long’s it been there?”

  “Good hour now,” Prophet said, setting the venison down on the plate and starting to shovel the beans into his mouth. They’d been cooked in the venison drippings, and they were mouth-watering good.

  “You think it’s him—Burrow? You think he’s that much of a fool—to keep coming after us when he’s only three-men strong, with one of those men likely toting a bullet if he’s even still alive?”