by Ron Schwab
"All right, Carmella," Joe said. "We'll at least have time to see what happens. I've got to find out about Tom and Sarah, but no matter what, I'll be sticking around these parts. I've got some plans that will keep me here . . . at least in the winters. Maybe I can convince you that you don't need your job another year. If I can't, I'll be here when that year's up."
Carmella was one of the several reasons why Joe had decided not to return to Nebraska. His friend, Crawdad Logan, had made him an offer Joe was going to take up. Crawdad insisted he had marked a spot in the Black Hills where a gold find was a sure thing. It was well beneath the granite surface, and the unsettled times in the hills had made it impossible for him to stay and pursue his hunch. Crawdad maintained that the government would open the Black Hills to civilians again soon, and everything pointed to a big military campaign against the Sioux in the spring. It would not be long before they could return and stake a claim.
Crawdad could still pan for gold, but mining the hard rock was another thing. He had the mining know-how, but he needed somebody with some business sense and a couple of big, young bulls to do the work. Joe fit the bill on both counts. Crawdad and Jasper proposed to cut Joe in as a one-third partner if he would go to the hills in the spring to help work the claim. It had taken Joe about half a minute to say yes.
"If Billy's sister and the young man ain't showed up come spring," said Crawdad, "we'll take Billy with us. We'll try to find out what happened to them on the way."
37
APRIL'S WARMING BREEZES caressed the frosty mountain tops now, and the icy creeks and streams that snaked through the foothills north and west of Cheyenne raced bank-full through the rocky gorges and canyons as the white blanket shrank from the ground. A few miles to the North, two riders forded a little creek, swollen and raging from the thaw brought on by the bright spring sun. Tom's horse followed Sarah's onto the solid footing offered by the rocky creek bank, and they dismounted, Tom pulling steadily at the lead rope of the string of heavy-laden pack horses as they splashed through the stream and clambered from the chilling, foamy waters.
"We'll be in Cheyenne inside an hour," Tom said. "If the C. O. at Fetterman was right, Joe ought to be there." He wrapped his arm around Sarah's shoulders and pulled her close. "Sarah, after we find Joe, we'll head up to the Black Hills and have another go at finding Billy . . . if that's what you want."
Sarah shook her head negatively, her clear eyes meeting Tom's. "No, there comes a time to go on. I think this is it. I want to go home. If Billy's dead, there's nothing we can do. If he somehow got back to our people, he'll find a way to get home, or somebody will be in touch."
She spoke matter-of-factly. Tom knew she had come to terms with her grief and was ready now to make a new life. After their winter in the mountains, Tom no longer doubted they would share the future.
He pulled her chin up gently and planted a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. "You kind of grow on a fella, you know that? I could get used to having you around."
"You darn well better say that, Captain Carnes," Sarah said mysteriously.
"What do you mean by that?"
Deliberately ignoring his query, Sarah moved to her horse. "Let's head for Cheyenne," she said.
Later, as they walked their horses up Cheyenne's sloppy, muddy main street, Tom observed that the town was alive and jumping with miners, packing and getting ready to move north into the mountains. He sidled his horse over to the hitching post in front of a busy general store hailing a stocky, congenial-looking miner. "I'm looking for a man by the name of Joe Carnes. Ever heard of him?"
"Sure enough," the miner answered. "He's a partner of Crawdad Logan's. You ought to find him at Big Wilma's." He pointed to the big white house perched alone on a hillside some distance up the street.
Tom turned to Sarah and grinned. "Sounds like Joe's been busy."
Sarah smiled back. Then turning again to the miner, Tom asked, "Is there a preacher in this town?"
The man looked at Sarah and beamed. "You bet. It's been a long spell since he's done anything but funerals, and he'd be mighty proud to see you. Let's see . . . this time of day, he's likely in Harley's Saloon."
"Thanks much, friend," Tom said and reined his horse up the street without so much as a glance at Sarah. Sarah did not follow.
Shortly, Tom wheeled his horse around and trotted the animal back to Sarah. "Aren't you coming?" he asked.
"Well, I might . . . if I take the notion." Her blue eyes twinkled. "What's this business about the preacher? Were you trying to tell me something a little bit ago?" she asked.
"That was a proposal, ma'am," he said sheepishly.
"Tom Carnes. You're supposed to be a sophisticated, educated man. If you can't do better than that, you'll never find a wife."
He knew she was having her fun, but he guessed he had not handled this too gracefully. She deserved better.
He sat straight in his saddle and swept off his wide-brimmed hat. "Miss Kesterson," he said, "would you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?"
"Well, I'll think about it," she teased. She rubbed her chin and bit her lips, narrowing her eyes as though in deep and troubled thought. Abruptly she said, "I've thought about it. . . . I accept. Besides, I think it would be nice for Samuel Kesterson Carnes to have a father."
Taken aback, Tom said, "Do you mean—“
"I'm trying to tell you something." She laughed. She edged her horse next to his, leaned over, and kissed him warmly on the cheek.
"Let's go find Joe," he said. "Then, we'll get the preacher. Then we're heading home to the Double C."
"Double C . . . and Big K," she corrected. "Don't forget, we've got the Kesterson ranch to run, too."
"I don't imagine you'll let me forget," he said.
As they drew near the big white house, Tom could make out a giant dark man standing on the wide, front porch engaged in an animated conversation with a blond-haired little boy.
"Joe!" he yelled, waving excitedly.
As Tom nudged his horse ahead, Joe looked up and grinned. He said something to the little boy and stepped off the porch, striding rapidly toward the riders. The boy darted past Joe, almost knocking him over as he pushed by and raced down the road, tears streaming from his blue eyes as he raced toward the golden-haired lady on the horse.
Afterword
Thank you for purchasing this ebook. If you enjoyed reading it, please consider leaving a review at your favorite online retailer or Goodreads. For more information about Ron Schwab and his books, you may visit the author’s website at www.RonSchwabBooks.com.
Available on Amazon in October 2016, Deal with the Devil is the first book in Ron Schwab’s The Law Wranglers series. To learn more, please visit the author’s website or Amazon.com.
