Somehow, probably owing to the close range, Paul’s bullet managed to hit the man in front of him. It was a grazing shot at best, nicking Starkweather’s left thigh. His second, third, and fourth rounds, however, traced a deadly path up along Starkweather’s hip, stomach, and chest respectively.
For the next few moments, Starkweather was still.
In those moments, Paul was certain he would join the other man in his pain thanks to the bullet that was sure to come his way. Those moments dragged on for far too long, and when they passed, they did so the same way that Starkweather passed. Quietly.
The gunman looked down at the bloody wounds in his torso, strained to exhale, but didn’t even have the strength to keep his arms raised. The gun in his hand weighed him down, dragging him all the way to the ground. When he hit the rocky dirt, he kicked once and was gone.
Paul stood up with the smoking Schofield in a solid grip. He blinked at the sight of the body on the ground, waiting for it to get up again and bring him to an end. Surely that had to be the next event to pass, considering one shopkeeper’s stand against an experienced killer. But Starkweather had been done in by his own arrogance just as much as by Paul’s bullets. It was a lesson learned one time only.
Another explosion rocked the nearby camp. This time, however, Paul didn’t flinch. He reloaded the Schofield, checked that the flask was still in his pocket, and made his way back down the path that led out of the crevice.
The men that had scattered after the first explosion were scattered even farther by the most recent one, leaving the camp all but abandoned. Paul could hear them nearby. Some were still hollering to each other, and others were riding their horses down the passes that took them anywhere but where they’d started. Paul had barely taken three steps out of the crevice when he saw someone standing near the rock wall. Even as he pivoted around and fumbled for his Schofield, Paul knew he wouldn’t be able to draw quickly enough to get a shot off. That bit of luck had been used up already.
Frakes took one step forward. He held his pistol at hip level. His eyes were pointed in Paul’s general direction but didn’t seem to focus on much of anything at all. Leaning over to one side, Frakes bumped his shoulder against the rock wall before sliding down to one knee. Now that the crooked businessman was down, Paul spotted Red Feather directly behind him. Frakes flopped forward onto his chest with both of the Comanche’s knives protruding from his back.
“He was a murderous dog,” Red Feather said as he walked up to pluck his knives from where they’d been lodged. “He did not deserve a warrior’s death.”
“He probably didn’t even think I’d come out of there alive,” Paul said.
Red Feather shrugged. The explanation he’d given was enough and he didn’t need any more.
“What was that other explosion?” Paul asked.
“Hank beating a dead horse,” Red Feather said. “He found another barrel of dynamite and couldn’t help himself.”
“Where is he now?”
“Just follow the sound of the loud one’s voice.” Before long, Hank could be heard howling like a madman amid a flurry of gunshots. “I think he wants to die here,” Red Feather said.
“Well, I don’t. Let’s find a way out of this basin and head home.”
Red Feather nodded once and led the way back into camp. He and Paul circled around to the spot where the shacks had been. Two of the flimsy structures were reduced to cinders and the rest were shrouded in foul-smelling smoke. There were more miners in the camp than Paul had originally guessed, most of whom were now working to douse the flames that had spread to the smaller tents. As he passed them by, Paul did his best to assess the damage that had been done that night. Most of it had been done to property. There were a few casualties to be found, but they seemed limited to minor burns and a few bumps taken during the ensuing commotion. The only men that had been hurt worse than that were gunmen who’d been shot or stabbed. Paul didn’t feel too sorry for any of them.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the slope that led back up to his campsite that Paul caught sight of a slender older fellow with a scraggly beard. He was the same man whom Paul had spotted in the butcher’s apron the first time he scouted the camp from high ground. Without anyone else to turn to, the remaining miners seemed to be coming to him for instruction. After hearing the name Quincy tossed around, Paul guessed that was the doctor that Braden had mentioned during his earlier questioning. All Paul had to do was watch for a few more seconds to see which of the larger tents was the one Quincy was most concerned about. In fact, the older fellow was even more frantic to move his supplies out of that tent than anyone else still in the basin.
Although only a small section of the mining camp had been destroyed, the company’s interests in that basin had been unraveled like a poorly made sweater. Miners were gathering their possessions and finding their way to one of the three paths leading out of the basin. Even the few armed men left standing were collecting their horses instead of carrying out whatever demands Quincy was making of them.
Wheeling around as if to address the entire range of Rocky Mountains, Quincy shouted, “The saboteurs who did this must still be close! Somebody find them and shoot them!” When nobody lifted a finger to obey that command, he added, “Territorial Mining will pay handsomely for anyone who brings in the murdering cowards who set fire to this camp!”
A few men hollered back, emphasizing their sentiments with dismissive gestures tossed back to the frustrated doctor.
“Get on out of here,” Paul said to Red Feather. “There’s supposed to be some vials of medicine that may also be a help to my young ones, and I think I just figured out where to find it.”
“Should I try to bring Hank with me?” Red Feather asked.
“Nah,” Paul replied. “He’ll catch up. Let him have his fun.”
Chapter 37
For Paul, the ride home wasn’t much more than a rush of wind in his face and a steady flow of uneven terrain beneath his horse’s hooves. After that horse had dealt so well with all the strain Paul put her through, he finally decided to give her a proper name. Sophie was easy on the ears and she seemed to like it, so Sophie it was.
Hank did catch up with them, but not until the day after their visit to the Territorial Mining camp. His face was flushed and the smile he wore was etched so deep that it had most likely been there since that second shack had gone up in fiery smoke. “Where did you two get off to?” he asked breathlessly when he’d reined his horse in to trot alongside Paul’s and Red Feather’s.
“We agreed on the route we’d take if we got separated,” Paul replied.
“I know, but you missed all the fireworks.”
“Not all,” Red Feather said.
“Well, it was quite a show!”
“What was left when you finally decided to move on?” Paul asked.
“Not much. The miners uprooted most of their tents in their haste to leave. The more that Quincy fellow kept yelling at them, the more of the camp those men decided to knock over out of spite. Quincy ordered some men to open fire on the rowdiest workers, but they refused and cleared out with the rest of ’em. After watching that old man kick and fret like a spoiled child for a spell, I took one of the horses that was left behind and rode away. Serves ’em right,” Hank added. “Seeing as how they took my horse and I don’t know where it went.”
“Stealing a horse is the least of your worries,” Red Feather said. “That mining company will be after all of us to answer for what happened. They will hire more gunmen and give them orders to kill.”
“I been thinking about that,” Hank said. “Maybe we should stick with Quincy and whatever is left of those gun hands to . . . discourage any further misbehavior.”
Red Feather smirked. “That might be wise.”
“And a hoot! Too bad Paul can’t come along. I’m sure he needs to get back to his young ones.”
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“I do,” Paul sighed. “I just hope they’ll be there for me.”
Red Feather closed his eyes and pulled in a slow breath. When he exhaled, he opened his eyes and said, “They will be.”
Hank let out a grunt. “I don’t put much faith in mystical mumbo jumbo, but I think he’s right. If them children were so bad off, you would’ve known it and never would have left.” He winced. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Paul replied. “Thanks. Both of you.”
Turning to Red Feather, Hank asked, “So, do I have to worry about you stabbing me in my sleep when we’re riding after Quincy and whatever killers might be hired on to protect him?”
“You are offering to do so as a way to make up for my people that you killed?” the Comanche asked.
“Partly,” Hank admitted. “Truth be told, I really didn’t kill any Injuns. I took a job hunting them down about a month ago. The only scalps I ever cashed in were collected by a man wanted for killing his wife and her sister. I was trying my hand at bounty hunting, and after dragging a few pieces of human trash across a few counties, I decided to see if hunting Injuns was any better. It wasn’t. I got a knack for hunting, though.”
Red Feather nodded. “I believe you. Perhaps that is why I did not stab you in your sleep.”
“Whatever the reason,” Hank said while extending a hand to Red Feather, “I’m mighty grateful.”
Red Feather shook his hand and then sat so he looked straight ahead.
“What happens if this Quincy fellow just scampers back to the Territorial Mining offices and lies low?” Paul asked.
“He will,” Hank replied with absolute certainty. “When he gets there, another greedy pig like that Frakes fella will want to find us or maybe some of them miners that ran into the mountains to shut them up the way Starkweather shut up that salesman in Leadville. I imagine hunting down any of Starkweather’s other associates might be a good way to do some real damage to Territorial Mining.”
From what Paul had seen since leaving Keystone Pass, he agreed that Hank was onto something there. He didn’t quite understand one thing, however. “Why go through so much trouble where that mining company is concerned?” he asked.
“Because it seems like sniffing out a bunch of greedy businessmen who hire killers to murder salesmen is a good way to put my hunting talents to work.”
“What about you, Red Feather?” Paul asked.
“That mining company has desecrated my people’s lands as well as the lands of other tribes,” the Comanche said. “It is best to cause them misery instead of blindly striking at anyone in my sight. While I am not the one who fired the arrow through that window, I am sorry for what happened to your daughter and son. I cannot make them well, but what I do to those rich white men who poisoned the waters, I do in their names.”
“You’ve already done plenty,” Paul said. “I’d hate for you to be in harm’s way any longer on my account.”
Hank shrugged. “Eh, it’s what we do.”
“For now,” Red Feather said, “yes. It is the path we ride.”
They didn’t speak much after that. There was a good amount of land to cover and precious little time in which to cover it. Red Feather scouted ahead to make sure there were no dangerous surprises lurking over a ridge or around the next bend. When they reached a long stretch of trail leading to Keystone Pass, the Comanche told him about a shortcut that would shave a mile or two off the journey home. Paul expressed his gratitude one last time and was on his way.
He made it into town by early evening. Paul didn’t bother himself with details like how quickly he’d ridden or how far he’d come. All that mattered was that he was back where he most needed to be. When he stormed into Doc Swenson’s office, he barely even noticed the surprised expression on the face of a young woman lying in one of the other rooms who didn’t know if he was some wayward outlaw looking to rob the place.
“Oh my!” Swenson said from his chair at Abigail’s bedside. “It’s you!”
“How is she, Doc?” Paul asked breathlessly.
“Doing a little better. I’ve been applying remedies for various different ailments and some of them have taken hold.”
“What about David?”
“He’s in the next room. His fever isn’t nearly as bad as his sister’s and he’s been responding much better to my treatments. Still . . . he hasn’t been in good spirits.”
Paul reached into his jacket pocket for the small sacks of powder and the vial of thick liquid he’d taken from the mining camp. “Try these on them,” he said.
“What are they?” Swenson asked as he opened one of the sacks and took a tentative sniff of its contents.
“There were other folks suffering from the same ailment. This is supposed to be the antidote.” Paul then quickly explained the process of making the tea as the doctor nodded and tested the powder by pinching some between his fingers and even dabbing some on the tip of his tongue.
“I suppose I can try a small amount as a test,” the doctor said hesitantly.
“You do whatever you need to do. Here you go,” Paul added as he set his flask down on a nearby table. “This is the water that poisoned those folks, and it should be mostly the same as what got Abigail sick.”
The doctor picked it up and sniffed it just as he did with the powder.
“Isn’t that what you needed?” Paul asked.
“Sure it is,” Swenson replied. “I just didn’t really think you’d get it.”
“Well, I did,” Paul snapped. “Do your part or you’ll have to answer to me.”
When the doctor looked up at him, there was a touch of fear in his eyes as he said, “Of course I will. Don’t worry. I’ll work as fast as I can. I won’t even sleep.”
Paul guessed that kind of fearful respect was shown to plenty of other ranting men who wore guns on their hips. There was some part of him that he wasn’t very proud of that enjoyed getting that kind of response. Rather than push it any further, Paul kneeled at his daughter’s side and brushed the hair from her eyes. She’d always been a heavy sleeper, so he wasn’t surprised that she didn’t wake up during his conversation with Swenson. When he kissed her cheek, she shifted slightly just as she always did, which went a long way to soothing Paul’s troubled mind. He then left the doctor to his work so he could step into the next room, where David was resting.
The boy was lying on his side facing the door. When he saw Paul enter the room, David curled up into a tighter ball.
“You feeling all right?” Paul asked as he came over to sit on the side of the cot.
“No.”
“The doctor says your fever broke. What hurts?”
“Nothing.”
“Must be something,” Paul said as he felt David’s forehead. “Otherwise you’d feel better.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For being too afraid to go along with you,” David said in a meek little voice. “For being afraid of everything.”
Paul ran his fingers through his son’s hair. “Have you been lying here thinking about that the whole time I was gone?”
“No.” After seeing the stern glare from his father, the boy added, “Yes.”
“Well, you should set your mind at ease. More than once over the last couple of days, I’ve been pretty scared myself.”
“Really?” David asked as he sat up straight. “Why?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that everyone gets frightened. It’s what keeps someone from charging into danger like a fool. You’ve got it where it counts, son. And that’s right here,” Paul said while tapping a finger against the boy’s chest. “You’re not a coward. You’re just cautious. Just promise me that you won’t be so cautious that you don’t get around to living every day to its fullest.”
David smiled warmly and wrapped his a
rms around his father’s neck. “I promise.”
Paul hugged his boy for a good, long while. Everything that had come before that moment just didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Chapter 38
Nearly a month later, Paul still didn’t feel back to normal. He’d covered a lot of dangerous land, which had a way of sticking to a man’s bones. He simply wasn’t the same man as the one who had ridden out of Keystone Pass to trade with Prescott for what would be the final time.
After spending several hours stocking shelves in his store, Paul sat down on a stool behind the counter and let out a contented sigh. There was nobody helping him that day, but Abigail came in to grab something to eat before heading out again.
“How are you, Dumplin’?” he asked.
“I told you not to call me that!” she groaned as if he’d committed a cardinal sin.
“Sorry. Feeling all right, though?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she replied while coming around the counter to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Dumplin’.”
She moaned again and was on her way through the door.
For once, Paul didn’t know exactly where David was. Ever since he’d left Dr. Swenson’s care, his son had reintroduced himself to some friends from school and spent most of his days getting into bits of trouble here and there with the rest of the boys. On stormy nights or every so often at random times, David would still become nervous or fidgety. That seemed so unimportant anymore that Paul hardly ever noticed. The world was full of dangerous lands, and a man who didn’t have some healthy amount of fear in him wouldn’t survive them for long.
Paul wasn’t the same man he’d once been and would never get back to normal.
He was a better man who was content in the life he’d made. What he’d used to consider normal was a long ways behind him and he wasn’t about to look back.
Read on for an excerpt from
The Dangerous Land Page 24
