Colorado Dawn

by Kaki Warner

  The bullet had gone through. He saw no obstruction in either the entrance or the exit wound to indicate a piece of Thomas’s shirt was still lodged inside. The blood seeping down his side wasna bubbling or frothy, so hopefully a lung hadn’t been nicked, and Thomas’s gut wasna distended as it would have been if he was bleeding inside. The Cheyenne wasn’t showing fever yet, but Ash had seen enough battlefield wounds to know it was probably coming.

  All in all, Thomas was lucky.

  He dinna look it.

  Once Ash had patched the Indian up as best he could with bandages made from Thomas’s town shirt, held in place by strips torn from the woolen scarf, he covered Thomas with his jacket and helped him sit up against a boulder. “Drink as much as you can,” he ordered, handing Thomas his canteen. “And here’s jerky, if you’re up to it.”

  While Thomas chewed the dried meat and took sips from the canteen, Ash told him what Si had said about his brother, Clete, and his cohort, Bud Purvis, leaving the lad to watch Maddie while they followed the reverend, hoping he would lead them to the cabin.

  “I knew they followed.” Thomas worked to bite off another piece of meat. Ash could see that even chewing was an effort for him. “But the churchman did not want to fight, so we went on. They shot me just as the cabin came in sight.”

  Thereby eliminating the one they dinna need and the fighter who posed the biggest threat. Made sense to Ash. “But they let you live?”

  “The churchman told them I was dead. He told them the claim papers were down there.” Wincing, Thomas twisted to point over his shoulder to the cabin in the middle of the clearing below. “That was more important to them than a wounded Indian.”

  “See what’s happening down there. I’ll get my rifle.” Ash pulled his field glasses from his sabretache and handed them to Thomas, then went into the trees where he’d tied Lurch and Tricks. He pulled the carbine from the case hanging off his cavalry saddle, dug out a box of bullets from his saddlebag, then went back and stretched out on the ground beside the Cheyenne, who was on his stomach, peering through the glasses at the cabin.

  “What do you see?” Ash asked.

  Thomas handed him the field glasses. “Nothing. They do not work.”

  “That’s because ’tis white man magic and ye’re but a bluidy heathen.” Bracing his elbows in the dirt, Ash adjusted the focus until the cabin came clearly into view.

  He saw no people. No horses. If not for the smoke rising from the stone chimney, it looked the same as Maddie’s photograph—­aspen grove, meadow, small creek with a sluice, outhouse in back. But from this angle, with the side of the cabin facing him, he could see higher up on the hillside, where a pile of tailings spilled down below a hole dug into the earth. The mine, he assumed. He handed the glasses over to Thomas. “Where’s the reverend?”

  “Inside. But I have not seen him for a while.”

  “The horses?”

  “Staked on the other side of the cabin in that ravine. Mine, as well.”

  A man came out the back door of the cabin. Short. Dark beard. Not the reverend and not Cletus Cochran. Bud Purvis? He stood for a minute, scratching and staring up at the mine, then went on to the outhouse.

  “That is one of the men who followed us,” Thomas said, squinting through the glasses at the distant figure.

  Ash picked up the carbine and quickly loaded it. He adjusted the sliding ramp sight at the back of the barrel for two hundred and fifty yards, give or take ten.

  No wind. Downhill. An easy shot.

  He lifted the rifle to his shoulder. Once again propping his elbows on the ground, he lined up the rear sight with the fixed sight at the end of the barrel until it was square on the outhouse door. Then he waited.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas set down the field glasses and stick his fingers in his ears.

  The door opened and the man came out. After pausing to do up his trousers, he walked toward the house.

  Ash tracked him through the sights until the cabin door closed behind him, then he lowered the rifle and let out a string of Gaelic curses.

  “You did not shoot,” Thomas said, taking his fingers from his ears.

  “If I had, and the reverend is still alive, the other fellow might have killed him or used him as a shield to make his escape.”

  “So we sit here?”

  “Aye. The reverend has got to relieve himself sometime, and I doubt he’ll be alone. If he’s in the clear and I can get a shot at the man with him, I’ll take it, so I will. Bluidy, buggerin’, humpin’ sons of bitches.”

  He dinna have to wait long. This time when the door opened, two men came out. Ash studied them through the field glasses.

  The one in front was more round than tall. No beard. The reverend. His hands were tied in front and there was blood on his shirt, but otherwise he seemed all right. The other was the same man who had come out earlier. Bud Purvis.

  “Watch the cabin.” Ash handed the glasses to Thomas and picked up the loaded rifle. “I’ve got ye now, ye bastard,” he muttered as he lined up the sights.

  The reverend tripped and went down on one knee. Purvis kicked him in the arse until the older man scrambled back onto his feet and staggered on to the outhouse. The reverend went inside.

  Ash took a breath, let out half. He slipped his finger around the trigger.

  Purvis stood at the open door for a moment, then let it close. He turned in Ash’s direction the instant before Ash squeezed the trigger.

  Noise exploded. A belch of acrid smoke burned in Ash’s eyes.

  The bullet entered Purvis’s left eye and exited the back of his head in a red mist.

  Flipping onto his back, Ash worked frantically to clear the side breech so he could reload. “Did the other one come out of the cabin?” he shouted over the ringing in his ears. “Did you see him?” Turning the rifle over, he tried to shake out the spent casing, but it dinna fall. Christ. “What is he doing? Talk to me, man!”

  “The door opened, but I could not see if he came out.”

  “Maybe he went out a window.” Ash dug the hot casing loose with his fingernail, then thumbed another cartridge into the side-­hinged breechblock and snapped it closed. Swinging the rifle to his shoulder, he rolled back into firing position.

  “There!” Thomas pointed past the cabin. “On the other side. He runs to the gully.”

  Ash tracked until he found movement in the sights. White blond hair. Cletus Cochran. Aiming just ahead of the running figure, he fired.

  Cochran dropped from sight.

  Ears ringing, Ash squinted through the haze of spent powder as he dug out the spent casing so he could reload. “Did I get him?”

  “I cannot see him.”

  “Bollocks!”

  The outhouse door opened. The reverend came out and bent over the figure sprawled on the ground. Two hundred yards past him, running a ragged course in and out the brush, a man on a saddleless bay horse galloped out of the gully and into the cover of the trees. Three other horses ran loose behind him—­Thomas’s spotted pony, the reverend’s chestnut, and a third horse Ash dinna know. But they gave up soon enough, and after milling for a moment, dropped their heads to graze at the edge of the trees.

  Ash lurched to his feet. “Bluidy hell! I missed the bastard!”

  The urge to give chase almost overwhelmed him. But he couldn’t leave Thomas and the reverend unprotected. Nor could he dally here, either. Cochran might head back to Denver. And Maddie.

  Thomas lowered the glasses. Teeth clenched, he rolled onto his uninjured side. “You got one,” he said in a strained voice. “Right in the eye. A fine shot. For a white man.”

  “Bugger that. I was aiming for the bastard’s chest.”

  Thomas tried to laugh, but it came out a cough instead.

  Ash studied him, wondering what to do. It was clear the Cheyenne was in no condition to ride. In fact, if Ash dinna get him covered, warm, and off the ground, Thomas would soon be fighting for his life.

  “I
’m going down to check on the reverend and see if there’s a wagon. Have you any weapons, heathen?”

  Thomas’s eyes drifted closed. “Knife. They took the rifle.”

  “Here’s my pistol.” When Thomas dinna open his eyes, Ash set it on the ground beside his hand. “I’ll leave Tricks with you. I’ll have to tie him, but he’ll still be able to let you know if anyone comes.”

  When Thomas still dinna respond, Ash hunkered beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thomas?”

  The Cheyenne’s eyes opened. “Why are you still here, white man?”

  Ash forced a smile. “Can I bring you back anything, heathen?”

  A faint smile creased Thomas’s lips. His eyes closed. “Peyote.”

  “Praise God,” the reverend said when Ash rode up. “I wasn’t sure who was shooting. Did you find Mr. Redstone? Is he all right?”

  “He’s alive.”

  Ash dismounted and walked over to study Bud Purvis’s body. A wee hole beside the eye socket, a fist-­sized crater where the back of his head had been. Neat and to the point. Seeing an enclosure on the other side of the cabin, he led Lurch toward it. “Are you hurt?” he asked, eyeing the bruises on the reverend’s face and the bloodstains on his shirt.

  “It’s nothing. I’m more concerned about Mr. Redstone. Will you take me to him? I was a chaplain in the war, but I often served as a medic, as well. Perhaps I can help.”

  “I’d rather bring him here. Is there a wagon?”

  “On the other side of the paddock.”

  Lurch whinnied. A distant answer, and Ash looked up to see the three loose mounts galloping back, Thomas’s pony in the lead. No sign of Cochran, but he might be lurking up in those trees, lining the reverend up in his sights even now. Bluidy hell. He needed Tricks to track him down. But first, he must tend Thomas.

  He tied Lurch inside the paddock, leaving the gate open to lure the other horses in. “Get inside the cabin,” he told the reverend as he checked the rigging on the small buckboard. “And stay out of sight until we’re certain the other man is gone.”

  “What about Mr. Redstone?”

  “I’ll get him. Go. Before Cochran takes a shot at you.”

  “No fear of that. He’s long gone, I’m afraid. And it’s all my fault.”

  Ash turned to study him. “What are you saying?”

  A look of deep distress came over the portly man’s face. “Mr. Redstone told me to stall, to tell them I had the claim papers. They looked for them here. When they didn’t find them, they started hitting me. Eventually, I told them they were in town.”

  Fear slammed into Ash’s chest. “In town? You mean at the boardinghouse?”

  “I-­I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think they believed me, but where else would that blond fellow go?”

  Sweet Mary. The reverend had sent him straight to Maddie.

  The next half hour was a blur for Ash. After harnessing a weary Lurch to the wagon, he went back up the hill and brought Thomas and Tricks back. The reverend was waiting with what medical items he could find in the cabin—­wound salve, bandages, and gauze. He was also boiling beans and some dried meat to make a broth. After tending Thomas’s wounds, they moved him to a cot beside the hearth. Even though Thomas had regained some color, it was obvious he was still too weak to ride.

  “Thomas, I must go back.” Ash hunkered beside the cot so their eyes were on the same level. “We think Cochran is headed to the boardinghouse. I canna take you with me.”

  Thomas nodded, his dark eyes shadowed with pain but also filled with that calm acceptance every wounded warrior must face when told he will be left behind.

  “The reverend will bring you in the wagon if you’re up to it. Or I’ll come back for you. I’ll not leave you here, heathen.”

  “Find him, Scotsman. Kill him.”

  “I will.” Ash rose and looked down at the man he was just beginning to know but already thought of as a brother in arms. “I’ll not fail you, my friend.”

  Thomas nodded. “My spirit rides with you, hovahe.”

  Ten minutes later, Ash rode out on Thomas’s pony, Tricks at his side, and a familiar throb building behind his eyes.

  Twenty

  The morning was scarcely half done and Maddie was already wishing she was back at the boardinghouse. It was more than just worry over Ash and Thomas and the reverend that had her so out of sorts. Photography simply didn’t seem that important when people she loved might be in danger.

  Still, she went through the motions rather than give in to the fear that hovered at the edge of her mind. She was a soldier’s wife. And that’s what was expected of soldiers’ wives—­they waited patiently and worried secretly and put on a brave face despite the terror churning inside.

  She had started the day by the government offices before slowly working her way through the commercial and business areas. But now, at the edge of the saloon district, where she had anticipated finding a wealth of material and people to photograph, she had run out of albumenized paper.

  A bad day all around.

  She and Chub were loading her supplies back into the wagon when she saw Lucinda coming down the boardwalk. Judging by the dragging steps, it seemed Lucinda’s morning hadn’t gone that well, either.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as Luce stopped by the steps at the back of the wagon. “I thought you were staying to ride back with Declan later.”

  “My meeting was canceled.”

  She was a shadow of the cheerful woman who had ridden into town with them that morning. Maddie wondered if she’d been crying, then discounted the notion. Lucinda never cried. Yet it was apparent something was troubling her. “Luce, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably nothing.” She made a dismissive gesture, then picked up a box of carte de visite cards and handed it up to Chub, who stood at the top of the wagon steps. “Anything else to be loaded?” she asked, looking around.

  “I believe that’s it.” After cautioning Chub to make sure the door was locked and the steps secured, Maddie took Lucinda’s arm and walked her toward the front driver’s box. “Talk to me. Tell me why you’re upset.”

  “Things didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, that’s all.”

  Maddie said no more as they climbed up into the driver’s box. Lucinda was intensely private and didn’t welcome prying. A few minutes later, Chub joined them, and they were on their way to the boardinghouse.

  Maddie scanned the faces of the men on the boardwalk as they passed by, then realized what she was doing. She frowned, wondering when it had become habit to be so watchful and wary. Yet, without Ash by her side, she did feel exposed and vaguely uneasy…​as if something was missing.

  Her independence, perhaps.

  They rode in silence for a while, then Lucinda blurted out, “It’s the oddest thing, Maddie. Yesterday, they all seemed so enthusiastic about my plans. But today, they could scarcely spare me a glance.”

  “The men from the railroads?”

  “It’s as if overnight, I’ve become a pariah. Edgar Kitchner didn’t even cancel our luncheon meeting himself, but sent his underling to inform me he would be unavailable.”

  “Perhaps he had a conflict,” Maddie suggested, tracing the square face of the signet ring through the fabric of her glove. Would it be so bad, returning to her old life with Ash?

  “That’s what I thought. But when I pressed, the assistant said Mr. Kitchner would be unavailable…​permanently. What do you make of that?”

  Hearing the distress in Lucinda’s voice, Maddie put Ash from her mind and gave her friend her full attention. “Obviously he’s a fool. Just as well you won’t be doing business with him. He’ll come to regret missing this wonderful opportunity, mark my words.”

  Lucinda absently plucked at the ribbon tie on the folder she clasped in her lap. “I might have agreed, had he been the only one to cancel.”

  “The men from the Denver Pacific have dropped out, as well?”
r />   Lucinda nodded.

  “They gave no reason for their change of heart?”

  “Oh, the usual excuses. Overextending. Labor shortages. Right of way issues. All polite ways of saying they’re no longer interested. I just can’t figure why. I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s not right about all this.”

  She looked as despondent as Maddie had ever seen her. Luce wasn’t one to dwell on her difficulties. She was far too practical and levelheaded for that. “Are there no other railroads that might be looking for a branch line across the southern Rockies?”

  “Mr. Kitchner’s minion mentioned one. A newly formed group called the Wichita Pacific. But I know nothing about them.”

  “Perhaps you should find out,” Maddie suggested. “You’ve come too far to give up now.”

  “Perhaps.” Luce gave a halfhearted shrug. “But sometimes, Maddie, I wonder if I’m wasting my time—­and money—­trying to bring Heartbreak Creek back to life.”

  Maddie had often wondered the same thing.

  Declan came out to meet them when they rolled up to the stable. “What are you doing back so soon?” he asked Lucinda, lifting her down from the driver’s box. “I thought you were coming back with me after the vote.”

  “I had no reason to stay.” She explained about the canceled meetings. “I think this whole trip has been a waste of my time.”

  “Any word from Ash or Thomas?” Maddie asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Declan said, helping Chub unharness the mules. “But it’s early yet.”

  Maddie hid her disappointment. “Where are Silas and Ed?”

  “Worn out. Bathing Silas took it out of both of them.”

  Maddie shared a look of surprise with Lucinda. Silas might be a child mentally, but physically, he was a grown man. “She bathed Silas?”

  “Not likely.” Declan swung open the paddock gate so Chub could lead Maisy and Buttercup through, then shut it and sent the boy on home for the day. “As usual, I did the actual work. She just shouted orders through the door. That’s what she does best. One of the things, anyway.”

  Maddie caught those last murmured words as he walked back into the barn with the harness leathers thrown over his shoulder. She assumed by his grin he wasn’t referring to her cooking. “Well, at least he’s clean.”