Bart put down his canteen, his wary eyes locked on the rider. He winced in the growing morning sun to get a better look at who approached. When the rider moved in to the light his concern washed away, replaced by a large smile.
Dunn also smiled. “I don't need field glasses to see that it's a woman, and a pretty one at that.”
Ron nodded slightly while maintaining his fix on the attractive, trim woman. He was mesmerized by the glow of her red hair in the bright sun and her equally bright smile.
The rider was about ten years older than Bart and dismounted when she reached him. They carried on an animated but friendly conversation.
“I think they are friends,” said Once Dunn.
“Yes. Still, keep an eye out for someone else approaching. I'll focus on her. I mean them.”
Once Dunn shook his head and smiled. Ten minutes later the women climbed on her horse and galloped off in the direction from which she came.
The two riders stared down at Sheridan for a minute before turning their mounts and riding off, a cloud of dust in their wake. A few minutes later Bart mounted his horse and rode off toward his family ranch.
Ward and Dunn hiked to their horses and made their way to the Cochran house. Here, they relayed the story of the men watching the fleet-footed Bart Sheridan.
Lynn Cochran said, “Don't trust any man working for Scrum. They're trouble.”
“If you don't mind, we'll stick around until after the race,” responded Ward.
“Glad to have you.” Jed nodded and poured whiskey for everyone.
The morning of the race long lines of people snaked through the two trails at each end of the valley.
Heads turned towards a wagon in the line approaching from the south. Ron and Once had arrived early and took up secluded positions on opposite sides of the running path on the highest part of the course overlooking the growing crowd in the valley. They had scouted the running trail and figured they had an eye on the likely spot for trouble. Wade trained his field glass on an approaching open wagon. He saw Bart Sheridan and a concerned-looking couple that turned out to be Tom and Susan, Bart's parents.
The Sheridan wagon came to a halt beside a dozen other wagons. Bart grabbed the wood railing on the wagon box and sprang over the side. He landed softly on the lush grass. Immediately he stretched and ran short sprints. Each sprint grew faster and faster. The fitness and speed again impressed Ron. Dunn, who didn't have a view of the valley, sat as quietly as his friend so he wouldn't give away his position above the running path and the three caves below that opened onto the running trail.
Tom Sheridan watched his son from a distance, a growing confidence on his face. His wife stood beside him wearing a sombre look and fidgeting with her fingers. Twenty or thirty people gathered around the Sheridan's. They shook hands and encouraged Bart as he prepared for his race.
The growing crowd fell silent as ten mounted horses and a brand new carriage rode up the south trail, a cloud of dust in their wake. The ten riders staked their horses a short distance from the Sheridan's and their friends. Everyone recognized the heavy-set man called Barry Scrum as he climbed out of the polished red carriage. His pudgy red face wore a large grin partly hidden behind a drooping moustache. He looked more like a man without a care in the world than someone covering substantial bets. Was he so rich that the money wasn't relevant? Was Cochran right and Scrum’s plan assured his man of victory? Ron Ward mulled this for a moment and decided that it was the latter and carefully scanned the running route.
The crowd parted to give plenty of room to the heavy rancher. The majority wore looks of disdain rather than respect as they cleared a path to the start line.
A good-sized group of people trailed Scrum, some Scrum hands, some locals wishing to be near the wealthiest man in the area. A dozen or more men from the Sheridan group walked up to Scrum and placed a wager. A bespectacled man next to Scrum jotted down the wagers in a notebook. Both betters initialed the agreements.
Scrum turned his head when a carriage identical to the one that brought him entered the valley. The driver drove up beside the other carriage and halted the team with a pull of the reins. He turned and talked to the only passenger, a dark-haired man hunched in the rear seat.
The dark-haired man stepped onto the dry ground. Silence fell as all eyes locked on the man with the longest legs they had ever seen. Barry Scrum walked to the tall man and slapped him on the back.
“Good morning, good morning, Gutter,” said Scrum gleefully. “Ready to teach a young fellow how to run a race?”
“I sure am, sir.” Gutter wore a somber look, the look of a man who was all business. He towered several inches over the next tallest man in the valley. Only a bit of a gut, perhaps from celebrating victories, stood out on his lean frame. Ward estimated the man's age as about thirty-five. A bit old for a runner but enough time to learn all the tricks in running a race.
Bart Sheridan stopped his stretching and he eyed Gutter. Bart took two steps closer to his father. “Pa, that's Carl Gutter. He held the record for the fastest hundred yard race about twelve years ago.”
“Does he hold the record now, son?”
“No, three people have broken it since.”
Tom looked straight into his son’s eyes and asked the question to which they both know the answer. “And how old was Vern Carillo when he smashed the record?”
“Eighteen.”
“Exactly. Carillo raced him side-by-side eight years ago and beat him cleanly and that was Gutter's specialty. He's older and has never been known as a distance runner. You just do the best you can. Your future is ahead of you and that won't change if you don't win this race.”
Bart nodded and returned to his preparations.
On the east hill Ron Ward turned his attention back to the caves and trail beneath his vantage point. He looked over at his close friend standing on a small clearing on a hill on the other side of the narrow canyon. Dunn moved back a step or two into the shadow of a tall tree. The big man pointed at a cave forty feet up the canyon. He held up one finger. He then pointed at a stout branch and made a swinging action with his hands.
Ward understood that a man stood in the cave holding a club. He crawled along the ridge, moving slowly so he did not disturb a rock or branch. Dunn parallel him on the other side of the canyon. When he reached a perch above the cave Ward slid slowly to the edge of the cliff on which he stood, moved aside some dry branches and leaned over the edge. Whispering caught his attention. He saw only the end of the club sticking out of the darkness of the cave. Ward looked up and saw Dunn take a position across from him. Without warning a second man walked out of a cave directly beneath Dunn. This man was as tall as Dunn and a bit wider. He carried an iron bar in his meaty hand. The man smiled at his partner in the other cave. “I’m ready to bust a knee or two.” He cackled with laughter.
The man in the cave below Ward never left the darkness of the cave. “Old man Scrum told us to stay under cover. Get back in that cave, Chuck, and don't show your face again or make a noise until I tell you.”
The man called Chuck skulked back into the darkness of the cave.
“So, that weasel Scrum really doesn't like to lose,” thought Ward.
***
Bart continued warming up. He battled to regain focus on the race. However, discovering that his opponent was also his life-long hero proved a challenging distraction. Physically he prepared properly. Maintaining a mental toughness seemed impossible.
He turned to face Gutter while finishing his exercises. The former record holder slipped off his jacket. Bart Sheridan stopped dead in his tracks. Gutter's legs looked fit, as did his upper body. Bart stared at the bulging stomach, buttons string. Young Sheridan then turned his head and studied the rolling hills on the trail. He looked back at the sprinter. Even quite a bit older and not completely fit Gutters would easily win a short race. However, with the long undulating course and extreme heat Bart now felt he had a chance to win.
While he
lived in relative isolation in Wyoming, he challenged himself by racing the fastest runners in the state. All of his competitors were much older than him, some in their late twenties and early thirties. He had beat them all.
He knew his family's futures rested on the race. His parents had wagered the ranch with Scrum in hopes of winning enough money to send him to college where he could study and run. The current debt on the ranch would have crippled them financially and driven Tom Sheridan to find different work. Bart knew it was the right thing to do.
As Bart stretched he rethought his strategy. Typically he raced at a reserved pace at the beginning, building towards the end. With Gutter as his opponent he modified this.
With the extra weight Gutter almost certainly preferred a slower pace ending with a sprint. Bart decided to apply early pressure on the few lower hills within site of the growing audience. He hoped Gutter's pride coaxes him to keep pace.
Bart smiled for the first time that day. He lifted his head from the canteen after a short drink and found Carl Gutter looking at him. Was Bart imagining it or did he see some of the confidence drain from the veteran runner's face?
Barry Scrum glanced at his pocket watch as smoke from his thick cigar drifted in the light wind. “It's time we got this race started.” He walked up to Bart Sheridan and laughed. “Don't see much point in it, though, I can't see a scrawny kid like this having any chance against a man.”
Some of the crowd laughed. Some because they were friends with Scrum; some because they feared him. A smaller group stood in silence near the Sheridan family.
Ron and Once watched three more horses entered the valley.
“Look who's here,” Dunn pointed at the beautiful red headed woman.
“I see her. My guess is those are her folks.”
“They seem to be friends of the Sheridan's.”
“With the crowd of people staying close to Scrum, I think they'll need a few more friends.”
The young woman walked with confidence as she chatted to the Sheridan supporters. The three latest arrivals had nice horses and friendly demeanours. The father, while shaking hands and talking to the others, glanced distrustfully several times at Scrum.
Bart took off his heavy work boots and laced on the homemade shoes of soft leather on the sides and thick leather soles. He walked up to the line. He ran in place as Carl Gutter joined him. The older racer wore expensive sprinter shoes, soft all the way around. These shoes had less weight but lacked protection from the stones and thorns encountered by distance runners on courses like the one they faced. Bart looked up just as Gutter looked him in the face.
“Good luck, young man,” said Gutter.
Bart looked down shyly and prepared to speak. Barry Scrum interrupted him. “Ha, you're going to need it.” The rich rancher grabbed his enormous belly and leaned back laughing.
“Good luck to you too, sir.” Only Gutter heard Bart's quiet words. The sprinter nodded.
Scrum wiped drool from the side of his mouth as he ended his laughing fit. “You two ready?”
Both runners pronounced themselves ready. “All right then.” Scrum lifted his six-shooter and fired a shot in the air.
Chapter Three
Gutter moved first, setting a steady, but not overly fast pace. Sheridan fell back a short distance for the first two hundred yards, watching his opponent carefully.
Scrum walked to and spoke quietly to four of his riders sitting nearby on their horses. The riders promptly rode at a good pace towards the runners.
They reined their horses to the right and loped along beside Bart Sheridan. A cloud of dust rose for the hoofs of the horses, briefly choking Bart.
The lead rider spat tobacco on the ground in front of Bart, a few drops landing on his right shoe. “Heck, the youngster is already falling behind. Should have bet double.”
Bart remembered his dad's advice and focused on the race. The riders veered off to the left as the path narrowed and moved up the first of the three hills.
Light glinted off the beads of sweat forming on Gutter's neck. Bart picked up his pace half-way up the hill. Twice Gutter moved right to avoid small piles of stones. Sheridan hardly felt the stones through the thick sole of his shoes.
Gutter regularly looked back at his opponent over his left shoulder. The path widened slightly a short distance ahead. Bart moved close to Gutter and waited for his chance. At the wider stretch Gutter began turning his head to his left. With soft steps Bart accelerated and shot past the bigger man on his right side.
Gutter slowed and looked further back on the winding trail, thinking Bart may have fallen. The big sprinter looked forward and saw Sheridan twenty feet ahead of him.
“Looks like I've got a race after all,” mumbled Gutter to himself. He picked up his pace, his long legs carrying him close to Bart. “It's a long race, young fellow. Nobody can keep up this pace on a trail of hills.”
Bart knew this was a mind game by his opponent. He decided to return the favor. Even though the hill they ran on at the moment grew steeper as they neared the top Sheridan picked up the pace.
Gutter smiled despite the pain of the pace. He liked the competitiveness of his youthful opponent.
At the start-finish line a buzz of excitement swept through the large crowd. Tom Sheridan looked at Barry Scrum. He didn't like the confident look on the face of the wealthy rancher. “Good work, son,” yelled Tom.
Gutter's jaw dropped as he watched Bart's churning legs pull him further ahead as he reached the peak of the hill. He looked to his right at the crowd of now well over two hundred watching him. Pride overtook the older runner and he doubled his pace. Pain shot through his sides as he closed quickly on Sheridan. Relief filled him as he topped the crest of the hill and saw the downhill section ahead of him. What he didn't like was the scattered burrs and stones scattered on the path on the bottom half of the hill. On his training runs he took the time to shuffle around them. He knew that luxury wasn't available today.
Bart Sheridan's lungs burned as he maintained the relentless pace. He heard the gasping breath of Gutter as the older runner closed on him at the bottom of the hill. Gutter swung his arms in rhythm with his pounding legs. As the bigger man passed Bart his left elbow rose as it drove backwards. Bart slowed and ducked. The elbow glanced off the side of his head.
“Tougher sport than you thought, huh, kid,” Gutter yelled over his shoulder.
Gutter gained a few yards as they approached the cliff walls that lined the winding part of the trail. Jagged stones dug into Gutter's feet. The veteran runner ignored the pain of the stones and thorns that had cut through the bottom of his shoes. Winning the race filled his mind.
Bart pushed forward, drawing even with his opponent. A second elbow slammed into his eye. He crashed to the ground. A sharp rock cut into his elbow. The young man staggered to his feet and wiped what he though was perspiration out of his eyes. He saw the blood on the back of his hand.
A shake of his head and two curse words brought back his focus. With two deep breaths he returned to his feet and raced forward. Gutter's lead had grown to twenty feet but Bart saw that the pace had ebbed. This was his chance to close the distance before the very narrow path several hundred yards ahead. He ignored the burning in his legs as he closed the gap.
Ahead, Gutter drank in air. He felt bad about hitting Bart but knew he only got paid if he won the race. His heart sank as he again heard the pounding of Sheridan's feet as he again drew close. Gutter had never seen anyone run at such a pace for over a mile and still have the energy to close in as young Sheridan did.
Gutter saw the beginning of the long winding narrow portion of the trail just ahead. If he could maintain the lead until the entrance he could control and reduce the pace until they reached the slightly wider area where the ancient caves sat. This afforded him the chance to catch his breath for the final push at the end. Gutter somehow found the strength to increase his speed. The narrow, cliff-lined part of the trail stood just twenty feet ahead. Gut
ter’s lungs burned like the sun above him as he saw Bart dash by. The valley walls and shade grew around them in the tight, dirt covered path. Three hundred feet in, Ward and Dunn sat atop each side of the trail.
Like Gutter, Sheridan's lungs felt ready to explode. He eased up on the pace after moving twenty yards ahead of his opponent. The gloomy grey of the shadows engulfed the runners.
From their high vantage points Ward and Dunn saw the runners weave through the narrow passage. The men in the caves below had taken quick glances down the trail but mainly stayed in the shadows.
The heavy-set cowboy in the cave across from Ward picked up the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the trail. He took a longer look and saw the Sheridan boy leading the race. Scrum had paid him well to deal with just such an issue. He moved into the open and pointed at his iron bar, the signal to the other man to get ready to also hit the young runner.
Both men stepped back into the shadows and drew back the big weapons. Bart Sheridan rounded the last curve. Sweat poured down his face.
“Let's earn the money, Sully,” said the bigger man as he waved the iron rod and stepped into the light. The other man also moved into the light.
Ward stood up and raised his Winchester, the shiny barrel pointed at the bigger of the two men. “That's enough, you two. Toss those weapons into the caves and back up to the edge of the trail.”
Both men stared at Ward, their jaws agape. The smaller man's hand quivered beside his six-shooter. The crack of a cartridge entering the chamber of another rifle had them turn to the opposite cliff. Once Dunn's large shadow stretched across the trail. “Touch that gun and it'll be the last thing you do,” said Dunn.
The club and iron rod flew into the caves and their hands reached into the air. They backed up slowly and stopped beside the cliffs.
Raining Trouble Page 2
