The roan walked over to Gutter who rubbed its mane. “Jed, I’d sure be grateful if you’d consider selling me this fine horse. Fact is, my racing days are over. I’m ready to go home and help with the business.”
“You’re still fast,” said Bart.
“I’m pretty fast, but I’m slowing down. It was an honor to have you as my last opponent, Bart.”
“Of course I’ll sell you that horse. I give you a good deal on it,” said Jed.
Later that day Gutter paid for the horse and headed east to start his new life.
***
Ward and Dunn passed a set of rolling hills between them and Tucker City. They ate up twelve miles in the crisp morning air. At the top of they looked at the sun sparkling on a meandering river.
“Looks like a fine spot to rest for a bit, Ron”.
“Some coffee would taste good right about now.”
They rode down to the river and wiped down the horses. The horses drank from the stream and ate the fresh green grass growing nearby.
Once brewed coffee and Ward reached into his saddlebag for grub supplied by Lynn Cochran. The two friends ate quietly by the edge of the crystal-clear water. Stray cows from nearby ranches fed on the tall grass.
The strong coffee recharged them. The sun hit its peak as Ward and Dunn crested a hill. Once Dunn wiped his brow with a red bandanna. “It’s a hot one today.”
“We'll find shade in Eagle Pass. I expect we'll reach it in a few hours.”
The ground grew rocky as they neared the pass. A large shadow from the two peaks that formed the pass erased the sun from the ground as they drew near the opening.
Eagle's Pass varied in width from twelve feet to just wide enough for two horses to get through. One-third of the way through a fallen tree from the steep bank blocked the trail. Ward and Dunn dismounted and moved the tree and several rocks to the side of the trail.
As the passage continued it narrowed and twisted. Sharp rocks jutting out on each side coaxed Ward and Dunn to ride single-file.
A chipmunk scurrying across the trail as they neared the final winding section of the pass. The chipmunk scurried up to the top of a boulder and stopped. Its head shook back-and-forth, then its gaze steadied in the direction of the exit to which the riders headed. The animal dashed quickly to higher ground, again stopping on a boulder. This time well up the side of the wall. Its small eyes remained fixed on the south end of the passage.
Ward trusted signals from nature. The chipmunk had barely given them a look. “I think its trouble, big...” The shaking ground interrupted Ward.
He knew of only two things that would cause the Earth to tremble this way. One was an earthquake. The other was stampeding cattle. The chipmunk's glaring at the narrow passage led Ward to suspect a stampede. The heavy smell of dust in the air from the south told him that cattle were headed their way.
Both he and Dunn mimicked the chipmunk and looked around for an escape route.
They lacked room to turn around their horses. The walls at this point in the trail rose steeply.
Ward twisted his neck around the curve. “Less steep up ahead. If we hurry we can make it and climb to safety.”
The two friends rode as fast as the horses could move. The steepness of the walls abated, but the approaching dust cloud grew heavier. Moments later the horns of fast-moving cattle appeared at a curve two hundred feet ahead.
“We have to dismount and climb the walls,” shouted Dunn.
Ron Ward looked up, the bright sun staring him straight in the face. “Do you hear that?”
Once Dunn pointed to the top of the left side cliff. “Someone up there is yelling at us.”
An old man wearing a long grey beard stood at the edge of the steep cliff. He waved a sweat-stained hat and pointed at something ahead of Ward and Dunn. “Just ahead. Ride hard to the shadow.” The old man ran forward, now gestured at a sliver of black barely visible to Ward and Dunn.
“Let's ride.” Ward pushed his horse to the maximum. Dunn's powerful horse kept right up.
Ron and Once seemed on a collision course with the cattle. Only fifty feet separated the two friends from being trampled. The black stripe on the left grew as they moved closer. The stampede closed to within twenty feet.
Ward arrived first at the shadow and saw that it contained a tight, steep, but passable trail leading upwards. He swung the horse wide to the right and hit the steep trail at a fast speed. His chestnut slipped a bit before it got its footing and climbed the trail.
Once Dunn followed close behind, horns from the first of the cows grazing the rear of his horse as they shot by.
The dust grew thick as the hooves from the passing stampede pounded the earth. Now safe, Ward and Dunn stopped halfway up the trail. They let the thundering noise pass.
Several times the riders ducked under protruding rock ledges. The trail grew steeper as Ward and Dunn rode higher. Just shy of the top of the path both riders dismounted as it lacked both sufficient width or height to let horse and rider pass. Ron Ward led his horse onto the top of the cliff. The dust covered chestnut shook its head as it stood at the edge of the rock face.
Without warning the ground under the horse’s left rear leg gave way. As the horse moved away from the edge rock and soil crashed down on to the narrow trail, covering both Dunn and his horse.
“Once,” shouted Ron Ward as he dug soil and rocks. His powerful arms and hands moved large chunks of material out of the way.
Ron suddenly stopped digging when he heard the unmistakable sound of metal scraping on rock behind him. His hand was a blur as he pulled out his six-shooter as he turned around. He came face-to-face with the short, grey haired man with a long beard.
Chapter Five
The old man held two shovels. “Suspect these would work a lot better than a gun.” He extended a shovel to Ron.
“Obliged.” Ward grabbed the shovel and both men dug furiously. The old man, while twice Ward's age, moved as much soil as the bigger man. He had an efficient style that suggested the old man was a prospector.
Within two minutes they cleared much of the soil and rock. Without warning a rock pushed up and Once Dunn's right hand shot into the dusty air.
“He's alive,” shouted Ward.
Ron and the old miner dug even faster. Moments later Dunn’s other hand pushed soil and rocks aside. They saw the big man’s head in a pocket of air under one of the flat rocks jutting out from the side of the cliff.
Dunn’s face wore a mask of dirt, his eyes like two shiny stones. His mouth opened and he spit out soil. “Good to see you, old friend.”
“We’ll have you out of there right away.”
Ron and the old man dug the dirt away that held Once Dunn firmly in place. With most of Once Dunn’s body clear each man grabbed an arm and pulled him to safety.
“Obliged, stranger.” Dunn’s voice raspy from the dry throat.
“Reckon we owe you for getting us out of the way of those cattle. I’m Ron Ward. This is Once Dunn”
The old man spat out tobacco and handed Dunn a canteen. “Name’s Al Farrow but everyone calls me Farrow.”
Ward and Dunn shook Al Farrow’s hand. Dunn took a long pull from the canteen.
Farrow looked down the trail at the top of the dead horse’s head. “Wish we could have saved your ride. Fine looking animal.”
“These things happen, Farrow.” Dunn shook his head as he looked down the narrow trail at his black. “Can you keep watch while Once and I retrieve my saddle and gear.”
Farrow reached behind him and pulled out a scattergun. “Count on it.”
Twenty minutes later Dunn’s saddle rested on one of Farrow’s mules. The old man had two good mules.
Farrow pulled bacon out of a pack and cooked up a good meal. He also retrieved a bottle of whiskey and poured three drinks.
“Did you just happen to be up here when the stampede started?” asked Dunn.
“Nope, I saw men belonging to that rattlesnake Barry Scrum gathe
r up the cattle at the end of the pass. Suspected they were up to no good and even expected it had something to do with losing all that money in the foot race.”
Once Dunn sipped whiskey. “Word travels fast. You heard about the race already.”
“Sure.” Farrow smiled a toothless grin. “I watched the race from the hilltop across from you, Ward. Don’t blame you a lick for not trusting Scrum.”
“Never saw you,” said Ron.
“I like to keep to myself. Especially clear of Scrum. I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me. He stole a claim from me a few years back.” Al Farrow walked to the south end of the cliff. “There’s a goat trail here that leads to a plateau overlooking the Scrum ranch. It's behind these bushes. I use it to keep an eye on him and his men.”
“Sounds like Scrum's a man who likes to get his way,” added Dunn.
Farrow walked along the edge of the cliff overlooking Eagle's Pass. “That isn't the half of it. Scrum once stole several horses...”
The report of a rifle echoed through the pass. A bullet hit Al Farrow, sending him crashing to the ground.
Ward and Dunn dragging Farrow behind the cover of nearby trees. Ward put pressure on the bullet hole on the old man's stomach. “Stay still,” said Ward.
“Too late.” Farrow gasped in pain. “This is it for me.”
Meanwhile, Once Dunn stood beside a large boulder to the right of the other two men. He kept his rifle down while he methodically scanned the top of the other cliff. Movement behind a fallen log caught his eye.
He slowly raised his rifle in the shadow of the boulder so light would not reflect off the barrel. The man behind the log remained mostly hidden. Only the very top of his hat peaked out. Dunn knew patience and held his fire. A minute can seem like an hour when trying to hide.
Once Dunn's finger rested gently on the trigger, his eyes never leaving the top of the hat bobbing above the log. Thin trees on each end of the log provided little cover and the escape route behind the gunman sloped upwards. No escape. Dunn expected the man oozed with confidence after hitting Al Farrow cleanly.
Several minutes later Dunn saw the glint of light off the tip of a rifle barrel. The man brought it up in the 'V' between the log and one of the dead branches sticking up.
Dunn trained his gun on the area just above the 'V'. As he expected, the shooter lacked a sufficient opening to get a good look at the area and risked a glance over the branch. Dunn squeezed the trigger. The bullet caught the man in the forehead, sending him falling backwards, stone dead.
Dunn ducked behind the rock in case a second gunman spotted the smoke from his rifle. He peaked around the other side and watched from the shadow of a tree. He saw no movement so joined Ron Ward and Al Farrow.
“How you feeling, Al?” asked Dunn.
“Been better.” Farrow even managed a wry smile. “Listen, I have a favour to ask.”
“Name it,” Ron Ward replied.
Farrow managed to lift his right arm and point at his two mules. “My bigger mule carries a set of saddlebags. They're old and worth nothing.” He coughed and blood trickled out of the side of his mouth. “I'd like you to deliver what's inside to Bart Sheridan. I hear he craves a good education. Also, each bag has a false bottom with something that will also help Bart a bit.” Al Farrow gasped and closed his eyes for the last time.
Ron Ward and Once Dunn kept a wary eye as they buried the old man in a small, peaceful meadow near where the mules rested.
Once inspected the smaller mule that wore his saddle. “It's old but seems well looked after. I reckon it'll get me to the Sheridan ranch. Meanwhile, why don't we see what's hidden in the saddlebags.”
Each man pulled two leather bags out of the saddlebags. The bags contained books.
Ward looked at the titles. “Old Al Farrow had plenty of surprises. Seems he liked to read the classics. I expect young Sheridan would make good use of these. Let's dig deeper.”
They pulled out clothes, food, and a journal belonging to Farrow. It showed that he would go to Kansas City once a year and take in a show or two.
Ward read quickly through part of the journal. “I think Al had a better vocabulary than he let on.”
Ward opened the saddlebags wide and reached all the way in. The false bottom had only about one inch of storage space. With his knife he pried off the thick leather hiding Bart’s gift. The leather lifted out of place revealing a flattened bag with a tightly drawn string.
Ron held up the bag, surprised by its weight. He tossed it to Once who weighed it in one hand. “I figure about fourteen or sixteen ounces and I think we both know of what. Let's have a look.” Once opened the top of the bag.
The sun glinted off the fine granules of gold. The second saddlebag had a similar sized bag.
“I figure there's about eight hundred dollar’s worth of gold here,” said Dunn.
“That'll help the young man a lot”.”
Ward stored the gold in one of the saddlebags. They carefully packed the books and other belongings on top of the gold. Dunn climbed onto the saddled smaller mule. He looked like a man riding a small pony but the mule had the strength to carry him. “At the Sheridan ranch I’ll buy a horse. He has some good stock.”
The Sheridans had returned home earlier in the day. Bart hobbled a bit but could still help his father with the chores.
The younger Sheridan had just moved a foal into a temporary small paddock constructed at the back of the barn. The paddock had a lower trough for water and solid walls so the young horse wouldn't catch its head between slats. Bart had just walked out into the bright sunlight when he saw Ward and Dunn approach.
“Pa, we have visitors,” yelled Bart to his father working in the loft of the barn.
Tom Sheridan kept a close eye on his land. From his high perch in the loft he had spotted the two riders much earlier, when they had crested a distant hill. “It's Ward and Dunn, but one of them is on a mule.”
Tom climbed down from the loft and walked out of the barn just as the two riders approached. “Howdy. Didn't expect to see you here so soon.”
“We ran into some trouble with Scrum hands, I'm afraid.” explained Ron Ward. “They sent a herd of cattle through Eagle's Pass just as we were at the far end. If it wasn't for Al Farrow we'd both be dead. He guided us to an old passage to the top of the cliff just in time.”
Tom Sheridan recognized the two mules. “I'm guessing Old Farrow didn't make out as well.”
Ward replied, “Gunned down by what we expect was a Scrum hand.”
Susan Sheridan joined the men. “Hi. Good to see you two again.”
“Howdy, Susan,” said Ron.
“Afternoon,” added Once.
Tom walked up to his wife. “Ron and Once were just telling me that Al Farrow was gunned down.”
“Oh, dear, he was such a kind man.” Susan Sheridan wiped tears from her eyes.
Tom slammed his hand on a fence rail. “I’ve had enough of Scrum. I’m going after him.”
Susan held Tom’s arm. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions.”
“We’ll talk about it a bit,” interjected Ron.
“I'll get dinner finished. You two please join us,” Susan said.
“Very well,” agreed Tom. “No sense doing something rash.”
Susan went into the ranch house while Dunn led the mules to the water trough. Ward did the same with his mount.
Ward and Dunn told Tom the events of the day, including how Dunn lost his horse.
“Tom, today we're a little more than dinner guests,” Dunn said. “I'd like to buy one of your fine horses.”
Tom looked at the two mules. “I remember when Al bought the bigger mule. He knew how to look after animals. Should be able to give you some money for them.”
Ward shook his head. “Not our animals. Why don't you sell them and put that money towards Bart's education?”
“Obliged. But that doesn't stop me giving you a deal on the horse.”
“I think we can work
out a price, especially if that big roan at the far end of the corral is available,” said Dunn.
“It is at that. Let’s have a closer look at that horse then you two can join us for something to eat?”
The men looked after the animals and took a look at the horse that interested Dunn. Quickly they worked out a fair deal and climbed the stairs into the log house.
Ward saw excellent workmanship in the logs of the house. They fit tightly together, providing excellent protection from the cold winters.
Inside the house Dunn put the saddle bags in a corner and joined the other men on comfortable chairs where they sipped hot coffee.
Ward saw Bart watching them from across the large kitchen. “It seems the old man knew about your son's wish to become a lawyer.” Ward slid the two saddlebags toward Bart. “His dying wish was to give you this to help you fulfill your dream of school.”
Bart Sheridan took a few steps toward the saddle bags, then hesitated. Once Dunn gestured to Tom Sheridan. Tom picked up the bags and set them in front of his son.
Bart glances into the bags and pulled out two arm loads of books “If that doesn't beat all.”
“Those will save us a lot of money on books for Bart at college,” added Susan.
“I’ll work hard to save money for tuition. I promise,” smiled Bart.
“Have a look at the bottom of the darker bag,” Once spoke over his coffee cup.
Nervously, Bart leaned in and lifted out the two heavy sacks.
Susan’s eyes widened. “Could it be?” She set a bowl on the table.
Bart poured the gold dust into the bowl. A shake of one sack sent a few nuggets on to the pile.
Tom put his arm on Bart’s shoulder. “Farrow was a kind and caring man.”
Bart looked up at his mother and father. “Does this mean what I think I does, college?”
“It sure does.” Susan and Tom replied in unison.
Bart slid the bowl towards his mother who carefully returned the gold to the sacks. The young man wiped dust off the books and placed them on shelves containing several dozen other books.
Raining Trouble Page 4
