KETTERLY

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

 

 

 

Life on the frontier during and after the Gold Rush was harsh and brutal at times for the hardy pioneers who chanced a future in the untamed lands west of the Mississippi. 

Men who lived their lives fast and loose from their saddles were in abundance and not always the ones who wanted to build a future with sweat and hard work when they could take what they wanted from more honest folks.

With doctors and the law usually many miles away when minutes counted, the pioneers had no one to turn to for help except the ones wearing their own well worn boots. 

Through raw guts, sometimes painful personal experiences, and unflappable determination, these pioneers came up with workable solutions and survived what the wild country and Mother Nature could throw at them.

Ed Ketterly is one such man who took life on the chin at an early age and kept moving for he knew that to stop was to die. 

Young and full of what drives a young man, Ed was beginning to taste life on the other side of the tracks so Old Joe figured Ed needed to sweat that extra “ambition” out of his system to bring his mind back to the task at hand.

Given his first real job to prove he had what it took to be a range boss and a man, Ed and his best friend John Cransby head north into more trouble than anyone,, even Old Joe, could have ever imagined.

 

 

 

KETTERLY

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                  Chapter One

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Ed Ketterly sat back heavily into the faded and use-worn rocker, letting out a long sigh as he started the old chair into motion.  Time had not been kind to the old rancher for his hair was thinning, what was left of it, was mostly grey, and the hard lines of experience chiseled into his face were carved deep. Ed was happy though, for he survived so many years without too many scars or broken bones and could see what he had been able to build after all these years every time he came out of the old adobe.

How many hours had he set in that age-weathered chair contemplating his life’s path was a number Ed wouldn’t even hazard a guess at but it was a bunch by many accounts.  What was evident of long hours of hard use were the wide lines worn smooth and deep into the dried out planks of the wrap around porch surrounding the white washed adobe overlooking the green river bottom.

From his vantage point on the front porch of the old Spanish dwelling, Ed could see across the valley to where tall wooden derricks rose amongst countless oil wells that dotted the flood plain.  The dozens of derricks followed no organized pattern, just random cuts into hillsides before following ridgelines onto the rolling hills along the eastern ridgeline parallel to the slow moving Salinas River. 

Steam powered engines turning giant bull wheels hooked to a walking beam lifted the heavy “drill’s” up and down as they pounded their way deep into the earth in search of the elusive “black gold’.  Alongside the pounding drills, stout built pump jacks worked smaller walking beams hooked to steel rod to work the pumps slowly up and down, almost silently at that distance, to draw the heavy crude oil up from the depths of the earth. 

Closer in, Ed could see a small herd of his signature Brangus cows, most with calves suckling their mothers, as they fed along in the stubble left standing after the fall grain harvesting operation.  As any rancher would normally do, Ed’s mind was busy considering when to schedule the next branding or when he should drive a substantial herd of yearlings to market in Hog Town to add working capital for day to day operations.

Ed was well into his 80’s these days but he could remember a time when it was cattle and sheep dotting the hills of the Salinas Valley instead of the wooden derricks with pump jacks sucking the black gold out of the ground to power those new fangled horseless carriages that had become so popular.  It was a far simpler time back then but one where a man’s life meant little to some men.

Gone were the days when Tiburcio Vasquez rode rough shod over the local ranchers and took his liberties with the local wimmin’ and gone were the times when Joaquin Murrieta’s gang rode fast and loose while on the run from the California Rangers.  Gone were the times when a body could be found swinging from a sturdy oak limb after swift prairie justice was applied to a horse thief and gone were the times when the Indians rode free without fences.

Progress hadn’t been such a bad thing for Ed could travel south to El Paso De Robles by train in an hour now where it had taken a full day on the back of a horse before.  It took even longer on the stage since it had to cross over into Slack Canyon then trail south through Indian Valley instead of following the flat country along the river bottom.  Heading north, Ed could be at the stockyards in Hog Town in about the same amount of time with a herd if he didn’t care to drive them.

A warm feeling washed over Ed as he began to relax in his chair as the memories of a time long past came flooding back into his memory.  It had been a long day already and he was tired so it hadn’t taken much effort for Ed to slip off to sleep and to his memories of a time when life was simpler but when it also took a tough man to survive on the frontier.

Amy Ketterly had come outside to bring Ed a cup of coffee but seeing that he had fallen asleep, she simply sat down in another chair and sipped a bit of the steaming hot liquid.  Smiling, she watched over her husband of fifty plus years as his subconscious wandered among the many memories he had experienced in his life.

As she sipped her coffee, Amy reminisced about her own life before she met Ed Ketterly all those years ago.  Amy Applebee had been brought into a cold, cruel world in the back room of a little dirt-floored soddy they called a cabin.  She would live there with her family on the little side hill ranch situated three miles east of Shell Creek Road on a section of land her father Aaron and mother Myrna homesteaded almost two years before she was born.

The ranch wasn’t much more than a treeless, windblown wasteland when Aaron first wrote paper on it and it didn’t much improve as time went on.  Aaron wasn’t a farmer by any stretch of the word and not much of a rancher either from the looks of the place.  In fact, Aaron wasn’t much good at anything at’all and was pretty much a failure at everything he tried.  Aaron did know how to brag about accomplishments he never made, thump on his wife Myrna, and drink all their money away on the rare occasion they had any.

When Amy was a young girl, they seldom left the ranch, a term loosely used by the neighbors, and had little interaction with the local residents.  Pretty much isolated from everything outside their fence line, Amy only knew what her mother would tell her about life off the ranch and what the outside world was about. 

When it was time for her to start grade school, Amy could tell there was something different about how she lived in comparison to the other local children she met from the surrounding area on that first day as she began her education at the Alliance Schoolhouse. 

Even as they rode up to the schoolhouse in their worn buckboard, Amy could see that most of the other children had newer clothes and fancy leather shoes.  As Amy looked down at her homespun skirt and mended jacket, she began to cry against her mother’s side, not wanting to get off the buckboard for nothing.

It wasn’t until Emily McCornack, one of the older girls from upriver, came over to the buckboard that Amy even recognized any of the other children.  Emily lived with her nine brothers and sisters off San Juan Road, just a few miles east of the school, so they had met once before at one of Jake Marten’s brandings out at the Navaho, a wide canyon east of the river where substantial corrals were located for that purpose. 

Emily’s clothes were homespun too so Amy started to feel a bit better about staying now that she had a friend who knew the other children.  With Emily along to show her the ropes, soon enough the rest of the kids took to Amy as if she was one of their own sisters. 

With the first day of school conquered without much fanfare, Amy took to her lessons like a fish to water.  Sure there were still those spoiled kids who made fun of her homespun clothes and scuffed shoes but Emily squared them up right quick when she needed to since she had been in Amy’s spot herownself. 

If Emily couldn’t get the message across, her brothers Bill, Frank, Bud, Andy, or Donnie would if they were about school that day.  No one ever knew which of the boys would be at school from day to day since there were times when their help was needed for planting, harvesting, or working stock but Emily could always count on at least one of them being at school.

Course when Amy got home, like most kids will do, she started to ask questions about why the other kids had more than she did.  Those weren’t the hard questions for her parents for they were still to come.  Amy had been coming to school for nearly a month when young Eddie Everson asked her if the rumors about her pa being a rustler were true.  Amy was so embarrassed by the accusation that she ran out of the schoolhouse with tears streaming out of her eyes and started for home on foot.

It was a good six or seven miles to the cabin so when Aaron found his daughter walking home, he became furious and demanded to know why she was walking alone.  Through a torrent of tears, Amy related what had happened, which made Aaron all the madder.  Getting Amy onto the buckboard, Aaron turned it around as he whipped the horse into a dead run as they headed back to the little one-room school house.

Amy begged her father to not go back to the school for it would just make matters worse for her but Aaron Applebee wasn’t about to be called a rustler in front of his baby girl.  It took only about ten minutes to get back to the school as Aaron slid the buckboard sideways to a stop in front of the flagpole amidst a cloud of dust and screeching wheels.

The teacher, a man named Welsey Brown, had seen Aaron coming through the side window so made his way to the south doorway to try to stop Aaron from entering the classroom.  Everyone knew of Aaron’s bad temperament and while Welsey would try to stop the man, he was slight of build and soft spoken while Aaron was much heavier and would ride over the school teacher like a fast moving train.

Holding up his hand, Welsey said, “Hold it right there Aaron.  I know why you are here and I’ve already dealt with the problem.”

It was almost as if Aaron hadn’t heard a word the man said as he stiff-armed him in the chest, knocking him back against the wall, and pushed past him as if he wasn’t there.  Welsey hit the wall with a resounding thud then slowly slid down the wall in a daze. 

“Where’s that trash talkin’ high binder that called me a rustler?” Aaron bellowed as he looked around the room for Eddie Everson and his pal Billy Hughes.

Welsey had regained his feet by now and had made it to the doorway behind Aaron.  “I’ve laid five lashes across his behind and sent him home to his pa.  I was trying to tell you that when you bulled your way through me just now.”

Aaron didn’t reply right away but when he did, everyone in the room was paying strict attention.  “You better make double dang sure this doesn’t happen again or I’ll be back Teacher!  I’ll deal with you and whoever else wants to accuse me of rustling any kind of stock”

The tone for the rest of Amy’s schooling was set for sure now and all those kids knew better than to talk in front of Amy for fear of her pa’s reputation.  It had been hard enough to fit in already and now everyone was more afraid of the man than they were before.  No one wanted to see the man’s temper again so there were more than a few who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, be Amy’s friends any longer.

With few friends besides Emily and her family, Amy immersed herself into her school books and soaked the learnin’ up like a sponge since there was nothing outside of the family for her to be interested in.  By the time she was ten years old, Amy was starting to teach the younger kids and had fleeting thoughts of becoming a teacher herself when she got a little older.

That hope was shattered, at least to teach at any of the local schools, when the Sheriff out of Monterey County found a steer on their ranch what had the brand doctored.  The rumors that Aaron was rustling cattle had been circulating for years and now there was proof Aaron couldn’t bluff his way out of. 

With Aaron in chains and hauled away to the county jail for trial, Amy knew there would be no way any of the locals would allow her to teach their children, even though she was innocent of any wrongdoing.  There were those who knew Amy to be an innocent girl but the cloud of guilt around Aaron Applebee was dark over her so she wasn’t going to be given any chance at all.

Even worse, after Aaron was arrested, as far as Amy knew, her ma simply disappeared and was presumed dead so without an adult around to watch over them, she and her siblings were sent off to the orphanage over the mountain at the mission since there was no one in the district willing to take them in. 

While Amy was plenty capable of cooking and cleaning and could take care of the family in most ways, there was no money to buy food with or ways to get the other necessities needed for them to live. 

It was sometime after her family was torn apart that she blamed Ed Ketterly for the arrest of her pa and for getting her placed in the disease ridden hovel the county called a home.  Amy smiled sheepishly to herself as the memory of her hatred for Ed Ketterly came flooding to the front side of her thinking.  How could she have judged the man so harshly and be so wrong on so many levels amazed her even to this day.  As it turned out, Ed Ketterly was nothing like the anti Christ she assumed him to be.

So many circumstances had changed over the years since those bad times that changed her life from everything she knew to be true at the time.  Here she was now, having been married to Ed Ketterly for fifty odd years, becoming a mother to four adult sons, becoming a teacher at the Bradley School, and living on the home ranch where Ed had been raised. 

There was prosperity and happiness in her life that she never knew possible.  None of what Amy thought about how her future would turn out to be had come true and all the things she thought had gone bad for her turned out to be some of her greatest successes in life.  She was happier than she thought possible now and adored the man from which she took her married name. 

None of these successes came without turmoil for this was the way life was supposed to turn out for the little blond-headed girl from Shell Creek.  A good life is not given away for free, she was forced to earn that privilege and earn it with sweat, blood, and too many tears.

Amy looked at her sleeping husband and smiled again as she watched over him.  Early on, life had been hard for Ed but overall, time had been good to them and now he could rest without worry for the first time in a good many years. 

Picking up her coffee cup and heading into the house to get supper started, Amy took one last look as Ed mumbled something in his sleep as he dreamed of times long past.  Grinning to herself, Amy would wake him up when it was time to set the table so he would have time to wash up.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Two

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     The town of Bradley, California Territory, if it could really be called a town, was little more than a ramshackle railroad siding, a few weather worn shacks including a one-room school, a two-roomed tent where soiled doves occasionally plied their trade of horizontal entertainment, and a Mercantile/United States Post Office located just a few hundred yards from the Salinas River. 

     Aside from some Salinian Indians, the store clerk, and a couple of railroad men, the area was largely under the control of several local pioneers who homesteaded the larger ranches.  The Township catered mainly to the Porter Ranch just to the north of the settlement, along with the smaller ranches lining Jolon Road, provided occasional supplies to the Mission Archangel in San Miguel to the south, and was a rest stop to the homesteaders traveling north towards Hog Town.

     After the sun went down and when the common folks were busy at home with supper, the back streets of Bradley came alive for there were always the soldiers from Fort Hunter Liggett who would slip into town to partake in the pleasures of the flesh what were sold in the tents down by the river to those with a little jingle in their pockets.  Along with the doves were those confidence men who were always trying to pry the men’s money away at crooked gambling tables.

     The late night hour was also a time when men of influence in the south valley would have secret meetings in the hidden back room of the Mercantile where no one would notice their comings and goings or when they would slip through the back alleys to the welcoming arms of the soiled doves.

Located just twelve miles south of San Ardo in the southernmost end of Monterey County, Bradley was considered to be on the edge of the frontier in 1886 since the closest Sheriff’s office for the area was a hard day’s ride north to Hog Town, some thirty or so miles away. 

     Although spotty at best, there was some semblance of law and order for the residents and ranchers in the south county.  Even though a man might have to wait several days to a week for help from a badge packer after they received a telegram, either a U.S. Marshal or Deputy Sheriff would make it through the south county to investigate a citizen’s complaint eventually. 

     With the paid lawmen so far away, the unwritten law of “Prairie Justice” reined supreme most times with the ranchers taking liberal interpretations of the law’s written words when they left a man hanging from the thick limb of an ancient Valley Oak as the ultimate punishment. 

Horse theft, cattle rustling, and murder were a given for an automatic date with the rope but there were times when the physical evidence to prove who had actually committed the crime was lacking.  More than a few times, a man was hung based on flimsy evidence then it was later discovered that someone else confessed to the crime.

     Sometimes, if the crime wasn’t too serious and a man was lucky, a miner’s court could be convened so there were men besides the ranchers to judge the merits of a victim’s case.  More times than not, the verdict would be the same but for nothing else, there would be witnesses to a put-up job.  Course the Miner’s Court was just as likely to let a guilty man go if he was popular in the district or was able to buy the votes needed to be set free.

     Ed Ketterly was a local man who was raised on one of the larger holdings north of the tiny community.  After his ma passed on from Military Consumption when the family lived at the fort near the Port of Monterey, Ed was adopted at the ripe old age of eighteen months by an ornery Frenchman by the name of Joe Laborie, Old Joe as he was called by folks living close by and in town.

     Life was hard on the frontier and even harder living in the home of Old Joe.  Old Joe had “acquired”, scavenged, and bartered everything he owned to pay for his passage to America from France so he could carve out a new life for himself on the Western Frontier starting with a 160 acre homestead. 

     Old Joe was a tough old goat who never complained no matter how hard he had to work, how many hours he had to put in, how many days he worked during the week, and expected the same work ethic from his family.

     From when time began, the ornery Frenchman worked the sheep camps and expected everyone else to work at least as hard as he did, most times 12-18 hour days, as long as he was paying what he thought were good wages.  Naturally he figured Ed would do the same when he got to be a bit older. 

     Joe was married when Ed was first brought to the ranch in Bradley but, like many other wimmin’ imported from the east, life on the frontier was far too hard for his new bride.  It wasn’t but two short years after Ed arrived when Old Joe’s first wife died from the fever and left Joe to fend for Ed as he would see fit. 

     By the time Ed was four years old, his birth mother had died, his adopted mother had died, and now he was being raised by a half-wild bunch of ornery range hands and hard drinking Basque sheepherders led by Old Joe, a man who was the toughest of the entire bunch. 

     Old Joe rode his Basque sheepherders and Vaqueros hard and Ed even harder, the only way he knew how, while trying to make him into the man who would take over the ranch someday.  That stubborn streak that drove Old Joe through each day caused Ed to suffer through a lifetime of difficulty a few years later after he was spit off a green-broke mustang that was much too wild for an experienced man much less a wet-behind-the-ears kid. 

     General civilization, a place where there was a doctor at least, was at least a day’s ride from the ranch so when one of the hands were hurt working the rough badlands and narrow canyons of the backcountry, the other hands generally took as good a care of them as possible since there was no desire or time to send a hurt rider in a wagon to the local sawbones.

     As bad luck would have it, Ed broke his left arm at the age of nine when his green-broke mustang stopped short just as Ed tried to get the skittish animal to jump over a small drainage what had little more than a trickle of water running through it.  Not prepared for the abrupt stop, the horse’s forward momentum and sudden lack of motion launched the youngster over the animal’s head and sent him face first into the rock-laced bank on the other side of the ditch like a spear. 

The other wranglers naturally tied his arm up in a sling temporarily to keep it from moving about too much but for the most part, Old Joe was determined to toughen Ed up and thought he was just being a whine baby.  When Ed came to the cabin cradling his arm from pain and swelling, Old Joe just told him to leave it tied up with a kerchief ‘till it stopped hurting then he could go back to work since there was much to do. 

     Ed’s arm went unattended for days before Old Joe relented to the swelling and pain Ed was in and took him to Hog Town to the local doctor, a man more qualified to doctor hogs than people, to get him looked at.  Since the bone already started to mend, there was little could be done for him without re-breaking his arm. 

     The doctor really didn’t want to do that, considering his limited skills, so Ed lost much of the use of his hand and arm for the rest of his life since it wasn’t ever set correctly.  The limited use of his left arm never slowed Ed down much as he matured into adulthood though but many folks close to him thought the handicap was partly the cause of his lifelong affliction for the drink as he got older.  

     Learning the ways of a cowboy and of the Basque sheepherders, Ed grew up quick and tough to become a top hand in anyone’s eyes.  A top hand, even with the bad arm, was an achievement but along with the good came the bad habits of men who lived life hard and fast.

     As with most ranch kids, Ed made it to school when there was time between farming and ranching needs.  Ed was well-liked by his classmates in Hog Town, who nicknamed him “Cowboy”, but as he grew older and more restless, schoolwork was not his great love.  He much preferred being on the range away from town and people. 

     Begrudgingly, Ed stayed with school long enough to graduate but he figured early on in his young life that as long as he had a good job, that was enough for him during those years.  Life was good for him in the early years, partly because he didn’t know any better but also because Ed really loved being on a horse riding the ranch punching cows and anything else he could do from the saddle. 

Old Joe worked Ed like a slave from the time he could hold a pitchfork and a rope so as he got older, he wondered what else life may have in store for him.  Wanting more out of life than to become a simple ranch hand in Bradley, Ed took to the six-gun early and practiced his draw daily. 

     Like many young men, Ed’s fantasy with becoming a famous gunfighter started to consume him most late afternoons after the work was done as he read the relatively few Dime Novels that made their way west from New York publishers.  The few well worn books Ed had gotten were usually leftovers from the stage station on the Mee Ranch in Priest Valley.  

     It was common knowledge that many of these so-called experienced authors, most of whom had never ridden west of the Mississippi River, relied solely on made-up rumors or lies that migrated east through word of mouth instead of true facts they witnessed or could prove with other evidence.  None of them really cared much that they were writing stories that weren’t even close to true or how it could affect those who read and lived the tales, even if it was just in their imagination. 

     All these men really cared about was how many of the cheap dime novels they could sell, even if it ruined the reputation of a man or created such a stir that others started hunting these made up heroes to build a reputation for themselves at someone else’s expense.

     With no local law to speak of to handle daily problems and the ranchers not wanting to wait for the Sheriff, Ed’s fascination with being a gunslinger and his ability with a Colt was in high demand so he rode in many a posse where a man was left hanging from an ancient Valley Oak for stealing stock or some other serious crime. 

If only the silent oaks could tell the forgotten stories of these men who were left rotting on the prairie, their bones to be picked clean by scavengers before returning to dust.  Did they die like men or did they die crying with a wet stain spreading across their jeans.

     There were others who were filled full of lead since they wouldn’t be taken alive then laid out in front of some frontier undertaker’s parlor for his kin to claim or for someone to identify so their grave in Boothill’s Potter’s Field could be marked in case someone came hunting for them some time in the future. 

     Some were simply gunned and buried in a shallow grave in some forgotten corner of the prairie where no one would ever find them.  There were many ways to die on the frontier but breaking the law seemed to accelerate it for those who thought they could outwit the Sheriff and his posse of determined men.

     Ed Ketterly was still just a younker, a mere fourteen year old boy, the first time he rode away from the ranch with a thrown together posse made up of local ranch hands and a two-bit constable who lived in a hovel near to the Lockwood Store, a little trading post located several miles to the west near to Jolon and Fort Hunter Liggett.

     Able Johnson, the newly self-proclaimed constable of the Jolon District of Monterey County, was a miserable sort of fella who usually smelled of whiskey cut with turpentine most days when he couldn’t afford a jug of the local rotgut.  The rest of the time he smelled of putrid body odor and sweat from never taking time to scrub off some of the stink, even though he lived near Jolon Creek where there was fresh water year around.

     For most of his life, Able didn’t have two nickels to rub together so to make folks think he was doing his job to collect a salary, he would raid the local moonshiner’s camp to “Confiscate their illegal whiskey.” Able could claim he was keeping a lid on the illegal whisky trade. 

     The problem was, the moonshine never made it back to town as evidence to charge the men for making illegal liquor.  It seemed Able had his own method of punishment for the moonshiner’s, confiscation, and to hide the evidence so he could drink it.

     Able was a cowardly, weak sister who would hit the same moonshiner’s over and over again, ones he knew wouldn’t put up a fight.  Even if he knew there was moonshine in Old Joe’s barn, there was no way he would ride up to Old Joe’s ranch because the ornery Frenchman was but one of many tough men in the valley who would run him off quick without hesitation.

     If the truth were to be known, Able wasn’t even a real constable.  It had only been a few months before that Able was down and out, flat broke and stone cold sober, as he rode the Jolon Trail south from Hog Town.  Able’s horse had picked up a rock between its right-front shoe and frog so the animal began to limp and appear to go lame. 

     Not wanting to cause the horse’s foot to get worse by continuing to ride it, Able simply moved into the then vacant constable’s quarters located a few hundred yards away from Plaskett Creek claiming the cabin and the constable’s job for his own for the time being. 

     Mysteriously and before anyone else found out, Able had first hand information the cabin had recently been vacated after one late night when gunshots rang out on the well traveled trail to Bee Rock.  The “Old Constable” was found dead along the trail the next day with few clues as to who pumped a cylinder full of forty-five caliber slugs into his back.  The shots were fired by a man, or men, not yet identified by the County Sheriff. 

     No one could ever connect Able to the crime but it was well-known in the valley that the man ran with a rough bunch before pretending to go straight as the duly appointed local constable.  Even after taking over the constable’s job when he appeared to be going straight, rumors were being floated around Jolon that Able’s no good old friends were seen at his cabin.

     Finding little more than wanted posters and other correspondence from the Monterey County Sheriff’s Office as he searched the cabin for anything valuable, Able didn’t appear at all surprised or disturbed that he was going to be bunking in a dead man’s bed. 

     During his ransacking of the cabin, Able found a constable’s badge tucked away in a dresser drawer.  Wasting no time and without getting legally sworn in, Able pinned the man’s tarnished tin star on as if it was his own to finish establishing his ruse.

      The previous constable, J. R. Burchfield, could care less if another man was camping in his bed at that point for he was resting peacefully in the newly dug grave behind the old Hesperia Church, several miles southwest of the one building town of Lockwood.  J. R.’s body had been found rotting alongside the Ferguson Trail only a day before Able rode into the valley by a rider from the Porter Ranch, a Top Hand everyone called Chilito Mendoza-Alvarado.  

     It was only by happenstance Chilito even stumbled upon the body of the constable for the man was mostly hidden by cut underbrush.  Chilito was said to be riding along with a Mexican freighter hauling barbed wire and posts to a ranch near Hesperia for a fence job Old Man Porter was getting ready to start. 

     Chilito rarely rode that out of the way trail but it was the easiest and fastest route for the heavily loaded wagon to get to that particular border of the ranch.  Both men could feel death as they rode and when they looked skyward, it would be hard to miss the circling buzzards that had gathered for the feast. 

     It took a good sixteen hours for the badge-packer out of Hog Town to get to the Porter holdings to take the initial report of the constable’s death.  By that time, the dead lawman was almost unrecognizable after baking in the sun all day, even though Chilito had covered him with a ground tarp.  From the decomposition of the man’s flesh, the badge-packer figured the murder must have happened when the locals heard the several gunshots in the area early the night before. 

     Something else became clear enough by reading the tracks and the sheer number of burnt-out quirlys the badge packer discovered behind a stack of blow-downs no more than fifty yards up a narrow draw to the south.  J. R. was gunned down from ambush by some kind of a bushwhacking coward who had waited for several hours for the man to ride by. 

     A quick check of J. R.’s pockets revealed he hadn’t been robbed.  The main item of notice was a telegram from the Monterey County Sheriff sending him south on the trail of twenty head of blooded Herefords after they were stolen off the San Antonio mission holdings. 

     The wire at least explained why he was on that particular trail but it was some unusual for the Sheriff to wire a constable to hunt for rustled beef when his job was more of a civil position as opposed to a criminal one.  Bein’s the man was ambushed by someone who planned the job carefully, the wire may have been fake from the beginning.

     The dead lawman had four five-dollar gold pieces in his right front pocket, a railroad watch in his vest that showed years of patina from being exposed to the sun, and his well-worn Colt, still tied into his holster with a thin leather thong over the hammer. 

     The signs were clear enough as the scene gave its message.  This was a cold-blooded murder, really an assassination, not a simple robbery by some down and out hard-rock miner looking for a road stake.  The big question was, why was this man killed?  J.R. wasn’t a brute and generally let folks be so had few enemies.  There were no fresh cattle tracks anywhere near the trail so this was someone who simply wanted J. R. dead.

     At the time, most of the locals thought the murder was the work of the Lynch Canyon rustlers, a clan of hill folks who carried the name of Smyth who lived in the Bryson/Hesperia district.  That suspicion was never proven and no one could give any clue as to the clan having a motive in killing the congenial lawman.  They were rustlers fer shore but were never known to be killers.

     When Able Johnson finally showed up, he was positive it was someone else, a man he knew only as Angus Crabtree from Shandon’s Red Hills northwest of the La Panza District.  It seemed certain that Able had some grudge against Angus and was using the murder to get back at the man, albeit without any tangible evidence.  

     There were some grumblings amongst the other men in the posse about the self-proclaimed Constable’s insistence the murder was committed by this Crabtree fella from out of the county, and rightfully so, but no one had sand enough to call him on it. 

     Besides Able Johnson’s short history at being a lawman and his questionable credentials as a constable, it was already well-known about the valley the man wasn’t any good at judging men or following a cold trail even when the men were known so they figured to be wasting their time in following the man anywhere.

     The County Sheriff said he only had time to take the initial report so the body could be turned over to the undertaker then he had to get back on the next iron horse heading north for more pressing cases with more evidence.  Like it or not, he wasn’t gonna be much help in getting the posse formed up and lined out after the murderer, even though the victim was another lawman.  Able was going to be left in charge, unfortunately.

     Making matters even more difficult than they had to be, none of the riders in the posse had ever hunted a murderer on the run before so were in desperate need of strong leadership, something they didn’t have and weren’t going to get with Able leading the men.  Able wanted this Crabtree fella and was using the posse like a lynch mob.

     With nothing to go on and with Able Johnson leading the riders, the men resigned themselves to a long tiresome ride south for nothing.  Before heading back for the train, the county man did set the posse onto the murderer’s trail, a single track heading due south towards Paso Robles, the town Drury James, uncle to the infamous outlaws Jesse and Frank, called home.

     Ed Ketterly was friends with Chilito’s son so after some cajoling, begging, and a bit of whimpering, the wily vaquero agreed to track the murderer south with the posse for two days, albeit against Able Johnson’s wishes, then he would return to the Porter Ranch and his obligations there.

      At first glance, Chilito seemed to be an unassuming, soft spoken man but one look into his dark, obsidian like eyes showed a much deeper man whose mind was quick and his hands as deadly as a desert rattlesnake.  Chilito did not dress to be exceptionally flashy like other vaqueros on the ranch.  He wore a typical Mexican peasant shirt, light brown vaquero pants, a narrow brimmed sombrero suitable for roping, tall leather boots with a tall slanted heel, and silver inlaid spurs with at least 2 ½” rowels. 

     A quick look at the rest of his gear showed a man who was meticulous.  His leather was heavily tooled, his nickel plated revolver was clean and oiled, and the eleven inch Damascus knife in his boot showed old world craftsmanship not usually carried by a ranch hand.

     Two days wasn’t a lot of time to learn even a small fraction of what Chilito could teach him but knowing some of the ways of tracking animals from hunting for supper, Ed took to Chilito like a tick on a hound.  If at all possible, and if he was to be taught nothing else, Ed wanted to learn how to pick out sign where there was no sign and how to hunt for the most dangerous game ever to roam the land, MAN!

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Three

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  The trail was nearly a week old by the time Abel’s posse pointed their horses south along the Salinas River but it wasn’t like the poser lawman was planning on tracking the actual killer anyway.  Able already decided the guilty man was going to be Angus Crabtree and there was no changing his mind.  Silently, Ed wondered what Able had against the man for there was no evidence to even suggest he had been in the district.  From what Chilito described and solely based on the crime scene, the murder looked to have been done by a local man who knew the back trails.

  Shaking the thoughts of Able Johnson’s motives aside, it was time to find the real killer if they could so Ed fell in alongside Chilito as he scanned the river trail for that one horse with a left front shoe that had a cross bar.  Sign along the trail was faint at best so it took Chilito considerable time to pick out the tracks left by the killer with so many riding the El Camino Real as they traveled from mission to mission.

  As they moved along, Ed could see the occasional squatter’s cabins along the river where lived men Chilito had broken bread with many times, men who were always watching and waiting for trouble.  Much to Abel’s displeasure, Chilito took the time to stop at each shack for a quick word and a question or two about men traveling fast. By the time Chilito stopped at the third cabin within the first hour, Abel’s temper was almost ready to spill over onto the other men. 

  “Yer never gonna find Crabtree this way!” Able barked.  “I’m not waiting around anymore fer you to socialize with the squatters.  I’m takin’ the men straight away down the river to Crabtree’s cabin on Shell Creek.”

  “You weeeell neeever find the real keeeller that way,” Chilito remarked quietly, “but do as you wish.  I weeeell follow the keeeller’s trail with young Ed.”

  “Yer wasting your time with all that talking to no account squatters,” Able announced.  “Let’s go men.  We have a killer to catch.”

  Chilito watched on as the other riders tore down the trail along the river, spurring their horses viciously to keep up to Able.  Chilito was  plenty worried that Able was without so much as a speck of real evidence that Angus Crabtree was guilty of anything more than breathing fresh air on the western frontier.  To Chilito, Able looked to be on some sort of vendetta ride against a man most folks in the valley had never even heard of. 

  “That man eeez riding eento trouble young Ed,” Chilito said sullenly, “and, I’m not even close to conveenced he is even on the right trail.”

  “How so Chilito?” Ed asked.

  “There’s meeen who ride with the one who murdered Constable Burchfield, meeen who rode the steeem train into Bradley.  Wheeen they left, they rode out of town on horses rented at the leevery.  From what my friends have said, the murderers are headed east into the badlands of Sargeant’s Canyon, not south like the new constable thinks they weeent.”

  “It’ll take an army of cavalry to smoke them out of those hills,” Ed replied, a little down in the mouth that they may not be able to catch up to the men before they make good their escape. 

  “No worrees my young gringo freend, Chilito replied, smiling through pearly white teeth.  “Señor Bonifield will slow them down as soon as they ride through Cross Canyon.  Let’s ride very queeckly now so we don’t meeess out on all the fun.”

Chilito was riding a powerfully built red and white paint stallion while Ed rode a tough grulla mustang he had raised from a colt, one he had brought home from the ranch up in Alturas when its mother was killed by a grizzly.  Since both horses were well-rested and ready to run, the two riders nudged the animals into a mile-eating gallop as they turned east only a couple of miles south of the Bradley Mercantile.

  The Cross Canyon trail was not too steep and had recently been dragged smooth by an inmate road gang out of Slack Canyon so the men were making good time.  Within a half an hour as they made the crest of the ridge, Chilito reined the big paint down to a forced walk as they began to hear gunfire.  

  “So, those meeen have run afoul of Señor Bonifield’s guns already,” Chilito remarked, smiling again.  “The rancher does not like strangers crossing his land unannounced and does his talking with a Winchester.  Get ready, they will be coming back up the trail this way anytime now.”

  Pulling off the trail into some thick buck brush where the horses would be safe, the two men slid out of saddle leather and taking their rifles with them, got set up for company.  It seemed like time was ticking by at a pace slow enough for the men to consider it more of a punishment than anything else. 

  As the seconds ticked laboriously by, Ed was starting to get a little, maybe a lot antsy, and was starting to fidget from his lack of patience and inexperience in manning a stakeout.  Chilito could see the impatience in the young man’s face and manner so knew the young man needed some words of encouragement to calm down. 

  “They weeell come young Ed,” Chilito whispered.  “Breathe slowly and leeeseen for their horses.”

  Trying to calm his breathing down, Ed counted to five before he would take another slow breath.  It didn’t help all that much because his heart was pounding in his chest like a sledge hammer on a rail spike but at least he tried. 

  Chilito sat back to roll a quirly, taking the makin’s from a Bull Durham tobacco pouch he kept in an inside vest pocket.  Using his teeth to hold a string, Chilito tightened the other string to close the pouch, while holding the partially rolled quirly with three fingers.  Slipping the pouch back into his vest pocket, Chilito froze to listen for a second or two before licking the paper, rolling it the rest of the way closed, then sticking it between his teeth. 

  Flicking a match to life with his thumb, Chilito lit the quirly then picked up his well-worn Winchester, levering a shell into the chamber before filling the tubular magazine with more rounds from his gunbelt. 

  A man of few words, Chilito whispered, “They come,” then settled in behind the rotten tree trunk.

  Ed Ketterly was on the brink of the first of many more to come gunfights so was both excited and terrified at the same time.  He could hear the running horse’s hooves pounding up the hard-packed trail by now but his eyes were starting to go dark.

  Chilito slapped Ed on the back to bring him out of his dreamlike trance and said,    “Breathe Ed, breathe or you weeell die here today.”

  Snapping out of his dream and back to reality, Ed began to breathe, the sights and sounds coming back to him almost immediately.  Taking up a position behind a dried out deadfall, Ed sighted down the trail with his shiny Winchester rifle as the first of three horses came through the trees like they were being chased by wildfire. 

  Chilito fired a round into the trail in front of the riders as Ed hollered, “Throw up your hands empty or prepare to meet your maker!”

As the riders were pulling up short to assess this new threat, Ed could see it was the Smyth brothers alright and they weren’t about to be arrested by a snot-nosed kid with his lone vaquero sidekick.

  Billy Smyth was on the lead horse with a Colt already in his hand and was taking aim at Ed when a slug from Chilito’s carbine took him in the throat.  The killer’s face was frozen in time as an errant bullet from Billy’s Colt struck alongside his mount.  Billy was as good as dead but his convulsing hand triggered the Colt causing the animal to jump sideways, dumping his soon to be lifeless cargo handily into the dirt.

  Caleb and Steve Smyth were behind Billy’s empty saddle fighting their own rearing horses as Ed lined up the sights of his rifle on Caleb.  Seconds passed in slow motion as the sounds of screaming horses were drowned out when four guns went off almost simultaneously, launching fiery chunks of molten lead through the air.

  There was so much gunfire around them, the sounds of the shots all began to run together until there was just a dull roar raging in Ed ears, at least until he felt something white-hot pass by his face.  The slug tugged at his shirt just long enough for his collar to tighten around his neck for a second before it tore through the material to bring Ed back into the moment of the firefight.

   All three outlaw’s saddles were cleared during the initial confrontation but now Chilito’s left arm was hanging limp as blood began to spread across his shoulder.  The smoke had begun to clear by now so Ed could see all three Smyth brothers on the ground.  Chilito pointed towards one of the men so Ed drew his short gun and approached them carefully, ready to fire if any of the men wanted to dance the rest of the way to hell.

   Steve was clearly dead.  Chilito’s slug parted his hair just above the temple and exited at the base of his skull.  Caleb was still alive but he was hurting something awful from a belly wound, gut shot as it was called at the time on the frontier, and Billy hit the ground dead.

  Agony was written all the way across Caleb’s face as Ed kicked the sidearm away and knelt down next to him.  Looking at where the slug took him, Ed knew better than to try to move him or even try to stop the bleeding.

  “Why did you kill J. R.?” Ed asked, not really expecting an answer.  “His wife has a right to know.”

  Caleb tried to steel himself and not say anything but the pain wracking his body broke him down, destroying his defenses.  After a couple of minutes, he answered.

  “You don’t know?” Caleb wheezed. 

  “Noooooo?” Ed replied.  

  Caleb coughed violently with frothy blood starting to drool out of the corner of his mouth.  Caleb’s features contorted and twisted as the man groaned loudly as the waves of pain coursed through his body. 

  “Burchfield was no good,” Caleb wheezed.  “He got drunk at the Bee Rock Store and tried to have his way with my older sister.” 

  Caleb began coughing again so Ed waited until he stopped before asking his next question.  “Isn’t yer sister a working girl over to Bee Rock?”

  Caleb glared up at the young cowhand for a few seconds then said, “She might be someone who works the wrong side of the tracks for money but that’s no cause to do what he done or the way he done it.  Some things are just not right deputy.”

Caleb took to another coughing fit with blood starting to cover his shirt.  As the coughing tremors subsided, he asked, “Deputy, can you cache me with my brothers and our saddles?  We have a long trail ahead of us through some mighty rough country and I would feel better to be riding our own gear.”

  Ed started to answer but the light was gone from Caleb’s eyes.  He was finally free of the earthly demons but now he had to deal with the devil.

  Looking back at Chilito, Ed could see the vaquero had fixed up his wound enough to stop the bleeding.  Ed knew he needed to get the man to a doctor to get him fixed up right but he needed to deal with the three bodies as well. 

  It took a little effort but Ed was able to gather up the gunmen’s horses to carry the bodies.  Since there was really no way to lift the bodies onto their saddles by himself, Ed rigged a rope over an oak limb, tied the end to each body, had Chilito use his horse to pull on the rope to lift the body, then led each horse underneath so he could tie the body to the saddle.

  Forty-five minutes later, the two men were leading their grisly cargo back to Bradley where the local undertaker could bury them and their tack together, side-by-side in an unmarked pauper’s grave in Potter’s Field. 

  Once the bodies were turned over to the undertaker, Ed took Chilito to a soddy hidden behind the Porter Ranch Headquarters near the river.  A Salinian Indian woman known as a healer lived there who could clean and dress Chilito’s wound as well as any frontier sawbones.

  With the murderers caught and in the hands of the undertaker and with Chilito settled in with the healer, Ed gathered up his horse to start heading back to Old Joe on the Alvarado Ranch since his job was almost done as far as he was concerned.  Before he left town, Ed headed over to the telegraph office to send the Sheriff a short accounting of the gun battle with the Smyth brothers and Caleb’s testimony of why J.R. Burchfield was killed.

  Once he got back to the main ranch, Ed wasted no time in getting back to work at the chores what were left undone when he rode off with Able.  Ed gave no further thought to riding with the posse until Able and a few of the other men came riding into the ranch yard to water their horses almost a week later. 

  The men were tired and haggard but they had a well-used prisoner in tow for their efforts.  It was clear the posse hadn’t treated the man well for he wore a bloody rag around his head and had dried blood stains on most of his shirt.  Knowing a bit about Able, it was a wonder the man was still alive.

  Not being one to cause too much of a stir unless it was absolutely necessary, Ed eased over to the trough to see what the men had to say.  It wasn’t long before Able began to spout off about being able to catch a killer no matter how fast and far he rode. 

  Not wanting to bring a lot of attention to himself, Ed whispered the details of the shootout in Cross Canyon and the confession of a dying man into Abel’s ear soes the others couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  “What?” Able shrieked.  “I don’t believe the Smyth boys confessed to anything!”

  “Suit yerself Constable,” Ed replied quietly, “but the sheriff has the report from Chilito and me, the confession of the dying Smyth boy, along with my written account of the shootout in Cross Canyon.  If’n you want to check with the Smyth girl, she still lives on the family ranch a few miles west of Bee Rock in Lynch Canyon, just to the right past the first cross fence.”

  “You be hanged boy!” Able snapped.  “Angus Crabtree killed that man and he is going to hang in Hog Town for the murder legal like.” 

  Able didn’t want to wait for an answer or an argument from Ed, even though the young cowboy wasn’t inclined to make one, so he stepped back to the side of his horse where he could be pretending to check his tack while he fumed about the whole story. 

  Behind him, even though Ed tried to set the record straight to get the man freed, the prisoner looked at him with hate-filled eyes but said nothing.  Little did Ed know at the time, he would see those eyes again only next time, they would be full of vengeance over something that wasn’t his fault.

  Snatching up his reins, Able dragged himself into his saddle then tied Crabtree’s lead rope back to his saddle horn.  Trailing away from the ranch towards Hog Town, the small cavalcade was soon out of sight leaving only a wisp of dust in their wake.

  Days later, Chilito came by the Alvarado place to pass some local news on to Ed.  According to the latest rumors from Bee Rock, Chilito related, Able Johnson was said to be drinking at the Jolon Store and was nursing a busted lip, a knot on his head, and a black eye. 

  When a local man by the name of Gunter Burns pressed Able for how he’d gotten the injuries, Able grunted, “A band of cutthroats attacked my posse and took Angus Crabtree from us.  I think someone tipped them off we were coming along so they bushwhacked us.  They decided to whup on me once I was tied up.  It’s just like the cowards they are.  I’ll find Crabtree again and I’ll finish this, he will hang for what he’s done.”

  It was like Able to talk big when there was no one around to take him to task and it was really no big surprise to anyone that days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned to years with no sign of the Constable hunting for or trying to find Angus Crabtree and his hooligans some said to be operating out of the northern San Luis Obispo County area.  As time passed and folks headed on with their lives, the name Angus Crabtree was forgotten by most all those who listened to Able Johnson’s worn out tales. 

  Ed Ketterly no longer rode with Able Johnson or his posses for the bad blood spilled over the arrest of Angus Crabtree forever remained between them.  As Chilito would tell Ed in confidence sometime later, it wasn’t Angus Crabtree’s gang that took Angus from him at’all, it was the posse Able rode so hard to capture an innocent man.  Once out of sight of the Alvarado Ranch, the posse turned Angus loose on Able to get his just rewards. 

  Not surprisingly, Able could never forget how Ed’s information made him look small in front of the powerful men he was so desperate to impress and told anyone who would listen that Ed got word to Angus Crabtree’s gang to spring him to make him look even worse, a story that he knew was far from the truth but one he chose to stick with when he could.

  Ed was smart enough to know Able would find any little excuse to try to put a slug in his back if he got the chance so steered clear of the man who was now known to be little more than the Jolon Store drunk.  Once Angus Crabtree filed the complaint of being arrested for a crime he didn’t commit and at how Able mistreated him, the County Sheriff convinced the Circuit Judge to remove him from his office. 

  The fact that Able wasn’t a sworn constable was discovered during later but since Angus refused to ride north to testify against him in the wrongful arrest, he was simply fined for the county salary he had embezzled.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Four

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  By the time he was nineteen years old, Ed Ketterly was becoming blazingly fast with his sixgun and a crack shot with a rifle but being a young man on the edge of things, he also liked to spend much of his free time sparkin’ the local gals in Lockwood or San Ardo.  Out and about most every weeknight and every weekend for sure didn’t really go over all that well with Old Joe.

  Being fast with a gun and in the public eye like he was, Old Joe thought Ed was taking a lot too many risks for his age.  The ranch always came first with Old Joe so whether he thought Ed was getting too loose with his gun or was having too much fun with the local gals in Lockwood, he decided it was time to send Ed north to mind the springtime drive from his ranch near Alturas, south of the Orygon border, before he got into serious trouble.

  Now Bradley was well off the beaten path of modern society but Ed felt getting sent to Alturas to gather cows was more like getting banished to some distant planet.  Usually one of the other men started the gather then Ed and Old Joe would ride the train up to the ranch for the drive to market.  Needless to say, Ed was pretty put out he drew the short straw on this trip.  Course there was plenty of room to practice his gun-slinging up there but there were almost no white wimmin’ in the community to entertain him and the Modoc squaws were contrary as all get out.  Ed was going to be bored to death.

  Bein’ that ranching was the way it was and taking the job on like the man Old Joe wanted him to, Ed got ready to ride out on the five hundred and thirty mile trek to that deserted line camp some old miner built before leaving out of the country or dying alone in the lava beds with his bones bleached white from the sun.  Ed was never a complainer so figured to ride north with the thoughts this was going to be some great adventure.  Little did he know, this ride was going to be one he would remember his whole life.  Ten days later when he rode up to the ramshackle camp, he was going to be changing his optimistic idea of fun.

  The ranch in Alturas was high country at its best with lava beds and hidden air tubes a plenty to cripple his stock.  Old Joe stated he wanted Ed to purchase two extra saddle horses along with the four mules loaded down with panniers full of camp gear and food enough to last a month to month and a half.  Though this was to be Ed's first time ramrodding the spring drive, he had actually partaken in parts of every drive since he was a mere seven years of age.

  The Red Bluff Livestock Yard in Leodocia was always a highlight of the trip north every year for young Ed Ketterly.  Since Ed was traveling in the middle of March this year, he would be passing through during the annual Bull and Gelding Sale.  If he could, Ed wanted to try and buy at least two extra saddle horses for the drive.  These would be different horses than the mustangs used on the Alvarado Ranch for while the Alvarado horses were as good as any a man would find anywhere, they were climatised to near sea level elevation instead of working at over 4000’ day and night.

  Many of the horses what were to be run through the Sale would be tall, deep chested mountain horses.  Raised in the higher elevations, they would not only be better conditioned for the elements but would have the instincts borne in to sense the dangers inherant to the mountains and lava beds.  Those instincts might even make the difference between life or death on the trail.

  Ed would also have to cross over what the emigrants called the California Trail.  The Trail ran a winding route roughly East/Westerly from Prison Town to Dunsmuir along a somewhat level ridge between Mount Lassen and Mount Shasta.  The elevation would be over three thousand feet and with Alturas being at four thousand two hundred feet, Ed would need far warmer clothes to work up north than when riding the Alvarado.

  Knowing the way to the Basque Sheepherder’s hearts, Ed broke out a keg of Basque wine kept for special occassions in the hopes of convincing the shepherds to make him a set of wooly chaps and a lamb skin coat.  The Basque didn't offer any resistance to Ed's request as they had known him since he arrived as a babe.  In a matter of days Ed was presented with his new cold weather duds and was ready to begin the adventure.

  Joe figured to be up to Alturas in a few weeks so Ed needed to pack all the supplies he would need for that first month.  When Joe showed up several weeks later, there would be more supplies coming with him since he would be coming in a wagon after he rode the train to Redding.

  The closest depot for the Southern Pacific Railroad would be twenty-five miles to the north at Hog Town where Ed would catch the iron horse to ride as far north as Poverty Flats at the southern toe of Mount Shasta.  There was a depot closer at San Ardo but it was anyone's guess on whether the train would stop there or not so Ed chose not to bother with it and risk missing the ride.

  Old Joe had already bought rail passage for Ed and his pack train so the first three hundred and eighty miles would pass easily enough and only take one full day and a part of another, including the stop over in Leodocia.  The stop at Leodocia would also be the last time Ed would be able to rest easy until the job was completed. 

  The second leg of the journey consisted of one hundred and fifty miles of mostly grueling mountain trails better suited for mountain goats and injuns than to wagons.  Then there was also the unknown factor of the snowpack and ice fields.  It was still pretty early into March with the weather gods pummeling the Pacific Northwest relentlessly for the last few weeks with rain and snow so it was anyone’s guess how the first few weeks would be.

  Ed would be crossing some high mountain passes and could have his hands full with the snow being deepest in the higher elevations so he had to factor that situation into his overall trip plans to keep the animals and himself in good shape until they got to the ranch.

Old Joe always kept to his agenda though and he wouldn’t take bad weather as a reason to stop riding.  Joe figured if they waited too long to gather the herd together, there was a good chance someone else might come along to do it for him and keep the money for his troubles. 

  Even though the horses might be able to move faster if he pushed them hard, Ed figured it should take no more than ten days of hard climbing to get from Redding to Alturas if he was to keep his stock in good shape.  Running the horses into the ground would not fair well with Old Joe and would cost him time if they weren’t able to work once they got to Alturas.

  Making his way north out of the ranch yard at a forced trot, Ed headed out with the pack animals trailing behind in a long, strung out line.  It was just past daybreak as they took to the trail for Ed was figuring he could make Hog Town by one o’clock if he could keep the pace up. 

  Once on the train, Ed would be riding the cushions for a day and a half with all the stops they would be making along the way so the animals would have time to rest up a bit from the forced march the first day.

  The animals took to the trail readily so were eating up the miles that lay in front of the lone rider very quickly.  At just a quarter past twelve and right on schedule, Ed and his pack train rode up to the depot.  Tying up near the corrals, Ed went inside to make sure his passage paperwork north was in order. 

  The train wasn’t scheduled to pick up his stockcar until nearly two o’clock so once Ed got the animals unloaded of their packs and everything loaded into the stockcar, he headed down to the cantina for one last drink for the road.

  The cantina was not unlike any other saloon on the western frontier.  The low squat building was constructed with thick walls made from adobe bricks formed out of the black gumbo clay mined from the valley and mixed together with handfuls of thick straw stalks.  As a topper, the building had baked clay tiles shipped in from Mexico by rail for the roof. 

  Inside the strongly constructed building, there was the dismal lighting provided by three poorly adjusted and smoking kerosene lamps.  The limited light was made dimmer by the thick haze of smoke from several cigars, considering there was no ventilation to speak of.

  Ed could see several Mexican riders from some of the Sapaque, Lockwood, and Bee Rock ranches as well as a couple of men he knew from the Mee Ranch over to Priest Valley.  Most of the men were leaning against the ancient bar or seated around small tables scattered throughout the room.  Nodding a greeting to the men, Ed went to the bar where there was an older Mexican peasant called Polito polishing the shot glasses with a dirty towel.

  “Buenas Tardes Señor Ed,” Polito said, greeting the young man from Bradley in his native language since he knew Ed would understand him.  “¿Qué le ofrece todo el camino a la ciudad de cerdo?”

  “Buenas Tardes Polito,” Ed replied.  “Estoy en mi camino a la Hacienda en Alturas para ramrod la unidad de primavera.  Calculo tener un último trago antes de irme.”

  “Ah bien, bien, ya es hora de mover el ganado ya,” Polito replied as he got a bottle of Old Overholt out from underneath the bar. 

  Polito poured Ed a drink then left the bottle in case he decided to have another before it was time for him to leave for the train ride north.  Draining his glass, the amber liquid burned his throat at first but as it drained into his stomach, it was beginning to warm his innards some. 

   Ed tossed a two-bit piece onto the bar before he picked up the bottle and headed to the back of the room.  Finding his way to a lone table in the shadows, Ed re-filled his glass then sat his bottle down within arm’s reach as he pulled a chair out to sit down himself.  Having learned to be cautious from the men on the ranch, Ed liked to sit in the shadows where he could watch the front door as he had another drink for a man never knew when trouble would walk into the room. 

  Taking a short sip of his whiskey, Ed looked around the room taking in all there was to see.  In his short life, Ed had learned it was best to know who was sitting around a man, especially if there was alcohol involved.  Recognizing everyone as locals, Ed relaxed and sat back to listen to the stories and local gossip that was being spread.

  Ed hadn’t been in his corner for more than five minutes when John Crosby pushed through the beads what served as the inner door.  John looked around for a good minute as his eyes adjusted to the dim light then upon seeing Ed in the back, he made his way over to him and pulled up a chair to sit down hisownself.

  “I heard you were riding this way Ed,” John started out.  “Old Joe was always one to start the spring drive early.”  Leaning in close so the others couldn’t hear, John continued.  “Ed, there’s trouble afoot both here and at the north ranch.”

  “How so?” Ed quizzed back at him.  “Old Joe didn’t say anything about trouble at either place.”

  “Well, you know I’ve been riding for Brodie Reweirts down at Pleyto Plaza, right?”

  “Right, you’ve been riding for Brodie fer a good while now,” Ed commented.

  “Yes sir I have,” John continued.  “Old Brodie is a knowin’ kinda man so when he starts talkin’ about this and that, I naturally pay attention to what he has to say.”

  “Spit it out John, I haven’t got all day,” Ed quipped since John had a tendency to yarn on and on about things.

  “All right already,” John said smiling ‘cause he knew he was rambling again.  “Brodie said he saw one of the riders from the Porter Ranch scouting the ranch’s north fences.  Now Brodie knows Old Joe has the northern boundary to the Porter Ranch so his ears naturally perked up when the rider started talking about missing cattle and a cut fence to the north.”

  “Old Joe knows about the cut fence only, ……….. the cattle were driven onto the Porter Ranch, not the other way up the Jolon to the Plaskett Range like normal,” Ed answered back. 

  “From what Chilito could tell from the tracks, those cows were being herded south to the Jolon then were turned east to cross the Salinas.  They rode south along the river past Cross-Canyon then they pushed the beeves over the hills into Indian Valley where they probably ended up at the Coalinga slaughterhouse.”

  It was John’s turn now, “Yup, Chilito ciphered that out right away only, ..….. , no one knows why the rustlers were heading south down the river when they should have headed north to cross at Bitterwater Canyon.  There’s no beef market in San Luis County ‘cause the Santa Margarita Ranch and the La Panza have all the military contracts tied up for the time being.”

  “Chilito also thinks there’s a chance someone wants to stock a ranch down south where they can doctor some brands and move animals through after they’ve healed up without creating too much of a stir,” Ed replied.  “There are plenty of badlands and good water between the San Juan, Shell Creek, and Navajo Canyon.  Remember the Lynch Canyon Rustlers?  They have family north of the San Juan in the Red Hills.  They might be shading the family into grazing those beeves since they can’t keep any stock in Lynch Canyon that wouldn’t be noticed.”

  “Chilito is a good man at tracking and even better at figuring out rustling operation Ed,” John surmised.  “If he’s thinking the cows went south, I’d lay odds he’s right.  Course with you riding north, we’ll have to let Old Joe and Old Man Porter address that problem whilst we’re gone.”

  Ed continued when he said, “I heard a rumor that a fella named Crabtree is back and has revolutionized the cattle business over to Shell Creek way with his herd growing faster than anyone else in the district.  Why he would rustle cows from up here is a mystery but it might could be payback for Able Johnson nearly getting him lynched a couple of years ago.” 

  Old Joe and Old Man Porter are huntin’ the men that done the fence cuttin’ ‘cause they’ve got some of Porter’s steers too.  Old Joe figures to handle it whilst I head up north to check on the Alturas herd then join me in a month once he gets the rustling mess settled.”

  “Right you are my young friend and one of the reasons he sent me along to help you.  Considerin’ what is going on down to Bradley, Old Joe has an idea there may be problems up north too if someone has a vendetta against the Alvarado or him.”

  “Well then, if yer ridin’ with me, get yerself a drink ‘cause the train is rolling in right now and we need to get on it,” Ed replied as a steam whistle echoed in the background.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

                            Chapter Five

 

  Ed was more than thrilled that he would have someone else to ride to Alturas with and John was that man.  John would be a big help in starting the gather too since those cows had been left alone all winter to fend for themselves and were usually as wild as can be. 

On top of being friends, Ed and John grew up virtually as one from dawn to dusk as younkers so they were more like brothers than anything else.  It would be just like old times to ride the long trail with him again. 

  Course if Old Joe made a deal with Brodie to send John along on this trip, he must be figuring that there may be more trouble than Ed could handle on his own up north or just in case the rustling troubles in Bradley kept Old Joe to home a bit longer than he planned.  It did irk Ed a bit that Old Joe wasn’t a bit more forthcoming with the threat of danger but then, ………. that was how Old Joe was.  Joe knew Ed could handle himself most times so didn’t see the need to speak to it.

  As the two men walked up to the depot, the engineer was slamming the train into the extra stockcar to make sure the old style couplers were snapped shut and locked.  The brakeman checked the connection, pinned it, and made sure the brakes were connected before signaling the all clear so they could start the trip north.

  The two cowhands climbed aboard the passenger car only to find it was nearly full of people wanting to get north to the capital.  Most of the passengers looked to be ordinary folks but there were some who looked out of place on public transportation.  One such man was handcuffed to a United States Marshal.  Another was a hard looking hombre with a scar on his face who wore his sixgun tied down low like he was a gunfighter.

  There were no empty seats together so John sat down next to the gunman he learned went by the handle of Bill Longtree while Ed found a seat next to a pretty young woman by the name of Amy Crabtree.  Not connecting the girl’s name to Angus right off, Ed smiled at her then began stuffing his saddlebags under the seat after leaning his rifle in the corner close to hand.

  The gunman, Bill Longtree, seemed irritated that John took the seat next to him but said nothing, staring hard at the jovial man in a feeble attempt to intimidate him as he was beginning to get comfortable. 

  Bill Longtree looked to be a vicious killer based on John’s first impression of the way the man held his stare.  His eyes were small and close-set like those of a serpent as it prepares to strike.  His dark skin, made darker by exposure to the sun, looked even darker against the livid white scar running from his right cheek across the bridge of his nose before trailing off into an eyebrow.

  Like many western men, Longtree wore a black, flat-brimmed Boss of the Plains hat and handmade, run down at the heel, square-toed boots adorned with cavalry style spurs showing the heavy patina of use and age.  The man’s shirt and trousers looked store bought but were well used and had been mended in many places. 

  The one thing that set the man apart from the ordinary citizens was the heavily tooled buscadero style gunbelt he wore with the holster tied down.  The leather was well taken care of but John could tell that worn Colt had been jammed into the scabbard hundreds of times in practice.

  John Crosby was a knowing man who knew better than to rile the gunman unless it was needful so figured to get plenty of sleep as they traveled north since there would be no conversation between them.  Before long, John was snoring like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  A quick first glance was enough for Ed to notice the young woman next to him.  Other than her strawberry blonde hair, the high cheekbones and light olive complexion reminded him of an Indian squaw he once knew in Bradley but mysteriously, this gal also had the corn flour blue eyes of a white woman.

  Ed’s face flushed a bit red as he settled into the seat next to that pretty young filly since he wasn’t accustomed to being in the presence of polite young ladies.  Ed was more accustomed to the loud and fun-loving girls who sold temptation and lust in the cribs in Bradley.

  Once Ed regained his composure, he formally introduced himself like he was taught by Marie, remembering the lessons she gave and the wooden spoon used as punishment when he fooled around too much.  Marie was Old Joe’s current wife and was a tyrant when it came to manners.  She’d have Ed’s hide if he didn’t remember what he was taught when addressing proper young ladies. 

  Amy smiled shyly as she re-introduced herself As Amy Crabtree in return.  After the formalities were over, they began to chitchat about this and that as the train began to pick up speed heading north for Salinas. 

  Surprisingly it seems, Amy was raised on a cattle ranch located south and a bit west of the Red Hills, a region east southeast of Shandon known for its red dirt, and was on her way north to Redding to meet with an attorney about some legal matters concerning the family ranch.  Like a lightening bolt struck him, Ed connected her name to most likely her pa, Angus Crabtree.

  “Well now,” Ed replied with a smile, not letting on that he knew about Angus and his suspected rustling operation, “it looks like we’ll be riding north together the whole way since John and I are heading to Redding ourselves.”

  “Really!” she exclaimed, “How nice, are you going north on business?”

  “Sure,” Ed said, “we are going to Alturas to get the spring drive started.  My pa is sending us up there then he’ll follow along once all the work is done.”

  “So you’re a cattleman?” Amy asked as if really interested in what Ed was saying.

  “Yes, in a way I am but I am looking to become someone more important one day when the time gets right.” 

  Ed decided he wouldn’t let on he was already carrying a badge as a brand inspector for the Marshal’s Office in the territory or that he was only getting the spring drive started for Old Joe as a cover for an ongoing investigation into a case of an interstate cattle rustling operation between Orygon, California, and Nevada, something not even John was ever told about.  

  “I see, so you are looking to become something other than a cattleman?” she asked.

  “I love the life of a cattleman for there is nothing more rewarding than to see something being built with two strong hands or growing something from where there was only grass before.  There’s nothing like the sound of the wind blowing through the trees or listening to a calf bawling for its momma.  Life is so peaceful on the ranch but I have a hankerin’ to do more with my life than punch cows day in and day out.”

  “It all sounds so romantic the way you talk about the ranching life,” Amy said quietly, bringing the crimson back to Ed’s cheeks.  “I’m surprised you would want to leave it for a chance at something you might not like as well.”

  Ed thought for a moment then answered, “I don’t really want to leave it but there is some other trail out there for me ride before I settle down like everyone else.  I figure to come back to the ranch to raise a family as soon as that other thing is over, whatever it turns out to be.”

  The conversation moved to the side hill ranch where Amy’s pa raised six kids as he scratched out a living in almighty poor country.  Her pa was gone a lot so that meant Amy’s ma had to work as hard as two men to keep up.  Although there was never any spending money for frillys and such, no one ever went to sleep hungry or slept in the rain.  Amy said little more about her parents but Ed figured she had her reasons so didn’t pursue it none.  Hopefully he thought silently, Angus had not turned his “business” to rustling in Modoc County.

  Amy had gone to school in the one-room Alliance schoolhouse some seven miles away from her home by horseback.  The other kids there naturally came from other ranches up and down the San Juan River Valley with a few from French Camp, Gillis Canyon, and a few more from Shell Creek as well.

  When Amy was old enough to drive the spring wagon on her own, she and her siblings were able to ride the four miles further down river to the little town of Shandon with its three streets by the river and another three streets up on the bench called the Heights. 

  Embracing the freedom of the spring wagon, Amy made it to the big city as far as she was concerned with their gas streetlights, restaurant, hotel, saloon, Post Office, two livery stables, and even Yancy’s Mercantile where she could actually touch store-boughts.

  Ed naturally shared his early schooling in the tar fields of San Ardo and later on in Hog Town as he got older.  There were far more children in Hog Town, mostly of Portuguese descent, than Amy ever saw in the Shandon/Cholame district so the stories intrigued her as Ed yarned on about his early life. 

  John looked over towards his surrogate brother with a twisted smile on his face as he envied his choice of seats for Longtree was a miserable sort who smelled of long days in the saddle without the benefit of a bath. 

  Ed was the lucky one for sure, John thought silently, him getting to sit next to a pretty gal with darting eyes and mischievous smile while John had to endure the disgust of a man who was high smelling and low down.  Resigning himself to a long trip with no conversation, John pulled his hat down low over his eyes again and tried to prop himself into the corner to get some more shuteye. 

  In the background amongst all the other noises of the iron horse rolling on steel rails, John could hear Ed and Amy as they talked and laughed for hours as they rode.  Somewhere along the way, John drifted off into a fitful sleep against the roll of the car against steel rails.

  Waking up several hours later, John discovered he’d slept through the water/fuel stop in Salinas.  The marshal and his prisoner were gone, replaced by a man who looked to be a drummer and a woman of questionable reputation.  Longtree’s smell was gone too, for the moment, so John minded his new riding partners far less than the first one with the bad attitude. 

  Taking a closer look at the drummer, John began to rethink his first assessment.  While this man tried to give off the aura of being a whiskey drummer, his clothes were tailored to fit and were of a quality not normally worn by men in his profession.  As the man shifted, John could see the butt of a .32 Smith and Wesson Model 1 1/2 revolver hidden under his coat, pressed against his shirt and held secure in a shoulder holster, a method not common for men to wear on the western frontier.

  The woman was next under John’s careful scrutiny.  She was loud, full of smiles, flipped her curls back incessantly, and laughed nervously at the drummer’s every comment whether it was funny or not.

  Lighting a cigarito like a pro, the dove sat back and inhaled deeply before blowing rings of smoke into the air.  It was obvious this woman worked and lived on the wild side of things but her pretentious liaison with the drummer was steeped in mystery.

Looking over towards Ed, who was still focused on his enchanting neighbor, John finally caught his eye.  With an almost indiscernible motion, John tried to let Ed know there was danger here. 

  John didn’t know if Ed understood at first but after a fashion, he winked then rubbed his eye as if there was an itch just in case someone noticed his signal.

Ed, not missing a beat, went back to his lively conversation with Amy but was watching the rest of the passengers far more closely now.  If Amy noticed he wasn’t as attentive as he was earlier in their ride, she said nothing about it.

  North of Sacramento, the passengers were treated to the enormity of the Sacramento River as it wound like a ribbon back and forth across the prairie with thousands of white faced cattle in knee-deep grass dotting the rolling hills.  No less than two hundred feet wide in most places, the deceptively quiet river carried millions of gallons of water melted from the Sierra Nevada snow pack each year.  Marysville was off to the east with Red Bluff still a few hours ride to the north.  

  The spectacle of seeing the river made the time between Marysville and Red Bluff pass by in a blink of an eye so before they knew it, the train whistle surprised them when it blew a long shrill blast to  signal the station ahead that they were coming in for a short layover. 

  The train needed to take on more water from the tank along with a load of fuel to easily make the thirty mile uphill push into Redding with no problems so this was a scheduled stop where the passengers could get off and stretch their legs for an hour before it was time to get aboard once again.

  Bidding Amy goodby for a bit to go into town, Ed got up, grabbed his gear, and headed for the rear door with John.  Whether Ed noticed or not, Amy was some put out that he was leaving her sight but he had work to do and not a lot of time to get it done.  The last thing Ed needed was to be caught up with a gal and not have the horses needed when they started the drive in Alturas.

  As the train groaned to a stop in Red Bluff, Ed and John left the car, hopped down the steps, and headed straight for the Sales Yard to check for riding stock.  They noticed right off that the pens were full as they walked into the office for service.  While most of the best horses were slated for auction, there were pens set aside to allow for individual sales.  Those horses not sold by auction time would then go through at the end for lot prices.

  Ed would have to try and stretch his poke to cover four good horses though, now that John was riding along.  Based on what Ed knew of high country horses, he was convinced that any of these horses would be an upgrade once on the trail and would prove their weight in gold by the end of the drive.  Besides, he could always sell them to the miners in the gold fields on his way south if need be.

  The two young men were led by the hostler past hundreds of horses of every height and color imaginable.  Most of these horses had much thicker cannon bones that almost appeared odd to Ed and Jake.  The horses were broader in the chest and rump along with more defined cheeks that gave them a regal type of appearance as if they were the kings of their world.  They all still carried thick coats of hair at least four to five inches in length.  Unlike the boy’s mustangs who were already well into their spring shed, these mountain horses still held tight to wooly mammoth like coats better suited to cold weather.

   Ed noticed the hostler was leading them towards a pen of four bay horses.  One had a blaze on his face, one had a star on his forehead, one had a touch of white above the coronet band of his left hind leg, and the fourth had no white markings at all.  It was clear the man was bringing Ed and John to look at these four horses so he just walked up to the corrals and hiked his right leg up on the bottom rail to look them over.

  The hostler had chatted with the two men along the way through the corrals as to understand what their needs were in horse flesh.  Besides their youth, the two cowboys didn't appear to be high rollers but the hostler took a  liking to them right off and figured to make them a deal if he could.

  As Ed and the hostler all shook hands to close the deal, they returned to the office to do the paperwork as one of the other wranglers haltered the four geldings up and brought them to the release pen.  Upon parting ways, the hostler made a suggestion to his new found friends.  Knowing where they were heading, the hostler suggested they stop by Cottonwood Outfitters before leaving town just to make sure they had all the cold weather gear they needed for the trail ahead.

   With the Bill of Sale completed, the four bays were taken to the train depot to be loaded into the rail car as Ed and John hurried their way into downtown Red Bluff.  Finding Cottonwood Outfitters, they opened the door to be met with the sweet smell of oiled leather.  There they could buy almost anything a body could think of for life on the frontier and in particular, the northern high country.

  Ed was greeted by the shopkeeper immediately upon entering the establishment.  The shopkeeper was a jovial sort of man with an extra large belly covered by a stained canvas apron.  During their introduction, Ed stated that they were on their way north and had just purchased some new riding stock for the mountain trails.  

  The shopkeeper began asking a series of questions about the boys tack once he learned they were from the lowlands and took a mental note as to what the young wranglers were using.  Once satisfied with their inventory, the congenial man made a couple of suggestions.

  Soon, Ed had chosen two new mohair cinchas that were longer to span the new horses larger girth.  The shopkeeper had also sold him on the value of adding a breast collar to their saddles to help stop the saddle from sliding too far backwards when traveling uphill.

  John found a double breasted frock coat that had seen some use but still had plenty of life left in it.  A fringed elkskin shirt caught Ed's eye that was displayed on a side wall.  Faded on the left sleeve from exposure to the sun through a shop window along with being an odd size, Ed made the shopkeeper an offer and it was accepted for no other reason than to get the aged garment out of the store.  Minutes later, Ed and John were back in their seats just in time for the “Board!” hail by the conductor.

  The sun was about to hide its shining face behind the western horizon so Ed and Amy silently watched it go as if mesmerized by its passage.  Once the sun went down, Amy watched blissfully out the window as if in deep concentrated thought.  Her eyes were no longer bright and the glow once showering her face was gone.  Ed acted like he didn’t notice but there was something definitely different here, something that had changed while John and Ed were in Red Bluff. 

  The duo had shared much of their lives in the first few hours of their journey north having been raised on the frontier at a time of mass migration during the western expansion but with her latest silence, Ed became suspicious.  Was she luring him into some lessened state of alertness or was she just saddened by some thought she had yet to share with him. 

  Women were mysterious creatures at best with most being difficult to figure out, something Ed knew better than most after having lived in Old Joe’s house with his new wife Marie and her daughter Margaret.  Old Joe wanted the two youngsters to marry to keep the ranching operation together after he was gone but neither woman considered the young Scot/Irish descendant worth their time.  It was well known Marie wanted more for her daughter than to marry an average cowboy and made it clear Margaret was off limits to the brash young cowhand.

  Settling into the corner of his seat now that the conversation appeared to be over, Ed stared out the window into the fading light while he mulled over his next move once he and John got to Redding.  While the visit with Amy was entertaining, Ed simply didn’t have the time to worry about someone else’s problems given his current mission in Modoc County.

  The sounds of steel wheels knocking each time they crossed a rail joint lulled Ed into a trance-like state.  Ed was almighty tired to the point he dozed off for a good while before waking up with a start when his subconscious realized the train had stopped.  Rubbing his eyes and trying to clear his senses, Ed looked around to see what else around him had changed.

  Amy was gone and so were the things she had pushed under the seat to make room for Ed’s saddlebags.  Reaching instinctively to check for his money belt, Ed breathed a sigh of relief when he found it still attached to inside of his gunbelt.  Reaching under his seat, Ed couldn’t locate his saddlebags at first but then found them under Amy’s seat when he finally got down on his knees to look for them. 

  When he found them, it was certain someone had gone through his saddlebags while he slept by the way the items were stuffed back inside instead of being carefully folded and orderly.  Thankfully, Ed left nothing of value inside the large pockets to be stolen.  His few things were not placed back as they were found so it was apparent, these folks didn’t care if he suspected anyone of getting into his saddlebags or not. 

  Taking his time to re-pack his meager supplies, Ed discovered something else left inside, something that made him feel cold inside.  The item was a small gold medallion fashioned on one side with a finely etched triangle soldered inside a ring of gold.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

                              Chapter Six

___________________

 

  The more Ed thought about the trip north as he chatted with the pretty, young, strawberry-blonde haired beauty, the mystery of Amy Crabtree began to take on a whole new meaning, especially after he found the shiny golden talisman lying silently in the bottom of his saddlebag.  There was danger here so Ed needed to pay more attention to what went on from here on out. 

  Why did Amy leave it for him to find?  Was it Amy who left it at all?  Ed didn’t know but find it he did and now he was worried.  Ed knew of the sign of the Knights of the Golden Circle and their reputation of brutal violence but there was never any real talk of the Knights riding north of the Tejon’s that he could remember.

  This was Mexican Bandito country where Tiburcio Vasquez began to build his reputation starting with the murders at Tres Piños while Joaquin Murrieta ran the California Rangers ragged until they caught up with him at Arroyo Cantua for his last sunrise.

  The Jack Powers gang with his right hand man Pio Linares ran hard in San Luis Obispo County to the south so the Mexican and California banditos were nothing new to travelers along the El Camino Real and throughout the gold fields but the Knights of the Golden Circle were a different story altogether.

  As Ed mulled the talisman over, he remembered that the James boys frequented Paso Robles and San Luis Obispo County after the War of Northern Aggression and were men who definitely had southern connections.  In fact, Drury James’ La Panza Ranch wasn’t all that far from the Crabtree place off Shell Creek.

   The brothers James, probably at the insistence of their Uncle Drury, kept their illicit activities undercover for the six months they were out west, as did the Younger’s when they came riding through.  Oh there were robberies and such occurring throughout the county but no one could tie either of gangs to the crimes.

  Ed’s mind began to twist and turn as he thought about the KGC, then he remembered.  Jesse James was said to have ridden with the Knights and as of the last few years, word on the wind had it that Jesse’s Schofield was discovered in an abandoned mineshaft way down south in Chimney Rock in an empty treasure chest along with other KGC sign.  Nothing about his find made Ed happy.  There was trouble coming to Alta California and it looked like to him, the trouble this time might be sweet smelling and wearing petticoats. 

  Looking the talisman over carefully in his mind, Ed remembered this one was quite unusual.  The medallion was a fairly ornate, hand engraved piece with an image of Emiliano Vasquez carved into the center on the side opposite of the golden triangle.  The metal appeared to be gold so even though the medallion was small, it was heavy to the touch. 

  The next thing Ed needed to consider was, what was this southern agent trying to tell him by planting an expensive piece like this on him?  Or, did the medallion get dropped into his bags accidental like while they were searching it?  The whole situation was becoming more complicated by the minute so Ed began to search back to what their conversation went over earlier in the trip.

  Amy told Ed she was born and raised on a small hillside ranching operation a few miles south of the Red Hills.  Their ranch was said to be bordered by the Camatta Ranch to the southwest, the San Juan Ranch to the northeast, the Red Hills to the northwest, and French Camp to the east.  The ranch was supposedly situated on the south side of the San Juan River so was occasionally landlocked if the San Juan River and Shell Creek filled up too deep after heavy spring rains. 

  The only way off the place would be to ride a horseback east and south through Jake Martin’s Navaho Canyon to the wagon road traversing the northern base of the La Panza Region of the Santa Lucia’s or to tackle the boggy hills of the Hansen Ranch.

  Ed knew of each of these larger ranches by reputation, although living so far away, had never heard of the Crabtree place bein’ small like it was.  Just by the descriptions Amy had given him, their ranch should lie near the southern edge of Long Valley.  There was a problem with that idea because Jack Pond owned Long Valley and everything to the river with the Hansen family owning everything due west.

  Pondering the subject, Ed recalled back to what he knew about the Crabtree name.  Angus Crabtree was the man Able Johnson accused of Marshal Burchfield’s murder and who he tried to take to the county seat to be hanged even though Ed and Chilito tried to set the record straight that he was really innocent.  As Ed remembered the story from back then, Angus Crabtree was taken from Abel’s posse by force somewhere between Bradley and Hog Town and never heard from again, until this trip. 

  Whether Amy was related to this man Angus or not was a mystery.  Ed had no way of knowing about the family connection but it did raise his suspicions all the same because she came from the same area of the county.  It might even stand to reason why Angus would have been in Redding, far from the clutches of Able Johnson.

  To Ed, it all sounded legitimate at first, especially after the way she described the trail through Navaho Canyon.  Only a local would know of an out of the way lonely Indian trail through another man’s ranch, that is unless she was schooled on exactly what to tell him to try to get information from him.

  Amy Crabtree was not unlike most of the girls he knew off other local ranches in some ways but there was something else about her that was beginning to rankle him that he just couldn’t put his finger on. 

  Being on the edge of things like they were in the west, schooling wasn’t sophisticated so the kids learned how to read, write, and do their sums but they spoke a more simplistic language than folks back east.  Now that Ed was able to give more thought to the way she talked, her demeanor, and the way she carried herself, it was abundantly clear she must have gone to a finishing school back east at some point in her young life. 

  Now a gal going to a finishing school didn’t mean anything necessarily but Ed thought of the cost of sending a girl back east when she said they had no money to speak of growing up sure gave way to suspicion.  To top it all off, now Ed had to figure out the reason as to why she was lying to him.  She may have been just yarnin’ so as to forget her early life but Ed wasn’t that trusting of her to believe that, especially now that he gave the situation a once over.  Deep in his thoughts,   Ed didn’t notice John as he made his way over to where he was sitting.

  “You look a bit lost Ed,” John surmised.  “It’s almost like you lost your best girl.”

  “Ed’s face flushed bright red then he asked, “That girl was something wasn’t she?”

  John looked hard into his friend’s quimisical eyes before answering.  “Ed, that one is trouble if’n I have her figured out right.  Did you know she looked through your saddlebags while you were asleep?”

  “Yup,” Ed whispered as he saw Amy coming back into the car through the back door from the dining car.  “Later, I’ll show you what got left in there.  This is building into quite a complicated mystery.”

  John got up as Amy made her way to her seat, “Pardon me mam, I was just visiting with an old friend for a minute whilst you were gone.”

  Amy just glared at John and said nothing while Ed stood up to show his manners as she settled back into her seat after pushing the soft valise under the seat as before.  Looking over at him, Amy was all smiles once again as if nothing had happened, smiles Ed no longer trusted but was curious about all the same.  Seconds after Amy sat down, the drummer made his way past them to find his own seat next to John. 

  Ed may have been imagining things but he thought the drummer may have winked at Amy as a sign of recognition or something else as he moved past her, turning sideways so he could face her as he walked. 

  John already told Ed of the hideout gun this man carried in a shoulder holster so he knew not to trust him as far as he could throw him.  The drummer gave Ed a sideways glance as he moved by but Ed pretended to ignore the look as if he hadn’t seen anything. 

  This man was a brute and most likely a killer from the looks of him, Ed surmised.  Ed was no coward by any definition of the word but standing in the middle of a packed passenger car was not the best place to get into a full-on brawl or a gunfight.  

  If Amy was in cahoots with this man, she was just as dangerous as he was so Ed needed to be far more careful.

  Amy was watching Ed as he turned back to her to give the drummer another look.  “Do you know that man Ed?”

  “I don’t rightly know Amy,” Ed replied, hoping he could pull off a story.  “He looks almighty familiar to me but I can’t quite place a name to the face.”

  “I met him in the dining car a bit earlier,” Amy responded.  “He told me his name is Frank Pesco and is a whiskey salesman from Las Cruces.”

  Dammit, Ed thought.  He knew the man now and knew what he was capable of.  Smiling back at Amy he said, “The name sounds familiar but I still don’t know it.  On the edge of things like we are, men change their names almighty often when they become too famous and get tired of being the target of every young gunfighter wanting to make a reputation for himself.”

  Ed didn’t know if Amy bought his line or not but he gave it a go at acting dumb all the same.  Frank Pesco wasn’t a drummer from Las Cruces at all, he was a vicious killer known as Iron Hand Pesco from the Pecos River country and was known to bushwhack a man if he got the chance rather than give him an even break face to face.

  “So,” Ed started as he changed the subject, “you’re heading to Redding to work out some problems with the family ranch?  Isn’t that a long ways to go when there are attorneys in San Luis Obispo or Paso Robles?”

  Amy bit her lip just enough for Ed to realize he hit a sore spot with her.  It didn’t make sense to ride north so many miles when there were capable men a day’s ride away.  She hesitated a bit then looked like she made her mind up to tell Ed something, probably a lie but something.

  “About my pa Ed,” she said quietly.  “He rode north towards Weaverville some time back to try his hand at mining and to get shut of some trouble he was falsely accused of and to try to supplement a dry year on the San Juan.  He said he would only be gone six months but it’s been more than two years already.  At first, he wrote letters about once a week but after three months or so, his letters began to change somehow.”

  “Change?  Change how?” Ed asked as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

  Gathering her thoughts, Amy continued, “I can’t explain it exactly.  He seemed more distant, almost as if he were worried about something he wasn’t writing in his letters.  After a little more than four months, the letters started slowing down to nothing.  Bein’s mother was ailing, I figured to come get him back to her so he can be with her for a while before she …………………… disappeared.”

  Amy’s tears jerked at Ed’s heart, even though he knew there was something very wrong with this whole setup and especially Amy’s story.  Laying his good arm around her shoulders, Ed comforted her as best he could as a stranger.  She sobbed uncontrollably for a few minutes then dabbed her reddened eyes with a kerchief as she tried to regain her decorum.

  “So are you heading to Weaverville or Redding,” Ed asked at last as the tears dried up. 

  Amy looked at Ed with her big, corn flower blue eyes glistening.  “I am heading to Redding first to see a man who is supposed to know my father.  Once I meet up with him, we are to travel to Weaverville.  He has contacts within the Tongs so believes he can help me.”

  “What’s it costing you Amy?” Ed asked bluntly, trying hard not to be too gruff with his question.  “No one gets anything done with the Tongs without a steep price tag.”

  Amy seemed shocked the hillbilly sitting next to her had put it all together so easily but answered honestly all the same.  “He is charging me $1000.00 in gold.”

Ed looked at her in disbelief as he listened.  “Amy, maybe it’s just me and it’s really none of my business but if you are carrying that kind of money, you won’t live long enough to find your father.  You don’t know this man or the area so you won’t stand a chance.”

  She inhaled with a gasp as Amy looked at Ed with both disgust and worry at the same time.  “What would you have me do Mr. Ketterly?  Trust a man like you to take a lady north.  According to my inquiries, he has a good reputation in Redding.”

  “You could do worse mam, much worse,” Ed replied as he glanced towards the drummer sitting a few seats away.  Ed made the look a purpose and made sure she knew what he meant when he said it.

  “All the same Amy, I would put your money into the bank as soon as or before you get to Redding,” Ed offered.  “Ride on into town with just enough to pay for a meal and your room for the night.  After this man finds your father, he can get paid then instead of you getting kidnapped into the tong Celestial cribs in the back alleys.  Keeping you safe guarantees your paying his extortion money.”

  As Ed stood up, he turned to Amy with a question that he needed an answer to just to make sure he was thinking right.  “Amy, what is your pa’s name again?”

  A little shocked at his question, Amy replied quietly, “Why, it’s Angus, Angus Crabtree,” then turned to look out the window again.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Seven

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  It was well past time for Ed to check on his stock so he excused himself from Amy since she had stopped talking to him again, leaned over, grabbed his saddlebags and rifle then headed out the rear door to go the stock car.

  Amy frowned at the idea Ed was leaving her sight but there was little she could do without drawing too much attention to herself.  Pouting, Amy slid over next to the window and looked out across the rolling grass country dotted with a mixture of cattle and sheep.

  Once outside, Ed checked his holstered gun just because.  It was a good thing he did since Ed’s gun was as empty as the honey jar.  Furious with himself for letting anyone get that close, he loaded the sidearm with cartridges from his belt then replaced it in its scabbard, sliding the thong over the hammer when it was in place. 

  Checking his back-up gun hidden in the inside pocket of his coat, Ed found his Smith and Wesson 1 ½ still fully charged and ready for action.  They either didn’t check him over close enough or figured he would wake up with even a light touch on his chest.  Even though he wanted to know exactly what Amy was up to, he wasn’t going to take any more chances around that gal.  Making his way to the stock car, Ed stacked his saddle against a pile of hay so he could use it as a backrest then leaned back against it as the car rocked on into the night. 

  It was still another couple of hours to Redding so Ed figured he might as well sleep the rest of the way into town if he could.  Once they got off the train at Redding and headed east, there would be nothing but long days and short nights where sleep might come and go unannounced to the outriders from Bradley. 

  John was still back in the passenger car so he could watch Amy for a while to see if she talked to that so called drummer, or anyone else of interest as far as that goes.  Ed wanted no more to do with either one of them.  Besides, old Joe would be furious if he was to get side-tracked over a girl while on the way to the ranch in Alturas when there was work to be done.

  An hour and a half later, Ed woke up to the squealing of iron wheels braking against steel rails as the train was slowing down for a water stop in Cottonwood.  Looking outside through a small hole from his hidden spot, Ed watched as Amy got off the train, looked both ways suspiciously, and then hurried down a darkened alley. 

  Seconds later, Frank Pesco was off the train and following her, only, he seemed to be carrying something that looked god awful heavy inside his coat, something like a full poke of gold.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ed could see Amy and her drummer friend coming back up the alley to the train.  Once they closed the gap to the street, it looked like Amy motioned for him to stay back as she came out into the light alone.  No more than a minute later, once Amy was already on board, a solemn Frank Pesco made his way up the iron steps and to his seat on the train just as the conductor waved his lantern for the engineer to get back to rolling north. 

  Well now, Ed thought silently, if Amy put her money in the bank in Cottonwood, at least she was paying attention to something he was saying.  It was also clear she and Pesco had some kind of liaison going on so who knows what they were doing when they got off the train.

  The cars slammed against each others couplers and jerked into motion only a second later with smoke and steam billowing out of the engine as the iron wheels spun, slipped, and pawed against the steel rails as they fought to get the cars moving and up to speed.

  They were off onto the last leg of their rail journey heading north, steadily picking up speed as the rhythm of the wheels against rail joints picked up its pace.  With nothing left to see for now, Ed rolled back up against his saddle then went to sleep for another hour.

  The torment of trying to figure out what Amy Crabtree’s real plan was kept Ed awake as he tried to puzzle the whole mess out.  Was there any truth in the sob story she had sung to him or was it all made up?  Although bone tired from not enough sleep, Ed was more than ready to step into leather as soon as the train rolled up next to the depot in Redding’s red light district.

  Ed was up well before their arrival into Redding and was preparing to unload the stock, along with their gear, as soon as he could.  He was nearly ready in saddling the horses by the time John Crosby dragged himself out of the passenger car, ambled back to where the stock car was parked next to a wooden ramp, and pushed the door open on the now disconnected car, a feat taking no more than five minutes after the train pulled into Redding. 

  As Ed looked out through the open door and down the long string of cars, he could see that Amy Crabtree was standing on the platform more than a hundred feet away as she waited impatiently for her luggage to be brought out of the baggage car to her. 

  Ed knew he should have said a proper goodbye to her before just slipping off like he done but the more he was around her, there was something about the woman he couldn’t trust.  Playing it safe, he just didn’t want to have anything more to do with her so he turned back to the stock to get them lined out to offload.

  John looked fresh enough, since he slept nearly the whole way to Redding, so he would be more than ready to grab leather and move out as soon as they got everything off the car and into the mule’s panniers.  Working quickly, John slid the ramp up to the car and pinned it in place while Ed got ready to lead the horses out and onto the ground where they would get the packs tied on and other gear loaded for the ride over the mountain to Alturas. 

  Seeing the men working, Amy made a beeline straight for them.  Ed saw her coming but pretended to be engrossed in getting the stock and supplies unloaded.

  “Mr. Ketterly!” Amy snapped as she got closer.  “Might I have a word with you?”

Ed smiled hesitantly the replied, “Yes’m you can.  If you could just wait until I get these horses out of the stockcar so John can start loading them with our supplies.  We have a long distance to travel yet today so we can’t be wasting too much time getting ready for the trail.”

  Amy Crabtree’s face held the twisted lines of anger taut as a fiddle string across her slight features as she waited for Ed to get his animals unloaded from the stockcar.  Ed made no special effort to work faster for he figured her to want to browbeat him some for his poor manners or play on his sympathies for reasons of her own.  At this point in the game, he just didn’t want to hear anymore of it.

  Impatient to a fault and maybe because she was used to men dropping everything for her when she called, Amy lifted her skirts, turned, then stormed off down the platform in a huff to get her luggage since Ed wasn’t bowing down to her wants or needs at the moment.

  John looked at his friend then reminded him, “She’s trouble Ed.  You done right by taking yer time with those cayuses instead of facing her down.  There’s something up with that gal and she’s got you in her crosshairs over it for sure.  I’d be willing to bet big money we haven’t seen the last of her on this trip.”

  “Right you are John,” Ed replied with a sigh of relief.  “She’s hooked up with that wantabe drummer what was on the train.  I saw them get off together at Cottonwood.”

  “I saw them too Ed,” John answered back.  “You know he isn’t a real drummer, right?”

  “Yup,” Ed replied, “he says his name is Frank Pesco from Las Cruces but his handle is really Iron Hand Pesco and he is from Pecos, Texas.  I noticed he carries a hideout gun in a shoulder holster like Doc done in Tombstone.  Those two are up to no good John but I don’t know what they’re after.  She says it’s her pa’s estate in Weaverville but I think there’s a lot more to it.”

  “I know of her pa Ed,” John replied with a grimace.  “He was implicated in the French Camp murders over south of the San Juan.  You know, the little gold camp at the northern mouth of Navajo Canyon.  Turns out he wasn’t involved but the rumors stayed with him for years.  There was talk of some cattle rustling going on with him holding stolen stock on his ranch but I don’t know if anyone was able to prove that suspicion for sure either.  I heard he was finally run down by a local posse over the murder of a lawman from Pleyto Plaza.”

  “I remember it,” Ed said, a serious look drawing over his face.  “His name was Angus Crabtree, right?  That was Able Johnson what accused him of murdering Marshal Burchfield.  I rode a bit with that posse but he didn’t murder Burchfield.  It was the Lynch Canyon rustlers that done it but Able wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Yup, that’s him alright.  Angus rode off for the badlands right after he escaped Abel’s murder posse,” John said.  “The vigilantes tried to find him but it seems he took out for parts unknown and kind of fell out of sight.  Some folks thought he was killed and buried in the hills but others said he is still on the run from a hanging rope.”

  Ed didn’t say anything for a good while as he got the panniers settled down onto the mules.  Once they were loaded, tied down and ready for the trail, Ed piped up, “John, I’m glad to be shut of her if she is close to any of those old French Camp murderers, or local rustlers as far as that goes.  You know, as far as anyone knows, no one ever did found the Frenchmen’s gold.”

  John eyes brightened up as he replied, “Yup, I know that for sure.  I even made a go at searching for it myself a time or two but those ranchers done run me off twice.  The last time I snuck in there, they pert nearly strung me up.  I lined my paloosa out for Bradley and kept riding north for home once they set me loose.” 

  Changing the subject to the task at hand since they were ready to ride, John said, “I say let’s head out onto the trail north to fool them if they are watching to see where we are going then cut east through the railroad property and southeast back onto the main trail east.  The less they know about what we are doing, the better I’ll like it.  If they do follow us, they will have to work for it.”

  Nodding his agreement with John, Ed stuck a foot into a stirrup, grabbed the horn with his right hand, and then swung into saddle leather.  Tying the lead rope solid, he pointed the big chestnut north through the bustling boom camp called Redding. 

  Eight miles past the city limits, the two men cut off the main trail to begin backtracking to the wagon road east.  Thinking to disguise the trail some, John cut a piece of chaparral to drag behind the last pack mule to wipe out the tracks a mile before and a ways after they broke off the main trail.  Wanting the give his horse a good blow after dragging the brush, John rode into a thick grove of trees some distance off the main road to watch to see if they were being followed while Ed kept the pack train moving steadily east.

  The two men weren’t off the trail for more than fifteen minutes when John saw two riders on the main trail north from the city.  Even from some considerable distance away, John knew it was none other than Frank Pesco the drummer and his female conspirator, Amy Crabtree. 

  John stayed put as the two riders passed the spot where they left the trail.  It was reasonably certain that neither were trackers so it was likely they would never find the spot where the men eased off the main road.  Once they were out of sight, John swung into leather to head out to catch up to Ed.

  Amy knew Ed was traveling to Alturas so if they were hunting Ed, they would likely double back to take the main trail through the mountains once they figured out they had been shaded.  At least if they kept coming, the two men would know their intentions were nefarious and would have a good head start on them at least.  With a good head start, they could begin to put a plan together for when they finally did meet up.

  Turning his horse deeper into the trees, John moved out at an easy lope so he could catch up to Ed to tell him it was certain they were being followed.  Why they were being followed was still somewhat of a mystery but never the less, there was plenty of danger on their back trail.

  Three miles ahead, John saw Ed waiting just below the top of a steep grade.  He was letting the pack horses take a breather since they were heavily loaded with food, ammunition, and other camp supplies before starting the climb.  Once John made it too him, he made quick work of telling his story while his own horse cooled down.

  Ed worried at the stubble of whiskers on his chin as John talked.  He was hoping for an uneventful roundup and for a speedy return home but the way things were shaping up, they weren’t gonna be so lucky.  Frowning at the thought of being hunted by white men, Ed chewed on the stub of the cigar he had been rolling around in his mouth but said nothing in reply.  

  They were being followed, that was clear enough but Ed wanted to know why and now that they were heading straight into the tribal hunting lands of the Modoc and Northern Paiute, he needed to know what they were going to be up against.  The problem was, there was no way to find out anything while they were on the trail.

  Finally turning back to John, Ed said, “I guess we shoulda set in some more stock of 44’s for this trip.”

  Not waiting for an answer, Ed turned his horse east, then led out as they kept climbing the trail towards Bella Vista where they might find a spot to spend the night. 

  The faint game trail the two men were following led through the pines so the pack train couldn’t be seen from below nor would the dust from the horses be visible since the trees would dissipate the shadowy clouds as they rose from the trail. 

  As they neared the crest of the ridge, John looked behind them and could see two riders a considerable distance away on the north road.  Getting out his glass, John could see it was Amy and her drummer friend heading back towards Redding.

  “They must have figured out we left the trail Ed,” John surmised.  “They are heading back to Redding and are likely to spend the night considering the late hour.  If they found any sign where we left the trail, they are showing no inclination of trying to follow it.  By now they must know we are onto them.”

  “We’ll have company on the trail by tomorrow morning then,” Ed replied.  “Amy and I talked of the drive while on the train so if she plans on getting her grubby hands on Old Joe’s cows, she’ll be comin’ along.”

    “I don’t think she is after the cows Ed,” John remarked.  “I think it is something else altogether, maybe something mighty personal.  It’s time to ride hard and sleep little so we can get to the ranch first,” John said as he nudged his horse into a slow jog.

  Ed knew John was right so did the same with his animals.  They would be able move quickly for a good distance since they were heading along a narrow ridge instead of climbing for a while.  They still had a few hours of daylight left so they needed to make the most of it.

  The men tried to focus on the task ahead to keep their minds off Amy, Frank Pesco, and the mystery of her travels north but the thought of her hounding them came back time and time again.  They were being hunted by white men and would soon be hunted by the Modoc as well.  Old Joe may have been more right than he even knew for there was a storm brewing up north and it was going to be a bad one.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Eight

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  By noon on the third day out of Redding, two rough looking cattlemen from Bradley were finally riding into the west end of Burney Valley with worn-out horses, tired behinds, and mighty surly dispositions.  They had not shaved the whole time they were on the trail and the lack of sleep showed in their bloodshot eyes.

  Like most frontier settlements, Burney Valley was named after some tragic or important event.  In the valley’s case, it was when Samuel Burney’s mutilated body was found sometime after he was killed by local Indians, probably the Pit River Tribe or maybe the warring Modoc’s.

  As with other mountain outposts like Burney Valley, small settlements were built in faraway places by hardy pioneers who ventured into the locale looking for gold or to find a place far away from the complications of living close to other folks. 

  Chances were just as good the builders of Burney Valley did not want to or could not finish the rest of the trip west to Orygon after months of hardship and suffering along the primitive trail from the east. 

  Burney Valley in 1886 was really not much more than a large farm that had been bought and sold many times over the years but there was something special on the farm to attract folks in off the wagon trail going to or from Alturas.  That something meant there was always someone new visiting the place.

  The farm sported a trading post called Bunker Hill that drew the locals and travelers alike to take a rest off the trail as they made their way east or west.  Bunker Hill also served the few mountain residents as a stage stop, U.S. Post Office, primitive mercantile, and as a frontier saloon.

  The men’s plan was to stop at the Bunker Hill Trading Post to top off their meager supply of food then head out onto the trail once again before making camp for the night in the woods above Hat Creek.

  Bunker Hill was run by a portly woman everyone simply called Maude since her given name was held close to her bosom for some reason known only to her. 

Rumors naturally flew with one in particular spreading around the mining district and cow camps that she killed her husband with a kitchen knife before butchering him out to make wilderness stew.  There were those who asked about the rumors but Maude would never say if any of the stories were true or not.  After that, more than one traveler would look the meat over carefully whenever wilderness stew was on the table for supper.

  Maude was a lot rough around the edges and pretty homely to boot but she was savvy to the ways of men and ran a tight ship when it came time to barter for goods.  The story of her killing her husband, true or not, kept the more ornery of the men at an arm’s distance and likely kept a woman alone in the unbroken North Country alive.

  More times than she could count, some broke, down on his luck cowhand, or a poor excuse for an outlaw on the dodge would try to sweet talk Maude into giving him a road stake he never intended to repay.  Maude could see through the men’s lies right off and would send them packin’ plenty quick enough. 

  Once in a great while though, Maude would take a fella home with her for reasons she never shared with anyone else then would send him on his way the next day with a decent road stake and a smile on his face.

  Irish by birth, American by choice, Maude made her way on the frontier as well as most men and better than some.  Taking life on the chin as it was handed down to her, Maude lived life on the edge and to the fullest extent a woman could on the frontier without caring if the local uppity wimmin’ liked it or not.

  Ed Ketterly knew Maude from other drives they had done in the past so knew better than to try to get one over on her for that red shock of hair not only told of her heritage, it spoke to her temperament as well.

  Pushing the heavy front door open, the two men from Bradley stepped into the room and let their eyes adjust to the dim light.  Across the room behind the counter, Ed could see Maude as she stood wiping the dust from some whiskey bottles she was unpacking from a wooden box.  Other than Maude, the only other people in the place were two hard looking men huddled at the end of the bar talking in low tones over a bottle of rye.

  “Well I’ll be dogged!” Maude exclaimed.  “If it isn’t Ed Ketterly and John Cransby from the low country.”

  “Howdy Maude,” Ed replied.  “Have ya been waitin’ on us?  You know yer my best girl.”  A smile graced his lips as Ed walked over to give his red-headed friend a long overdue hug.

  “You were always a good liar Ed.  Whatcha boys doin’ up here so early?  Usually the roundups don’t start for another month.” Maude replied as she brought two glasses and a bottle to the counter that also served as a saloon bar.

  “Old Joe wanted to get me ta movin’ on the drive as soon as the snow melts Maude,” Ed replied.  “I really think he wanted to get me away from those gals down to Hog Town because the distraction was pullin’ me away from the work he wants me to be doing.  I disagree ‘cause I was never late but you know how he can be.”

  “Old Joe will never learn nothing,” Maude retorted with a toothy smile.  “It’ll take more than a hard ride to dampen a young man’s fancy.  So to the business at hand, what can I do you for today besides a drink?”

  Grinning back at her comments, Ed replied, “We need some beans, hardtack, flour, sugar, coffee, and at least four boxes of .44’s, six if you can spare that much.  We’ll be up at the ranch in Alturas for a few weeks gathering the herd for the spring drive.”

  “That’s a lot of ammunition for a cattle drive Ed,” Maude implied.  “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Never hurts to be ready in indian country Maude,” Ed replied with a smile to change the subject.  Maude being Maude, Ed figured the less she knew about what was following them on the trail, the less she would be passing on to anyone else who might be asking.

  Maude began gathering the things the men were gonna need as Ed asked, “Any strangers roaming about the lava beds Maude?”

  Pausing for just long enough for to Ed to notice it, Maude replied with only the slightest bit of hesitation, “Not that I know about.  Why do you ask?”

  “Just asking,” Ed answered back, fully realizing Maude knew far more than she was willing to say.  “Always pays to know who’s traveling the high country.”

  Maude was suddenly quiet and in a hurry to be shut of the two men so Ed figured there was danger a plenty nearby.  Paying for his parcels, Ed handed them off to John to store into their packs for the rest of their ride east to Alturas and the ranch.

  Ed's mind began to race while trying to make sense of his situation before it was too late.  Returning to face Maude once again, Ed casually threw a glance over towards the men in the far corner.  The man facing him had his hat sitting back on his head and wore a well-groomed mustache.  Without interupting his conversation with his partner, the stranger nodded a subtle greeting towards Ed as their gazes met.

   Old Joe always wanted a receipt for any money spent on ranch business so Ed waited patiently as Maude prepared one for his supplies for she too knew of Joe’s controlling ways.  Folding the receipt in half, Maude handed it to him as their eyes met.  Maude flicked a glance at the receipt as she held on to it for a second then back into Ed’s eyes as she tried to send him a subtle message. 

  Tipping his hat to the friendly trading post owner, Ed made his way outside to where John was waiting for him.  Stuffing the paper into his breast pocket, Ed swung into the saddle and turned his horse east as they moved out and away from Bunker Hill. 

  The east trail turned slightly south some three hundred yards away from the little trading post so the men were soon out of sight of anyone who might be watching from a window or a boardwalk.  Pulling up short, Ed retrieved his receipt and opened it only to find another scrap of paper tucked carefully inside.  The note was difficult to read since it had been scribbled out quickly but Ed was able to decipher it after a bit.

 

WATCH OUT FOR TWO MEN AND A WOMAN WITH LONG YELLOW HAIR.  THERE’S GUN TROUBLE COMING WITH THEM.

M.

 

  The note said very little but it was enough for Ed and John to think about taking extra precautions as they rode.  If Maude knew of Amy and her cohorts, they must have gotten ahead of them while they were riding the hidden Indian trails.  They must want Ed and John badly for the men started out with almost a day’s lead from the git so they had to ride hard to get to Bunker Hill first.

  Neither Ed nor John had seen any sign of Amy and her cohorts so the boys must have just been wishing they had given up, although knowing all along they weren’t about to give up on whatever they had in mind.  Considering Maude’s warning, and now anticipating trouble at any turn in the trail, Ed decided to err on the side of caution and travel the old track uphill towards the California Trail that was maybe a mile away.

  The riders hadn’t made it more than a quarter mile from Bunker Hill when their concentration was interupted with a "Howdy!" from the trail ahead.  Ed looked up from reading the note again to see the man he nodded to at the Trading Post astride his horse just up the trail blocking their way east.

  "Be easy Pard!" the man stated in a friendly tone though there was no smile on his hardened face."

  With his right hand up he continued, "I'm a California Ranger but I mean you no harm.   Jes' keep your hands where they are and I'll ride closer to parlay."

  "Do I have a choice? Ed asked in return as he cursed himself under his breath for knowing they were being hunted yet was caught so easily.  This was not going to happen again if he could help it.

  "There's always a choice son," the Ranger responded.  "Call back to your Pard to set his horse easy and there'll be no trouble."

  Then he spoke out a little louder, "Slick!"

  "Right here," came a flat-toned voice as the two riders now heard and saw the second man from Bunker Hill ride out from the trees with a Greener shouldered and pointed towards John.

  "That's my deputy," the Ranger responded.  "I'm coming to you now."

  Ed nodded in agreement as the Ranger rode up to within speaking distance.  The Ranger moved his coat exposing his left waistcoat pocket.  Upon it was a shiny silver badge that read "California Ranger" with the number 256 engraved below.

  Ed still had a confused and obviously concerned look on his face so the Ranger nodded to his Deputy, who lowered his Greener and now kept a vigilance on the trail the riders had just traveled. 

  "I couldn't help but hear back at Maude's that you ride for Old Joe," the Ranger explained, "and that you men are maybe running into trouble?  Well Old Joe helped me out of a bad fix by digging a slug out of my leg fifteen years ago after what some call the Roop County War.  So helping you out may even the score."

  The Ranger's territory ran across the Sierra's and Cascades then along the Nevada and Oregon borders.  Considering the territory he covered, the man had alot of "know how" about where the riders were headed so over the next few minutes, Ed and the Ranger discussed the situation and a few alternatives that might keep them out of being bushwhacked. 

  Since they were a horseback with no wagons to deal with, the Ranger offered Ed a crude written description of a seldom used northern route to Alturas.  The northern route cut 100 miles off of the wagon trail but the trade off was that it cut through the High Sierras with some of the trail peaking above 5000 ft in elevation.

Handing a sheet of parchment with the trail description, landmarks, and directions loosely described over to Ed, the Ranger ended their meeting with a handshake and a farewell before the two lawmen turned their animals to ride west towards Doyles Corner.

  As Ed led the way onto the new trail, they wove their mule train through the heavily wooded hillside using the spacing of the trees as a training excercise to help the animals get used to following the one in front.  It had been pretty easy going so far but now that the trail was getting steeper, rockier, and narrowed to the point of being single file only, it was time to teach the pack animals to break trail in a familiar pattern every time they moved.

  Teaching this type of familiarity to the team could be the difference between crossing a high country trail with healthy animals or possibly tumbling to their torturous deaths at the bottom of a rocky gorge.

  The meandering of the climb also made their gain in elevation more gradual while the concentration the two riders needed to put into reining helped the time pass quickly.  The miles under them passed quickly so soon enough, Ed could hear the gentle rumble of Hat Creek as the forest opened up to a tranquil, flat expanse of the California Trail.

  This portion of the California Trail ran roughly in a westerly direction following the volcanic ridge between Mount Lassen and Mount Shasta.  From Mount Lassen westward to Four Corners, the trail followed a bluff that jutted straight up off the northern side of Hat Creek Rim creating an impassible barrier of solid rock where only a mountain goat could climb.

  Ed pulled his mustang to a halt and stretched his legs in the stirrup leathers as was a habit of his as he took in the scenery.  They had left the sunshine of the Sacramento Valley behind them now, replaced with dismal, low hanging grayish white clouds.  They were now high enough in elevation that there was a snowy floor showing in the gaps between the low growing grass and bushes like the always hardy manzanita.

  Turning in the saddle, Ed whispered to John, "Time to make the change."  The surroundings were so tranquil and the air so crisp that even his whisper traveled as if he had yelled it cross canyon. 

  Each of the men dismounted off the right side to keep the lead ropes free from their saddle horses.  How they moved now on the trail would need to become a ritual for the rest of their journey so the pack train could learn what to expect out in the wilderness.

  Each tired saddle horse was tied to a tree ahead as they peeled the two next saddle horses off to tie to following trees.  Every riding horse was tied from halter to halter with the pack mules having their leads tied to the cross buck of the leading mule pack saddle.  All of the lead ropes were tied to a breakaway loop of quarter inch hemp to prevent a chain reaction disaster from occuring if one of the horses loses its footing and goes down.

  This first tack change took a little longer than usual since the riders needed to swap out their cinchas for the new longer ones and to attach the breast collars to fit the larger horses.  Headstalls needed to be lengthened for the longer heads as well.  Lastly it was time for Ed and John to break out their warmer riding gear since it was going to get a lot colder as they climbed in elevation.

  For the foreseeable future, the mustangs would be relegated to leading the familiar pack string since they all came from the same low elevation remuda and for carrying small packs if they needed to lighten the loads on the mules some as the air got thinner. 

  It took a good half hour before they were mounted again and crossing Hat Creek to continue on their trek.  The California Trail showed no sign of recent use but to play it safe, Ed took the string to the far wall where it would be harder to see the marks of their passing before resuming their course westward  back towards the Four Corners.

  Ed could see the advantage of the mountain horses right off in the way his legs were positioned in the saddle due to the larger barrel of the horse’s frame.  Everything felt more solid, from the horses breathing to the power and length of their strides and with their almost indifference to carrying a rider on their back.  Given the power of the mountain horses, Ed knew they needed to be careful in not pushing the other animals too hard to keep up.

  With his head lowered somewhat and his nostrils flared, the bay horse methodically wove his way around the manzanita.  As Ed turned in the saddle, he was satisfied to see that the train followed right along in kind and that the steadiness of his horse seemed to be contagious among the team.

  Over the next hour, the temperature began to drop steadily and Ed noticed how it became eerily quiet all of a sudden.  As he was turning the fleece lined collar up around his ears, snow gently began to fall.  His horse just plodded on without a care in the world as the dry round flakes gathered in his mane at the crest of his neck.  Ed had yet to get to know his new horses well but he could tell they would have a good friendship if this was a sign of an even temperament.

  Eventually Ed turned again in the saddle to check on John, who was wrapped in his wool coat and just following inline.  John flashed his friend a wide grin and nodded his head in approval of their gait.  Facing forward again, Ed began to feel worried as he noticed the clouds were eating the tops of the trees ahead and noticed he was losing light.

  Combine the loss of visibility with the lateness of the day and suddenly he felt very unprepared for what lay before him.  Ed had never been in this type of environment before since they usually took the lower trail when they rode north.  To add to his confusion, a wolf began to howl ahead of them.  As he rode on, Ed subconsciously reached forward to feel the stock of his Winchester.

  John had heard the howl as well but he knew it was important for the stock to remain calm no matter how difficult it was so he began to talk to the string like they were old friends.  The wolf howled several more times before both riders realized it was the same wolf each time.

  Ed had heard Old Joe and some of the elder Basques tell stories of wolf packs hunting the fringes of their sheep camps when they were young herders but wolves had been hunted out of Baja California by 1850 so Ed and John had no experience with these pack hunters to draw on.

  It appeared to Ed that maybe they would get lucky and only have to evade one wolf to get to Hat Creek as opposed to a whole pack of hunters.  He knew that cougars were natural enemies of the horse and assumed that wolves fell into the same category.  The other advantage they had was their mules were natural enemies to the canine predator and could easily stomp a wolf to death with their hooves.

  With the wolf calls echoing across canyon, Ed’s horse now traveled with his head higher and he could hear the deep snorts the animal took as well as feeling his legs spread with each breath.

  "Whoa Buck, easy fella," Ed said when he assured the gelding as he stroked the bay just in front of the saddle.  Buck was just a generic name he started to use for any critter he was around.  It was something he heard one of his posse members use when riding with Chilito.

  Glancing down, Ed could now see they were following a lone set of wolf tracks.  It seemed a bit odd that the wolf was in front of them instead of trailing the pack train but he didn’t have time to worry about it right then. 

  It was silent again now and he was allowing the horses to pick up the pace some in the hopes that the crosstrail known as Four Corners would appear through the clouds before night fell.

  Suddenly his horse froze in place, bringing the entire string to a stop as well.  Lifting his head high to smell the wind, he snorted once and stamped a front foot.   Another howl shot a chill up the spines of both riders as Ed pulled his Winchester from his scabbard and laid it across the pommel, right hand in the action, thumb on the hammer.

  This last howl was close, very close.  The misty clouds had parted revealing a wolf standing high on a boulder against the butte wall at the base of Hat Creek Rim.  Ed froze as the wolf's gaze met his and he saw this wasn't just any ordinary wolf.  This was a white wolf, an animal Ed had only heard about from old timers.  Ed used to think the old timers were just yarnin’ about some folklore they had made up but this was a living, breathing wolf beckoning him to follow along. 

  The wolf's size, even from this vantage point, was amazing to Ed as he slowly slid his rifle back into its home, somehow feeling the animal was no threat to them.

Slowly, Ed raised his right hand as a signal to John to be sure he did the same but he dared not take his eyes off this magnificent creature.  The wolf was the first to move as he began to pant.  Stretching its front legs out as if to loosen its back, the wolf shook the snow from its coat and effortlessly lept off the boulder to the ground below.

  As soon as the wolf touched the earth below its perch, off it ran ahead, glancing back once before skirting a stand of trees ahead.  Looking back to John, Ed gave him a nod of his head and John agreed.  Giving the mountain horses their heads, the animals stepped out in ernst, the mustangs having to trot now to keep up with the bigger horse’s faster pace.

  Ed noticed the wolf had moved to the main trail now to travel.  As the lead horse skirted the trees and started onto the California Trail, Ed could see the wolf come back down the trail towards them and stop about fifty yards ahead.  It was as if the wolf was ensuring that they followed.  The wolf playfully hopped from side to side until it knew they were still coming before running off again.

  It was right then that Ed recognized they had made it to Four Corners as another howl echoed off to his right.  Reining his horse in that direction, the string moved forward at a jog in the final waning minutes of daylight.  He finally relaxed in the saddle at the appearance of a log archway pronouncing their arrival at "Hat Creek".  If for nothing else, they would have a roof over their head and a good fire to keep them warm before the trail got tougher.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Nine

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  Ed and John were wanting to try to make the most of sleeping one more night with a roof over their heads but unfortunately, sleep might be the last thing they were going to get that night. 

  This whole ride started out like any other but now they had to worry about what Amy Crabtree was up to and were on an unfamiliar trail that they had never traveled before in rough weather.  The good thing, if there was a good thing at all, at least they were going to be warm and dry for another night.

  The settlement at Hat Creek was generally opened up during the late spring through late summer by the Big Lakes Logging Company but at this time of year, there was no one living there and most of the buildings were locked up tight against curious bears and other inquisitive animals like racoons and polecats.  It would be another month or more before the company men would head up the mountain to open the settlement up for business.

  It was getting dark as they rode in so the boys got to work right away.  Getting the barn open first, the riders were able to get their stock out of the weather and feed them with some of the hay left over from last year.  Scrounging around a bit more led to the discovery of nearly a full sack of oats so the stock would get some hot feed as well allowing for a grubstake for a few more days. 

  The main cabin was locked up tight like the rest but finding a hammer and a wrecking bar during their search of the barn, the boys went to work on getting the front door open.  It was dank and dusty inside but there was plenty of fuel for the stove, oil in the lantern, and dry bunks to sleep on.  They were almost in business.

Ed got busy building a fire and getting coffee on to boil while John started cutting up the last of their beef and a few potatoes into a huge frying pan he found hanging on the wall.  When the beef was almost done, John poured the beef juice and potatoes off into another smaller pan where he added some water and flour to make a thick gravy of sorts. 

  Before long, the cabin was heating up as the smells of supper cooking filled the room making their bellies growl at the thought of what was to fill them in a few minutes.  Ed had wiped the table down and laid out plates so John picked up the potatoes and gravy to set in the middle on a wood slab then brought the big pan over, spearing a slab of beef for each and depositing it on the plate in front of where each man was to eat. 

  The men dug into their supper with a vengeance as the food soon disappeared from their plates and swelled inside their bellies.  Once the food was gone, the men cleared the table so Ed could lay out the map they had been given in Bunker Hill.  The men wanted to study it carefully so they would have an idea of what to expect come morning when they got back on the trail.

  Sitting back and savoring the good meal at last, Ed and John sat silent as their eyelids became too heavy to hold open without effort.  It had already been a long day so it was time to roll out their bedrolls and get some sleep because tomorrow wasn’t going to be any shorter.  Sleep didn’t come easily to Ed for he worried some about what the next day would bring but finally, fatigue took over and he drifted off at last.

  John was up first and headed outside to the outhouse while Ed rolled out of his blankets and got the stove fired up again.  Cutting bacon into a pan, Ed started making frying pan biscuits as he turned the thick pieces of hog meat over to get it cooked through and through so they wouldn’t get sick.  John was back soon enough and took over the cooking duties while Ed made his morning constitutional.

  Breakfast was to be a short affair before cleaning the pans they used and setting the cabin back the way they found it.  Taking their bedrolls and other gear with them, the boys went outside then nailed the boards back over the door before heading to the barn to give the stock another bait of grain and the last of the hay to eat while they saddled up for the first leg of their day.  Once the string was taken care of, they got the mules loaded down with their packs.

  With a stove cooked meal warm in their bellies, the Alvarado riders headed north just a little after daybreak.  The sky was still gray as the path they took began to lead them down off of the Hat Creek Rim after a couple miles in the saddle.  The pack string was acting fresh, as if a whole new string, as the riders started putting the second pair of mountain horses through their paces.  With renewed energy, the whole string moved at a mile eating pace.

  As they began to descend Hat Creek Rim, they dropped below the clouds allowing Ed to see how the trail wound down to Fall River Valley in the distance.  The slope was gentle here and he could see that the valley beneath them was below the snow line.  Excited by the thought of warmer weather, Ed also knew the trail would be muddy in spots where the snow was melting so he had to move steadily and not be in a hurry.

  There was a warm air stream that rose out of the valley into Ed's face that felt good, even though both the riders and the horses were still blowing steam into the cold air.  It was just a hint of a breeze, barely enough to make his horses mane dance but it was enough to upset the ominous clouds overhead.

  A sudden rumble of thunder echoed off the rim above, surrounding the pack string with the rolling and vibrating sound that meant lightening might be close.  John's lips went dry but he stayed alert for he had the chance to look at his surroundings while Ed concentrated on the trail ahead.  John noticed the thunder didn't seem to upset the horses all that much and in the case of danger, they would be the first to sense it.  Considering there hadn’t been the accompanying crack of lightening, John relaxed a bit in the saddle.

  The relentless thunder seemed determined to share the ride with them it seemed as the eruptions became longer in duration, seemingly occuring closer with each round.  John noticed a change with the stock as the thunder moved closer.  Once again the mustangs were the first to feel the tension as they began trotting on their leads.

  The larger horses kept them in check by not allowing the mustangs to move out into the lead so they just danced in place as they moved along behind.  This storm had no rain or snow associated with it so Ed was glad of that as they continued to drop towards Fall Mills Valley.

  Ed methodically turned in his saddle at regular intervals to check on the string and more importantly John.  As much as John was excited to be sent north with him, Ed couldn't help but wonder if he was beginning to regret coming along with the trouble they’d had so far.  Luckily for Ed, he had too many other things ahead to worry about so it left almost no time to worry about John.

  Time seemed to become irrelevant to Ed out on the mountain trail as life seemed to be measured by a different rod.  Ed noticed that the snow ahead began to thin out allowing for a muddy and slick trail ahead.  Glancing behind him, he realized just how much of a much larger snowpack they were leaving behind.

  The rolling of the thunder was rapidly gaining in intensity causing the horses to pick up their pace as he led them deeper into the wilderness.  Up ahead, Ed began to notice faint glimpses of movement on the trail.  Between the claps of thunder, Ed thought he heard wolf howl as he did the night before.

  "Here we go again," Ed muttered to himself briefly.

  It wasn't too much longer before the flashes of movement became more pronounced as Ed caught sight of the White Wolf again.  The majestic creature was once again appearing uphill from the trail.  As before, the White Wolf ran off down the trail only to return shortly into Ed's sight.  Something deep inside Ed felt that this was no coincidence.  As crazy as it looked, he thought the wolf was somehow trying to tell him something.  Maybe something that Ed should already know?

  Then it happened.  Near the end of a longer clap of thunder, another sensation started to invade Ed’s senses.  This time the rumble felt deeper, almost deafening to all the other sounds of travel.  Ed turned to see John was yelling and pointing uphill though Ed didn't hear any of the words he was barking.

  As he looked to where John was pointing, it appeared the snowpack above the trail had wrinkled and moved to Ed.  His mind racing and not believing his eyes, Ed looked ahead and discovered the wolf standing in the trail not fifty feet ahead.  In the blink of an eye, the White Wolf once again leapt gracefully off the trail downhill.  

  Hitting the snowpack on all fours, the wolf looked back at Ed and howled once more before heading downhill at a flat out run.  Without hesitation, Ed swung his horse downhill and lifting his right hand in a signal to John, sank spur into his mount to get him launched downhill behind the wolf.

  The horse responded in kind to the cue from his rider.  Ed saw that John was thinking the same thing as the storm was deafening.  John was cutting his own path to safety down the mountainside heading east.  In the rukus that followed, Ed lost sight of everything while trying to follow the White Wolf in the lead.

  At one point, Ed was momentarily blinded by the leading cloud of floating ice and mist ahead of the flow but even through the deafening roar of the avalanche, Ed thought he could hear a voice, a voice that was somehow deep in his mind, a distant calling of one sound, "Ed!".

  The breakaways between the animals did their job as each of the four mules and both mustangs came free of each other.  Instinctively joined as a herdmate, the two mountain horse pairs stayed together matching each other stride for stride.  Each rider just leaned back in the saddle and worked to stay on as they were no longer in control. 

  The warm air coming up from Fall River Valley below had come in a long enough wave that it had melted weaker parts of the snowpack allowing large chunks to flow freely down the mountain side.  It was lucky for Ed and John that timber on that side of Hat Creek Rim was sparse so the resulting flow was primarily ice and water instead of a debris flow of timber and rocks.

  Yet, almost as quickly as the slide started, the last of the loose debris came to rest on it's own, leaving the mist to evaporate in the warmer climate.  The result of falling below snow line caused the once dangerous snow and ice to now seek safety by melting into the Pit River to the north to flow away from the carnage.

  Through the dissipating cloud of ice crystals and spray, emerged Ed still aboard the bay gelding.  By their side walked the second bay with the tattered remains of a breakaway still swinging from his halter cheek.  They stood still for a moment as a break in the clouds allowed the early bright rays of the spring sun to shine down upon them giving Ed time to gather his senses as best he could.

  The saddled horse exhaled as if in relief as water dripped from his mane.  The pony horse acted in kind then stretched his neck down, pointed his nose forward and shook his body as hard as he could, water spraying off his brown coat as he released the built up tension.

  Ed’s horse felt the need to be free of all the slush he was wearing and took to shaking as well.  The shaking action brought Ed from his trance as he felt a surge of adrenaline as he slowly realized what he had just survived.  His first urge was to raise both fists and shout to the sky until he remembered John.

  Turning in the saddle while looking for his friend, Ed peered through the hanging mist as far as he could with no other signs of life in sight.  There was nothing, no horses, no mules, no men, nothing except for the White Wolf laying downhill from him just staring and panting. 

  After a fashion, the wolf stood up, looked back at Ed, and began walking away. Reaching over to give each horse a pat on the neck he muttered, "Why not?  Maybe he can lead me to John," as he shook his own head and followed the wolf further down trail.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Ten

___________________

 

  It was a typical warm Fall afternoon in the brown hills of Bradley California as John Cransby sat his fancy palomino filly on a hilltop facing east towards Indian Valley.  He was a week into the Fall roundup and things were going very well so far with the stock looking better than they had in a good while.  His only complaint, if he had to make one, was the hot wind that Brodie called "Devil Winds" from the northeast were kicking up right into his face. 

  The warm feeling of fall was gone in an instant as John awoke in a panic with his hands nearly frozen from being buried in the ice field he found himself in.  Lying on his belly and trying to puzzle out what had just happened, John started moving his arms and legs to make sure everything was still attached and working. 

  Hearing a huffing sound of something breathing, John turned his head to his left to stare into the black nostril of his saddle horse.  Seeing he got a response from his rider, the bay horse with the white snip lifted his head and began shaking it up and down as he nickered softly.

  With both hands, John slowly pushed himself up off the snow to notice a patch of red beneath his head.  Realizing the blood beneath him was his own, the young cattleman collapsed again into a sea of darkness.  The next thing John felt was his body swaying in an odd way.  When his eyes finally focused and with his mind starting to clear, he realized he was looking down at the tail of a mule.  His shirt and coat were gone and he was lashed face down and backwards on top of the panniers.

  Straining to lift his head, he caught a glimpse of an indian wearing his hat.  It appeared his shirt had been made into a sling for his Winchester, which now hung from the brave's shoulder.  What John couldn't see was an older brave in front of the group, wearing his wool coat and sixgun, riding his mustang.

  In the distance, it looked to John as if they were riding into a Modoc Village down on Cinder Flats.  As the braves raised their arms in victory for their find, the men on horses instantly became the center of attention.  Villagers gathered around answering the calls in "whups" and shrieks of their own.

  As soon as they noticed John, he was surrounded by the tribe and dragged from the mule by many hands.  He had suffered a head wound above the hair line as a result of being launched off his horse during the avalanche but that injury was of little concern to the Modocs and wouldn’t make any difference for what entertainment they had planned for him a bit later. 

  Once on the ground, John was dragged to the western edge of the village where there were leather lashes tied to a pair of Maple trees.  Once at the trees, he was pulled upright and was summarily tethered between the Maples by his wrists and ankles as the braves prepared to torture him in ways no man ever wanted to endure.  If John didn't die during the torture test, then he would have proven himself worthy and would become a slave for the village.

  A fire hot enough to heat steel to a glowing orange color was built close by, knives were being sharpened, and arrowheads honed to a razor’s edge as the fevered pitch of the torture process increased.  That all began to change when, from the woods surrounding the village rang the howl of a wolf.

  The wolf howl grabbed the attention of the tribe as quickly as a cannon shot, stopping them in their tracks, and as the haunting howl became stronger the closer the wolf came to the village, hushed rumors began to spread through the crowd of people like wildfire, drawing attention away from John.

  Throughout the crowd, the name "Tala" began to be spread as the indians started looking in all directions to try and catch a glimpse of the sacred animal.  It was then that the White Wolf appeared in a clearing on the west side of the village behind John.  Standing tall to be seen by all, the wolf let out one final cry that was enough to draw all attention onto her.

  "TALA!" was the chant the villagers responded with as they knelt and bowed in reverence.  From a tee pee near the center of the village, a medicine man appeared wearing a four-row choker with a centerpiece of the Sun symbol.  Identifying the wolf, he moved swiftly towards her with a ceremonial gourd in his hand.

  Once he was between his tribe and the wolf, the medicine man bowed to her and shaking the gourd rattle, he sang the song of Tala.  Patiently the wolf sat until the song was completed.  Rising again, she howled once, long and loud, as she began to enter the village. 

  It was right then, from the trees behind the wolf and to the villagers dismay, emerged Ed and his two horses.  When some of the villagers began to react to the presence of another white man, the wolf began to snarl and bark at the braves who were picking up their weapons.  The medicine man was quick to order his people to stop for they were obviously angering the wolf Tala.

  The villagers parted like a wave creating a clear path for Tala to enter as they all stared at Ed, not knowing what to make of the situation.  Tala moved through the throng of indians before stopping by the fire ring in the center of the village to lie next to the blaze that was always burning at this time of year.

  Ed was almighty confused over what was going on but when he was frightened the most, he would hear a soundless whisper, a calming voice just saying "Ed" as if in encouragement that everything was going to be alright.  Ed stopped just short of the fire making sure he never rode closer than ten feet from the animal.

  As Ed got ready to step off his tall mountain horse, he stopped and eased back onto his seat as the Modoc Chief called Washiti appeared from his lodge wearing a full head dress and a ceremonial hide draped over his left shoulder.  Seeing the Chief, the medicine man approached and met with Chief Washiti to report what he had observed with Tala and how she reacted with of the arrival of the other white man into their village.

  Watching the exchange between the two men, Ed just sat silently on his horse, not daring to make any sudden movements.  Looking across the clearing, he could barely see someone tied between the trees he had just ridden past but couldn't make out who it was.  Little did he know at the time, the man was John and he was being prepared for the evening’s entertainment.

  Chief Washiti turned and approached Ed now with Tala standing in front of the bay horse facing the Chief.  Using sign language, Chief Washiti crudely gestured that Ed was invited to step down off his horse and meet with him.  He tried to make Ed understand that he was a welcome guest of the Modoc.

  Ed in turn tried to show that he was looking for another man, a man he called John but wasn’t having any real success as he attempted to sign his request.  After a few minutes of almost futile signing, the Chief Washiti made a motion to someone further back in the crowd.  In a matter of seconds, a Modoc squaw came forward and motioned for Ed to follow her.

  Ed was led to a tee pee where he could clean up and rest before meeting with the Tribal Council.  During this time, the white wolf never left Ed's side until he entered the dwelling.  The White Wolf walking next to a white man was unheard of in indian lore so was something which did not go unnoticed by all who were watching and created quite a stir in camp.  Once Ed was inside the Tee Pee, the wolf disappeared into the forest again as silently as he arrived.

   The confines of the tee pee made for a very warm room, at least it seemed like to Ed, as the two squaws ushered in his saddle bags along with his Winchester.  A tripod supporting a hide used for holding water was placed on the far side of the room followed by a skin full of hot water fresh off the cooking fires outside.  It seemed like he was going to be left to his privacy so Ed set about to get cleaned up.

  As he started peeling off layers of clothing, Ed was surprised to see that under his sheepskin coat and wooly chaps, his clothes were dry.  Pulling out a fresh shirt, Ed bathed with the warm water the maidens had supplied him then dried himself with a piece of blanket.  During the process, Ed’s thoughts were of John and what had happened to him after the snow slid across their path and carried him downhill.

  Once dressed and ready to go again, he checked his Winchester and found it was still loaded.  Picking up his gunbelt, Ed thought twice about wearing it for now and placed it deep into his saddle bags instead so he wouldn’t appear to be afraid.

Unsure of why the Modoc’s had taken him in so readily, Ed did piece together that these indians worshipped the wolf, especially the white wolf.  He was being provided food and safety because it appeared he was riding the mountains with the wolf, although he knew different.  No matter, Ed was being welcomed into the tribe for now so he was going to keep on their good side, if he could.

  At almost the same instant Ed had finished dressing, a Modoc boy tapped on the doorway and motioned for Ed to follow him to the tee pee where the Council was to take place.  The boy stopped at the entrance and held the cover back so Ed could enter a bit easier.

  Once inside, Ed was invited to sit by the fire across from Chief Washiti.  To the right of the Chief sat a boy along with two others who looked like tribal elders.  The Chief prepared a ceremonial pipe and offered it to Ed while continuing to speak.

  Once he was finished, Chief Washiti turned to the boy and nodded. It was apparent to Ed the boy was uncomfortable with his role as he cleared his throat and started to form rusty words of english. So the Council began by the boy introducing himself as Snicks, then introduced all of the elders around the fire.  Ed in turn introduced himself.  As the pipe made its rounds of the council, they each smoked.

  Through Snicks’ interpretations, Chief Washiti explained the relationship between the wolf and the Modoc people, then the strong medicine of the White Wolf.  The White Wolf carries the knowledge of the tribals who have moved to the middle house of Kumash. 

  Once in every Chief's lifetime, there is a visit from the moon god Qone (kwoh-neh).  Using his powers, he would transform people and animals to maintain balance in the world.  That is the reason Tala does not strike the fear into prey animals like the horse. 

  The moon would soon be at its largest, marking the return of Qone and perhaps with him the meaning of Ed’s arrival at the Modoc camp.

  Ed explained he was traveling along with a partner to Alturas and that they were following a trail told to him by a friend.  They were following the Hat Creek Rim when they encountered the wolf.  He then voiced his concern for John and his pack string as he explained how they were separated during the storm and the avalanche that followed the snow melt.

  Chief Washiti stated he believed they found John and that he was being cared for elsewhere in the camp.  Ed was understandably relieved at the news.  It was then that the chief offered a way they might discover what Tala's interest in Ed was.

  At the same time as the Council was being held, the tribal Medicine Man, Pukshotic (Puck-show-tic), was busy executing Chief Washiti's orders pertaining to their White visitors.  John had been removed from his torture perch and carried to Pukshotic’s hut in order to have his injuries tended to by a healer.

  John had received a cut to his scalp long enough that Pukshotic felt it needed mending to heal faster.  After drinking a hot mixture of diluted dried mushrooms, John fell into a deep trance allowing Pukshotic time to clean and stitch the wound together with a bone needle and fine tendon sinew made from deer muscles.

  While everything else was going on, search parties were also sent into the wilds to try and recover the rest of the lost stock, if they were still alive.  With Tala's appearance in the village, the People would do whatever it took to help these white travelers on their way.  To their spiritual way of thinking, Tala requested it and to not do what was requested by the White Wolf was to bring an unspeakable curse upon the tribe.

  Back in the Council, a young woman was led into the tee pee by the word of Chief Washiti.  She stood a little over five feet in height, slight of build, and looked to be completely blind.  Snicks related that her blindness was a result of being too close to a lightning strike that struck and wound its way down a pine tree.  It left the tree about six feet from the ground on its way to blowing a hole in the earth four feet out from the base and coursing through her body in the process.

  The lightening bolt left a  streak of white hair, maybe an inch wide, that ran from the part in her scalp down through the full length of her raven black hair that fell to her waist.  A handful of hair, including the mark, laid over the front of her right shoulder while the balance hung down her back.

  Snicks translated that the woman's name was Caoqoset (Shay-co-say) and her blindness was a gift, not a curse, given her through the sacred force of the Thunder-Bird.  While Caoqoset had her visual sight taken, in its place she could see the holy ghost that walks with each living being in this life.  From talking with the ghost she can see what has happened in the past as well as what may lie ahead in the days to come. 

  Ed stood tall as Caoqoset approached him with the shock of hair holding the sacred mark of Thunder-Bird in her left hand and a wand of an eagle's tail feather in her right.  Ed was fascinated at the sight of her fringed cape of soft white leather adorned with beadwork depicting the sacred force.

  He bowed slightly to allow this Seer to wave both hands over the top of his head as the smell of lavender incense filled the tee pee.  She stood over him and spoke to the tribal elders but he noticed that Snicks was no longer translating for him.

The reading only lasted maybe three or four minutes before she lowered her hands.  Releasing her hold on the hair, Caoqoset reached out with her freed hand and cupping Ed's chin in it, she raised his head.  Their gazes met momentarily with Ed feeling a bit strange looking into those bleached eyes. 

  What happened next, Ed could not explain or understand until years later for Caoqoset greeted him with the warm smile and soft touch of a friend.  Caoqoset bowed to him as she backed away, turning as if ready to leave.  Stopping before getting to the teepee opening, Caoqoset faced the elders and bowed deeply before her guide helped her leave the Council meeting.

  Without missing a beat, the chief started asking Ed where they were headed and why.  There was no explanation as to Caoqoset’s reading of Ed’s connection to the tribe or to the White Wolf.  It was a bit mysterious to Ed but it wasn’t his place to dictate anything.  Before long, Snicks stood up and went to the teepee opening. 

  Holding the hide open to the outside, he waited for Ed to exit for his time at the council was over for the evening.  A bit later that night, Pukshotic and Snicks found Ed outside his lodge for the night and expalined that the Seer told the council many unusual things they needed to discuss so was the reason he was asked to leave early.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Eleven

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  The next morning, Ed was up way early but when he came out of his lodge, he noticed there was a flurry of activity with kids, squaws, and braves all in a rush to get things done.  Ed didn’t know what was going on but he could see his pack string and their horses tied up in a small clearing at the edge of camp.  Best of all, John was checking the tack and making sure all the packs were tied on correctly.

  For the most part, the string of horses and mules had survived the adventure pretty well so were together again and rested for the next leg of their journey.  A couple of them had gotten rock abrasions on their knees so the Modoc’s rubbed a concoction of roots and berries on the wounds to keep the tissue soft and flexible for when they hit the trail once again.

  Looking over the gear carefully, John could see where one of the canvas pannier bags had gotten torn open in the wild ride down the mountain but was cleverly repaired by the Modoc's.  The work was especially intriguing for the repairs were woven into sacred symbols stitched into the bags in a fashion that hid the actual tears in the fabric.

   Walking over to his partner, Ed gave the man a big hug then pitched in to get the pack string ready to pull out and to get back on the trail.  With Ed and John reunited, they dressed in their heavy coats and woolys to get prepared for the next leg of their journey to Alturas. 

  As they looked around and considered the Modoc encampment, it appeared to the men from Monterey County that for now, they had traded one danger for another.  This northerly route should keep them clear of any other white men besides Amy, Longtree or any of their henchmen.  On the other hand, they would have to contend with Mother Nature as they try to cross one of her most treasured strongholds.  As they had learned first hand, like any other Mother, she is willing to resort to deadly means to keep it safe.

  Then there was the confusing results of the ghost spirit reading by the Seer, Caoqoset.  Pukshotic explained that something had happened to Ed in his past causing him to be open for a spiritual connection with Tala.  Yet the Seer could not sense the precise occurrence without spending more time with Ed.  As a result, Ed was asked to stay in the village to spend more time with Caoqoset so she could understand the connections better. 

  Since he couldn't stay on with the tribe any longer since they had a drive to get started, Pukshotic confided through Snicks that he wasn't concerned for Ed or the mysterious reading.  He also conveyed that the day will come when Ed will seek the Pit River tribe out on his own to learn about the past.  In the meantime, Tala will always care for him as one of her own. 

  Pukshotic did offer Ed a warning before they rode away.  The man called Ed was being followed by several bad men and was in grave danger.  That he was being followed was something Ed already knew, he just wondered why. 

  Ed felt better prepared now though as Chief Washiti had provided him with a sketched map of their route to Canby.  It included names of landmarks and was precisely detailed with symbols showing were they could expect snow along the trail with anticipated snow depths marked on a drawing of a tree. 

  Wanting to repay the tribe for their generosity, Ed dug into their packs and gave Washiti a sizable poke of tobacco, Arbuckles, and a small sack of sugar.  John in turn was given a good supply of willow bark for his pain along with a pouch of bear grease and two spare head bandages.  It was long since time to hit the trail so Ed raised his hand to Washiti in friendship then stepped into leather for the ride out of camp.

  Two braves, along with Snicks, guided the riders around the water supply for Cinder Flats at Crystal Lake.  The braves knew of a bridge of solid ground where the Pit River disappeared underground into a lava tube for a wide expanse before flowing up and over the Mills.  The expanse was a marsh this time of year with dark water flowing among stands of bunch grass but at least it wasn’t a river crossing through ice cold water.

  Once on the far side of the expanse, Ed and John bid farewell to their guides at last as they prepared to head off into the untamed wilderness.  In parting, Ed pulled off his glove and and offered his hand to shake in friendship and gratitude to Snicks.  As they shook hands, Ed couldn’t help but wonder about a missing part of this puzzle.  Just how was it the young man could speak english?

  "Thanks for all you did," Ed offered.  "I wish I could repay you for the help.  Mebbe someday I can do something for you as you have done for me."

  Snicks looked down at the outstretched hand in confusion.  Something in the back of his memory tugged at him that he should know this custom.  Snicks had been holding a remnant piece of cloth in his hand ever since he was told to ride with the whites until clear of Crystal Lake.

  Quietly he asked, "Mebbe there is, Ed.  Can you read?" as he took a hold of Ed's hand, passing the cloth in the man’s grip as they shook.

Ed nodded and claimed, "A piece," feeling the cloth between their hands.  Ed looked down and unfolded the garment.  The name "Nicolas Dupree" was barely visible.

  “It says Nicolas Dupree.  If this is yours, then this must be your name given to you by your parents.”

  Snicks explained that his family was part of a wagon train out of Missouri when he was very young, nearly ten years back.  The train was attacked by a raiding party of Modocs and he was taken after everyone else was killed, growing up on Cinder Flats ever since.  The piece of cloth was all he had left from the wagon.  Ed and John sat in silence as they had heard whispers of stories such as this one but hadn't thought it was possible.

  "Mind you take care and keep practicing your english.  It may mean the difference between life or death of your tribe one day," Ed remarked as he returned the remnant to its owner.  "And remember Caoqoset's foretelling.  I reckon they were right, I will be back!"

  Leaving their new friend behind, the riders focused on the trail ahead.  Fall River Valley was below the snowline and resembled the level terrain they were more accustomed to so they gave the mustangs the work under saddle even though the elevation was quite high for them.  Being on the trail for a few days now, the smaller horses were finally becoming accustomed to working in thin air.

 The ride across the valley was completed by mid afternoon giving the riders plenty of time to look upon Widow Mountain and wonder what the sleeping giant had in store for them when they would try to cross.  From what they could see, Widow Mountain was still buried in snow as it jutted up from the valley floor forming the eastern boundary of the valley.  Still, according to their map, somewhere in the heights among the jagged spires there is to be a trail through to the other side.

  Taking a short noonin’, they picketed the pack string on the short new grass as they pulled out both maps and reviewed them together to sort out any differences.  After consulting the maps and considering the position of the afternoon sun, the two riders believed they knew where they were and were ready for the next leg of their journey.  

  The horses should be rested well enough to make the five mile trek over Big Valley Summit so saddling up a pair of the bays once again, the the boys got the string lined out and headed for a notch in the horizon.  The first mile was uneventful as the trail rose gradually off the meadow but at some point in mile two, they encountered the beginning of a snow drift where there were open holes around the trees allowing Ed to see the depth of the drift.

  After another mile though, the horses started falling through the crust and were having a time of it trying to fight to stay on top.  By now the drift was up to three feet deep in some places with islands of thawed forest in between.  Ed finally brought the string to a standstill as he could see the ice crystals were poking the lead horse’s legs just enough to leave a crimson trail in the snow.

  Pulling some bandage material they brought from the ranch out of a pannier, Ed went to the next bay in the line and wrapped his forelegs up to his chest.  Pulling the bridle off his saddle horse, replacing it with a halter the riders took the time to change the order of the horses and mules for the next leg of the trip.

  By their reckoning, they should be getting close to the summit by now in the waning hours of daylight.  The daylight hours were slowly beginning to lengthen lately, which they would certainly take advantage of as they could, since spring was fast approaching.  As they started out again this time, Ed took the lead walking in his wooly chaps to protect his legs.

  He led the horse with the wrapped legs followed by the other two mountain horses.  The mustangs were strung to the bays and were followed by John leading the four mules.  That way the snow Ed started getting packed down would get trounced more and more by each horse down the line leaving an easier path for the sure footed but heavily loaded mules to cross the Summit.

  They finally crested that section of the trail and were walking downhill as the sun dropped behind Widow Mountain.  Ed noticed that the trail had quickly frozen over since he was walking on top of the ice pack again.  The string behind him sunk less than six inches allowing their rate of travel to increase so Ed got back on the bay to move along a mite quicker as they looked over the trail ahead of them.

  The riders would be treated to a waxing moon this night as the valley called Big Swamp sprawled out ahead in the fading light.  Climbing ever higher once Ed stepped proper onto Big Swamp, he noticed they were still above the snowline with nothing but white staring back at them.

  The snow was no surprise to the boys for the Modoc map showed them they would be climbing steadily until they left Schaffer Mountain somewhere ahead.  Finding a small grove of blow downs that would give them some protection from the wind, Ed pulled up and declared the spot to be their camp for the night. 

  Stripping the gear from the animals before giving each a rubdown and a bait of grain, Ed and John ran a picket line then pitched camp against the long, cold night ahead.  Supper was going to be a short affair since both men needed sleep for tomorrow was going to be another grueling day in the saddle.

  After just a few hours of sleep, Ed found himself wide awake making it a difficult way to end an otherwise easier day than some of the others they had endured.  Ed knew somewhere deep inside that the trail was going to get harder to travel very soon.  Now that his mind was taken over by the worry of the trail ahead, there was no way he was going back to sleep and he was upset about it.  It was freezing outside but he was warm wrapped up in the duck canvas pannier cover and had the perfect place to get some much needed but elusive rest.

  Peering out from under the flap over at John, Ed saw no movement but could easily hear his friend breathe quietly through the crisp mountain air.  John always was one who could sleep through anything.  Looking up, the sky was overcast but the snow covered land of Big Swamp made it possible to see the horses and mules quietly standing three legged along the picket line.

  Lying down once again, Ed just could not get settled in and back to sleep, instead tossing and turning under the cover.  Every time Ed did settle in and almost doze off, his mind would race back to any of the difficult moments since leaving Redding and he would relive them all again.  On top of everything else, Ed thought he heard a cat hiss in the darkness.  Palming his Colt, he sat up with his back against the tree he was sleeping under.

  Just as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, there was a momentary break in the cloud cover allowing the light from the quarter moon to filter in briefly.  That was when he saw a pair of golden yellow eyes staring at him.  The moon hid behind the clouds again but Ed could see what looked like an owl fly off.

  Smiling to himself, he shoved the well-used Colt back into his waist band and instinctively glanced over to where the pack gear was stowed.  He squinted his eyes to focus on the equipment for there looked to be a dim light there.  When the moon appeared briefly again, he noticed the light grew in intensity.

  There was no chance of sleeping now as his curiosity got the better of him.  Pulling the sheepskin coat out from under the canvas, Ed slid the coat and his boots on in order to investigate the gear.  His boots crunched in the snow as he walked the ten feet over to their gear.

  Squatting down over the gear, he moved some of the items around in search of the light source.  That’s when he saw it was the embroidered bead work on his pannier.  The Thunder-Bird was....glowing!!! The clouds parted again and the short-eared owl responded by clapping its wings before it took to the air.

  Ed could easily see the bird fly off in a pattern that resembled the flight paths of bats like he had at home on the Alvarado.  The owl drew his attention to the expanse of Big Swamp by moonlight.  Shivering a bit from the cold, Ed now stood in awe as the moonlight lit up the leafs of the ghost manzanita.

  It took him only a few minutes to recognize just what he was looking at but when he did, Ed was ready for action.   The glowing ghost manzanita was like a twisted pointing finger showing Ed the safest path to travel through Big Swamp.  Excited now to test his theory, Ed stepped over and shook John awake.

  "John," Ed whispered in a hushed tone remembering how well sound travels in the mountains.  "Get up! It's time to ride!"

  From under his cover, John stuck his head out, the cold night air clawing at his wound reminding him how fragile he still felt.  He blinked his eyes to make them focus as he had been in a deep sleep and was wondering why they were getting up so early.  Glancing around to see what the trouble was, he finally mumbled a response to Ed.

  Ed insisted they needed to get on the trail now and make as much use of the frozen tundra as possible before it turned to slush once more.  John's mind was still foggy but if his friend said it was time, then it was time. 

  In less than a half hour, they were back in the saddle chasing the ghost trail through the manzanita.  The glowing sight of the ghost manzanita was leading the riders towards a yet unknown destination during the final hours before dawn broke over Big Swamp.  Somehow Ed knew deep inside it was the right thing to follow his instincts as he had before. 

  As they rode along in silence, other than the crunching sound of the snow beneath the animals hooves, Ed soaked in this new world.  He found himself pondering deeper matters than "How the round-up would go" or "What trouble awaits them from Amy and Iron Hand."  

    In the silence of the moonlight, Ed had some time to think about their predicament.  This whole thing started out great with a pretty blonde at his side but now was turning from one bad headache into another. 

  On top of the hardships of the trail, he had no way of knowing where Amy, Iron Hand, and most likely Bill Longtree were but knew they were being hunted by folks he didn’t really know for reasons he wasn’t totally sure of. 

  Little did Ed know, danger was far closer than he could have believed.  Bill Longtree had started trailing them as soon as they left Bunker Hill while Amy and Iron Hand held to the wagon road to get ahead of them. 

  Bill had seen the boys take their tumble through the avalanche and didn’t much care if they got hurt or not so kept his distance from the Modoc camp as he watched and waited to see if they would live or die. 

  Once the men were back on the trail, Bill still kept his distance so he wouldn’t be seen so he was sound asleep when the boys pulled out since he was too far away to hear them breaking camp.  As he came upon the camp in Big Swamp early the next morning, Bill became livid when he discovered the boys had been gone for hours and he was going to have some catching up to do. 

  Bill instantly screamed at the top of his lungs to burn off some of the frustration he was feeling at the moment then turned to get back on his horse for a forced jog to try to catch up to Ed and John. 

  Miles ahead, the change from night to day began subtly for the boys when the sky started to turn gray.  The darkness was being pushed away from the new day like most others but this time, the change was marked by the strange muffled sounds and movement just beyond his field of view in the predawn shadows.

  Reining his horse in, Ed noticed that the bay heard the sound as well by the way he kept twitching his ears forward then to the side.  The bay wasn't afraid of the sounds, Ed just sensed that he recognized something close that required extra caution as he gently urged the animal forward. 

  With darkness melting away to the light of day, Ed could now see there was a stand of Madrone trees ahead and realized the sound he heard was the rustling of leaves.  As they rode deeper into the thicket, the breeze intensified as it was channeled through the dense canopy to a pitch that sounded almost like the trees were talking to him.

  With nothing else distracting him at the moment, Ed was understandably shaken when above the talk of the leaves, he suddenly heard a bellow like scream in the distance.  His horse went on unaffected but Ed instinctively turned sharply at the sound and looked behind them. 

  Their old camp was long out of sight so he couldn’t see anyone or anything behind them but Ed knew he had heard something so he pulled up to look and listen a bit.  Seeing nothing, he started back out onto the trail with an uneasy feeling creeping into the backside of his thinking.  Somehow, someway, Ed knew there was danger close by and hunting for them so they had to be far more careful than they had been earlier in the ride. 

  When the opportunity arose for Ed to have a view of John again, he shot his pard a baffled look putting his hand to his ear.  John understood the signal but shook his head and shrugged his shoulders emphatically for he had heard nothing but the footsteps and gentle breathing of the string as he rode in the middle of them. 

  Somewhat confused as to what he heard or thought he heard, Ed figured to keep moving through the Madrones and forward.  On the other side of the thicket, Ed discovered where a vast herd of what looked to be antelope must have been for the snow had been well trampled and there was evidence of hearty new spring grass pushing up through its thawing bed.

  Moving across open ground again, an eagle circled overhead and cried out as it hunted over the marshy wetland ahead for an early meal.  Ed caught sight of the bird of prey just as it dove down and snatched up a large trout in the distance.  Ed turned back to John and softly asked his opinion about riding toward the eagle.  Ed didn't understand the allurement he felt for the mighty hunter but since John felt it was a good reference point to ride to, they continued on.

  They rode steadily for most of the morning until the trail flooded over from the wetlands they now found themselves in.  The spring thaw was in full swing, even at this elevation, so Ed depended even more on his mountain horse to pick a safe trail through the bog as he walked with his head lowered and nostrils flared.

  Understanding the horse’s knowledge of living in this type of remote wilderness, Ed rode with a loose rein allowing the bay his head to choose the best route.  There were some places the bay would cross through standing water without hesitation and quite a few others he refused to attempt, which showed Ed he was in tune with the trail.

  The riders guessed it was close to midday when they rode out into a small meadow bordered by a rushing creek what was lined with trees and short grass.  They had hit the trail way early and felt this was a good place to stop to rest, grain up the string, and collect water.

  After tending to the horses and pack animals, they built a small fire for coffee and ate a small meal while studying the maps again.  According to Chief Washiti’s drawings, they must have found Ash Creek.  

  According to where they figured to be on the map, it looked like they were not quite ten miles away from the base of Adin Pass.  Looking up and towards the northeast, they could see Fox Mountain blocking the horizon to confirm their location.  Once they broke noonin’ camp, Adin Pass would be just east of Fox Mountain so they would need to make a change to their direction.

  When they started over Adin Pass, they would be climbing higher than they'd ever been before on this ride.  Ed had been warned by the Chief about this crossing for the air would thin and hard to breathe.  The Chief also reminded Ed snow would be deep this time of year so travel would be slow and that he should be ready to take two or three days to cross that part of the Cascades.

  The riders planned an easy day for the string to help them be rested for the tough leg climbing over the pass.  As they relaxed in the afternoon sun, Ed asked of John's thoughts about the kind of trouble they could still be riding into.  Ed also had to consider the scream he heard but John had not.

   As Ed gave sound to one more thought, he felt the scream at first was one of pain and was a woman's voice but after he reflected on it, he not only felt it was man's voice but he was convinced it was a man's voice yelling not in pain but in frustration or anger!

  John's head was feeling much better by now since he'd been chewing the willow bark as they moved along the trail.  Now he was enjoying the bark in a tea mixture hot off the fire while he took the time to wash the head wraps and wring them dry in case he needed them for the days ahead them on the mountain.

  John had no answers for what Ed had heard, or thought he heard, but assured his brother that when trouble came, he would be ready for it.  John had committed to Brodie to see the round-up through no matter what the consequences were and would be ready to do just what was needed when necessary.

  The men were back in the saddle by late afternoon as the trail firmed back up when Widow Mountain began to cast its long shadow over Big Swamp once again.  Following the faint trail, the string turned due east once the trail began to rise up the base of Fox Mountain.  Riding another two miles revealed the mouth of a long draw leading due north splitting Fox and Knox Mountains.

  Finding shelter from the weather in the trees lining Long Hill, the riders made camp one more time with the expectation to be on the trail into Adin Pass very early the next morning.  Later that night, Ed drew the bottle he bought in Hog Town out of his pack and the two friends shared a slug of the amber liquid as they buried themselves into their bedrolls against the icy night air.

  It had been a long day in the saddle so when Ed drifted off to sleep, he expected to be dead to the world.  The only problem with that was, Ed kept hearing his name, "Ketterly", riding the south wind.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twelve

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  The night sky was ink black when Ed rolled out of his bedroll that next morning to stir the coals of their cook fire back to life.  Adding some dry kindling from the hair like branches of hemlock mixed with a bird’s nest from his stash to the coals would bring forth the wanted flames in no time.  With the kindling starting to smoke heavily, Ed leaned over and gently blew on the glowing coals until a flame sprang to life, licking greedily at the fresh fuel.

  Old Joe knew well of the climate of which he was sending Ed and so prepared him with certain particulars that could mean the difference between life and death.  Of these small items was a satchel of old bird’s nests that would light even in the dampest of times and a container of tar from one of the many seeps on the ranch that would burn almost white hot once lit.

  Filling the coffee pot with snow, Ed set it at the fire’s edge to begin to melt then raised his bandana over the bridge of his nose before standing his coat collar up.  With his face protected from the bitter cold, Ed rose from the fire and wedged his hat on tight before stepping out from the protection of their small wooded camp.

Standing still for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light given off the bland snowbanks, Ed tried not to dwell on the day's ride ahead.  They would need all the grain they had left now for the journey through Adin Pass but Ed felt the stock would each enjoy a small handful as a welcomed treat.  He would be asking a lot from each of them now, much more than before in fact.

  Searching through the stacked pile of tack for his needs, Ed instinctively reached for the lone leather lace he had looped from his pommel at the beginning of the ride from Redding.  Taking the end of the lace, he looped a knot into it.  Then running the lace through his gloved fingers he counted the knots.

  Seven knots he counted, which told him they had been a week on the trail now.  With the luster of the adventure long worn off, the trail was beginning to be a grind.  In some ways, it was no different than any of the numerous mundane chores Old Joe demanded of him growing up.  This one just happened to be in foreign country to both John and himself.  There was no sense fretting over the job though, it was work that needed done so Ed got busy.

  With a half full nose bag over his left shoulder, Ed walked over to the picket line.  Inspecting the string from a distance before engaging any one animal, something didn't seem right to Ed today.  With the picket line stretched high, all of the stock stood relaxed facing the woods of Long Hill.

  Contrary to the rest, one of the bay horses stood facing the opposite direction with his head held high and ears pricked forward as if he was looking at or for something.  Ed couldn’t see anything as he too looked that way but he could feel there was something there watching them.  Whatever it was, neither Ed nor the horse felt fear so he let it go for the time being, even though he kept looking that way from time to time just ‘cause.

  Starting at the near end, he offered each animal a handful of barley, a word of appreciation and a pat on the head.  When he came to his mustang, he felt a quiver of guilt as he offered the gelding his treat. 

  The harsh conditions of the trail were beginning to show its affects on the mustang as Ed guessed he had lost at least fifty pounds since riding out of Redding a week earlier.  Reminding himself that they'll be in Alturas soon, he gave the mustang one final rub before as he returned to John and the fire.

  John was up and had been busy himself while Ed tended to the string.  As Ed got back to the campfire, the aroma of warm biscuits in the dutch oven greeted him as he stretched his hands to feel the fire's heat.  A jar of honey had been packed along and John was heating the jar up just a bit to serve with the biscuits.

  Lifting the lid on the oven so Ed could see the browning drops of dough, John commented, "I think we could use a 'pick me up' for today, so it was time to dig out the honey to top our biscuits."

  Ed agreed as he lifted their tin plates as a sign he was ready to divide the spoils of the meal.  John wasted no time in dishing up their meager meal equally into the two plates then they sat down to eat with a vengeance.  Standing up as the last bite of food went into their mouths, it was time to break camp.  With their bellies full and the sweet taste of honey still in their mouths, an hour later they were back in the saddle.

  Harper Canyon was located at the mouth of Adin Pass and for the first five miles, the rise in elevation was gradual so the string made good time.  They crossed the narrow tracks of the antelope herd again, which made Ed's job of finding the trail a mite easier since the trail was packed down from the numerous animals crossing.

  The footing in Harper Canyon was across a frozen base with a layer of loose ice crystals on top.  The migrating herd had removed the ice crystals in their travels so the horses had it easy going, for now at least.  As they waded across the shallows of Rush Creek, the grade up Grouse Mountain seemed to jump straight up, no longer the gradual climb the string was used to.  To add to the problem, because of the ice, the trail had gotten slippery as all get out.

  Ed tried to line the string out again as what had become the routine but even the mountain horse he rode struggled with each step as he climbed.  For the first time this trip, the mules were a bit reluctant to move too.  Ed stepped down and carefully turned his half of the string around towards Rush Creek where John still sat astride his bay.

  For a few minutes, the friends discussed strategies for getting up the mountain.  They finally agreed to change the order of the string.  They pulled their spurs off and fit them into their saddle bags for the next leg would be on foot.  Riding boots weren’t much good for walking anyway and being on ice, really were no good at all so Ed tied on some homemade spike soles made from antler points to keep him from falling face first onto the trail.  Once ready, Ed took the lead breaking trail as he led the four mountain horses followed by John's mustang. 

  Since John's mustang, Rita, was familiar with him, the riders felt it would be safest for John to follow her so she wouldn’t get jumpy.  He would then lead the four mules trailing Ed's mustang to bring up the rear.  That way, by the time the mules were on the trail, it would be a compacted trail to walk over.

  The going was extremely slow and difficult as every breath taken came along with a bite of fire in their throats from the cold dry air.  With each passing hour, Ed and John would find a spot where the trail leveled a mite and they would trade places to give each other a break.

  The skies were overcast and gray that morning and by midday, the riders and stock were in desperate need of a rest.  Fortunately, they found themselves on a straight length of the trail on the barren slope of lava cap where Grouse Mountain turned into Schaffer Mountain.

  In their gear was a canvas bucket with the seams waxed.  Using this bucket, they were able to water the horses from the canteen bags they filled earlier at Ash Creek.  Neither Ed nor John had the savvy to be able to read enough sign to give them a clue as to how much elevation they had gained this day but knew it was substantial.

  They knew enough about their livestock to realize the string needed a short rest to prevent cramping as well as they were exhausted from the first day of fighting for every breath.  Stopping here on the trail was not an option so they prepared to push on.  John was relieved to see that the trail here was windswept and slushy now for it was a sign of the thaw to come.

  Another half mile up the trail, they came upon a stand of maybe a dozen weathered adult cedar trees whose roots had found their way through gaps to anchor in the porous lava.  It was the only available shelter as far as the eye could see so in spite it being early afternoon, the riders chose to make an early camp for the day.

  After picketing the string, John discovered a downed cedar that provided them with a wind break and some dry wood to burn so they could have a hot meal at least.  The two men were tired so worked in silence the rest of the day and after a small meal, they checked their stock then both turned in at sunset hoping the next day would be better.

  Like clockwork, Ed automatically woke up early again the next morning and was greeted by the howl of the wind as it sped over the open saddle just below Adin Pass.  He still felt stiff from the hike up the pass but not as bad as he thought he would.  Sneaking out from under his bedroll, he could see the string's manes and tails waving in the wind.

  Getting to his feet, Ed took two steps before he slipped on the glass-like ice underfoot, falling face down with a thud and a grunt.  Unable to get his footing to move farther up the slope, he fell a second time.  Rolling into a sitting position, Ed accepted there was nothing to be done now except crawl back to his bed and wait until daylight.

  The wind died down about an hour after sunrise so Ed figured it was time to try it again.  Breaking a branch off of the deadfall, Ed used it as a walking stick to help him get up to the horses.  Driving the stick into the ice with each step, Ed found he could get around camp as long as he was moving slow and careful.

  John got a larger fire going that morning that helped loosen the icy crust close in as they moved about camp saddling all the stock up.  While Ed checked each animal's back for soreness before saddling, John warmed up some water then mixed a warm barley mash for the string.  The mules only wore the sawbucks for now as well and all of them were loosely cinched.

  The riders offered water to each animal after their meal then set to hoisting the panniers back onto the mules and getting all the cinches tightened for the trail.  Before long, the string were all tied together and ready to move out.

  It looked like it was going to be partially sunny as they moved out of camp for another day on a difficult trail.  At least the grooved tracks of the herd they followed really helped keep everyone upright this morning.

  Two hours passed and Ed started to notice a change in the trail up ahead.  With renewed vigor, he brought it to John's attention as he kept moving the string on their westbound path.  Less than an hour later, the trail crested and leveled out after a strong bend to the left.

  Knowing they had likely finished the worst part of the trail, they all celebrated with a short break to catch their breath.  The riders pulled out their maps once again and after a quick glance, they agreed they had reached the summit of Adin Pass.  With the string ready to move out again, they began their crossing of the summit by midday.  The riders were now back in the saddle and the animals were back in their normal order.

  After about a mile when the trail ran over a gently rolling ridgeback, the trail turned in a northwesterly direction and began to drop in elevation for the first time.  The spring thaw made slush of the mountain trail once again.  The warmer afternoon accelerated the melting of ice and snow with the melt running in rivulets downhill carrying much of this year's early water supply being captured at Harris Spring.

  Both riders and animals took the chance for a nice drink of the cold fresh water as they rode up to the spring.  They took note that the animals seemed to be in good spirits so the string continued on for a couple more miles in search of a good camp for the night.  If there was one thing Ed always remembered from Old Joe, pay attention to your animals for they will let you know how far a body can push them.  Push them too hard and they’ll quit on a man and then there will be more trouble than good.

  As they rode along scanning their surroundings, Ed noticed a clearing, maybe a hundred feet off the trail, that looked like a possible campsite for the night.  John briefly looped the lead rope of his string over Ed's trailing mule before riding over to investigate the clearing.  By the looks of the stacks of logs and uncovered tops of slash piles, John reckoned it was a log deck.

  The deck was sheltered by the mountain slope on the north side and was a good place to make camp for the night considering there was a bit of graze for the stock as well.  Happy with the progress made by late afternoon, the riders decided to call it a day.  The hiking up the pass had pretty much worn the cowhands out so it was to be another early night after a hot meal then it was up early to get back on the trail in the morning. 

  It was still cold when Ed rolled out of his blankets that next morning but at least he only had frost underfoot instead of ice as he started getting the pack string ready for the trail.  The new day offered better trail conditions for the riders and their pack train as it gently descended towards their destination of Warm Springs Valley. 

  With easier going on the trail, the riders were able to relax some now to take in more of the wilderness scenery and mountain vistas that were new to them.  The seasons were changing quickly this time of year for even though it was still near freezing at night, the days were getting somewhat longer and warmer making for a pleasant ride down the mountain. 

  Not having to fight the trail or the string he led, John began to feel comfortable as his mind wandered over what improvements he might make if he were to own a ranch in this high up country he was riding through.  Such idle thoughts always helped make the miles go by and was common considering the cattleman’s mind.  Course with wandering thoughts came the occasional jolt as the animals jumped a shallow ditch to bring the men back to the reality of being on a dangerous trail.

From mid morning to late afternoon, the riders did not need to wear their heavy winter coats.  Where John preferred his normal sack coat, Ed took a hankering to that fringed buckskin shirt he bought in Red Bluff.  With his six shooter strapped over the shirt, John thought Ed cut quite the frontier figure these days.

  By now, Ed was accustomed to the high country lifestyle as he became aware of every bird call or occasional sound of an animal bounding away ahead of their passing.  He thought on how nice it would be to identify the different calls because there seemed to be so many in this new and interesting country.

  Time passed quickly as the men made good time so by early afternoon, the trail had completely skirted Schaffer Mountain.  Strangely, Ed no longer felt comfortable as he rode.  It was almost as if he knew someone was watching them from a distance but didn’t know if it was Indians or white men.  Either way, it was time to ride loose in the saddle and ready.  Ed signaled to John as he pulled his Winchester out of its scabbard to lay across his saddle so John did the same.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Thirteen

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  Although Ed could feel he was being watched, he couldn’t know who it was or where they were exactly but he did notice an eagle circling a spot to the northeast of the trail they were on near the edge of a stand of trees.  Whether it meant anything or not, Ed didn’t know but ever since he left the Modoc camp, these premonitions were becoming far more frequent.

  Near to a half-mile away, two dark, almost black eyes were watching two men with a pack string of nine horses and mules who were making their way along the trail.  The sun was behind the riders so it was difficult to see their faces but these were strangers to the mountain and, as far as he was concerned, were open game.

  Malin Ambrose was a half-breed white/Klamath Indian who lived with the rest of his clan near Canby and who happened to be hunting for antelope above Shake Canyon with his three brothers.  Seeing the pack string with only two riders seemed like it would be easy pickin’s bein’s the odds were 2 to 1 in their favor along with the element of surprise on their side. 

  Getting his brothers all together and with him, Malin got his rifle ready and stepped into leather.  Taking another quick look, Malin could see the pack string was making good time so they needed to move out quickly if they were to bust them mid string to send animals and men in all directions so they could pick the riders off easier.

  Ed was tense as all get out as they closed on the stand of pines strung out along a nearly flat bench ahead of them.  Bein’s the eagle was circling the east end of the bench, Ed naturally kept looking in that direction so when Malin and his brothers crested the rise, he saw them as soon as their heads cleared the grasses.

  “Run for the trees John,” Ed barked as he spurred the big mountain bay viciously.  It wasn’t normally in Ed’s nature to use his spurs like that on his horse but this could be life or death and he needed the horse to move like it had never done.

  Leaning across the bay’s neck, Ed urged the horse into a flat-out run.  The rest of the string stalled at first but as the lead ropes stretched a bit as the bay moved, the rest of the string took off behind it like they were trained to do.  Even if one of the breakaway’s broke loose, the horses and mules would follow the lead horse instinctively.

  It was turning into an out and out horse race to the trees and cover as the Ambrose Clan tore across the short grass in their attempt to cut the boys off.  Ed couldn’t shoulder his rifle left handed so he simply dropped the reins on the bay’s neck as he used his good right hand to take his first shot at the interlopers to see if he could cause them to slow down just a bit.  John could shoot left handed so he might be more effective.  In the meantime, they could only pray the horses would make the trees in time.

  Behind the pack string, maybe three quarters of a mile, Bill Longtree was loafing along steadily as he was still shadowing the boys.  He was in a surly mood for the trail had been hard on him since he had only one horse and the weather being miserable for him most of the time since he wasn’t really prepared for traveling through the high country in the winter.

  The presence of the Ambrose clan was yet unknown to Bill for he was still following the boy’s trail from a distance.  Upon hearing the wild shots ahead, Bill knew it wasn’t the boys hunting supper, it was some kind of fight.  Sinking spurs into his tired mount, Bill rode up the next rise where he could see the fight unfolding.  Coming off the ridge at a dead run, Bill knew he had to make up some ground to get within range to get into the fight. 

  While Bill really didn’t care if they lived or died, he wouldn’t get paid his bounty if Ed died on the mountain.  He didn’t sign on to baby-sit two greenhorn kids through the mountains but now he had to do just that and he was plenty pissed about it.  Nothing about this trip was going as planned, which didn’t help matters none.

  It took no more than two minutes before Bill found another rise where he was within rifle range.  Ground tying his horse, Bill leaped to the ground, dragging his brand new Winchester 45-60 out of its scabbard.  Trotting over to where there was a spot behind a boulder that he could use to rest his rifle, Bill got laid down so he could be steady for these long range shots.

  Bill had purchased the rifle with a tang sight so he took the few seconds needed to dial it up for a 400 yard shot.  Levering a round into the chamber, Bill lined up on the last rider, led the man’s nose by several feet, and pressed the trigger.  The slug had to fly a long ways but it had plenty of punch when it landed so Bill just watched to see where it struck the man before taking the next shot.

  In the meantime, Ed was almost to the tree line so he kept urging his bay on as the interlopers closed the gap on him.  It was no use to try to shoot at the men so keeping the string running was the best choice at that moment.  Clearing the first of the trees, Ed turned the bay off the trail and inside the trees as the rest of the stock thundered past him with John barking as he rode past. 

  Running back near the trail, Ed could see Malin Ambrose only yards away as he lifted his rifle to take a shot.  Malin had seen the smoke from the rifle shot behind the pack string so he turned his horse just a little to see better where it had come from so when Ed shot at him, he missed with the first round.

  The next brother was almost upon him so Ed levered his rifle and let go at him, the round hitting the man in the left shoulder and almost knocking him out of his saddle.  Malin was turning his horse around by now and saw the last horse in line go down, spitting his brother off like a Klamath lance launched at a buffalo.

  John had made it to where Ed was by now and was ready for action as the man up the hill on the back trail behind them opened up with a vengeance.  The heavy sound of the big bore rifle echoing through the high mountain air followed the slugs churning up the turf around the frightened horses.

  Busy with Malin, Ed fired his next round that hit the man in the right hip, blowing his short gun out of its scabbard while John shot the last man a horseback low in the belly causing him to lay forward across the horn holding on for dear life.

  Bill had seen the last horse go down so knew his range wasn’t quite right so turned his sight up a couple more notches then opened up with the rest of the rounds in the magazine.  It would be almost impossible to hit anything moving as fast as the riders below but he managed to keep the horses dancing as the heavy slugs tore the grass up in the makeshift battlefield.

  Malin knew the battle was lost almost the second it began with the arrival of the man behind them.  He hadn’t been hit but he was bruised badly where Ed shot his handgun out of his holster.  Two of his brothers were carrying lead and one was without a horse so it was time to break away.  Spurring his horse to the brother on the ground, Malin held his arm out to catch him to pull him up to ride double back to Canby where they could lick their wounds and get drunk.

  With the attack broken off and no one worse for the wear, John set about to get the string settled down and lined back out so they could get back onto the trail east.  Ed sat back and watched the Ambrose clan as they gathered up their wounded and headed back to whatever black hole they had crawled out of.  He could have killed them all at that range but they were done in and beaten, unlikely to want anything more to do with the two cattlemen from Bradley.

  As he watched the men retreat, Ed wondered about the man on the hill who had come to their aid when they needed it most.  He had felt like they were being followed for a while and now he knew it for sure.  Why the man kept his distance was a mystery but not something Ed needed to worry about at the moment.

  Walking back to John, Ed was pleased to see that he had the string ready to move out.  Ed took the opportunity to praise his bay for the effort to get them to safety then stepped into leather to keep moving just in case the interlopers decided to make another run at them.

  Riding through the pines, the boys came out the north side to a barren expanse overlooking Shake Canyon as it sprawled below.  Pulling up to take in the view, John fished his spy glass out of his saddle bags and breaking routine for the first time, John led his part of the string up so he could sit side by side with Ed.  Glassing the canyon below, he focused on a strip of green off to the west on the canyon's floor.

  Handing the glass to Ed, he pointed towards a river flowing through the bottom.  The friends agreed that it would be a good spot to make camp for the night.  Momentarily, they rode on again resuming their single file routine as if nothing  had happened only minutes before. 

  Making it to the river camp, the boys set out to get things in order before it got dark and to have enough time to clean their rifles after the gunfight up on the ridge earlier in the day.  It had been a busy day so when it was time to roll into their blankets, neither man wasted any time chatting in the firelight.

  The next morning in the bottom of Shake Canyon broke cold but clear with the growing flow of the Pit River fed by snow melt providing the source for a heavy frost to blanket the canyon floor around the camp.  The riders awoke to the contented chomping of the stock grazing on the small patch of grass near the river.

  They had built camp on the inside bend of the Pit River and used the picket line as a barrier to close the makeshift pasture off river bank to river bank.  A study of their trusty maps showed the riders that they should be no more than five or six miles from Canby now, making it a short ride for the morning.  Little did either man know, the men who had attacked them would be in Canby, hung over with a bad attitude, still licking their wounds.

  With renewed energy in their step and disbelief of their completing the high country crossing so easily on their minds, they saddled the string for another day on the trail.  If the trail to Canby is similar to the last two days through Adin Pass, then it was reasonable to think they might could cover the seventeen additional miles to the ranch in Alturas by nightfall if they pushed the string a bit.

  In the saddle once again and on the trail after a short breakfast, the string moved out at a fast walk.  The mouth of Shake Canyon would stretch out in front of them for another three miles before Warm Springs Valley welcomed them from the right side of the trail running in a northeasterly direction.

  Spirits were high now for both the riders and the string as Mount Vernon on their north side blended into the valley floor presenting a full view of Warm Springs Valley ahead.  Stopping again to take in the view, the low rooftops of Canby shimmered in the sunlight against a planted stand of Aspen trees.  Canby wasn’t much of a settlement really, it was more like a few shacks planted together to help protect the pioneers against Klamath raiding parties but some folks called it home.

  After sharing a brief chuckle and a handshake on a job well done, Ed pointed his bay horse towards that stand of Aspen two miles ahead and clucked the horse into motion.  Both men had their rifles lying loose across their saddles as they rode since they had already been attacked once and didn’t want any more surprises.

  As the boys entered the clearing where the buildings were placed, Ed could see Malin Ambrose standing against the furthest building away next to two other men who were sitting.  One man had a sling wrapped around his shoulder and the other just looked plain beat up.  There was obviously trouble here so there was no need to stop.

  Realizing these were the men who attacked him, Ed pulled up for just a moment and stared at the men while trying to decide if he should go over to settle up with them or just move on down the trail through town.  Ed didn’t see the fourth rider but he had been gut shot and could be dead.  Ed could tell Malin was fidgeting a bunch while he stared at the ground but the other men wouldn’t make any kind of eye contact at’all.  They were plenty used up and done with the fight so Ed figured to leave it be.

  Clucking to Buck, Ed moved out again at an easy jog to get shut of Canby as quickly as they could.  These men were already beaten so there was no sense in shaming them more in front of their families.  There was a chance they would be followed but Ed figured these men had been out for an easy score and weren’t about to challenge men who were ready for them twice in twenty four hours.

  It was near to seventeen miles to Alturas from Canby so the boys figured it would take another four or five hours to get there if they took their time.  It was going to be broken but open country they were traveling through to get to Alturas and the trail was good so Ed decided to push the string a bit faster when they could to make up for some of the lost time they encountered over the last several days.

  After traveling for three more hours, Ed came across a small creek where they could water the stock so he decided to give the string a rest break while he and John made a small meal for themselves.  There was no rush in trailing the last five miles or so into town and Ed had some thinking to do.  There was trouble ahead and he needed to be ready for it.

  Staking the stock out on some short grass next to the creek, Ed made sure to hobble each animal so they didn’t have to hunt them down later.  When he got back to the fire, John had coffee on to boil and bacon frying in the pan.  There was some left over biscuits so once the bacon was done, the boys wolfed it down and dipped their biscuits into the bacon grease to finish it off.

  Leaning back against a small boulder, Ed relaxed as he contemplated the roundup starting in a couple of days with longer days and short nights.  Course that wasn’t all that was on Ed’s mind for he knew they were still being followed and what had become of Amy?

  If Ed was a bettin’ man, he would surely have put all his money on the trio waiting for them as they rode through Alturas.  The question was, did he want to deal with her and her gang head on in town or skirt the last outpost before riding to the ranch so the bunch would have to hunt them down if they still wanted him?

  “We’re only about ten miles from the ranch John,” Ed began as his partner sat across from him drinking coffee, hot and black, “and I’m thinking trouble is right around the corner once again.”

  “Whatcha have in mind Ed?”

  “I’m thinking of sending you on to the ranch whilst I deal with whoever is after me and in front of me.  If I don’t catch up, get the cattle to Old Joe and tell him what you know about this whole mess.”

  “Do you think splitting up is smart Ed?”

  “It might not be but I can’t think if anything better.  We’re buckin’ trouble and I figure to hit it head on instead of just waiting for it to find us.  What I do know is the cows have to be gathered and it’s me they are after.”

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Fourteen

___________________________

 

  The roundup needed to get started so Ed decided to send John onto the ranch with the pack string to get things organized at the ranch’s small line shack for the gather while he rode into Alturas to distract Amy.  John wasn’t too happy about the decision to split up but he was a trooper and did what Ed asked.

  Splitting up some five miles out of Alturas, John skirted the lava beds to the southwest with the pack string while Ed turned his mount to the northeast to ride straight into what was likely to be a trap.  It was a good trail so moving with the large string of animals didn’t take too much effort so John was relaxed but ready in case trouble found him.

  Alturas sported a year-around population of less than 150 residents in 1886 yet was the official Modoc County seat, even though the town of Cedarville to the east was the larger of the two isolated settlements at the time. 

  Like most western towns on the frontier, there were more saloons than churches, a few shared government offices in a weather-beaten wood building, a courthouse, a few isolated cabins, and some makeshift tents set up for the working girls.  With so few settlers around the desolate country, some of the population stemmed from counting the local Achomawi (Pit River) tribal village to give the illusion of the town was bigger than it actually was.

  Within the hour, Ed was riding into the western edge of Dorris Bridge, formerly a Pit River Indian village now known as Alturas.  There was very little movement aside from an errant dog barking down by the corrals and a squaw scrubbing the fat off a deer hide down by the river.

  Ed knew that there was one hard-sided saloon and two tent saloons down beyond the trading post where new arrivals went for a drink and information.  Knowing the hard-sided saloon sported some “rooms for rent” on the second floor, Ed figured that would be the most likely place for Amy to be staying bein’ she looked to be the type who rarely slept outside.

  Not wanting to look too eager to find the woman, Ed rode down to the nearest tent saloon called the Yelping Coyote.  Tying up out front since he didn’t expect to be there long, Ed stepped up to the outer flap and looked inside the one-roomed establishment.

  Standing against the bar was a man wearing a buffalo robe made into a long coat who looked like a hider from the high plains.  Next to him, leaning against the corner wall, was what looked to be an 1873 Springfield Trapdoor that had seen a lot of work.  Undoubtedly, this man carried a Bowie or a skinning knife inside his high topped boots and some type of handgun but the bulky coat concealed his waist.

  The barkeep was a chino who scrubbed at the rough-cut plank bar as if there was a chance at getting the uneven wood to shine.  Ed looked him over carefully and it was clear this man was nervous as all git out by the way he watched the door flap.  The petite Asian man was wearing a Chinese peasant cap over a long braided pony tail, a brightly colored button up tunic, matching pants made from what appeared to be silk, and simple flat-soled shoes that looked to be made from a canvas material.

  There weren’t any real chairs, just a few stools made from spindly tree stumps and one beat up table that looked to be used to play cards.  The floor was made of dirt but with the recent snow melting off men’s clothing, the dirt had been churned into gummy mud gumbo.

  Ed was about to push through the doorway when the overpowering fragrance of French perfume pummeled his nostrils.  Ed knew the smell well for he had ridden beside such a woman wearing it most of the way to Redding.  The woman was none other than the light-haired and deadly vixen, Amy Crabtree.

  “Well hello Mister Ketterly,” Amy said with her best southern belle drawl and a wide smile what could normally get men to drop anything they were doing to fulfill her bidding.

  Turning just his head to the right where he figured her to be, Ed knew right off he bought into more trouble than he wanted at the moment. 

  “Why Miss Amy,” Ed responded politely, all the while trying not to let on he was onto her game, “I thought you were heading to Weaverville from Redding.  I never expected to see you up in these snow covered mountains.”

  “My plans got changed Mister Ketterly,” Amy replied softly.  “When I got to Redding, my attorney let on that my father is in Cedarville now waiting for me to ride over to meet him.  I knew you were heading this way and knew the trail so I pushed hard to catch up to you so I could ask if you would take me the rest of the way.”

  Ed turned to face Amy head on and looked into those captivating corn flour blue eyes as if trying to decide if he should believe this girl or not.  Ed knew she was lying her pretty butt off but still he was curious as to why.

  After all, Ed thought as he tried to justify the whole thing to himself, he didn’t know for sure if she was the one who got into his saddlebags or unloaded his gun or not.

  “What happened to your friends Frank Pesco and Bill Longtree?” Ed asked as he remembered seeing two riders leaving Redding on the trail east following them.  “I recall seeing at least two riders on our back trail as we climbed the summit.  I would’ve thought they’d a been able to guide you the rest of the way east.”

  It was readily apparent Amy wasn’t all that comfortable with Ed’s question for she may have thought she had been clever enough not to be seen.

  “They’re not my friends!” Amy snapped, her temper showing its evil head for all to see.  “Mr. Pesco offered to guide me to Cedarville but riding a horse didn’t agree with him after a few miles.  He left me to ride on alone with Bill when we got to Bunker Hill while he stayed on with that, …….. woman.”

  Amy Crabtree was lying her pretty hiney off big time and Ed knew it for sure now so he was gonna play her little game for a bit longer just to see where the whole thing was going to lead him.

  “So yer pa’s living in Cedarville?” Ed asked.  “What’s his name again?”

Somewhat relieved thinking Ed believed her story, Amy replied, “Angus Crabtree, originally from Bee Rock.  I thought I told you his name.”

  “Did he run with any of those Smyth brothers out in Lynch Canyon?” Ed asked for if she knew of Bee Rock, then she knew of the Lynch Canyon Rustlers.

  Visibly shaken, Amy stuttered just a bit before answering, “Why a, a, I don’t know for sure.”  Amy suddenly became defensive.  “Look, if you don’t want to be a gentleman and are looking to let me ride alone through Indian country, just say so!” she barked sharply as she turned away to pretend to cry.

  “Yer lyin’ through yer teeth Amy, if that’s your real name,” Ed snapped coldly.  “You’ve been lyin’ to me from the git-go thinking I’m some no-account drifter.  Well I may have a gimpy arm and the looks of a homely man but I wasn’t borned yesterday.  I don’t know what yer game is but I’m not about to be part of it.  You just ride on alone if’n yer a mind too.  I’ll sure feel sorry for anyone you come up agin’, especially the injuns.”

  Amy spun around towards Ed and was standing only a few inches away when she stopped, all the while holding a small caliber revolver, pointed right at his belly.

  “Haul that shiny Colt out of your holster reeeeal slow Mr. Ketterly and hand it to me butt first.  Then you can dig out that Smith and Wesson from inside your coat pocket and hand it over too.” Amy Crabtree’s no longer innocent voice snapped as she motioned towards his belt with her small caliber revolver.

  “Now listen here girl,” Ed answered back, angry at his mistake but still not realizing a man had come up behind him from the shadows of the tent saloon.  

  “You can die right here and now for being stupid enough to fall for a pretty smile mister,” Bill Longtree explained as he jabbed a Winchester into Ed’s back.  “After babysitting you greenhorns through the mountains, I don’t much care either way so you better do what you are told.”

  “Let’s go outside and get on your horse Mister Ketterly,” Amy hissed, trying not to get anyone’s attention, although there was no chance anyone missed her outburst.

  There was nothing Ed could do but to go along for now or he would be pushing daisies up from six feet under come spring.  He should have been watching the saloon patrons closer or at least have been able to hold his temper long enough to smoke Amy out.  Now he was Amy Crabtree’s prisoner with no information as to why or what she planned on doing with him. 

  Ed was mad to the core that he had been taken so easily but also knew he needed to rein his temper in if he had any plans on getting through the situation alive.  He had been complacent enough to get himself caught like a rat in a trap so he had to calm down and work through the mess.  Amy was smart but Bill was too self-assured and would make a mistake sooner or later.  Iron Hand Pesco was still in the game somewhere lest no one forget him.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Fifteen

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  Climbing onto his horse after he tied Ed to his saddle horn, Bill Longtree slid his rifle back into the boot, settled into his seat, slid a double-barreled scattergun out of his bedroll, eared the hammers back, then leveled the wicked looking weapon at Ed’s mid-section.  If Ed tried to run, two shots from a scattergun would end his chance at escape for good.

  Amy Crabtree led the trio of riders east through Cedar Pass then down the winding trail through Cedar Canyon on their way to Cedarville with Bill Longtree following along closely behind with his deadly shotgun.  Another lie, Ed thought, Amy knew the way to Cedarville with no help from anyone else.

  The small settlement of Cedarville lay along the western edge of the long Surprise Valley, dead in the middle of the alluvial apron at the mouth of Cedar Canyon.  Near to Cedar Creek, hundreds of cottonwoods grew but further from town, the only trees that stood out were spindly junipers scattered across the rolling hills.  Looking east as they rode out of the Warner Mountains, Ed mulled over any ideas that would allow him to escape his predicament.  

  Ed could see across Surprise Valley to approximately where the Nevada border separated the Silver State from the Golden State.  The state line looked to be only a short distance away but Ed knew how deceiving a man’s eyes could be when not paying attention to everything between where he was looking and where he was standing.  No matter for there was nothing between them but open desert so he would be a sitting duck for a man with a good rifle if he tried to run.

  It was cold, bitter cold but then it was still early in the year and there was still snow dormant in the shaded areas on the north slopes for the icy wind to blow across.  Trying as best he could, Ed hunkered down into his heavy Elk hide coat to keep the wind from finding its way past his neck and beyond.

  “You still haven’t told me where you are taking me or why.” Ed stammered.  “I don’t have any money and I’m not worth enough to ask for ransom.  Old Joe wouldn’t pay a dime for me anyway.”

  Amy Crabtree simply shot a look back at the man without saying a word, a look that would make most men cry for their mother, a look that meant this was personal, a look that meant Ed was being brought forth for retribution, a look that was as deadly as a Mojave Green. 

  There was some kind of mystery here that Ed needed to figure out on his own ‘cause it looked like Amy Crabtree wasn’t gonna tell him anything.

  Thinking back to their conversation on the train, Ed tried to remember the country where Amy claimed to have been raised.  She claimed to have been raised southwest of the Pond place and northwest of Lazy Arrow on the old Camatta Spanish Land Grant. 

  The Crabtree place was said to be a small homestead, from what Amy described, but as best as Ed could recollect, the other ranches across the San Juan were the much larger holdings of the Hansen, Pond, Camatta, San Juan, and Avenals Ranches. 

  As much as he tried to rack his brain, Ed knew for certain there were no small ranching operations anywhere close to where Amy was claiming.  So Amy was probably lying then too, but why? Ed thought.  If for nothing else, trying to come up with answers to his kidnapping would keep his mind off his predicament for a bit but Ed kept his eyes open for any opportunity to make a run for it and escape if he could.

 Ed Ketterly knew the area Amy tried to call home well enough for he had traveled the Cholame, Bitterwater, Red Hills, the Navaho, California Valley, the Pinole, the Temblor Mountains, and La Panza regions enough over the years hunting for men who others were unable run into the ground.  The tough cases were Ed’s favorites since hunting a man on the run challenged both his mind and his stamina, sometimes to the limit. 

  One of the strangest cases Ed ever took on in the county was hunting a man called Aaron Applebee some ten years earlier.  Applebee was a hard case confidence man who lived in a mud soddy near the south end of Shell Creek, kinda where Amy said she was raised.  Applebee was a known criminal whose string of crimes ranged from stealing horses to swindling old wimmin’ out of their life savings.  Aaron was a slicker who was not only a smooth talker, he was clever and quick witted to boot.

  It was only on happenstance Ed even rode out on that job for he had a plenty of work needed doin’ on the ranch but then a manhunt was always a lot more fun than dragging a wild-eyed steer out of the prickly chaparral of the back country of Jolon. 

  It just so happened that a United States Marshal out of Sacramento by the name of Titus McDaniel had ridden through Hog Town on his way south and was looking to deputize a local man, someone who knew the country and trails to ride with him. 

  Ed happened to be picking up some dry goods at the Hog Town Mercantile to stock the line shacks on the ranch so couldn’t help but overhear the details of the conversation between the Marshal and the mercantile clerk.  Seeing the opportunity to get off the ranch for a few days of important work, Ed signed on with Marshal Titus McDaniel with the caveat that they needed to stop by Bradley to let Old Joe know where he was going just in case he didn’t make it back so someone could come looking for him. 

  Two days later, Marshal McDaniel and his deputy rode through Shandon and east on Truesdale Road past Starkey to Shell Creek then south along the dry creek bed.  The new deputy figured to set up camp just a mile or so from the Hansen Ranch headquarters an hour before dark so they could get an early start in the morning. 

  It was only seven more miles to the soddy so they would get up early to be prepared to ride an hour and a half before daylight so they would be at the soddy before the sun rose at dawn.  Like clockwork, Titus McDaniel and Ed Ketterly were waiting for Applebee when he came out of the soddy for his morning constitutional in the three-holer behind the small weather-beaten shack he called a cabin.

  Aaron Applebee was caught with his pants down, literally, and defenseless so after all the miles on the trail, the arrest was almost anti-climactic since the man gave up without a fight.  It was only minutes later when the lawmen understood his reasoning for not making a run for it.  When the men walked Applebee back into the cabin to get him dressed for the trail, they saw a scared little girl, maybe ten or twelve years old, huddling in the corner of the one-room shanty behind the pot-bellied stove next to the wood box. 

  “Egad!” Ed exclaimed out loud as he realized who this woman Amy Crabtree really was, “it’s you!  The little light haired girl from Shell Creek.  I figured you were still in an orphanage somewhere.  When did you start going by the name Crabtree?”

  Pulling up sharply, Amy turned her horse around and pushed the animal into Ed’s.  Little did she realize however, Ed's mount was a seasoned lead horse and wasn’t about to take the advance lightly.  As soon as Amy's horse stepped within the Bay's reach, he instinctively pinned his ears back and nipped her horse twice along its muzzle stopping Amy's ride from advancing any closer just as he would if it were a disobedient member of his pack string.

  The sudden strike from the bay threw Ed violently forward against the buckin’ rolls but he just relaxed and stayed in the saddle.  "Whoa Buck", Ed cautioned to his trusty mount to try to get him settled back down.  Seconds later, the bay was calm and acting as if nothing happened but Amy wasn’t so lucky as her horse shied away sharply, almost launching her from her seat.

  With a wry grin hidden behind his turned up collar, Ed snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye back at Longtree several strides behind the bay.  Bill Longtree was sitting his horse well out of the way as Ed noticed how he was trying to hide an urge to laugh.

  If the reaction of the bay startled Amy in the least, no one could tell because she laid into Ed with a vengeance once the horses stopped dancing.

  “Do you know what happens to young girls in those places MR. KETTERLY?” Amy snapped.  “And for your information, the name Crabtree was forced upon me when I had to take a husband in order to get out of that place.  It was either that or die.  Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have taken the alternative.”

  “I assumed the caretakers of the orphanage would keep the children, especially scared young girls, safe from harm,” Ed stuttered as he tried to find the right words to say but clearly taken aback by Amy’s spontaneous and vicious verbal attack.

  “Not even close,” Amy said with tears beginning to well up in her eyes.  “No one, especially a 12-year old girl, should ever be subjected to those kinds of animals.  My pa and I are gonna make sure you get your just reward for being such a diligent lawman and sending me there.  You are going to learn just what it’s like to be helpless and alone waiting, wanting, no, hoping to die.  Titus McDaniel has already gotten his, perhaps you have heard?” Amy commented after a brief pause.  “Like I said, I had to get married to get away from that place.”

  “I knew Titus was murdered on his way to Reno but no one was ever charged in the case.  As I remember the case, Titus was tortured with a runnin’ iron, tied to an oak tree with barbed wire, then left to die of thirst while his eyes were getting plucked out by turkey buzzards.”

  “That sounds about right,” Amy ejaculated.  “When we came after you, I used my married name of Crabtree since you wouldn’t be able to put one and two together since you might remember my real name from back then.  It worked out pretty well since Angus took over our little ranch after pa got arrested and I got sent to the “Home”.

  Silent for a moment, Ed started speaking again, “Angus Crabtree is an ornery, old, and difficult man, really not much more than a broken down old horse thief,” Ed exclaimed.  “Were you that desperate?”

  “Oh I didn’t marry the old man Ed.  His son, also called Angus, is your age.  The old man bought me from the orphanage manager as a wife for his son two years after I arrived there.  Yes Ed,” Amy continued with a certain sadness showing in her eyes, “a fourteen-year-old girl bought just like breeding stock at the auction yard in Templeton.  Angus Jr. was a cruel, almost inhuman being but yes, in answer to your question, I was that desperate and I have the scars to prove it.  Course the Modocs gave Angus Jr. a few of his own while he begged for his miserable life before he died at the end of a red-hot warrior lance like the woman beating coward he is.”

  Amy said no more, just stared at the shocked man for a full minute as he tried to digest the revelations blurted out by a little slip of a gal with murder, revenge, retribution, or something even worse on her mind.  Turning her horse back around, Amy pushed her animal onto the flats of Surprise Valley.  A half-mile before turning south into the struggling settlement of Cedarville, Amy turned the horses north towards Fort Bidwell.

  It was only a few miles to Fort Bidwell with the distance stringing out behind the trio quite rapidly after Amy kicked her horse into a forced canter once her tirade was over.  Within forty-five minutes, the pointed ramparts used as fort walls could be seen as a stark silhouette against the mountains as they rode.  Fort Bidwell had been abandoned by the military some years earlier but a family of Mormon settlers took over some of the buildings to live in while they built cabins of their own.  It naturally made sense to keep the Fort in usable condition in case of an Indian attack. 

  Other than what the Mormon’s kept up at the fort, the surrounding area was pretty run down with only a few civilized folks living or working close by.  Most folks stayed closer to Cedarville since the Modocs were known to be unruly when they got a hold of too much whiskey.

  Amy didn’t even turn her eyes to look at the settlers when she rode past the outer walls of the fort as she turned east.  The Mormons were friendly enough but as a rule, suspicious of strangers.  The last thing she wanted was for someone to start asking questions.

  Three miles east across the valley from the fort, the small caravan turned onto a thin, little used game trail through stunted buck brush and sage.  Not far away, Ed could see paper thin tendrils of smoke rising from a rusted chimney pushed through a sod roof.  Closing in on the cabin, Ed’s blood ran cold for on the porch was the man he recognized as Aaron Applebee from all those years ago in Shell Creek when they served the warrant out of Salinas. 

  “So you got the last of them Amy!” Aaron roared jubilantly as he fought his way out of the old rocker.  “Good!” he continued with a sadistic, almost devil like look on his face, “I want to be done with this business at hand so we can head back east to where there will be a far better life for you and I.”

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Sixteen

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  “Get him off that horse, won’t you Bill!” Aaron demanded, “and tie him up in the woodshed so a rattler might bite him, if one is close enough.  It’s already too late to take him for his last ride today.  If he’s lucky, maybe Iron Hand will make it here by morning to give him a real special sendoff.”

  Bill Longtree was none too gentle as he jabbed Ed in the ribs with the twin barrels of the shotgun in an effort to get him out of the saddle.  With his foot in the stirrup, Ed simply leaned away from him, further infuriating the man.  Bill stomped around the horse, slapped Ed’s boot out the stirrup, then grabbed his shirt to throw him off the horse to the ground.  With his bad arm and having his hands tied like they were, Ed could do nothing but try to hit on his shoulder to keep his head from bouncing off the ground when he landed. 

  Once Ed was able to fight back onto his feet, Bill jabbed the double gun into his back again and pointed towards a tattered building that was little more than a holey roof with pieces of walls holding it up.  Stopping at the door, Ed waited while Bill wrestled it open against the blown sand on the bottom.

  Prodding Ed inside with his scattergun again, Bill forced him to put his legs around a support timber then slid iron shackles onto his ankles.  Satisfied Ed was secured for the night, Bill tucked the key safely away into a pocket on his vest once he had the locks turned down tight.

  “You won’t be getting out of those irons anytime soon,” Bill said, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. 

  With only one good hand, Longtree didn’t see where Ed had any chance to get free of his impromptu prison so he cut his hands loose to keep a little circulation going so he could suffer longer. 

  “If yer lucky Mister, you might freeze to death tonight since it’s gonna get a bit cold with that storm blowing in,” Bill taunted, laughing as he turned to head back into the warm cabin and the shelter it provided from the biting northeast wind. 

  Ed stared after the man, shivering as the icy air started to cut past the edges of his coat.  There was no reason to reply or to take a chance to anger the ruthless gunman more so Ed just held his tongue and tried to focus on how he was going to make good his escape.

  The support pole was solid in the ground but showed the signs of age and the weather having no real protection from the elements.  Ed gave some thought to trying to cut through the pole using the chain like a saw but soon realized that cutting through the pole like that might just bring the whole roof down on top of him before he could get out of the way.

  Sitting out all night with no protection from the wind was bad enough but now it was starting to rain.  The rain started as a few spattering clusters of drops turning into a light shower but before long, the sky opened up and there was a thin river of rain water running through the shed.

  Sliding around the pole as best he could to keep from sitting in the water flow, Ed grimaced as he looked up at the roof, poor as it was, watching the rainwater as it worked its way through every little opening it could find to give him a soaking.

  Soon, the constant drips were dancing in the dust turned mud as the water drained to a point where the weight of the liquid caused them let go to fall to the ground around him or bounce off his Stetson with a splat.  After a fashion, the drips slowed down some and the noise from the rain hammering the roof began to fade away to offer Ed some small hope of respite from Mother Nature.

  Having ridden the Alturas high country many times before with Old Joe, Ed knew this wasn’t just a passing shower and that things were likely to get a whole bunch worse before they got better.  The telltale signs were written in the clouds overhead during the ride towards Fort Bidwell as Ed remembered the blue-black line of rain just over the horizon. 

  Just before dark, the blue line had turned to green just under the clouds.  Ed Ketterly knew the green line of a Northerner could only mean hail but before the hail, there was likely to be a good bit of thunder and a whole lot of lightening to warn folks foul weather was a comin’. 

  As if on cue, Ed could hear the rumble of thunder hammering far in the distance and could see reflections of the lightening flashing on the wet walls of the shed.  As Ed listened to the wind, the storm seemed like it was moving his way in a hurry so as to not make him suffer the wait for too terribly long.

  The wind had begun to howl outside the rickety shack as tumbleweeds and dead juniper branches tore at the thin walls, trying desperately to make their way inside away from the relentless wind.  There was no blowing sand at least for the rain limited the blowing dirt to some degree. 

  Looking through the still open door, Ed could see flashes of lightening as it lit the hills across the canyon with an eerie light.  The thunder was rolling behind the flashes only seconds later causing the walls of the miserable shack to shake and shudder from the vibration.

  Lightning storms in the mountains were not for the faint of heart so Ed tried to steel himself for what he knew was the worst to come.  He was scared and for good reason.  Old Joe had lost more than a few good riders over the years having been struck by a lightning bolt.

  The wind was starting to die down to a gentle breeze when a massive lightning bolt struck a gnarled piñon only a few yards from Ed’s shack, blinding him temporarily with the white hot stream of electricity.  For just a few seconds, the darkness had been pushed back to where it seemed lighter than a summer day at noonin’. 

  The ancient piñon looked as if it had been abused by nature more than a few times before but this would be the last time it would have to face it.  The tree exploded from being wet inside as the electricity blasted through it and now it was burning like a bonfire.  Whether he knew for certain or not, Ed thought he could feel the hair on his head lift as the bolt’s current coursed through the ground and into his body as the piñon exploded.

  There was a distinct sulphurous smell in the air as thunder rolled in instantly behind the jagged bolt of electricity.  The thunder clap was almost deafening as the vibration shook the shack so hard Ed thought it was going to come down on top of him.

  The Lightning began to rain in with a vengeance now as bolts were cracking all around Ed’s shack illuminating the area around the small ranch enough to see the ghostly skeletons of the other buildings.  One bolt seemed to travel just over the shack for the static electricity lifted the hair on Ed’s head for just a second once again. 

  “That was a bit close,” Ed thought as he ducked under the thunder, smiling to himself as if ducking would have done him any good anyway.

  The rain had started back up by now and had begun to slam into the roof in a torrent but within a few minutes, the rain turned to egg sized hail, pounding the shack like millions of tiny hammers.  Before long, what few pieces of roofing that were left clinging to the rafters started to splinter and break apart allowing the rain and hail free entry into the shack.

  Ed watched the ground around him and outside the shack as the hard ice crystals bounced as they hit the earth in a furious dance against the flashing lights still present from the lightening that was finally moving away.

  The hail eased off after a few minutes then as if it couldn’t get any worse, the snow began to fall quietly.  It was starting to get colder by the hour and bein’ wet from the rain, Ed knew it was going to be a really long, miserable night, …….. if he lived.

  It was finally quiet as the snow fell so when the sound of a heavy riding skirt rustling in the darkness broke the silence, Ed’s senses were immediately on high alert.  There were only shadows around him since the lightning was gone and he could see nothing but Ed knew someone, a female someone, was close by for he could smell fresh lilac and soap in the air.

  “Mr. Ketterly,” Amy said breaking the silence at last.  “You may or may not deserve what Aaron has in store for you tomorrow but I will not be part of letting you die out here in the cold and wet like a savage.”

  Taking a buffalo hide off a hook near the door, Amy draped the smelly animal skin over Ed’s shoulders and around to where he could hold it closed around his neck with his good hand.

  There was no sense trying to bargain or debate the issue with Amy so Ed could only reply, “Thank you mam,” as Amy turned to leave the shack.  Ed could see her lithe outline move into the doorway as she stopped as if thinking of something she wanted to say. 

  Standing there for just a moment without turning around, Amy considered how polite Ed was to her even though he knew she had set him up to die and it bothered her deep down to her soul.  Moving off, Amy made no reply before heading back to the warmth of the cabin.

  The hide was heavy and it smelled like death but Ed was starting to warm up as his breath slowly heated the air underneath.  After several minutes, he began to lose the shivers as well.  Ed still worried his mind over what he was going to do the next day to try to stay alive but before long, he finally drifted off to a fitful sleep where he dreamed, or hallucinated, through a strange happening."

  From beneath the safety of the heavy hide, Ed could hear the crackle of a campfire.  Peering out from a lifted corner, the fire seemed like it was within reach and producing blue flames.  There seemed to be someone sitting near the fire but Ed couldn’t see a face.

  Blinking a couple times to clear his vision, Ed could see that it was Caoqoset, the Seer, sitting across the fire and looking right at him as if she had sight again.  Caoqoset smiled and nodded toward the fire.  Reaching out with his good hand towards the flames for warmth, he drew it back in pain for the blue flames were ice cold.

  Ed looked back towards the fire as the flames began to die down and quickly turned to ash. Ed continued to watch on with amazement as scorpions began crawling out from deep within the smoldering pit.  As the scorpions swarmed, deep in Ed’s subconscious, he thought he could hear Caoqoset’s voice speaking to him through the smoke. 

  “Ed, you will get through this troubled time.  The Scorpion will guide you and make you strong.”  As the voice grew quiet, the scorpions escaped into the night with the scene fading into the darkness.  Far off in the distance, Ed heard a wolf howl just before he drifted off to a deeper, more peaceful sleep.

  The snow continued to fall until almost daylight then as quickly as it had come, the storm was gone.  The sky cleared off and the cold came in at dawn with a vengeance.  Ed’s feet and lower legs were cold as they had ever been but he was alive and starting to thaw as the sun’s warming rays peeked inside his makeshift jail.

  He could smell smoke, bread baking, and bacon frying in the still morning air but Ed knew they would not waste food on a man they were fixing to murder in a few hours. 

  Tucking his head down under the hide once again, Ed tried to push his thinkin’ back to making a plan to escape to take his mind off his stomach.  Somewhere along the way, he slept again until Bill Longtree came for him.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Seventeen

____________________________

 

  Ed Ketterly was jolted awake with a boot in his side when Bill Longtree came to the shack to see if he had lived through the night.  If it wasn’t for the thick hide, the cruel gunman might have even broken some ribs but Ed was lucky,…. this time.  Ed wanted to get up and hammer the man’s nose flat with his good fist but thought better of trying to start something with the gunman considering he couldn’t get at him with his legs chained together.

  “Are ya still breathin’? Bill snarled as he jerked the hide free.  “How’d you get that hide?” he barked as Ed looked up at the man.

  His eyes blazing hate, Ed simply stared back into the gunman’s black eyes with a blank look on his face and made no reply.  If he had the chance, Bill Longtree would suffer some before Ed planted him.  That was a promise Ed made to himself right at that moment.

  “Yea, ya still got some fire to you,” Bill sniped as he took the shackles off Ed’s ankles.  “Get up and get outside so we can get this over with,” Bill growled as he jerked Ed up from the ground by his collar.

  Stretching as best he could to try to get some kinks out and circulation moving, Ed started walking outside to where Aaron and Amy were waiting by the corral with four horses, saddled and ready.

  Stopping for just a minute to let his eyes adjust to the sunshine, Ed was prodded back into motion with a quick jab from the barrels of a sawed-off shotgun.  One of these times, Ed thought silently to himself, Longtree was going to dig at him once too often with that shotgun and ‘Ole Bill was gonna end up and the receiving end of it his ownself.

  Stopping at the first riderless horse, Ed looked up at the sour-faced man in front of him and asked, “Are you sure we can’t talk this out civilized like Mr. Applebee?”

  “That might be the goin’ thing to do for city folks on the coast but in the high country, we do things a bit different when we want to settle a debt,” Aaron replied.  “Sides, talk won’t make this go away,” Applebee said, turning his face to show Ed the long, livid-white scar that ran from the corner of his eye to the tip of his chin. 

  “This is what the guards do to a man who is lucky enough to be sent to Yuma Prison then tries to escape,” Aaron continued.  “I get to wear it for life and I have you to thank for everyone knows I’ve been to prison now.”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Ed replied.  “You wrote that ticket when you and Angus Crabtree decided to rob the eastbound.  Yer lucky you didn’t get hanged for the crimes you got away with.”

  “Hahahahahahaha!” Aaron roared.  “That’s the same thing ‘Ole Titus McDaniel said just before he took that last step to perdition.”

  “Get him on the horse Bill,” Aaron barked, “it’s past time to settle this debt.”

  There was nothing left to be said so Ed grabbed the saddle horn with his good hand then leapt into the stirrup to get into leather.  Once on the horse, Bill tied Ed’s bad hand across his stomach and his good one to his saddle horn as before then unrolled the halter rope and tied it to his own saddle horn.  Stabbing a boot into the stirrup, he too was in leather.

  Bill Longtree led Ed’s horse out of the yard to take the lead at a canter as they headed east by southeast into the badlands.  Amy and Aaron followed along behind about fifteen yards so they could talk freely without Ed or Bill being able to hear what they had to say.

  The land ahead was low rolling hills dotted with juniper trees and an occasional stunted pine at the beginning but as the riders moved into the brush, the landscape soon turned from the lush grass of the mountain cattle country to the sparse, almost barren desolation of the high desert.

  Mile after mile of hard riding brought Amy and the men further into the burnt-out badlands of the northern reaches of Fort Sage then onto a high plateau devoid of anything resembling another living being.  Even the brush was thinning out to leave nothing but sand and gravel on the surface.

  By nightfall, Bill led the riders off the barren plateau and into a maze of ragged draws before turning into a small box canyon where they would spend the night under a slab-rock overhang where there was an artesian seep to water the horses and a bit of bunch grass.

  Bill was rough enough with his prisoner to have been a longshoreman as he jerked Ed off his horse then half carried, half dragged him to the side near a blackened fire pit where there was a natural barrier of rock to keep him from being able to escape while Aaron and Amy climbed out of their saddles.

  Aaron took the reins to all four horses and led them around the vertical rock wall to a makeshift corral Ed hadn’t seen when they first rode in.  Inside the pen, there was another decent seep and enough grass to keep the animals happy for the night.  Aaron stripped the tack from the horses and dragged the saddles into camp before heading out to dig up some firewood to make coffee.

  Stretching her arms above her head, Amy tried to work some of the kinks out of her tired muscles then rubbed her backside as if trying to take some of the sting away from her sore and bruised derriere as the men set up camp for the night. 

  Amy caught the evil intent in Bill Longtree’s eyes as they wandered across her curves and noticed the less than pious expression on his face when their eyes crossed.  Just the thought of a killer thinking about her in that way caused Amy to shudder deep down to her innermost being for she knew what he was capable of.

  Bill tied Ed’s feet together before he ran the rope around his hands then back down to his feet so there would be no way for him to straighten his legs enough to make a run for it.  Happy with his handiwork, Bill returned to the pack to get the coffee pot and a frying pan so Amy could fix some trail coffee, fry some bacon, and maybe mix up a pan full of sourdough biscuits for supper.  Before long, there was coffee boiling and the smell of frying bacon in the air causing Ed’s stomach to growl. 

  Ed knew better than to think he was going to get fed so he just rolled his face away from the fire and tried to get some sleep before the cold set in on him again.  Once it got dark, he would see if the ropes could be worked a bit to get loose from but even at that, he needed a horse and a gun if he expected to get away.

  The rest of the group gathered around the fire in a semblance of a semi-circle once supper was hot and dug in like they were starving hounds.  As what seemed normal for these men, once the food was put away the men smoked cigars and started passing a jug of mescal around between them.

  Not one to partake in the vile incivility of the drink, Amy made her bed across camp from the fire and away from the other men who were quickly becoming intoxicated.  Once in her bedroll, Amy rolled up into a ball in her blankets as she tried to become invisible to the others.  Knowing how her pa became when he had taken on a load of liquor, Amy wanted nothing to do with giving the man a distraction to use her as a whipping post or even worse if it was Bill Longtree who came for her.

  Luckily for her, Amy was spared the wrath of her pa and Bill Longtree but Ed didn’t earn any of the same.  Once the liquor dulled his sense of humanity, Aaron Applebee started in by throwing some small stones at Ed just to pick at him.    Before long, it became a contest as to which man could hit Ed closest to his head and who could toss the biggest rocks now that throwing the small stones wasn’t fun anymore.  Ed did his best to fend off the stoning he was taking but before long, he was getting cut from the shards and was starting to bleed from the many small wounds he was receiving where skin wasn’t covered. 

  “Yer a bunch of drunken cowards to stone a tied up man!” Ed shouted after a good while.  “If’n you were real men, you’d give me an even chance to fight you!”

  “We’ll see just how tough you are tomorrow Cowboy,” Aaron taunted.  “You’ll get that break you wanted.” 

  “It’ll be you ‘agin the desert,” Bill added as he staggered close enough to kick Ed in the side once more with the side of his foot. 

  While not a full force kick, Bill’s boot caught Ed’s ribs with a glancing blow that sent shockwaves of pain through his body and took his breath away for a moment.  Ed gritted his teeth until he thought they might snap but there was no way in hell he was gonna let the drunken saddle-tramp know he was hurt.

  “Maybe that will get you to shut yer trap fer a bit soes we can go on with our drinking,” Longtree barked, his words slurring from the effects of the Mexican wine.

  Heading back to the fire, Bill Longtree sat down on his stone chair and kept guzzling the jug of mescal long after Aaron crawled off to his bedroll.  Before long, Bill’s drunkenness had gotten almost to the point where he was borderline delirious.  

  With no one left awake to amuse him, it didn't take long before Bill spotted the bundle of blankets that hid Amy from his view.  Any fool could have spotted the lust in Bill’s eyes, even though they were bloodshot and watering like someone who had just ridden all day through a high desert sandstorm. 

  Across camp, Amy wasn’t asleep for she feared the gunman more than any of the others she had known as a child as they rode through the ranches looking for a meal and a bed for the night.  Lying there thinking about what was going to happen the next day, Amy could almost feel Bill’s lustful stare boring through her back.

  There was little Ed could do but watch as Bill staggered to his feet and began shuffling towards Amy’s bed on his unholy mission, that is until Bill came a little too close to the tied up man.  Drunk and focused solely on Amy, Bill wasn’t paying attention to anything else except her bed so he didn’t notice when Ed pushed his leg out far enough for the point of his boot to hook around Bill’s left foot, tripping him as he jerked Bill’s boot sideways and back.

  The look of shock and surprise wiped the sadistic grin off Bill’s face as soon as he realized he was about to face plant into the glowing coals of the dying campfire.  As he fell towards the red-hot coals, the only thing keeping Bill’s face out of the fire was Ed’s boot twisting Bill’s leg around enough to cause him to spin and land on his shoulder.

  His face missed the fire but the shaggy mane Bill called hair laid across the coals and began to smoke.  There was so much bear grease in that tangled rat’s nest that before Bill could jerk free, it flared into flame as quickly as pine pitch.  Bill screamed like a little girl as the flash fire burnt up his neck, face, and ears, stopping at the brim of his hat’s sweatband. 

  Rolling away as he beat the fire licking at his face, Bill was sobering up right quick as anger began to take over.  “You bastard,” Bill bellowed as he struggled to get back to his knees, drawing his sixgun as he did.  “I’m gonna kill you right this minute,” he screamed.

  “No yer not Bill,” a shrill voice barked from behind him.  Bill started to spin towards the voice when he heard the hammer on the small Smith and Wesson 1 ½ being cocked back to full stand. 

  Looking back towards Amy, Bill could see the pint-sized revolver held steady in Amy’s small hands and the muzzle pointed directly at his breast.  It wasn’t much of a gun but at close range, it was enough to get the job done.

  “I know what you had in mind for me Bill so you deserve what you got,” Amy snapped.  “Your best bet is to go to bed before Aaron cuts you in two with his scattergun.”

  Looking behind him, Bill could see the old man holding the barrels of the rusty shotgun dead level at his belly.  Looking death square in the eye, the drunken rage drained away as Bill finally realized he was only seconds away from being buzzard bait.

  Throwing death wish looks at Ed like daggers, Bill raised his hands and said, “Alright Amy, you win this hand for the deputy but I’ll get mine in the end.  Trust me, once you see what I’ve got in store for him, he’ll wish I’d a shot him once the desert starts sucking the life from his hide.”

  Heading off towards his bedroll, Bill glared at Amy and Aaron as if to say, “This isn’t over, by a long shot.  I’ll get mine before this ride is done.”

  Amy walked over to Ed and dragged his blanket back over him like a doting mother would do an infant.  Not wanting Aaron to overhear, she mouthed, “Thank you,” before turning back to her bedroll.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Eighteen

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  No one was talking as Amy stirred the campfire before first light to make a quick breakfast before they headed back out onto the trail.  Bill was making himself scarce after the previous evenings festivities so went straight to work saddling the horses and only made only a brief appearance to grab a plate of bacon and beans.

Within thirty minutes, they were heading back onto a narrow trail into the badlands, a sprangle of canyons, up thrust slabs of colorful rock, and ancient watercourses where only the Apache could live with ease. 

  Bill Longtree led the small group for what seemed like hours as they zigzagged through a maze of canyons, ever shifting sand dunes, and waterless hell before finally stopping at what looked to be an ancient burial ground.

  Stepping off his horse, Bill walked over to Ed, untied his hand from the saddle, pulled the stirrup off his boot, then pushed him over the other side of the horse to land in the sand with a thud.  Leading Ed’s horse next to his, Bill stepped back into the saddle and prepared to ride.

  “What about that even chance Longtree?” Ed barked.  “Leaving me tied up like this is nothing short of murder, a coward’s murder at that.”

  It was Aaron’s turn to speak now.  “When you led that two-bit sheriff to my cabin, you signed your own death warrant just like the sheriff done to himself.  What happened to Amy after I was gone is as much your fault as his fer taking me away.  With no one to protect her, it was like you done it yerself.  Now we are even.  When you’re dyin’ slow out here, you think about what you done to an innocent girl when you left her with no pa.”

  Looking up into Amy’s cornflower blue eyes, Ed said, “I had no way of knowing you would be molested or hurt in any manner Amy.  We left you with a good family who should have taken better care of you.  You need to know that we done what we could Amy.”

  Amy said nothing in reply, just turned her horse to follow the others back to civilization and to an uncertain future.  What Amy didn’t know yet, she was gonna see a lot more death than she ever planned on before this ride was over with.

  Taking up Ed’s grub, canteen, and his horse, Aaron Applebee, Amy Crabtree, and Bill Longtree led off to the southwest leaving Ed alone in the wild untamed badlands.  He was miles from any semblance of civilization other than the Modoc and Ed didn’t like the Modoc any more than he liked Bill Longtree.

  Looking around and considering his predicament carefully, Ed Ketterly found himself tied up in the middle of a vast wilderness in Northern Nevada Territory with no horse, no food, no canteen, and more importantly, no gun. 

  How he got himself into this situation was by dumb fool’s luck for Ed was a careful man as a general rule.  It went against his grain but Ed let his guard down for just a minute when it came to that girl’s shy smile and sad story.  Course even he’d been ready for them, Longtree probably would have just murdered him sooner.  Now he was in real trouble and it was coming onto dark.

  The frontier cattleman was no stranger to trouble for he was born to Scot/Irish stock who immigrated to the new world in search of a new life where a man could raise a family and build a home with his bare hands. 

  Given the choice of being set afoot in the wilderness or facing the deadly chasm of Bill Longtree’s .45 caliber revolver, Ed decided to take his chances against nature, the Pit River injuns, or even worse, the Modocs. 

  Another of the things Ed learned from Old Joe that he never forgot was to keep moving forward and don’t give up until he was dead.  Ed wasn’t dead yet so it was time to get moving if he was going to catch them.

  Ed knew he needed to come up with an escape plan right quick or he would be dead within a few hours.  First things first, he needed to get loose from the rawhide thongs on his wrists then he needed to find shelter for the night.  After that, he needed a weapon, any kind of weapon and then he needed to find water.

  Bill Longtree made double sure to tie Ed’s hands as tight as he could without cutting the circulation completely off so it would be near to impossible for him to get free once they left him in the badlands.  Making it worse, Bill used wet rawhide that shrunk even tighter around his wrists as it dried so Ed’s hands were numb and didn’t work right.

  If it wasn’t for some minor misfortune, Ed might have been finished right off but while working his way to his feet, Ed lost his balance, tripped, stumbled, and fell into a fair sized stand of dead juniper branches.  To Ed’s surprise, as he cursed his carelessness, he discovered there was a small tinaja under the brush where he could dip his hands to wet the rawhide again. 

  The cool water soothed his aching hands a bit too as he began to work the rawhide to get it to stretch.  It took nearly thirty minutes of painful work but the water caused the rawhide to stretch just enough and with the blood flowing from fresh cuts, his hands were getting slickery.

  Sweating like a man shoveling coal, Ed worked at the rawhide with a vengeance until finally, his bad hand slipped free so he could untie the other one at last.  Getting to his feet, Ed was able to look around with fresh eyes since he was better able to move now.

  There was no obvious shelter so Ed struck out through the Modoc burial ground in search of anything that would be of some use to him.  Searching the broken down trellised graves, Ed was able to locate two spear heads but now would need to fashion handles and needed a way to attach the flint blades to a long pole of some kind. 

  It didn’t take long before Ed found two straight limbs that had been used as legs to one of the collapsed Trellis.  They were no more than two inches thick and fairly straight.  The only thing Ed needed now was some wet rawhide.  The Indian trellises were tied together with strips of old rawhide so bein’ it was still early spring, the ancient leather had been rained and snowed on so there was a chance Ed could salvage some short pieces.

  The hunt was on for some usable rawhide but every piece Ed found was powder dry and stiff as a buffalo hide.  Frustrated and mad at his predicament, Ed did the only thing left to do, turn towards the last known town.  Gathering his few discoveries, Ed threw his hands into the air when he saw the rawhide used to bind his hands together.  The crumpled up piece of rawhide would surely be long enough to tie at least one of the arrowheads onto the handle to make a spear.

  Smiling to himself, Ed knew it was past time to find a place to hole up for the night so slid the arrowheads and rawhide into a hip pocket and turned southwest following fresh horse tracks leading towards Cedarville where he knew there would be food, white folks, and a gun.  It took two days by horseback to get to where he was so Ed knew it would take at least four to get back.

  Ed also knew that Fort Bidwell is where Aaron, Bill, and Amy were headed and there was every possibility that Longtree would be waiting there to kill him if by chance he got within reach of town.  Without a doubt, Fort Bidwell was no place Ed could take a chance on and would have to head cross country to miss it.

  There was no real choice in the matter so he had to get moving along for Ed had no shelter against the cold north wind, no food, and no way to carry what little water he could find in the tinajas.  Using the thin poles as walking sticks, Ed moved out at a brisk pace but as he moved no more than thirty steps, his eye caught something shining in the fading sun.  Making his way towards the mysterious object, Ed smiled once again when he saw the S&W 1 1/2 and a small dagger half buried in the sand.  Stooping to pick the weapons up, Ed wiped the sand from the action and opened the gun to find it loaded with only three cartridges.

  “Well Eddie ‘ole boy,” he said out loud, “It’s three more live shells than you had two minutes ago.”

  Stuffing the small framed revolver into his waistband, Ed slid the dagger into the seam of his high-topped boots then looked across the rolling hills for anything he could call shelter.  Seeing nothing right off, Ed began to move again.  It was going to be tough going because Ed was wearing the high-heeled boots of a cattleman, not the more conventional flat-soled work boots of a miner who was on his feet all day but he was gonna work through it since he didn’t have a choice anyway.

  Ed moved out, his head and eyes working as if on a swivel, searching every little nook and cranny for a hollow or even a badger hole he could open up to sleep in.  At least with the storm a day earlier, there was no problem finding water in the rock tinajas and shallow bowls hollowed out of the lava flows by wind and sand.

  It would be only another hour before dark this time of year so Ed needed to find some kind of shelter fast.  As the worried man crested the next rise, Ed could see the smooth glassy face of an ancient lava flow.  Bein’s this country was volcanic in the early days of the earth, Ed searched for any sign of an air tube under the slick flowing expanse of rock.  It was almost pitch black dark when Ed found just the type of shelter he was looking for. 

  At the edge of the lava flow, the glass-like formation broke off to sand again.  Looking closer, Ed could see where the rushing rainwater cut through a crack in the lave field and made its way into an air tube left by the ancient water flow.  Chipping away at the edge of the flow with his spear, Ed found the lava broke away easily enough to make a hole so he could slide down through it.

  As he worked feverishly, Ed thought he could hear the sound of someone moaning as if they were hurt.  Passing it off as the wind, Ed kept at his work until the hole was plenty large enough for him to slide through and into the relative safety of the air tube.  The moaning haunted him like a ghost so rather than slip into his temporary abode and let the sounds fester, Ed reached for the Smith & Wesson and started looking around the area for what was making the sound.

  The high desert landscape was covered with shadows by now and images that spooked the man when he least expected it but Ed kept moving towards the high-pitched moan that seemed to be getting a bit louder. 

  Keeping his head up to look around for danger, Ed made a tenderfoot’s mistake in the fading light when he suddenly tripped over a body lying in the shadows.  Panicking and rolling away from the obviously dead man as fast as he could, Ed instantly recognized the face as belonging to Aaron Applebee.  He had been shot through the back of the head with the slug exiting his left eye.

  Gathering his wits about him after looking wildly around for anyone else, Ed searched Aaron for a gun but was only able to locate a cartridge belt with cartridges that wouldn’t fit the small Smith, an empty money clip, a folding knife, and a few coins.  It seemed only right Ed should take Aaron’s heavy winter coat since he wouldn’t be needing it anymore in this life.

  Again Ed heard the moaning sound so finding nothing more that was useful on Aaron, he moved out slowly as he looked behind every bush and rock.  Moving another fifty yards with the stealth of a Modoc, Ed could barely see a small piece of Amy’s canvas jacket and wool pants showing behind some stunted sage. 

  Half running to where she lay but keeping an eye peeled for Longtree, Ed found Amy closer to death than anyone could imagine without crossing over.  Her head was swollen and bruised with a livid gash to the bone just above her hairline. 

  Even after everything she had put him through to succeed in her pa’s plan to murder him, Ed couldn’t just walk away and leave her in that condition, unable to fend for herself.  The woman would die if left out in the elements overnight ‘cause from the looks of the sky, it was about to open up a gulley washer real soon. 

  From the looks of the horizon, it was raining to the north of them already so Ed also knew his plan of using the air tube was out of the question now since the runoff from the lava beds would soon fill the narrow chamber and they would drown if caught inside.

  Looking past her, Ed could see her dead horse some forty yards to the north.  Laying Aaron’s jacket over Amy to try to keep her warm, Ed went to the horse to see if there was anything left there he could use.  Happily, Ed saw her bedroll wrapped in an oilskin slicker and Amy’s winter coat tied on the saddle as he moved closer.  In her saddlebags, Amy had a fresh white blouse, a partial box of cartridges for the little Smith and Wesson, and wrapped on the saddle horn was a canteen mostly full of water.

  Gathering the saddle blankets, bedroll, ammunition canteen, coat, and blouse, Ed turned to head back to Amy when he saw something else that looked suspiciously intriguing.  There was an up-thrust of lava just behind a wall of chaparral and greasewood that might be better than nothing for a makeshift shelter. 

  Taking a chance on there being no mountain lion or bear hidden in a den behind the brush, Ed burrowed his way through the wall of stickers for several feet and much to his amazement, found an ancient opening to some sort of mine.  “Shelter” was the only thought what came to Ed’s mind and they would need it badly for it was starting to rain on him now. 

  Dropping his things near the mouth of the mine opening, Ed worked his way out and back to Amy.  With only one good arm, Ed tried to be careful as he lifted Amy onto his right shoulder and carried her to the mine.  There was no good way to carry her into the mine easily once he got her to the wall of brush so Ed had to drag her backwards through the small opening he had made through the thick wall of sticker hell.

  Laying her down as comfortably as he could several dozen feet inside the mineshaft, Ed covered Amy with a blanket and put the canteen under her head to keep her hair from lying in the dirt.  Having done what he could for Amy for the time being, Ed returned outside and began to scrounge up as much dry brush and wood as he could find in a hurry and could carry back to his makeshift camp before the lightning began to stab and scorch the earth around them. 

  It was almost completely dark by now so Ed took the slicker and hung it over the entrance to the mine as a makeshift windbreak by wrapping the edges around his spears and jamming them into the broken rock of the mineshaft walls. 

  Working without light, Ed scraped some bark off the wood and lit it with a match he found in Amy’s saddle bags.  As the flames began to lick at the dry tinder, Ed began to coax the small fire with a few sticks at a time until it was burning brightly.

  With a little bit of light to work with now, Ed began to check Amy over for other injuries.  She had been severely beaten and had a goose egg on her head but there didn’t appear to be any broken bones that Ed could see without stripping her down.  The head wound had bled like a fountain so Ed started tearing the extra blouse into strips.  Using a little water from the canteen, Ed began to clean the head wound of dried blood so he could bandage it up with the strips of clean cloth.

  Once bandaged as best he could, Ed smoothed out an area of rocks then laid out Amy’s bedroll for her to lie on.  Moving Amy to the new bed, Ed laid her head back onto the canteen wrapped with the last of her blouse before covering her with her winter coat and the other blanket.  It would be up to God if she was going to live or die for Ed had done everything he learned to do from the old Frenchman and his Basque sheepherders.  It was going to be a waiting game now, how long he would have wait would be up to Amy.

  Lightning was playing hob on the ancient lava beds outside of the mine but being the curious sort by nature, Ed pulled back the slicker to take a look.  Ed was almost mesmerized as the white-hot bolts danced across the sky as the electric lances stabbed wickedly at the ground as if the heavenly spirits were angry at the earth. 

  The thunder rolled in behind the bolts almost immediately, meaning the lightning was hitting far too close for comfort.  They would be safe enough from the weather inside the mine but come morning, Ed had a lot more decisions to make now that he was saddled with a hurt woman so far away from any sign of civilization. 

  Closing the opening tightly at long last, Ed fed the fire a few more sticks then curled up close to it with his coat wrapped tightly around him and slept as the storm raged throughout the night.  Every hour or so, Ed would wake up with a chill so stoked the fire and made sure Amy was still breathing before drifting off to sleep once again.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Nineteen

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  The war between the earth and Mother Nature raged on throughout the night as Ed slept fitfully once again.  By dawn, the storm had blown through the high country leaving the lava strewn landscape dripping wet and cold, just waiting for someone to slip on the slick glass like surface so they could break a leg or a skull.

Looking over at Amy, Ed could tell she was breathing a bit easier but was still unconscious from the beating she had taken the day before.  Checking her head wound for color and her skin for heat, Ed was happy to see there was no infection so could occupy his mind with much more urgent problems.

  His stomach growled again as it reminded Ed that it was well past time to eat supper.  Amy didn’t have any food in her saddlebags but given no other alternative, they would be eating the tenderloins from her horse to survive for a few more hours until Ed could figure something else out.

  Taking the .32 and the folding knife, Ed pushed back the slicker curtain, eased out of the mineshaft, and stretched to his full five foot ten inches as he looked around the desolate high plains.  Seeing nothing, Ed walked towards the hulk of dead horseflesh to begin his work. 

  It had stayed cold enough throughout the night so there was a good chance the horsemeat had not started to rot and was still good enough to eat.  To make sure they wouldn’t get sick, Ed would have to be certain to cook the meat until it was almost burnt to kill any bacteria.

  Getting straight to work, Ed cut the cinch to get the saddle free then peeled the hide away from the animal’s tenderloins.  Not knowing what else he might need, Ed skinned a good patch of hide off the horse to store some meat in for when they could take out for the Fort.  The tenderloins were still pink through and through so there was little chance the meat had started to turn rancid yet.  Slicing the loins away from the backbone, Ed soon had a good pile of meat to wrap into his hide.

  Knowing there was little else to work with, Ed took the reins, saddlebags, the shearling from inside the saddle tree to make mittens or head wraps, and both cinch straps to cut into smaller leather straps to make his spears or to tie other things together if he needed to.  Once he had everything he could use off the horse, Ed packed the things into the saddlebags then threw them over his shoulder to head back to the mine.

  Happy with his work, Ed went back to the mine and began to search further inside for discarded items left by miners, ancient travelers, or even Modocs, that could be of some help to him.  His luck holding out, Ed found a small rusty pan he could use to cook the meat.  With supper more or less set, Ed knew he needed to preserve the rest of the meat so it would last a few days because even in the cool temperatures, it would be going bad soon enough.

  It would take a while but Ed decided his best bet would be to try to dry the meat over the fire to make it like jerky.  He had no salt so he would have to make sure there was no moisture left in the meat to make it go rancid.  Taking Amy’s dagger, Ed proceeded to notch three sets of sticks to drive into the ground to lay spits above the fire.  He would have to constantly turn the spits so the meat dried evenly and didn’t char the outside too much.

  With the spits ready, Ed began cutting the meat into thin strips and started wrapping them around the wooden shafts.  Setting three larger cuts of meat to the side, Ed would wait to broil them for supper once the jerked meat started to dry.  It took a bit over an hour before Ed had the jerked meat ready to cook and had gathered enough wood to keep the fire going for several more hours so he wasted no more time in getting a flame lit. 

  Once the fire was lit and burning under his makeshift jerky with a vengeance, Ed grabbed up the old pan and started scrubbing it with handfuls of sand to get some of the rust off the weathered iron.  Shuffling a few rocks around, Ed had a hobo’s fire pit of sorts to going with his pan starting to heat up.  Cutting off a small piece of the hide, Ed wiped the inside of the pan, melting the thin fat onto the hot metal to help seal the rust from his supper.

  Once done with his pan cleanup, Ed threw his horsemeat steaks into the pan, turning them with the dagger every few minutes to keep the meat from sticking to the aged and rusty cast iron.

  While the meat was cooking, Ed hung the slicker over the mineshaft opening, leaving it hang open on one corner to let the smoke out of the shaft.  In case someone happened to be passing by, they might smell the smoke and the meat cooking but they weren’t going to be able to see the smoke or fire very easily unless they were standing directly in front of the mine.

  Ed had never eaten horsemeat before but the smells coming off his fire weren’t offensive at all so he figured it to be edible, albeit maybe tough.  In fact, the meat almost smelled of spice.  It suddenly came to Ed that the horses were short on feed riding up into the badlands so they had been eating leaves off the local sage and chaparral, all of which were tangy feed that would naturally migrate into the meat to lend to the smell when cooking.

  Pretty much set up for the next night in the high desert, Ed turned back towards the fire and the drying jerky.  As he moved, Ed noticed that Amy was awake and staring at him through fearful eyes from the shadows of her pallet.

  “So you live,” Ed remarked happily, a seemingly genuine smile gracing his lips.

Amy’s corn-flour blue eyes widened when she realized Ed had seen her watching him.  The look was that of a frightened animal but Ed acted like he hadn’t noticed the fear in her eyes and stayed with the task at hand.

  “Last time I found myself in a cave cooking like this was when John and I decided to be mountain men back at the ranch.  We were starving by the third day and ended up eating squirrels for lack of anything else.  Supper is scant tonight but it’s better than squirrel and is all there is if you are hungry,” Ed said off-handedly.  “I’m pretty sure it’ll taste better than eating the pan at least.  I can mix some jerky with water to make a broth of sorts if you can’t take whole food just yet.”

  Amy tried to push herself into a sitting position but there was too little strength in her arms.  Seeing Amy struggle, Ed eased over to her and helped her to sit up against a rusty ore bucket what had been left to rot.

  Once settled in, Amy looked at Ed for a good bit before turning away and looking at the fire.  After a fashion, she looked again, something clearly weighing heavy on her mind to ask the Monterey County cowboy who had saved her from certain death on the high prairie.

  “What’s on yer mind girl?” Ed asked.  “I can see yer itchin’ to say something.”

  Looking Ed straight in the eyes, Amy asked, “Why did you help me?  I was with them when they left you to die.  Or do you just want to get me well enough to use and abuse me like those other men wanted to do?”

  “Girl,” Ed laughed, “you do have an active imagination.  First off, I was raised by an ornery Frenchman who learned me early on not to abuse wimmin’.  Secondly, I wouldn’t leave anyone out here to die helpless like that.  I’m not like Angus Crabtree, Bill Longtree, Iron Hand Pesco, or Aaron Applebee for that matter.”

  Taking the dagger to the meat, Ed started slicing it into small bite-sized pieces and laid them on a piece of Amy’s torn blouse to cool.

  “Thirdly,” Ed continued, “if’n I want you to settle up fer any of this, I will drag you back to the Sheriff in Alturas.  In the meantime, eat slowly to get something in yer belly so we can walk out of here tomorrow morning.  I’ll decide what to do with you on the way back to town.”

  Not wanting to know what she was eating, Amy began to nibble at the roasted horsemeat.  It didn’t taste too bad so she began to eat faster as her stomach clambered for more.  Ed cut up another piece of meat and laid it out for her for Amy was building a good appetite by now.

  Turning the spits of jerky again, Ed finished his meal then got up to take another look around.  Seeing some pine pitch torches leaned against the wall a few steps back, Ed picked one up and lit it in the fire.

  “Can you turn those spits of jerky every fifteen minutes if I’m not back?” Ed asked.  “Oh, by the way, thanks for leaving me the .32 and the dagger.”

  Amy said nothing, just nodded her reply as if to say you’re welcome.  Watching Ed head down the mineshaft in search of anything they might be able to use to live in the high desert, Amy’s eyes followed the fading light as it danced along the rough walls of the mine.  This man wasn’t like the others Amy had known in her young life, she thought silently to herself.  That could be good, or it could go really bad but at least he wasn’t as wicked or cruel as Bill Longtree.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty

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  Ed moved deeper into the mine as he pondered the girl sitting near his fire behind him.  The distraction of her pretty smile led Ed to believe the story of the business trip in Redding but instead, they were all lies that brought him to the lava beds east of Alturas at the hand of a man she claimed was her father. 

  It angered Ed that he had been so taken by her chatty wit but he knew deep down, it was his desire to believe she was telling the truth.  The girl clearly wasn’t who she professed to be and the man she was riding with to Redding surely wasn’t a man she should have trusted. 

  Was the other man really Aaron Applebee or was he someone else completely?  If he was Amy’s pa, why did he get himself killed knowing Longtree’s wicked thoughts about her?  Did Aaron think for a second Longtree wouldn’t kill her when he was done?

  With no more answers than he had before and even more questions now, Ed focused on the task at hand.  The both of them were in dire straits with very few options in getting back to Alturas alive being so far from civilization.

  The tunnel started to slope steeper into the depths of the mine to where it was getting difficult for Ed to walk without bracing himself on the jagged walls.  In the distance, Ed could hear water running from an underground spring or river.  He could also feel the heat and steam of heated water, not an uncommon find in the lava beds.  Making a sharp right-hand corner in the tunnel, Ed came to a steaming rupture in the wall with water shooting out from a crack and splattering against the opposite side before pouring itself down the mine. 

  The water wasn’t boiling so Ed reached up to test it to see if he would be burned if he and Amy wanted to use it to clean up.  Thankfully, the water wasn’t all that hot so Ed cupped a hand to smell it.  If the water had gotten contaminated by the lava beds, it would have the odor of sulfur and of iron.  Ed smelled the water.  There was no mineral odor and it looked as clear as snow melt.  Taking a chance, he licked the edge of the liquid and found it to have the sweet taste of spring water.

  Luck was on their side for now, Ed thought, but there was no way Amy could make it down to the spring in her condition.  Looking around for any kind of caldron or way to carry some water back to Amy, Ed smiled as his eyes came upon a canvas bag used to carry tools.

  Shaking it out to make sure there were no snakes or wayward scorpions, Ed rinsed it a couple of times then filled it nearly to the top.  Lighting a new torch since the first one was almost gone, Ed started back to the mine entrance and to a lot more trouble than he bargained for.

  Moving slow enough to keep from spilling too much water, Ed had the opportunity to look around a bit as he moved.  This was not a hard rock mine in the normal sense, the miners were simply following a narrow vein of almost pure gold that was suspended in the cooling lava. 

  As he walked, a strange yet distant sound broke through Ed’s thinkin’ of gold mining to remind him he was closing in on the entrance to the mine.  Looking up the tunnel ahead, Ed noticed there was far too much light to be coming from just from the fire.  Cautious of a trap, Ed set the water down and doused his torch.

  “Keep comin’ ahead Ketterly.  I’ve already seen your torch and know you can hear me,” Bill Longtree’s voice boomed from the entrance to the mine.  “I have this girl here and have no problem cutting her throat or guttin’ her if’n you decide to be some kind of hero and try something.”

  Ed eased forward quietly, trying to get a look at the gunman before he was seen himself.  Bill had torn the mine’s shabby door cover away so the sun was shining into the mine from behind his back leaving his face in the shadows but there was no doubt it was Longtree.

  As he peeked past a timber roof support, it took a good bit of effort to focus his eyes against the sunlight but soon enough, Ed could see the crazy-eyed gunman holding Amy in front of him with a knife blade to her belly and the other arm wrapped around her neck.  Steeling his nerves, Ed stepped out of the shadows suddenly to face a terrified girl and a man who surely had lost most of what was left of his feeble mind. 

  “Howdy Bill,” Ed said sharply, “come back to finish the job on a helpless girl?  How’s about you lettin’ her go so you and I can settle up man to man like it should be?”

  “Watch yer mouth Ketterly,” Bill snapped.  “I still have a little something to show this little upstart of a girl and believe it or not, I still have some unfinished business with you.  If yer lucky, what I have planned for you will go easier than dying on the desert.”

  “What are you going to do to me tough guy?” Ed taunted.  “You’re hiding behind a slip of a girl you beat up thinkin’ to show her something.”  Threatening a man with only one good arm and a man with no way to protect himself, Ed was running fast and loose against a crazy man.  “Course I’m sure it will be a better story once you make one up to tell yer drunken friends over to Fort Bidwell.”

  Bill Longtree was spittin’ mad as Ed pushed him as hard as he dared without getting Amy sliced open like a watermelon.  Ed knew he was taking a big chance by taunting the crazy man but it was really the only chance Amy was going to have to get free.

  “Don’t push me boy,” Bill barked, spittle spraying across Amy’s shoulder, “you’ll get yours soon enough.  You won’t be first cause I want you to watch little Amy and me while I learn her a thing or two.”

  Ed’s mind was racing as he tried to think of some way to get Amy out of the way so he could make a run at Bill.  Not knowing the man well enough to push the right buttons first thing, Ed figured the only thing he could do was to keep throwing jabs at him until he snapped and took after him leaving Amy to run.

  “Where’s Aaron, Bill?” Ed asked, partly because he needed to know if Bill knew that Ed had discovered the man’s dead body and partly because it would give him a bit more time to come up with a plan.

  “Aaron?” Bill replied with a less than human smile.  “He’s dead and by the way, his name wasn’t Aaron or Applebee for that matter.  He was just a man taking on the name from a long time ago.”

  Amy’s head snapped around to look into the gunman’s eyes.  “What do you mean his name wasn’t Aaron?  He was my pa.  I should know his name well enough.”

  “Would yer real pa let you get taken by a pack of curly wolves along the outlaw trail without lifting a hand?” Bill asked, his words cutting Amy to the bone.  “Naw, when you were real small, too young to remember, that man run yer pa off and took yer ranch like it was his own.  Oh, yer pa came back and tried to save you from him but ‘Ole Rance drilled him square in the forehead with a slug from a .44 for his troubles and planted him. 

  “Who was he then?” Amy shrieked, tears flooding into her eyes, “the name Rance means nothing to me.  And if he wasn’t my pa, why did you have to kill him?” 

  Bill said nothing for a few seconds then decided to give the girl an answer since there would be no one for her to tell once he rode away from the high plains.

  “His real name is Rance Freedman from near to the Big Sandy down south in Indian Valley,” Bill related.  “Rance took lead because all of a sudden, he decided to have a guilty conscience.

  “Tom Freedman’s nephew?” Ed injected, “the one who robbed the Cattleman’s Bank over in Kingman.”

  “You’ve heard of him then,” Bill said, smiling through tobacco stained teeth.  “Yup, one in the same.  After that job, Rance stayed out of sight on the ranch for a good while until you and that marshal friend come for him thinkin’ he was Applebee.  ‘Course that doctored brand bein’ found on his range kinda sealed the deal for him to go to prison but kept him out of the hangman’s noose.”

  “Shore,” Ed replied, “one of the hands off the Jolon Ranch told me about Rance Freedman when we were on the rustler’s trail down the Salinas.  Chilito told me Rance left four bodies lying in the street when he shot his way out of town after the robbery, two men, a young boy, and one woman heavy with child.”

  Longtree laughed at the thought of Rance’s leaving bodies lying in the streets of Kingman since death always seemed funny to him but taking his mind off the present was a mistake. When Bill realized what he had done, it was too late to react.  Bill lost his concentration just long enough for Ed to draw the little .32 Smith and Wesson from his pocket and fire without aiming from almost point blank range. 

  The first round opened up a small hole just above Bill’s right eye as he froze in place for just a few seconds, his head snapping back like he had been hit in the face with a spike mallet.  When his head rocked back forward, Bill’s right eye rolled back into his head with the left one still facing towards Ed.

  Amy screamed and twisted out of Bill’s grasp at the sight of Ed’s pistol just before blood and brain matter squirted out of the little hole like a geyser.  Against anything humanly possible, the man stood still as a post for what seemed like an eternity.  Finally, after a solid minute or more, Bill fell face first into the dirt as his spirit headed in the direction he was destined to follow.

  Calmly walking over to the dead man, Ed squatted down to take his gun belt and to check his pockets.  Finding a folding knife in one pocket, Ed found ten double eagles in the other, an old railroad watch in a vest pocket, and a nearly full sack of Bull Durham in his shirt.

  Bill Longtree was carrying an awful lot of money for any man on the frontier, a fact that peaked Ed’s interest since most men like him carried little more than eatin’ money most of the time.  Busy with his thoughts about Bill, Ed forgot about Amy, that is until he felt the cold steel of Bill’s knife against his throat.

  “What the he….,” Ed snapped, frozen in place.  “I just saved your life girl.”

  “So you could have me for yourself Mr. Ketterly?” Amy asked.  “You killed him before I could find out why any of this is happening.”

  “Girl, I done told you I’m not that kind of man,” Ed replied.  “As far as finding out about all this, you would have been abused and killed by that man if I’d a left things be.   If that’s what you wanted, you should have spoken up a bunch sooner.  I took the chance to put a stop to it when I saw it coming.”

  Amy backed away and let the knife drop to her side as the tears began streaming down her face.  Her whole life had been a lie and now, hundreds of miles from home with no money and no one she could turn to, Amy was lost and alone in a hostile land with a man she once thought was her enemy.

  Ed walked over to the girl, not really knowing what to do to comfort her, and rubbed her shoulders and back.  Amy turned into him as he held her to his chest and started bawling like a scared little girl.

  “Don’t you fret none gal,” Ed said gallantly.  “We’ll get back to the ranch in Alturas to meet up with my pa.  With his help, we’ll get this mess figured out.  You just set here by the fire and gather yerself whilst I get things put together for the trail.”

  Walking Amy to the fire, Ed made sure she was settled on her bedroll then went to get the water so she could wash up.  When he returned, Ed sat the water next to the fire for Amy then grabbed Bill by a leg to drag him out of the mineshaft so they wouldn’t have to see him anymore.

  Bill’s dead weight made the dragging of his body extremely difficult so Ed didn’t go very far before finding a crevice to roll the body into.  Throwing some brush in on top of him so the coyotes wouldn’t get sick trying to eat his worthless hide, Ed circled around the mine to see if he could find Bill’s horse.

  It wasn’t too difficult to find Bill’s tracks for he made no effort to cover them since he was sure he would be the only one riding away from the high desert.  His boots were worn down on the heel with the nails sticking out so Ed set off to following them.  It didn’t take but about fifteen minutes before Ed found Bill’s horse and as luck would have it, Rance’s horse as well as his own was there.  Making his way to the animals, Ed talked to them like a friend as he approached slowly so not to spook them into running away.

  The horses were a bit skittish at first, probably from the smell of blood on Ed’s hands but Ed’s face wasn’t new to the animals having been on the trail the last two days with him.  Soon enough, the horses settled down a little for Ed to untie them and lead them back to the mine. 

  Amy was standing outside the entrance to the mine waiting for him as Ed emerged from the forest of buck brush and burnt lava.  Ed gazed upon her hair shimmering in the afternoon light and wondered, could he ever have a chance at a girl like her?

  Shaking his mind back to the present and remembering Amy still had that knife, Ed walked up to her with the three horses in tow.  Hobbling them, Ed began stripping the animals of their saddles and tack as Amy looked on.

  “Shouldn’t we be heading out Mr. Ketterly?” Amy asked.

  “It’s too late to try the lava beds without taking a chance on injuring a horse,” Ed answered.  “We’ll head out at first light.  There’s some salt pork and biscuits in my saddlebags if you are hungry.”

  “We have the meat off the fire too,” Amy replied.  “I had just taken it off when Bill showed up.”

  “All right then,” Ed said, “let’s get some food in our bellies then bed down for the night so we can ride early.”

  Taking the extra bedrolls, saddles, and saddlebags into the mine, Ed set about making up two beds as Amy settled into her spot by the fire to try the horsemeat jerky. 

  It was going to get cold again that night but being in the mine would help some.  Still, Ed hung the slicker over the opening again to help stop some of the wind from whistling through.

  There was little talk between the two as they were lost in their own miseries then as the sun set, they each found a bedroll and were soon asleep to tormented dreams.  Ed’s mind was wrapped around trying to find their way to the ranch while Amy was consumed with her life of lies, where she would go now, and why had all this happened to her.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-One

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  It was still two hours before dawn when Ed Ketterly awoke to the sound of dead silence.  The wind had stopped blowing and although they were inside the mine and under an extra blanket, Ed could tell it was cold, bitterly cold on the high prairie. 

  As Ed began to become more alert, he realized Amy was lying under the blankets with him.  Having lain with soiled doves in the past, Ed was no stranger to having a woman in bed with him but this was different.  Amy Crabtree wasn’t some two-bit prostitute of the lowest order and up until yesterday, she wanted Ed dead with his eyes being plucked out by turkey buzzards or useless condors.

  It was difficult to control his primal instincts but Ed managed to turn his mind back to the business of getting the two of them out of the high desert alive.  After a fashion, the pious cattleman fell back asleep to the hint of lilac in Amy’s hair.

  An hour later, waking to a sliver of light sliding past the slicker covering the mineshaft opening as it pushed back his eyelids, Ed could see the sky was turning a crimson blue as the sun worked its way into his world. 

  Amy was still asleep so the young gun wrangler moved quietly as he slid out from under the blankets so he could stir up the fire to boil coffee and to get the last of their salt pork to cooking for breakfast.  As the pork sizzled in the frying pan, Ed wrapped the jerky in a strip of Amy’s old blouse and stuffed it into a saddle pocket. 

  Within minutes, the coffee was boiling and the blazing fire took a bit of the chill out of the air.  Ed poured himself a cup, hot and black as he peered outside past the makeshift door cover.  Outside on the prairie, there was a heavy layer of snow covering the barren wasteland including all the puddles that were undoubtedly frozen over solid waiting for someone to slip and fall on them.  Winter still had a death grip hold on the high plains of the Nevada North Country and wasn’t about to let go yet.

  There was a stirring sound from behind him so Ed instinctively turned to look to see what was moving.  Amy had crawled out from under the blankets and was stretching her arms and back.  Ed knew better but in his mind at that moment, he thought he was admiring an angel sent from heaven.  Caught unawares, Ed’s eyes locked with Amy’s as he realized she caught him staring at her.  Blood rushed to his face, suddenly making his cheeks and ears almost uncomfortably warm to touch as his eyes darted to his feet.

  Amy was a beautiful woman, even after spending the night under stale blankets on a hard rock floor.  She was undoubtedly used to men admiring her features but considering their recent history, Ed didn’t want Amy to think he was beginning to have impure or romantic ideas about their future.

  There was no way Amy could miss the look held in Ed’s eyes and while she normally liked it when young men admired her, this was a man she had learned to hate from the time she was a child.  Yet too, it was Ed who saved her life and kept her virtues from being preyed upon by the likes of Bill Longtree. 

  It didn’t make matters any easier that Ed had the rugged good looks and proper manners of a frontier cattleman when it came to wimmin’.  Amy was unable to get her thoughts shut of this man to clear her mind of the fact she really had enjoyed their conversation on the train north.

  She was bruised up badly and being at least forty-five miles deep into the badlands of northern Nevada Territory after a heavy snowfall, Amy needed help finding her way back to some semblance of civilization and to an uncertain future she hadn’t come to grips with as of yet.

  “Good morning Mr. Ketterly,” Amy said shyly.  “I hope I didn’t bother you too much last night.  I was freezing and didn’t know what else to do.”

  Thankful that Amy wasn’t going to approach the other subject of him staring at her, Ed replied, “You did right Amy.  In fact it helped to keep my blood to stirrin’ a bit better through the cold night as well.”

  Amy’s look seemed to sour ever so slightly with Ed’s comment but she said nothing as Ed began to beat himself up silently.  There would have been a hundred ways to say what he meant differently but Ed was bound and determined to stick a boot laced with snow covered cow manure in his mouth every time.

  Trying to get the conversation back on track, Ed tried changing the subject right pronto.  “Amy, we have some hard decisions to make right now.  I figure we traveled a good forty-five miles, probably more, through some rough terrain to get here.  It’s gonna be the same distance back only this time, we are gonna have to cross some iced-over creeks and chest high snow drifts.”

  “That’s kinda what I thought too,” Amy replied her voice becoming a little less awkward given the history of the last few days.  “I didn’t think we were quite that far out of Fort Bidwell considering the way we rode around about like.”

  Continuing Ed said, “True that but there’s no direct trail back to the fort because of the lava beds.  We’ll have to go around them.  We don’t have any real winter clothes and not much food either.  Now I may be wrong but I think we would be better off to ride east to Tuscarora than to head anywhere else.  By my figurin’, it’s no more than twenty miles but the trail is downright miserable even in good weather.  Looking to the northwest, I see nothing but more weather comin’ at us.  If we hightail it, we might be able to keep some of the weather behind us long enough to get to Tuscarora before the heavy snow sets in.  I know some of the local Indians and an old trapper who will put us up till the weather breaks.”

  The lines of worry wore deep into Amy’s face for Ed was asking her to put her total faith and life in his hands.  What if he took her further into the badlands and left her to die alone in the cold like she had planned to do to him just two days earlier?  She had no weapons, didn’t really know where she was, and had almost no hope.

  Ed knew Amy didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him so needed to build some trust with her.  Taking the .32 S&W out of his pocket, he walked over and handed it to her along with the box of shells.

  “Thanks for the loan of your gun,” Ed said.  “I took Bill’s and I have mine now so you can have yours back.”

  Amy knew she had little choice in the game of survival in the wilderness so fingering her little Smith, she slid it into a pocket and turned to Ed.

  “Mr. Ketterly,” she started, “I haven’t totally made my mind up about you but I am going to take you to your word you were raised right and will take me out of this godforsaken bit of hell.  I can ride astraddle a horse as well as any man so lead off to Tuscarora at any pace that won’t kill my horse.”

  “I’ll get the animals saddled if you will finish cooking some breakfast so we have something warm in our bellies,” Ed offered.  “We’ll ride out as soon as we’re done.”

Looking off towards the eastern horizon in the direction they were going to be headed, Ed noticed there was a narrow pink shadow line along the ridge tops.    Angling out of the shadow was a wide wispy pink beam shooting into the morning sky foretelling the path of the sun as it rose into the high desert skies.

It wasn’t more than thirty minutes later when two determined riders stepped into leather to ride away from the death and hate that brought them to the high country.  Where they would land after it was all said and done, no one knew for sure but at least they wouldn’t die there.

  Trailing away from the mine, Ed picked up what he thought was a wagon road off the mountain.  This was new since he rode here last and might just be what they needed to survive the snow-bound hell.  He would follow the road as long as it was heading east for he knew the main trail to Tuscarora would be just west of the small high desert community. 

  Once the road turned south, they would have to make their way east across the high desert on their own.  Following the trail might take a little longer but there was less chance one of the horses would step into a hidden hole and break a leg.

The first hour as they rode, although bitter cold, went smooth enough since they could still see the outline of the wagon road but as the road began to wind through the shallow canyons and draws, the snow drifts deepened to where it was over the horse’s knees. 

  When Ed figured they had traveled close to five miles on the first leg, he decided to ease up a bit to save the horses for later.  Unless it got worse, the knee-deep snow wouldn’t slow them down enough to keep them from finding Tuscarora before dark.

  By the third hour, the wind had started to pick up and was making the trail that much harder to follow with the drifting snow covering everything.  It hadn’t started blowing fresh snow yet but it wouldn’t be long from the looks of the sky behind the desperate riders.

  Ed led Amy into a shallow draw where there was a rock shelf to protect them from the wind for a bit.  Taking a kerchief, Ed wrapped it loosely around the animal’s muzzle to keep him from breathing the powdered ice and snow then did the same for the other two.

  Ed watched the stock close and noticed Amy was shivering with each icy blast of artic wind but there was no complaint muttered from her lips.  She was sure game enough so they would keep going as soon as he took care of their horses.

  “I think we are no more than three or four miles from Tuscarora Amy,” Ed said as he stepped back into leather, “but bein’s it has started to snow, it’s gonna get a bit dicey.  Stay as close to me as you can and be ready to jump in case one of the horses go down.  I am going to be cutting cross-wind and the horses aren’t gonna like it much.  If you have to, use yer quirt if you need to keep him moving behind me.”

   Amy said nothing, just nodded that she understood.  As Ed pulled out leading the third horse, Amy was on their tail like she was part of the string.  Ed’s horse did not like the ride across the windy plateau for nothing and was fighting the bit like it had good sense but after his customary snort through his nostrils, he leaned into breaking the new trail.  Amy’s horse was fighting the bit too but with Ed and the rider-less animal in front of them, Amy’s horse tended to follow the other ones with only a little gentle nudging.

  The trailed horse wasn’t helping matters at all by pulling against the lead rope.  Ed could feel the bay strain even harder to push through the drifts and forward so Ed finally cut it loose to fend for itself so he would have a chance to save Amy and himself.  If he was lucky, the loose horse would follow along behind Amy.  If not, the animal would end up wolf bait or starve.

  Amy’s horse wanted to bolt with the freed animal but following Ed’s advice, Amy lit into the animal’s flank with the quirt to change its mind right quick to get it back in line behind Ed.

  The horses plodded and jumped their way through the deepening snow for what seemed like three solid hours but in reality, it was only a little over an hour before the lights of a cabin shown through the white madness.

  “Hello the cabin!” Ed hollered as they got within shouting distance.  “We need a place to get out of the weather!”

  The cabin door cracked open with the monstrous barrel of a Sharps carbine being pushed out through it.  “Get down slow and move close so I can see who yee are!” a voice screeched from inside. 

  “Dammit Willimeena, it’s Ed Ketterly and Amy Crabtree from down south.”

  “Well why didn’t you say so when ya started hollerin’,” a grizzled woman snapped as she opened the door a bit wider to let the light shine onto the two frozen riders.

“Get that gal down and inside before she catches her death,” Willimeena barked, “then you can take yer horses around back to the barn to get them covered up and fed.  There’s some meadow hay in the loft you can fork to them if yer a mind to”

  Ed pulled up to the hitch rail and tied his animal so he could help Amy off her horse.  As it turned out, Amy was worn plumb out from the ride and the beating from Longtree so somewhere during the last hour, she had lashed her hands to the saddle horn to stay upright in the saddle before she passed out.

  Fighting the rope with unwilling fingers, Ed finally used the folding knife cut it loose to get Amy’s hands free.  With nothing left to hold her in the saddle, Amy fell on top of Ed like a sack of spuds, the surprise of her falling almost putting him to the ground.

  Ed carried Amy inside the cabin to a pallet Willimeena laid out next to the fireplace.  The gal’s eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving so Ed couldn’t tell if she was even breathing or had frozen to death on their last hour.

  “Now git whilst I get this gal undressed so she can start warming up,” Willimeena snapped as she pushed Ed back towards the front door.  “Get those horses under cover and taken care of like I told you.  Shantawhe will help you when you get to the barn.”

  Ed knew Willimeena was right to take over Amy’s care but he couldn’t help but worry about the slip of a gal who rode through hell to get there.  Pulling his hat down low, Ed headed out to take the horses to the barn.

  Leading the exhausted animals around the corner of the cabin, Ed made for the lean too next to the pole corral.  It wasn’t a big barn but it was plenty solid against the harsh winters the north winds brought to the badlands.  The loose animal had followed Ed like he hoped so came along behind like a pet dog.

  Shantawhe was holding the door open as Ed led the horses to a stall near the front.  Ed stripped the tack from them as Shantawhe forked some grass hay into the manger for them to eat.  Taking a handful of grass hay, Ed made sure to wipe each animal down thoroughly to get the frozen snow off their backs to help them warm back up from the icy ride.

  Taking care of the horses seemed like the easy part of the job that night, Willimeena thought to herself as she tackled getting Amy out of her wet and frozen clothes being unconscious and mostly dead weight.  Needing help, Willimeena hollered out the door for Ed to come and help her get the job done.

  The buttons and leather fought the old woman like they had never been free from the slip of a gal.  Had more clothes been close to hand, Willimeena would have just cut them off instead of having to thaw them out enough to get the material to budge.

  After a good fight, and a little help from Ed, Willimeena won out and soon had Amy down to her birthday suit.  Ed hung the wet clothing on a quilt rack to start drying above the fireplace then went back outside to finish up with the horses while Willimeena wrapped Amy up in a quilt then added some hot stones to a wool cavalry blanket wrapped around her to try to bring her core temperature back up so her blood could flow right.

  Once Amy was dry, Willimeena started warming some soup she had left over from supper.  When it was lukewarm, the old gal started feeding it to Amy a few drops at a time so she wouldn’t get it into her lungs.

  After a fashion, Ed came back to the cabin again, knocking before he came in to make sure Amy was decent.  It was time to change the warmed up rocks so Ed helped in moving Amy around and getting her wrapped back up.

  “How long were you out there Ed?” Willimeena asked curtly.  “This girl was pert near to frozen dead.”

  Ed pondered the question then said, “I think about four and a half hours, maybe five on the trail.  I kinda lost track from the cold.  I knew she was cold but knew we had to get here rather than try for Fort Bidwell.

  “Well you were right about that.  Fort Bidwell is too far in a storm like this,” Willimeena replied.  “Why were you about in a storm like this anyhow?”

“It’s a long story but since we have time, here goes,” Ed replied as he warmed his hands against the fire.

  There was nothing else they could do for Amy other than getting her warmed back up so Ed spent the next two hours going over the trip north to start the spring gather, the experience with the Modoc, and the kidnapping.

  It was near to midnight when they changed the warmed rocks again.  Amy was breathing deeper now so it looked to Willimeena that the worst was over.

  “Ed,” Willimeena said at last, “the best thing for you to do right now is get out of those wet clothes and get dry yerself.  There are some pants and a shirt inside the spare room hanging on the door.  Once you get dried out, lay down next to this gal with another of those blue belly blankets.  She’ll warm up faster with heat in front and behind her.”

  “I don’t know that she’ll take to that when she wakes up Willimeena,” Ed replied.

  “She’ll have to make do if she wants to live Dammit!” Willimeena barked.  “Now do as yer told fer a change soes I can go to bed.”

  There was no fighting this old gal when she had her mind set to so Ed done what he was told and rolled up next to Amy.  Within minutes, he was fast asleep for he too was worn down to the ground. 

  Even though Willimeena wanted to go to her own bed, she knew she might be the only thing that kept that girl alive that evening so she held a nurse’s vigil through the night as she kept the fire burning and kept adding warm stones to Amy’s blankets.

  The storm was still raging outside when Amy Crabtree opened her eyes to the inside of a cabin lit only by the last flickering flames in the fireplace licking at the last of the fuel it had been given.  It was still an hour before dawn and although she knew not where she was, she knew she was finally warm. 

  Drifting back to sleep, Amy didn’t know if she was dead or not but at that point, she didn’t really care.  Come morning when she realized Ed was snuggled up next to her and her bein’ naked and all, she might just have some different thoughts.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Two

_______________________________

 

  Amy Crabtree awoke to the sounds of Willimeena adding wood to the stove as she began to prepare breakfast for her guests.  Looking around with only her eyes, Amy did not recognize a thing for she did not remember being brought to this place the night before.  Behind her, Amy could hear the deep breathing of a man who was asleep next to her, his right arm draped over her shoulder with a wool blanket covering the both of them.

  Willimeena saw that Amy was awake so held a finger to her lips as she came close.  Lifting Ed’s arm off her shoulder, Willimeena nodded for Amy to roll away from him so he could stay sleep after the ordeal they had gone through getting to her cabin.

  “Let’s get you dressed then some coffee and hot food into you,” Willimeena whispered.

  It was only when she rolled away from Ed that Amy realized she was naked under the blankets.  Seeing the alarm on her face, Willimeena offered, “Your clothes were soaking wet and almost frozen to your skin when Ed rode you up to the cabin last night.  We had to get you dry to start warming you up or you would have frozen to death last night.”

  “Did….. did he see me like this?” Amy asked hesitantly.

Willimeena paused for a second as she surveyed the young woman.  “Well, I have to say yes.  I could barely get the frozen clothes off you by myself and needed his help when I was trying to get you rolled into a warm blanket.  You don’t have to worry about Ed.  He did his best to look away as we worked you over. 

  “But he saw me naked,” Amy cried weakly.  “I vowed no man would see me naked unless I was married to him, …….. or dead.”

  “Honey,” Willimeena said softly, “Ed will never say a word about what he saw.  He’s as good a man as they come around the frontier and can be trusted with your secrets.  In the meantime, crawl into this robe and elk hide slippers before he wakes up.  We’ll get your clothes washed and ironed later when we have a bit more time.”

  Ed could hear the two wimmin’ fussin’ about and talking but chose to play possum for a bit longer until Amy was dressed a little more proper for being around men folks.  Turning over to face the wall to give them space, Ed relaxed to the sound of the wind against the cabin walls and dozed off again.

  Thirty minutes later, Ed awoke to the sound of bacon frying and the smell of buttermilk biscuits baking in the oven.  Throwing his blankets off, he sat up, ran his fingers through his wavy red hair, and pulled his boots on before looking around the cabin.  Willimeena was turning the bacon while Amy was sitting at the table sipping on a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Cups on the drain board Ed,” Willimeena said cheerfully, coffee is hot on the stove.  There’s some sage honey on the table and some vanilla if you need to sweeten it up some.”

  Nodding his thanks to his host, Ed made his way to the drain board for a cup then poured it full as he backed up against the wall to keep from crowding the gals. 

Looking over at Amy, he saw that she was pulling the robe tight around her and kept staring at her coffee, obviously uncomfortable with his presence.

  “Storm is still blowing a gale Willimeena,” Ed declared, wanting to break the deafening silence in the room.  “Ya think it’s gonna break anytime soon?”

  “You might as well settle in for the long haul Ed,” Willimeena replied.  “This storm won’t let go of us for two or three days then it will be two or three more before the trails will be safe to ride.”

  “I figured,” Ed said, an abysmal tone to his voice.  “I need to get Amy to the train in Reno so she can get home but I sure don’t want to ride through another storm like we done last night.”

  “You’d be a fool if’n you did Ed,” Willimeena declared.  “Besides, I don’t get company very often and especially female company like Amy so I’d be beholdin’ for you to stay here ‘til it’s safe for her to ride.”

  “It’s settled then.  If yer of a mind to have company, we’ll stay on until the trail clears then we have to ride to Reno,” Ed remarked.  “Course I will want to cut some firewood and chores or do some hunting for you to pay our way.”

  “Fair enough Ed,” Willimeena said, “Shantawhe takes care of the hunting chores ‘cause he knows the country best but he surely hates to split firewood.  I have a pile of dried oak rounds under the shed you could split if yer of a mind to.  There’s a maul, some wedges, and a big hammer in the back of the shed.”

  “I’ll get to it right after breakfast and after I get a look at the horses to see how they fared the storm,” Ed said.

  “How are you feeling Amy?” Ed asked, trying to draw her out of her shell.  “I thought you were done for when we got here last night.”

  “I’m fine,……………… Mr. Ketterly,” Amy snapped, “considering you nearly had me frozen to death yesterday.”

  “Do you think we would have fared better in that mineshaft with no food or fire?” Ed asked, irritated at her impudent tone considering what they had been through.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Willimeena crowed to break up the scrap, “you two can chat about the trail later on.”

  Thankful for Willimeena’s interruption, Amy knew it was the right move to stay put and not ride off of the plateau during a blizzard but she was vulnerable here in the wilderness with no way of knowing if she would ever see her home again.

  Breakfast consisted of biscuits, gravy, bacon, and a plate piled high with flapjacks.  Suddenly starved, the hungry riders dug in while Willimeena sat back and enjoyed watching the young folks savor her fixin’s. 

  It took a little while but Ed was finally filled up so pushed his chair back from the table to get some more coffee to wash it all down.

  “That meal was purely a delight Willimeena.  My stomach is smiling once again,” Ed declared as the older woman beamed with pride. 

  Ed stood up then started gathering the dishes to put into the soaking tub near the window.  Looking outside, he could see Shantawhe carrying an old Springfield Trapdoor and leading a paint horse out of the barn.

  “Looks like Shantawhe is goin’ hunting so I best get to splitting that wood for you,” Ed remarked as he finished with the plates, shouldered into Bill’s winter coat, and headed outside without another word.

  Amy sat at the table staring at her coffee, deep in thought, as Willimeena cleaned up after breakfast.  Knowing it wouldn’t do any good to worry about what no one could control, Willimeena figured to take the gal’s mind off her predicament if she could.

  “No sense in frettin’ about all this Amy.  We have these storms all the time and it just takes patience to wait them out.  Ed will get you to Reno in a few days and you’ll be on your way,” Willimeena started.  “I know just what you need to get yer mind right though.  This tank over the stove is filled with hot water and there’s a tub in the back room soes you can take a bath.  You’ll find some of my town clothes in the armoire that might fit you, a comb, and brush on the commode below the mirror.”

  “I’d like that,” Amy replied, a smile spreading across her lips.  “I feel a lot less than human right now.”

  “Come on then,” Willimeena said, “I’ll show you where everything is.”

Sliding into the tub of hot water pained her some where she was bruised up but after a minute or two, Amy allowed the water to warm her from the outside in then began to wash the days of trail dust from her skin and hair with a fragrant soap unlike that normally found on the frontier.  Once the dirt was free of her body, Amy soaked until the heat was gone from the water then rinsed her hair once more using a pitcher. 

  Climbing out of the tub, Amy shivered in the cold air as steam rose off her skin.  Willimeena had set out a homespun towel so Amy used it to dry off then wrapped her hair with it to soak up the excess water while she looked through the armoire for clothes.

  There were several dresses and all the assorted accessories like bloomers, camisoles, corsets and such things necessary for young wimmin’ on the frontier.  Several of the dresses were fancy party dresses while others were for everyday working around a farm with some more suitable for church and social events.

  Selecting a light blue calico dress that sported fine lace around the high neck collar, hemlines, and wrists, Amy held it up in front to look at herself in the mirror.  Seeing all the new bruises from Longtree’s beating, the livid brand on her chest, and the scars across her stomach brought forth memories that caused Amy to shudder from head to toe as she moved to cover them up with the dress. 

  Pushing the thoughts of misery from her mind as the cold began to make her shiver again, Amy grabbed up bloomers and other undergarments she would need then began to get dressed.  Soon enough she was fully clothed and combing the tangles from her hair as it dried.  There was some powder on Willimeena’s bureau so Amy tried to cover the marks on her neck as best she could.

  Ed checked on the riding stock after leaving out of the cabin then had been busy splitting up near to a half a cord of wood so there was plenty of fuel for cookin’ fer several days.  Putting the tools up close by the stack of wood so he could finish the job the next morning, Ed peered out of the shed at the drifting snow and wondered how long it would continue to blow.

  Seeing that Shantawhe had returned from his hunt with a decent sized mule deer and was skinning it in the barn, Ed naturally went over to help him drag the hide off.  After rinsing the carcass off with spring water, the two men began to bone it out so the meat could be jerked, smoked, or fried for supper. 

  They would be eating venison for dinner so there was little more for Ed to do, at least for the time being.  Taking a saddle blanket with a load of wood on it to the wood box on the porch, Ed lifted the lid, loaded the box full, then headed back inside the cabin for a cup of Arbuckle’s to push back the chill that crept back into his bones once he stopped swinging that hammer.   

  It had been a full two hours since Amy went into the back room so Ed and Willimeena were sitting at the table drinking coffee and talking of newsworthy events on the frontier when she came out into the kitchen, her skirts rustling as they brushed the doorway.  Ed took a ragged breath when he stood up, knocking his chair over in the process, as he gazed upon Amy in her borrowed dress. 

  “Land sakes gal, you clean up right nice,” Ed declared.

  Amy smiled at Willimeena then did a little courtesy towards Ed and said, “I’ll take that as a genuine compliment Mr. Ketterly.  I actually feel like a woman again after all the days riding through the desert and sleeping on the trail.  Thank you for noticing.”

  “Couldn’t help but notice mam,” Ed replied.  “Yer a right handsome woman all fixed up like you are.  Not that you aren’t purty in riding clothes an all but ……..”

Willimeena laughed as she interrupted his speech, “Ed you best be quiet before you dig yerself into a hole so deep you can’t get shut of it.”

  Ed’s face turned crimson from getting embarrassed but he knew Willimeena was right.  He never was no hand at flattering a pretty woman so it was best he just shut his trap fer now.

  Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Amy joined the others in the casual conversation and began to add her own snippets of news.  Outside, it was snowing again but inside the cozy cabin, they were warm, safe, happy, and enjoying each other’s company.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Three

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  A bold and knowing woman, Willimeena couldn’t help but notice Amy’s eyes following Ed as he shouldered into his heavy coat to head outside to check on the stock again and to feed them.  It wasn’t so much that Amy was watching the young man, it was the mysterious look she had on her face every time he was close by.

  Curious to a fault, the old gal waited until the door was closed and Ed was no longer within earshot before she asked, “So what’s the deal between the two of you?  I’ve been noticing you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off that young cowboy.”

  “What?  Nothing ……!” Amy snapped as her head spun towards the older woman.  “I mean, ……….. , I don’t really know what you are asking,” Amy continued as if trying to come up with an answer while she was talking.

  Willimeena simply looked Amy in the eyes and said nothing while she waited to see what the girl had to say or was willing to admit.  Amy’s face paled as she looked away, fidgeting with the lace on her dress as the silence of the room became almost deafening.

  She must have figured Willimeena had no intention of letting the question go so Amy finally began to speak.  “I can’t seem to figure a man like Ed out Willimeena”

  “How so?” the old woman replied.

  “It’s a long story but the gist of it is, only a few days ago, a man I thought was my father, a man paid to help us, and I kidnapped Ed to make him pay for something that happened to my family a long time ago down south in Central California.  We trussed him up, made him sleep in the freezing rain, and left him to die slow in the high lonesome without food or water.”

  Pausing for a minute to let all that sink in, Amy continued.  “After all that, when he got loose, he ended up finding me after the paid killer murdered the man I thought was my pa, branded me and beat me unconscious before leaving me for dead.  Ed saved my life when the killer came back to have his sadistic way with me and to finish the job he started.  Then, he braved this storm to get me here safe.  He could, or should have left me to die like I’d done for him.”

  “There’s no accounting for how some folks deal with other folks Amy,” Willimeena replied.  “I do know that Ed is a good man who would never leave a woman to die on the frontier or let her be abused by any man, no matter what grief she may have caused or harm done to him.  Course if’n you broke the law, Ed will durn sure get you to the local Sheriff soes you can settle up fer yer sins.”

  “So yer sayin’ he saved me from all that suffering soes he can turn me over to the law to be hung,” Amy replied, the look of dread taking over her face.

  Willimeena smiled as she said, “I’m not sayin’ that at all.  Like I said girl, folks are notional.  You’ll have to ask Ed what, if anything, he has in mind to do with you.  He’ll tell you the truth.  I will say this, Ed has been my friend for a bunch of years now and during that time, I have seen him grow from a weak little boy into a confident man who is one to ride the river with.  I have never seen him do anything but right by any woman in all that time.”

  Silence shrouded the two wimmin' for a bit before Willimeena spoke again.  “You could do a lot worse than to set yer cap for a man like Ed girl.  He is as solid a man as they come out here on the frontier.”

  Amy smiled weakly as she replied in a voice just louder than a whisper, “I’m pretty sure he won’t want to have much to do with me after what I’ve done or helped to have done to him.”

  “Remember girl,” Willimeena answered back, “folks are notional.  Ed may figure you had a good reason fer yer part in what happened on the prairie.  That’s just something that ya’ll need to work out.”

  Boots sounded off as they hit the wooden planks of the cabin porch, signaling the end of the gal talk as Ed made his way through the door and into the warmth of the cabin.  A blast of icy wind and particles of snow blew past him through the open door as the north wind hammered and slashed at the walls protecting them.

  Seeing the guilty looks on the gal’s faces, Ed asked, “All right, just what in the blue blazes are you two up to?  Are you talking about me?”

  Willimeena wasted no time in taking over the conversation to Amy’s relief.  “We were just talking about life for a woman on the frontier and female talk in general Ed,” a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

  “Ahhhh haaaa,” Ed concluded.  “Secret gal talk then.  Well, I know better than to try to figure that out so I am just gonna let that subject go,” he remarked.

  “Yer a smart man Ed.  See what you’ve learned since our last visit,” Willimeena laughed as she poured him a steaming mug full of fresh Arbuckle’s.  “Pull up to the fire and warm yer bones.  This storm has got a ways before it is gonna blow itself out.”

  Not really able to guess what those gals had been up to, Ed did notice right off that the tension between he and Amy seemed to be broken.  At least for the time being, spending some time with a pretty young filly and a good friend was becoming downright pleasant.

  The storm raged outside with no sign of letting up but inside the small, well-built cabin, there was laughter and pleasantries being exchanged as Willimeena stoked up the fire and began to make supper.

  As Ed leaned back in Willimeena’s old rocking chair with a stale cigar, he warmed his hands and watched on as the wimmin’ cleaned up the supper dishes and joked back and forth.  It reminded him of a time, a long time ago, before Marie, when those happy sounds echoed through Old Joe’s house.

  Finally warm and with a full belly, the stress and fatigue of the last several days finally caught up to him as his eyelids were suddenly too heavy for Ed to hold open.  Seeing that he was out for the night, Amy slid one of Willimeena’s hand-sewn quilts over him to keep him warm once the fire burned down.

  Ed woke up two hours before dawn to silence, dead silence.  Either the storm had blown itself out or the cabin was completely covered in snow.  Stepping over to a window, Ed could see the partial moon shining past a spattering of clouds, remnants left over from the storm that pounded them over the last few miserable days.

  Shivering from the cold, Ed turned back to the stove to stoke it up so the gals would wake to a warm cabin.  The fire was soon roaring so Ed turned the damper down to make the fire smolder for hours then crawled under the quilt to sleep until dawn.

  The morning sky was turning from gray to blue as Ed’s eyes blinked open to a new day.  As he lay there staring at the ceiling, somewhere in the background of his consciousness Ed could hear a woman humming Amazing Grace, a hymn he knew well from when Old Joe took him to the big Catholic Church at the mission in San Miguel. 

  Looking towards the kitchen, Ed could see Amy wearing a thin robe, far too thin to keep her warm, setting the table for breakfast.  Playing possum, Ed watched Amy through slits in his eyes as she worked.

  There was no doubt she was all woman to the core by way Amy’s robe held to her curves.  Watching her move, Ed’s memory slid back to the first time he laid eyes on her when she first stepped onto the train.

  Still, Ed wondered to himself, why was he thinking like this?   This woman left him to die just days ago in the lava beds.  Even if all that hadn’t happened, why would a beautiful creature like Amy give him a second look?

  Trying to shake the romantic thoughts from his brain, Ed realized Amy was looking at him.  Smiling, she said nothing as she returned to her task of making breakfast.  A door opened as Willimeena stepped out of the bedroom to join the pair.  She too had seen how Ed was mesmerized by the pretty young woman in the kitchen. 

  As Willimeena passed by, she whispered quietly, “See something you like Ed?”

Embarrassed as all gitout, Ed stuttered, “Ahhh shucks Will … Willimeena.  I, I, was just watchin’ her cook breakfast.  There’s no harm in watching a woman doing woman’s work is there?”

  Willimeena and Amy laughed at the poor young man’s embarrassment then went on to lay out the food so they could sit down and eat.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Four

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  Two days later found Ed saddling the horses so he and Amy could continue their ride south to Reno.  Up until then, Amy had been in an exceptionally good mood but now she appeared morose and talked only a little to Willimeena.  Not understanding the ways of wimmin’, Ed did not press her for the reason or change in her mood, he just accepted it as one of the complications of a female.

  Packing her few things into a saddlebag inside the cabin, Amy glanced around at the home Willimeena had made for herself and wondered if she would ever get the chance to have a home of her own now that she may have to settle up for everything what had happened to Ed.

  Willimeena could see the lost look in Amy’s eyes so eased over to where she was standing and hugged her like a mother would do for a scared child.  Amy clung onto the older woman for several minutes before slowly backing up to gather the saddlebags.  She had tears in her eyes but said nothing.

  “Don’t fret too much girl,” Willimeena said.  “It’ll be alright, just wait and see.  There’ll be plenty of time on the trail to work out what has happened in the past.”

Tears streaming down her face, Amy replied, “He’s gonna take me to the law for what I done.  I’ll be hung or spend years in jail.  I know I have it coming but after the last few days, I thought …………”

  “Ed’s a good man Amy,” Willimeena remarked as the room went silent.  “If there’s reason enough, Ed’ll do right by you.  Just give him the time to work it out in his mind.”

  “I don’t deserve to get any mercy from him after what’s happened.  I haven’t earned it so if he takes me to the law, I’ll go and settle up like an adult for a change,” Amy said as if trying to convince herself that whatever was going to happen was ok.

  “Come on then since it’s settled,” Willimeena said.  “He’s waiting to get on the trail.”

  The two gals walked outside to where Ed was waiting by the horses.  Quickly saying their goodbyes and waving as they rode side by side down the road to Willimeena’s front gate, Ed and Amy nudged their horses into a fast, mile-eating canter as they rode down away from the warm cabin and a good friend.

  It would take nearly two days of hard riding south along a narrow track leading away from Willimeena’s cabin before they would cross the main route west towards Reno so Ed pushed the horses hard the first few miles since the animals were fresh and had been well-grained.

  The wagon road from Willimeena’s cabin was heavily overgrown with brush and had been deeply cut with ruts by the snow melt runoff so they had to be more careful than usual.  Since Willimeena rarely went to the settlement for supplies, she had neglected the wagon road maintenance for a good while. 

  Living in the wilds like she had done for years, the old gal and her Indian friend hunted and grew most of what they needed to live, outside the occasional purchase of tobacco and Arbuckle’s, and even that was brung to her by one of the traders who came by to purchase wolf and coyote hides from Shantawhe.

  Fighting the heavy undergrowth and dangerous trail, neither rider spoke yet both seemed heavy in thought.  When it came time to rest the horses, it was near to 11:00 in the morning so Ed drew off the wagon track and into a narrow draw where they could take time for a bite of food in a sun drenched meadow of sorts.

  Amy swung out of leather then tried to work the stiffness out of the muscles of her inner thighs and tried to stretch her back as best as she could.  Ed waited patiently until she was done before taking her horse to hobble on some grass near to a seep from a fresh water spring and ample grass for them to eat on while they rested

  Once the horses were taken care of, Ed gathered up some dry sticks and a rat’s nest he could use for tinder then scraped off the grass near a limestone outcropping keep his fire from spreading.  Soon there was a smokeless fire burning so Amy gathered up the coffee pot and some grounds to make coffee.

  Dipping the pot into a rock pond, Amy slid the half full pot onto the fire then added a small handful of their precious coffee.  Minutes later, the coffee was boiling so taking a piece of her old petticoat, Amy wrapped the handle so she wouldn’t be burn her hand when she picked the pot up to pour each of them some coffee.

  Squatting down near the flames to warm his hands some, Ed sipped the hot liquid and waited for the burn as it made its way down his throat and into his innards to warm his stomach from the inside out.

  Looking up into Amy’s eyes, Ed could tell there was something on her mind but he figured to let her stew in her own juices until she was ready to talk about whatever torturing her at the moment.

  Unable to wait any longer, Amy cleared her throat to get Ed’s attention.  “Ed,…. uh, Mr. Ketterly ……………  I have to know.  What are you planning on doing with me once we get back to the settlement?”

  Ed did not reply right away, just looked at Amy as she fidgeted with her coffee and acted like she was standing on a red-hot lava flow.  He hadn’t taken the time to make up his mind about Amy as of yet but since she asked, maybe it was time for him to decide.

  “What do you think I should do with you after what has happened Amy?” Ed asked hesitantly, answering her question with a question.

  Her lip trembling, Amy said, “I can’t answer that for you Mr. Ketterly, I’m not the one we done wrong to.”

  Let me ask you something Amy,” Ed started.  “Near as I can gather, you went along with this idea because you blamed me for what happened to your family once we arrested the man you thought was yer pa.  Knowing what you know now, do you think I caused the hurt to you?”

  “No,” Amy replied weakly, the guilt of her actions clearly taking a toll on her.  “You were simply doing what you were asked to do by a lawman that needed help.  My pa, or Rance, or whoever he was, shouldn’t have broken the law like he done.  It was hard on us but he caused it, not you or the Marshal.

  Chewing on a piece of jerked beef as he stared into the fire, Ed finally made up his mind.

  “Amy,” Ed began calmly.  “Things happen to every one of us in life that affect the way we think and act, especially when we are young and believe what our folks say.  You were led into this mess through false pretenses but you also helped me along the way when we met up with that worthless cur, Bill Longtree.  Now I could take you to the law but good wimmin’ are hard to find and are desperately needed on the frontier.  I have a feeling you will make someone a good wife and partner so once we get to Reno, I figure to put you on a train home so you can build a future with a good man and a family.”

  Amy’s eyes welled up with tears as she said, “Thank you Mr. Ketterly.  Willimeena said you would treat me right only, I don’t have a home to go to.  Everything I thought was the truth I have learned is a lie.  I have no one and nothing to return to.  The ranch is gone since my …………. Rance sold it to fund this expedition and I don’t know where my family has gone, if they are still alive, or …. if they are even blood to me.”

  Staring into her eyes as tears streamed down her face, Ed’s mind fought to find the right words to help her look into the future and away from the past.

  “Amy, you would do well to head to a city where there are opportunities for a young woman to find work or a husband,” Ed replied reluctantly.

  “I’m not sure if I can ever really trust another man again Mr. Ketterly,” Amy replied.  “No offense to men but you are the only man who has ever treated me decent.  All my life, I have basically been a slave to my “father” so now I don’t know what to do next.  I don’t want to be some man’s possession or simple passion, I’d rather be alone.”

  Taken back by Amy’s reluctance to rely on a man, Ed chewed his jerky a bit more before saying, “Amy, if you want some time to think about it and aren’t afraid of some hard work, you can ride back to Alturas with me to gather the herd with John.  I can offer you blisters, little sleep, a hard bed, and cold food but you can take all the time you need to decide what you want to do with your future and where you want to go.”

  “Thank you Mr. Ketterly,” Amy sobbed as she ran for Ed to give him a bear hug.    “You won’t regret it.  I will show you I can work as hard as any man and can carry my share of the load.”

  Ed was taken by surprise as Amy grabbed him in a bear hug.  She was soft to the touch and all woman under the loose range clothes Willimeena had given her for the trail but she had a certain strength about her that surprised him as she squeezed into him. 

  Ed’s mind spun wildly with a vision of her face as his heart raced at her touch, his face turning red as the hot blood rushed into his cheeks.

  When Amy finally backed away, Ed was eventually able to calm himself to a point where he could talk freely again.  “Amy, there is one thing that you have to do if we are to ride together.”

  “Yes Mr. Ketterly,” Amy replied shyly thinking she might have overstepped her bounds with the hug.

  “My name is Ed so please call me by my name,” he replied.  “Mr. Ketterly was my birth father and way too formal for working the range.”

  “All right Mr. Ketterly, uhhhh …………., Ed,” Amy said with a half-smile and rosy cheeks.

  The cloud of doubt no longer hung above Amy so now she could be herself as she and Ed chit-chatted about what lay ahead for the cattle drive.  Finishing their coffee, Ed tightened the cinches on both horses, removed the hobbles, then led them into camp.  Passing Amy’s reins to her, Ed swung aboard and waited for her to get settled into leather.

  Ten minutes later found the duo back on the trail south towards a crossroads just west of Winnemucca.  They would need to make camp to spend the night outdoors near the wagon track in a partially melted adobe but if the weather held, they might make the trading post by late afternoon the following day. 

  It was Ed’s plan to get a bed at the trading post for the night and to buy enough provisions to make the four-day ride into Reno from there without much effort.  If they were lucky, Ed could find a wagon and a team to make camping on the trail a bit more pleasant.

  Once in Reno, they would stay a night then head north towards Fort Sage and Doyle.  They would be traveling up the long valley that stretched to Cedarville then would head back west to the ranch where Ed hoped John was working the bark off the cattle a bit before they got there.

  Ed noticed Amy was perfectly at home in the saddle and knew she could use a gun so he began explaining to her how he planned on getting those wild mountain cows out of the brush and tamed down enough to be able to trail them into Alturas to the stockyards. 

  Amy was all ears as Ed explained the ways of cows and how they would do their best to get away inside the prickly hell of brush that would tear and dig at the cowboy’s soft skin without the full cover of shotgun chaps.

  All the while he was talking, without letting on to Amy, Ed was watching the hills and draws feeding the wagon track for they were traveling through Shoshone tribal lands that bordered the Paiute Nation on the north. 

  Suddenly silent, Ed looked nervous as he whispered, “Be ready to run for it Amy.  We have company and they aren’t going to want to palaver with us.”

  “Whaaaat?” Amy replied, just as Ed slapped the rump of her horse to get it to moving.

  Turning her head as the horse bolted, Amy could see what Ed had been worried about.  To the northeast, a band of at least six or seven braves were coming at them at a dead run.

  “Try to get to that next draw and up into that mess of boulders to the right where we can make a stand,” Ed hollered as he took off behind Amy.  “As soon as you hit the ground, get behind cover and get your .32 in your hand and ready for action.  If something happens to me, remember, keep that last bullet for yourself.”

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Five

_______________________________

 

  It was a flat-out horse race now as Ed and Amy tore through the brush dotted plains towards a spot a good half a mile away where they would try to make a stand.  Two against seven were long odds considering but since there was no decent alternative, they would have to play this game out to the brutal end.

  Looking back as he leaned over the horse’s neck, Ed could see the Indians had gained on them some but since Amy had already made the turn into the draw, they still had a chance, thin as it was. 

  Leaning onto his right stirrup, Ed reined his horse to the right and bounded up into the circle of rocks where he slid the horse to a stop and was flying out of his saddle at the same time.

  Handing the reins off to Amy, Ed jerked his saddle gun loose from the scabbard and racked a round as he fumbled with his belt to load the magazine the rest of the way up.  Only fifty yards away, the Indians had turned into the draw and were charging towards them as they screamed their war cries.

  Throwing the rifle to his shoulder, Ed lined his sights up on the first brave and squeezed the trigger.  Without waiting to see if he had hit the man, Ed began to lever the rifle and fire as fast as he could to see if he could break their attack.

  At the rate he was firing, Black powder smoke had filled the draw by now so Ed was shooting more at shadows and sounds for he could no longer see much of anything.  Hearing a scream behind him, Ed turned to see a gigantic brave with his arm around Amy’s neck as he tried to drag her away with the horses.

  With his rifle out of ammunition by now, Ed slapped his hand down for the sixgun on his side and drew.  There was no time to aim so Ed simply fired instinctively from the hip even though there was a chance he would hit Amy when he did.  If the brave was to get away with her, it would be far worse for Amy than taking one of Ed’s slugs.

  Ed’s first slug took the big Indian in his left shoulder causing him to release Amy but he was still game as he drew a trade knife from his belt and ran at her to cut her throat if he could.  Firing one more time, Ed missed the brave but had to turn away for there was another Indian just about to swing a war ax into his brain.

  Amy proved how game she was in an all out gunfight at the same time as Ed fired when the little Smith and Wesson 1 ½ began to bark in her hand as soon as she was able to spin around on the Indian.  Slick as can be, five holes opened up in the center of the brave’s chest, stopping him in his tracks as he looked down at his life’s blood draining from his body.

  There was no time to waste as Amy broke her small revolver open and began to reload.  As Amy worked, horror was written all over her face as she watched the war club flying towards Ed’s head.  Amy screamed but Ed had already spun on his heel to deflect the club as it ricocheted off his shoulder.  It hurt like the dickens but Ed was alive as he pumped two slugs into brave.

  The attack broke off as quickly as it had started but Ed and Amy knew it wasn’t over by a long shot.  What had seemed like an easy attack for the marauding savages already cost the band at least three braves so with the first blood drawn, they were going to be a lot more cautious when they came next time.

  Working feverishly, Ed reloaded his rifle and sixgun then went to his saddlebags for more cartridges and another revolver.  Checking its loads, Ed handed his rifle off to Amy then stuck the second Colt into his belt before starting to stack some of the smaller boulders into a breastwork of sorts to give them a bit more cover.

Finally able to find her voice, Amy asked, “What do they want with us Ed?  These Indians aren’t wearing war paint that I can see.”

  Not wanting to tell her the truth but knowing he must, Ed didn’t reply for a minute or two as he finished his work.  “Amy, those braves want you.  It’s something special for a brave to capture a white woman, especially one with golden hair.  Whatever you do Amy, if they get me on the next rush or even the one after, use that .32 on yourself if you have to so they can’t take you with them.”

  There was no time to think about what they were going to do next because the Indians made their second try just about the time Ed got done speaking.  This time though, the ones left were working up the draw on their bellies using every bit of cover there was. 

  Rifle balls flew through the air like angry bees and were ricocheting off the rock parapet in front of Ed to keep his head down.  Ed knew their trick was to move while he ducked but taking a chance, he peeked up and got a face full of rock shards for his trouble.  Still, he couldn’t just stay behind the rocks while they moved closer with each frenzied volley.

  Knowing not to take anything for granted, Ed barked, “Keep and eye out behind us Amy.  They might try to flank us to get us into a crossfire.  Watch every rock and every bush because behind it might be an injun.”

  Bein’s the injuns were close in, Ed opted to use his short guns because they were fast to swing one-handed and he could always have one loaded, with a little help from Amy when she could. 

  The first Indian to show himself on the second charge must have been young for he took one too many chances when he rose from behind some brush to take aim with a Springfield.  That’s when Ed shot him square in the chest and put him down for good. 

  As the young brave went down, a solitary Indian jumped up and ran across the draw in front of Ed but he was already behind cover by the time Ed was lined up for a shot.  Trying to watch the place the man went down, Ed waited rather than waste ammunition.

  From behind him where Amy should have been, Ed heard the bark of a rifle shot then another before the echo of a tortured death scream of another Indian reverberated off the canyon walls.  Amy had done exactly what Ed asked of her and saw the Indian before he moved so caught him just as he began to rise off the ground with two solid shots to the body.

  The odds were dead even now so Ed was feeling like they might just survive this unprovoked Indian attack.  Looking back to see how Amy was doing, Ed could tell she didn’t enjoy taking a life but also knew she would do what it took to stay alive.

Getting back on task, Ed continued to look for the other two Indians but there were no more shots and no movement on the desert.  After about fifteen minutes, Ed could see dust in the air and could hear the retreating hoof beats as the Indians called off their attack.  They would be back for their dead of course but that would be sometime after Ed and Amy were long gone.

  “We need to ride far and fast before they bring back more of their tribe Amy,” Ed said grimly as he reloaded his weapons and wiped the dust from the actions.

Amy’s skin had taken on a pasty white pallor and her hands were visibly shaking but she simply nodded her agreement to Ed and started gathering up the loose ammunition on the ground to get it back into the cartridge boxes in case more was needed later on.

  Once the guns were cleaned up a bit and fully reloaded, Amy and Ed grabbed leather and shagged out of their little fortress of sorts.  They were still some thirty miles away from anywhere so they had to move on to create distance between them and the Indians.

  After about two and a half hours at a forced jog, Ed pulled up under an overhang to let the horses rest a bit before moving on.  Getting his canteen, Ed gave each of the horses a drink then only took a swallow for himself.  Amy had used hers to get coffee ready so Ed gathered a few dry sticks to make a small fire.

  “How far have we gone Ed?” Amy asked, the look of fear still showing on her face.  Do you think we’ve lost the Indians for good?”

  “Oh, I would guess we’ve made at least twelve miles, maybe even fifteen with how fast the horses were moving,” Ed replied after giving it some thought.  “We are going to rest here for a bit since it’s almost dark already.  The indians will need to bury their dead so they won’t follow us anymore today.  Just to be safe though, as soon as the moon comes up, we are going to ride all night.  The injuns won’t follow us at night and we should get to Reno just after daylight where we will be safe.  Are you game?”

  Amy didn’t say anything for a few seconds then said, “I’m ready when you are Ed.  I told you I would carry my share of the load.”

  Ed smiled back at her and said, “You’ll do,” secretly proud of her determination and sand.  Most of the wimmin’ folks where he came from wouldn’t have been able to hold up for even part of this journey.

  Whether Ed meant his comment as praise or not, Amy knew she’d passed the toughness test.  She was exhausted from all the riding and especially the protracted gunfight with the Indians but she wasn’t going to let Ed know it if she could help it. 

  Knowing this was going to be a short rest stop, Amy closed her eyes to get just a few minutes of desperately needed sleep if she could. 

  It was full on dark when Ed shook Amy awake so they could move back out onto the trail.  The horses were saddled and tied to a picket line about ten yards away.  When Ed moved back towards the small fire, Amy could see there was a coffee pot on the fire and a rabbit on a spit that was almost done.

  Noticing Amy looking at the rabbit, Ed injected, “Snared that little rascal whilst you were napping.  I figured we might as well get a bit of hot food that wasn’t hardtack and bacon before striking out on the night trail.”

  Handing Amy a chunk of meat and a cold biscuit on a plate, he poured her a cup of coffee then got some food for himself.  Amy was either really hungry or Ed did a bang up job of cooking the meat because she slid up to the fire for seconds in no time at all.  Smiling, Ed said nothing as she dished up some more rabbit as he grabbed the last piece for himself.

  “How many miles to Reno?” Amy asked suddenly.

  Looking up from his supper, Ed replied, “I figure it’s about eighteen to twenty miles.  It’s gonna take us most of the night to get there because we won’t be able to see the trail all that well and we will want to save the horses just in case of more trouble.  Are you re-thinking that train ride back to California?”

  “No, not at all,” Amy replied.  “I was just wondering.”

  “Now gals don’t just wonder about most things like distance and weather and such Amy,” Ed replied.  “What are you thinking?  For real this time.”

  “Weeeeeeeell,” Amy started out.  “I was just wondering if there would be time for us to stay at a hotel where I could soak in a bath for an hour and sleep in a real feather bed for a night.”

  “Buwahahahahahahahaha,” Ed laughed as he almost rolled off the rock he was settin’ on.  “Come to think about it, that’s a right fine idea.  We might even stay for a couple of days whilst I wire Old Joe in Bradley to see if there has been any change in plans.”

  Happy that they would get a bit of rest in Reno, Amy’s mood changed to be more upbeat as they broke camp and got ready to ride west.  Within fifteen minutes, the two westerners were lined out on a faint white blaze through the desert. 

  As the moon rose higher, the big bay could see the trail better and could travel faster but knowing how things in the desert could change in a heartbeat, Ed chose to keep a steady pace to save the horses just in case of more trouble along the way. 

  Ed liked riding the night trail for it was a time he could actually let his guard down just a bit since they would not likely be seen by anyone who might be looking for them.  It was a time of reflection and of peace for him.  Course the night air was none to warm but Ed figured the cold air was much preferred over cold dirt in his face.

  As they rode along, mostly content with the world, Amy began to tell Ed more of her early life on the ranch and of the neighbor kids she went to school with.  Many of the ranchers were of German, Scottish, or Irish decent and who raised large families which made for plenty of help on the ranch when it was needed.

  While there was plenty of work to go around most all of the time, there seemed to be more than enough time to get to the little church in Shandon or a bit further on in Santa Margarita or Creston if her pa was up to the drive through the winding hills north of the La Panza Range. 

  Once the Sunday morning church service was over, there was almost always some kind of barbeque to go to where Amy could visit with the other children from around the district who went to school in Parkfield, Choice Valley, or the larger town of Santa Margarita.

  As Amy talked of the fun side of her childhood when she was in school and at the social events, Ed could tell there was a darker side to that period of her young life.  Not knowing whether or not to ask Amy about her home life or not, Ed rode silently and just listened. 

  After a good while of lively chatter, Amy grew silent so Ed decided to take a chance to see if she would talk about what was troubling her.

  “Amy,” Ed started, “you haven’t said anything about your ma.  Is she still living on the ranch?”

  There was no reply for some time but Ed could tell Amy was crying.  When she finally answered, the extreme sadness she had been hiding away from the daylight came spilling forth.  “I think my mother died or was murdered many years ago, just after my youngest brother was born.  As far as I know, my pa, Rance, might have murdered her.  I don’t know for sure since she was just gone one day when I woke up.  I was maybe twelve or thirteen years old and the oldest so raising the other kids was left up to me.  I didn’t mind too much because when I was to turn sixteen, my pa, or I guess it was Rance, said I would get to go to a girl’s boarding school in Baton Rouge and live with his sister since the young men were already noticing me.”

  “Yer pa didn’t want you to find a young man out here so you could start a family of your own?” Ed asked.  “There are plenty of young cowboys with a ranching dream.”

  Amy didn’t reply so Ed left that question alone for the time being since that could also bring back the memories of Aaron being arrested and Amy getting sent to the “Home” before she could go to the boarding school.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Six

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  They rode in silence for the next three hours, each alone with their thoughts of life and the future until Ed found a sandy draw where they could pull off the trail to spell the horses for a bit before they pushed on west.  Riding some fifty yards or so up the draw where there was a curve to give them some concealment from the main trail, Ed got down and loosened the cinch on his horse then did the same for Amy once she was on the ground.

  Taking his canteen and his hat, Ed gave each horse a short drink of water before letting the animals nibble at the brush and sparse grass then settled into the soft sand to rest a bit hisownself.  Amy set herself down near to a large rounded boulder and was already asleep by the time Ed had taken care of the animals so he just sat back and considered what may lie ahead of them on the trail once they got closer to Reno.

  Off in his own little world, Ed was surprised by the flutter of a blackbird’s wings and didn’t hear the hoof beats of three horses on the hard trail until the riders were almost upon them.  Moving quickly over to where Amy was sleeping, Ed covered her mouth as her eyes flared open.  Ed held one finger up to his lips as he took his hand away then helped her up to move behind some thick chaparral for better concealment.

  As the men neared the mouth of the draw, Ed could hear them talking and knew right away the identity of one of the outlaws.  Somehow Iron Hand Pesco had found their trail and for whatever reason, he was following them.

  The men pulled up just before they came into view but Ed was ready for them in case they had seen them pull off the trail.  Giving Amy his rifle once again, Ed thumbed another round into each of his sixguns then stuffed one of them back loosely into leather as he waited with the other balanced in his hand.

  “Ya know we could overtake them easy enough,” Iron Hand said, his saddle creaking as he shifted his weight around to get a bit more comfortable. 

  “That won’t get us what we want from that girl ‘cause Ed Ketterly won’t give her up easy,” another man replied.  “With Ed’s disposition to fight like it is, she might catch a bullet meant for him.”

  “We need her alive to sign off the deed to the ranch since her ‘pa’ is dead,” the third man began, a voice that Ed thought was familiar but couldn’t put a name to.  “We need control of that land so we can begin drifting cattle off the Camatta again soes they won’t get noticed and get the brands changed.  With the Smyth boys out of the way, no one will be the wiser, least wise for a while.”

  “Getting that girl dead will spoil all our plans,” the second man added.  “No, we’ll follow them on into Reno then catch Ketterly when he isn’t expecting us.  If he wants to fight, then we’ll drop him where he stands.  When we get the girl, we’ll head straight south to Mojave then cut over Tehachapi and through the Temblor’s.  Once past the American Ranch, we can hole up at the Queen Bee Mine until we can get the deed signed off and recorded at the county seat.”

  “What happens to the girl once you get the deed recorded Harlan?” Iron Hand inquired with a queer smile pursing his lips.  “She might run to the sheriff right off and tell him what you have planned for the ranch.  At best she might just head over to the Camatta and let Mark and them know to watch their northwest fence.”

  “I have an acquaintance down south of Juarez that is always looking for white wimmin’ to work in the sportin’ houses in Mexico City.  She’s young and purty enough to bring in some decent seed money for us to buy supplies until we can move those cows to market up north.  Course that’s after I get her broke in right.” Harlan replied without the slightest bit of hesitation.

  As Ed was listening to the conversation, he felt Amy shudder as she too heard what these men had in store for her.  Well, Ed thought to himself, so much for some rest and relaxation in Reno.  Now they were going to have to come up with a different plan altogether.  They still needed to go into Reno for a couple of days but how were they going to keep out of sight was going to be another story.

  Two of the men lit cigarettes, a filthy Mexican habit Ed had borrowed from Chilito since most of the Anglos smoked a pipe or cigars on the frontier, and were silent as they smoked.  Once they were done, Iron Hand led off without saying a word with the other two falling in behind his horse riding side by side.

  As the hoof beats faded into the night, Ed helped Amy back to her feet then said, “We have a decision to make right here and now Amy.  You heard what those men have planned for you and you know Iron Hand Pesco is one of them.  The man called Harlan is Harlan Billingsly from a little town called Coalinga near Three Rocks.  I didn’t recognize the third man’s voice.”

  Amy said nothing right off but eventually found her voice.  “The third man’s name is Frenchy LaBeau,” she said quietly, “another man who worked for my father ,..…., Aaron, Rance, or whoever he was before Bill killed him.”

  “It’s tough learning all this bad news so far from home but you’ve got to be tough Amy,” Ed began again.  “We need to have a plan ‘cause these men aren’t gonna just go away and it won’t take them long to figure out we shaded them on the trail.”

  “How are we going to get away from them Ed?” Amy cried as she stood shivering in the night.

  “Well,” Ed replied hesitantly, “I know a gal in Sparks who could hide you at her place until I get word to the Camatta Ranch to start watching their range a bit closer.  Once I get a reply, I will send for you.  The one thing is, Clara’s place is a stable for wimmin’ who work the other side of the tracks and not the proper place for a woman like you to be living for even a little while.”

  Even though Ed couldn’t see her face, he knew Amy was suspect of this idea and any doubt was removed when she spoke up.  “So you are going to leave me at a bordello with someone I don’t know and just ride off?  What are you going to be doing and who’s to say you won’t get yourself killed in the process with me waiting for you?”

  Ed grimaced at Amy’s words for he knew she was right that they shouldn’t get split up if she was going to make it home alive without being kidnapped.  Iron Hand Pesco knew folks in this country so it would be hard to get past them without being seen.  Heck fire, he might even have confidants at Clara’s place.

  “OK ….………., fair enough,” Ed replied, “How about this then?  We can dress you up like a teenaged boy, something I don’t think will work very well, or I can tie you over your saddle as we get into Reno and take you to the Mortuary where I can get a coffin made for you to ride in as I take you home to California.  The story is that you were killed in an Indian attack.  Harlan and his cronies won’t try to kidnap a corpse since they may have seen where the fight took place.”

  “I’m not riding in a coffin all the way home Ed,” Amy retorted.  “It’s too far and too dangerous to be locked in a box.  How about this?  Tie me over my saddle just before the sun comes up and take me to the Mortician’s like you said then have a fake burial.  Afterwards, I will cut my hair short and dye it dark then get some loose clothes to bulk up some.”

  “Sure,” Ed replied after he thought about the idea for a bit.  “We can get you some clothes in Sparks so you will have them as soon as I get you to Mortacai’s Parlor in Reno.  It’s still cold enough that you can keep a scarf around you face when we are in town.  Course we can’t know each other whilst we are first there but can meet up as I ask around for trail hands after a bit.”

  “It’s settled then,” Amy replied confidently, even though she was frightened to her core.  “Let’s ride before we change our minds.”

  Back in the saddle and riding west at a forced jog, Ed watched the landscape closely to make sure they weren’t riding into a trap.  There was always a chance Iron Hand, Harlan, and Frenchy could stop along the way so Ed took to the old track a quarter mile south of the wagon road to try to keep out of sight a bit better.

  Three and a half hours later, the two wary riders found themselves on the last rise looking into the valley where Reno sat quietly below Donner Pass.  From a distance, Reno looked quiet and serene in the path of a waking day but Ed knew this was going to be a make or break deal for Amy and him.

  Pulling up behind some scrub juniper trees, Ed unrolled the ground tarp from his bedroll then wrapped it around Amy, tying it off around her feet, waist, and under her shoulders so her hands would be loose to hang.  Lifting Amy up and over her saddle, Ed heard her grunt ever so slightly as he pushed her up and over the seat then wrapped a rope above her knees then under the horse to the rope around her shoulders on the other side to keep her from falling off. 

  “I know this isn’t going to be comfortable so I will go as slow as I can,” Ed said shyly as he smeared some rabbit blood on the tarp to show where she had been supposedly wounded in the Indian attack.

  Amy didn’t reply so Ed simply checked her over once more then got into leather.  Tying Amy’s reins to his saddle horn, Ed turned the horses back onto the main freight road and headed down the long slope into Reno where three dangerous men waited for them.

  As Ed made his way into town from the east, the three gunmen waited impatiently at the Shooter’s Saloon on Virginia Street in downtown Reno.  The men had gotten into town no more than an hour earlier and wasted no time in heading for the first saloon they could find to wash the trail dust from their throats.

  “How are we going to find them?” Frenchy asked his two surly partners.

  “It won’t be too hard,” Iron Hand replied confidently.  “They don’t know they are being followed so I figure they’ll head straight to Virginia’s Boarding House across the street.  All we have to do is wait.”

  “Shouldn’t they have gotten here before us?” Frenchy asked sheepishly.

  “Yea, they should have but there’s a probability that Ed had to stop from time to time for that girl.  You know how it is to be traveling with wimmin’.  Just wait, they’ll show up soon enough.”

  All the while Harlan Billingsly and his two-bit gun hands were drinking and making their plans to kidnap Amy, Ed was finally getting to the outskirts of Reno where he was about to put their plan into motion. 

  Ed had been to Reno a few times before so knew the Funeral Parlor was on Stoker Avenue.  Unfortunately, Ed had the unpleasant duty of bringing one of their French Basque sheepherders there after he was killed by a grizzly near Fort Sage a couple of drives earlier so he had met the man once before.

  Mortacai Wilson was an amiable sort who treated Ed like he was a local and warned Ed of the evils of Reno’s backstreets as if he was his own son.  Needing to trust someone with this put up deal, Ed felt like Mortacai would understand the danger Amy was in and would help her get shut of those killers if he could, especially if it meant a bit more gold dust flowing into his pocket.

  Riding down Virginia Street in full view of the men interested in watching the street, Ed’s idea was to let Iron Hand find him first thing instead of waiting until later when he wouldn’t be as prepared.  “Sides, Ed wanted to get the whole setup deal done with while surprise was still on his side.

  It was Iron Hand Pesco who first saw Ed trailing his grizzly cargo through town.  “Damn,” is all he said as he watched Ed ride by with a body draped over Amy’s horse.

  “What?” Harlan snapped.

  “Look!” Frenchy exclaimed.  “There’s that rider we have been following and it looks like he is trailing a body on the other horse.  Look at the body.  That’s golden hair hanging loose from that tarp.  Wasn’t that girl’s hair gold?” 

  The three men stepped out onto the worn boardwalk as they watched Ed turn down Stoker Avenue towards the undertaker’s parlor.  By the time they got to the corner where they could see for sure where Ed went, he was already carrying the body inside over his shoulder.

  Just before Ed opened the door to the funeral parlor, he glanced down towards Virginia Street in time to see three men watching him.  Opening the door, Ed stepped inside and quickly unwrapped his cargo.

  Seeing Mortacai sitting behind a desk, Ed spoke quickly, “I don’t have a lot of time to explain but I need you to make this girl look dead before she really gets killed.”

Mortacai stood up instantly as he recognized Ed from their last business and pointed towards the back room where he directed Ed to get Amy laid out on his work apparatus.  Grabbing a container of powder, Mortacai used a fine-bristled brush to place the pinkish looking powder on Amy’s face, neck, and hands. 

  To make the whole thing look more realistic, the mortician took a vessel with some foul smelling chemical, probably arsenic, and placed it close by with a hose slid inside the neck of her blouse just as the front door to his mortician’s parlor was opened.

  “Breathe shallow and very slow girl,” is all he said as he pulled a sheet over her head then brushed through the curtain and into the outer office. 

  There was a brief conversation then Harlan Billingsly pushed his way past Mortacai and into the back room as Iron Hand Pesco held a gun on the mortician to keep him from protesting further.  Positioning himself behind Amy with his Colt held firmly in his hand, Ed said nothing as Harlan walked up to the body on the table. 

  “Who is this?” Harlan demanded as he reached for the sheet to pull it down.

Ed looked straight into the madman’s eyes and didn’t reply right away, his Colt doing the talking as the four loud clicks of the hammer being cocked shattered the silence in the room.

  “I said ……………..”

  “Step away from her Billingsly.  I heard what you said,” Ed barked. 

  After a tense couple of moments where the men simply stared each other down, Ed began to talk, “You aren’t runnin’ nothin’ here but your chops so you can calm down,……… or leave.  I don’t much care either way.”

  Seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to bull his way through this mess, especially when there was a Colt’s Peacemaker Pattern of 1873 with a cocked hammer pointed at his belly, Harlan changed his tune.

  “I didn’t mean to barge in here like this but I am looking for a young woman who is traveling to Reno from the east,” Harlan began, his teeth grinding together at being forced to be civil.  “I’m just hoping this isn’t her.”

  “What’s your woman’s name?” Ed asked to delay telling Harlan what he wanted to know.

  “Amy Crabtree,” Harlan replied.  “I have business with her over a ranch in California.”

  Silent for a good minute, Ed reached over and pulled the sheet off Amy’s face very slowly then said, “Amy Crabtree is dead.”

  “How?  When?” Harlan demanded.

  “We were attacked by injuns two days ago,” Ed replied slowly as he pulled the sheet back over Amy’s face, knowing Harlan would want a better explanation if he had seen her riding the day before.  “Amy was wounded during the fight.  She died early this morning on the way into town when as I was trying to get her to a doctor.”

  Harlan Billingsly’s fingers were clenched into white-knuckled fists since there was no way to dispute Ed’s claims so there was nothing he could do for the moment except take Ed’s story at face value.  Spinning on his heel, Harlan pushed his way past Mortacai and out the front door to his partners at the Shooter Saloon.

  “They’re gone,” Mortacai said as he looked out the side window to watch Harlan head back up the street.

  “You done good girl.  It looks like we fooled them for the moment.” Ed told Amy as he uncovered her face once again.  “I didn’t know if you would be able to hold your breath long enough so I only uncovered your face for a few seconds to prove it was you.”

  “I told you I could carry my share of the load Ed,” Amy said with a sideways smile.    “Now we got to get me buried and we’ll be home free.”

  “Home free,” Ed said with a skeptical tone to his voice, “we’ll see about that.  First we have to get you buried proper and get out of this town before Billingsly and his cronies figure out we have shaded them.  He doesn’t know we saw them following us so maybe that story will stick.”

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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  Harlan Billingsly stormed into the Shooter’s Saloon as mad as a hornet that had gotten its nest shaken loose from the rafters.  Once inside, Harlan demanded a jug and only one glass then threw a few coins onto the bar after getting a bottle of the local rotgut from the nervous bartender sporting a thin comb-over. 

  With all of his plans sent promptly down the drain and with the many miles he had traveled over the last few weeks ridden in vain now that Amy Crabtree was dead, Harlan Billingsly was ready to kill the first man who talked back to him. 

  With a fresh bottle in his hand, Harlan headed for the corner of the room to tie on a drunk like none other.  When Harlan got like this, his partners knew it was time to stay out of his way.  Finishing their drinks, Frenchy and Iron Hand eased out of the room and away from Harlan’s temper.

  Up at the funeral parlor, Mortacai made quick work of getting a coffin loaded with sacks of sand and sealed shut from prying eyes.  The shock of Amy’s demise would only last so long so the man needed to get “her” into the dry desert ground sooner than later.

  While Mortacai’s grave diggers were hard at work, Ed shuffled Amy out of town through back alleys and past the red light district across the tracks to a dugout near the river.  Inside there was an old Indian squaw who listened carefully to Ed’s request to change Amy’s looks.

  Ed had been able to scrounge up some boy’s britches, a loose fitting flannel shirt, some well-worn range rider’s boots, a sheepskin jacket with a tall collar, and a floppy hat for Amy’s new costume but she needed to look a lot more different than having some new clothes.

  The squaw began mixing some herbs in a pot on the stove then got a pair of scissors out of a sewing kit what had been stuffed into a burlap sack.  Sitting Amy down backwards on an wooden chair so it would be easier to work, the old woman began cutting the golden locks from her head until it was almost shorter than Ed’s.

  Once her hair was short as a teenaged boy, the old woman dipped a rag into the concoction on the stove then began wiping it on Amy’s hair to turn the golden color into a dark brown.  Satisfied with the color, the old woman started to wipe Amy’s hands and face with her concoction to darken her skin some as well.

  With her hair dark and with her skin now the color of a sun-soaked rancher, it was time to make her look like she had been on the trail for days.  In order to do that, Amy needed a shadow of a beard so the old woman drained the grounds out of her potion then used a thick bristled brush to dab the grounds on Amy’s face to leave a dark shadow where a normal beard should be.

  Once Amy’s “makeup” was completed, she went into the back bedroom where she changed out of her riding clothes and into the git up Ed had gotten her.  Once dressed and with her hat pulled down tight, Amy came out of the room looking nothing like her former self.

  “That should fool them,” Ed said with a smile as he gave the old woman a five dollar gold piece for her trouble.

  “Should I start learning how to curse, chew tabaccy, and smoke ceegars?” Amy asked sarcastically.

  “Naw, I think you’ll be alright as long as you don’t have too talk much.  You don’t look much like a girl but you sure still sound like one,” Ed replied.  “We need to put your disguise to the test though.  I want you to attend your own funeral to see if anyone gives you a second look.  If you get noticed, we’ll just have to fight it out.  If not, you and I can leave town as if I hired you for the Alturas drive back into Reno.”

  Heading back into town, Ed and Amy walked different routes then met up at the funeral parlor just in time to walk behind the hearse to Boot Hill like mourners.  As they made their way out of town, it was no surprise that Iron Hand, Frenchy, and Harlan Billingsly were among the curious by standers watching the procession.

  It was shame that there were no other mourners for an innocent soul lost to the western frontier but then with a town as wild as Reno, there were funeral processions every day and folks really didn’t want to accept the possibility that any day could be their last. 

  The grave diggers struggled with the weight of the box but wasted no time in getting the coffin unloaded and placed over the fresh new home in Boot Hill.  Patiently, the preacher waited until he could say a few short words to demonize the savages for murdering her in order to send her on her way to the hereafter forthwith.  It was only then the men slowly lowered the coffin into the hole.  Both Ed and Amy stood at the graveside for a few minutes then each threw a handful of dirt onto the box before heading back to town.

  As the grave diggers put their backs into the task at filling the grave, Ed and Amy checked the cinches on their saddles then stepped into leather to ride back to town.  Ed had promised Amy a good night’s sleep on a feather bed and he was wanting a good sized steak before they pushed out onto the trail once again so they were looking forward to the evening in town.

  Supper that night for Ed was to be in the dining room of Gold Strike Saloon and Theater while Amy would dine quietly in her room at Virginia’s Boarding House where she could stay out of sight.  Pulling up in front of the saloon, Ed loitered around the hitching rail until he saw Amy step inside the boarding house safely.

  Easing up to the door, Ed paused in the shadows for a few seconds to let his eyes start to adjust to the dimmer light of the saloon’s back rooms.  Turning the knob after a minute or so, Ed pushed the door, stepped inside quickly, and then stepped to the side so he could survey the room.  It was an old habit he learned from Chilito but one that may have saved his life that night.

  Over on the right side of the room, Harlan Billingsly sat alone while Frenchy and Iron Hand Pesco sat clear across the building from Harlan where they could effectively set up a crossfire if there was a gunfight. 

  Seeing there was only one choice to gain the upper hand, Ed headed across the room to a table near the back door that would put him behind Harlan and make it hard for Iron Hand and Frenchy to have a clear view of him while there were others in the dining room.

  There was a feisty young waitress with a bushel of red hair tied up in a thick braid, a spattering of freckles sprayed across her face like wild flowers on the prairie, and flashing green eyes who wasted no time in getting a pot of coffee to Ed and taking his order. 

  “Well Howdy there cowboy,” she said with big smile as she poured Ed’s coffee cup full.  “You look like you are ready for one of our trailblazer steaks, a bushel of home fried potatoes, and a gallon of hot black coffee.”

  “You’ve got my order all figured out then,” Ed replied as he returned her smile.  “Just add a big hunk of apple cobbler to my order when I get the first course down then we’ll have it all set.”

  “Will do Cowboy,” she replied as she turned to head to the kitchen.  “By the way, my name is Martha.  If you need something else, just give be a holler.”

  Sitting back with his coffee in hand, Ed looked around the room to take in all the faces.  It was a habit of his to try to see how much information he could glean about a town just by sitting, watching, and listening to folks when they weren’t thinking about what they were saying or who might be listening in on their conversation.

  There were the usual businessmen with their tailored broadcloth suits, polished shoes, and stuffy top hats escorting their wives, wimmin’ who were dressed in the finest silk dresses they could find in the east, to their seats in the middle section of the room like they were all on display for the others to be envious of while others who were just passing through spread out around the edges.

  There was one table with a family of four who looked to have traveled far by the way their clothes were frayed and worn or maybe it was how their shoes were scuffed and beaten from walking behind the slow-moving wagon across an unforgiving desert.  The father looked haggard from the trials of the journey but the mother, while tired, looked hopeful as she tended to the two children.

  Another table sported a man who was obviously a gambler since he shuffled and reshuffled a deck of cards relentlessly as he waited for Martha to bring him his meal.  With him sat a rather demure woman who wore her hair neatly pinned up under a modest bonnet that matched a gray dress that hugged her curves as if made to order.  While the woman dressed much like a school marm, Ed felt there was much more to this lady’s occupation than met the casual person’s eye.

  There were two empty tables near the front door then one more in the back near Iron Hand where four men huddled around it like they were discussing something almighty secret.  From what Ed could tell, the Arbuckle’s wasn’t the only thing brewing over there.

  This group of four was the most interesting to Ed since they were keeping their voices down and their faces inward so no one could get a good look at any of them.  All were wearing rough range clothes, hats, beards, and heavy winter coats with high collars that hid most of the sides of their faces and back of their heads as if they didn’t want to be recognized. 

  At first glance, Ed thought these men might be hiders by the way they were dressed but there was something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on that belied real danger to him.  That suspicion was confirmed when one man moved and his coat shifted away from a shiny Colt’s Peacemaker Model revolver with well-worn grips.

  These men were real trouble and Ed knew it so was intrigued by them.  When Martha returned with his meal, she noticed Ed watching the group of men far too closely.  Not wanting a gunfight in the restaurant to interrupt her work, Martha was quick to offer Ed some friendly advice once she saw where he was looking.

  “Stay away from that bunch Cowboy,” Martha warned.  “The big one in the back is Brent Allford from up in Plumas County.  He’s a bad one and won’t waste time talking if he notices you staring at him like you are.”

  Ed offered no remark, just smiled and got busy with a steak the size of a desert Jack Rabbit.  Consumed with his meal, Ed made no indication when Allford and his cronies got up to leave but Harlan Billingsly and his boys were all eyes and left shortly after Allford and his men.

  Taking his time with his meal, Ed considered all what had transpired in the last thirty minutes.  Brent Allford was a known name in the California gold mining camps, a man who was quick to anger and quicker to pull iron on anyone who irritated him. 

  The fact that Billingsly’s bunch left at nearly the same time bothered Ed for there was no known connection between the two gang bosses.  Could it be that Billingsly and Allford were in some sort of liaison over Amy’s ranch?  Ed didn’t know for sure but it was something he would talk to Amy about later on that evening.

  Once the last bite of his cobbler was put away, Ed paid for his meal and made a decision.  They were leaving Reno before daylight and heading west over Donner Pass to the Pacific Crest Trail.  Once they got to the trail, they would decide which way to go from there.  With this new element of danger, Ed could head south to get Amy back to her ranch or take her north to Alturas to finish the job he started some weeks before.  He would offer her a choice.

  Quietly asking Martha if there was a back door to the dining room, Ed eased out undetected then down the alley to the back of Virginia’s Boarding House.  Coming through the back door, Ed startled Virginia as she was cleaning up the supper dishes. 

  “Oh, it’s you Ed,” Virginia began.  “There’s coffee aplenty on the stove if you’re of a mind and some apple pie on the side board.”

  “Thanks,” Ed replied as he poured himself a fresh cup.  “Get a lot of new boarders tonight?” he asked off handedly. 

  “As a matter of fact,” Virginia replied, “we have a new man from Coalinga who stopped by.  He had two friends with him but they didn’t want to stay here.  From the looks of them, they were gonna head across the tracks for some evening entertainment.”

  It wasn’t thirty seconds later when there was a shotgun blast from upstairs.  Ed jumped to his feet and ran up the stairs towards the blast with a sixgun in his hand. 

  At the top of the landing, Ed was met with Harlan Billingsly holding a shotgun and a dead man on the floor.  Taking a closer look at the dead man, Ed recognized him from supper.  He was one of Brent Allford’s men.

  Within a minute, the town marshal was ambling up the stairs and wanting to know just what happened.  Not wanting to be involved in Billingsly’s mess, Ed put his gun away then went back downstairs to finish his coffee.  The last thing he wanted to do is draw attention to himself or to Amy’s room.

  Virginia was busy with the marshal so Ed went out the back door then up to the back landing on the second floor.  Once there, he climbed over onto the upper deck and down to Amy’s room where he knocked quietly on the window.  Only a few seconds later, Amy looked out through the side of the curtain, with her Smith and Wesson in hand, and saw who it was before she opened the window for him to come in.

  “What in the world?” Amy gasped.  “I heard the gunfire outside now you are climbing in through a back window?  What in the world is going on?”

  “Trouble,” Ed replied quietly.  “Big trouble.  Harlan Billingsly just killed one of Brent Allford’s gunmen.  We already know what Billingsly wants but Allford, I don’t know what the connection is between them yet.  It may be nothing but I don’t want you alone tonight.  I’ll just sleep in here in the chair where I can watch this window and the door while you sleep.  Come morning, we’ll watch and see what Billingsly does then slip out of town if we can without being seen.  We might even wait until dark and leave tomorrow night to give the impression we aren’t on the run from anything.”

  Saying nothing in reply, Amy pulled one of the blankets off her bed and handed it to Ed so he would be more comfortable then climbed back into bed herself.  There was nothing she could do at this point and didn’t have the skills to make any kind of escape plan so she had to trust Ed with her life, even though she didn’t deserve his help.  He’d been straight with her so far so Amy wasted no time in getting back to sleep for it was likely to be a big day come morning.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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  The ruckus outside Amy’s room finally quieted down after about thirty minutes when the undertaker’s helpers removed the body.  Afterwards, the normal night sounds of a city that never sleeps began to take over since the smell of black powder smoke had faded away.  

  In the distance, Ed could hear the tin-panny sound of an out of tune piano playing and the shouts of a drunk getting tossed out of the Gold Strike Saloon for getting too fresh with one of the dance hall girls by a man known to take great pleasure in sending another to Boot Hill.  Reno had returned to the sins of the night and the evil that lurked in the shadows around every street corner.

  Looking over towards Amy, Ed wondered what other calamities he would have to face in the company of this girl who, at one time seemed so helpless, a girl who he learned wanted him dead for something he had no control of, but in the end, a girl who had proven her mettle in the fight with the Indians and held her mud on a rough trail. 

  Thinking back to what he knew of the area where Amy said she lived as a child, Ed tried to puzzle together the mysteries of this spitfire of a gal but soon fell asleep as the stress of the day’s events finally caught up with him. 

  According to his Railroad watch, it was just past 4:30 in the morning when Ed eased out from under his blanket.  Once he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Ed went to Amy’s bedside to wake her up as well.  Not surprising, Amy was already awake and was soon up and getting ready.

  Ed knew Virginia always had food ready early for folks who needed to get to going down the road before daylight so within fifteen minutes, the two Central Coast natives were sitting at the kitchen table for the last store bought meal they would likely see for a few more weeks.

  Eating quickly then excusing himself, Ed slipped out the back door to go down to the stable to get the horses ready for their hopefully un-noticed exit from Reno.  Not wanting to take any chances at all, Ed made a deal the evening before to trade for Amy’s horse.  The deal he made was for a mostly white paint gelding with a black mane and tail. 

  Saddling both animals, Ed left Amy’s mount at the stable while he led his up to Virginia’s back door.  Changing into Amy’s hat and coat, Ed headed back to the livery to get the other horse as if his new cowhand was getting his own animal ready for the trail.

  Paying Virginia for two days room and board since she packed them a small sack of food for the noonin’ meal, Ed offered his respects to her then headed out the back door without another word.  Tipping her hat like any other cowhand, Amy followed Ed outside as well. 

  Outside of Virginia’s warm kitchen, the air was crisp and sharp as a relentless north wind cut through Amy’s clothing like a knife, finding any little opening to get inside to chill her to the bone.  Amy tried to pull the collar of her jacket higher around her neck before taking out her thick scarf to fill to voids.  Tying the scarf over her hat to help hold it on against the wind, Amy then wound it under her chin, around her neck, then across the lower portion of her nose and mouth.

  Ed was already astride his mount so just waited patiently as Amy readied herself for the trail.  Not having much experience with wimmin’ on a primitive trail, the one thing Ed did know was not to get pushy of a morning or he would end up having a day full of miseries to settle up for his lack of patience.

  Ready at last, the two riders followed the back streets where there was little light as they worked their way west out of town.  The plan was to head west until fully out of sight then turn back northeast to catch the Mormon Trail north to head back to Alturas to finish the roundup.   

  Knowing not to take anything for granted, Ed kept his head on a swivel and his eyes moving as he searched the sagebrush and arroyos for trouble.  As they drifted west out of sight of the town and near to the river crossing where he figured to turn north, Ed’s hopes of getting away clean and without being noticed were dashed to the ground as if in a wine glass. 

  On the other side of the river, four men sat their horses and waited.  Harlan Billingsly, his two cronies, and another man Ed didn’t know were waiting for them with killin’ on their mind.  It was obvious they hadn’t believed his story but Ed figured to play this hand out to see just exactly what they had in mind.

  As Ed pulled up some fifteen yards away across the river, Harlan barked, “Ketterly, I think you were lyin’ about that girl over to Mortacai’s parlor so it’s to come clean about where she is.”

  “You obviously think you know something about me and that girl,” Ed replied as he eased back in his saddle and started rolling a quirly, his mind racing as he tried to figure a way out of this latest mess. 

  Lighting the quirly up at last, Ed continued in a slow methodical drawl, “Why would I want to lie to you Harlan.  There is no love lost between me and that gal.  She set me up to be murdered slow like.  You already know about that.  I managed to get away so was fixin’ on bringing her to the law in Reno to settle up fer her sins when the Indians punched her ticket.  I for one am glad to shut of her so I can get back to getting the herd in for my pa.”

  Ed could tell Harlan was troubled by his story because it followed the rumors what had drifted down the trail but he still didn’t seem totally convinced.  Figuring to spin the yarn tighter, Ed continued.

  “You saw her corpse Harlan,” Ed reminded him.  “Mortacai wouldn’t have planted her if she was still alive.”

  “How do we know you didn’t just say that gal was Crabtree,” Iron Hand Pesco piped up.  “I think yer just tryin’ to lie yer way out of tellin’ us the truth.  That girl could have been any one of the workin’ girls from over to Mustang Ranch or somewheres else.”

  “Yer reachin’ fer a branch that isn’t there boys and yer gonna find it’s planted into nothing but air,” Ed replied slowly.  “I’ve got no reason to try to shade you over some gal I’ve no reason to cover for.  Now I’ve got to head for the ranch.  Are we done talkin’ here?   Harlan, describe that gal on the table to Iron Hand, he knows what she looks like and can maybe set your mind to ease.”

  Harlan Billingsly looked at Iron Hand then muttered something under his breath that Ed couldn’t hear.  Iron Hand replied in the same low tones while Harlan’s face soured even more.  He was mad and was about to take retribution since things weren’t going his way.

  This was going to end badly for all or at least some of the riders so Ed shifted his horse a bit so he could whack Amy’s cayuse on the rump when the ball opened up for the dancing to start. 

  There was a chance, not a very good one but at least a slim one so Ed whispered low, “Amy, be ready.  As soon as this starts, ride hell bent for leather back to Reno and get to the Sheriff’s office for protection.”

  It was pretty clear to Ed that Harlan wasn’t going to give him the road so he was going to have to take matters into his own hands but before Ed could make up his mind to draw, Amy’s little .32 was in her hand and spitting fire.  It was Amy who decided she wasn’t gonna run from a fight no more and sparked it off, surprising everyone. 

  Amy’s first shot missed wide left but the second one took Iron Hand deep in the right shoulder causing him to nearly lose his seat.  Horses were buckin’ and spinning around as Ed drew his Navy Colt and let loose on Frenchy and the other man close to him with two rapid shots. 

  There was no clear shot at Harlan but out of the corner of his eye, Ed could see the man was charging towards Amy as he leveled his Peacemaker at her.  Frenchy was off his horse in the water and the other man was riding away slumped over his saddle as if hit hard so Ed turned his attention towards Harlan who was drawing a tight bead on Amy’s chest.

  Amy was fighting her horse for all she was worth as it reared from all the commotion around them just as Harlan fired.  Harlan’s slug hit her horse in the neck and dropped it like a sack of flour but the problem now was, Amy was in real trouble since she couldn’t get free of the stirrups soon enough so the horse was down in the river with her leg pinned partially underneath it.

  Flailing around wildly with her arms as she tried to keep her head above water, Amy was in real bad trouble since the horses were causing waves to splash over her as she fought desperately to breathe.  Clearly in a bad way, Ed hoped she could hang on until he could get to her.

  Harlan had turned his gun towards Ed as soon as Amy went down so the gunman had to be dealt with before he could help her get out from under the dead horse, Ed thought silently as his own handgun flashed level, spitting lead as soon it did. 

  Hot lead flew through the air in both directions for Harlan had begun firing at almost the same instant as Ed.  Through the cloud of smoke, Ed felt the jolt of a .45 caliber slug as it cut through his shirt and skated alongside his ribcage just under the skin as another slug burned his gun arm from just behind his wrist to his elbow leaving an angry red furrow.

  Thumbing his short gun again and again until it was clicking on empty chambers, Ed watched on as Harlan stiffened and lurched as three more slugs tore into his mid-section, stopping his assault almost instantly.  His Colt had become too heavy to hold as Harlan weaved from side to side, trying his best to remain standing in his stirrups.  Soon, the smoking sixgun slid from his hand and fell past his foot, landing with a splash.

  Jamming his gun back into its scabbard, Ed threw a loop over the exposed saddle horn, dallied quickly, then started backing his horse as fast as he could, hoping all the while the saddle girth was strong enough to hold the weight of the dead animal as he pulled.  In his subconscious, Ed heard Harlan hit the water when he fell from his horse, dead at last. 

  Leaping from his horse and fighting through the water to get to Amy as fast as he could, Ed knew he was late, almost too late as he saw Amy’s expressionless face looking back at him through the murky water.  From what he could see, Amy looked dead.

  Pulling and dragging her from under the dead animal as his horse kept pulling the rope tighter like any good roping horse will, Ed managed to get Amy out of the water and onto the shore before he laid her down on the loose sand.  Knowing she drank in enough water to stop her breathing, Ed knew he needed to get the water out of her lungs so she could catch a breath on her own.

  Knowing nothing about anatomy other than the inside of a fresh killed deer, Ed figured out he needed to push on Amy’s lungs to expel the water so he used his one good hand to push on the center of her chest over and over again.  Nothing happened so Ed did it again with the same miserable results. 

  Frustrated that he could have let this happen, as if he could have stopped it, Ed turned Amy over and thumped the middle of her back with the palm of his hand so hard that it caused her to start coughing and spit water from her nose and mouth. 

  Turning her back up onto her side so she could breathe better on her own and to be able to clear her lungs of the murky fluid, Amy was soon coughing and spitting out enough water to fill a good sized mug.  Relieved and now exhausted, Ed sat back as Amy’s coughing died down some and she could talk again. 

  “Well,” Ed began at last.  “I guess we’re shut of that bunch.  We can go back to Virginia’s and trade Harlan’s gang’s animals for your own horse from the livery man and get you into some dry clothes before starting back north tomorrow.  In fact, we might just stay on another day if it suits us well enough.  Without having to worry about Harlan, we can get you outfitted in range clothes more suited to a gal.”

  Getting up off the ground at last, Ed began gathering up the loose horses and while it was a chore, tied Harlan’s body over his.  Frenchy was wounded but he had no desire to go back into Reno where Ed could file charges against him so Ed helped him catch his horse and get aboard before sending him on his way after Iron Hand and the other man who was already gone.

  Getting into his own saddle, Ed led Harlan’s horse as he rode closer to Amy.  Kicking his foot out of the stirrup, Amy climbed up behind him, wrapped her thin arms around Ed’s waist, then slumped against him as Ed led off towards Reno and the Marshal’s office.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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  By the time Ed got Amy back to Virginia’s Boarding House and made the report to the Marshal over Harlan Billingsly’s death, it was near to noon so Ed headed to the nearest saloon, a place called The Last Chance Dancehall and Billiards Parlor, for a drink.  After the morning he had, Ed figured he had earned at least one stiff shot of whiskey, maybe two or three, to cap off the day. 

  Stepping into the shadowy darkness of the dimly lit building, Ed stood off to one side for a moment to let his eyes grow accustomed to the room.  It was still early so there weren’t too many men about but rather than take any chances, Ed surveyed each face, looking for anyone familiar to him.  Seeing no one who obviously stood out in the crowd, Ed worked his way through the tables and past a man sleeping a drunk off agin’ the wall near the bar and to the corner where he could look the room over again from the other direction. 

  Lifting two fingers for a double, Ed watched the patrons in front of him as the barkeep limped his way down to his end of the bar with a bottle and a glass but as before, there was nothing that appeared out of place.  It went almost un-noticed at first but when Ed saw the barkeep flash a fearful look at someone to his left for a second time, he knew there was something going on there that he needed to watch out for.

  Sliding the thong off his Colt, Ed lifted the gun out of its scabbard then rested the barrel on the bar where the barkeep could see the black chasm of the muzzle when he was pouring the whiskey.  The barkeep set the glass down but as he started to pour, he noticed the gun barrel pointed straight into his belly.  Almost immediately he started shaking like a leaf and was spilling whiskey all over the bar.

  “Howdy friend,” Ed stated loud enough for everyone in the saloon to hear.

  “Now that the pleasantries are over, who were you looking to signal?  I’m more than ready to drill you with this wore out Colt if you try to shade me,” Ed whispered.

  Sitting the bottle down to keep from spilling any more whiskey, the barkeep stood still as a post while trying to decide how to make his peace in life before he was sent to his maker the hard way. 

  Hearing a couple of chair legs sliding against the rough cut wooden floor before it was knocked over, Ed shifted his eyes in that direction but not the muzzle of the deadly Colt, still poised to send hot death into the barkeep.

“  Ed Ketterly!” a voice boomed from the shadows directly across the room from where Ed was standing.  “I’d heard that you were in town and leaving a blood trail behind you as you rode.”

  There was a stirring of men as the few who were between them scattered like valley quail to get out of the way of the trouble, likely gun trouble, what was sprouting up right there in front of them.

  There was something familiar about the voice but Ed couldn’t put a name or face to the sound.  Straining his ears, Ed could hear boot steps as they made their way through the tables and out into the open.

  “Put a name to that man or die right this second,” Ed snarled at the barkeep as he eased the hammer back on the big bore Colt.

  “His name is Bohanna.  I don’t know his first name,” the barkeep wheezed.  “He’s from down south they say.”

  Ed remembered the name Bohanna because he had become friends with Shorty Bohanna of the old Queen Bee Mine in the La Panza district.  Shorty was always good for a hot meal, a bed away from the harsh northeast wind, and lively conversation but the voice didn’t sound like Shorty’s at’all.  It wasn’t but a couple of seconds later that the man from the shadows stepped out to where Ed could see his face.  No, this wasn’t Shorty at all but there was some slight resemblance if a body looked close enough. 

  The man was a trapper from the looks of his clothes but the tied down Colt on his right leg told Ed this was a dangerous man in anyone’s mind.  The grips of the sixgun were well worn and shiny from years of hard use but the metal was polished and well lubricated by a man who put great care and pride into the tools of his trade. 

  Looking into the man’s face, Ed could almost see the anguish he was carrying deep in his memory, the anger simmering under the surface, and the pain life had forced upon him, albeit most of it the result of making poor decisions with his money and wimmin’.

  “Do I know you friend?” Ed asked nonchalantly as he laid his Colt up on the bar where it was close to hand.

  “No Sir!” the man replied, “but I know you and you know a brother of mine.  His name is Shorty.  My name is Charlie Bohanna from down California way.”

  Thinking back to the late night chats around the fire at the Queen Bee, Ed started to recall a passing comment Shorty made about his miscreant, outlaw brother who was one to try to take the easy way about getting what he wanted instead of earning it with sweat and hard work like everyone else.

  “So how do you know me and what do you want?” Ed asked, really already knowing the answer.

  “Well now, I’m glad you asked” Charlie said with a wry smile pursing his lips.  “I have a telegram from Aaron Applebee that was offering $1000.00 for your hide, dead or alive.  Course Aaron wanted you alive but I prefer a dead man since they don’t talk all that much.”

  “So yer a paid bounty hunter and a general low life kinda killer Charlie?” Ed asked with a little prod to his question.  “I’ll bet Shorty is gonna be real proud of you when he hears how you make yer livin’ these days.”

  “Shorty knows,” Charlie replied with a scowl taking the smile’s place, “and knows what will happen if he talks.”

  “Well here’s something you don’t know about Charlie,” Ed snapped back through gritted teeth with the speed of a sidewinder.  “Aaron Applebee, or you may know him as Rance Freedman, is dead, murdered at the hands of Bill Longtree so I done the same for him.  You are gonna have a terrible time collecting that blood feud bounty.”

  That kinda stopped Charlie in his tracks for he didn’t have any way to prove what Ed was sayin’ wasn’t true.  Course Ed couldn’t prove anything either so they were at sort of an impasse.

  “How’s about I just spend the money on a bullet and worry about getting the money from Applebee’s girl then,” Charlie sneered as he settled into his best bad man pose to try to intimidate Ed some.

  “Amy’s dead too, killed by injuns on the trail east of here,” Ed replied matter o’factly.  “Course she weren’t Applebee’s girl no kinda way either, just an orphan girl he took in after he murdered her pa to get the ranch as a base for his new rustling operation.  I’m pretty sure Shorty can testify to what’s been going on at Lazy Arrow.”

  “You just have all the answers, don’t you Ketterly?” Charlie barked.  “Well, none of those dogs hunt so I’m just gonna plant you right here, right now, and worry about gettin’ the money when I catch up to old Aaron.”

  “There’s no way I can talk you out of this Charlie?” Ed asked.  “I’d surely not want you to meet up with Angus, Aaron, or even Bill on the other side without bein’ given the chance to walk away to some other payday.”

  “Nope!” came the lone reply so without even a flinch as he reached for iron.  At the same time, Ed’s hand slapped down onto the loose Colt, lifted it towards Charlie’s face as he eared the hammer back, and squeezed the trigger gently as the muzzle lined up with the man’s right cheek in one fluid motion.

  The muzzle blast was deafening in the closed room as smoke and fire belched out of the business end of Ed’s well-worn Colt.  Charlie Bohanna was taken flat footed and had barely wrapped his mitt around the grip of is short gun before he realized he had taken a fool’s chance on the wrong man.

  Ed had seen the look of shock on Charlie’s face as it turned to panic when he realized he was just a fraction of a second away from dying.  Madly trying to get his own gun out first, Charlie took the single .45 caliber slug right at the bridge of the nose, boring a hole straight through his brain and blowing a chunk of skull off the back of the stupid man’s head.

  It was lights out for Charlie Bohanna for that kind of wound meant immediate death.  There was no pause, no convulsion, nothing, as Charlie dropped to the floor with a thud like a sack of flour off a wagon.  Seconds later, blood began to pool from underneath Charlie’s head and soak into the disgusting sawdust littered with spit and vomit.

  Looking around to see if anyone else wanted to dance with him, Ed calmly shucked the empty case then reloaded his sidearm for his next go-around.  Sliding his gun back into its scabbard, Ed drank his whiskey as he waited for the Sheriff to arrive to take his statement.

  The doors to the street slammed open against the walls as the local Sheriff and Police Chief entered the room in a huff.  Looking over at Ed, the Sheriff walked straight up to him figuring he was likely in the middle of the trouble after the morning report of the skirmish with Harlan Billingsly and his men.

  “I tried to talk him out of it Sheriff,” Ed claimed as soon as the man approached.    “The barkeep can validate my claim unless he chooses to be a liar.”

  “How about it Sam?” the Sheriff asked straight away.  “Was it self defense?”

  “It was,” came the reply.  “That man gave the other galoot more than one chance to walk away but that bounty hunter figured on cashing in on a big payday.”

  “You have a bounty on your head Ketterly?” the Sheriff asked, his hand sliding down to his gun.

  “Nope, nothing lawful,” Ed replied quickly.  “Seems some hombre named Aaron Applebee put a price on my head for personal reasons.  I’ve broken no laws in Nevada Territory, or home in California as far as that goes.  Check your wanted dodgers if you want, I’ll be in town for at least another day.”

  “Maybe you should try to light out a bit sooner friend,” The Police Chief chimed in.  “Seems like you are leaving a lot of bodies on your back trail.”

  “It happens like that sometimes,” Ed replied with a half grin spreading across his face.

  Throwing a dime and a nickel onto the bar to pay for his drink, Ed tipped his hat to the lawmen then made his way out of the saloon and down the nearest alley to get away from the main street. 

  Moving quickly, Ed made it to his room at Virginia’s where he planned on a good long nap but first, he was gonna survey the street below to see if anyone was watching his room or Virginia’s in general. 

  Looking out through the sheer curtains, Ed looked the street over closely but saw nothing out of the ordinary.  Rather than take anything for granted, Ed slid a chair under the doorknob while kicking off his boots and hanging his gunbelt on it before sliding into bed.

  Down on the street, more than two blocks away, as Ed’s eyelids grew heavy, a pair of steel gray eyes looked up to the second story of Virginia’s Boarding House as if he could see any movement.  Rolling a quirly, the man slowly rolled it between his fingers before flipping it to his mouth and lighting it.  He had time, plenty of time, so he could wait until it was right.

  Across the street, another man leaned his chair back against the outside wall of the sportin’ house as he chewed on a straw he had snatched out of a broom at the General Store.  The man’s rifle was casually laid across his lap, his eyes were alert and moving as he watched everyone and everything around him.

  Walking down the boardwalk on Virginia Street dressed in a light blue dress, a slip of a woman wearing a colorful hat adorned with flowers and ribbons paused for just a minute as she looked at one man then the other before turning the knob and entering the boarding house.  Stepping inside, the woman smiled at the landlady then turned and headed upstairs.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Thirty-One

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  There was a gently knock on Ed’s door only moments after he rolled out of bed and pulled his boots on.  It was nearly 5:00 in the evening and getting close to suppertime so Ed naturally thought it was Amy coming to get him so they could have supper together.

  Stepping over to the door expecting Amy, Ed was smiling as he opened to door to a woman he did not recognize.  His smile was erased as soon as he noticed the little .41 Remington derringer held solidly in her hand, all the while knowing his Colt was hanging on the corner of the bed several feet away.

  Well now, Ed thought to himself as his mind raced.  This is just what he didn’t expect and now he was facing trouble again.  Instinctively, Ed threw the door closed on the woman as he side-stepped to reach for his Colt.  It was a good thing he did for the woman fired when he moved or he would have taken the slug deep in his belly.

  Ed leaped over the bed, grabbing his gunbelt as he jumped past the bedpost, palming the big Colt as he belly crawled to the end of the bed.  Another shot rang out from the street below, the slug blowing out the window behind him, glass shards falling on his legs as Ed scrambled to his feet to go after the woman in blue.

Throwing the door open wide, it slammed against the wall as Ed looked out to get a quick look down the hallway. His quick look was instantly met with another shot that splintered the door jam and spitting splinters into the side of his face. 

  This woman was no pilgrim but unless she had already reloaded the first barrel, Ed knew that was the woman’s last shot so he dared glance out into the hall to take another look.  There were no more shots and only the fleeting sounds of petite footfalls of the woman running down the stairs and out the front door. 

  Taking the time to sling his gunbelt around his hips, Ed followed the sound down the stairs and out the front door where he was met with rifle fire from across the street.  Snapping a quick shot at the cloud of smoke, Ed ran a few steps and ducked into an alley where he would have some semblance of cover.

  Ducking down to look back into the street, Ed could see the man in front of the Sportin’ house was down and motionless but that’s when he heard the telltale sound of the hammer of a big bore revolver clicking into firing position behind him.  There was no time to think so Ed simply reacted. 

  Rolling to his right side, Ed’s hand was pointed towards the sound with his trigger finger jerking as soon as his gun came out from underneath his body.  As Ed’s face came around, it was met with dirt spraying into his face from the other man’s first and only shot. 

  The man with the steel gray eyes looked surprised as the .45 caliber slug tore into his chest, freezing him in place.  Ed’s second slug followed only a fraction of an instant later that put the would-be killer to his knees, his revolver slipping from his grip and into the dirt beside his leg. 

  It was as if the moment was frozen in time for the man on his knees stayed motionless for nearly a minute before his muscles relaxed.  Just like a giant oak cut off at its base, the man rolled forward on his knees and fell flat, face first into the dry dirt of the alley where his soul, black as it was, would remain still until the end of time.

  Down the street, Ed could faintly see the woman in the blue dress when she disappeared from view as the crowd of onlookers blocked him from looking past the boardwalk.  Ed wiped the dirt from his eyes and face then stood up to reload his gun once again.

  Pushing through the crowd, the Sheriff was not surprised or even slightly amused when he saw Ed standing near the dead man.  This man from California had created a bunch of paperwork for him and was costing the city a lot of money in burial costs, although Mortacai is always happy for more business.

  “Alright Ketterly,” the Sheriff barked as he rolled the body over to see who it was.    “Jumpin’ jehosaphat, that’s William ‘Billy’ Barker.”

  “Who’s Billy Barker Sheriff Lowry?” Ed inquired.  “I don’t know this man and don’t know why the three of them come huntin’ fer me.”

  “Three of them?” the Sheriff shrieked.  “You killed three men here?”

  “No,” Ed replied slowly, “just two.  The third was a woman in a blue dress.  She was the one who bored a hole in the door to my room with a .41 Remington and started this whole ball to rolling.  She got away and disappeared.”

  “The answer to your first question is Billy Barker is the fastest man with a gun in Reno and is the son of a State senator,” the Sheriff began.  “The man over yonder looks like another local gunny from the Hungry town District over near to Truckee by the name of Howlin’ Jim.  The woman, we’ll have to find her to see who she is.  Ketterly, whether you know it or not, you have brung a powerful big amount of grief to me, and to yourself.”

  “Sheriff,” Ed started out, “I have no truck with these men, or that woman, and have no idea why they come fer me, unless it’s still that wanted dodger Aaron Applebee put out on me.  I was gonna have supper with my new hand then leave this town tomorrow to be rid of it.”

  The Sheriff said nothing as he chawed on his quid fer a bit then came to a decision about the whole thing.  “I’m already tired of all this gunplay so yer gonna spend the night with me Ketterly, IN JAIL where you cain’t get into no more mischief.

  As Ed opened his mouth to protest, the Sheriff simply raised his hand to stop him.  There was no sense trying to plead his case right there so Ed just pointed his nose towards the jail and started stepping out kinda lively.  If someone else wanted to take a pot shot at him, Ed wasn’t gonna make it easy for them.

  Getting to the jail minutes later, Ed turned the knob and stepped inside the small building to get off the street and out of sight as quickly as he could, considering the day’s events so far. 

  The Sheriff was right behind Ed when his hat flew off and the door jam exploded right next to his head.  The lawman dove to the floor and kicked to door closed as he hit the wooden planks then rolled across the room where he could get behind the desk.

  “Hot Dammit!” the Sheriff hollered as he jumped back to his feet and ran for the rifle rack.  “Yer nothing but trouble to me Ketterly and now you got my best hat perforated.”

  “There’s a man on top of the Mercantile Sheriff,” Ed barked, ignoring the lawman’s curt words. 

  The Sheriff was busy jamming cartridges into the worn Winchester and simply tossed the rifle to Ed as he reached for another one.  Not one to waste time waiting to see if the man was going to shoot again, Ed lined his sights up on the false front of the Mercantile.

  Aiming through the broken corner of a window pane, Ed put the front sight just where the circle of the “R” was then pressed the trigger as gentle as if he was caressing the cheek of a newborn child.

  There was an explosion of sound and smoke as Ed sent his messenger of death through the air to find the wantabe murderer hidden on the roof.  There was the whack of the slug striking the wooden sign just a fraction of a second before the sickening thud of lead tearing through the soft flesh of a man’s body.

  It wasn’t but a second or two later when a man stood bolt upright slapping at his chest as if trying to swat an angry bee away.  Turning towards the street, the man’s rifle went clattering off the porch roof as he fell against the false front, breaking it free of the building, and following it into the street below.

  There were no more shots so Ed and the Sheriff eased through the door to see who it was that almost punched the Sheriff’s ticket.  As the men moved across the street, there was crowd starting to gather around the body in the dirt making it hard for the men to get close at first.

  “Make way Dammit!” the Sheriff barked as he pushed his way past the onlookers.  As he broke free of the crowd, he looked down and muttered a single word, “DAMMIT!”

  Ed looked down at the twisted death mask of the man in the street but did not recognize him from Adam.  Looking into the Sheriff’s face, Ed could tell the man knew the dead man and was almost beside himself.

  “Get him up and down to the Mortician’s Parlor,” he said without emotion.  “Ketterly, you come with me.”

  As they headed back to the jail, Ed asked, “Who was that man?  You seem like you know him.”

  Not missing a step, Sheriff Lowry replied, “He was my first born son.”

Sheriff Lowry led the way into his office then opened the lower left drawer of his desk to pull out a bottle.  Taking two cups off the shelf, he poured one drink for Ed and one for himself before saying another word.

  Dropping into the chair like he was total dead weight behind the desk, Sheriff Lowry slammed the first drink down then poured himself another to follow the first.  Ed sat down across from him and pondered what he could say to the man after what had just happened between the two men and his son.

  “Horace,” Sheriff Lowry began, “has been running fast and loose with a bad crowd from over to Truckee.  The only thing keeping them out of Reno has been me so maybe he figured to take me out in a way folks would think they got me on accident while they were after you.”

  “So you think he was trying to kill you?” Ed asked, barely able to comprehend the thought.

  “I’d bet money on it.  The last time we talked didn’t end on a good note when he said he wished I would die.” Sheriff Lowry replied without giving anything else a second’s thought.

  “This here town is mighty peculiar Sheriff,” Ed replied.  “I’ll be glad to get shut of it tomorrow.  Do you have any idea of who the woman was?”

  “Yup,” he said.  “Horace ran with a local harlot by the name of Millie Langford.  She’s a part time actress and full time prostitute.  Don’t worry yerself none, if there’s no money in it, she won’t lift a hand to keep after you.”

  Sheriff Lowry grew silent so it was some respite when Amy strode through the door and into the office being followed by the Deputy.  “What’s the meaning of this Ed,” Amy snapped.  “This deputy pert nearly dragged me over here against my will.

  “Roll yer bedrolls out in that rear cell and up against the wall boys,” the Deputy announced.  “It’s close to the back door where yer horses will be before sunup.  I’ll bring yer supper to you back there so there’s no more shootin’ in town this evening.”

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Thirty-Two

_______________________________

 

  Like they’d been told, Ed and Amy rolled out their bedrolls in the back cell but against the outside wall where no one could climb up to the outside window and catch them asleep or dozing off unawares, just in case there was anyone else carryin’ a gripe agin the two riders.  There was still a chance someone could throw a Molotov cocktail through the window bars but if they couldn’t see anyone in the cell, it was less likely.

  When the Deputy returned with their meal, he looked at how Ed had placed the beds but said nothing as he set their supper down on the little table they’d brung in to set a candle on.  Grabbing a plate, Ed handed it to Amy then grabbed the other before sitting down on his bed.

  Neither Ed nor Amy talked as they wolfed down the grub, sopping the last of the juice up with the fresh baked bread the deputy brought with the meal.  Pouring himself another cup of coffee, Ed leaned back and sipped it while Amy finished her supper.  Once Amy was done, Ed poured her cup full then set back again. 

  “Amy,” Ed started out, “I’m not convinced we are going to get a free pass out of Reno in the morning.  I don’t trust that deputy one bit either.  There’s just something about him that don’t set right so we’re gonna need to stay on watch tonight just in case.  Now I don’t know why anyone else would want to kill us but we need to ride fast and loose come morning or not make it out of town at all.”

  Amy was biting her lower lip as Ed looked at her and knew she might have answers to questions he hadn’t asked.  Rather than push her, Ed decided to wait her out and let her tell her story in her own time.  As she leaned back against the wall, Ed could tell she wanted to talk but he stayed patient and pretended he hadn’t noticed the change in her mood.  About forty minutes went by then she began to talk.

  “Ed,” Amy began.  “That man Billy Barker, he used to ride with Bill Longtree before he got hooked up with Horace Lowry.  Bill met up with him when we were in Redding just before we rode north after you.  I thought nothing more of it until today.”

  “I guess Billy wasn’t aware Bill is dead and is worm food up north then,” Ed replied.  “They must have had some plan put together in case Bill didn’t make it to Reno.”

  “But who, why?” Amy asked, her eyes beginning to well up with tears.

  “I surely don’t know but it seems plain enough someone still wants me dead,” Ed said, a grimace twisting his face into a surly looking frown.

  “Oh,” Amy said as if just remembering something.  “I picked this up at Virginia’s front desk,” then handed Ed a folded telegram.

Looking the paper over, Ed said, “It’s from my pa.  Remember I wired him when we first got to Reno.”

  As Ed quickly read through the rows of letters, Amy could see the hard lines of anger spread across his face and the jaw muscles swell as the Bradley cowhand gritted his teeth together.

 

ED KETTERLY-STOP

ALTURAS-CALIFORNIA TERRITORY-STOP

RENO-NEVADA TERRITORY-STOP

 

CATTLE IN ALTURAS RUSTLED-STOP

RUSTLER NAMED IS BILLY BARKER-STOP

MAY HAVE HELP FROM HORACE LOWRY-STOP

HERD PUSHED SOUTH TO RENO RAILROAD-STOP

JOHN AND I RIDING TO MEET YOU IN RENO-STOP

 

APRIL 16, 1887

OLD JOE

 

  Folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket, Ed got up and walked into the front of the jail where Sheriff Lowry was filling out some paperwork at his desk.  As the Sheriff looked up, Ed slid the telegram over to him. Sheriff Lowry looked up at Ed then opened the folded paper to look inside.  After reading it twice, the man folded it over carefully then handed it back to Ed.

  “I’d like to go over to the stockyards and take a look at the cattle there Sheriff,” Ed said quietly.  “There might be some rustled cattle there being sold.  I can identify our brand as the Rafter J.”

  The well worn lawman simply looked into Ed’s eyes with no expression on his face.  His son was dead and now assumed to be a rustler so what else could happen to make life worse for him?

  Standing up, Sheriff Lowry hitched up his gunbelt, slapped his hat on, grabbed a Greener off the long gun rack, checked the loads, and then said, “Let’s go.”

  Amy followed the two men out of the jail but not before Ed noticed she was wearing a gunbelt what was most likely made for a small boy and sporting a shiny new model Colt Peacemaker Model of 1873 in its new scabbard.  Amy saw Ed looking her hardware over but said nothing as she moved outside.

  It was a short walk to the stockyards, maybe ten minutes or so, with the men walking fast and Amy almost jogging to keep up.  Crawling up on the board fence holding the cattle inside, Ed started examining the animals with the eye of a man who had spent years looking for the fine details every cattleman searched for when assessing a herd.

  “Sheriff Lowry,” Ed said after a fashion.  “Could you come over here?”

  The lawman exhaled deeply for he knew this could only mean more problems for him to deal with then climbed the fence next to Ed.

  “You see that brindle steer next to the cuttin’ gate?” Ed began.  “You can see where someone tried to iron the rafter out straight then run a bar under the J with a runnin’ iron to make a Bar J Bar brand.  They didn’t even go over the J to try to make it look like a new brand.  It’s pretty sloppy work or they knew no one down here would be asking any questions.  We can butcher that steer out to check the brand from underneath if you don’t believe me.”

  The Nevada lawman was no pilgrim and knew right away what Ed observed was spot on.  These were rustled cattle and there was no getting around it.  As Sheriff Lowry eased off the fence, a well-dressed man with a congenial smile and fat cigar walked up to the men.

  “What can I do for you Sheriff?” he says.

  “Well for starters,” the man said, “you can tell me where you got this herd of cattle from and from whom?

  The cattle buyer was man by the name of Charlie Goodnight who acted surprised at the question.  “Is there a problem Sheriff?  Why your boy Horace and Billy Barker brought these animals in from up Cedarville way.”

  “Did you look the brands over?” Lowry asked with a certain bite to his voice.

  “Whyyyyy nooo?” Charlie answered in a kinda of a question.  “Horace and Billy have brought me several small herds for sale over the last few months.  I figured with Billy bein’ friends of yer son, everything would be on the up and up.”

  “Yer lyin’ through yer teeth Charlie,” Sheriff Lowry snapped as he snatched Goodnight up by the collar.  “A blind man could see those brands been doctored.  Now the real owner of those steers is standing right here next to me and has identified those animals as his.”

  “I, Uhhhhhh,…………..” Charlie stuttered as he tried to regain his composure.  “Arrrrre those beeves for sale mister?  I haven’t paid Billy or Horace for them yet.”

  “What’s the going price?” Ed asked, although he already knew prices were down to $16/head on the hoof.  They weren’t going to make much money on the herd but Old Joe wanted to bring some blooded stock onto the Alvarado place and needed cash money. 

  “Wellllll,” Charlie replied, “you know beef prices are down here in Reno but if you wanted to drive them over the mountain to the Comstock Lode in Virginia City, I’ll pay you $22/head, pay for the grub, and pony up the extra working stock you’ll need for the trip.”

  “Take it and don’t ask why he is paying the extra money,” a gruff old voice with a French accent barked sharply from behind the men.

  All three men’s heads spun around at the sound and low and behold, Old Joe and John Crosby were standing there watching the transaction taking place.

  “Well howdy there Pa,” Ed said with a smile.  “John, glad to see you made it down here safely.  I already have us an extra trail hand to make the drive.  His name is Andy,” nodding towards Amy.

  John looked over at the young rider dressed in trail clothing but he knew there was more to the story of that young rider.  As he looked on, John thought there was something almighty familiar about the rider but he just couldn’t put his finger on it at the moment.

  “Deal,” Ed said as he stuck his hand out to shake with Charlie Goodnight.  “Sheriff, can you give me a paper speaking to those F’d up brands and that these are legal cattle to be sold to Charlie?  I don’t want no more problems with these cows,” as he turned and smiled towards Amy.

  “If it will get you out of my county,” Sheriff Lowry said, “I’ll do it right now.”

  “I’ll have your supplies and two extra mules waiting at the corrals before daybreak Ed,” Charlie said as he walked away towards the livery.  “I’ll also have you the advance payment for the cattle before you leave Reno.”

  “Make sure those mules are sound and there is plenty of the right kind of food for the trail.  And remember something else Goodnight.  If there are any problems on the trail, I’ll be coming back for you,” Ed replied as Goodnight grimaced before walking towards the bank. 

  “Let’s head on back to the Graybar Hotel and get some sleep Andy,” Ed said smiling at John.  “Oh there’s a room at Virginia’s what is already paid for you can use John, if you dare,” Ed added with a wink.

  John just looked kinda funny at Ed but said nothing since it would take far too long to learn the whole story of his adventures after they split up in Alturas anyway.  Once they were back on the trail, John was sure he would get the full low down on the trip as well as the new young rider he had hired.

  Old Joe was gonna catch the midnight smoker to Sacramento then head south to the home ranch so there would be no catching up until they were on the trail south.  With time to kill, they were going to Virginia’s to get a meal and for Old Joe to take a nap before heading for the train.  It was just like the ornery old man to not let a good bed go to waste.

  Once back in jail, Ed and Amy wasted no time in getting into their bedrolls for the next few days would be long with plenty of hard work on little sleep.  If they were lucky, they could make the drive in about four days, five if they took a little extra time to keep the weight on.  Course Ed and luck had not been good friends of late.

  With Amy asleep and the sheriff in the outer office, Ed laid awake and wondered what kind of mess he, Amy, and John would end up stepping into come morning.  Sometime during the night, Ed drifted off to a pitiful few hours of sleep.  

   "Usti Waya (Little Wolf).....Usti Waya," whispered a somewhat familiar voice that gently woke Ed from his slumber.  Finding himself swaying with each stride the Bay took, he felt warm in the early spring sun on the Comstock Trail heading southeast. 

  As his eyes focused on the Rafter J cattle lined out ahead of him, the voice of Caoqoset echoed in his ears as she continued in her native Modoc tongue.  Yet not aware of it, Ed could understand what she was saying.

  The steers had stopped at a coulee for though it was warming up, their coats were still thick from winter and the cool water was refreshing.  John was letting his horse drink while he stood knee deep in the ice cold water while Amy dismounted to stretch and to allow her pony to drink near the bank. 

  As the Bay approached the coulee near the other riders, a rattlesnake as thick as an oak branch coiled to life.  "Situlili always wants revenge," Caoqoset repeated softly, "What will Usti Waya do?"

  Ed watched on in horror and was helpless as the snake launched up from its shadowy place to strike Amy on the back of her calf.  Her scream of shock caused the pony to lunge forward into John's horse, knocking him into the coulee where Ed saw him disappear.

  "What will Usti Waya do...?" was all Ed could hear over and over as his heart sank watching both Rafter J riders die.  Somewhere in the confusion he could hear the wolf howl once again as he jumped out of his fitful sleep and back to the reality of the moment. 

  Ed looked around like a wild man since everything had appeared to him to be so real but when he noticed Amy asleep in her bedroll, he relaxed a bit as he wondered why he had such a dream, really a nightmare, and what it meant, if anything. 

  Realizing it was a dream or some kind of vision, Ed rolled over and went back to sleep for it was only a few precious hours until dawn.  He’d worry about it later if the vision was trying to warn him of trouble to come.

  It seemed like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes but the gray of dawn was full upon them as Amy shook Ed by the shoulders to wake him up.  Ed jerked away as his hand went for his Colt, startling Amy when he did.

  “Sorry Amy, I’m not used to getting woke up by folks these days,” Ed said with a sheepish grin as he realized what had happened.

  Amy just looked on at Ed and said nothing right away.  After a fashion, Amy said, “Let’s get these bedrolls put together ‘cause I’m hungry and it looks like it’s going to be a looooong day.”

  Thankful the subject was changed, Ed grabbed up his blankets and laid them out on the floor so he could roll them up tight in his slicker to keep them dry in case it rained on them during the day.  Tying each end with a piggin’ string, Ed was soon ready with his as Amy finished with hers.  Grabbing both bedrolls, Ed opened the cell door and headed out to get the paper from the sheriff that verified the doctored brands.

  Once they left the jail, the first stop was going to be at Virginia’s to get Amy some breakfast.  As they turned the corner, Ed could see John standing outside Virginia’s front door as if he was waiting for the two of them to arrive.  When Ed and Amy stepped up onto the boardwalk, John had the door open so they stepped into Virginia’s dining room where the aroma of fresh baked bread wafted throughout the room, almost as if beckoning them to a hearty meal.

  Sitting around a corner table, the three riders wasted no time in getting some decent food in their bellies since they would be eating trail food for at least the next week.  There was little talking going on, which worried John some as he and Ed should have had a lot of catching up to do.

  Once breakfast was put away, Ed eased back in his chair a bit then he and John engaged in small talk as they planned for starting the drive to Virginia City.  Amy was silent the whole time, which was a bit unusual but Ed knew she would, and should, be suspicious of John until she got to know him better.

  It was soon past time to go so Ed paid for their meal then grabbed the bedrolls out of the corner where he had leaned them, handing Amy hers, and headed for the door.  It was a short walk to the stockyards so they were there in less than five minutes. 

  Charlie was there to meet them as expected with a small chuck wagon and the two mules he promised.  Ed walked around the animals as he looked them over closely then checked the provisions to make sure Charlie didn’t short them anything they would need. 

  Not one to miss much, Ed gave the cook a once over too just to get a feel for whether the man was an honest cook or a spy working for Charlie.  The man looked like an average sort who dressed in the rough working clothes of a farmer and looked the part of a trail cook.  He wore no sidearm but he kept a sawed-off Greener 10 Gauge and a long-barreled Winchester under the seat of his wagon.

  Satisfied Charlie had fulfilled his obligations, Ed got down to the brass tacks of the deal where he wrote out a bill of sale and received a payment of $16/head along with a written guarantee of the per head premium.  Once they got to the Mother Lode, he would get the other $6/head premium from a man called Colin Shaver at the stockman’s office in Virginia City. 

  Shaking hands to culminate the deal, Ed took his money and headed over to get the horses saddled for the drive.  As he stepped into leather, Ed looked back towards town and saw Charlie Goodnight talking to a man who looked more like a killer than a cattleman.  Seeing Ed looking towards him from a distance, Charlie had a guilty look smeared across his face as he knew he had been seen when he was trying to be discrete.

  Acting like he hadn’t noticed, Ed made his way into the corrals and started pushing the animals out of the stockyard and pointed south out of town.  Amy and John were waiting, ready to start bunching the cattle up to keep them together until they were out of town and on the open range.  Bein’s they had just been driven from Alturas to Reno, the steers weren’t strangers to the trail so got mostly lined out by themselves.

  Ed started out riding drag to get a feel for the herd and to get the cook lined out with the cook wagon.  Once out on the trail, he would have the cook in front to lead the cattle but for now, while the herd was still a bit froggy to start, he would keep the wagon behind the herd.  Another reason for keeping the cook behind the herd was even though he looked ok, Ed couldn’t trust a man hired by anyone who bought stolen steers as far as he could throw him, at least yet anyway.

  Making matters much sketchier than they already were, as they pushed the cattle out of the stockyards, Ed could see the gunman who had been talking to Charlie as he pretended to lounge against the front wall of the mercantile.  He was clearly watching them when he thought Ed wasn’t looking as they trailed away from town.  He would need to talk to Amy and John about his suspicions for they were likely riding into trouble, real trouble,………… again. 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Thirty-Three

_________________________________

 

  The first few hours of the drive were uneventful as the three riders pushed the small herd of close to 350 steers away from the city towards the hungry miners of the Mother Lode mining district.  It wasn’t all that far to Virginia City but there were a couple of fast moving streams to cross this time of year and some narrow canyons to navigate that would make for a bit of work to keep the herd together as they headed into the hills. 

  The one thing that was bothering Ed the most was why Charlie Goodnight was so eager to offer so much more money for a forty mile drive.  Ed knew the man was up to no good when he saw the cattle buyer chatting with the gunman before they left town.  Acting on a hunch, Ed rode up to Amy and told her he was going to circle around to see if anyone was following them.

  The country they were riding through was mostly level, lined by some broken hills with several draws that led away from the main trail to Virginia City.  Ed simply drifted off from the flank of the herd, once John took over the drag, and into the shallow draw to the south.  It was Ed’s plan to follow the draw around the shoulder of a low hill then work his way up to the edge to take a look around the country behind them.

  It wasn’t long before Ed’s suspicions were realized.  He had worked his way through the draw to a point where he could tie up his horse to some chaparral then climb up behind some boulders where he could see the trail behind them for at least two or three miles. 

  Just cresting the horizon were at least a half dozen riders.  It was a long ways away but Ed felt certain the man in front was the gunman Goodnight had been talking to.  The gunmen were riding slowly so it seemed they were waiting for either nightfall or for someone to catch up before making their attack on the herd.

  “Now doesn’t that just beat all,” Ed said to himself as he watched the men make their way along their back trail.  Easing back to his horse, Ed stepped up onto hurricane deck and turned the animal back towards the herd.  As he rode, Ed thought about Charlie Goodnight and the conversation they were going to have about this.

  As he caught up to the slowly moving herd, Ed waved for both his hands to meet him on the south flank.  John knew something was up as soon as he pulled up but Amy wasn’t all that used to his ways, yet, and couldn’t tell when something was bothering the man. 

  “Charlie has sent along a welcoming party behind us John,” Ed started out.  “From the looks of them, it’s a half dozen hard cases looking for blood money.”

  A wave of fear washed over Amy’s face as she considered what Ed was telling them.  Six hardened gunfighters against the three of them were pretty tall odds, especially considering the fact she wasn’t a gunfighter.

  John had seen the look cross Amy’s face so tried to calm her fears.  “Don’t worry about nothin’ Andy, or is it Amy?

  Ed’s head snapped around as did Amy’s when the secret came out like John had known it all the time.  “How long have you known?”

  John laughed, “Ever since the beginning of the ride.  You can’t keep a secret for nothing Ed and Amy, no offense, you can’t help acting like a gal or looking like one even though those clothes are too big.”

  “Well,” Ed replied with a sigh, “at least I don’t have to worry about telling you later on.  So with that drama out of the way, how are we going to deal with these men?”

“Why don’t we just bushwhack them before they get to the herd?” Amy offered.  

  Ed smiled back at the young woman as he tried to form the words to keep from hurting her feelings too much.  “These men will be looking for anyplace they might be attacked from Amy.  They will have the advantage of more guns than us too.  No, I can’t take that chance.  We need to lure them into a trap that they don’t see coming.”

  Amy’s face turned a bit rosy but then it brightened up.  “How about they find a lost woman on the trail that needs help finding her camp?”

  “Now that might be enough to get them to let their guard down just a little to give us the leg up on them Ed,” John injected quickly.

  “The problem is,” Ed replied with a sour tone, “Amy is right in the middle if anything goes bad and might not be able to get clear if lead starts flying.”

  “I’ll get clear if I’m the one that starts the show!” Amy barked defiantly.  “I’ve been a lot of trouble for you on this ride so maybe now I can start settling the debt a little bit.  Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going up that draw to get changed into my regular riding clothes and wash up a bit.”

  Ed and John just watched behind her as Amy rode off, hoping she wasn’t biting off more than she could chew.  This was going to be a dicey plan from the git and he hoped she wouldn’t get hurt in the process.

  Turning to John, Ed said, “John, remember that burnt out stump a mile back?  I’m going to bury our money there just in case this doesn’t work out like we planned.  If you make it, get it back to Old Joe for me, would ya?”

  “You know I will Ed,” John replied.  “And I’ll get Amy wherever she wants to go too.”

  Ed turned his horse then galloped back to the cook wagon to have a palaver with the cook.  Turning and walking the horse alongside the wagon, Ed started a general conversation as if to get to know the man.

  “So, I don’t believe I caught your name in the rush to get the herd out of town?”

The man spit off to his right then said, “Name’s Chet Harris but most folks call me Cookie.”

  “How long have you been working for ‘Ole Charlie Goodnight Cookie?”

  “Oh, I don’t work for him.  I do piece work for anyone on the trail.  I happened to be down to the livery getting shoes on my mules when he came in wanting stock for this drive.  I done asked him if’n he needed a cook for the drive.  He told me it was only for a day or two but that was alright with me since it would give me some eatin’ money and some grain for the mules.”

  “He said it was only for a couple of days?”

  “Yep, that was it.  I thought it was a bit strange considering the distance to Virginia City but like I said, I needed a grubstake.”

  “Are you any good with that rifle Chet?”

  “I fit injuns in Arizona and Montana when I was in the Calvary in ’76.”

  Choosing to trust the man, at least a little bit, Ed decided to give him the heads up.  “Chet, I’ll say this only once.  If yer a spy for Goodnight, then turn this wagon around and head back to Reno.  If’n you ride for the brand, yer welcome to come along but I want to warn you, we’re headin’ into a fight.  We’re already outnumbered two to one and they look to be hard cases.”

  “I might regret it later but I’m with you Ed.  I didn’t get this old and worn out runnin’ from a fight.”

  “Alrighty then Chet.  Well, keep yer eyes open and your head on a swivel.  We’ll try to get word to you when they come if we can.”

  “Fair enough Ed.  I’ll get Betsy loaded and ready.”

  “Say, have you traveled this trail before?” asked Ed.

  “Sure, a few times since it takes a lot of beef to feed the miners over to Virginia City.  This is the first time for Goodnight though.”

  “Are there any box canyons ahead where we could put up a fight or at least hold the herd if need be?”

  Chet had to think about it for a minute but then he lifted one finger.  “By golly there’s a narrow little canyon about a mile ahead that isn’t quite boxed in but it would take some effort to push a herd out the other end.”

  Turning his horse west and waving to Chet, Ed rode a roundabout track back to the burnt out stump and buried Old Joe’s money before covering the cache with a chunk of dead brush.  Taking another piece of brush, Ed brushed out his tracks to the stump then made his way back to his horse.  Unbeknownst to Ed, he was being watched through a field glass from some distance away.

  Ed rode past the stump to make it look like someone had just been riding through the draw in case anyone happened to be following his tracks as he backtracked.  After coming around the bend in the trail, Ed could see that Amy was back with John and dressed like a woman again in her split skirt riding outfit.  Riding up to the pair, Ed had a plan, or at least something better than sending Amy into the lion’s mouth.

  “There’s a kind of a box canyon about a mile ahead of us where we are going to pull in for the night and get forted up.  Even if we do send Amy out to distract them, we need to be ready.  Right now I want to watch to see what they are going to do next.”

  “You don’t think I can do this Ed?”

  “Not at all Amy.  I’ve seen you in an all out gunfight and know you have sand.  I just don’t want to get separated since we’re stronger as a team.”

  Amy looked suspiciously at Ed as if not totally believing him but said nothing more and got back to pushing the steers southeast.  Chet had caught up by now and was leading the herd to the box canyon.  Hopefully he wasn’t leading them into a trap. 

  It took about an hour before Chet turned east off the trail and into the canyon.  Letting John and Amy push the herd on in, Ed rode ahead to check out the canyon.  It didn’t take long to hit the end of the draw where it turned into a sort of bowl.  It was just like Chet had described. 

  The steers could make it over the top if they were pushed but there was plenty of grass and a decent seep against a rock outcropping where they could get to water.  The steers would be content to stay there unless the gunfire got too close.  Heading back to the mouth of the canyon to meet up with John, Amy, and Chet, Ed pulled up and stepped off his horse to have a council of war.

  “OK,” Ed said as everyone gathered around him.  “John, can you find some high ground and check on our back trail?  Amy, Chet and I are going to build up some breastworks to give us some cover if they come at us.”

  John said nothing as he stepped back into leather and headed out to the north looking for the high ground.  Chet got busy dragging some blown down branches together then piled some rocks and sand in front.  Ed and Amy set up another defensive position a few feet behind Chet’s.  Whether Chet noticed or not, he didn’t say but Ed did that by design, just in case.  Once he was done, he took his mule and a pack and headed out leading the animal to get some firewood for the evening like normal.

  John was gone no more than twenty minutes when he came riding back into the mouth of the box canyon.  He wasn’t in too much of a hurry so was that good news or bad?  Stopping where everyone could see him, John waited a minute or two out of habit before coming on soes he wouldn’t get shot accidental like.

  “Well, what did you find out John?” Ed asked with a certain sense of urgency in his voice.”

  John looked over at his partner with a blank expression for just a few seconds then began.  “They set up camp about two miles north of us and you’re right, that bunch is being led by that slinger back in Reno.  There are eight of them now and Goodnight is among them.”

  Looking around carefully, John asked, “By the way, where’s Chet?”

  “Ah he took his mule and is scouting around for enough firewood for supper tonight and breakfast in the morning.  He’ll be back directly,” Ed replied hoping deep down he hadn’t misjudged the man.

  Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, Chet came limping into camp with several long branches tied to the pack on his mule and looking like it was just another day on the trail.  Getting straight to work, Chet built a fire ring then started breaking the branches up into workable pieces to get a fire going.  They would eat before sundown so the fire didn’t give them away in the dark.

  Before long, the smells of frying pan bread, good beef, frijoles, and Dutch oven cobbler were wafting through the air making the rider’s bellies grumble with anticipation and almost causing them to start drooling like a hungry hound looking at a side of beef on the hook.

  As soon as Chet said “Come and get it”, the riders were settled around the camp with a full plate and digging into the food like they hadn’t eaten in days.  Chet simply backed up agin’ his chuckwagon and smiled while he watched the riders enjoy his fixin’s.

  When the crew got done with the main meal, Chet began dishing up the peach cobbler he had been cooking for the last hour.  Even though their bellies were full, no one refused a bowl full of the fruit delight. 

  With the meal done, Chet started cleaning up the dishes and getting everything packed away neatly in the wagon.  Whether it was his military training or just the ways of an old man, Chet packed his wagon nightly just in case they had to get onto the trail in a hurry before breakfast.

  Once he got everything in order, Chet sat down to his own supper as the boys talked over what they should do next.  Listening quietly, he said nothing for a while.  Once he was done with his supper and had washed his utensils, he eased up to where the others were sitting.

  “Mind if I throw in a few thoughts? He asked.

  “Come ahead Chet,” Ed replied.  “Fire away if’n you have an idea on how to thin that bunch out.”

  “Listening to you folks talk reminded me of a skirmish we got into one time when I rode under Lieutenant Colonel Ed ‘Laylow’ Kerly back east.  We were pushed into a corner, kinda like how we are right now, and he came up with a pretty bold idea on how to soften up the other side to give us a needed advantage in the fight.  He gathered up some of his best men and lit out of a night to slip up on those heathens like a ghost and fairly rained lead into their camp before they could do anything about it.”

  Both Ed and John were silent for a bit while they mulled over what Chet had told them.  It was a risky move but might just give them the advantage they needed and the night hawkers certainly wouldn’t be expecting an attack, especially at night.  John knew where their camp was so they wouldn’t be wasting any time looking for it.

  “Ya know Ed,” John began, “that might be just the trick to turn the tables for us.  Those men probably think of us as a bunch of greenhorn kids workin’ fer yer pa and may not even know they are on our trail.  The element of surprise could really work for us, especially if we can spook their horses before we open up on them.”

  “You might be spot on Chet.  We need all the help we can get on this one,” Ed replied with a smile.  “How about we do this?  We’ll all head out about ten o’clock or so when they should be bedded down or drunk.  Amy and I will get to their horses while John and Chet can get set up where their camp will be in a lethal crossfire.  As soon I get Amy headed out with their horses, we’ll open the gates of hell on them.  Now when you start shooting, don’t stay in one spot for more than a shot or two ‘cause they will be shooting at the muzzle flashes.  Once yer rifles and sixguns are empty, shag on out of there and head back to camp.  If we have enough moonlight by then, we’ll start the herd over the backside of the canyon and back onto the trail.  Chet, you’ll bring the chuckwagon back around to the main trail and meet us on the other side.”

  “That sounds good to me,” John and Chet said right away but Amy was silent.  Ed noticed her silence right off so he decided to try to get her on board with the plan since he knew she wanted to prove herself worthy.

  “Amy,” Ed began, “your part in this is the most important because you’ll have to wrangle at least eight horses and get them back here.  I don’t want them to have horse one when we pull out.  They’ll have to walk back to Reno to get more riding stock, unless they want to rustle from one of the local ranchers, so it will be at least two more days before they can catch us.  With an early start tonight, we’ll be close enough to Virginia City before they catch up to us to send a rider into town for the Marshal to give us safe passage the rest of the way in if need be.”

  Seeing that Amy was more at ease and was expected to carry out an important portion of the night attack, she seemed to brighten up as the conversation went on to more mundane things like what they planned to do once the drive was over and they could finally head for home.

  “I’ll pull first watch and get everyone up at nine o’clock,” Ed offered.  “You’all can get a couple hours of rest before we move out.”

  With nothing left to discuss, everyone headed for their bedrolls and were soon snoring with Ed covering the camp.  There was almost nothing left of the fire to reflect on the sleeping camp so Ed took to the outskirts of the mouth of the canyon to take up his position. 

  The moon wasn’t full up yet but Ed could see the stark contrast between the white sand and the brush so if there was any movement, he would see it for an instant.  There were the usual night sounds of the desert at first but around 8:30 or so, the night sounds stopped.  Ed was on full alert with his eyes moving non-stop because there was someone or something stalking their camp.

  The sound came as little more than a brush of fur at first then Ed could hear the soft padding of paws in the dry sand as an almost white shadow passed a low stand of chaparral to his left.  Ed strained his eyes trying to pick out a shape then suddenly it appeared no more than twenty feet away.

  It was the white wolf, only this time it just sat on its haunches and stared directly at Ed.  This wasn’t anything like the time it wanted Ed and John to follow it to Hat Creek.  No, this time the look meant to Ed that there was danger close by, very close and they needed to get ready.  The wolf looked towards camp so Ed’s eyes followed the gaze.  When he looked back at the wolf, it was gone.

  Ed had never been superstitious or really all that spiritual over the years but the arrival of the White Wolf had a hidden meaning to him, ominous as it was.  Getting up, Ed moved into camp and woke up John and Amy.  As he moved towards the chuckwagon, he could see Chet was already up and had stirred the coals enough to make a cup of coffee before their night raid.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Thirty-Four

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  Within the half hour, three men and a woman were heading off into the desert not knowing if they would survive for the next hour or two.  There was a little bit more light now since the moon had started to show its face so it wasn’t hard to follow John’s previous track towards Goodnight’s outlaw camp.

  Holding the rest of the riders back about two hundred yards at first, John got off his horse and eased up closer to the outlaw camp to see if the men had posted any sentries.  It was just as he thought.  Goodnight’s men were arrogant and thought they were following pilgrims who had little experience on the trail so didn’t have a single man on guard to watch for an attack.

  Taking the time to find where they had their horses picketed, John was pleased when he saw they were all tied to a single line.  Once the ends were cut free, Amy could get a halter of sorts on the lead animal then take out for camp while the men lit the camp up with gunfire a plenty to keep them occupied.  Easing back to the others, John related what he saw and laid out the best places to have some cover once the dance got started.

  “Amy?” Ed asked, “I forgot to ask if you can ride bareback.  We aren’t going to have time to get a saddle on any of those horses.”

  “I grew up with no saddle and only a rope for a halter Ed.  I can handle this,” Amy snapped defiantly at first before apologizing.  “I’m sorry Ed, I’m sure you needed to know if I can do it so nothing goes wrong with this part of your plan.  Yes, I can ride bareback.”

  Ed just smiled and said, “Then let’s go and get them.”

  Moving their own riding stock in closer to the camp so they wouldn’t have to run far when it was time to pull out, John found a drainage where the animals would be safe from the gunfire and could be tied to a stout Manzanita branch.  As they began to move, in the distance, they could hear a wolf howl.  A chill ran up Ed’s spine.

  From where they tied their mounts, it only took a few minutes to get to the outlaw’s horses so Ed and Amy went right to work in getting them settled down and cut loose so Amy could shag out of there quick.  Boosting Amy up onto the lead animal and telling her to stay put until the first shot was fired, Ed moved to the south where he would be out of John and Chet’s lines of fire.

  It was only seconds later when the four-click ratcheting sound of a Colt’s revolver coming to full stand pierced the night’s silence.  Amy’s ears caught the first click and by the second, knew she needed to react.  Drawing her new revolver, Amy fired twice at the sound as she kicked the horses into motion.

  Being in the dark, bareback on a jumping horse, and trying to lead seven horses at the same time would be almost impossible for a full-time wrangler, much less a little slip of a gal but Amy held her mud and did just that as she led the wild eyed animals west then south to their camp in the canyon.

  In front of her as the horses ran, Amy could see the faint outline of the moonlight shining off the Ghost Manzanita that appeared to be leading her in the direction of camp.  She had veered off John’s trail after the initial explosion of bucking horseflesh back at the outlaw camp so she trusted her instincts and followed the shimmering lights.

  Behind her, Amy could hear shouts and gunfire as the other three rifles opened up on the sleeping outlaws.  Seconds later, she could hear the reports of short guns as they responded to the attack.  Wanting to go back but knowing she must get the outlaw horses to camp, Amy rode steadily until she got there.

  There was nothing she could do to help in the gunfight but she could gather up anything loose on the ground and get it into the back of the chuckwagon.  Once camp was picked up, Amy went to the remuda and got Chet’s mules to bring in close so they could be hitched up right quick.  As she tied the last one up to the wagon, the other three riders came galloping into camp. 

  Ed and John looked to be ok but Chet was favoring his right arm and had a dark stain spreading across his shirt.  There was no light and no way to doctor him at the moment but Amy still had to ask him if there was anything she could do for him.

  Chet had been shot before so knew how bad it was but he was also a man who wouldn’t stop until the job got done.  Fortunately, the slug had gone all the way through so it was just a matter of getting a bandage on both sides to keep the dirt and flies out until they had a chance to clean it better.  Amy got straight to work while John and Ed got the mules hitched to the wagon.

  Five minutes later, Amy was driving the chuckwagon with her horse saddled and tied to the tailgate while Ed and John started the herd over the backside of the canyon and back onto the trail to Virginia City.  The moon was full up by now so they could move along with a purpose. 

  Wasting no more time, the two wranglers rode with loose reins to allow the horses to choose the safest path to travel.  Riding in that fashion gave the men the opportunity to watch the herd closer to keep them together as they pushed the cattle and the extra riding stock steadily to make some miles before daylight.

  Coming upon a small stream just after daylight, Ed called a halt to the drive so the steers could drink their fill before moving on.  Riding back to Amy and Chet, leaving John to watch the herd, Ed asked Amy to get Chet’s wound cleaned up and bandaged again whilst he rode their back trail to see if they were being followed.

  Chet’s wound wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked at first so it didn’t take Amy too long to get it cleaned up and re-bandaged so they were soon ready.  By now, after a few gulps of whisky, Chet was feeling better about driving his own wagon so Amy traded a wagon seat for her smoother riding horse then took her place on the right flank.

  No one knew when Ed would be back from his reconnaissance ride so once the animals were watered, John and Amy started the herd to moving southeast again without him.  Ed could catch them easy enough and they had to keep miles falling behind them if they wanted to get to Virginia City ahead the outlaws. 

  The steers were getting a bit froggy now that they had been watered, had a short rest, and could see where they were at but John and Amy stayed after them to keep the contrary beasts out of the brush and lined out on the trail.  Having been driven for half the night, their burst of energy was short lived so the animals began to settle down within the first mile after they left the stream.

  Behind them, Ed rode loose in the saddle for he wasn’t sure if any of those men would be trying to chase them on foot or if they missed any of the horses.  It took pert nearly and hour before Ed could use his field glasses to see the men far off in the distance with saddles over their shoulders heading towards Reno. 

  There had been seven or eight riders when they hit the camp but Ed could only make out four men walking.  That didn’t mean the others were dead, it just meant they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make the hike back to Reno.  Satisfied they had gained enough time to breathe, Ed turned back for the herd.  When he came to the creek where he had left the herd, Ed wasn’t surprised to see the others had gotten the herd moving again.

  It didn’t take Ed too long to catch the herd but now he had a tired horse from all the miles they’d ridden during the night.  Shaking out a loop, Ed looked for the big bay that brought him over Hat Creek.  As soon as the loop settled over the horse’s head, he simply stopped so Ed rode up and started getting the tack switched over.  Less than ten minutes later, Ed was back in leather and relating what he had seen to Amy and John.

  Chet had gotten some distance ahead of the herd but being tired like they were, the animals were still following him like sheep.  There was no need to hurry now that the outlaw gunmen were afoot but Chet knew he needed to be looking for a good place to “noon”.  None of them had eaten since supper the evening before so it was time to rest the herd and to refuel the rider’s. 

  It was nearly 1:00 o’clock by the time Chet found a suitable place to stop for a rest.  Everyone was tired for they had been on the trail for thirteen hours but no one was complaining.  There was a shallow pond being fed by a narrow stream with a fair amount of graze and there was a little side draw where Chet could set up to build a fire.

  By the time the rest of the crew reached him, Chet had a small fire going, coffee on, beans cooking, and slabs of beef on a spit barbequing.  While Chet tended to his business, everyone else caught up fresh horses and switched tack so they would be ready to ride as soon as the noonin’ was over and traps put away.

  Forty-five minutes later found the herd moving uphill to the southeast and on its way again.  Being naturally suspicious, Ed rode back a mile every two hours to keep an eye on their back trail just in case he was mistaken about the outlaws being on their trail.  Seeing nothing, Ed was soon back on drag pushing the tired herd.

  It was almost sundown when Chet pulled up into a large flat meadow where there was a half acre pond and a good bit of graze.  They had traveled eighteen or nineteen miles that day so the herd was tired and hungry.  With little chance they would want to drift on their own during the night, Chet figured to be a good place to stop for the day.

  It had been a long day with Ed getting no sleep from the night before so it was no wonder he was dragging as he rode into camp to take care of his horse.   The rest of the riders pushed the remaining cattle into the meadow and were soon straggling in behind Ed.

  Already setting up for supper with a fire to going, Chet set about grilling some thick slabs of beef since everyone should be starving.  Since he had a bit of extra time, Chet added some new growth tips off a spruce bough he gathered before they left Reno to his salt and pepper seasonings.  It would give the meat a hint of lemon flavor and be a real treat in trail camp.

  Chet was soon dishing up supper and tired as they were, the riders dug into the food like starving hounds.  Once they were done, they set back from the fire to protect their night vision and discussed the next day’s drive.

  “I figure we’ve come near to twenty-five miles from Reno in the last two days.  Eighteen or nineteen just today so we have about five or six miles left before we ride into Virginia City tomorrow,” Ed related.

  “You figure they’ll try to hit us before we get to town Ed?” John inquired.

  “Well,” Ed started out, “they might could but I don’t think so in all honesty.  They should know we could stampede the herd towards Virginia City and they might run that last five miles towards town before anyone could try to stop them.  No, I’m not sure what Goodnight will have in store for us but I’d be willing to bet he wants the money he paid me and isn’t gonna want to pay us the six dollars a head he promised in Reno.  I figure we’d best ride loose in the saddle with rifles at the ready until I find this guy Colin Shaver and get settled up.”

  “Are you going to ride ahead to see if you can find him first Ed?” Amy asked.

  Ed smiled back as he considered the question.  It did please him that Amy was thinking with a tactical mind instead of blindly riding into the town where they might be killed being unawares.

  “I think I’ll send John on into town first actually.  He isn’t known around these parts and hasn’t the reputation I seemed to have gotten whilst we were in Reno.  You ok with that John?”

  John looked up suddenly and just smiled.  He would get out of the trail dust for a few hours and could get him an ice cold beer to wash the dust out of his throat.    “Want me to ride in tonight?” he asked laughing in the end.

  “I think tomorrow morning will be soon enough John,” Ed replied with a wink knowing what John had in mind.

  “Ok then, have it your way,” John replied with a grin.  “I’ll take the first watch while you get some sleep tonight.”

  He wasn’t gonna argue with sleep so Ed simply headed for his bedroll and a quiet spot away from the fire.  It only took a minute to unroll his traps and in less than two minutes, the young rider was snoring softly.  Amy looked over at the tired cowboy and smiled before helping Chet get the last of his gear, save the coffee pot for the nighthawks, loaded up into the chuckwagon.

  At almost 2:00 in the morning, Amy rolled out of her blankets and washed her face before grabbing Ed’s Winchester and a cup of trail coffee to head out to relieve John.  The moon was out so it didn’t take too much effort to find him nodding off as he watched over the camp and the herd from a low rise.

  John was some startled when Amy brushed up against him as she propped the rifle against a small boulder.  “Time to go get some sleep cowboy,” she offered.

Rubbing his eyes and knowing she was right, John stood up and headed for camp straight away without a word.   Amy had already proven she could do the job so he was happy to hand off the nighthawking duties to her.

 Taking a long look around her, Amy was pleased to have a carpet of stars overhead and desert night sounds galore.  The cattle were content and lying down, the air was still, and the stars swam in the open ocean of the sky overhead.

Amy had been watching the herd for nearly two hours when she thought she could hear something rustling near her feet.  Looking down, she saw a sidewinder’s head next to her left foot.  Her heart racing and knowing she wasn’t fast enough to avoid a strike, Amy froze as the serpent slid over her foot as it tasted the air with its tongue.

  As the serpent’s rattles began to scrape across Amy’s boots, she jerked the finely honed Damascus blade from her boot and slashed down and back in a cutting motion.  With her arm’s arc perfect, Amy’s blade tip caught the snake’s body less than two inches behind its head, lopping it off cleanly as if she was slicing beef. 

  On her feet in a shot, Amy watched on as the snake’s body writhed and twisted in its death dance as the mouth opened and closed over and over again as if trying to bite whatever it was that had murdered it. 

  Amy felt a shiver go up her spine as the adrenaline worked its way through her body ending up with a whole body shiver when it was done.  She was sweating and now she was cold but at least she hadn’t been bitten with her leg turning black from the poison.

  Not one to let one little snake get the best of her, Amy buried the head carefully then picked the body up with a stick to hang on some brush to let it drain the blood out.  Maybe Chet had a recipe for roasted rattlesnake he could make with her kill.

  An hour before daylight, Ed found Amy wide awake and alert after her knife fight with the sidewinder.  Listening to her story, Ed laughed at how it had become a life and death affair with Amy resorting to the knife fight to keep from stampeding the herd with a gunshot.  Once her story was complete, Ed sent Amy back to camp with her meat to see if Chet wanted to fry some up for breakfast.

  Strolling into camp carrying the rattlesnake, Chet looked up and smiled since he hadn’t put any bacon on to cook as of yet.  Taking the snake, Chet laid it on his cutting board, soon having it skinned and sliced up for frying.  Before long, Chet started laying strips of meat into a batter of sizzling hot butter and seasoning.

  By the time Ed had come in from taking a turn around the herd, Chet was dishing up the rattlesnake covered with gravy and pan biscuits.  No one shied away from the morning meal, even though it was rattlesnake, so with the hot meal chased by several cups of trail coffee, the team was on the trail southeast again with John riding ahead to find out where the stockyards were while Ed and Amy pushed the herd along behind Chet.  If everything went right this morning, they would be riding into Virginia City just after noontime.

  Being a man down, the two outriders had to work double-time and had to switch out their horses every two hours but before they knew it, they crested the hill north of the cemetery and let the herd spread out along the western hillside in sight of town to graze like they planned until John came back with instructions.

  The drovers had just gotten the herd spread out and grazing along slowly when Ed noticed John heading back to the herd at a slow canter.  Behind him, several of the townies were standing along the hillside streets pointing at the mass of cattle that was to be their meat supplies for the next several months.

  As John rode up, Ed could tell he had something on his mind.  “Goodnight is in town Ed and he isn’t looking too happy about being here.”

  “Did you find Colin Shaver?  I intend to get paid that extra $2100.00 premium for this herd.”

  “Yea, I found him.  He and Goodnight are connected at the hip.  There’s gonna be trouble getting paid from what I saw in town Ed.  Either way, they have a holding field on the other side of town behind the mine.  We’ll drive them down through the lower eastside of town past the church then turn them into the holding field whilst the steers get counted on the way through the gate.”

  “Ok then, let’s get this finished.  You want to ride point John?  We’ll start pushing them behind you.”

  It took about forty-five minutes to get the herd collected onto the trail and over inside the holding field.  Charlie Goodnight was at the gate with Colin Shaver as they counted the animals being pushed into the field where they spread out to feed.  As Ed rode up to Charlie, he smiled and waved.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here Charlie.  I figured yer partner was going to handle payment of the premium.”

  Charlie Goodnight’s whole demeanor was cool but his eyes betrayed his thoughts.  He was mad and he wanted Ed dead if he could get away with it.

  “This was kind of a raw deal from the start with those cows being stolen Ed so I thought I would follow you on up here and take care of things my ownself so you could ride for home happy.  That way, maybe we will be able to do business again one day.”

   “Do you have my money then?”

  Charlie had a twisted smile on his face as he reached inside his jacket pocket but that smile was wiped away as he started to look down the dark chasm of the Colt’s pattern revolver in Ed’s hand.

  “You don’t trust me Ed?”

  “I don’t trust any man who will buy stolen cattle Goodnight,” Ed replied with a snarl.

  Goodnight removed his hand real slow so Ed could see he had only a wallet in his hand.  Passing the money over so Ed could count it, Charlie sat back and waited while the young cowhand counted out the bills.  Satisfied, Ed stuffed the money back into the wallet then shoved ii into a pocket inside his own vest.

  “Pull out that hideout Charlie.  We’re not done here.” 

  As Charlie lifted his .41 Remington Derringer out with two fingers and handed it to Ed, he asked, “What are you talking about Ed?  I’ve squared up this deal even though I wasn’t part of that bunch who rustled your cattle.”

  “That sounds good but why were you on our back trail?”

  “I, uh, uh, uh,…….. what?  Why do you think I was on your back trail?  I’ve been here for almost two days.”

  “Because I saw you Charlie, the first night on the trail, you and your seven riders.  I don’t want to hear your excuses or explanations.  I wanted to let you know, and this goes for you too Colin, if I see anyone, and I mean anyone following us back to Reno to pick up the first money you paid me, I will be coming for you to finish this conversation.  Course if’n I was you, I might consider catching the stage east and out of this country.  You’re through as a cattle buyer around here now that everyone knows what you done.”

  There was nothing left for Charlie Goodnight to say so he and Colin Shaver turned to their horses and got ready to ride back into town.  As he turned to leave, Charlie looked square into Ed’s eyes with a level of hatred he hadn’t seen anytime before in his young life.  Locking eyes, Ed held a blank stare at the man until he spurred his horse to leave.  Ed knew he had stirred the rattlers nest but at this point, he didn’t care what Charlie Goodnight thought.

  “Alright then, let’s go to town and get something to eat and a soft bed for the night,” Ed said as he turned to follow the others to town.

  It only took a few minutes for the trio to make it to Main Street in Virginia City where they met up with Chet.  Heading straight for the International Hotel, they all wanted a bath, a hot meal, and a soft bed for a week.  Once there, Ed bought everyone a room and a bath then they were going to all meet up downstairs for supper later on that evening.

  John wouldn’t be dining with them as he had some interest in trying out one of the bawdy houses on the back streets so he planned on bedding down later that night and getting his supper somewhere in the meantime as it fit his mood. 

  “Be watchin’ for Goodnight and his cronies John,” Ed reminded him.  “I figure we’re not done with him or his kind just yet.”

  Amy went upstairs to her room while Ed and Chet stayed downstairs for a bit to enjoy a $1 cigar as a treat.  Ed made it a point to pay the man his wages for the short drive along with a decent bonus for helping them out in the night fight and to offer him a job on the Alvarado Ranch should he ever make it down there.

  “You’ve been awful good to me Ed and I appreciate it.  It’s been a good while since I’ve ridden with someone who treats the help like family.”

  Ed just smiled and related, “Chet, on any drive you become family, at least for a while.  I was learned early on from Old Joe, there’s no sense in treating folks poorly unless they’ve earned it.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you Ed and I hope you don’t think poorly of me fer what I’ve done.  Back in camp that first night, I went out into the desert and dug up your poke where you buried it by that stump.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Now take it easy soes I can explain” Chet said as he lowered his voice more.  “I just happened to be looking that way whilst picking up some wood so you didn’t see me.  Like the rest, I knew we was bein’ followed and knew if I saw you, Goodnight’s men might have seen you too if they were close enough.  I put the poke in Amy’s saddlebags underneath some of her frilly’s.  I don’t believe she even knows it’s there.  I figured if they braced us, they’d be looking in your saddlebags or in yer wallet for the cash.”

  Ed was fuming and some unhappy with what Chet did but he soon realized the man wasn’t trying to fleece him of his money, he was just doing an end run to help him keep it.  The fact he put it in Amy’s saddlebags was a smart move since that would be the last place anyone would look ‘cause they looked to be almost empty.

  “Ya know Chet, I ought to be mad as hell at you fer not coming clean sooner but I’m mad at myself because I didn’t think anyone was able to see me.  Maybe this will help us out in the end though.  I told Goodnight we were headed back to Reno to get my money and to catch the train back to the ranch.  If they think that and ride ahead to bushwhack us, we could head thataway from here then turn south to Carson City once we go over the hill past Boot Hill and Six-Mile canyon.  Yer a good man Chet, even though you shaded me on this cache deal.  The job offer still stands if you want to come west.”

  “I’m sure obliged to you Ed and I’ll sure give it some thought if’n I get down to the lowlands.  Right now, I just want a night in a real bed.”

  Shaking hands so long, Ed watched Chet as he climbed the stairs to his room.  It wasn’t very often a fella comes by a man he can trust from the git. 

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Thirty-Five

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  Virginia City was long past its heydays by 1876 when it boasted 24,000 people, four churches, three daily newspapers, and 115 saloons but it was still a 24-hour a day boom camp with over 10,000 souls who worked the deep veins of the Comstock Lode under the town.

  To keep that many miners busy, the bawdy side of town ran fast and loose with sins of the flesh or the many games of chance scattered throughout the district.  Ed was no stranger to the fast life of a mining town but he still had responsibilities until he got the sales receipts back to Old Joe at the Alvarado Ranch.

  Having made a big show out of putting his money into the hotel safe, Ed didn’t figure anyone would try to rob him until he, Amy, and John left town for home so he decided to take a turn around town to see what the town had to offer a cowboy from nowhere.

  There had been a lot of building taking place in the early days so as he walked downtown, Ed marveled at the Maguire Opera House and Saint Mary’s but the Crystal Bar at the end of the Washoe Club is the one that intrigued him most.  The Crystal Bar being connected to the Washoe Club was a bit more upscale than the other hundred saloons in Virginia City so maybe there would be fewer problems with drunken miners since they would disturb the fancy folks living in the Washoe Club. 

  Stepping inside, Ed was met with the usual roar of a saloon in full swing.  There were poker chips clicking, coins jingling, the tin-panny sounds of an out of tune piano playing, wimmin’ laughing, men hollerin’, whiskey glasses clinking together, and the telltale sound of a beer glass sliding down the mahogany bar.

  No one really paid any attention to Ed as he pushed through the doors but his skin started to crawl almost immediately, almost as if there was someone or something dangerous close by.  Shaking it off, Ed moved towards the bar, making his way to the right hand side where he could reconnoiter the room and keep his gun hand out of sight.

  When the portly bartender looked over towards him, Ed simply lifted two fingers for a double.  As the bartender finally worked his way down the bar with his drink, Ed noticed the man wore a peg leg, probably from a mining accident, but it didn’t seem to slow the man down much.  Throwing his 15 cents down, the man smiled as he sat the whiskey on the bar.

  “Name’s Shaun O’Reilly.  What brings yee to a place like Virginia City?”

  “We drove that herd of steers into town today,” Ed replied with a smile since it was easy to be truthful.

  “Alrighty then,” Shaun bellowed as he refilled Ed’s glass to the top.  “The next drink is on the house.  We’ve been needing beef for a while and that was a good sized herd you brought to us.”

  When he lifted his glass to toast the jovial bartender as he turned to take care of his other customers, Ed noticed Charlie Goodnight sitting at a poker table on the far side of the room.  Next to him was Colin Shaver and across the table was a hard looking gent with his arm wrapped in a sling.  It was clear enough, Charlie was not a happy man.

  Ed didn’t know if Charlie had seen him yet or not but what he did know is he had made an enemy of the man and it was something the so-called cattle buyer wasn’t going to forget anytime soon.  As Ed watched on, he considered the big man sitting across from Charlie.  He looked familiar but from that angle, Ed couldn’t see his face.  When the man turned his head towards Ed at last, as if he knew someone was watching him, Ed knew who it was at last, Brent Allford, the famed gunman from Plumas County, California Territory.

  So Goodnight, and now Shaver, was in cahoots with a known killer out of California Territory who had the reputation of being more ruthless than Joaquin Murrieta, Pio Linares, or Emiliano Vasquez had been in their heyday on the frontier.

  The path out of Virginia City seemed to be all too clear to Ed now.  Charlie was likely making a deal with Allford for a cut of the herd’s proceeds if he and his gang were to ambush Ed, John, and Amy on the trail to rob and murder them.  Course from the look of the sling on Allford’s arm, he may have been in the camp when Ed and the rest made their raid so he would have a personal vendetta against them to settle up as well.

  At least for now, they should be safe enough as long as they stayed in town.  With the bonus money locked safely away in the hotel safe, no one but Ed could get it out so they had to keep him alive, for a little while at least.  If the outlaws thought only the bonus money was in the safe, all the better because they wanted the big money Goodnight had paid the cowhand in Reno.  Course that reminded Ed he needed to check Amy’s saddlebags and get that money somewhere safe too.

  Ed really didn’t have much to lose at this point so he figured to poke the bear just a bit more to work him up enough to cause him to make a mistake if he could before they headed out into the night.  Stepping around the end of the bar suddenly so his movement would be noticed, Ed moved towards the men at the table with a purpose. 

  The Bradley gunman was almost at the men’s table before Brent Allford looked up to the sounds of Lindholm Brothers spurs singing across the roughhewn boards of the saloon floor.  Instinctively, Brent’s hand dropped to his Colt as Charlie Goodnight’s eyes flared wide and his mouth fell open in total surprise.

  “Go ahead Brent,” Ed snapped, his gaze hard and steady.  “I’d be happy to put another hole in you.”

  Brent Allford’s eyes were like daggers but he was also a man who didn’t buck a stacked deck if he could get away with it.  “Oh, it’s just you Ketterly.  I thought it was someone dangerous.”

  “Nope, that’s not me.  I’m just a cowboy trying to head home without anymore problems.  Now yer boss here, he’s been a thorn in my side ever since I rode into Reno and I suspect he wants you to try to take my money from me when we pull out of Virginia City.  Does that sound about right Goodnight?”

  “Him?  He’s not my boss.  Charlie and I are old friends from a way back.” Brent replied, his gaze steady, calculating, and never leaving Ed’s eyes as he looked to be sizing up the young cattleman.

  “There’s no problem here Ed,” Charlie said quickly for he wouldn’t want to be known for instigating a gunfight in one of the town’s more upstanding saloons.  “Brent and I are just talking over another business deal we’ve been considering over the last few weeks.”

  “Uhh huhh, I can imagine what that deal is Charlie,” Ed replied with a certain sharp tone to his tongue.  “Well, I hope it has nothing to do with me because as far as I’m concerned, our dealings are over.  I want no more to do with you and how you do business.  I just want you to know, if anything happens on the trail, anything at all, I’m coming to find you and finish what you started.”

  Brent Allford started to get up but Charlie simply put a hand on his arm to stop him where he sat.  “No sense getting upset Ed.  We might could become good friends in another deal down the line.”

  “Not if you keep hanging out with killers and rustlers,” Ed replied low and steady, just before he turned and moved through the crowd, out into the clear air of the evening.  As Ed moved outside, he stepped to the side of the doorway and sat down in the chair there to pretend he had been there a while to watch to see who came out of the saloon looking for him.

  It didn’t take more than a minute before Ed saw a man peek over the batwing doors and look both ways down the street.  He didn’t notice Ed since he was sitting down but the young cattleman got a good look at the man’s face and recognized him right away as one of Allford’s henchmen.  So much for a free ride out of town, Ed thought to himself.

  Seeing no one walking up or down the street, the outlaw stepped outside the saloon and headed north up the boardwalk towards the bawdy houses with another of Allford’s men following him.  It was clear Ed had some decisions to make now that he knew there was a fight coming with his new enemy Charlie Goodnight. 

  He wasn’t too worried about Charlie since he hired everything done but with Brent Allford in the mix, this might end up more of a fight than Ed and John wanted.  First things first, Ed needed to let John and Amy know what he had learned and maybe the three of them could come up with a plan to get home alive.

  Looking across the street, Ed could see Allford’s men making their way down the boardwalk checking the other saloons and restaurants as they looked for him.  Since movement would always draw attention, Ed decided to simply stay put and act like any other loafer outside the saloon until they gave up and went back to their bottle and their ruthless boss.

  Once the men were back in the saloon, Ed took a look through the window and could see by the looks on their faces that neither Allford nor Goodnight was any too happy they hadn’t found Ed.  Smiling, Ed got up and headed to the edge of the building where he turned into the alley to get off the main street in case they had someone else watching for him.

  Knowing John would find him by morning, Ed decided to head to the International where he had secured rooms for the night for the trio.  Coming up the rear stairs, Ed headed to his room where he and John were bunking together.  By design, Amy had a room several spaces down on the same floor so they could meet easily and discreetly if they needed to.

  Taking a look out the street side window before he lit the lamp, Ed could see one man across the street leaning against the building who was trying to look uninterested in life but every few seconds, he looked up towards Ed’s room on the second floor.  Yep, the room was being watched and Ed was starting to get mad.

  All Ed wanted to do in the world was head back to the Alvarado in peace with Old Joe’s money to finish the job he started weeks before.  The problem was, these men weren’t going to let that happen without a fight.  Well, if that’s what they wanted, Ed was young and reckless enough to give it to them.

  Locking his room up and tapping on Amy’s door, Ed was met with a forced “Yea”. 

  “It’s me,” he replied.

  Hearing movement inside, Ed stepped to the side just in case.  The door opened a couple of inches at first then when Amy saw Ed, she opened it the rest of the way to let him inside.  Once inside, Ed noticed Amy had the lamp turned almost all the way down so there was almost no light showing to the outside.

  “I take it you’ve noticed,” Ed said quietly.

  “Yes, almost since we got here.  That man across the street has been standing there since I came up here.  I’ve been waiting for you before coming down for supper.”

  Ed was so preoccupied with Allford’s man on the street he failed to notice right off that Amy had washed the dye out of her hair and off her skin.  At the moment, she was wearing a dressing gown that was almighty thin and clung to her curves to display more of what was underneath than Amy may have been planning to show off.  Course being a gentleman, Ed tried his best not to notice.

  “Have you got your Colt?  We may need it before the night is over.”

  “I have a plan Ed, if you care to listen, and yes I have my Colt ready to hand.”

  Ed simply smiled at her and sat down to give her his full attention, not that her outfit wasn’t already doing that for her at the moment.

  “I still have one dress left in my saddlebags.  I was figuring to dress up for supper tonight.  They’ll be less likely to brace you in the presence of a lady.”

  “I like that idea Amy!  I’m tired of running and hiding from Allford and Goodnight anyway so being up front and in the public eye will be a way to keep them on their toes.  Go ahead and get dressed ‘cause I’m getting hungry.”

  Amy stepped behind a dressing screen to put her dress on while the always a gentleman Ed slid his chair over near to the window to take a look.  Sure enough, the man was still there and was watching.  Well, he was going to have something to tell his boss when Amy and Ed head out to the Palace Restaurant for supper.

  Ed could tell Amy had come out from behind the dressing screen so he turned to look at her all dressed up in her girl clothes again.  It almost took his breath away for even with the short hair, she was all woman and as pretty as the first time he saw her get on the train.  How she had kept that dress from being wrinkled and dirty was beyond Ed’s way of thinking but she did it.

  Amy could see the slight smile as Ed tried to keep from being too obvious so being a bit mischievous herself, she asked, “Do I look Ok?”

  “Why I, I, I, I, I’ve never seen a prettier gal,” Ed replied with a bit of a stutter.  “Are you ready?” he asked as he tried to regain his facilities.

  “Not quite.  I found something in my saddlebags when I pulled my dress out.  I think this belongs to you,” as she handed Ed the fat wallet with the cattle proceeds.

  Ed looked at the wallet as he reached for it.  “It’s a long story but the short of it is, Chet dug it up and stashed it in your saddlebags ‘cause he thought Goodnight’s killers might have seen me hide it.  He figured no one would look for it in your gear.  At least now, all the money is with us and we don’t have to go back to Reno unless we want to go to Sacramento.  We might just head south to Carson City.”

  Saying nothing more, Ed wrapped the wallet in a piece of oilskin then dug the ashes out of the stove to hide the wallet inside.  Covering the wallet with the ashes he had removed, Ed blew gently to even out the surface to make it look natural in case someone came into the room while they were down having supper.

  Amy said nothing in reply, seemingly satisfied with Ed’s answer, and just lifted her arm for Ed to escort her to the Palace like a lady.  Being seen with a pretty woman wouldn’t hurt Ed’s reputation none after the second time he threatened Charlie either.  As they walked, well, Ed walked and Amy kind of floated through the lobby, all eyes were on Amy for no one had seen the young woman arrive in town nor had they seen her come into the hotel earlier in the day.

  Somewhere along the way, Amy had found or bought a colorful scarf that she used to cover up her short hair to keep her disguise alive.  When they left town in a couple of days, no one would really be able to connect the two of them unless they left on the stage with Amy dressed as herself instead of the snot nosed kid she pretended to be when they arrived in the Comstock Lode.

  Stepping out onto the boardwalk, Amy was on Ed’s left arm so his good gun hand was free to move as they walked.  The suspicious man across the street stared for only a moment before heading off down the boardwalk, most likely to update his boss that Ed was on the move.

  The Palace Restaurant and Saloon wasn’t too far from the International so the pair took advantage of the clear, cool mountain air as they walked slowly along.  There were a lot of miners in town for shift change had occurred at most of the mines already.  Fortunately, it was still early so most miners hadn’t been able to get drunk yet so they were looking but leaving Amy alone,…….. so far.

  Once inside the Palace, out of habit, Ed saw a table against the sidewall towards to back that wasn’t in line with any of the windows so gently steered Amy towards it.  Amy didn’t say anything for she knew Ed was always watching for trouble and over the last few weeks on the trail with him, she had started to look for trouble herself.

  Pulling out Amy’s chair, Ed slid it gently under her as she began to sit down.  Taking the chair to put his back against the wall where he could see the front door, Ed sat down, took off his well worn hat, and sat it on the extra chair next to him.  Shifting his chair just a bit, Ed slipped the thong off his Colt and made sure he could lift it from its scabbard without his elbow hitting the wall.

  Smiling to herself, Amy realized she was recognizing this man’s ways and had even begun to practice some of the same things so she could react instantly if necessary.  And to think, it was barely a month earlier that she was part of an unholy conspiracy to kill this man she was starting to grow quite fond of.

  There was a swishing of skirts coming from the kitchen as a woman with auburn hair came up to the table with a pot of coffee and a big smile.  “What can I get you folks?”

  “What’s good tonight?” Ed asked with a smile.

  “Everything honey,” the waitress said with wink.

  “Well then, why don’t you surprise us with your favorite dish then.  I’ll double what you bring my friend Amy.”

  The waitress was gone in an instant and off to the kitchen as Ed turned his attention to Amy who had gone silent.  Unknown to him, Amy was mad and getting madder all the time.  Course she hardly understood it herself but when Ed started flirting with the waitress, it made her jealous, an emotion she’d never experienced before over any man.

  Ed noticed the change in Amy but not having a clue as to the reason, he figured to just act normal to see which way the wind was going to blow.  Focusing his hazel eyes on his supper partner, Ed started telling Amy some of the history of the Comstock Lode and at how fast Virginia City was built.  Slowly but surely, Amy started coming out of her mood and was engaging in the light conversation.

  As soon as the waitress returned, Amy’s hackles came back up but this time, it was all business as the feisty woman started setting plates down and refilling coffee cups for her customers.  With no more flirtations going on between her and Ed, Amy was back to normal as soon as the waitress moved on.  Ed noticed the change in Amy once again but being a bit dense in the ways of how a woman’s mind works, he couldn’t figure it out in his own feeble cowboy brain.

  The smells of the hot meal brought their minds squarely back to the present and started Ed’s belly to growling right away to remind him just how hungry he was.  Amy dug into her meal too but she was trying to maintain the look of a dainty lady as she took small bites and spent time chewing the food to savor the taste.

  Ed on the other hand dug into his plate like a starving wolf that hadn’t eaten in a week. There was just something about a store bought meal that brought out the hungry beast in him even though the trail food they had with Chet was plenty good.  All conversation was stopped when Ed was eating for food was a serious deal for him since he didn’t know when he would eat next.

  Once Ed had eaten a solid pound of fresh cut beef, a bowl full of fried potatoes, and a half gallon of coffee, he came up for air for a few seconds before the waitress brought fresh apple pie for desert.  For Amy, there was a normal slice but for Ed, there was a full quarter of the pie. 

  Like all young men, Ed must have had a hollow leg for he put that pie away like it was just a snack.  Scraping the last of the pie off his plate, Ed finally leaned back and rubbed his stomach with a smile on his face.  Amy simply smiled and wondered how he could possibly have put that much food away at one sitting since she had been full for several minutes before him.

  “How about a turn around town Amy?  That’ll give the food time to settle before heading back to the room.”

  “Why thank you Mr. Ketterly, I would love to take a walk around town this evening.”

  Once Ed paid for their meal, he took Amy’s arm and stepped outside into the darkness.  Looking around, Ed noticed there were gas lights on every corner so they had plenty of light to take their leisurely walk.  It was a bit colder now with a light breeze picking up so Amy pulled her light shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. 

  Subconsciously, Amy could feel an inner warmth as she walked next to this man she was beginning to have deep feelings for.  Whether Ed was having any of the same thoughts, she couldn’t know for sure but at least for now, she was happy just being at his side.

   The sky was clear with thousands of stars that seemed like they were almost close enough to touch as Ed and Amy walked north along the eastern side of Main Street.  There was no talking as they walked as both were deep in their own thoughts about the future. 

  There was no such thing as a quiet time in Virginia City since it was a twenty-four hour a day town with three shifts of miners.  The upside was, the sounds of music and laughter wafted from every saloon to help drown out the distant hammering of the stamp mill and the vulgar bark of the bullwhackers as they pushed their teams to haul the rocky ore up the steep grade to the mill.

  Not unlike any other night along Main Street, it was far from calm with nearly a hundred saloons running at full strength, miners hoopin’ and hollerin’, tin-panny pianos playing raucous music, saloon girls laughing, and the occasional gunshots from rowdy cowboys in the distance.  Doing their level best to navigate the horde of miners, it was no easy task to walk along Main Street with the usual fights and drunks to walk around.

  Getting to the north end of town, they turned east down the hill towards St. Mary’s then south through the stick built homes of the local businessmen.  In the distance, they could still hear the pulsing of the mining equipment as miners were brought up from the depths below to cool off in the ice rooms and fresh miners sent back down to keep the precious metals pouring out of mother earth.

  As they turned back towards Main Street and the International, Ed heard a lone wolf howl in the distance, a howl he recognized as the White Wolf.  Now Ed wasn’t superstitious in any shape or form but over the last few weeks, there had been an awakening in his subconscious where he thought he could feel trouble was coming his way, especially if there was a Wolf howling in the distance.  Amy could feel Ed as he tensed up and loosened his coat to make sure he could get to his Colt in a hurry.  

  “What’s wrong Ed?”

  Not wanting to worry her but realizing she needed to know, Ed thought carefully before he answered.  “Amy, Charlie Goodnight has hired Brent Allford to take our herd money and if I’m right, he wants to get rid of any witnesses.  That’s why our rooms have been being watched.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they try to brace us before we get back to the hotel to try to get me to give up the money.  I won’t be surprised if they try to use you to force me to give up the money.”

  The reality of it all hit Amy like a bucket of bricks but she was still game as she asked, “So what is our plan?  I have my Colt and the .32.”

  Stopping, Ed turned to face her straight on and smiled back before replying, “I’m not quite sure yet but keep your eyes and head on a swivel.  Be ready to react instinctively because they’ll likely come at us quick with little or no warning.  No matter what else happens, if I tell you to do something, do it and don’t ask questions.  I want to try to get back to the hotel without resorting to gunplay but if we have to, we will.” 

  Thinking it might have been a bad idea to get off the beaten path and with three more blocks to go to get to Main Street, they had to be even more careful for there were all kinds of places for Allford’s men to hide in the shadows.  Knowing he needed to outfox anyone who might be following them, Ed decided to take advantage of the shadows himself as they backed up against a building close by.  Watching and listening, it wasn’t long before Ed could hear the whispers of men hunting them. 

  “Where’d they go?”

  “Did we pass them along the way?” another voice asked.

  “Naw, there’s no way that could’ve happened unless they went into one of those houses past the church.  We better find them though or Brent is gonna be mighty unhappy with us.  That Ketterly feller is slicker than bear grease and a mite smarter than anyone gave him credit for.  Brent can’t hold that against us but you know he will.  You stay here and watch while I go down these side streets.  I will meet you back here in a few minutes.”

  Trying his best to figure out where the first voice came from, Ed strained his eyes and ears trying to locate any sign of a man hidden in the shadows.  Seeing nothing after a couple of minutes, Ed started moving ever so slowly to get closer to the corner of the building he was standing beside.  Stopping just inches from the corner, Ed thought he heard the scuff of a boot on gravel and the crunch of a boot sole crushing the loose sand underneath.  Taking his hat off, Ed kneeled down and inched closer to the corner where he could look around.

  Sure enough, the man was standing right there.  Now Ed had a decision to make.  Should he use Amy as bait to get the man to move forward so he could slug him or should he just take his chances and rush the man?  As he mulled over his decision, the outlaw made the choice for Ed as he stepped closer to the corner as if he was going to look down the street.

  Ed was ready for he already had his Colt in hand when the outlaw’s face cleared the corner to meet the wide chasm of the .45 caliber handgun just under eye level as it clicked four times coming to full stand as it pressed into his neck just under the jaw, freezing him in his place. 

  “How many of you are hunting me?” Ed snapped.

  “Two,” the outlaw whispered.

  Knowing the other outlaw was still several blocks away, Ed stepped around the corner and took the outlaw’s handgun, throwing it off into the darkness so it would take him awhile to find.  Ed always carried a piggin’ string with him so tied the man up hands and feet then stuffed his wild rag into his mouth to keep him quiet long enough for them to get back to Main Street.

  With one outlaw silenced, Ed and Amy started back on their way to the hotel but before they could get very far, another man stepped out from the shadows, one they hadn’t expected.  As they got closer, the man moved as if to block their path so the duo stopped since they could see the shine off the gun in his hand. 

  “You’ve been a lot of trouble for me Ketterly,” a voice Ed recognized as Charlie Goodnight said.  “I want my money back and maybe I’ll let you live.  If not, I’ll take payment from this gal you’ve been sportin’ around town tonight.”

  “Do I have anything to say about this Charlie?” Amy asked in her little girl voice.

  “Nothing at all girl,” Charlie said menacingly as a lone gunshot went off.

  Amy already knew the answer but she asked Charlie the question to distract him ever so slightly and to justify her reply to the law if an inquest was necessary.  When they were backed up to the building, Amy had gotten her Smith and Wesson out and had it under her shawl and ready to go if things turned bad.  When she heard Charlie’s sneer, she knew the end for her would go badly so she simply defended herself.

  Charlie was still standing upright in front of them with a shocked look on his face but he’d lost his handgun as soon as the little .32 caliber slug tore its way into his chest.  It seemed like several minutes passed by before Charlie began to sway ever so slightly then as if cut off at the knees, he dropped to the ground before falling face first into the dusty back streets of Virginia City.

  “Let’s get back to the hotel Amy,” Ed said.  “That other outlaw can tell Allford his money man is dead.”

  Amy was shaking almost uncontrollably by the time they made it back to her room in the International so Ed went to his room and got his hideout bottle.  Before heading back to Amy’s room, Ed lit the lamp and turned it up so it looked like he was in his room.  If they still wanted to play, it would fool them for a bit.  Taking John’s and his gear with him, he headed back to Amy’s room to fort up.

  Once back in the room with Amy, she was nearly a wreck over the evening’s events.  Even though she had killed Indians before, they had attacked her first and would have tortured her unmercifully if they had captured her.  This time was different, Amy fired first and whether she was scared out of her mind or perhaps if she recalled what the Indians might have done, these white men would have been as bad or worse if they caught her, just like Bill Longtree had done when he beat her unconscious or what he had planned for her when he came back.

  Pouring her three fingers of the amber liquid into a water glass, Ed handed her the whiskey to wash the taste of blood letting out of her mouth.  Amy drank the glass straight to the bottom before the burn could get to her then she started coughing uncontrollably.  Ed poured her another two fingers then handed it back to her, “Sip it slowly this time.”

  “You have to understand something Amy, Charlie Goodnight wasn’t gonna let either of us live once he got that money.  He was no good from the git go and got what he asked for.  You didn’t go out of your way to kill him.  He put you in a position to take his life or give up yours.”

  “All I could think about was how Bill looked when he found me alive in that mineshaft Ed.  I remembered the beating and could still feel how hard his fists were as he hit me like I was a rag doll.  I knew what he had in mind when he came at me so when I looked at Charlie, all I could remember was Bill.  I’ll never let a man beat me like that again, ever, and I’m willing to die for what I did instead of being treated like a piece of meat.  But what do we do about the law?” Amy asked.

  “We’ll deal with the law if it comes to that.  The attack on Goodnight’s camp and this one tonight falls under prairie law as far as I’m concerned.  Prairie Law is doing what is right under the written law when there is no badge packer to enforce it.  Sometimes we have to enforce the law ourselves or be put six feet under.  This was self defense from the beginning ‘cause we tried just about everything to get round them.  ‘Sides, Goodnight might not even be found until morning.  I don’t really think Allford’s man is going to say anything to anyone but his boss.  They still want Old Joe’s money and will be on our trail as soon as we leave town to try to set up an ambush.”

  “When’s it going to end Ed?” Amy asked crying.  “All the running, all the killing?”

  Ed looked deep into Amy’s eyes and could see the torment of all the killin’ and having to look constantly over their shoulders as they ran but he had no real answer for her since he figured they were still in danger with more fighting to come. 

  The young cattleman saw the raw emotions as they coursed through this young woman and came to realize just how difficult all of this had been for Amy since this was all unridden territory for her.  Ed was also reminded of the look Amy had given him while they were in the mineshaft, the look of fear, vulnerability, and the thoughts of an uncertain future.

  Something came over Ed, some kind of emotion he had never experienced before that he didn’t quite know how to deal with.  Having been raised an orphan, Ed never saw the nurturing or caring side of life for Old Joe was a gruff old coot who didn’t believe in comforting someone who was hurting or lost.

  He was in uncharted country here with no one to guide him but Ed wanted to comfort and reassure Amy for it was clear to him she needed it.  Reaching out with his good right hand, Ed gently laid his palm against the outside of Amy’s left arm then gently slid it towards her shoulder so she would not feel dominated or threatened by the move.  She, Ed hoped, would take the touch as one of reassurance, support, and understanding of her feelings. 

  Amy responded in kind as she leaned into Ed so he could wrap his arm around her to let her know she was safe with him and that she was not alone.  Amy, for her part, was feeling something she had never experienced from any other man, she felt safe and she felt whole.

  Having held Amy for a scant few minutes, Ed related his thoughts for the near future while they were in town.  “I figure we’re still saddled with Allford’s bunch so until he’s dealt with, we’re still being hunted.  I don’t figure to look him up now that Goodnight is done so we’ll have to deal with him on the trail ‘cause I doubt he’s gonna give up until he or all his men are dead.”

  Just as Ed finished, there was a crash down the hallway near where he and John’s room was.  Taking his hat and coat off, Ed peeked out just in time to see one of Allford’s men dart inside the room.  Ducking back inside, Ed locked the door then put a chair under the knob just in case they decided to come to Amy’s room.

  “We have to get ready to move just in case Amy,” Ed said as he looked over at her passed out on the bed, the whiskey doing its job in relaxing her.  “Well, I’ll get us ready to go for tomorrow then.”

  Digging the money wallet out of the stove, Ed cleaned it off then put it into a special pocket he had made inside of his right boot then sewed it shut with some horse hair he kept for that purpose.  Getting everything else packed away, Ed stacked the saddlebags and rifles in the corner where they would be close to hand in case they needed them later.  He still needed to get the money out of the hotel safe but that could wait for now.

  Ed worried about John but he also knew he would find out what happened this night and would be ready to go come morning.  In the meantime, he was going to try to get some sleep.  Getting Amy under the blankets, Ed took a chair and leaned up against the corner and was soon asleep himself.

 

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter Thirty-Six

_____________________________

 

  There were no more problems with Allford’s gang that night but Ed slept light anyway as was his habit.  Amy was still out and would have a splitting headache when she did wake up so there was no way she would be up for a horse race first thing in the morning.  As it stood now, Ed wasn’t running from Allford any longer and as reckless as it sounded, he was tired of the whole thing and didn’t care anymore. 

  Figuring he could get Amy up and sober by mid-morning, they would pull out for Reno about noontime right in front of the gunman.  If the town marshal was about, Ed might even let him know if he’s found dead on the trail, Brent Allford was the man responsible.

  In the meantime, Ed needed to decide whether to head back to Reno and take the train home or head south to Carson City then down the old trail to Genoa where there was a mountain pass they could cross to get to Stockton and then across the Delta to the Salinas Valley.

  If Ed wasn’t going to be carrying so much of Old Joe’s money, he would just stay put in town for a while because Allford would have no more interest in him if there wasn’t money involved.  The problem was the money, but how could Ed get it to Old Joe safely?  Allford could easily rob the stage or the bank in Virginia City, although the bank would be safe enough for a while.

  There was a light tap on the door, breaking Ed’s concentration, so he palmed his Colt and turned the key in the lock.  Ed stepped back away from the door to the wall side as the handle turned and in stepped John with a quimsical smile twisting his lips.

  “Had some problems last night I hear.  Found our room a bit dishieveled”

  “Yeah, a little bit. The room got torn up after we got braced by Charlie Goodnight.”

  “I hear Charlie is dead?”

  “That’s the rumor.”

  “Ya know who did it?”

  “Yep!”

  John could see Ed wasn’t gonna offer any more information on the killing so he let his line of questioning go for the time being. 

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving, Amy might be a while before she gets up so let’s go eat.”

  Ed made sure to lock Amy’s door as they left then headed down the back stairs to come out of the alley instead of the main entrance to the International.  Heading for the Palace, the two men didn’t get far when the Town Marshal braced them on the boardwalk.

  “You men!” the Marshal demanded, “stop right there.”

  Ed looked up, mostly disinterested, and asked, “What can I do for you Marshal.”

“A man was murdered last night and folks are pointing their fingers at you Ed Ketterly.”

  “Is that so?  What folks would that be?  Brent Allford?  I was escorting a lady about town last night when I heard gunshots.  I can assure you I didn’t fire my gun last night.  Would you like to check it?”

  The Marshal was taken aback just a bit by Ed’s rebuttal to his accusations naming Brent Allford but finally responded curtly, “You could have cleaned it by now.”

  “It hasn’t been cleaned in over a week when it was fired last.  It’s all full of trail dust at the moment,” Ed replied as he handed his Colt over to the Marshal.

Checking the handgun over carefully, the Marshal could see the dust Ed talked about but it’s when he looked at the bore that he got a funny look on his face as he considered another possibility.

  “You carry a hideout?” the Marshal asked as he handed the big bore Colt back to the young cattleman.

  “Nope, never figured to need one.  My backup is a Navy Colt.  Why do you ask?”

  “The man was killed with a .32.”

  “Ohhh, I don’t know of anyone who carries a .32.  Are you sure it was a .32?”

  The Marshal simply snarled at Ed’s question then ordered, “Don’t leave town until I say it’s ok.  I need to check that other rider what’s working for you.”

  “That doesn’t work for me Marshal,” Ed snapped.  “I’m planning on getting out of this place in a few hours.  I’ve been on the trail for weeks and I want to get home to my own bed.  If you’ve proof of my involvement in that murder, then throw me in jail.  If not, I’m leaving the Comstock this afternoon.  Oh by the way, Andy carries a .45 like John and I do.”

  The Marshal just glared at Ed and didn’t reply but Ed could see the wheels turning in his tired head.  After almost a minute, the enraged lawman turned and walked towards his office but not before he said, “Remember what I told you Ketterly.” 

  Ed and John just watched him go off in a huff then finished their walk to the Palace.  Stepping inside, Ed was instantly aware of Brent Allford at one of the tables.  Not wanting trouble before breakfast, the two men found a table off to the side where they settled down and waited for the waitress.  They hadn’t been there too long when “Andy” stepped into the room and over to their table.

  “Yer not lookin’ too good Andy,” John inquired with a grin.  “Have a rough night last night?”

  Andy was looking a mite peeked and green around the gills but didn’t complain about it.  “Naw, just hungry.  You should’ve woken me up when you came downstairs.”

  The waitress had gotten to their table about then so went about taking their orders and pouring each rider a steaming hot cup of coffee to get their day started.  In less than two minutes, she was done, turned, and was off to the kitchen.  Andy said nothing as he started to drink the coffee, hot and black.

  Ed could see Allford watching their table from a distance and wished he knew what the man was thinking but that gave him an idea to maybe throw him onto a completely different path.  He wasn’t going to mention it at the restaurant because he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  The waitress was soon back with a stack of flapjacks, fried eggs, home fried potatoes, and a pile of bacon.  The two men dove right in while Andy slowly picked at the flapjacks and an egg since the soft food wouldn’t hurt his brain as much to chew.  Ed looked over at Andy suspiciously to see if the food was going to stay down and was surprised when it did, considering last night.

  With breakfast put away, the trio made it over to the International where Ed retrieved his wallet from the hotel safe.  Holding it in hand, he left the hotel and made his way to the Wells Fargo office down the street where he stepped straight inside and up to the counter.

  “I have $7700 dollars I need shipped to the Bank of Italy in Salinas, California Territory, on account for Joe Laborie in Bradley.  Can you folks handle that?”

  “Why surely sir, we have one of the safest and most dependable lines in the district,” the clerk said happily.

  “Well then, let’s get this wrapped up and ready to go so I won’t be carrying all that money when I leave this place,” Ed replied just as happily.

  Not knowing whether he would be able to shade Allford with this ruse or not, Ed, Andy, and John went back to their rooms and gathered their gear before heading to the livery to pick up their horses for the ride home.  Ed still hadn’t decided whether to ride back towards Reno or head south to Carson City yet but that could be decided in a few hours as they rode west.

  Once they had their horses saddled and ready, Ed decided they needed to stay in town until after the stage left just to make it a bit more believable.  The stage that day was almost on time so the boys tied up outside The Bucket of Blood Saloon and headed inside for a drink.  It wouldn’t hurt Andy none to have a little hair of the dog to get his day going a bit better either.

  The men had just finished their first round when they heard the telltale sound of horses and the raspy sound of iron wheels grinding against the packed dirt streets of Virginia City.  Taking their beer outside with them, they watched as the strongbox got loaded onto the stage then the passengers, one of whom Ed thought he recognized as talking to Allford earlier that morning.

  After no more than a half an hour and a change of horses, the stage was loaded with passengers and rattling down Main Street on its way to Gold Hill for its next stop on the trail to Dayton.  Behind the stage, three cowhands were checking their tack over before saddling up to ride the flanks and drag behind the stage. 

  As the riders from the Alvarado Ranch rode down Main Street behind the stage, Brent Allford watched on through the window of the Crystal Saloon with a frown twisted across his face.  He wasn’t planning on the stage having outriders so he might need to change up his plans a bit.  Course the idea of retaliating against the boys for shooting up his camp did please him just a little bit.

  When Allford had taken on this job for Goodnight, it was to skin a couple of greenhorns for a share of their money but his men had been shot up, outfoxed more than once, and now Goodnight was dead.  Course Goodnight being out of the picture meant there would be more money for him once they got it.  Robbing the stage wasn’t part of the original deal but that didn’t concern the man much at all.

  Not really giving the idea much thought at first, Ed decided to ride along behind the stage and the money for a few miles to make it look like they were going to protect it the whole way to the city just in case Allford’s gang planned on hitting it after it left Gold Hill. 

  As they rode along not talking, the more Ed thought about his spontaneous plan, the more he liked it.  Allford started out with seven men but after the night attack on their camp, several of them were shot up and others were losing their interest in Ed since he had proved to be a lot more work than anyone expected.

  There was going to be a short stop in Gold Hill some three miles away but Ed chose to ride on out of town for a mile and wait so he could come up with a more complete plan.  After that stop, Silver City was only another couple of miles beyond where they waited. 

  As the stage pulled off the trail into Gold Hill, Ed just waved the others to follow him as he held a fast jog for a ways until he came to a spot where he could still see Gold Hill in the distance.  Pulling up, Ed smiled at his riding partners since they were looking at him like he had lost his senses at last.

  “SOOOOOO!  I guess you are wondering why I called you all together,” Ed remarked with a grin.

  “You might say that,” John replied flatly.  “I figured to ride the cushions back to Hogtown not take another three hundred and seventy-five mile ride a horseback.”

  “I’m trying to slow Allford down so maybe he’ll give up on us and the money.  By following the stage as outriders, I figure it will throw Allford off his game since he hasn’t the riders he started out with.  Not knowing how far we intend to ride, they might lose interest.”

  “You know that’s just wishful thinking Ed,” John replied with a touch of sarcasm to his voice.  “You’ve humiliated him and Allford’s not the kind of man to let that kind of thing go.  Besides, we don’t have to worry about the money since it’s Wells Fargo’s problem now.”

  “Only until Brent hits the stage,” Ed said with a smirk.  “That’s a fake package on the stage and when Brent finds out, it’s gonna send him over the moon.  He’s gonna be on a blood hunt once that happens.  By the time he finds out I’ve shaded him, I figure to be long gone from this country.  I just don’t want him to hit the stage too soon.”

  “Yer playin’ a dangerous game having a woman along Ed,” John injected.

  Amy had been silent so far but now it was time to speak up.  “Don’t you worry about me John, I can carry my share of the load.  Ed’s been right about this ride most of the way and I trust his judgment.”

  “Alright Amy,” John replied with a smile.  “You’ve been game so far so let’s finish this ride.”

  “Ok, since that is settled, this is my plan,” Ed continued.  “It’s two miles to Silver City with another stop then onto Mound House is another five.  From there, it will be about fifteen miles to Carson City.  With us riding along with the stage, I don’t figure Allford will take a chance at it until it is past Carson City.  That sound right to you John?”

  “Pretty much the way I figure.  I’d even bet his men are already in Carson City.”

  “I would too.  Now here is where we pull the switch.  It’ll be nearly dark by the time the stage pulls out of Carson City so we’ll ride out ahead just like we’ll be doing all day then let the stage pass us.  When it does, we cut tail and backtrack west of Carson City to lay down for the evening soes the horses can rest up some.  Allford’s men are unlikely to hit the stage at night since they’ll think we’re still with it and will be set up on the other side of the grade past Gardnerville which puts us in good shape to follow the base of the mountains to cross either at Kingsbury Grade or Carson Pass come morning.”

  “You sure have it figured out Ed,” John said smiling.  “I figured this was another one of those knee jerk ideas that always gets us into a fix.  They’ll back trail us to Carson City on the main trail and won’t be able to pick up our southbound trail if we are riding across the prairie instead of on the hardpack.”

  “OK,” Ed barked as he broke off the conversation, “the stage is comin’ so we need to get set to make our plan work.  Keep an eye out for anyone trailing us too, just in case I haven’t figured this out correctly.”

  Pulling his Winchester out of the boot, Ed laid it across his saddle as the stage rolled through on its way to Silver City.  The stage driver and shotgun rider gave a short wave as they passed by the three riders.  Pulling in behind the stage, Ed rode drag while Amy and John held the flanks just to the rear of the box on either side.

 The next leg only took a few minutes and they were in Silver City.  Just like before, once the stage pulled into town, the boys kept riding out of town where they waited for the stage to get back onto the trail.

  The stop in Silver City only took five minutes so they were soon back on the trail to Mound House.  This leg was going to take close to an hour of steady riding so everyone was getting settled in for the longer leg this time.

  Mound House had been a Pony Express stop until ’61 then being centrally located, became a multi-gauge rail stop supporting the Comstock Lode.  There was a lot going on when the stage pulled into the depot but like the other stops, the boys kept riding to wait out of town after they took time to offer the animals some water.

  The Mound House stop took a bit longer than Silver City but they were soon back on the trail for their longest leg of the day.  It was close to fifteen miles to Carson City so Ed figured this leg would take about three hours since it was mostly downhill from the rest of the small towns.

  Since they were going to be traveling through open country for a good bit, Ed decided to pull back off the drag to check their back trail.  Turning off and up onto a low rise, Ed pulled out his field glasses and checked the trail behind and the desert in general in case Allford got the bright idea to shadow them on a different trail.

  There were the usual dust devils and occasional wagons on the stage road but Ed couldn’t see any lone riders traveling anywhere within sight.  Turning the bay, Ed started back for the stage when all of a sudden he could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance.

  Nudging the bay into a run, Ed leaned into his horse and urged the animal for even more speed.  As he came down the rolling hill, Ed could see there were four riders attacking the stage from the east.  There were two more coming in from behind with Amy and John using the stage for cover as they fired at the oncoming outlaws.  Well now, Ed thought to himself, albeit a bit disappointed, Allford shaded him this time.

  Ed was closing in on their rear guard quickly and with all the gunfire, they had no clue he was even there.  The outlaw on the left was riding a short paint, almost as small as an Indian pony so Ed pointed the big bay straight at the animal while raised his rifle to make a chopping blow to the rider on the right.

  The bay had no fear as he launched as if to jump over the smaller horse while Ed swung his rifle barrel forward and down, striking the other man next to him square on the back of his neck, dropping him where he sat.  Still in the air, the bay caught the paint’s rider, horse chest to the man’s back, and scraped him off his pony, slamming him to the ground with a sickening bone breaking thud.

  Looking towards the stage, Ed could see the smoke as a shot was fired from inside the coach towards where John and Amy had taken cover.  Almost instantly, he saw Amy get knocked out of her saddle.  John was ahead of her and was firing at the men on the other side along with the stage driver who was still trying to keep the team running.

  One of them was already down when John shot another in the guts so Ed naturally lined up on one of the others just as he shot at Ed.  Feeling the hot slug pass through his shirt and graze his side, Ed was firing again and again until a crimson stain started spreading across the man’s shirt as he slid from his horse.

  There was only one man left in saddle leather and he was hightailing it back to where he came from.  The stage had pulled up by now since one of the leaders had been shot and the driver was trying to help the shotgun guard who was down. 

  “John, get that man out of the stage and keep a gun on him!” Ed barked.  “I’ve got the check on Amy.”

  Tearing up to where Amy was down next to her horse at a dead run, Ed slid and half fell out of the saddle before skidding up to her.  Amy was trying to sit up as Ed got to her but he told her to lay back down while he checked her over for injuries. 

  Ed could see she had been hit in the meaty part of her left shoulder and was bleeding heavily so he ran back to his saddlebags for a clean kerchief.  The slug was still in her shoulder so Ed plugged the entrance as well as he could but knew he had to get her to a doctor to get that slug taken out so the wound wouldn’t fester.

  First things first, Ed remembered once he got the bleeding slowed down.  Standing up, Ed turned and went back to the stage where John had the familiar looking gent at gunpoint.  Saying nothing, Ed simply walked straight up to the man and tried to drive his good right hand through the man’s innards until it hit his backbone.  The man went down hard, doubled over and wheezing as he hit the dry desert sand. 

  “What are you doing Ed?” John asked sharply.  “He was on our side when those men hit us.”

  Ed spun around on John with the look of death in his eyes.  “Yea?” Ed snapped.  “Then why did he shoot Amy?  You were shooting across the coach when I saw him shoot her out the window of the coach.  She didn’t have a chance against him.”

  Saying nothing more, Ed dragged the man back up off the ground and twisted his shirt around his fist as he kept tightening the knot.  “Where’s Allford?” Ed barked.  “I want his hide tacked to the wall.”

  “Who’s Allford?” he asked, trying to play dumb.

  Backhanding the man, Ed’s iron-hard knuckles split the man’s lips and opened a small cut under his right eye.  Drawing out his razor sharp skinning knife, Ed put the point just under the corner of his left lower jaw and started to press it into the soft skin.

  “Talk, damn you, I know you work for Allford.  I saw you talking to him at the Palace and in Reno.  I’ll skin you alive right here and now if you don’t talk,” Ed demanded.

  “He’s the one who rode off like a coward Dammit!  He left me here to die like the others.”

  “Let’s get him tied up John.  We’ll turn him over to the Marshal in Carson City to hang for shooting a woman.”

  “A woman?  I didn’t shoot no woman.”

  Ed didn’t reply to him as he went over and picked up Amy to put inside the coach for the rest of the way into Carson City to the doctor.  Once Amy was inside the coach and Ed’s bay was hitched up with the team to replace the dead leader, he crawled in and got situated where he could cushion her ride for the next hour and a half until they got to town.

  Once in Carson City, Ed was all about the business of getting Amy and the shotgun rider over to the doctor to get patched up while John took the outlaw to the Carson City Marshal’s Office to be thrown in jail until his trial.  While he was there, John would give his accounting of the attempted robbery of the stage to get it over with. 

  The doctor in Carson City was an ornery old coot who growled more than he talked but he was all business when he started checking out Amy’s shoulder wound.  As he pulled her shirt open to get a closer look at the injury, his only reaction was to lift an eyebrow and give Ed a sideways glance as if asking if there was anything else he should know about.

  Amy was still unconscious so taking a pan of water off his stove, the crusty old guy began cleaning the blood away then laid a folded towel across her chest containing sterilized instruments.  Picking up a probe, Doc started hunting for the slug causing Amy to groan and twist away.  Pointing at her to signal Ed to hold her down, he began again until he was able to hold the slug against the bone.  Holding the probe with one hand, Doc picked up the forceps and reached in to pull the slug free.

  Ed needed to use almost all his weight on Amy’s upper torso to hold her down as Doc twisted and pulled on the slug to get it free from the muscle in her shoulder.  She was groaning and almost twisted out of his grasp as Ed thought to himself, this little slip of gal is strong.

  With the slug finally out, Doc finished cleaning the wound with some carbolic then packed it with some foul smelling poultice before bandaging the wound.  Ed did his best not to look at her nakedness as Doc stripped her of her shirt but he couldn’t help but see as the doctor was working.  It was vitally important to get the bandage material wrapped around her upper torso to hold the shoulder stable so there was no way around it.

  Finally getting the bandaging complete and getting her into bed, Doc gave her a powder to keep her asleep and told Ed to go and get some food.  He was welcome to come back when he was done but for now, Ed needed to leave the room so Doc could finish his work.

  It had been a long day and Ed was tired but he was also hungry.  John was waiting downstairs so when Ed arrived, they headed straight for the nearest saloon that served food.  Ed was hungry but he needed a drink too after the day they just had.

  Once inside, it was cool but it was busy with miners and travelers.  It didn’t matter to Ed for as soon as a heaping plate of beef, taters, and frijoles was set down in front of him, he was all elbows as he dug in.  John wasn’t far behind as the food disappeared in minutes as if slipping into some hidden abyss.  As soon as the main course was gone, there was a full quarter of a pie each to finish filling the young men’s hollow legs.

  Leaning back and rubbing his stomach, Ed looked over at John and said, “Time for that drink.”