“What're you gonna do, Johnny?”
“We're going to circle that 'dobe, Ben. You head off to the right and I'll take the left. We'll just see if there are any horses down there under that lean-to.”
“And if there ain't?”
“We'll look for tracks. Go on. Keep an eye out.”
The two rode off in opposite directions. They made a wide arc, keeping to the scattered scrub pines and piñons, riding slow so that the horses didn't dislodge any rocks that would clatter and give them away.
John stopped his horse less than a hundred yards from the lean-to. He stared at the adobe, looking for any signs of life. The lean-to appeared to be empty. There was no movement. The adobe sat there, seemingly deserted, silent as a monument of stone. He was looking for movement, the flick of a horse's tail, the head of a man, the barrel of a rifle.
Ben appeared on the other side. He stopped his horse, cupped a hand to one ear, and listened. He scanned the front of the adobe and the surrounding plain of grass. Then he raised a hand and waved to John. John waved back and coaxed his horse closer to the shack.
There, he found what he was looking for, in and around the lean-to, and in front of the adobe itself: fresh tracks of horses and men. His heart began to pound in his chest, throb in his temples. He looked down on the long plain and saw nothing. Ben rode up, and he, too, was looking at the ground.
“Looks like your hunch was right, Johnny. These are fairly fresh tracks.”
“How fresh?”
Ben kneaded his forehead with his thumb and index finger.
“Two hours. Maybe more. Maybe a mite less.”
“This is where they stayed, Ben.”
The front door was ajar. John dismounted and signed for Ben to cover him. He stepped to the door and listened. Then he slipped inside. The smell of urine was strong, stinging the delicate membrane of his nostrils. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw depressions on the filthy floor where men had lain on blankets. There were a lot of boot tracks in the loose dirt.
“Anything there?” Ben called.
“They were here.”
John stepped from the adobe, stood in the sunlight, breathing clean air.
“Stinks in there, eh?” Ben said.
“To high heaven.”
“So, that bunch is a couple of hours ahead of us. Whilst you was inside, I been studying the tracks. They go in a straight line down into that plain, like they was headed due east.”
“To Fountain Creek,” John said, climbing back on Gent.
“Likely,” Ben said.
“Let's follow 'em out.” John tapped Gent's flanks with his spurs and turned him toward the maze of tracks leading off the shelf and down into the flat. They rode straight into the sun and lowered their heads to shade their eyes with their hat brims. An eagle floated down from the high country and traversed the space above the plain, touching the air currents with its wingtips to stay aloft. Its head moved from side to side as he searched for small game, anything alive that moved.
On the other side of the plain, they rode into scrub pines and brush. Beyond were low foothills in shadow, but there were enough trees to conceal them from anyone watching from atop the nearest ridge.
The tracks were plain, and then they all converged at an open spot. The tracks were a moil of hoofmarks in a small circle. John studied them for a long moment, then rode beyond and saw something that brought him up short. He turned to Ben.
“Looks like they did some talking here,” he said. “And now look. They split up.”
Ben rode up and saw what John was seeing. Four sets of tracks continued on to the east. Three other sets broke off and headed north.
“What do you make of it, Ben?”
“You're asking me? You're the one with the hunches, Johnny.”
A light breeze rivered through the trees, brushed their faces. It carried the smells of pine and new earth freshly washed by the rain. They heard the shrill scream of the eagle and when they looked to the sky, the eagle was nowhere in sight.
“Well, they could be splitting up so they can ambush us,” John said. “Or those three riding off to the north might be heading for the Springs or Denver. Maybe to meet up later.”
“Which ones do we follow?”
John rode around, leaning over to bring the ground closer to his eyes. He reined up and pointed east.
“I know the horse Ollie is riding. Its hooves sink deeper than the others because he's the biggest man. He's heading for Fountain Creek and likely following it right into Pueblo. I don't know about those other three. We'll just have to keep an eye out.”
“We been doin' that.”
“Yeah, but I think we've seen the last of those three for a while.”
A few yards farther on, the tracks showed that Ollie and those with him had put spurs to their horses and were running them at a gallop. The sight of the churned-up earth quickened John's pulse. But he was not about to chase them at the same speed.
Ollie and the others might be counting on his trackers doing just that.
And he and his cronies might be waiting just ahead, hiding somewhere, ready to shoot him and Ben out of their saddles.
“They're on the run, Johnny.”
“I know. But we're going to take it slow, Ben. Pueblo's not going anywhere. And we know where to find Ollie. I'm betting he doesn't know that.”
“Seems to me you're betting on a whole lot without ever seeing this Ollie's hand.”
“I'm reading his mind,” John said, and his mouth bent in a wry smile.
The mountains behind them lit up as the sun rose and the distant snowcaps gleamed like ancient beacons, as billions of tiny ice crystals reflected the sunlight from countless prisms.
And the eagle returned to the sky and floated down the long river of wind, skimming the treetops, heading, perhaps, for Fountain Creek, just as they were. His snowy head glistened like the far-off peaks that outlined the top of the world in dazzling splendor as if created solely to capture the sun's light in their snowy keeps.
14
RUTTER WAS ANGRY AT OLLIE'S DECISION TO SPLIT UP THE BUNCH. Tanner and Anders sided with Pete because Ollie had picked them to go with Rutter.
“Well, I want a split of that dust right here and now,” Rutter said, his Germanic accent fighting with the drawl of the Mississippian. That was always the way it was when Pete's ire was up. The v's kept crowding out the w's, and vice versa.
“I'll give you boys some of the dust, but not until we meet up in Rosa's Cantina.”
“I want mine now,” Rutter said.
“You didn't finish the job I sent you and Luke to do, Pete. Now, you got to pay for that mistake. We got two rifles on our ass and you're going to take them out before you share in the rewards. Got that?”
“I don't like it none,” Pete said.
“Tough shit.” Ollie looked ready to drive a hammy fist through Pete's beard.
“So, you want us to cover your backtrail and rub them two miners out before we get any of the gold?”
“That's as plain as I can put it, Pete. And every second you spend here arguing about it gets them two just that much closer to us.”
“Hell,” Tanner said, “it's seven against two? Why don't we just wait it out and bushwhack 'em when they come ridin' down on us?”
“Because that's just what they might expect, Dick.”
“So? We still outnumber them,” Anders said.
“And so do the three of you, Mort. Look, I thought about this. I'm sending Pete with you boys because he's the only one who knows what those two miners look like. None of us has seen their faces. And I figure you and Dick are about the best shots in the bunch. I expect you'll make short work of those two pilgrims and won't be more than two or three hours behind us getting to Pueblo.”
“It's that kid,” Pete said. “Something about him.”
“What about him?” Ollie asked.
“I don't know, Ollie. He just struck me as bein' different. The way he looked at Luke. I mean he didn't have no pity or nothin'. And he brought Luke down. Hell, that surprised me more than anything.”
“What do you mean, Pete?” Dick asked.
“Yeah, I'd like to know, too,” Mort said.
Pete looked back in the direction from where they had come that morning. The sky was blue as cobalt, peaceful. The far mountains had that soft purple cast to them and the high peaks rose up above them, their snowy mantles so white a man couldn't look at them without going blind.
“Luke was the smartest man I ever knew. He was quick with a gun, wise as a fox. I mean, you never got the drop on old Luke. He was plenty savvy and he never blinked when it come to killin' a man. All the time I seen him lyin' there, his guts spillin' out of him like snakes, I kept wonderin' how in hell that kid took him down. And Luke looked downright pitiful, like that shiny blue-black Colt all scrolled with silver scared the hell out of him. And I never knew Luke to be afraid of nothin'.”
“That pistol the kid had,” Ollie said. “It's really got you spooked, eh, Pete?”
Rutter looked at Ollie and bristled.
“It wasn't just the damned pistol. It was something about that kid. Maybe the look in his eyes. He must have belonged to that woman we kilt, and maybe his daddy was one of 'em we rubbed out. And that little gal.”
“You shut up about that kid,” Ollie said. “Some things is best forgot.”
“Well, that young feller had something in his craw that wasn't natural, Ollie. And where does a kid like him get a gun like that? And he beat Luke, damn it. He beat him like Luke was nothin'. Watched him die real slow and enjoyed hisself.”
“You think he's, ah, experienced? I mean, he's an owl-hooter like us?”
“I don't know. He just had that look about him. Make the hairs stiffen up on the back of your neck. That kind of look.”
“Well, then you'd better shine bright, Pete,” Ollie said. “Shoot him dead before you start havin' nightmares about him.”
“I already got 'em,” Pete said.
“I ain't afraid of no snot-nose kid,” Dick said.
“Me, neither,” Mort said, drawing himself up as if ready to do battle.
Ollie nodded at the three of them.
“I wish we could all go after him,” Pete said, a wistful whine to his voice.
Hobart had reached the limit of his patience. He snorted at Pete and his face hardened into a mask that reflected the anger rising to the surface. He narrowed his eyes and the look bore right into Pete's.
“Pete, you get your thumb out of your butt and ride out. We'll see you in Pueblo.”
Rutter opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut against the brute force of Ollie's withering glare. The three men turned their horses and rode away, taking a northwesterly tack.
They didn't see the smile on Ollie's face, but the others who were there with him did.
“You don't want them to come back, do you, Ollie?” Red said.
“I don't give a damn. More gold for the rest of us if they don't.”
Fritz finished swallowing water from his canteen, wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Could be you don't want to split with nobody, Ollie.”
“Fritz, you got a mouth on you. Better button it up 'fore I shut it for good.”
“You're pretty testy this morning, Ollie,” Dillard said.
“Something stuck in your craw, too, Red?” Ollie glared at him.
“It's just that you have all the gold, Ollie. We don't have shit. And it's beginning to look like you might want it all for yourself. If you don't expect Mort, Pete, and Dick to come back . . .”
“I expect them to kill those two jackanapes on our trail, Red. And then meet us at Rosa's. It don't need to be complicated. Now, if you gents are ready, let's ride to the Fountain and water our horses. Fact is, I sent them three to do the job because they're better'n any of you when it comes to killin' snakes.”
They all shut up then, but Ollie knew their thoughts were running faster than their mouths. It was the gold, he knew. It made men crazy even when it was in the ground or at the bottom of a creek. But now, knowing that he had it all in his saddlebags was beginning to eat at them. He didn't trust a one of them. And, he knew, none of them trusted him.
He had chosen this route carefully, avoiding the larger towns like Colorado Springs and Canon City. By taking a direct route to Fountain Creek, they kept away from settlements and people. He knew that packing that much gold would cause tongues to wag no matter where they wound up and converted the dust to cash. But Pueblo was a better place than Denver, he reasoned, even though he liked Denver better than Pueblo. Pueblo was a more tolerant place, a kind of crossroads between Denver, Taos, and Santa Fe, with many people coming and going. Strangers did not cause as much stir in Pueblo as they did in Denver or the smaller Colorado Springs. In Pueblo, they would hardly be noticed. And it was probably easier to change dust into greenbacks, with fewer questions asked. But there was another reason Hobart was anxious to get to Pueblo, to Rosa's Cantina. Rosa Delgado was that reason.
“You still got them field glasses, Pete?” Tanner asked, as they were moving up to a higher elevation and starting their swing back toward the trail they had taken down from Cripple Creek.
“Yeah, I got 'em.”
“See that little hill yonder?” Dick pointed.
“I see it.”
“I noticed that when we rode down. It's right near the trail. We could go up there and watch for them two pilgrims, pick 'em off real easy.”