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  “He can sell my horse and dog?”

  “Your mother can. She signed the bill of sale.”

  Blinking tears in his eyes, he was forcibly guided away from the Colonel and the rest to the side of the crowd by the two men.

  “You two working for him?” Wulf’s pain turned to bewilderment.

  “No, listen. Bob can fight this in court. You can’t win out here in this field,” Andy said in his ear, not letting go of the viselike grip on his arm.

  “I can’t win in court either.”

  “Yes, yes, you can,” Bob said in his other ear. “But you can’t do any good causing a fuss right now.”

  “They are taking away the only two things that really matter to me. Ranger and Calico.” Off in the distance, the stallion screamed in protest. Wulf shook his head. They could never handle him. How could his mother have signed that bill of sale? Hughes had her under his power. A family fuss—my ass.

  “Go on. Let me be alone. I’ll not start anything here. I need to think.”

  “You are coming back to Mason?” Andy asked. “Sorry, but when we heard Armstrong was going to buy them, we knew you’d go crazy. We had to be the ones to stop you from doing any more damage.”

  They agreed to let him go think, and he promised to be back at Andy’s house later on that evening.

  “But you won’t have a way to get home,” Andy said.

  “I can walk. Give me more time to think.”

  Parting with them, he went back to the hillside where he’d shared lunch with Dulchy. She must have had to go home with her own people. He’d never even gotten to talk to her after Ranger won. Aw, hell, his life got worse and worse by the damn day.

  Finally, full of self-pity, he set out walking the dusty road back to town. It would be long past sundown before he reached Mason. His world felt so empty without Ranger at his side and without the great horse that he could ride without saddle or bridle.

  Could he ever get another horse and dog? Not yet. He wasn’t over the loss of Ranger and Calico. That would take a long time to get over. Worse yet was thinking about what the Colonel’s handlers were doing with them. They would miss him. Damn, his mixed-breed yellow and white collie and his horse from the nearly extinct Comanche bloodlines, along with all his hours of training, were gone forever.

  He threw stones at cottonwood trees and skipped them over water in the creeks he crossed while stepping on the dry rocks. The day grew shorter. He still had no plans to recover his animals and get away. Maybe the money they’d promised him from the bet would outfit him with another horse to ride and enough money to escape the Colonel’s clutches with his own animals in tow.

  Long past dark, he came up Andy’s back stairs. Weary, tired, and defeated, he put his hand on the facing.

  “That you?” Myrna asked, sitting in the dark at the kitchen table.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We were worried you’d do something crazy.”

  “Like kill Kent Hughes?”

  “Oh, Wulf—” She rushed over and hugged him. “Andy and I never had a boy of our own. You are our boy and if you ever did something like that, it would break my heart.”

  “But he needs it.”

  “No, no, he’s one of God’s children, too.”

  He held her. “God wouldn’t have him. Today Dulchy brought me lunch. But I fear that in all that trouble I’ve lost her, too.”

  “If she really is worth having, she won’t leave you.”

  “Is that how you tell?”

  Myrna raised her face up in the dim light of the kitchen and looked at him. “That is the God’s truth.”

  He closed his eyes. Maybe she would be back?

  “I have some food in the oven.”

  “Where’s Andy?”

  “Gone to bed. He was so upset about today and worked up, I told him to go get some sleep.” With a gopher match, she lighted the candle lamp on the table.

  He looked at her, feeling consumed by guilt. “I’m sorry, this is all because of me.”

  She put the plate before him. “No, Andy has been your friend and he hates what happened today, but he worried more that you would only bring on bigger problems. He said the judge liked the case against you being dropped and you making up with your parents.”

  “But that was all a lie. I’m never going home and be with them. You know my mother signed that bill of sale?”

  “Oh, Wulf, I am so sorry.”

  “I’m getting me a horse and getting the hell out of this country.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Montana. My cousin Herschel Baker is a sheriff up there in Billings. I spoke to his sister, Susie, a few weeks ago. Says Herschel’s doing real well. Did you know their daddy who walked away from them when they were kids?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t either. Well, after the war he came home and became a cattle buyer, and one day he simply rode off, they said. No one knew where Thurman went for years. Herschel and the others grew up. Went on cattle drives. His brother, Tom, got killed on one, but Herschel is doing good. It turns out that Thurman has a big ranch down in south Texas—but the way things have turned out, I want to see that other end of the world.”

  “What will you do in Montana?” she asked, seated across from him.

  “I ain’t sure. But no one will steal my dog and horse from me up there.”

  “Talk to Bob and Andy both before you run off half-cocked. Bob thinks he can win your case against Hughes. Maybe you should give him a chance. And Andy loves your help at the shop and you know you always have a place here.”

  “If I stay here, I may kill Hughes. I came within inches of that with the singletree.”

  “That won’t solve your problems. Now eat. In the morning, things will look better.”

  In the morning, Wulf sipped coffee in the lighted kitchen and talked with Andy. During the night, rain had moved in and the drip off the eaves made a song.

  “Myrna said you wanted to go up to Montana and see your cousin Herschel. He’s a sheriff up there?”

  “That’s what his sister, Susie, said. I saw her a few weeks ago when she was in town. She didn’t even know my dad had died. I guess the Bakers all kind of broke up way back then. I was too young to know that Thurman rode off after the war and no one knew where he went. He showed up recently and has a big ranch down in south Texas. Has a young Indian wife and a baby.”

  “I never knew Thurman. I knew Herschel and Tom. They made tough cowboys. Worked hard to keep up that place for their mother. If you have to leave, I understand. I know your losses can’t be easily forgotten. But be sure to fill out all the papers for Bob before you leave. He’s going to court and fight for you.”

  “Fight for what?”

  “He’s a smart lawyer. Give him a chance. Oh, yes, your part of the prize money was one hundred dollars.” Andy put five twenty-dollar gold pieces on the table. “What now?”

  “I need to find a tough saddle horse if I’m going that far.”

  “Ule Matters has a Kentucky-bred horse. No one can handle him. Tough, fast, and very green, broke in all the wrong ways. I bet one of them gold pieces will buy him today.”

  “A big black gelding?”

  “You’ve seen those boys leading him between two horses and him bucking the whole time. That’s the horse. I ain’t meddling, but what about the girl that brought you lunch?”

  Wulf swallowed hard. The damn knot in his throat about gagged him. “I’ll go by to see her.”

  “Good,” Andy said as if relieved. “Drop us a letter. Let us know you’re all right.”

  “Oh, I will.” What would he do about Dulchy? Nothing for the time being but go by and talk to her. “I better go see Matters about that horse.”

  “See Bob first at his office.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be by to help you as soon as I can.”

  “Take care of your business first.”

  After breakfast, he went to find Bob in his office. Things were looking much
more organized, and the rain was sheeting on the panes of the bay window panes when he hung his sodden hat and canvas duster on the coat rack.

  “Come in. Come in.” Bob stood up behind the desk and shook his hand. “I didn’t hardly sleep a wink last night over that shady deal Hughes pulled on you yesterday.”

  “That’s behind me. I’m going to go see a cousin in Montana. No way I can stay here this close to Hughes.”

  “Then give me your power of attorney. That’s so I can fight this in court and you won’t have to be here.”

  “Sure. Will it work?”

  “No problem. I’ll go for the heart of this and make Hughes put all the money he spent and didn’t deposit in the probate account.”

  “Include the money he got yesterday.”

  “Oh, I will.” Bob sat back in his chair. “It will take maybe a year, but I’ll have it all back and you in charge by the time you’re old enough to take over the ranch.”

  “Tell Effie hi for me. And the baby,” Wulf said. “I’ll send you my address when I get up there.”

  Matters lived on the edge of town in a two-story brick home. He kept all his Angora billies and rams in a small fenced-in paddock, feeding them hay in the winter. The smell of wet goat and sheep was strong on the rainy wind. The rest of his herds were out on several ranches he owned west of town.

  “Good day, Wulf,” Matters said, answering the door with a newspaper in his hand. “My, you and Ranger did a great job yesterday. Come in. I couldn’t see you selling them after the big win, but that was lots of money.”

  “My stepfather Kent Hughes sold them. I would never have agreed to selling them. I got no part of that money.”

  “You know—have a seat—that man is a scoundrel. That must have been pure hell.”

  “Mr. Matters, I’m leaving Mason and going to see a cousin in Montana until I can look at things better around here. Andy said you might sell me the black Kentucky horse.”

  “Sell him to you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No, Wulf, I’ll give him to you. That horse is the biggest disappointment in my entire life. He’s bred to run. But he’s a crazy fool.” Matters pointed the folded-up newspaper at Wulf from the other morris chair. “I’m sorry I never thought of you as a trainer. Why, you rode a stallion all over without a bridle. Jenny, come in here. I’m giving Nightmare to Wulf Baker.”

  A gray-headed woman came to the kitchen door in an apron. “Well, thank God. Oh, I hope he doesn’t hurt you,” she said to Wulf.

  “He won’t,” Wulf said to reassure her.

  “Then I have some hot apple pie dished up, fresh cheddar cheese melting on it, and a new pot of coffee in my kitchen for both of you.”

  “Sounds all right. Let’s go, Wulf, before she changes her mind.”

  That saved him twenty bucks. But there was no way to simply get on Nightmare and ride off to Montana.

  His goal was to have the gelding ready to go in five days. Lots more to do. Next, he needed to get the backbone to go see Dulchy and tell her his plans. He’d do that after he looked in on the cranky black that Matters told him was in a plank-walled box stall. To show his impatience, the horse kicked the thick timber on the side of his box stall when Wulf came in to the barn to look at him.

  Taming him would not be a Sunday school picnic—the black horse was not going to be a pushover. Wulf stood in the alleyway listening to the rain patter on the barn roof shingles. Nightmare was his old name—he’d call him Kentucky instead.

  You got that, Kentucky?

  TEN

  HERSCHEL left Cob at the livery and headed for the Palace Hotel. Three days hunched in the saddle and the cold weather had him stiff as a board. The short day’s red sundown glistened in bloody light on the shoveled snow piles. He’d be glad when winter lost its grip on the north country. In March in Texas, spring would be busting out all over. Wild plums and peaches first, oat shoots growing a couple inches a day.

  After he took a room, he went around the corner to a barbershop and bathhouse. He got a shave and bathed as well. It was dark when he set out for the café where he usually ate when in Sheridan. The wind whistled around every building, and he was grateful at last to be inside the busy eatery. Earlier at the livery, the hustler said no one with paint packhorses had stopped there in the past week.

  Feeling fresher, in the café he went over the other things he needed to do. Wire Art the outlaws’ names for posters. Come daylight, he’d check on all of the other stables and the two wagon yards. No reason for the McCaffertys not to have come through Sheridan. Which way they went from there was the next question. Either south to Cheyenne or east to Deadwood. Somewhere where the lights were bright, by his calculations, and they could spend money. With that much treasure, they must be itching to blow it on raising hell someplace.

  The hot meal was tasty, and he went by the police station afterward. The night man recognized him.

  “You’re the law from Billings,” the desk man said and laughed. “We got any more killers here in town that ya looking for?”

  Herschel shook his hand. “No, I’m looking for three men did a robbery in my county.”

  “Must have been a big one to bring you clear down here.”

  “It was. Three men, a father and two sons named McCafferty, tortured and robbed an old man a week ago. They headed south. They raped a woman running a stage stop at Dare on their way south.”

  “Real nice fellas.”

  “Yes, real nice. The old man they tortured may not walk again.”

  “So how may I help?”

  “The only money they have to spend are gold Spanish coins. Rare, since they’re old coins. If your policemen will ask around if any was spent, I might get a lead on where they went.”

  “Heavens, Sheriff, they leave here, they could go anywhere.”

  “Call me Herschel. They’re rich enough. They’ll either go to Deadwood or Cheyenne, maybe on to Denver after that.”

  “Ya don’t know where they come from?”

  “No. I only learned their names a day ago.”

  “My name’s Taylor. If they’re such high rollers, maybe I could let you have Patrolman Hines take you around to see the finer ladies. They might have stopped and paid their respects in one of our parlors.”

  “If he has the time.”

  “No problem, Herschel. Hines always got time for that. Checking them out.”

  So when the patrolman came by, he showed Herschel to the better parlors. The first one they entered reeked of perfume and another odor that must have been from human bodies, though Herschel couldn’t be sure.

  Madam Blue came down to speak to them. She was covered with caked makeup and rouge, had too many rings and pieces of jewelry, and wore a silk dress that rustled when she walked.

  “Oh, Officer Hines, what brings you out?”

  “We’re looking for three men who may have passed through here with a pocketful of gold coins.”

  She threw a scarf around her neck and gave them a haughty look. “I should be so lucky. No men that I did not know have been in here in a week, and none who were here had gold in their pockets.”

  He tipped his hat to her and they left. The next stop was Madam DeGray’s establishment, and the girls all acted anxious to accommodate either or both of them. They moaned when Hines said they were there only on official business.

  The madam was younger than the last, with black hair and the dark eyes of a wolf, Herschel decided. She spoke in a smoky-sounding voice when Hines asked her about the men.

  “Nooo. They did not stop here, or I’d’ve had a necklace made of the coins and be wearing it. What about you, tall and silent? You can have any or all of them.” She indicated the half-dozen women seated on the couches. “Business is slow these days.”

  “We’re busy,” Hines said, and they left.

  “Helluva looker, that DeGray, ain’t she?” Hines asked when they were back out in the cold night air.

  “Yes, she was,” Herschel said, ma
king small talk. Damn, he was lucky to have Marsha and his life up there in Montana. Maybe he’d get lucky and find those three soon and get to go back home to her and their warm bed. None of these women appealed to him even for a minute.

  Two more houses of ill repute and they learned nothing. Back outside the last one, Hines shook his head. “I don’t think they were in any of them.”

  “I think you’re right. I appreciate your assistance. They had to come through here. They just didn’t stop for long, I guess.”

  “One more place they might have stopped is out on Goose Creek. Kate Devero’s.”

  “Who’s she?” Herschel asked.

  “Whore. Bootlegger. Horse thief. You name it. If they knew her or knew about her, they might have stopped out there and she put them up. Wouldn’t be the first or the last outlaws she’s hid out.”

  “I’ll go see this Kate in the morning.”

  “I warn you, Herschel, they ain’t nice folks. Go armed and with your pistol cocked.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Better yet, take some off-duty men with you. They won’t charge you much and then you’d have your backside covered.”

  “If you think I’m in for it, I’ll do that.”

  “She’s tough, and so are the hard cases hanging around out there.”

  At nine the next morning, the desk man, Taylor, and another patrolman named Fogarty were on horseback and packing double-barrel shot guns as they met him at the livery as arranged. Cob acted spooky the first quarter mile, breathing great vapor clouds out his nostrils, but never bucked.

  Kate’s place was a large low-walled cabin, with weather-darkened sheds and some corrals. There were no paint horses in the pens when they rode by them.

  Someone shouted, “Oh, gawdamn!”

  Everyone in his small posse turned in time to see a bareheaded man in boots and red underwear with the flap down take off running for the snowy Bighorns.

  “That’s Mike Powell!” Taylor said, standing up in the stirrups. “Get him.”

  Fogarty charged his horse after Powell to cut him off before he reached the box elder brush. The race was short and the policeman came back herding the fugitive, who was holding his hands on top of his head.