Utah Vengeance

Chapter thirteen "Utah Vengeance"

2009-04-19T05:14:00.001-07:00

There isn’t much light left to follow their trail, but I think we’ll find they’re on their way to the mine,” said Race. “But it’s a gamble.” Both men pondered awhile, deep in thought. Were they prepared to ride on mere hunches, or not. Jim seemed to read their minds and broke the silence.

“I´ll send half the riders back with the steers, the remainder will ride with us,” he remarked.

“No, don’t Jim. Don’t you see, the steers will then cover any tracks they have left,” Race quickly broke in.

Jim frowned, “All right, I´ll have all the boys search around the south west side of the ford.” He said before galloping away to pass on the necessary instructions.

Having eased the stiffness of their bodies, the men approached their horses which were grazing contentedly in the lush green grass, and mounted.

They well knew that the job that lay ahead of them would be long and arduous unless they found the tell tale tracks soon. It would be a race against time, only an hour of daylight until the sun descended in the west. The bowl was hot and dry; a vast expanse of poor sandy soil, on which the sagebrush and tumble weed managed to thrive, a narrow path of green cutting across it along the banks of the river.

A few willows, broke the dreary monotony of the terrain, bent and twisted over the steel gray waters of the river, their sprays gracefully dangling into the water. The bowl that held Ambler’s ford was rimmed by low rugged ridges of red sandstone with numerous outlets.

The horsemen fanned out around the arid bowl and started their relentless search, the majority, following up Harlem’s hunch that the owlhoots had headed for the gold mine, took the southwest sector, including Harker and the sheriff.

The riders walked their horses backwards and forward, their eyes to the ground, scanning every inch of sand, tumbleweed and sagebrush, until their eyes watered from strain. But still they carried on, the perimeter slowly becoming larger and more difficult to cover.

The shadows lengthened, the sagebrush now being indistinguishable from their shadows. It was hopeless to carry on the search so the riders were called in from their various sectors. The sun, now a glowing red sphere of light, rimmed the western ridges, against the looming black silhouettes of sandstone. A reddish hue gave the sand a welcoming warmth.

The sun sank lower casting the bowl into darkness as the last riders rode in and joined the outskirts of the assembled horsemen.

A short silence followed; the restless shuffling of horses hooves being the only movement, before the sheriff cleared his throat. “Wal, boys, guess there’s not much to say except thanks for all your help. I’m real sorry we came to a dead end,” he told them and sank back in his saddle waiting for someone to make a comment.

There was a creak of leather to his left and Harker told them, “There’s just one thing we overlooked - the river.” He paused waiting for his statement to sink in.. “We’ve searched and found no tracks but they could have taken the river bed. That means there are only two way out of the bowl, south west to the mine and north to the Wasatch mountains.” The men were tired and of low morale, he knew, having spent the day in their saddles without rest, but there was an urgency in his voice. He wanted to press on and see if his hunch played out. “I know you’ve had a pretty rough day,” he went on in a dry voice, his lips and throat parched, “but I want any volunteers to ride with me to the mine tonight. If my hunch is right, we’ll catch them by surprise,” he added.

“What if it don’t,” a raucous voice queried from somewhere in the darkness. Harker had counted on that, so he tactfully played his trump card. “Well,” he countered,” I figure that it would be far better to take a chance and raid the mine tonight, even though you’ve had a hard day. I´ll put it this way, the fall will soon be on us again and we may have to follow Kemp out north and be caught in the snow, whereas if we make the raid tonight it might be a showdown and save the hunt north.” He waited. There was an eerie silence whilst the men weighed up the options. Would they swallow the proposition? Then, one or two grunts of approval could be heard, followed by more.

Race smiled in the darkness, he had won them over to his reasoning. He thought for a moment before issuing his orders. “Right, I want five riders to accompany the sheriff and myself. Another score will ride with Corbin and tail us. If we are unlucky and they break, it’s your job to give chase and try to bring em in. Jim and I want you to remain at the ford with the remainder. You may have to make an early start. Jeff, you pick your men,” he said aside to Jeff Wilson. “Any questions boys?” he paused and on receiving no answer, rode over to Corbin. “Blue you and your boys come on in half an hour after we leave.”

The sheriff had selected the men who were to accompany them on the raid when Race reigned in alongside Jeff. “Okay, let’s go boys,” he said spurring his sorrel forward. The remainder followed behind in file as he weaved his way in and out of the sage brush following the nearby river by its gurgling water.

They left the bowl, camp fires burning around Ambler’s Ford where the remainder were settling down for the night, between two rocky butts and entered the flat plains. Some miles distant, a soft yellow light filtered out of some coarse cloth covering the window of a shack. It was to this light that the riders headed, the guiding star for Harlem’s mine. It became larger and larger as the riders pounded across the plains, the distance rapidly decreasing.

The plain gave way and the horses began to lag as they went for the slope. Dead branches snapped and crackled ominously as seven riders in the dead of the night walked their horses through the thinly spaced spruce, pine needles and branches forming a thin carpeting, a small oblique square of light, their only guide.

The leading rider signaled to them to halt, then dismounted hitching his sorrel to one of the tall majestic trees, its top towering above him in the musky darkness. The others followed suit, dismounting silently drawing their rifles from their scabbard and closing in around Harker. “I´ll go in first with Jeff. You keep out of sight and cover us right. If anyone tries to run, bring em down, and don’t forget, Harlem’s my bird,” he said grimly.

“Remember, just wing em, I want em alive for a hanging,” the sheriff interposed.

“Right, while you’re here check your arms and ammunition. This maybe the god dammed showdown,” he added drawing his Winchester from his saddle boot. The darkness was filled with the noise of chambers being spun.

“Sure thing. Guess there’ll be money to put on the wheel if we bring ‘em in,” another replied, chuckling at the thought of a reward. Owls hooted mournfully above them as the men crept forward and out into the open.

A soft breeze played on them, their hearts pounding furiously, bodies perspiring with tension, as they crept forward.

The mine was located in a large quarry, its entrance a narrow pass between two rocky hills. The only light visible was the one from a small aperture in the watchman’s timber shack. Its entrance was on the end overlooking the entrance, reached by a rickety staircase leading up to a narrow platform.

The group crouched by one of the corner piles and surveyed the mine. They could see through the two rocky hills and into the spacious but poorly illuminated quarry. Two mine entrances were just distinguishable at the rear, tracks emerging from their dark entrance where the ore was brought to the surface in trucks pulled by mules.

The foreground consisted of a few wooden shacks, built around the edge of the quarry which served as offices and stores. They were long low structures which had an appearance of being deserted. Race realized that Harlem and Kemp could well be holin’ up there, but where in heck were the horses? Nothing stirred, only the heavy breathing of the men beside him.

A large wooden structure had been erected in the center of the works with a water tank perched on its summit, reached by a rickety ladder. From the top of the rock face, a wooden causeway had been constructed with a sluice at the top. The causeway disappeared behind one of the long wooden buildings and reappeared to let the used water flow out between the two hills, and towards a small copse of pines.

Harker tapped two of the men on the shoulder and indicated they were to take cover in the pines. The other three he placed behind rocks in strategic points around the shack, constructed on the piles. They would cover the interior of the quarry whilst he tried the shack.

He and the sheriff moved forward and proceeded to mount the frail staircase as silently as possible. Every step they ascended resulted in a horrible creaking which seemed capable of waking the dead. They paused, waiting for their presence to be observed before continuing their nerve racking ascent.

Eventually the platform was reached and a silent sigh of relief was issued. Thin cracks of light appeared around the entrance and it was in this direction that Harker tiptoed, drawing his Colt from his holster and followed by the sheriff well in his rear.

Race booted the door in and neatly stepped aside and waited. Nothing happened so he stepped into the illuminated entrance his Colt fanning the two occupants who had quickly risen to their feet on his intrusion.

The room was large, poorly illuminated and had rough and crude furniture. A table stood in the middle, a pack of well thumbed playing cards and an oil lamp being the only articles on it. The two occupants were both armed and had both attempted to draw on the intruder, but seeing his deputies badges had let their arms slip to their sides.

“Where’s Harlem!” Harker snapped impatiently.

“He ain’t here mister “ the one who was grotesquely fat in the paunch spoke slowly and evenly, calculating every phrase. He was a big bull of a man, fair hair waved over his forehead and cow licked back. A scowl of anger was transfixed on his ruddy face. Race knew that this man was trying to hide something, but had not succeeded. His companion, a slightly smaller man, with a rabbit face was expressionless, his eyes vacantly staring in Harker’s direction. “I´ll give you to five to tell me where Harlem’s holin’ up, then I´ll start filling your belly with lead,” Race rapped out. “One, two……”

“Better tell him Ed,” the rabbit faced man advised, a worried look crossing his face, but his companion showed no signs of giving in, he was undaunted.

“Three…four…” the table flew over, the oil lamp falling to the floor, the spilt fuel burning furiously. The big man leapt into action, rounding the table in a few long strides catching Race momentarily off his guard. A powerful right knocked the Colt from his grasp. To retrieve it would have been hopeless, a left connected below his right eye, making his head swim.

He had been caught off balance and knew he would have to work fast or he was done for. The big man came in for a counter attack. Just in time, Race came to his senses and sidestepped the intended blow, which went wide off its mark. He threw his Winchester down and turned to meet the next onslaught.

The assailant had sufficiently recovered to lunge again, this time his large fist finding a home in Race’s belly with painful results. Harker sent out a quick short right, followed be a left both connecting on the miners jaws, cutting his lip.

The miner stepped back a few paces and grimaced before he lunged forward, head lowered. Already the flames were licking around the center of the room. Soon they would reach him so the fight had to end. His assailant lumbered on. He brought his right knee up into the man’s groin and followed through with a clean uppercut, sending the man staggering back.

He quickly followed on, pinning the miner to the wall, hammering away furiously at the belly and face, alternatively. Ed was too far gone to resist the mercifulness pounding and slumped to the floor.

Harker was dazed after his brief encounter and it took a few seconds before he grasped the situation. The flames were coming closer, Jeff had just slugged the rabbit faced man and was dragging his unconscious victim to the door. Race realized that two of his weapons had been lost in the fight and his eyes searched frantically over the rapidly burning floor. He saw them, the orange flame licking hungrily out to devour them.

He jumped forward, the heat of the raging inferno scorching his exposed skin. He retrieved the Colt and Winchester and stepped back just in time to see the floor collapse.

Now to find out what was going on, he thought, as he backed away from the inferno of burning timbers and collided with the wall. He picked up the dead weight of the man he had just hit and put him over his shoulder the weight forcing him to stoop. He followed Jeff down the frail staircase and dropped the unconscious miner a safe distance from the fire before he walked over to Jeff who was surveying the burning shack.

The last of the piles gave and the burning timbers plunged downward sending up a mass of sparks. Jeff turned his charcoal smeared face to Race and grinned.

Harlem must know of their presence by now, but why had he kept quiet? Perhaps he had not gone with Kemp after all and was trying to sneak out unobserved. Corbin’s riders should be arriving soon so he could take his men in now.

A few minutes later, seven shadowy forms crept forward from behind their cover. The shack had burnt itself out and only the glowing embers remained to tell the tale. Toward the quarry’s entrance the silent forms glided, pausing every once in a while to observe if their presence had been noticed.

On reaching the crest between the rocky hills, they rose and started to walk boldly into the midst of the quarry, their rifles and carbines held ready.

A fusillade of shots greeted them from one of the storerooms to their right, one man went down cold, the others hit the dirt and rolled behind what cover was available and then returned fire.

Gradually, the deputies wormed their way in a semi-circle around the long shack. It was going to be a long duel and would probably go on until daylight, Harker thought, unless they try and make a run for it. Both parties were stale mated. He looked around him, the rock face to his back, a water butt at his right elbow The water tower was silhouetted against the light sky and dark rock face. The water tower, that was it! A charge of dynamite would bring them out and it could be hurled from the tower with ease, but where could dynamite be found.

He called one of the men over and told him his idea. The man disappeared into the darkness only to return a few minutes later with a dozen sticks. Here we are, Harker, I´ll take two up with me he said, giving Jeff the remaining four.

The man departed and was swallowed up by the night. Race inclined his head in the direction of the tower and waited. The man’s form broke the skyline, he watched him climb to the top and pause to regain his breath. Harker wasn’t the only one to observe the deputy mount the tower. A single shot was fired from the direction of the store. The figure on the tower doubled up and fell off, hitting the dirt spread eagled.

Half an hour of silence lapsed then the shooting in earnest came from the owlhoot, fusillade after fusillade came from the direction of the store room. Flames stabbed the darkness from all directions as the rifles spat lead.

From the far end of the long building containing the store, a group of riders burst out and headed for the entrance followed by a few shots from the deputies. They had been cunning, letting a few of the gang draw the fire whilst the remainder made a run, Race thought, a smile flickering across his bruised and battered face as he thought of them riding straight into Corbin’s hands.

He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had failed to observe a figure stealthily slip out from the back of the building and head for the causeway. On reaching it, the figure proceeded to climb silently.

Fire resounded from further down the valley as the owlhoots meet with Corbin. The quarry was silent apart from the occasional probing slug.

A rattling of a stone running down the causeway made Race spin around. He saw a figure three quarters of the way up scrambling to reach the top. He could just make out who it was by the weak illumination of a nearby oil lamp. Now he knew his uncle; the silhouette of his shape was unmistakable, even in this light. He was trying to sneak out unscathed.

Race quickly grasped the situation, his brain pounded furiously like a mill stamp, his body tensed, he was serving no purpose here.. He could afford to go after Harlem.

He dropped his Winchester where he stood and zigzagged his way to the bottom of the causeway. Far above him he saw Harlem struggling painfully upwards. To fire from here would be ridiculous because the target was too far away in this light. There was only one thing to do, he decided to go after him.

Race jumped into the V shaped channel and commenced to climb the steep ascent. After the first few yards it steepened and the going began tougher, his shirt clung like a leech to his torso and the rough wood cut cruelly into his hands.

He had covered half the way now, having rapidly gained on the figure in front who had succeeded in reaching the top without mishap. The slivers of pine wood dug fiercely into his hardened palms, his arms were numb with pain. He pulled himself a few feet further up with difficulty, his feet felt as thought they were a sack of lead, his arms jerked out of their sockets as he slipped backwards.

No wonder he had gained on Harlem, he thought, as he grimly dragged himself gritting his teeth. He glanced up to see if he had been observed. Too late for surprise now. Harlem had swung round and had seen his nephew struggling up the causeway. He stood there, silhouetted and laughed harshly, his voice echoing in the night air. Race gritted his teeth and wondered what the next move would be, he was helpless were he was.

“Just like your old man, stubborn, and you’ll pay for it just as he did.” he mocked. “ I wanted a share in the mine but he refused so I had him killed,” he shouted and bent down to the sluice gate.

Any minute now the waters would be rushing towards him. He must act now. Clutching the side with all his might, he drew his Colt from its holster and took deliberate aim. He applied the pressure, gently squeezing the trigger, the anger releasing itself with every miniscule movement of the second finger: “for my pa and for Elaine,” he muttered as the muzzle belched orange flame, the acrid smell entered his nostrils.

Harlem jerked up, pulling the sluice gate up with him before falling over the edge of the cliff allowing the gate to fall back into place. Race had no time to see where he had fallen, the water was rushing towards him. With split second timing, he eluded the oncoming danger, swinging over the dies as the fast flowing water thundered down the causeway.

How long he hung there, his arms and body numbed to the bone, listening to the swirling waters he did not know. At last, the rushing water ceased and he half pulled, half dragged himself onto the wet planks of the boards. Thank God the sluice gate had fallen back into position.

He slowly wormed his way to the ground where he stood rubbing his numbed body, setting the blood in circulation around his veins again. With long drawn footsteps he approached the base of the cliff. Joe Harlem lay there, spread-eagled, his body mangled into an unrecognizable heap of flesh, blood and bone. He must have hit the rock face to get in that state Race decided. Around the distorted body, the ground was ironically littered with nuggets, a symbol of this man’s greed.

Jeff Wilson silently approached Race from the rear and patted him gently on the shoulder “Let’s go home, son.”

The news had spread like wild fire and the whole town had turned out to see the return of the posse. There were wild cheers of exuberance as the procession entered the town, the prisoners dejectedly riding in the center,

Ann feared to go into the main street least she should find her fiancée missing. So she stood silently at the picket fence, her face white and drawn with anxiety.

A golden sorrel walked towards her and she looked for Race, but the rider was a stranger. The horseman dismounted in the center of the wide street and walked slowly towards her.

He was dirty, his chaps torn and stained. His flannel shirt hung from his back covered in black soot, the face a mixture of matted blood and charcoal burns. Then he spoke. “We got ourselves a gold mine now darling, and she knew it was Race.

She rushed across the intervening space and threw her arms around him. “I knew you’d come back to me,” she sobbed. He tilted her head up and bent down to her lips. They met, their love flowing into one another.

“Will you marry me Ann,” Race asked, holding her close.

“Need you ask, my love,” she replied.

And so it was that on Saturday in June that Ann Wilson was lawfully wedded to Race Harker. It was a happy and festive event, for all the townsfolk turned out to see the sheriff’s daughter get wed. They gave them a heart warming send off at the railroad station, for the newlyweds were going to Kansas City for their honeymoon. A short, well deserved break, before coming back to settle down in Provo to make it their permanent home for themselves and for the large family they were planning for the future.

Kemp was not among the prisoners taken and nor was his body ever found....

Previous Chapter

Chapter twelve "The showdown"

2009-04-13T08:41:00.000-07:00

The posse entered the town in veritable military fashion. As always, the streets were full of people going about their daily business, only today there was a difference, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation and tension.

They riders passed the low, white picket fences surrounding the wealthier section of the communities homes. Jeff noticed a sorrel, already saddled, a Winchester protruding from the saddle boot, tied outside his home as he passed by. Race had lost no time in spreading the word, he thought, appreciatively.

At the street intersection, the riders parted for their respective homes, the sheriff turning left towards the large brick building which housed the bank. Here, a small crowd lingered on the boardwalk, anxious to find out more news about the robbery and, more exactly, what had happened to their hard-earned money.

Jeff swung out of the saddle and led his horse to the tie rail where he secured it, ducking under the rail. He entered the building and sought the manager who recounted the past events as best he could. Did he know or recognize any of the men? Jeff asked. No, they were all masked. After a few more routine questions, the sheriff left, none the wiser.

Leaving his sorrel outside, Race hurried down the gravel path to the house. The hall was empty when he went for his rolled up gun belt hanging from a peg. He unrolled it and checked the two Colts and the spare cartridges in his belt before slapping it around his waist and clasping the buckle.

He turned and made for the door, when the curtains on his left parted revealing Ann, her face tear-stained. He gave her an apologetic smile. The last thing he had wanted was to see Ann before he left on his mission.

Race placed his hand, comforting her, on her shoulder and led her into the room where he turned and faced her. She looked up to him and he returned the gaze into her eyes, now blurred with tears. “I’ve got to go through with it darling,” he said gravely. She sobbed and threw herself helplessly into his comforting arms. “Wait for Dad to come, Race,” she cried flinging her arms around him. He freed himself and took her to the sofa where he sat down beside her and recounted what had happened that morning in Harlem’s Saloon.

Having told Ann the whole story, he gave her the documents he had found for safe keeping whilst he was away.

“Come back soon my darling,” she whispered and bent forward to kiss him. Their lips met and they were so engrossed that they didn’t notice Jeff Wilson gently open the door, before tactfully withdrawing with a smile.

By this time, the posse had assembled at the street intersection outside the office. The sheriff emerged, and noted with satisfaction that no one had dropped out, before he mounted and gave them the signal to move off.

They headed out of town to the West, having learnt from some of the onlookers that that was the direction the raiders had taken two hours back. As they rode along, Race explained to the sheriff what he had seen and learnt of Joe Harlem.

“My uncle has left town, that’s certain, and my guess is that he’s now joined up with Kemp. He’s a coward and wants protection. It’s my hunch that his greed might get the better of him and they may head toward his mine to grab what he can before hightailin’ it out of the territory as I’ve heard there’s a lot of ore awaiting shipment,” Race explained.

“We’ll soon know,” Jeff replied grimly as they followed the tracks on the dusty trail. Soon the last of the shacks on the west side of the town was left behind, and only the open trail lay in front of them.

The posse climbed the hill at an easy lope and thundered down the other side, leaving the town far behind. They crossed the parallel lines of shining steel just as the newly painted green and red locomotive rounded a rocky buff.

By now, the grass was giving away to the characteristic sage and the terrain became increasingly rugged. The trail climbed, twisted and turned through the sage brush and outcrops of boulders.

The horse flanks began to steam and sweat, beads of perspiration flowed down the men’s torso’s. soaking their clothing, as they rode on in the heat of the scorching sun. Men uttered coarse oaths but still, the sheriff urged them on.

They would make a halt at Ambler’s ford a mile on to water their mounts, he had told them. The riders rounded a low rocky hill and before them lay the ford which meant water and a rest with a bit of luck, that is, if the Sheriff did not push them to the limit.

But something was different here! They were amazed to see the usually deserted ford full of cattle grazing on the lush ground bordering the river, but nowhere were there riders to be seen.

The posse took the slope down towards the ford in their stride and reined their mounts a few yards from the steers which were bearing their way to the water. Harker who had been riding with the posse brought his horse up alongside the sheriff and swung out of the saddle. He quickly crossed to the nearest white face steer, who looked up and then resumed grazing contentedly. He examined its flank and looked up.

“It’s a Winterton steer.”

“Just as I figured,” the sheriff replied, tipping his Stetson to the back of his head and wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead with a neckerchief.

Hooves echoed down the further reaches of the river and all eyes turned in that direction. The small cloud rapidly increased in size until the posse could disconcert some of the advancing riders, Corbin, Badger, Winterton and a dozen other riders. Drawing nearer the posse, Corbin held his hand up to stop the cowpunchers while he rode with Jim across to the sheriff.

Jeff Wilson gave them a wry grin as the reigned in beside him. “Wal, guess my hunch proved right, eh Blue?”

“Yeah, guess so, Jeff. Looks like they drove the cattle here to cover their tracks for a few more hours,” Corbin grimaced.

“It’s Race’s hunch that they’ll head towards Harlem’s mine,” Wilson paused awhile, letting the last phrase sink in. Both looked amazed and Jim questioned quizzically “Why Harlem’s of all places? Surely they’ll head towards the mountains?”

“An unexpected incident occurred back at town, while we were up at your place, Jim. Besides the robbery, Joe Harlem left town in a hurry. I´ll explain later, but its Race’s hunch that they’ll head for his gold mine first,” Jeff told them. “I´ll let Race tell you his reasons.” So saying, he rode off to the men behind him who he ordered to dismount and lead their horses further down the river to water them.

“Joe Harlem is my uncle,” Race continued by way of explanation. “He was responsible for my father’s death because he wanted to inherit the gold mine, so its my hunch that he’ll try to grab what he can before hightailin’ it out of here. The steers would have fulfilled their purpose in fooling the posse because, as you can observe, it is already near dusk and the trail will be hard to pick up until daylight. I calculate that will give them a ten or twelve hour advantage over us.”

Previous chapter

Chapter eleven "the rustlers"

2009-04-05T04:50:00.000-07:00

Harlem’s saloon catered for patrons from all walks of life so no one would be surprised to see a fugitive figure stealthily creep along the side alley of the saloon. Carefully, he entered through a side door, looking up and down the length of the dim alleyway to ensure that no one had observed him before entering and climbing up the dingy staircase. Even though he was a fugitive, no one had put a name to his face to date.

A gentle knock at the side door of his spacious room brought Joe Harlem from his book. Must be Kemp he thought as he placed his reading glasses carefully into their case. Only Kemp would use that entrance at this time of night. “Come in,” he thundered. He was still the same man, but a lot thinner, having been holed up during the fall Joe thought with amusement as he gave his henchman a once over before speaking. There were dark patches beneath his eyes and a dark stubble had now replaced his usually clean shaven face. “Bad sign, that shows signs of laziness, I must reprimand him.” he thought with a frown.

“You sent for me boss?” Kemp said, advancing upon the oak desk.

“Yeah, sit down Jesse. Got some business that might interest you and the boys. Interested?” Joe questioned, picking a choice Cheroot from its box and fumbling with it between his fingers.

“Sure I’m interested. Spill.” Kemp pulled up an easy chair, plucked himself a Cheroot and deftly nipped the end off before placing it between his cracked lips.

“Light?” Joe’s podgy hand indicated a box of lights on the desk. Kemp took one and struck the sulfur head on the seat of his pants, holding the light for a second before placing it at the tip of his Cheroot and seating himself in an easy chair.

“Heard of Jim Winterton, Jesse?,” Harlem barked.

“Sure, who hasn’t. Big cattleman south of town,” Kemp replied..

“Yeah, that’s right. Wal I gotta a plan, which means that you’re going to rob the bank here in the near future.”

“And how does this fellow Winterton fit in?”

“I was figurin’ on you not having enough brains to see how he fits in,” Joe replied with a sigh. He withdrew a large scale map from a drawer which he unfolded and placed on the desk. “Winterton is going to help us steal his own money. We’re going to rustle some of his steers.”

”But boss, yuh sure that’s a good idea? No where we could sell em boss, border’s too far away.”

“God knows why I pay you, you brainless creature,” Joe sneered. “By rustling his steers it will draw the law out of town while we rob the bank. Now look at this map.” Joe ordered. Kemp rose in obedience and casually walked around behind the desk.

“See this point here, there’s a river ford. The cattle will serve a two fold purpose. Besides drawing the Law while we rob the bank, they will cover our tracks.”

“Say that’s a great idea, boss,” Kemp offered letting a thin coil of smoke lazily drift skywards. “Go on.”

“I´ll have a few cowhands rustle the cattle and take them to this ford, whilst your boys stick up the bank. Then when you’ve done the job, head for the ford. If a posse does follow you, the cattle should hold them up which is long enough for you to hightail it up the Wasatch range where I´ll send for you. That clear?”

“. . . as crystal, boss. But when will I know when to ride into town?” Kemp asked as he stubbed out his Cheroot butt viciously on the ornate ash tray.

“I´ll send Eddie for you.”

“Fine.” Jesse said. Then, looking him straight in the eye, he drew his Colt from his holster and pointed the barrel at Joe. “You wouldn’t double-cross an old pal Joe, would yuh? It would be convenient to dispose of me now that I have done all your dirty work . After all, you’ve got the mine and the saloon.”

“Course not, Jesse,” the older man said gruffly. “You and I go way back, no point in spoiling a good relationship, now is there?”

At the other end of town, flames spat from a long blue barreled pistol and punctured the old tin can perched on one of the fencing poles. “Nice shooting Jim,” Race offered as Winterton blew the smoke from his barrel before replacing it in its holster.

“Your turn now. Let’s see how our lawman used his rods.” Jim said good naturedly, slapping him on the back. Race turned from his companion and walked a few paces, his hand hovering over the pearl handled butts at either side. Then he turned to confront the tin which was perched precariously on the pole. With lightening speed, he cross drew and sent streaming lead into the can which fell and was pitched around the dirt by the tirade of flying lead. Just as swiftly as it had started, the tirade ended. Race checked to ensure there were no live rounds left in the cylinder before calmly replacing the rods in their holsters.

Winterton tipped his wide brimmed hat and mopped his head with a yellow kerchief. “Wouldn’t like to challenge you to a draw,” he remarked sincerely walking across to where the tin lay. He picked it up and brought the punctured can back to where Race was silently standing. “Some shooting!” he observed respectfully “I thinks that’s enough for today, I can’t beat that. Come on back and have some of Hanna’s chow” he said tossing the punctured can away.

They walked across to their horses and mounted turning their horses homeward and then proceeded at an easy pace.

“When you two gettin’ hitched?,” interrupted Jim.

“Who to?” inquired Race, knowing full well what the other man meant.

“To Ann, of course, who else? You old devil! Anyone can see how attracted you two are to each other.“ His face creased into its usual friendly smile.

Race grunted. “Yeah, well it’s not that simple Jim,” he turned towards the other man. “It’s not that I don’t have feelings for her, you know that…”: His voice trailed off as he fell behind slightly.

“Well anyone can see that!” said Jim. “So what’s the trouble, Race? Is it chasing Kemp that’s bugging you?”

“Not only that Jim,” answered Race sincerely. “But there’s another little question nagging me and I just have to have it answered before I decide on any date.” He smiled hesitatingly. “But you can be sure that when the day is announced you’ll be right there on the wedding list!”

It was still the month of August, some five days later when only the occasional mournful cry of a coyote broke the stillness of the air, as five shadowy riders rode south towards the Winterton range. There was little conversation to be heard as they proceeded on their way, suspiciously attentive at all times.

It was not long before the group halted, thin strands of wire barring further progress. This was the northern boundary of the Winterton range. The wire, however, was no obstacle to these men; they were prepared for such a hindrance, indeed had expected it. A shadowy figure silently slipped from his saddle and crossed to the wires.

He withdrew a pair of wire cutters from the back pocket of his pants and then proceeded to cut the strand. Another rider had ridden a hundred yards further up and was doing likewise. Their job completed, they remounted and joined the rest of the group.

After a hurried conversation in low tones, the riders silently dispersed along the stream across the section of the fence that had been cut. They spaced themselves evenly out and looped their lariats over the posts. At a prearranged signal, the riders walked their horses forward. The rope jerked tight on the saddle horn as the rope was pulled taut. There were creaking sounds as the rope pulled against the leather and the well sunk poles moved in their sockets. Finally, the fence gave way and the hundred yard strip was hauled clear.

The riders quickly unleashed their lariats from the poles and returned them to their saddles before assembling once more. Next, the silent group reassembled and rode through the fence into Winterton’s territory.

After half an hour’s ride, the mysterious group of horsemen halted once again and held another hurried conversation, after which three of the riders disappeared into the gloom. Soon the pounding of hooves reached the two stationary riders ears as a thousand heads approached them.

White faces loomed up in the darkness like ghosts, as the steers rumbled in front of them heading towards the gap. The two riders joined in behind the cattle alongside one of the rustlers.

“How did it go Jake?” he asked the rustler beside him.

“Dead smooth, Eddie, no cowpunchers watching ‘em,” the rustler replied grinning to himself in the darkness, as he thought how easy things had worked out.

The cattle and the riders passed through the broken fence and on towards Ambler’s Ford where they would leave the steers and return to the mine. Ten dollars for the night’s work was pretty good pay for a miner.

A Winterton rider spurred his horse through the main street in Provo spurring his horse on with loud shouts which could be heard the town over. Heads turned and windows and doors were opened to spy who was making such a racket. A few people recognized the rider as being from Winterton’s ranch and expressed their surprise; the Winterton riders were always orderly when they came into town. Jim Winterton had seen to it with his strict ruling which all his riders respected, so the galloping rider was an unusual sight. In Provo. It was no wonder those on the boardwalk had stopped in their tracks to stare at the disheveled rider now reining in at the sheriff’s office.

Blue Corbin, Sheriff Wilson and another deputy were the sole occupants of the office when the Winterton rider rushed in breathlessly with the news that a thousand head of cattle had been rustled.

Blue Corbin sat up in his chair in amazement, his makings falling to the floor. “What?” he uttered and started from his seat. Jeff Wilson wasted no time and strode quickly over to a peg where his gun belt was hanging and buckled it around his waist. “Blue, Ron, get as many deputies as you can. We’re ridin’ out to the Winterton place right away. Meet me outside, mounted and ready to move off,” he ordered and then made an exit through the rear door which led straight to the stables.

Twenty minutes later, some fifteen riders were assembled in the street junction of Provo, waiting for the sheriff to appear. The office door opened and Wilson came onto the boardwalk followed by the cowpuncher who had brought the news. Already, crowds were beginning to form in the streets and boardwalks regarding the scene with interest and curiosity. As the sheriff came out, all eyes turned on him as he addressed the townspeople.

“Men, we cannot lose time, so I´ll be brief and to the point. Last night some Winterton steers were rustled. I believe it was Kemp’s outfit who was responsible. Where we find the cattle will be the thieves who did it, and we can be rid of the scum once and for all.” He made his speech dramatically and all those around cheered vigorously and enthusiastically.

A few minutes later, the posse was thundering down towards the railroad led by the sheriff and Corbin.

Only one sole customer was to be found in the saloon, that was the owner himself, Joe Harlem. He was standing by the open window watching the dust fly as some fifteen men galloped down the high street. Now was the time that his master plan was to be put into action. Now to find Eddie.

On the outskirts of the town, hidden from view behind a copse of trees eight riders patiently waited and rested their horses. They were rough in appearance, rugged and obviously hardened to an outdoor life. The sounds of an approaching rider caused each of them to tense themselves in their saddles and then relax again when they recognized the cowboy as Eddie, one of Harlem’s chief henchmen.

Eddie rode up to Kemp and whispered a few words to him before wheeling his mount and riding back the direction he had come. All in all it had lasted a few seconds. Kemp scowled and turned his horse to confront the other riders.

“The boss has sent word that we’re to go in now. All of yuh know what yuh gotta do. I don’t want any mistakes. If you’re cut off, head to the Wasatch Range, and make sure you’re not tailed. Right, let’s hit the dirt,” he ordered, his eyes lighting up at the thought of action as he pulled his bandanna over the lower portion of his face. The others did the same and followed him onto the trail.

And so it was that eight riders, strangers to the townsfolk by sight but known very well on Wanted notices, rode into town on a balmy August morning. They were roughly clad in worn looking clothes Their headwear was pulled low over their eyes as they trotted down towards the bank, making it difficult for anyone to observe that they were masked. Nobody on the boardwalk bothered to look at the riders closely, thinking that they were merely some cowpunchers who had come to town with their bandanas tight around their mouths to keep the dust out. Within a few minutes they had passed the Harlem’s Saloon and arrived at the bank unheeded.

It was there that the first alarm was raised, as three of the riders dismounted. A young lady emerging from the glass paneled outer swing door of the bank halted and opened her mouth to scream. But before she could do so, one of the men roughly thrust her inside, drawing his pistol threateningly. Two other people quickly emerged to see what was going on and were similarly roughly hustled around to the side of the building.

“Right, all of you against the wall and keep your hands where I can see them if you don’t want an premature trip six foot under,” his voice commanded as he fanned his blue barreled Colts over them“ Come on, make it snappy. Now who’s in charge here?” A long uncomfortable silence followed. One of the masked men became plainly nervous and blurted out to the clerks and patrons who were standing motionless in fright against the wall.

“Talk you little bastards or I´ll have to try a little persuasion one at a time,” he leered. The three bandits knew they had little time in which to carry out their business transaction at the bank, but the gamble worked.

One of the clerks, dressed in a tight fitting black suit, a pair of wire rimmed spectacles adorning his narrow withered face, stepped forward.

“Now bring out what you’ve got,” the original speaker ordered. A shot rang outside, the clerk hesitated. “Move, god dammit, move!” the bandit shouted, thrusting his pistol into the man’s back. Time was getting short and a little urging was required. Meanwhile, the others searched the occupants for firearms and then, failing to find any, they ransacked the room until they found four firearms hidden behind a desk.

With shaking hands, the clerk knelt down and fingered the combination until the safe door swung open. He looked up with fear in his eyes waiting for the next order. A pair of saddle bags were thrown to him and the bandit motioned him to fill them .

The bags filled, Kemp bent down and grabbed a handful of greenbacks and thrust them into his hip pocket. “Just for luck ,” he said backing out of the safe room. “Right boys, bring the other bastards here and we’ll lock ‘em up.“

Race, Corbin and Ann were just on the outskirts of the town on their way to Jim’s ranch when the shot rang out. Race had decided that he was going to see Elaine that evening and, if necessary, confess everything to Ann. His hand instinctively darted towards his gun belt and his jaw muscles tightened. He had promised Ann that, when they did get married he would hang up his belt once for all but this was different. He knew that everyone had rode out of town and that if there was trouble, he would have to see to it. He looked at her pleadingly.

“Did you father go to Jim’s as well?” he asked hastily, not having seen him that morning.

“Yes, I think so, darling. Why?” she gently replied allowing her arm to slip around his waist to steady him.

“Go home Ann and wait for me. I’m going into town.,” Race replied. She watched him hurriedly walk towards the center, breaking into a run at times, before gathering up her skirts and walking across the street to her parent’s house. His sense of urgency unsettled her and she could do with her mother’s advice.

Joe Harlem was still watching by the open window. So far, so good, everything was going according to plan. These men were a major source of income for him, twenty percent of all their takings was the rule. He observed three of them dismount and enter the bank and the remainder fan out and cover the street. Great work! Kemp may not be too bright when it came to common sense, but when it came to any kind of criminal activity, he needed little prompting, he thought with a smile. He watched as one of the men on the boardwalk slyly drew a pistol from his holster and aimed it at the leader of the bandits. But, alas, he was not quick enough. As Kemp’s colt blazed away the man slumped to the boardwalk, riddled with lead. “Pity to have to announce their presence so soon,” Joe thought.

He was so engrossed with watching the proceedings of the hold up that he failed to hear Elaine quietly enter the bar and come up behind him. His gaze was riveted to what was happening on the street and, suddenly, an all too familiar figure turned the corner running towards the bank. It was Race Harker coming to investigate, thought Joe. What an ideal chance to eliminate that troublemaker once and for all, he decided. It would be so easy. His mind began to coolly calculate the advancing figure’s death.

No one would suspect him, the respectable Joe Harlem, never. He could never shoot a man in cold blood, people would say. And now he was about to do it! He shuddered with anticipation. Race’s death would be blamed on the hold up man, the good townsfolk would swear. “Now I must open the window,” he thought out loud. “If it is shattered, it will send me to the rope for sure.” So saying, he moved and lifted the window and was greeted with a blast of cool air.

From inside his jacket, he drew a small revolver and checked its contents before bringing it to aim onto the figure down below. This was the moment he had been waiting for and now he was about to fulfill his desire and get rid of Harker once and for all. Harper was just about within range and in his younger days he had been a marksman.

Elaine had remained quiet all this time, but finally she plucked up courage and spoke up. “Joe, I have to speak to you…,” she paused as he swung around with a start.

“What the hell are you doing here, Elaine,” he shouted angrily.

“Why? What are you doing, Joe?” she asked innocently, her hand resting on her pregnant stomach as she felt a slight stirring within.

Harlem, believing she had seen his intentions swung around on her, the 38 was aimed at her heart and his finger gently applied the necessary pressure on the trigger.

From below, the town heard another shot ring out, this time it was slightly muffled, probably fired within a building. Race’s mind worked fast, it came from directly in front of him, Harlem’s Saloon. He looked up above the billboard and saw an open window, the man within it holding a smoking pistol.

He ran past the office, vaulted the hitching rail and climbed across the street, passing through the swing door like a mustang. The lobby was crossed in a few strides and he bounded up the stairs three at a time. He paused on the top to orientate himself and then ran along a corridor leading to the front of the building before opening a solid oak door at the end.

The sight that greeted him was predictably bloody. The room was neat and orderly, but his eyes rested on the contorted figure stretched across the thick carpet. Elaine lay there, crumpled up seemingly lifeless, her black hair lay in wisps over her face, her clothes disheveled from her fall. The man he had seen at the window had obviously left.

Recovering from his immediate shock, Race walked over and knelt down beside her. He placed his arms around her waist to carry her to his sofa, then that was when he felt it, warm and sticky around his fingers. He looked down and saw the blood welling out between his fingers.

He placed her, as comfortably as possible under the circumstances, on the sofa. She was still alive, fighting for her breath and looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “Race,” she said feebly. “Race, you must know the truth,” her voice started to fade.

Race leaned forward and cradled her in his arms. “The baby - it’s Joe’s, Race. But I loved you, only you.” She was slipping away. Race darted across to the window and shouted to the crowd around the bank to get a doctor right away. Then he gently tore away the fabric which covered the wound.

Her eyes opened again and a faint smile flickered over her face when she saw Race. “The ironic thing is that it was Joe who shot me. He killed his baby - and I think he was going to shoot you. There are some documents in his desk. Look at them, it’s important. He was looking at them, just before… ” Her head slumped to one side and her breath came in short gasps. Race gently stroked her forehead. There was little he could do now except wait for the doctor to arrive.

The desk seemed to contain very little of interest, mainly bills for the purchase of liquor. But he kept looking and eventually kicked open a locked drawer where he found some extremely interesting documents; documents which told a life story.

He laid them out neatly in front of him, before sitting down and studying them in detail. The first was a will which was signed in the name of Jefferson Reginald Harker, leaving his money and possessions, including a gold mine outside Provo, to John Harlem Harker, his father. It was dated 5^th October 1853. A further form showed that Joe Harker would receive one thousand dollars from his brother in the event of his father’s death. The third document attracted Race’s immediate attention as he scanned it. Here was the motive for his father’s death. In the event of the inheritor being deceased, the money and the possessions would go to the other brother Joe.

The remaining contents of the drawers were a few newspaper clippings from the .Sioux City journal and a ledger in the name of Joe Harker. On inspection, it showed that considerable sums of money had been paid out to Kemp.

Everything was crystal clear now. Joe Harker had taken his middle name and was in fact his uncle! Clearly, he would gain nothing from his father’s will unless his brother was deceased. The chronological events of the clippings indicated that his father had been murdered and the old man had died on hearing the news. The bank ledger pointed out that Kemp was hired to assassinate his father, the dates entered being around the date of his murder. Here was enough evidence to convict his uncle but he would never stand trial. Race Harker had crossed the four states to avenge his father’s murder and now he had the killer pinned.

He thrust the incriminating documents into his pocket, took one last look around the room with a grimace and then left, leaving the oak door ajar. He met the doctor at the head of the staircase and paused long enough to indicate to him where Elaine was, there he was nothing he could do for her now, before descending to the hotel lobby which was beginning to fill up with curious townsfolk.

A lone rider appeared on the crest of the hill above Sheriff Wilson and his deputies who were examining the stretch of fence at the bottom which had been roped off the previous evening. The rider hailed the small group of lawmen and cowpunchers assembled below: As he approached, his Stetson trailed behind him, held loosely by the chin strap wound around his neck.

On reaching the group of riders, he breathlessly recounted the morning’s event, namely that the bank had been held up by eight masked men who had ridden into town just after the posse had left.

“I might have known it,” he murmured audibly and then said aloud in a grave tone. “I reckon this was a put up job. The men that stuck up the bank this morning had arranged to have some of the Winterton steers rustled to draw us away from town while they went about their work and got clean away with their takings. Well, I’ll be doggoned.” He slapped his leather chaps and sat deep in thought for a minute.

“Blue, keep Tom Badger and ride with Jim. Deputize as many of his riders as you want and start trailin’ them steers. I’ll take the remainder of the posse on back to town and try and pick up the trail there. I’ve got a hunch that both trails are going to meet. Anyway, you and Jim go after those steers,” he said, wheeling his horse away from the group.

“Come on you boys, let’s head for town,” he yelled, spurring his horse forward into a gallop.

The other riders followed, leaving Blue, Tom Badger, Jim Winterton and a few of his riders behind them. The posse led by Sheriff Wilson thundered across the sun parched terrain, clods of earth loosened by the horses’ hooves whirling skywards behind them. They joined the trail just before it left the Winterton range.

Yellow powder dust formed a cloud in their wake as the distance decreased rapidly. Men drew their neckerchiefs over the lower portions of their faces as they thundered along the parched yellow wheel rutted trail, to prevent the fine grit entering their mouths and nostrils.

It was greed or jealousy that drove the riders on with such urgency, because it was their money that had been stolen and, whatever it took, they were going to get it back. The trail dipped down and ran along a stream bottom for a mile, passing through a group of cotton woods. It was here that the trail forked, the riders taking the left hand one which climbed a long slope.

On reaching the crest, the sheriff reigned his horse. Below them in the large basin lay Provo, a mile distance away along the trail.

“When you get back, go to your homes and get provisions up for a long ride and then assemble outside my office. Anyone who doesn’t want to ride with us can drop out now, but if Kemp’s outfit pulled this job, it will be a showdown for him.” Jeff reminded them.

Meanwhile, the doctor had not left Elaine’s side as she struggled continually to draw a breath growing weaker by the moment.

It was the just two hours later when Elaine slipped into a coma. There was nothing he could do to save her now, the doctor thought sadly as he held her hand gently and felt the pulse become fainter and fainter until it disappeared altogether.

Previous chapter

Chapter ten "Recovery & Romance"

2009-03-29T05:23:00.002-07:00

A week passed and the hours of daylight shortening as the fall approached. To the southeast of Provo an immense cloud of dust rose like a soft wool blanket, heralding the arrival of Winterton’s steers which were making their final lap of the drove from Texas. During the previous week, very little had been seen of him in town, not a marked absence because, although he was known by name, very few people knew his face. At least, not yet….

Meanwhile, Race Harker was rapidly recovering from his wound and beginning to resemble his old self again. The doctor remarked how pleased he was and how his recovery was nothing short of a miracle. Secretly, he thought he knew the reason. Ann Wilson only left Race’s side when a buggy ride into town was absolutely essential. Otherwise, she was at his bedside in constant vigil. When Race was not sleeping, there seemed to be plenty to converse about. The young couple exchanged stories about their past and that of Race’s unsuccessful mission. Ann had decided long ago that her mother had been right and that Race’s relationship with Elaine was unimportant and should be forgotten. She had managed to avoid meeting the other woman when she went into Provo and that was the way she intended the situation to stay. Only once did she hesitatingly gently pry into Race’s experience with womenfolk, prior to their meeting.

“Has there been anyone else, Race? Before you met me, I mean.”

Race paused for a moment, his expression was calm and compassionate and he reached out and stroked her hair gently before answering.

“It wouldn’t be right of me to say that there had been no other women Ann,” he answered gazing straight into her eyes. “But what can I tell you quite honestly and from the heart is that there have been no other women that meant as much to me as you do …”. He was sitting up in bed, propped up my several pillows and he pulled Ann towards him, hugging her tight. With tears pricking her eyes, she returned the embrace and nothing more was said on the subject.

On several occasions, Deputy Corbin had paid the invalid a visit, each time expressing his best wishes. On one occasion, the Texan went along as well and paid his respects, bringing Race all the latest news. The two men were of roughly the same age and they shared a mutual respect.

Life in Provo soon slipped back to normal. And there was no more real excitement.. Kemp and his owlhoots were forgotten, at least by everyone except Race, and reduced to a mere dossier filed in a large green colored metal cabinet in the sheriff’s office.

The days grew shorter, the nights longer, and then the fall started in earnest with the traditional downpour. The dusty cart rutted streets turned into thick oozing mud along which the wagons slowly ploughed their way through, leaving two deeply ridged troughs behind which were sluggishly covered by mud.. The rain beat down relentlessly and few people ventured out, except to procure the necessary articles for survival.

The smaller saloons had to board up through lack of patrons, but four or five of the larger ones, including Harlem’s, opened their doors to all. A nip of whiskey to cheer you up quickly became their unofficial slogan.

But there was something distinctly different about the familiar saloon, something which most of the local men noticed within a few short weeks, days even. Elaine had gone, disappeared seemingly without a trace and there was another girl called Lucy with flaming red hair and a toothy smile who had replaced the sultry raven haired dancer.

The bartender was evasive when questioned, only saying that “something had happened and she had to leave town for a while.”

“Is she coming back?” asked Jake who had always enjoyed Elaine’s company and had known her since they were both teenagers.

“I can’t say for sure, but I reckon so,” he would reply. “She’s troubled by something, Jake, that’s why she had to go.”

Meanwhile, the railroad had its share of trouble too, bridges were washed away by the raging torrents of swollen rivers and streams and telegraphs were snapped in two by the avalanches. It was a regular sight to see the green and red locomotive pull out with broken down cars behind, manned by a team of volunteers en route to the latest disaster scene. Although the folk from Provo were used to bad weather, they had seldom experienced quite such severe conditions.

Out at Jim’s ranch, the Winterton steers had been rounded up and driven to the west side of the range to shelter in the creeks and hollows; characteristic terrain for that part.

Gradually, with the coming of Christmas, the weather became less volatile and more settled with white flakes of snow gently fluttered down from the skies. But then the snow became heavier and, on Christmas Eve, there were great snow drifts against the walls of the buildings. Cattle and horse alike perished in the snow, frozen to death. Freight wagons were almost at a standstill; those that did venture out were unlikely to return. It was greed for money that made men gamble their lives with nature. It was a common sight to see a wagon master, haggard and drawn stagger into town, half starved and frozen, bringing the tale of how his oxen and wagon had got stuck in a drift. In a case like that, when the snows finally melted, someone would have to go out and bury the oxen and, if the timber was not rotten, the wagon would be hauled back.

Railroad schedules were haywire, locomotive would arrive hours or sometimes days late when the snow ploughs refused to clear the worst drifts that spread across the steel rails stretching across Kansas and Utah.

The visits by Corbin and Winterton to the Wilson household became less frequent as the snow deepened and occasional blizzards swept across the territory. On Christmas morning, the family, beckoned by the pealing of the bells, had taken out the pony and chaise and driven along the hard packed snow and ice to the church. The solemn service over, they wished their friends a merry Christmas and departed to the warmth of their home.

Ann adjourned to her room to change whilst her mother supervised the preparations of the meal. All Jeff Wilson was interested in was a tumbler of whiskey to “take the chill off my bones dear” (which is what he told his wife, somewhat ruefully when she caught him in the act of removing the whiskey bottle from the cabinet).

The stuffed turkey lay on the large oval dish, swimming in hot fat. It glistened in the light of the candle light. Jeff gently poised the sharp blade of the carving knife and cut decisively into the flesh. Mouths were watering in anticipation. Race was dressed in a silk dressing gown, Ann in a cherry pink party dress. Her eyes bore a childish excited look. Potatoes and vegetables were generously placed beside the turkey and soon disappeared. The meal was eaten with relish, the group conversing little while they concentrated on their food.

An hour later the same dishes lay empty in the kitchen sink waiting to be washed. The household sat in front of the roaring open hearth fire recounting tales of Christmases past.

In the Harlem Saloon Christmas was being celebrated with a suitably boisterous spirit. Joe Harlem was there playing poker with four other men and a few of the younger cowboys had decided to celebrate the festive season with a drink - or three!

At about 3 p.m. in the afternoon, all eyes turned to the large swing doors and there was an audible gasp heard from the corner of the room. Elaine, clearly heavily pregnant walked slowly towards the bar, her chin held high.

“I’ve returned to have my baby,” she announced softly before slowly climbing the stairs leaving a stunned audience below. Within a few hours, the word had spread around the small town like wildfire with the same question on everyone’s lips. “Who could the father be?” and “What would happen to their popular dancing girl now she had a baby?”

Blue Corbin heard the news the next day. “Well, I hope whoever he is, he comes forward and helps that poor girl,” he said to Sheriff Wilson. “This town is a small place and I bet a few folk here know the truth.”

With the onset of a new life came the welcome signs of spring. Gradually, the snow melted, leaving everything with a grimy coating of slush and mud. But then there was everyone’s favorite season with all its beauty and splendor. The fresh green grass began to emerge with their dewy blades glistening in the early morning sunlight, trees blossomed with shiny fresh green leaves. The general spirit was carefree and vibrant as people emerged from their houses after the long winter and socialized once again, enjoying the gentle rays of the sun. As always, the arrival of spring had pumped new life to everyone.

Race Harker was particularly affected by the change of season as by then he had completely recovered, with all that remained being to build up his strength outdoors. He must get back in the saddle, the doctor urged. He should start riding again, short distances at first, in order to regain his confidence and build up his muscles. Race was relieved to note that his coordination between mind and body was back to normal, a pretty important factor when it came to using firearms.

The first place he decided he should visit was Provo, he longed to have a quiet drink with his pals at the Harlem Saloon and he felt a tug at his conscious that just wouldn’t abate. He knew that he simply had to see Elaine again and explain to her what the situation was between Ann and himself.

And, so it was that Race Harker emerged from his cocoon one spring day and saddled up Papoose for the short ride to town. There was a crisp cool breeze and he inhaled deeply; it felt so good to be in the open air again after so many long months cooped up in a house.

“Howdy there Sam,” he called out as he pushed open the doors and strode confidently towards the bar.

“Welcome stranger!” Sam replied warmly.

“Is Elaine here?” Race asked taking a long draw from his whiskey.

“I just so reckon she is,” the bartender replied. “And by the look of her, she’ll be right glad to see you and that’s for sure!”

The comment was lost on Race who was nervously wondering how best to break the news to Elaine. Just then, all such thoughts went straight out of his head as he heard someone approach and turned towards the stairs.

Elaine was walking descending, looking at her feet and holding on to the banister for balance. Race felt his face go hot and it took all his concentration to prevent his jaw from dropping.

“Howdy Race,” was all she said. “Glad to see you up and about again.” She looked down at her bulging stomach with a rueful expression. “I guess I won’t be out and about too much from now on.” She looked up at Race and for a few seconds no words passed between them.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Elaine, have you got married? Who’s the father?” he blurted out.

“No, Race, why should I get married when I have found the man I love,” Elaine answered softly. Sam was busy washing glasses behind the bar but heard her comment and whistled under his breath. He knew about Race and the sheriff’s daughter. “This fella sure can’t seem to keep outa trouble,” he muttered, drying a glass roughly with a red checkered cloth.

“Now come on here Elaine,” Race said a trifle roughly. “How am I supposed to know that that is my baby?” Try as he may he couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering to her prominent bulge.

Elaine didn’t reply but merely raised her eyebrows and turned on her heel. As she started to mount the stairs, she turned towards him. “I thought you were a man to stand up and face your responsibilities, Race. I guess I was wrong…”.

After she had disappeared from sight, Race ordered another whiskey which was unusual for him, and downed it quickly before returning to the Wilson household. For the next 24 hours his mind was in turmoil as he tried to decide what to tell Ann. The problem was that he just couldn’t be sure. And yet, there was no reason for Elaine to lie. After all he had only been temporarily smitten and he imagined that she felt the same way.

Just a short day later, he accompanied Ann on a riding trip out to the Winterton ranch. She was mounted on a small strawberry roan seated side-saddle and wearing a striking black riding habit. He looked at her as she trotted ahead of him, her hair bobbing along with the motion of the horse’s hooves. “How can I destroy everything we have?” he wondered. Recollecting only too vividly Ann’s gentle inquiry into the former loves of his life and how he had answered so definitely. How could she ever trust him again if she discovered he had fathered a child with a woman he had told her he cared nothing for. But still he stayed silent, his mind a jumble of tangled questions and thoughts.

They started the marshaling yards and rounded a group of cottonwoods where they joined the trail. The pace was an easy lope, the dust rising in their rear. A wooden sign stuck out at a jaunty angle from an outcrop of rock indicated the Corbin homestead which gradually grew faint as they set off on the narrow dusty track.

The terrain seemed to quickly transform into rolling grassland as the young couple grew closer to the Winterton range. White faced steers grazed contentedly on either side of the trail where the grass grew in abundance and friendly cowpunchers watching over the cattle waved their hands in salutation.

Ann and Race rode towards the ranch, while far below them lay the house and out buildings which were reached by the dusty yellow trail which zigzagged down into the valley. The long low ranch house with exaggerated eaves was separated from the bunkhouse, barns and corrals by a small group of cottonwoods which bordered the banks of a shallow stream.

The odd cowpuncher could be observed lounging around the chuck house watching for his chow. It was nearing midday.

The two riders silhouetted on the rise, spurred their horses down into the valley along the stream and past the cottonwoods until they reined in front of the ranch house. Here, they dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching rail before walking towards the steps.

Jim Winterton’s lithe frame rose from an old frontier chair in the shade of the verandah where he had been seated watching the pair approach. His face creased into a big grin exposing gleaming white teeth as he descended to meet them.

“About time you put in an appearance Race,” he grinned. “Been waiting all Fall to see you,” he added jokingly as he shook hands with Harker.

“It’s good to see you again Jim. I know we’ve kinda met but when I was in my sick bed it seemed like I slept through all my visitors and, until now, I guess I’ve never been fit enough to come over and see you. But I think Blue’s kinda filled me in.”

“Don’t wanna believe all that Blue said, that’s if its him that’s been telling you ‘bout me. He exaggerates things,” the Texan replied with a drawl, before inclining his head respectfully towards Ann who had just dismounted and was leading her horse towards the stables at the side of the main ranch house. Race followed suit and then the trio walked slowly up the steps across the verandah and entered the wide entrance into the house and into a large spacious living room.

“Still, it sure is a pity that you didn’t prepare me of your visit, Miss Wilson,” he told Ann, a note of concern in his voice. “Otherwise I could have had a meal laid on. Still I guess Hanna will fix you up with something.” He added politely as Ann protested, urging him to go to no trouble on their account. He waved aside her objections and called out for his cook. A few seconds later a plump negress appeared through a curtained doorway at the far end of the room.

“Yes Mister Jeff?” she boomed.

“Got a couple more guests for lunch. Do you think you could fix something up for us, Hanna ?” Winterton asked.

“Yes, suh.” The dark figure disappeared behind the curtains and later re-appeared carrying a tray of home made stew and crusty bread.

“How did the Fall affect the steers,” questioned Race, tucking heartily into his meal. He was relieved to have regained his appetite again and was now concentrating one hundred percent on what Jim had to say. It was the first time in two days that he hadn’t felt plagued with guilt and worry. If only he could confide in someone but, there again, who would sympathize with a man who had deserted a woman about to bear him a child and who was living a lie with the woman he truly loved. For a second, his mind wandered before being jerked back as Jeff continued to converse in earnest.

“I lost a lot, but I figured on losing more than I did, so I suppose I can’t grumble really,” he commented as Hanna cleared the empty dishes away. “Should be all right next Fall, though. Figure the steers that are left will be acclimatized by then, “ he added.

“Sure hope you’re right Jim, “ replied Race gravely. “Could you stand another loss?”

“Nope, I sure couldn’t,” he replied gravely. “Well I suppose you two would like to have a look at my outfit?” he asked, rising to his feet. “’F'raid I can’t accompany you, got a lot of paper work to catch up on.”

“Sure, I know how it is ,” replied Race as he rose.

“Well, be sure to pay me another visit. Sometime when I’m not so bust.” Jim said as he accompanied his guests to their horses.

On leaving the ranch building, they headed west along the course of the stream to its source at an easy lope. After a couple of miles, the ground began to rise steadily and they eased their mounts to a steady trot. The stream passed through a wood of dense spruce so the riders had to make a wide detour. At one point they were faced with a steep rocky cliff and a narrow grassy track zigzagged upwards. There was clearly no other route to go.

It was up this track, running across the rocky face, that the Race and Ann walked their horses in silence. The track showed no signs of recent use, the moist moss strewn with small rocks was undisturbed.

On reaching the top, they found themselves confronted by an enormous panorama, the horizon on all boundaries stretching at least fifty miles into the distance The sun was still high and a heat haze shimmered enticingly over the land. Behind them, four miles to the east, they could just make out the ranch. Race dismounted and walked around his sorrel to Ann’s side and offered his arms. She smiled and placed her fingers upon his shoulders whilst his hand slipped around her waist. Gently, he lifted her from the saddle to the ground. For a moment she stood quite still and looked into his eyes with a slight frown before turning away. Race stepped after her and placed his hand on her left arm, then withdrew it, a worried and frustrated look crossing his face.

“What is it Ann? God damit, what have I done darling?” he said, clenching and releasing his fists nervously. Suddenly, he was panic stricken. She must have found out and now it was too late for any kind of explanations.

“Look out there,” she pointed into the far distance. “There stretched out before us is land,” she choked, turning so that he could see the small droplets forming down her cheek. “Race darling, there is land out there - land for us! Let’s go away and get married,” she pleaded, tugging at his arm. “Forget all about Kemp.” She sobbed.

Silently, he opened his arms and she came to him. He felt her hair tickling against his face as she rested her face on his chest and sobbed without restraint.

“Don’t you know how much I want that as much as you?” he told her falteringly. “But it’s not just Kemp darling, there is something else that I’ve been keeping from you.”

She pulled away from him and looked up at his worried face with a frown. “What Race? What do you mean, there’s something else? I don’t understand.” Suddenly she felt a surge of panic rise from deep inside her. But something made Race stop. After all, he couldn’t be sure. He would speak to Elaine again, that very week, he decided and if he was convinced that he was really the father of the child, then he would tell Ann the truth.

“I’m just teasing!” he told her unconvincingly. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry to play games with you, Ann, it’s cruel. Come on now, darling, pull yourself together. Dry up those tears and show me the land which we’re going to live,” he said lightly, his hand lying on her shoulder, caressing her hair. She looked up into his face, her eyes questioning, but remaining silent and, instead, she turned and led him to the other side of the small hillock.

The ground sloped away beneath them, bare soil strewn with boulders eroded by many rains. Nestled away in a quarry on the top of a mining quarry could be seen while, further below a river stretched along the valley like a broad silvered ribbon. Along its banks, the skyline was thick with pine trees. The grating sound of machinery echoed across the valley.

“That’s Joe Harlem’s gold mine,” Ann said, wiping the tears from her eyes and visibly brightening up. “Used to belong to some man from the east; an officer in

the cavalry, I’ve heard. Anyway, Harlem came here just after the war and took over.” Race’s arms curved round her waist as her arm swept along a cart rutted trail which headed north east into Provo,

“Jim’s range ends here,” she said as they walked back to their mounts which were grazing contentedly. “The rift is his western boundary.”

Ann halted, freed herself and turned to Race,” And when’s the date Mr Harker ?” she said teasingly.

“Soon, I hope.” He responded in earnest, deep down his thoughts were churning with feelings of guilt and concern. Just a few more days and he would know the truth, he convinced himself. Until then I will try and make Ann the happiest woman in this whole universe!

“I’m going to kiss you, Miss Wilson - or should I say, Mrs Harker?” Race took a step forward. Giggling Ann turned and, gathering up her shirt, she began to run awkwardly along the ridge, then she slipped. Race bent down beside her and lifted her face from the ground. She smiled, her delicate fingers creeping around his neck, gently pulling him closer. He momentarily tensed, then relaxed and let himself be pulled down to the woman he loved. He met her moist and trembling lips and there they lay until the neighing of his sorrel brought them back to reality. By the time they had arrived back in Provo, it was dusk.

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Chapter ten "Recovery & Romance"

2009-03-29T05:23:00.001-07:00