“Sure do.Yesterday at dawn.Pa was fixing to shoe his regular mount, so Doc took the dun instead.”
“Was he alone?”
“No, sir.Rode out with a miner.”
“Know him?”
The boy shook his head.“Seen him before, but I don’t recall his name.He don’t bring his horse here when he comes to Elkhorn.He must do business with them fellas at the other end of town.”
Doc had been gone less than a day.
Riding out to some of the claims in the hills, seeing to a broken bone or a cut or whatever needing tending, and then riding back to Elkhorn could take at least a day.Caleb decided Miss Burnett was worrying for nothing.Hell, Doc could show up anytime.
Still…
Doc hadn’t mentioned his daughter might be coming out.
And that troubled Caleb more than he cared to admit.
The distant yipping of coyotes echoed through the hills above town, drawing his thoughts back to the immediate problem.
Sheriff Horner.
Three buildings farther down Main Street, lamplight spilled from the jailhouse windows.Caleb rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck.
“Fetch Horner,” he told Gabe.“I’ll wait here.”
The boy ran off obediently.
Caleb leaned one arm against Pirate’s saddle and surveyed Elkhorn, trying turn his mind to other things and not let his history with Elkhorn’s new sheriff further ruin what had already been a tough night.
The town was changing fast.
Stacks of fresh lumber glowed pale beneath the moonlight between the hardware store and butcher shop.New buildings were springing up faster than corn in June.Hotels.Gambling halls.Boardinghouses.
Civilization.
And civilization always came carrying trouble behind it.
Down the street, a handful of men were standing around jawing in front of the Belle Saloon.With the front doors wide open, he could see the whiskey and the brandy were flowing, the card tables were full, and the dice tables were crowded with miners falling over themselves looking for a reason to be back working their claims in the morning.He knew most of them would wake up with empty pockets, a pounding head, and a sick feeling that they’d surrendered the rewards of all their digging without so much as a fight.
With the silver mines producing nearly instant fortunes, the men working them were looking for any way they could find to blow off steam, as the riverboat fellas say.And there were people arriving in town on a daily basis.Bounty hunters, outlaws, traveling salesmen, and folks just looking for whatever job they could get their hands on.Between them and the miners and the wagons pushing west toward Mormon country and far off California, Elkhorn’s streets were constantly filled with the worn, the tired, and the hopeful.
Caleb’s gaze shifted toward a building across from the jail.It too had a smart, important-looking sign, illuminated by a flaring streetlamp in front.H.D.Patterson, Justice of the Peace, and below it in smaller letters,Land and Mine Sales, Side Door.Here, Judge Patterson’s clerks handled all of the local area’s legal business.
And this was where, four months ago, Caleb had bought his spread outside of town.
At the time, three miles outside town had seemed plenty far enough away from Elkhorn’s noise and ambition.
Now he wasn’t so certain.Already the town felt too close.Already he could feel change pressing outward into the valley.
He’d built the ranch searching for peace.Some days he almost believed he might actually find it there.
His attention drifted toward the dead rustlers tied across the saddles.He didn’t recognize any of them.Spring always brought drifters into the mountains—men too restless for honest work and too desperate to stay straight long.
Caleb lookedat the fellow who’d given him the letter.The one with the letter for his mother.
He’d need to come back into town to mail it when Red Annie O’Neal was due to come through.She was the only star route carrier for the postal service that he’d trust with a letter.He’d heard too many stories of mail and parcels getting lost with Wells Fargo and the other overland stagecoach lines.
