“Been out in that country afore?”
“Some.”
“Then you know there’s divides and valleys and gorges that lead nowheres.There’s still a few working miners’ camps and cabins hidden away behind hills and in gulches where you won’t never see them.And there’s outlaws out there that have nothing to do with the Wells Fargo gang.But whether you’re looking for them or not, they’ll still kill you on sight.”
“I know, Zeke.”
“And you still want to venture on alone?”
Caleb wasn’t about to share all he’d done in his life, where he’d gone with Jake and on his own afterward.He had no doubt he could tell Zeke stories that would rob him of sleep for many a night.Besides, it was better to make a man feel his worth rather than cut him down, especially when he was already feeling whipped.
“This is what we’ll do,” Caleb replied.“I’ll get a head start and take my time.Just scout around some.More than likely, I won’t hazard out too far beyond the pass.When you come back with help, we’ll join up.”
Zeke nodded and turned a sad eye on the dead men.“I’d surely like to get these fellas back to town.Wouldn’t feel right leaving them out here.”
Caleb agreed.“You’re going to need some horses to do that.Except for that sorrel, where are yours?”
Everett pointed up the trail.“They lit out quick, soon as we were off of them.They might be halfway to Canady by now.”
“Zeke, with the little light we got left,” Caleb suggested, “why don’t you take your rifle and try and find them?While you do that, I’ll go up to that ridge and see if they left anything behind.My guess is there are four more horses up there.”
As the miner turned and started along the trail, Caleb left his rifle with Everett and climbed the slope.When he reached the three men he’d shot, he gathered their weapons and gun belts and anything of value they had on them.
It wasn’t much, but there would be enough to pay for burying the two men in Zeke’s posse.These fellas up here would be lucky if Zeke and Everett conceded to piling some rocks on their miserable carcasses.
Following the path where the other two had skedaddled, Caleb soon reached another trail.Sure enough, those sorry blackguards had left four half-decent horses to the mercy of the wolves.Stringing them together, he led the mounts south until he reached the top of the bluff where he’d outmaneuvered both rogue and rattler.
As he climbed down from the lead horse, however, the hackles on his neck prickled and stood on end.Drawing a revolver, he scanned the surroundings.Dusk was quickly giving way to night.To the left of the trail, giant slabs of rock like the ones below formed jagged ledges and escarpments and rose steeply up the mountainside until they were lost in the gloom.Not thirty paces from him, an abandoned mine yawned in the hillside.
And his instincts told him there was someone in there.
Caleb moved quietly to one side of the opening, listening.There was indeed someone in there.Man and horse, he judged.
If this was one or both of those bushwhackers, they’d made another mistake by not hightailing it out there.He wasn’t going to give them any more chances to run, though.
He drew his other Colt and cocked the hammer.
“Whoever you are in there, come out now.And your hands better be high and empty.”
Silence answered him.
“Last chance.I ain’t telling you again.”
“I’m coming out,” an old voice called out.“I’m coming.It’s just me…Preacher.”
“Then you come ahead,” Caleb snapped.“But if you got so much as a prayer book in your hand, Preacher, a legion of angels won’t be no help to you.”
ChapterEighteen
The manthat emerged was a scrawny, hard-bitten creature, dressed all in black, from stovepipe hat to dusty boots.His clothes were ragged and so old, Caleb figured this preacher had to be an honest man.Or the worst sermonizer west of Jerusalem.
He was leading a broken-down mule that must have been old when Noah passed over him before the Flood.That beast was little more than a bag of bones and, coming out of the mine, the mule wore an expression of weary resignation as he eyed Caleb.But as soon as he saw the string of horses, the animal’s long ears pricked up, and he shot a look at them that was positively venomous.
The preacher was unarmed except for a five-shot Colt Baby Dragoon in a holster strapped to the mule.He had a long, drawn face as wrinkled and brown as an old, dried walnut.A gray moustache drooped around a frowning mouth and thin whiskers hung like a goat’s beard beneath his chin.His brown eyes were clear and alert.Like his mule, though, he wore a tired and stoic expression, and Caleb guessed the man had looked down the barrel of a gun more than a few times before.Even in the darkness, he looked to be the ugliest fella Caleb had ever run across.
“Mind if I lower my hands?”Preacher asked.“These old bones can’t take being raised for too long.”
Caleb nodded.“Just open that coat of yours.I don’t want to see you pull any weapons out of there.”
