Colorado Hope(11)
Paddling with useless arms, he managed to get his head above water and sucked in a desperate breath, but more water filled his mouth, and his vision failed. As he slipped down beneath the turbulent surface of the Poudre River, something smashed the back of his head, and he reached out in one last, weak attempt to grab something, anything.
His frozen hand hit a hard surface. He curled fingers, latching on to a rough object. He found a way to wrap his arm around what he guessed was a branch, wedging himself into the wooden arms of the tree. Then the world drained away.
Chapter 3
Lenora smacked the reins to get the horse to move faster, casting a grateful glance at the sky showing the tiny bit of blue breaking the clouds apart. She figured Clayton and Billy would have to hole up awhile somewhere. As masterful as Clayton was at sneaking and hiding, half of Denver City—and likely a good portion of Colorado Territory—would already be on the scout for the last two living members of the notorious Dutton Gang.
Lenora let out a little laugh as she wiggled her head from side to side and did what she could to re-tuck her errant strands of hair back under the combs. She regretted she hadn’t stayed a few minutes longer to watch her dearly beloved husband choke and squirm under the noose. It wouldn’t have delayed her much, and it would have given her a right nice feeling of satisfaction. But no matter. The deed was done, and dead was dead. She’d be mistreated by Hank Dutton no longer. And she had no doubt the posse would catch up with the two renegades before long.
The wagon she’d bought wasn’t all that awful, but already she had been racing north on the road from Denver City to Evans for a few hours, through deep puddles and soggy ground, and she longed to stop and stretch her weary bones. Out here, on the open range speckled with prickly pear cactus and tumbleweeds, the wind wailed, singing a song—one Lenora liked to imagine was an Indian victory dance. Her heartbeat sped up thinking about all those bars of gold. All hers!
She’d studied the maps carefully. She knew the best spot to cross the Platte. Even with this storm, the river would have sand bars that weren’t all that deep. She worried the wagon would get stuck, but she’d figure something out. She always did. She believed in serendipity.
A smile lifted her lips. That was a word her friend Dolly had taught her. It meant a kind of luck or good fortune in finding things. And she always found a way, by golly.
But right now, she wished she’d eaten something for breakfast. She was awfully hungry, and that meant a stop in Evans—the small town looming ahead of her a ways. She’d get some chow, maybe a whiskey—and one for the road. Then make it to Greeley and figure out how much time she had before she got to the Platte. If she could just get across and head east, she’d be in good shape. Wouldn’t dare try to head to the cabin, but if she camped close to the foothills, she could start fresh in the morning, and the horse would be more agreeable. Maybe hole up in Fort Collins, since it was the closest town to the stash of gold. Then wait until word got out about Clayton’s capture. How long could it take a posse to catch him and Billy?
Suddenly the wagon lurched to the side and wobbled violently. Lenora collected the reins and stopped the horse, letting out a string of curses and berating herself for not bringing an extra wheel with her. She jumped down, hoping it wasn’t broken but only loose. Surely she could find someone in Evans who could help her. She’d didn’t cotton the thought that she might have to spend the night there—she hadn’t much money on her. A chuckle popped out of her mouth. Well, that never posed a problem. Money was no farther than a sweet smile, a wink, and a few sappy words away.
The culprit was the rear right wheel. The thimble cap was missing, and she noted the linchpin that held the wheel onto the axle had sheared clean off. She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her forehead and eyes, which were fairly caked with a sheen of red dust. The wheel was resting at an angle, partway off. She had to figure something out, and didn’t want to try to elevate the wagon or get her hands and clothes full of tar from the lubricated joints.
Just my luck. She blew out a breath that lifted her bangs out of her eyes. If she had to walk into Evans looking this bedraggled, she’d only get pitiful looks. Although, maybe that would earn her some sympathy from a kindhearted cowboy.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Two horses, headed her way. She straightened and smoothed out her skirt and blouse, then tucked her hair back in place as best she could. If only she had a hand mirror. No matter. She would put on her “damsel in distress” act. That never failed to make them melt. Men just fell over themselves helping a helpless lady. And she figured whoever these two men were, racing down the road as if to beat the wind, they wouldn’t try anything untoward with her—not in daylight on the main road the stage traveled. A Concord coach had passed her not an hour ago, heading to Denver City.