Colorado Hope(6)

At that moment, the boy from the livery rode up in her Schuttler & Studebaker spring wagon and jumped quickly down from the seat. He squatted alongside the wooden boardwalk, using the wagon for cover. More shots rang out in the air, and people screamed and ran as the bullets whined. Her horse reared up but didn’t break from his harness. If only she could see what was happening. But no doubt she’d find out soon enough.

Lenora slipped behind a few of the men who’d run out from the saloon to see the commotion.

“What’s happening?” one of them asked, his head darting from side to side, trying to make sense of the mayhem.

Lenora heard rather than saw more horses. This time they were racing down Blake Street, in front of the saloon. She counted the animals’ legs—what she could make out through the crowd now huddled around her. Five or six horses, she figured. Then she caught a glimpse of the men riding like the Devil was on their tail.

She gasped. Hank! Followed by Clayton and Billy. She cursed under her breath. With clenched fists, she watched as more horses galloped past, kicking up dirt and grit that mixed in with the pellets of rain whirling in the air. She wiped her face and covered her eyes until the sound of hooves petered out, and the crowd erupted in animated talk.

The boy came up to her. “Miss, here’s your wagon.” His eyes caught hers, and she shook her head to sort what he was saying.

“Oh, yes. Here’s somethin’ for your trouble.” She reached into her satchel and pressed a coin into his palm.

“Thank you, miss,” he said, wide-eyed and craning to see down the street, where the outlaws had made a run for it. “I wonder if the sheriff will catch ’em.”

She showed him a nervous smile. “I sure hope so. I’d hate to think of those horrid outlaws on the loose.”

A nicely dressed man that oozed money next to her gave her a look-see and gazed approvingly. She saw the longing in his eyes and smiled demurely, a smile full of innocence and tinged with the appropriate amount of fear. “Perhaps you could find out . . . if it’s safe for me to travel all alone . . . ?”

He gave a sweeping bow, removing his hat to reveal a large bald spot on the center of his head. Lenora hid a chuckle under her thick lashes. The moustache he sported must have borrowed all that hair from his scalp. “It would be my pleasure,” he told her, giving his facial hair a twirl before walking purposefully down the street. She really didn’t need his help, but she just couldn’t resist watching another slobbering fool rush off to do her bidding.

Lenora climbed up with as much ladylike grace as possible onto the seat of her wagon and picked up the reins. Before she’d even said “giddap,” she saw the sheriff and two deputies trotting back her way—with a man on horseback in tow.

She ducked her head under her shawl as Hank rode past, careful to not look up until they were long gone. She was glad she’d bought a new horse, for Hank would have surely recognized her piebald gelding. Not that he could do much about her being here.

She squelched the urge to ride over to the courthouse and watch the hanging—from the front row. Pictured giving Hank a sweet smile so he’d know just who put him in his predicament. But she didn’t want to take the chance that someone, somehow, would recognize her and connect her to the Dutton Gang. She’d never joined in on any of their robberies, but she knew she could be considered an accessory of some kind. She’d been treated like one—that was for sure—Hank’s accessory to wear on his arm and toss about when he lost interest. She knew he’d had other women on the side. He’d often come back to where they were laying low with his clothes reeking of another woman’s perfume.

Through the shouting, running crowd, she’d determined they’d only caught him. And from what she could tell from the loud exchanges around her, two of the Dutton Gang had somehow given the sheriff the slip. A group of concerned citizens was gathering on the steps of the courthouse, but Hank was being hauled over to the gallows.

“They’re not taking any more chances.” The man she’d sent to suss out news ran up breathlessly to her, his eyes shining with longing. She knew he was more interested in her and what she could offer him than what fate awaited Hank Dutton, bank robber.

Lenora gave him a coy smile and demurely fluttered her lashes. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

He pointed. “Look, they’re hanging him now, without any delay or last words.”

“Oh my,” she said breathlessly, imagining herself in the role of a helpless woman lost on the prairie. Her heart pounded hard, and she suppressed a cry of glee as she watched from the seat of her wagon as her husband, the long-sought-after brigand, was led up the pine-planked ramp to the gibbet sporting the waiting noose.