Outlaw Hearts(92)

***

April 1867

The smell of spring was pungent in the mountain air, and Bill Kennedy wondered how soon it would be safe to travel on to Nevada. The cold and snowstorms had lasted into April, and they were all anxious now to be on their way. He stepped off the porch of the small cabin he and his men had taken over since the owner, an old trapper, had died, and he thought how good the air smelled compared to the stink of eight men sleeping practically on top of each other inside. At least most of the time two or three of them were gone, sleeping with the few whores in the little town of Bear River, women who by now were beginning to look pretty ugly.

Word was a transcontinental railroad would be coming through here in a couple more years. That was hard to believe, but if it was true, the town was sure to grow. Trouble was, with a railroad, more people would come, meaning more lawyers and judges and civilization and lawmen and all the things that would give them trouble. They had come out here to be free to do whatever the hell they wanted and live off what they could take from others. In little towns like this, he and his men could rule like kings. All winter they had eaten and drunk and slept for nothing, holed up here while they waited for the vicious Rocky Mountain winter to end so they could go on to Nevada. There wasn’t one person in this town brave enough or skilled enough to stop them from whatever they wanted to do, and he figured that before they left, they would clean out the town and take as much food and money as they could get off the “generous” citizens of Bear River.

He stretched, then scratched at his beard. There had been no reason to shave while they were here, and he supposed he could use one now, maybe a bath too. As soon as the danger of avalanches was past, they would be on their way. He’d been told there was also the danger of spring flooding, small streams turning into rushing torrents in minutes. It was a chance they would have to take. The longer they waited, the more risk they took that Jake Harkner would leave Virginia City. Once he did, he’d be harder to find.

He thought about the wide-eyed soldier back at Fort Laramie who had cried, begging Juan not to slit his throat when Juan and the others had got the young man alone and forced him to tell them what he knew about the destination of Jake and Miranda Turner. They had inquired when first arriving at the fort, but the commander had refused to give them the information. Kennedy had not bothered to tell the man who Jake really was, but later that night he and Juan and the others had caught a young private alone and forced the information out of him. He figured that soldier had never told his commander how he had been threatened. After all, Juan had described to the young private just exactly what he would do with his knife when he came back for him if they discovered soldiers were on their tail.

Now they at least had a definite destination. If the woman’s brother was in Virginia City, it was likely she and Jake would settle there. Hell, there must be plenty for a man to do in a place like that if he knew how to use his weapons.

“Do we go soon, patrón?”

Kennedy turned to see Juan standing behind him, looking uglier than ever from having just awakened. He turned back around to study the foreboding mountains ahead. “Yeah. Soon. Six months in this dead little town is too much for any man.”

“Sí. It is time for some action.” Juan fingered the handle of his knife. He never slept without it. All winter he had only used it to clean animals, each time imagining it was Jake Harkner or the man’s wife at his mercy.

“You’ll get your action, soon as we find Jake,” Kennedy told him. “Some old scout offered his services last night to ride out and check the trails, see if maybe we can get started. I expect he volunteered only because the people in this town are anxious for us to leave.” He chuckled. “Chickenshit bastards. We’ll go, all right, but not before we clean them all out good. I just hope that scout says we can ride. I don’t want ol’ Jake to get away from me. If he slips through our fingers this time, we might never find him.”

***

Jake charged up to the boardinghouse on Outlaw, jumping off the horse before it even came to a complete halt. He whirled the reins around a hitching post and rushed inside, not bothering to clean off his wet boots this time. He trooped down the hallway, a man who just didn’t quite seem to fit in the tidy home with its lace and knickknacks and flowered wallpaper and plants. His canvas duster brushed against a fern as he hurried into his and Miranda’s room to see the doctor bent over his wife, taking her pulse. Mrs. Anderson was gently washing perspiration from Miranda’s forehead.

“Randy!” Jake threw off his duster and moved closer. Mrs. Anderson moved out of the way, and he looked down at Miranda’s pale face. He put his hand to her cheek, and in spite of the perspiration that showed in her hair and on her neck, she felt cold. It startled him so that he drew his hand away. “What’s happened?” He looked at the doctor.