Chapter 3
Galen made camp a day's ride from Pine Ridge, in a small clearing under a cluster of cottonwoods. A decent sized river wound its way past the clearing, affording another nice wash before hitting town. Stanley grazed by the river in his loose hobble, also happy with the wipe down Galen had given him after their dusty ride back to the other body.
He felt checking to see if there was anything else he might learn before hitting Pine Ridge might be helpful. It wasn't wasted. Preston, the name the dying cowboy had gasped, turned out to be a Dieter Preston, whose name appeared on the top of some of the damaged and bloody pages, showing names and amounts. He leaned back against his saddle, with a fresh coffee, and read Caleb's letter to Lois.
My deerest Lois
I'm a few days yet from Pine Ridge but I wanted you to no soon I will have our meens to make purchase of the land we want and start our new life together. It has not been a easy jerny, I saw many old graves of pianir folk that never saw thare dreams.
Keep yore heart for me and wach when I come home. I love you my deerest.
Love Cable
"So you were going to Pine Ridge to cash that bank draft." Galen said aloud to the piece of paper. He dug it out of his bag and studied it again. It had been issued by a bank in Chicago for repayment in Pine Ridge. Seems a funny place to have to go. And he wondered just where Lois Connor was. Stanley made some noise and Galen rose quickly, one hand on his gun butt.
"What's the matter, boy? He walked to where the horse was nibbling on scrub, patting his flank, and gazing around. Stanley seemed unconcerned, and Galen felt it was just a dust snort from grazing.
To be sure, he found a sturdy oak tree that was suitable for climbing, and worked his way up to where he could have a good look around. Nothing caught his eye, just more grassland, hills and random trees. As he started down, he saw a momentary glint in the sun off to the north - the direction he was travelling - and he settled on a branch, focused on the spot he thought it came from.
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Rance Cadey tipped the canteen up and swallowed gratefully. Setting up his ambush site, while in a perfect spot, was unprotected from the sun that was driving his thirst. He spotted the man earlier in the day, determining his destination, and set up, ready to follow Preston's orders.
He lifted the small eyeglass and studied the terrain once more, cursing slightly when he saw nothing. He's coming, I know it, and when he does, I'll knock him clean out of his saddle. Rance lay back and took another long swallow.
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There it was. The glint of sun off something that wasn't natural. Galen wondered about the third man and whether this might be a trap, waiting to bushwhack him. He dropped down out of the tree and gathered his stuff, saddling Stanley and scattering his campsite.
"Seems we might be getting more adventure before we reach Pine Ridge, Boy." He swung up into the saddle and head north - right at the glint in the sun.
Galen saw it twice more, and right after the second time, he turned east at a full gallop toward the hills.
Rance grinned and checked his rifle. Another swallow of water, and he aimed his eyeglass at the trail - nothing. He moved it around, sitting even higher than before. Still nothing.
"What the devil?" He moved almost all the way into the open, making a full sweep of the southern approach. "Where the hell did you go?" He stopped talking aloud and ducked back into his hide, frowning, and fretting about the turn of events.
Galen reigned in where he felt the sound of his horse might draw attention if he went any further. He grabbed his rifle and, giving Stanley a pat on the nose, began a slow trot up the side of the hill overlooking the trail. He tried to picture where he thought he saw the flash of light and scampered carefully over the rough landscape.
Lying still and examining the terrain below him, Galen wondered if he'd made a mistake. Maybe it was nothing. An animal, or a bird, that disturbed something, but he didn't believe it. It was too regular and too often. He crept a little further over the top and froze. Fifty feet below him, to the left, a man with a rifle was scanning the trail south. That was the flash he saw, an eyeglass. Galen smiled.
The report of a rifle and the ricochet off the rocks close by, had Rance bouncing up and yelling. He swung around and fell, slipping on some loose shale. Another shot exploded in the ground beside him, followed by Galen's warning to shed the rifle and his gun belt. Rance lay rigid on the ground, frantically trying to locate the shooter. Another shot, closer, and he shouted a loud, okay, tossing his rifle off to one side.
"And the gun belt." The words echoed around the hills, and Rance stood shakily, shedding his belt and raising his hands.
"Now walk down to the trail and find a comfortable place to lie down. Don't be lookin' back either, less you want a third eye."
Galen climbed down to where Rance had been hiding, poked through his stuff, then gathered the rifle and gun belt and joined the prone captive.
"What are you called, bushwhacker?" He toed Rance in the side.
"None of yer business."
"Funny name. Okay, let's shorten that to Nobby. Get up and tell me where your horse is."
Rance stood, glowering as he brushed dirt off his shirt.
"Horse, Nobby. Now." The rifle came up level with Rance's face.
Several minutes later, Galen was riding the horse, towing Rance behind on a long rope. and when he got back to where Stanley was waiting, he tied Rance over the saddle like a body, mounted Stanley, and continued on to Pine ridge.
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Compared to Bedford Creek, Pine ridge was like Galen imagined the big eastern cities to be like. Not just a main street, but lots of streets, and some lit with oil lamps. The buildings were sturdy, and some even brick. He'd seen big towns before, but this was probably the biggest yet. Riding slowly down the centre of the wide street, Galen forgot about his baggage, until a burly man with a large moustache and a star on his vest, blocked his way.
"Want to tell me what you have there, Mister?" The voice was deep and rough.
"Feller, name of Rance Cadey, was fixin' to bushwhack me. Didn't work out for him."
The sheriff walked around to the second horse and stopped in surprise. "He's alive!"
"Yup, buried enough people recently, figured this one might provide me with some answers."
"Think you better come over to the jail with me . . . Mr . . .?"
"Helliwell. Galen Helliwell."
There was a slight gasp from the gathered crowd, and Galen smiled ruefully as he climbed down and followed the sheriff.
"Jonas, put this feller in a cell and take care of these horses," the sheriff ordered, glancing at Galen for approval, then leading the way into the jail office.
"Coffee ain't too old if you want some." The sheriff went to a file cabinet and started going through papers.
"Thanks, sounds good." He poured a mug and sat in a chair by the door facing the cells.
The sheriff slammed the cabinet shut and sat at his desk, spreading a piece of paper in front of him.
"Tell me about this bushwhacker."
Galen started way back with finding Caleb, going to Bedford Creek, the trouble with the three men, and finally Rance Cadey.
"You figure this is all connected?"
"Them papers I found sure connect the first three to the hangin'. This feller here," he nodded toward the cells, "not sure, but seems reasonable to me."
"Well, I got no paper on him. Don't mean there ain't some somewhere. What do you want to do about him?"
"Thought I'd look around town a bit - if you could keep him here a spell. If nothin' comes up, I'll take his horse and rig as payment for what he done, and let it go at that."
The sheriff frowned. "Guess I could see that work. A mite generous though, considerin'." He looked down at the paper on his desk. "Speakin' of considerin'--"
"If that's about Millersville, I can save you the trouble. It's me." Galen sipped the coffee, watching the sheriff's face work.
"Well it don't say wanted, and there ain't no reward - it's just an alert about a jailbreak. Care to explain?"
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