Dead Before Sundown

“You’ve lost quite a bit of blood, and the shock of being hit by that bullet has knocked you for a loop. But I reckon you’ll be all right. I’ll clean the wound and bandage it up, and you’ll be fine.”

As long as he didn’t get blood poisoning and fester to death, Palmer thought. He didn’t mention that possibility. All he could do was patch up the wound the best he could.

“Fine … hell,” Lundy said. “We’re out here … set afoot … and our gold’s … gone.”

“Yeah, but as long as we’re alive, we’ve still got a chance of finding the sons of bitches who stole it and getting it back,” Palmer said. “And that’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”

Reb Russell’s horse was a big, good-looking sorrel, and he rode well, not surprising since he had won saddle- bronc-riding competitions. At least, according to Reb, he had won those contests. They had no way of knowing if that was actually true, Frank mused as he rode along with the others, heading east toward the edge of the mountains.

They rode four abreast, with him and Salty on the ends and Meg and Reb in the middle. Meg seemed quite interested in what Reb had to say and prompted him to talk more about his rodeo experiences.

As it happened, Frank had been down in Pecos, Texas, a number of years earlier when the first official rodeo had taken place there. It had been quite a spectacle, with cowboys riding in from ranches all over West Texas to test their skills against each other. The contests were the same sort of things they did in their everyday work— roping, riding, throwing steers so they could be branded—but when you added spectators and an air of competition, it became something quite different from a chore.

The practice had spread, and now there were rodeos all over the place, some fancy and some just simple get- togethers. But Reb Russell evidently made a practice of traveling from one to the next, earning his living from the prize money he won rather than working as a regular hand on any of the ranches.

Something about that didn’t seem right to Frank. He had a hunch that Russell could have been a top hand if he’d wanted to, only the young man didn’t have any appetite for that much hard work.

But how Reb Russell lived his life was none of his business, Frank reminded himself.

Reb changed the subject from himself by asking, “Those fellas who had the Gatling gun, you didn’t get a good look at them?”

Frank shook his head. “No, we were too busy ducking all those bullets that were flying around.”

“And there was a whole heap of ‘em,” Salty added. “I never heard so many shots so close together.”

“Yeah, a Gatling gun’ll spit out a lot of bullets in a hurry,” Reb agreed. “Or at least that’s what I’ve heard. I never actually saw one of the contraptions until today.”

“You probably saw the men who had it better than we did,” Frank said. “You were up on the rimrock taking potshots at the ones trying to shoot it at the canyon.”

Reb shrugged. “Just looked like reg’lar hardcases to me. Well, except for an hombre who was wearin’ one of those eastern dude hats.”

“Dude hats?” Frank repeated.

“Yeah, you know.” Reb made a circular motion over his head. “One of those derbies.”

“Palmer,” Salty said with an angry vehemence in his voice.

“So you do know one of the varmints.”

“Maybe,” Frank said. “We’ve been on the trail of an hombre who started out as a crook somewhere back east before coming to Colorado and throwing in with an owlhoot named Soapy Smith. They wound up going to Alaska and taking over a town there called Skagway. They stole some of Salty’s money.”

“No, they stole all my money, the dadblasted skunks,” Salty corrected. “Palmer’s likely the only one of the bunch left. We’re gonna try to get the dinero back from him if we can ever catch up to him. Seems like we’ve already chased him halfway across Canada and back.”

Reb looked confused. “If Palmer’s the only one left, who’re those other fellas he’s with, the ones with the Gatling gun?”

“Now that we don’t know,” Salty said. “But a former pard of his told us that Palmer’s acquainted with some bad men who’ve been raisin’ hell up here north of the border. Could be he met up with them.”

“Must be,” Reb said with a nod. “Seems like there’s a lot goin’ on up here in these mountains.”

“Yeah,” Frank said drily. “It does.”

Late in the morning, they heard shots up ahead somewhere. Frank reined in, and the others followed suit. Most of the reports were the sharp whip cracks of rifles, but there were a few heavier booms from handguns as well.

“Some sort of fracas goin’ on,” Salty said.

“No Gatling gun, though,” Reb said. “Maybe it’s not the same bunch.”

Meg looked over at Frank. “We’re going to find out what it’s about, aren’t we?”

“It may mean riding right into trouble,” he said.

She gave him a cocksure grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

She had a point there … but he was getting tired of risking her life over and over again.

“You and Salty stay here,” he said as he reached a decision. “Reb, come with me. We’ll see what we can find out.”

Reb looked a little surprised that Frank was giving him orders, but he didn’t argue the point. He just said, “Sure, Frank.”