Blood Bond: Deadly Road to Yuma

“That tells us who you are, but not what you’re doin’ here.”

The whole thing was almost too complicated to explain, Ike suddenly realized. Joshua Shade, the gang of outlaws, the way he had been forced to act as a spy for them, the attack on the wagon in which he had been injured…and after that, he didn’t even know what had happened. He didn’t know where Shade was now, or the rest of the gang, or Maggie…

“I was attacked…by owlhoots,” he said, struggling to find the words. “They took my wife…my wagon…I don’t know where they are.”

All that was true, as far as it went.

“Outlaws,” one of the men repeated. “You reckon it was Shade’s bunch, LaFollette?”

Instead of answering the question directly, LaFollette asked Ike, “How many were there?”

“I’m not sure. Fifteen or twenty…maybe more.”

LaFollette grunted. “Shade’s gang is the only one that big in the territory, as far as I know,” he said. “I reckon this fella was unlucky enough to run into them.”

Ike was surprised at first that these men knew about Shade, but as he thought about it, he realized that the gang’s notoriety must have spread all over Arizona.

LaFollette went on. “It just so happens that we’re on the trail of that bunch, mister. You have any idea which way they headed?”

“I know…exactly where they’re going. I heard them…talking. They’re headed for a place called…Pancake Flats.”

“The Southern Pacific goes through there,” one of the other men said.

LaFollette nodded. “Yeah, Thorpe must be plannin’ on catchin’ the train there. I happen to know that the bridge over Bowtie Canyon washed out a while back, though, and the railroad’s just now gettin’ it repaired. Thorpe may be stuck up there with his prisoner.”

They knew a lot about what was going on, Ike realized. He still wondered who they were, what their part in this bloody affair was. Maybe they were bounty hunters of some sort.

It didn’t matter, though, as long as they agreed to what he said next.

“Take me with you,” he said, his voice stronger now that hope was flooding through him again.

“No offense, mister,” LaFollette said, “but why would we want to saddle ourselves with a wounded man and a baby?”

“Those bastards have my wife. I’ll help you stop them.”

LaFollette chuckled. It wasn’t a friendly sound.

“You don’t look to be in any shape to help anybody do anything, Winslow. You might just slow us down.”

“I won’t,” Ike said. “I swear it. If I do, you can leave me behind. Just leave me some food…for the boy.”

“We’re a long way from nowhere, LaFollette,” one of the men said. “I wouldn’t feel right about leavin’ a kid out here.”

LaFollette rubbed his bearded jaw for a moment, then shrugged. “I reckon you’re right. This hombre can ride double with the lightest man. That’s you, Sinclair.”

“All right,” the man called Sinclair agreed.

“I warn you, though,” LaFollette went on to Ike, “we aren’t gonna slow down for you. If you can’t handle the pace, you will get left behind.”

“I can handle it,” Ike promised. “As long as I know you’re going after Shade’s bunch, I can do whatever I need to.”

“You know, I believe maybe you can.” LaFollette turned to his men. “Mount up! We’ve got ground to cover!”

Chapter 35

Matt and Sam estimated that it was well after midnight when they spotted the elevated water tank ahead of them, next to the railroad tracks. They had circled back north once they were sure they were well clear of Pancake Flats, finally intersecting the steel rails and then following them westward.

“I hope Thorpe and Everett made it here with Shade,” Matt said as they rode along, leading the extra horses. “If they didn’t, I’m not sure where we ought to look for them.”

“We could backtrack toward the settlement,” Sam said, “but we’d be taking a chance on running into Shade’s gang.”

Matt grunted. “I almost wish we would. I’d like another crack at those varmints. They’d look mighty good over the sights of my guns.”

“I know what you mean, but right now we need to concentrate on getting Shade to Yuma so he can hang.”

“You know, you got a mighty highly developed sense of responsibility for a carefree redskin who’s supposed to be livin’ in harmony with nature and the land and your fellow man.”

“You’ve been reading those Eastern newspapers and illustrated weeklies again,” Sam said with a disgusted snort. “You start going on about the noble redman or lo, the poor Indian, I’ll bust you in the nose. Sure, the Cheyenne are a noble people overall, but some of ’em are pure-dee jackasses…just like every other breed of folks.”