“How many do you figure?” he asks.
“No idea. Could be five or six, could be a dozen.”
“I don’t see their horses.”
“Good point. They must be on the far side of the hill, which is good as it’ll take them time to climb down once we ride out. We’ll head west, which they won’t expect, being desert out there.”
Western Utah is not hospitable, but when on the run, can prove ideal. There are rocky spots, canyons, and draws where a man can hide if cornered, and water occasionally finds its way into such places. We’ll take all the horses with us to again change mounts along the way. We can’t go east as that’s Greenlee, and north or direct south are too rocky to make good time.
Evan comes over to say all’s ready. Dewey and me fire more shots, then run to mount up.
“Keep low as you can,” I call as we take off, riding away so the barn covers us at first. Once the lawmen find no return fire, they’ll figure us gone and fetch their horses to give chase. I figure a five minute lead at best.
I’ve done hard riding many a time, but never like this, because nobody’s ever cornered us in such a way. Even as we flee, I find myself not believing what’s happened. Four men gone, Wade among them.
* * * *
After riding for hours, we stop at some hills, and I ride up to see if we’re being followed. I wish I had Wade’s binoculars, but they’re back at Noble’s because his horse chose not to run with his brethren. Evan comes riding up beside me.
“Can’t count ‘em out,” I tell him.
Dewey then rides up. “I’m thinking west ain’t a good idea. North is better.”
“You want to go north, then you go,” I say. “Up to you. We’ll keep on west, then maybe turn south later, head for New Mexico.”
I turn to look back from where we’ve come and still see nobody.
“Maybe it’s best we split up,” Dewey says. “I’m going to head north. Good luck, Roy, Evan. Wish things had gone better.”
“Luck to you, too, Dewey.”
He leaves with one extra horse, which is only fair. Then it’s just Evan and me.
“Best get going,” I say.
“Piss first.” We both see to that, then ride out.
“Long ride ahead,” I say and he nods.
* * * *
As night falls, we find a draw leading in among some rocks, and we herd the horses in there, as it’s good cover. Cold is coming on but we dare not make a fire. While the horses munch the sparse grass, Evan, who’s walked further up the draw, calls out that there’s water. I go up to find a trickle among some of the rocks. Evan leans down to drink, such as he can. I think he near has to lick the rocks to get much.
When he stands, he says, “Good. It’s there. Not a lot, but enough.”
He’s right. I get my mouth between two rocks and turn my head a bit, which allows the trickle to fall my way. Water has never tasted so good.
We then lead the horses up that way and leave them to work at getting a drink while we go back a ways and spread bedrolls. I sit leaned against a big rock, the quiet bringing on another kind of ambush.
Wade is gone. It doesn’t seem real, even as I saw him take a bullet to the neck. Saw him fall. Left him there. Darkness is upon us now, which is just as well because I don’t want Evan to see my tears.
At first, I wipe them away because Wade and me was just friends, but I finally have to admit maybe I did care, just as maybe he did, too. Couple outlaws won’t speak on matters of the heart and we got along fine that way, only now it’s changed and I don’t get why. How can a man dying open things up like this, make them spill out? I’m sorry Wade. Truly I am.
Evan seems to know to leave me be. He lies quiet, and right now I don’t want any part of him. Maybe tomorrow I’ll care for him again, but now I want to give Wade his due.
When tears run dry, I stretch out, but sleep is slow-coming. Loss of Wade and the others plays heavy, but there’s also vigilance required so we don’t get ambushed again. At last, these concerns wear me out and I sleep, my last thought a hope I don’t wake to a gun barrel in my face.
* * * *
Evan nudges me awake around sunup. “We’d best get moving,” he says. He looks fresh, while I feel like I haven’t slept at all.
I rise and spit, walk down the draw for a good piss, and only then look around. With just my head peeping over the draw’s edge, I see nobody about.
While saddling the horses, Evan remarks on how we got away clean.
“Can’t be sure,” I tell him. “We’d best ride like they’re still on our tail.”
Once in the saddle, I find myself renewed. The horses are eager and so we go full gallop, us and our little herd. We ride all morning, changing horses once, and when we come upon a little settlement, hardly more than a few tents beside a creek, we stop to inquire on food.
The horses rush to the water, drink, then feed on plentiful grass nearby. We’re offered biscuits and salt pork, for which we are happy to pay. When we’re asked on where we’re going, I say New Mexico. “Tired of Utah,” I add.
They tell me they’re a group broken away from the church, looking to start a town. We listen to grand plans and offer well-wishes. We also buy food from them, which we wrap in a parcel and tie on one of the horses.
“Thank you for your
