But the bear wasn’t coming. Trace was mostly sure. The outlaws were on the trail heading straight away from the direction he was going, with no plans to kill today, but soon enough.
Now he headed for the trail. Once there, even the tiny game trail would make for better traveling. His normal speed was driven higher by the close call with the bear and his fear for Deb.
It felt like running home.
CHAPTER
22
Deb knew the sound of those feet.
She’d been on edge, paying attention to every sound, every bird tweet, listening for crackling twigs, branches rustling against each other. Praying with all her might.
But she didn’t even hesitate to lower her gun, uncock it, tuck it into her bag, and start climbing.
“You all right, Deb?”
And he was warning her that he was coming, so there’d be no accidental shooting. Also letting her know he was out of earshot of the outlaws.
“I’m fine.” Her head popped up at the top of the pile of trees. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw him. “I didn’t hear any gunfire.”
“I heard them, but I never got close enough to even take a shot.” He cleared his throat, “Not that I was going to take a shot anyway . . . if I didn’t have to.”
Deb climbed down so fast, Trace didn’t have a chance to come up and help her. She wanted to show him she was no burden. Also, she was glad not to be alone anymore.
“When you left you were furious, Trace. You look better now.”
“I am. God had a little talk with me about hate and revenge.”
Startled, Deb looked at him as he caught her arm and started them walking along the white stone. “The men aren’t following us. I overheard them say they were going to stake out the wagon train but not attack until the trail that goes over the Sierra Nevadas, so we have a few days to plan. Let’s get down there and search for our horses. Oh, and I tangled with a grizzly, just a little.”
“Tangled with a grizzly?” Deb had heard of the giant bears but she’d yet to see one. They were known for their ferocious temper. “Just a little?”
“Yep, the bear got in between us just enough to get the outlaws moving back toward the wagon train and me heading back to you. They never knew I was there—the men. The bear spotted me sure enough.” With a disgusted tone, Trace added, “I wanted to at least get a look at them. I hoped to maybe get the drop on them, or separate them somehow and take a prisoner.”
“You against three men?”
Trace was leading her, and for a second he glanced back and gave her a shrug. “I’d’ve been careful. I’d’ve waited until I could do it without gettin’ myself killed.” He pointed ahead. “There’s a fork in this game trail that’ll take us downhill.”
Deb couldn’t make out the trail they were on, let alone notice a fork in it.
“We’ll hopefully pick up our horses and ride on to Ringo. We’ll get a meal there and ask around if anyone’s seen those men. Ringo hasn’t got a sheriff last I was there.”
Trace veered off downhill. “I got a look at one of the outlaws. I think he’s the same one you saw.” He told Deb everything the men had said. “I also heard two names. The one we both saw was called Dalt. They also mentioned someone named Luth, but it was someone they were talking about, not one of the three. Lawmen travel the area. Lots of lawlessness due to silver. Maybe we’ll see a marshal along the trail, and we can ask him if Dalt and Luth are wanted men. We’ve got time because those varmints are hanging back for now.”
Deb could see a trail, sort of, if she used her imagination. The evergreen branches still scratched at her, and the bare branches reached out and clawed like skeletal fingers. The scrub brush and young trees caught at her ankles. Yet she wore a heavy coat and warm wool stockings, so mostly she hurried along unharmed.
Feeling a little giddy from having Trace come back, and knowing those men were far away, Deb said, “Can I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“How did God talk to you?”
That earned her a look back and a big smile. “I left here killing mad, Deb.”
“I noticed,” she said dryly.
That got another smile out of him, but he didn’t slow his pace. “I told you I went hunting men like this, those who massacred my own wagon train, and I kept at it for a couple of years. I thought I’d either driven them off or killed them all. But these men are working so much like the others did, they have to be the same men.”
“When did you come out here exactly?”
Trace shrugged without missing a step on the steep downward slope. “It’s been ten years.”
“It’s 1867, Trace. Two years after you got here is when the Comstock Lode really went wild. Are you sure you killed so many men you drove them off, or did they just go to mining or start doing silver heists and robbing miners instead of pioneers?”
Trace stopped so suddenly she stumbled into him, and only his steady strength kept them from tumbling to the ground.
“I’ve never thought of that.” He caught both her upper arms and looked into her eyes with what seemed to her like hope.
“Do you really know how many men you killed? Did you see their bodies?”
“Uh . . .” He looked through her, into the past. “I-I remember I was frustrated how few bodies there were.”
Deb hugged him, imagining how angry he was, how vengeful, how scared and sad.
He caught her close and held tight. “There were some, Deb. Don’t go thinking this was all just me shooting wild. Sometimes when I knew I’d hit something, I’d get there and find blood, but I’m a crack shot. I hit what I
