CHAPTER
19

Deb and Trace reached Carson City by midafternoon.

Trace rode up to a livery stable. He stripped the leather, and Deb tried to help but was slowing him down. Once he’d seen to hay and a bait of oats, he said, “Now it’s our turn to eat.”

“We’re in a hurry, Trace.” Deb did her best not to limp. She didn’t want to admit how painful dismounting was. She’d never ridden this long and hard before. The ride to Trace’s place from the massacre didn’t count because she’d gotten off and walked several times.

She wondered if he would’ve taken time to eat if she wasn’t with him. “Let’s just eat the jerky and biscuits I brought.”

“Nope. We’ve got to talk to the sheriff and ask some questions of others. And the horses need a rest. We pushed them getting here.”

“Are you all right?” He stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of the diner, then turned with worried eyes toward her.

She must’ve limped after all. “I’m fine.” She forced her knees to lock while she nodded cheerfully. She hoped he didn’t notice her clenched jaw.

He looked doubtful but swung the diner door open and let her go in ahead of him. “We ate a light breakfast on the trail. Now my belly’s so empty it thinks my throat’s been cut. We’ll eat fast.”

After a meal that was touched by hunger’s magic seasoning, they went hunting the sheriff. They found his office, but he wasn’t in. Carson City was the territorial capital and flush with money from the Comstock Lode, so it had a good-sized number of deputies. One of them knew where the sheriff was and pointed the way. After being questioned, the deputy also told them that a wagon train had just passed through town.

Leaving the jail, Trace said quietly to Deb, “We’ll ride after them. We have time before they reach the dangerous mountain passes.”

“You sound calm, but your eyes are dancing around like you’re panicking.”

“Well, I feel an almost frantic need to ride after those folks and warn them they might be in danger. But I’ve got a few things to finish here first.”

They found Sheriff Moore coming out of the barbershop. He was a portly man with a tidy gray mustache and white hair barely visible below a battered Stetson. He wore a black leather vest with a silver star pinned over his heart.

The sheriff’s eyes locked on Trace with only a quick glance at Deb. The man ambled toward him until he was close enough. “You folks lookin’ for me?”

Trace jumped right in. “I’ve come to report a crime and warn of another that might be comin’.”

The blue eyes hardened. “What happened?”

“One of the wagon trains was attacked. Folks got massacred. It was a smaller train that broke off from a larger one and then got waylaid. Near everyone was killed.”

“Indians?”

“Nope.”

Sheriff Moore nodded.

“Some survived the attack,” Trace went on, but then he hesitated. Deb suspected he didn’t want to say that she was one of the survivors. “Right now the men who done it think everyone in the wagon train was killed.”

The sheriff frowned deep enough to turn down the corners of his mustache. “I’m headed for the diner and coffee. Let’s walk.”

“We just ate,” Trace said, “but we can sit with you and tell you our story.”

Deb walked by Trace’s side nearest the buildings.

Trace fell into step beside Sheriff Moore. “Maybe we should talk a bit before anyone overhears us. The outlaws drove off a small herd, horses and cows, and they might be trying to sell them. I never saw these murderers, so I can’t trust the man at the next table right now. I have no notion of who the killers are except I can read signs.”

Moore came to an abrupt halt. “You tracked ’em?”

Trace told all he knew as they walked slowly toward the diner.

“You can describe the tracks over coffee. Not much chance anyone will know what we’re talking about. It’s quiet in there this time of day anyhow.”

“Why? It’s gettin’ on to time for an afternoon coffee break.”

“Yep, but Charlie, who runs the place, is the worst cook in town, and he seems to take pride in that.”

“How does he stay in business?”

The sheriff shrugged. “The place is cheap to run. Pretty sure he’s feeding us whatever he shoots the night before. With deer that’s okay—mostly—but he’s served up some mighty odd stuff. I don’t care what Charlie says, wolverine tastes just plain bad. Here’s some advice. The coffee’s barely drinkable, but it beats most everything else. And if you value your life, don’t let him talk you into a piece of cake.” The sheriff shuddered, then gave Trace an unexpected grin that made it easier to sit and drink burnt coffee and tell him all they knew.

“Where are these witnesses you spoke of?”

Deb hesitated. She knew Trace hadn’t mentioned her because he wanted to protect her. She looked around the diner and it was empty. No one to overhear. Charlie didn’t even seem to have stayed in the place. Chances were he himself went out for coffee.

“It’s me.”

Trace hissed and rested his hand on hers. “Deb, no.”

She forged on. “That’s why he brought me along. He said he’d pass on my description, but I convinced him it might be better firsthand, and besides, I might recognize one of them if he was in Carson City or anywhere along our trail.”

“Being the only living witness sets you in the path of danger, miss.” The sheriff tugged on the corner of his mustache and frowned.

“I know it.” Trace looked annoyed. “That’s why I didn’t want her to identify herself. I just hoped she could look around and see if she recognized anyone.”

“Can you describe them to me, miss?”

Deb did so to the best of her ability.

The sheriff said, “I’ve heard of attacks on wagon trains, but not for a long time. There were rumors that someone, or something, was a guardian of that trail. A few bodies were found and that fed the rumors and the attacks ended. This is a bad business, and I don’t like to see it starting up again.”

Deb held her breath and did her best to keep a blank expression on her face. A guardian of the trail? That’s what Trace had done. Could a man be wanted for murder when he stopped a murder?

“I’ve heard of such things, too,” Trace said. “If those outlaws are taking back up an old profession, then where have they been all this time? Did they move on and set up their ambushes somewhere else? They haven’t paid for their crimes yet, and now they’ve taken up their ugly ways again.”

The sheriff turned thoughtful. After a moment, he said, “I am sheriff of Carson City and I really don’t go looking for trouble far and wide. I can be on the lookout here in town and these parts, but following the trail and protecting wagon trains that pass through here . . . well, once they’re out of town, that’s way outside my job.”

Trace nodded. “I understand, Sheriff. I appreciate you doing all you can. We’ll be on our way now. I’m going to ride on hard tonight and catch the wagon train that just rolled through Carson City.”

They all stood to go, and the sheriff said something Deb didn’t hear because she was a few paces ahead of Trace. She stepped outside, where a large rough-looking man knocked into her hard enough she’d’ve fallen if she didn’t still have a firm hold of the door.

“You’d do well to look where you’re going next time.” The gruff man shouldered past her and hurried on.

She watched him walk away, a big man with a rude attitude. Sometimes big men, she knew, pushed those smaller around—it made them feel strong to barrel through any barriers with little care about what or who those barriers were. Something about him bothered Deb. Her eyes were drawn to him for some reason she couldn’t quite understand. He glanced back at her, almost as if he could feel her stare. His cold eyes narrowed, but he turned forward again and forged on and around the corner of the building and out of sight.

She decided it was probably just his ill manners. It was such a contrast to the men at Trace’s ranch who were so kind and generous to her and Gwen. Studying on it a bit, she realized he reminded her in some ways of some of the men back east who took advantage of her hard work and gave her father all the credit.

Trace stepped out of the diner and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

With a shake of her head, Deb said, “No, just almost ran into a man. So I stopped to let him pass. I’m looking at everyone with suspicious eyes, wondering if he might be the one I saw attack our wagon train. But that man’s too tall, too heavy. The man I saw had a narrow face; he was skinny.”

“You want to go after him, take another look?” Trace looked at her too long, as if he saw something in her expression that worried him. Then his eyes followed the boardwalk. “Where’d he go?”

“Around the corner of this building. No, it’s not the man I saw. And we need to ride, don’t we? The weather could go from chilly and light snow to a blizzard with snow a yard deep.”

Finally, his hand on her lower back, he urged her forward. “We need to catch that wagon train and warn them, hopefully before we lose the light.”

She shoved aside the strange feeling the big man had given her and shifted her attention to the ride ahead.

They were on horseback and galloping out of town within minutes.

Raddo clenched his fist in fury. He leaned against the corner of the building listening to the woman who had been watching him and realized someone had survived their attack. Not just survived, she’d seen Dalt. And now that wagon train they needed so bad was going to be warned and on edge.

Twenty-five wagons. It’d be the biggest group they’d ever tackled, more than double the next largest one. If he told Dalt and Meeks about the witness, they’d get stubborn and refuse to attack the train. Dalt out of a ruthless desire not to take too big a chance, and Meeks because he loved the killing but was a coward at heart. He liked to see men die under his guns, but he didn’t want them to be awake for it.

And now here they’d planned on attacking in silence. Slitting as many throats as they could before anyone knew they were even there. Meeks had agreed, but if the train was warned and on edge, both men would refuse to do it.

Raddo considered for a long moment if they would be right. He should probably listen to them and call everything off. But a stubbornness welled up inside him. He didn’t want to admit he couldn’t handle bigger trains. He also knew he couldn’t let that woman live. He’d never left a witness alive before.

The wind whistled through the narrow alley between the two buildings, and the chill reminded him of the one they’d called The Guardian.

Some called him a ghost. And if ever men might come back to haunt a place, it’d be a man murdered and left to burn and rot in the middle of a dead wagon train.

The Guardian was why Raddo had gone straight. Well, that and Luth striking it rich and helping all the men claim mines.

Raddo ground his teeth as he stomped off to find his much smaller band. Luth was a powerful man now, and he wouldn’t like knowing Raddo had gone back to his old ways.

But Raddo wasn’t wealthy, and that could be laid right at the feet of his big brother who’d claimed the most prosperous mines for himself and left Raddo with the dregs.

He didn’t need to follow the woman he’d nearly run down. He knew they were heading out to warn the wagon train. He was tempted to act fast, gather the men, and go after her. They could stop her and her saddle partner from passing on their warning.

But were they too close to Carson City? A wagon train moved slowly. It wouldn’t be a good distance from the sheriff yet, who had a reputation as a tough man who paid no attention to a crime committed long miles and many days down a trail, but would come hunting hard at a killing close to his town.

Raddo knew where to find Dalt and Meeks—in a saloon, right where Raddo had been heading when he’d had his lucky run-in with the woman.

Did they dare try and take her before she reached the wagon train? Or was it better to not let Dalt and Meeks know about this? They were already fretting about taking on such a big train. Now add a wagon train that’d been warned and was on alert?

They’d turn yellow and quit for sure if they tried to get the woman and failed.

He tossed different ideas around, not sure what to do. They did need to get out of town, though. If she’d described Dalt well enough, someone might point him out to the sheriff.

Dalt thought he should get more men, and maybe that was the safer bet. Raddo didn’t like sharing, but he’d rather share than die.

Lots to decide, but one thing was for certain. That eyewitness couldn’t be allowed to live. And the man who rode with her knew enough he needed to go, too.

It’d give them one less thing to worry about.