“Pitiful,” the Kid said and forked an Appaloosa.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Brock Alvord said in mild reproach. He was astride a magnificent blue roan.
“Do what?” Eli shouted and moved to block the lean-to entrance so they couldn’t abandon him. But it was twenty feet wide, and he was only one man. He snatched at Big Ben’s reins and had them ripped from his hand. He tried to seize Noonan’s bridle and was brushed off.
“You boys should be ashamed of yourselves,” Curly Means said. Grinning, he bent down with an arm extended. “Come on, soddy. You can swing up behind me. I don’t mind.”
“Thank you,” Eli blubbered, tears filling his eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He reached out with his left arm.
Instead of taking hold, Curly placed his hand against Eli’s face and shoved. Eli fell backward, collided with a bale of straw, and cartwheeled. He landed on his wounded shoulder. The pain that spiked through him was nearly unbearable. He heard their rough glee and made it to his knees.
Four of the five were already trotting southeast.
“You brought that on yourself,” Brock Alvord said. “Ridin’ double with one of us will slow the rest. We can’t have that, Eli.”
“But the Cheyenne!” Eli was crying and wanted to stop, but he couldn’t help himself.
Brock gave the prairie a quick scrutiny. “Maybe there aren’t any more. Get inside and bar your door. If none show by up nightfall, you’re safe.” He touched his hat brim and wheeled the roan.
“Not you too!” Eli begged and wrapped his hand around Alvord’s stirrup.
“Try to be nice to some folks and look at what they do.”
Eli never saw the boot that slammed into his cheek. He fell heavily and tasted dirt in his mouth. Dirt and the bitterest of bile, composed of equal parts rage and hate. His vision blurred by tears, he watched Brock Alvord ride away and gave voice to his turmoil. “I’ll get even if it’s the last thing I do!”
Chapter Eight
Denver
Colorado Territory
Charley Pickett was elated when Enos Howard announced he would help track down the Hoodoos. His high spirits were crushed, however, by the next statement out of the buffalo hunter’s mouth.
“I sold my horse a while ago, so you’ll have to buy me one. I’ll need supplies too. Ammunition, for starters. It’s been a year since I squeezed the trigger. I need to practice to get my eye back in.” Howard paused. “What’s wrong, cub? You look like you just swallowed a cactus.”
“I don’t have the money to buy you a horse,” Charley confessed. “Heck, I don’t even have a horse of my own.” Charley looked at Tony. “You must have enough. Care to chip in for the cause?”
“I was wondering when you would get around to asking.” Tony pulled out his wad of stolen bills. “I am willing to contribute it to the cause, but it will not be anywhere near enough.”
Howard swilled whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “Seems to me that you younguns don’t have this very thought-out. What did you reckon, that horses and food would fall out of the sky? To outfit us right, we need about eight hundred to a thousand dollars.”
Charley’s brainstorm came crashing down around him in tiny shards. “That’s an awful lot of money.”
Howard broke it down. “A good saddle horse costs about two hundred. Saddles run from thirty to sixty, dependin’ on whether you want a good one or one that will leave your hind end so sore at the end of the day you can’t sit down. Cartridges cost from fifty cents to a dollar a box.” He stopped as if struck by a thought. “How many of you have a rifle and a revolver?”
None of them answered.
“No one? What do you figure to do? Throw rocks at any hostiles we come across?” Howard tittered.
“Add guns to the cost. Plus bridles, saddlebags, blankets, coffee, flour, butter, sugar, cheese. Hell, I could go on and on.” He tugged at his beard. “There’s somethin’ I’m missin’. Somethin’ important.” He began to raise the bottle to his mouth, grinned, and waved it in the air. “Tarantula juice! I reckon twenty bottles should do me. And a crate to pack ’em in so they won’t break.
“How much money do you have?” Charley bleakly asked Tony.
“Two hundred and two dollars.”
Howard made a clucking sound. “You pups are pitiful.” He indulged in more whiskey; over three-fourths of the bottle was gone. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “I know! We can rob a bank!”
“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,” Melissa admonished.
“Folks do it all the time. It’s how many a coon has raised a grubstake. And if’n it will make you feel any better, we won’t take all their money. Only as much as we need.”
Charley shook his head. “You’re missin’ the point. We want to hunt a gang of outlaws, not become outlaws.”
Howard sat back. “Suit yourself. We should forget this silliness and go on about our own business then. Without horses and whatnot, we’re not going anywhere unless we sprout wings and fly.” He flapped his arms a few times and laughed. “Dang. I must have left mine in my shack.”
“I have money,” Melissa said quietly.
Everyone faced her.
“I’ve been saving every spare penny since I left home. I don’t intend to sell potatoes my whole life, you know. My dream is to open a millinery. Here, or in St. Louis maybe. With all the latest fashions, the newest dresses—”
“All that fofarraw is fine and dandy, Missy.” Howard cut her short. “But what’s more important is how much you have squirreled away. Because if it’s not enough, I’m walkin’ out that door and robbin’ the first bank I see.”
“The last time I checked, I had a hundred and sixty-four dollars.”
Howard snorted. “That settles it.” He stood and turned to go.
“Sit back down!” Charley commanded and smacked the table to emphasize his point. “We’re not robbin’ banks, and that’s that!”
“Then you can kiss all that bounty money good-bye.” Offended, Howard walked over to the bar.
Charley was crestfallen. “I’m sorry. I guess I put the cart before the horse. I barely have seventy dollars to my own name.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Melissa covered his hand with hers. “I admire a man who’s looking to get ahead.”
“Thanks.” Charley’s neck grew hotter than a burning brand. He was content to sit there forever with her touching him.
For a long while no one said anything. Then Tony commented, “I’ll catch the noon stage to Santa Fe tomorrow. Two months from now, I’ll be in California. What will you do, my friend?”
Charley hadn’t thought that far ahead. He would continue working at the stable for the time being.
“You know,” Melissa said, and her own voice sounded peculiar. “Everyone says that two people can make a go of it better than one.”
A keg of black powder blew up in Charley’s chest. His skin prickled, and he thought he would stop breathing. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant. He was going to ask her to explain, but a shadow fell across the table and the stale smell of an old buffalo coat filled his nostrils.
“I’ve had a talk with myself,” Enos Howard announced, “and I’ve decided to chip in enough to make up the difference.” He finished the last of the whiskey. “On two conditions.”
“Chip in what?” Charley asked suspiciously.
“Don’t fret. I’m not fixin’ to rob anything. But I know how to get my hands on a right smart amount, right quick.”
“How?”