“I understand,” said Penta, backing off.
Bobby Kane sat weaving drunkenly in his saddle, the Giant’s Belgium on a lead rope beside him.
“That damn Rochenbach,” Grolin cursed. “He caused every bit of this, stirring everybody up—him and his damn cocky attitude. I feel like kicking myself in the ass, ever bringing him in.”
Spiller and Penta gave each other another look.
“He was damn good at opening a safe,” Penta conceded with a sigh. “Damn shame he was such a hardheaded, tricky sumbitch.”
“He wasn’t worth the damn trouble of keeping him around,” Grolin said, turning his horse toward the trail.
“What about this one?” Spiller asked, nodding toward Bobby Kane. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Holy Joseph!” Grolin said in disgust. He stopped turning his horse and looked at Bobby Kane, who sat wobbling in his saddle, his eyelids drooping, almost closed. The side of Bobby’s face was swollen and purple where the Giant had backhanded him the night before.
“Bobby! Bobby!” Grolin shouted, trying to catch the gunman’s drifting attention. “Are you able to lead that horse, with all that gold?”
“I’m good,” Bobby said. Yet, no sooner had he said it than he toppled sidelong from his saddle and landed facedown in the dirt.
“Jesus Christ!” Grolin said to the other two. “Get him up and throw him over his saddle. Give me the horse.”
The two climbed down from their saddles and handed Grolin the Belgium’s lead rope. As they lifted the downed gunman between them, Bobby stared all around, blinking his bleary eyes.
“I—I think the Giant jarred something loose inside my brain,” he said to Grolin.
Grolin just shook his head as the two lifted Bobby and dropped him over his saddle. At first Bobby resisted and tried to right himself. But as they finally turned to the trail, he gave in and collapsed, his arms dangling down his horse’s sides.
“We lost the whole night fooling with this mess,” Penta said as they nudged their horses on along the trail. “You think Swank and his pals will still be waiting for us?”
“I think they will if they want this gold,” Grolin said. “How many deals this big do you think come their way?”
“I don’t know,” Penta said, “not many, I suppose.”
“Damn right, not many,” said Grolin. Then he cursed under his breath and shook his head. “I’ve never had anything get so damned fouled up in my life.” He spit sourly and stuck a cigar into his mouth. “Lousy Rochenbach bastard!” he grumbled to himself.
The soldiers and their prisoner rode hard throughout the night, following the wagon tracks. Rochenbach, the sergeant and the captain rode abreast. The corporal and the three troopers rode behind them. At dawn, when they rounded a turn in the high trail, the three jerked their horses to a halt so quickly that the soldiers following had to jerk their animal sideways to keep from plowing into them.
“Good God in heaven! What is this?” shouted Goodrich at the sight of the wagon horses plodding toward them.
The bloody Stillwater Giant stood between the two horses on the broken tongue and front wagon boards, his huge head bowed onto his chest. His enormous size dwarfed the otherwise large wagon horses. He held one large arm looped over each horse’s back. Pres Casings hung limp and bloody over his right shoulder.
The sergeant snatched a Colt from behind his riding duster and cocked it toward the unconscious Giant.
“Don’t shoot, Sergeant,” Rock said. “That’s Garth Oliver.”
The sergeant held his fire, but he looked to the captain for direction.
“Sir…?” he asked the captain.
“Do hold your fire, Sergeant,” Captain Boone said without taking his eyes off the approaching wagon horses and their bloody cargo. “You know these two, Mr. Smith?”
“Yes, sir,” Rochenbach said. “Captain, may I go see about them? You have my word I won’t make a run for it.”
“We’ll all go see about them,” the captain said. He looked at Rochenbach. “You have my word we’ll shoot you in the back if you try.”
Rock and the sergeant dropped from their saddles and walked forward. The corporal and the other troopers followed close behind them. The Giant didn’t even raise his head. The two horses tried to continue right past Rochenbach and Goodrich, but Rock grabbed one of the horses by its bridle. Goodrich grabbed the other in the same manner.
The Giant lifted his bowed head a little as the horses halted in the trail.
“Is that you, Rock?” he asked weakly.
“It’s me, Garth,” he said, not wanting to use the Giant’s familiar name, lest the soldiers were aware the Stillwater Giant was a wanted man in Texas.
The Giant looked around at the soldiers, then back at Rochenbach, who hoped the big man had gotten the message.
“Pres… needs water,” the Giant said, his head drooping slowly back down on his chest.
“Can we get some water?” Rochenbach asked, stepping in and pulling Casings’ bloody body down from the Giant’s shoulder. Casings groaned.
Rochenbach dragged him from between the horses and laid him on the ground. The soldiers stared, not knowing what to do about the Giant. Goodrich stooped down beside Casings with an uncapped canteen.
Captain Boone sat atop his horse and watched Rock lead the Giant from between the horses and sit him down in the dirt beside Casings.
“Did I hear him call you Rock?”
“Yes, you did,” said Rochenbach. “It’s a name some folks call me.”
“I see,” said the captain. He looked at the two bloody men on the ground. “And these fellows, are they part of your band of thieves?” He looked at the massive Giant sitting slumped on the ground. “I think I now understand how you were able to pull the coupling pin on a moving train.” Even sitting, the Giant was nearly as tall and twice as broad as one of the soldiers standing beside him.
“These two are a couple of businessmen from Denver City, for all I know,” Rock said, ignoring the captain’s speculation. “My guess is they stumbled onto the thieves, and this is what happened to them.”
The Giant raised his bloody head slightly and turned it enough to give Rochenbach a look. Then he lowered it again.
“Of course, I see,” the captain said with a touch of sarcasm. To the sergeant he said, “Get these wounded men watered and take them to the side of the trail. We’ll stop here long enough to rest our horses and dress their wounds.”
Chapter 22
Captain Boone, Rochenbach and Sergeant Goodrich stood watching as two of the troopers and Corporal Rourke washed and dressed the Giant’s and Casings’ wounds as best they could with scraps of bandannas they tore into strips. As they finished cleaning the two up and both Casings and the Giant began to come to, the soldiers crossed Casings’ wrists and snapped a pair of handcuffs on them.
They did the same with Rochenbach. Unable to get the cuffs around the Giant’s thick wrists, the soldiers tied his hands together with rope.
“Now that we have three prisoners, Mr. Smith, we wouldn’t want any of you wandering away from us,” Boone said.
“I told you these men had nothing to do with the robbery, Captain,” Rochenbach said for the Giant’s and Casings’ benefit. As he spoke, he looked down at the cuffs, realizing he had a key that would open them tucked inside the lining of his coat sleeve.
“You certainly did, Mr. Smith,” said the captain. “But you also said the same thing about yourself.” He offered a tight smile. “You can see how I might be a little skeptical.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Rock asked. “These men need more than bandannas stuck against their wounds. They need a doctor, some proper bandaging, some serious treatment to keep these wounds from bleeding all over again.”