Redemption's Edge (4 page)

Texas, several months later

“You sure this is the right trail, Pat?”
Luke rode behind Dax and their fellow Texas Ranger, Pat Hanes. For days, they’d been hunting a gang of bank robbers. The two Pelletier brothers had been teamed with the older, well-regarded Ranger. Both had as much experience in combat as Hanes, yet he offered superior tracking skills and a history of bringing in outlaws when others had given up.

“Yep, it’s the right way.” Pat’s drawl indicated a mixed history of his long years in Alabama, plus his time in Texas. His slow, easy manner hid a quick wit and incredible instincts. Dax and Luke had learned to appreciate the first and rely on the second. “I know it’s hard for you city boys to follow how the ground changes when horses move over it. Pay attention and I might decide to show you someday.”

He leaned over his horse and scanned the damp ground again. The rolling hills, woodlands, and drop-off canyons could conceal almost anything or anybody, but the soft soil made it hard to hide horse hooves and human steps.

“I got a feeling it won’t be long now.” Pat pointed toward a series of hills covered in live oak and other brush.

“Isn’t that what you told us two days ago?” Dax sat easy in his saddle, while keeping a watchful eye for any movement around them. He had no intention of being caught unawares.

Pat turned to look at him. “Two days isn’t long, at least not by my measure.”

They rode another three hours, tracking the group who’d killed a bank clerk and injured a customer in the small town of Red Gulch. The haul hadn’t been large, but the war had created a new breed of outlaw—homeless, hungry, destitute, and eager to take advantage of any opportunity.

Luke scanned the countryside once more, fidgeting in his saddle and trying to alleviate the boredom. “Tell us more about your ranch.”

“Not much to tell.” Pat didn’t take his eyes off the trail as he spoke just loud enough for his companions to hear. “It’s a decent amount of acreage at the base of Redemption Mountain. That’s part of the Territory Range in Montana. Finally paid it off last year. I’ll be moving that way when I retire.”

“How long are you going to keep up this life?” Luke asked, knowing Pat to be a good ten or fifteen years older than Dax.

“Another year, maybe. I’ve got a couple watching over the place, keeping it up. The area’s growing, lots of people moving in after the war. Some are good, some aren’t. It doesn’t take much to steal a man’s land away and I don’t intend to have that happen.”

“Look up there.” Dax pointed to a hill less than a mile away. “Looks like men climbing up on the right side. One has on a white hat. Might be Whitey.”

“I see them.” Luke reached behind him and pulled out his military field glasses. “Looks like four, going slow. Probably don’t believe anyone is still following them.”

“Let’s move.” Pat had already taken off at a gallop, leaving Dax and Luke to catch up.

Luke kept an eye on the men they tracked. His heart rate picked up, the same as it used to before a battle. A rush of excitement accompanied by fear of the unknown.

They were within a couple hundred yards of the outlaws before one of the robbers turned and saw the dust from their horses

Deke Mayes rode to the front, alongside his older brother, Whitey. “We’re being followed.” He turned and pointed to a spot down the hill.

“How many?”

Deke checked once again. “Looks like three. Could be more.”

Whitey looked up the hill. He’d hoped to make it another ten miles before nightfall, which would put them far enough ahead of the law to rest their horses and eat. Looks like his plans had changed.

“Deke, let the others know to follow us up the hill. On my command, they are to ride left and down into the canyon. You and I will cut right, go around the next hill. They know how to reach the hideout. We’ll meet up with them there.”

Whitey never took his eyes off of the approaching Rangers while he waited for Deke to convey the orders. Within minutes, they were dashing up the hill, away from the lawmen, and heading toward an area Whitey hoped no one would follow—renegade Comanche country. Of course, that would put him and Deke in danger also, but he didn’t consider it to be any worse than what would await them in Austin if they were arrested.

Dax caught up with Pat and paced him as their horses climbed the hill. “They’re making a run for it. Looks like they’ve split up with Whitey and one of the other men riding east while the others head west.”

“We follow Whitey. He and his brother, Deke, are the ones we want. My guess is it’s the two of them who split off east.”

The three rode hard, pushing their horses after an already long journey, determined to end the chase today by catching both Whitey and Deke. They cared little about the others.

Pat stopped at the summit and watched as the two outlaws made their way around the back side of the hill, riding in and out of low shrub and live oaks, then venturing into open terrain. He pulled out his Spencer repeating rifle, took aim, and fired. The bullet ricocheted off a rock a foot from Whitey, causing the man’s horse to dance around before the outlaw got him under control and took off at a run again, Deke right behind him.

“Damn,” Pat cursed as he slammed his rifle back into its scabbard and kicked his horse into a run.

Dax and Luke had pulled ahead, both riding low, guns drawn. They didn’t slow as Whitey and Deke rode into a large copse of live oak and disappeared.

“We’ll wait for them here.” Whitey dismounted and pulled out his rifle, resting it on a low hanging branch. Deke let his horse go and found a spot a few yards away, then waited.

Within minutes, the sound of hooves pounding on the dry ground was followed by the three Rangers coming into sight. Whitey aimed and squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew true, catching Pat in the chest.

He fell from his horse, clutching his chest as blood seeped through his shirt.

Dax and Luke returned fire as they dismounted, pinning the outlaws down, and took positions behind a group of boulders.

“You slip around to the right and go after Deke.” Dax waited for Luke to nod and start moving before he took off in the other direction. He skirted around another group of boulders and up an embankment where he had a good view of Whitey below. As Dax prepared to shoot, his boot slipped on loose gravel, sending him into a slide as a shot flew over his head. The outlaw had seen him. Dax stopped his downward momentum when he slid into another boulder. He scrambled onto his knees and peered over the large rock. Whitey had disappeared.

Another shot rang out, followed by a grunt, and Dax knew that either Luke or Deke were down. He retraced his steps, following the path Luke had taken. He came upon his brother, standing over the fallen outlaw who lay motionless on the ground.

“He’s dead.” Luke holstered his gun, then turned to his brother. “Whitey took off north. Do you want me to ride after him?”

Dax glanced at the dead outlaw once more and shook his head. “We’d better see to Pat.”

Pat lay writhing on the ground, his face ashen, as he tried to stop the awful pain in his chest. He choked as Dax knelt beside him and placed a hand under his head, his eyes scanning the wound. He knew there was no hope of saving their comrade.

“Don’t leave me out here,” Pat gasped. “Take me home.”

“To Austin?”

“Montana.” Pat reached up to grip Dax’s shirt and pull him toward his face. “Promise me. Bury me on my land in Montana.” He let loose of the shirt and fell back. “Promise me,” he repeated again as his eyes searched Dax’s.

Dax swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “We’ll get you home. I promise. You’ll be buried on your land.” He watched as his friend’s mouth curved slightly before his eyes rolled back and his body went slack. Pat Hanes exhaled his last breath.

Luke stood over them. He’d grown used to seeing men injured and dying. Most times, he didn’t know them and could put the carnage behind him. This time, though, it was different. In a few short months, Pat had become a friend, someone he and Dax could trust. His end came much too soon.

“Did you mean it?”

Dax looked up, his face stoic, eyes grave. “About burying him on his land?”

Luke nodded, already knowing the answer he’d hear.

“Yes.”

Splendor, Montana, Spring 1866

Rachel choked on the dust that swirled around her skirts as she made her way to the general store. It surprised her that the road could be so muddy while dust clogged the air. Her uncle’s clinic had been quiet the last few days. She suspected the weather and windstorms to be part of the reason, and took advantage of the slower pace to clean the clinic and purchase supplies for the home they lived in at the back of the property.

The old-timers, those who’d lived in Splendor more than a few years, talked of how mild the winter had been this year. In Rachel’s mind, the large snow drifts and freezing temperatures seemed harsh. It was hard for her to imagine it being worse. The frozen ground of the winter had begun to soften, creating a never-ending mud pool on the main street. She stomped her feet outside the store’s entrance and pushed at the door, losing her balance for a moment as the strong winds propelled her inside.

“Quite a blow we have out there today, Miss Davenport.” Timmy, the store’s teenage clerk, stood on a small stepladder, arranging items on an upper shelf. “Haven’t seen too many people today.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s not too easy to get around with the mud and wind.” Rachel rearranged her bonnet and tried to brush off the dust clinging to her dress.

She glanced around at the full shelves and variety of merchandise Timmy’s father stocked and, once again, marveled at how he kept the place so organized and clean. She suspected most of it was due to Timmy’s hard work.

He jumped to the ground and walked behind the counter. “What can I get for you?” The boy had a broad, infectious smile that couldn’t help but put people at ease.

Rachel pulled a piece of paper from the cotton reticule her mother had given her before leaving Boston. “We’ll need flour, sugar, coffee—” Rachel halted as the door to the shop slammed open and a man appeared in the entry—tall, dirty, and trail weary by the look of him.

“Where’s the doctor?”

Rachel walked forward, taking tentative steps. The combination of crusted dirt, hard features, and abrupt manner warned her to be cautious.

“I’m Rachel Davenport, a nurse at my uncle’s infirmary. He’s a doctor.”

Dax’s gaze focused on the young, beautiful woman before him. Her manner and dress indicated she came from privilege, her voice told him she was from the North.

He hadn’t seen anyone this lovely in months, maybe years.
That doesn’t matter now
, he told himself, and pushed the thought aside. “It’s my brother. He’s come down with something. He’s running a fever and says his head is pounding.”

His voice held the familiar accent of the South and Rachel wondered if he’d fought in the war.

She shot a look at Timmy. “I’ll be back for everything later.” Rachel pushed past the man and rushed outside to the buckboard to see a man covered with a blanket, hard coughs racking his body, overcome with feverish delirium. Beside him lay a coffin, the smell of embalming chemicals seeping through its seams.

“Follow me.” She didn’t wait to see if the man would heed her order. She pushed open the door of the clinic, threw her reticule down, removed her hat, and turned toward the entrance. “In there.” She pointed to a room off to one side. “I’ll get my uncle.” Rachel hurried to the back and opened a door connecting the clinic to a short walkway which led to the house in back. “Uncle Charles, we have a patient!” She waited a moment, then called again, “Uncle Charles!”

“I hear you, Rachel. No need to shout.” Her uncle emerged, pulling up suspenders while he walked at a brisk pace toward the infirmary. He stopped to scrub his hands before stepping into the room he used to examine patients, directing his comment to the man who stood next to the table. “I’m Charles Worthington, the doctor here in Splendor. Tell me what’s been happening with your friend.” Charles looked into the young patient’s eyes, which were red and swollen, as he pulled back the blanket.

“He’s my brother. A fever started yesterday. He also complained of stomach pain. It’s gotten worse and he mumbles about his head splitting open. He can’t hold down any food or water.”