The Coming Storm (24 page)

She nodded again and left to retrieve the gelding. Jack seemed to understand her mood and stood as still as stone as she saddled him. His silky black mane, warmed by the sun, felt good to her touch. She stroked the horse for several minutes, then led him out the gate. Dianne walked him for several yards before stopping to mount him. He’d been exercised a little that morning, but now she’d give him a good hard ride—hopefully wearing him out enough that he’d tolerate Malachi shoeing him later that day.

She mounted, stroked his mane for a few moments, then gently nudged him with her knees. Clicking to him at the same time, she put the gelding into motion. Jack fought the reins for a few moments but soon settled down. As he calmed, Dianne picked up the pace and before long they were traveling at a full gallop across the grassy ridge west of the ranch.

Dianne didn’t go to her typical perch atop the road that led down to the ranch. She wanted to ride and forget all about her life and her sorrows. She wanted to ride and think only of the moment.

The winter had passed more quickly than she’d expected, and already Gus was making plans to retrieve the herd. The spring was warming up nicely, and while there might yet be another snow or two, Gus felt confident that the worst was behind them. Dianne had already decided she’d go to help with the roundup. It would do her good to focus on something other than the ranch. Even Koko was recovering from her grief. The spring had brought her a new resolve to live in a way that would make Bram proud.

Dianne couldn’t be happier about this, but she hated the fact that she was the only one who still seemed to be drifting along without aim.
I have to put this aside,
she thought.
I have to be content with my life and what is expected of me
.

Without warning Jack let out a whinny and reared. Dianne hadn’t been paying attention—a mistake, to be sure—and went flying off backward. Crashing against the rocky ground, Dianne hit hard, her left arm and hip bearing much of the impact. The pain was searing. Jack skittered away, whinnying and bucking as if something were after him. Thoughts of another grizzly or perhaps a wolf gave Dianne a start, but the pain in her side was too intense to allow her to flee. If something had spooked Jack, she’d just have to face it head on.

Dianne moaned as she slowly got up. She stood gingerly, testing her left leg and assessing her injuries. There was pain in her hip, but otherwise everything seemed solid. Stretching her arm out, Dianne grimaced as white streaks of pain shot through her arm and up to her shoulder. It was broken—no doubt about it.

Holding her arm close to her body, Dianne tried to figure out where the gelding had taken himself off to. She walked a few feet to a mound of rocks and boulders and tried to climb for a better view, but it was impossible to work her way up very high without the use of both arms. Giving up, she stretched her neck to see as far as she could. There in the valley below, Jack was still running—probably heading back to the ranch, even though he was still more wild than tame.

“Once he gets there and they see I’ve been thrown,” Dianne said to herself, “they’ll come for me. I might as well start back down.”

She inched off the rocks and because the pain was so much worse when the arm was allowed to dangle down, Dianne figured it would be wise to make a sling. She surveyed her outfit and decided the very full riding petticoat was probably the easiest to tear. She lifted the material to her mouth, holding it with her teeth and pulling with her good arm. The material gave way easily.

Dianne had never realized how many things required the use of both hands. She was sorely frustrated by her inability to master simple skills that ordinarily were of no importance. Now, even her attempt to secure her arm was a practice in futility.

“I knew better than to give Jack his head. If I’d been paying attention, this never would have happened,” she muttered.

Eventually Dianne managed to work the ends of the material into a knot. With this done, she slipped the loop around her neck and under her left arm. It was a little tight, but better that than loose and hanging down too low. Having accomplished this, Dianne realized she was almost dizzy from the pain and exertion. She steadied herself, closing her eyes momentarily until the spell passed.

Looking heavenward, she shook her head. “Well, Lord, you certainly have your hands full with me.”

Heading down the hillside, Dianne looked to the mountains and the grandeur they offered. The day was lovely with a lemony sun, pale blue skies, and only a hint of wispy clouds. Had she not been injured, it would have been perfect. Spring was always lovely in the mountains, and while it was still chilly, Dianne found it a pleasure to be outside.

“Lord, I need to count my blessings, I guess.” The walk was jarring every injured portion of her body, but Dianne pressed on. There was no sense waiting around for rescue when she knew she could meet them halfway.

She remembered Charity Hammond once saying that a person could get through just about anything if they put their mind to praising God instead of complaining. Dianne had tried this on more than one occasion and knew it worked. It was just hard to praise when she hurt so much.

“Lord, I am grateful that the accident wasn’t worse. I could have been killed, and that would have left a lot of folks in a bad way. I thank you for watching over me and not allowing the accident to be any worse than this.” She went on thanking God for one thing or another—forcing her mind from the pain and the long walk home.

It wasn’t long before Dianne heard her name being called. Apparently there was more than one person coming to her aid, for several people called to her.

“I’m here!” she called, easing onto a convenient rock. The pain was robbing her of energy. “I’m here!”

She looked to the skies once again. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered, knowing her focus on God had helped her get through the worst of it.

Koko finished setting Dianne’s arm and offered her a cup of tea. “This will ease the pain. Drink it and then try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you.” Dianne drank the entire cup without pausing. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d become. But more so, she wanted whatever help she could have to eliminate the pain.

Handing the cup back to her aunt, Dianne eased back into her bed. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

Koko shook her head. “You’ve been so strong for the rest of us; it’s time you let us do something for you. You aren’t indestructible, you know.”

Dianne chuckled despite the pain. “I guess I learned that lesson today—the hard way.”

Koko nodded. “Dianne, I’m blessed to call you family. I know I would have died along with Bram had it not been for your love and kindness. Now you have to let us help you. Faith and Charity and I can be your hands and feet. You need to rest, and you won’t get well unless you listen and obey.”

Dianne grinned. “You know me pretty well. I was just thinking how tomorrow or the next day I needed to go visit Jack.”

“Oh no you don’t. No more riding for you—not until this arm heals up.”

Gus peered in through the open door. “How’s our girl?”

“She has a broken arm, but otherwise she’s doing well,” Koko told him. “I’m trying to get her to rest, however, so make your visit short. You know how she can be. She’s just like Bram.”

“That she is—ornery through and through,” Gus agreed.

Koko nodded in agreement and then left them, taking up the goods she’d used in ministering to Dianne.

“I’ll be brief, I promise.” Gus came closer to Dianne’s bed and offered her a sympathetic grin. “Guess you’re broke in now. A real horsewoman.”

Dianne thought he sounded almost proud. “Yes, well, I certainly learned a valuable lesson about paying attention. I knew better, but I let my mind wander.”

“That black wasn’t one to be daydreamin’ with. I think you’re gonna have to stay away from him.”

“Maybe for now, but I want another chance at him. I have to have it,” she said, sleepiness overtaking her. She yawned and added, “It’s important to me, Gus.”

The Texan nodded and stroked his chin. “Guess you won’t be able to make the roundup now.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Dianne declared. “I’ll be there. You’ll see. I may not be able to sit on a horse, but I’ll come in the wagon with Malachi. I can help with something—cooking or—”

“Whoa, now,” Gus interrupted. “Let’s get you on the mend first, and then we’ll talk about the roundup. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Dianne appreciated his concern but wasn’t about to back down from her stand. “I’ll be there, Gus. You’ll see. And I’ll ride Jack again as well. He and I have a long future together. I just know it.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna have much of a future at all if Levi sees him causing you more grief. I thought we’d have to tie that boy up to keep him from puttin’ a bullet in ol’ Jack’s head.”

The thought alarmed Dianne. “Tell Levi that if he cares one whit about me, he’ll take good care of Jack so that I can ride him when I’m well. We don’t shoot those who show spirit around here. Uncle Bram always told me you have to be tougher than the land to live here. I am tougher than the land—tougher than that black too. I’ll show all of you.”

Gus laughed and slapped his hat against his leg. “By golly, little girl, I’ll bet you do just that.”

CHAPTER 18

Colorado Territory
March 1871

T
RENTON
C
HADWICK SCRATCHED HIS STUBBLY CHIN.
H
E
hadn’t had a bath in four days, nor had he been able to shave, and his face itched something awful as the start of a beard formed. Years in the company of Jerry Wilson and his little brother, Sam, had seasoned Trenton to long stretches between personal grooming.

“You gonna just sit there all day scratchin’ your face?” Sam Wilson asked, throwing a dirt clod at Trenton.

“What do you expect me to do?” Trenton asked. “Jerry said to wait here and that’s what I’m doing.”

Sam laughed. “Just like a good boy. You better do what we say. We saved your sorry neck from the hangman and you owe us your life.”

And well Trenton knew it. Sam and Jerry, along with the other members of the Wilson gang, never failed to remind Trenton of the night they broke him out of jail. Trenton had been falsely accused of being a part of the Wilson gang’s bank job where three men had died in the crossfire. Trenton had been elsewhere and certainly not a part of the gang, but because of the company he’d kept, he’d been associated with the gang. They were planning to execute Trenton, so he felt there’d been no choice but to accept Jerry’s offer to rejoin the sorry lot. Of course, Jerry didn’t exactly ask him to rejoin but rather forced the issue. Jerry was always one for forcing issues.

“Come on, Sam. We’ll take the bank,” Jerry said, finally returning from his reconnaissance ride into the small Colorado town. “Mark, you and Chadwick post a watch just to the south of the bank. I figure that’s our best route of escape.”

Of late, the Wilson gang consisted of only the four of them. Some of the others had come and gone, including the Swede, who had been a particular favorite of Jerry’s. Mainly because the Swede knew how to use explosive material and didn’t tend to blow up entire buildings like Jerry and Sam did.

Trenton went to his horse and mounted. The years of his association with the Wilsons hung on him like an old unwanted garment that had long since worn out its usefulness. Trenton had gone along with their forced companionship because at the time, sitting in that jail and knowing they were about to hang him, Trenton saw no other way to survive. God certainly hadn’t cared about his survival. But now, years later, Trenton had wearied of the game. He didn’t have the heart of a bank robber or killer, yet that was the life imposed upon him.

The gang moved out in the early morning light. Trenton felt his heart begin to pound like it had on all the other occasions they’d robbed banks. Jerry Wilson used to watch Trenton like a hawk, but over the last year or so, he’d eased up his vigil, realizing that Trenton was in too deep to merely walk away and hope for the best. His face was on a
Wanted
poster, same as Jerry’s.

The town was barely big enough to have a bank, but Jerry had heard that some local rancher had deposited a large amount of money. That rumor was good enough for Jerry, but Trenton thought it rather lame. How could they be sure the money would even be there? Worse still, how could they be sure it wasn’t just a trick to trap the gang? After all, the Wilson brothers had been terrorizing banks all around the Denver area.

Trenton felt for the gun on his hip. It was little comfort. Mark motioned him to a position on the far edge of town, yet still close enough to see the bank, while the wiry man moved in for a closer view. Trenton was glad to be left behind. Being out here, away from the actual robbery, Trenton could distance himself from what was happening—at least he tried to. Sometimes Jerry insisted he come into the bank. Those were the times Trenton hated the most. Especially if someone was wounded or killed. Trenton knew he had no power to stop Jerry, but he felt guilty for simply going along with the man. He could remember the face of every person he’d encountered during these robberies; the terror on their faces burned in Trenton’s memory.
I caused that terror,
he’d remind himself from time to time.
I’m no better than Jerry
. And those were times Trenton found a bottle of whiskey a better companion than any human soul. He remembered his old friend Henry and finally understood why the man drank—even though it certainly would mean his death. Those moments of blissful ignorance—even ignorance brought on by a drunken stupor—were better than remembering.