Leather and Lace

Chapter 3

In the distance, the shouts of men echoed from upstream. Casey drew in a ragged breath and strained to listen.

“Jenkins is making better time than I expected.” Morgan pulled his chestnut mare to a halt. “But we need to throw ’em. I know of a cave farther downstream that’s hidden beneath a ledge of rock. Have you been there?”

“No, and I’ve ridden up and down this riverbank with Jenkins plenty of times.”

They crossed on through cold water to the opposite bank and rode on toward a wall of brown and gray rock covered by sparse growth. She studied each crack and tree that jutted from the side, but her trained eyes couldn’t find the cave.

He cocked his rifle and dismounted. “We need to lead the horses.”

Casey slid from Stoney and followed Morgan through a narrow path lined with brush to the cave’s opening. Morgan picked up a limb and handed it to her. She used it as a brush to cover their tracks, thinking about the times she’d done this very thing to hide from lawmen. Inside the cool and dank quarters, she blinked several times until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. With the horses, they barely had room to turn around. She hated closed-in places. They always made her anxious. The smell of the animals coupled with mustiness aroused a whirlpool of recollections. In the past, she’d hidden from the law, not Jenkins. And he’d outsmarted every posse and lawman in the country.

Morgan pointed to a bramble and leaf-covered slice of rock. “We can see the river’s edge from there.” He pushed away just enough of the obstruction to see outside.

Long moments trickled by while they stared at the riverbank.

“Are you thinking this is what I planned?” he said.

She looked beyond the opposite creek bank for signs of Jenkins before answering. “Looks that way to me. Not sure, though. You’re a peculiar man.” She noted his square jaw and concluded it gave him a determined look, but for what? “Have you led me into a trap?”

“Not intentionally. I never planned to get you or me killed.”

“The bait always loses. So what do we do now?”

“Wait a few more minutes. From the prickling on the back of my neck, it won’t be long.”

Within moments, Casey saw the first signs of the gang riding into view. Her heart slammed against her chest. If Jenkins had ridden such a short distance behind them, then they must have started down the mountain last night. Suspicions about Morgan’s motives tugged at her mind. The two men must have talked before Morgan stepped into her campsite. Her gaze rested on her rifle and the saddlebag that held her Colt and derringer.

“Odd how they picked up our trail right after we broke camp,” she said.

“Think what you want.”

Nothing in his expression revealed deceit. Although he didn’t show signs of fear, she’d seen that emotion bring out other types of reactions in a man—anger, overconfidence, or loss of good sense.

“I wish I knew how they got here so fast.” Casey craned her neck to count how many men rode in pursuit. “Or maybe I don’t want to know.”

Morgan continued to study the men. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but if I’m one of them, why are we hiding?”

“You tell me.”

Not a muscle flinched. “Time will prove my words.”

“So it will.”

Silence seemed deafening. The waiting, the endless waiting.

“I’ve met men twice your size who weren’t nearly as tough,” Morgan said.

“Or as mean when I’m riled.” She started to say more, but the sight of those she knew by name riding along the opposite riverbank caused the words to die in her throat.

Casey inwardly shuddered. Through the brush, she viewed her brother beside Jenkins. What part would Tim play if Jenkins discovered them? Surely he felt some sort of compassion for her. In the years they’d ridden with Jenkins, Casey had watched her brother change from a kind, misguided young man to a ruthless killer. No surprise he rode with them.

Her gaze moved from her brother to Jenkins. The outlaw sat tall and proud, as though he led an army brigade instead of a gang of outlaws. She well recognized his coal-black hair and the way he carried his rifle across the saddle.

The whole bunch rode in pursuit of one woman. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if they caught her . . . or if they already had. Panic rose and burned in her chest, and her stomach curdled worse than day-old milk. It couldn’t be much more than noon, but the whole mad race from Jenkins could be over.

“I guess Jenkins knows about this cave after all,” she said. “He has the eyes of an eagle and the tactics of an angry rattler.”

“Most likely so.”

“Is there a way out?”

“Just through the front, the way we came in.” He rubbed a bristled chin. “And I thought I was clever.”

In that instant Casey wanted to believe Morgan spoke the truth.

“If only Jenkins rode within rifle range,” she said. “But I’m not so sure I want any of them on this side of the river.”

“Gunfire would send the rest in our direction with little time for us to get away.”

Neither spoke about the gang choosing to rush them or smoke them out. The thought invited either a dance with death or a mercilessly slow torture. How long could they hold them off in a rock coffin?

The outlaws rode alongside the Green River until they disappeared. Not once did Jenkins’s gaze cast a shadow on the cave. Caution stopped her from believing she was safe. After all, Morgan had his plans.

Silently, Casey waited, still expecting the band to leap out from nowhere. She noted the afternoon sun begin its slow descent and send dazzling jewels across the water. It glistened brilliantly as though the world lay in peace.

“They’re back,” Morgan said.

The gang rode upstream on the cave’s side. Her blood ran cold. Jenkins most likely enjoyed this cunning game of wit.

Think. I have a man on the outside who wants me dead, and one in the inside who I can’t trust.

The hollow faces filed by. She could almost smell the leather and the unwashed bodies mixed with cheap whiskey. Some of them she’d known since the beginning. Others only a short while. She’d dug out bullets from a few and helped bury their partners, but all were ready to take their orders from Jenkins. I shouldn’t have been so proud—should have slept with a few of them or promised to run off with ’em.

They rode slowly along the river’s edge several yards in front of the cave. Each one looked as if he’d given up hope of finding her. Mumbling and cursing rose above the splashing of water and the calls of nature. Once she thought Tim stared straight into the overhanging rock. Jenkins, however, kept his sight fixed on the river, appearing to concentrate on its ripple and flow.

Casey willed her heart to slow. She suddenly realized the closeness of the man beside her. His breath, warm against her face, and his presence unnerved her. If he wanted to kill Jenkins, now was the chance. Uncomfortable, she stepped back. Somehow she found herself lost in the vortex of his eyes. Logic told her to break free of his visual hold, but instead she sunk her heart into forbidden turquoise pools.

“They’re not leaving,” she whispered. “It’s all a game.”

“Casey,” Morgan said, “don’t you wonder why you and I have ended up like this together?”

She turned from him. “I don’t have time to think on it. I’m more concerned about coming out of this alive.” She shook with the tension flaring between them.

“Mark my word. There’s a reason.” He lowered his rifle yet maintained his watch. “And I don’t know why either.”

“Thought you wanted Jenkins. I’m the bait, remember?”

“That’s exactly what I told you.” He stared back at the men and groaned. “They’re camping in front of us.”

Alarm threatened to strangle her. Already she could sense Jenkins’s murderous hands around her neck. Whether he planned to wait for nightfall or force them out at his whim made little difference. She’d turn her gun on herself before facing his fury.

“What do you think?” She swallowed her staggering emotions. “Pick them off one by one? Let them know we’re ready and have it out now before we collapse from lack of sleep or water?” She brushed back a loose strand of hair from her face. “I want to face them now. I’m tired, too tired to think or reason. You have a chance to shoot Jenkins and still get out of here alive. I’ll hold them off.”

“I’m here for whatever happens. I’m not leaving you to that animal.”

Who was this man? “A mule has more sense than you do. Stick with me, and you’ll end up dead. Save the heroics. What happened to your plan?”

“We’ll think of something,” Morgan said. “We’ve come too far to risk getting killed because they think they have us.”

“And they don’t?”

“Not yet.” He studied the terrain. “Where’s your spunk, girl? I thought you had more fight in you than this.” He took a passing glance at their horses. “You know, I’d gamble on them thinking we’d wait till dark to sneak out of here.”

She paced across the dirt floor of the cave and watched a lizard scamper up the wall. “You’re talking hours away. Jenkins could get very impatient by then.”

“True. What do you say we let them get their horses unsaddled and make a run for it?”

What did they have to lose? “So you’re going to get him when we ride out?”

He nodded.

“I’ve got friends in Vernal. We could hide out a few days.”

“I still know a few folks there,” he said. “Unless you have a better idea.”

She shook her head. “Running is part of my life, and as long as someone is after me, I’ll keep running.”

Staring up at the rock ledge masking the cave’s opening, she felt a renewal of energy. Jenkins had two guards posted at opposite ends of the riverbank, with Tim seated adjacent to the cave. The outlaws’ horses glistened with sweat.

“We’re outnumbered, but their horses are spent. I think we can outrun them.” Morgan’s jaw tightened. He reached for her rifle along with the Colt and derringer. “This isn’t the way I planned to return these.”

“And it’s not the way I wanted them back, either.” She slipped the revolver into her gun belt, dropped the derringer into her coat pocket, and tightened her fingers around the stock barrel of the rifle. The familiarity did little to boost her confidence.

Staring at the water’s edge, she recalled similar situations and remembered the anxious gut fear. But she’d always been in Jenkins’s company, not against him.

The outlaws relaxed by the riverbank. Some reached for a chaw of tobacco and a bottle of whiskey. Some filled their canteens with water. From the sordid laughter, she knew which ones bragged about their reputations. Only Jenkins and the guards held their weapons in hand.

“We need some wood,” Jenkins shouted.

“What for?”

“Burn out Casey and Morgan.” He pointed to the cave.

“You—” Casey whipped her attention to Morgan.

“He knows I’m trailing him. So does your brother.”

“How’s come I never heard of you?”

“Maybe Jenkins doesn’t tell his woman everything.”

She wanted to spit on him.

Jenkins stepped behind two of the men.

“I see you’re hiding from me,” Morgan called out.

“And have you pick me off?” Jenkins laughed. “Can’t believe my luck. Got you both.”

“That’s what you think,” Morgan said.

Jenkins laughed again. “Gonna get mighty hot in there.”

Morgan swung his attention her way. “Are you ready?”

Casey clenched her fists to dispel the anger and fear snaking up her spine. “Sure. Don’t have much choice.”

“Only the hand of God can help us now.”

“He may help you, but I haven’t done anything good to get His attention.”

“God doesn’t help us because we deserve it.”

She startled. “What are you, a preacher?”

“Far from it. I just know who’s in control.”

Moments later, the two stepped from the cave and swung up onto their saddles. Two black-billed magpies flew from a tree above them as if they understood the turmoil threatening to explode. A desire to live raced through her veins as desperate as the escape from the overhanging rock to open ground. I will not become like them. How many times had she told herself that very thing over the years? She spurred her horse on behind Morgan’s mare and shut out all thoughts but the flight to freedom.

Instantly, Jenkins’s guards were alerted. Rifle fire split the air. Bullets whizzed past them. One whistled near her ear. Tim, how can you be a part of this? The shouts and curses of excited men filled the air. She heard Morgan’s rifle and wondered where the bullet landed.

All too soon, the pounding of horse hooves broke the peacefulness of the afternoon. It sounded like drums signaling out a war cry. Morgan looked back, then spurred his mare faster down the riverbank. Without hesitation, Casey raced behind. Instinct took over her actions and buried her fear. From the shouts behind them, many of the men pressed closer than safety allowed. She leaned against Stoney’s neck and clung to the hope of the gang’s horses tiring first.

Morgan’s horse climbed up a path of rock. He seemed to know exactly where it led. The thought bothered her, but she didn’t have time to contemplate his knowledge except to recall that he’d once lived in these parts. The path wound around rock as perilous as the icy trail from the night before.

The steep ascent came to a sharp fork. Morgan stopped for a moment and took another look behind them. “Casey, you take the right, and I’ll wind up to the left.” He pointed to a high ridge on her side. “I’ll meet you there. Listen for my rifle to signal them coming. With both of us firing from opposite directions, it should throw them long enough for us to get an edge.”

“Did you get Jenkins?”

“Not sure.”

She nodded and dug her heels into the horse’s sides. What kind of man risked his life for a female outlaw—unless money ruled his good sense?

Her gelding picked its way to higher ground. She willed herself to stay calm, to collect her thoughts, and to stay alert.

Sometime during the last few hours, she’d begun to depend upon Morgan. She couldn’t pinpoint when, but time would tell if she paid for it with her life. Could she be so tired that exhaustion had altered her good judgment?

With death nipping at her heels, Casey questioned if God really existed. Morgan certainly seemed to know more about the subject than she did. Her mother had trusted in God, and she died in peace. Many a time, Casey had tended to Jenkins’s men when they lay dying. They became twisted, ugly distortions of men, clinging to life and afraid of the unknown. She didn’t want to end up like that.

Morgan . . . She was afraid to trust him and afraid not to. He waved his rifle, then fired, and Casey returned the signal. Jenkins ascended the rocky path and neared the fork. Morgan hadn’t got him. She tried to catch a glimpse of Tim’s face, but his wide-brimmed hat shielded his face. She didn’t want him dead, but she feared he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her.

Morgan squeezed another shot, and it bounced off rock, causing Jenkins’s horse to startle. The animal screamed in protest, then reared. The outlaw fell and rolled into a crevice. Like a snake. She raised her rifle and fired, but he disappeared in the shadows. The other men scattered as best they could in view of the narrow path. All Casey could do was fire into the lower rock walls. The outlaws rapidly returned their own fire, but she knew they could only speculate where she and Morgan were located.

“Move back.” Tim’s voice echoed to the men.

Casey held her breath. Jenkins must be hurt or better yet dead. She calculated how long before any of them headed up the steep path again on both sides of the fork.

Morgan motioned for her to climb higher. She urged her horse up to the meeting ground. As she guessed, the narrow trail wound around to a small rock clearing. Before she had a moment to consider their next move, a rifle shot pierced the air, then another. Morgan rode into the clearing slumped over his horse and fell. Crimson rivers oozed from his thigh and chest. One of the men had gotten to him before he reached the clearing.

Casey raced to Morgan’s still body and jumped from her gelding. She didn’t know where the few tears she shed came from. She’d seen enough hole-filled men. But the rare display of emotion slipped over her cheeks—blinding, stinging tears full of regret. She laid her ear against his chest and ignored the blood staining her face and hands. A faint heartbeat gave her hope. A weak moan escaped his lips. For certain, he barely held on to life. Her gaze swept around the clearing. No one. Where did the shots come from?

She yanked out an old shirt and a bottle of Tim’s whiskey from her saddlebag. She’d taken it one night when he was mean drunk, never expecting she’d find a purpose for it.

Casey dropped to her knees beside Morgan and carefully opened his shirt. Bits of cloth lay embedded in the open flesh, and she carefully picked them out. The hole in his upper chest lay dangerously close to his heart, and the bullet had sunk deep. Tearing her old shirt into strips, she poured whiskey over the largest piece. She dabbed at the wound with the wet cloth and gasped at the profuse bleeding. All the while, she glanced about, looking for Jenkins and his men to overtake them.

Why couldn’t you have been more careful? Her hands trembled as she worked. You shouldn’t have tangled with the likes of me. No matter what the reason. She glanced at Stoney. This was her chance to get away. Morgan wasn’t worth trying to figure out, and he lay dying.

But she’d decided weeks ago to live a decent life. Leaving him might have been what the old Casey would do.

She steadied herself, then hastily mixed a mud paste of dirt and whiskey and applied it to Morgan’s chest. Ofttimes it stopped the bleeding.

“I couldn’t have been worth this much trouble,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you listen to me in the cave? I was the bait, remember?”

His face grayed—a frightening indication of death. His breathing grew shallow, then faded to nothing. Again she placed her ear near his heart. A faint sound of life.

The echo of hoofbeats startled her. Her gaze darted from Morgan to the area around them for signs of Jenkins. She refused to leave the injured man, but helplessness gripped her just the same. Snatching up her rife, she prepared for the worst.