“Course you are,” Jesse says.
Will spits dip at Mutt, who skirts outta range.
“We ain’t running ’em alone,” Jesse explains. “It’s a quick job from Tucson to Yuma, and we’re hired hands. Benny’s always threatening that he’s got enough boys and won’t have work for us if we don’t come join his crew as steady wranglers, and yet the boss man calls time and time again when a herd needs moving.” He smiles, sly. “If’n everything goes well, we’ll take a half-dozen cattle home to the ranch. And a half dozen me, Will, and Mutt can handle.”
“What ’bout Clara?”
“Clara?” Will echoes. “You sly dog, Nate. Are you deaf or ain’t ya?”
“I think he’s whatever suits him best at the moment,” Jesse says.
“Well, what of her?” I says.
Jesse frowns and squints at the horizon. “Suppose it’ll come down to if Roy’s in Tucson when we get there. Clara’s his sister, after all, and he were supposed to meet her. But last we saw him he was gambling away his earnings in Wickenburg, full as a tick with whiskey and muttering ’bout trying his luck in Yuma.”
“Clara’s traveled all this way from Philadelphia,” Will says, waggling his eyebrows at me. “A real proper lady. Jesse’s sure she’ll faint at the sight of this land.”
“I ain’t never said that!” he snaps. “I said it weren’t smart for her to be traveling alone, ’specially if she couldn’t afford a coach past Tucson. Not that a coach did those poor souls any favors yesterday.”
We fall quiet with the mention of the burned Concord, and I turn what I’s learned over in my head. Roy is Sarah’s husband, making Clara her sister-in-law. I wonder what Clara plans to do at the ranch and what the Colton boys make of it. It weren’t a roomy homestead, but there sure was enough land to maintain. I try to picture a city gal with her bonnet and parasol beating rugs and milking cows. A grin tugs at my lips.
We crest a small rise in the plains, and there’s the Agua Fria, carving through the valley before us and looking more stream than river. Her banks are sprawling and mostly dry, showing how wide she runs during the rainiest months. In her deepest areas, where the water’s moving, patches of grass spring up and I can see the land heave and buckle with rocks and boulders.
Silver nods her head, excited-like.
“I know, girl,” I says. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Hang fire,” Jesse says, holding out an arm. “There’s someone down there.”
“Where?” I says, scanning.
He passes me the binoculars. “Not at the water. Dead ahead, halfway up the opposite bank.”
I look and find what he’s seen. Even with the binoculars, it’s a keen spot—two riders hunkered down behind a boulder in a makeshift sorta camp. That is, I assume there’s two of ’em. Alls I can see is their horses, both so tan in color, they blend right in with the dust.
“Maybe they got stranded in the storm yesterday and are hurt,” Will says.
“Or they’re looking to hurt us,” Jesse responds.
“You think it’s a trap?”
“I think it ain’t right. If you were stopping to rest here, you’d do it ’long the water. And it’s too early to be making camp for the night. ’Sides, who’d pick a sloped bit of ground like that to call the day quits? No protection at all.”
“You’d be protected from people crossing the river and coming yer way,” I says.
“Exactly,” Jesse says. “That’s all it’s good for, that position—an ambush.”
“So what do we do?” Will asks.
“I’m thinking on that,” Jesse says.
I peer through the binoculars again, and this time I see something I ain’t noticed on first glance. All the gear’s been pulled off the horses ’cept for the saddles, and I can see an emblem in the leather. The same shape I’s seen in two foreheads.
“It’s them,” I says. “It’s the Rose Riders.”
“No it ain’t,” Will says.
“They got the rose symbol on the saddles.”
“It ain’t them.”
“Shut it, Will,” Jesse says. And to me: “Yer certain?”
Another glance through the binoculars and I see one of the men standing, pulling a rifle into view. He leans on the boulder, setting up his shot, and there ain’t no mistaking what he’s aiming at.
Us.
Chapter Nine
“Get down,” I says, swinging off Silver. “They’s seen us, and they’re aiming to fire.”
I wrestle my mare to the ground, which ain’t an easy task, but we got to be as small a target as possible. The boys do the same.
Not a second later, the first bullet flies, hitting several paces before us and exploding dust.
“I thought you said they were in Phoenix!” Will shouts from where he’s hiding behind Rio.
“We’re close to it, ain’t we?” I shoot back.
But he’s right. If the Rose Riders have the journal and are chasing the gold, they should be ahead, already in the town and fixing to head east into the mountains. How’d I catch ’em so fast, and why’s they stopping an extra day here of all places? Maybe they got stuck in the storm like Jesse reckoned. There is only two of ’em. Could be the horses got hurt or they did. Or they were left behind as dead weight and now they’re meaning to take out the next travelers passing through so they can catch up. It ain’t like they know we’re following them.
“I think they’re after our horses,” I says as another shot cracks.
I glance at Jesse, who’s crouching behind Rebel. For once, he don’t look like he has a plan. The narrowed state of his eyes is more fearful than stubborn, and I don’t like it.
A few paces to our right there’s a low, flat boulder, large enough to shelter one. I lean over Silver’s flank and draw my rifle from the saddle scabbard, then let her up. As she stands, I scramble for the boulder, hoping the Riders’ eyes are drawn to the movement of my horse and not me.
Resting the Winchester’s barrel on the rock, I take aim.
“If you get him, I’ll never give you a hard time again, Nate,” Jesse says. I can hear the doubt in his voice, but this ain’t a pistol shot. This is a shot only a long barrel can pull off. And me? I been practicing like this my whole life. That bastard ’cross the way is just another bottle on a fence, and after all he’s taken from me, he ain’t taking my horse, too.
I sight him steady. Feel the wind and ready my hands.
“Gotcha,” I says at a whisper, and pull my trigger.
His head snaps back and he falls.
“Holy hell,” Jesse mutters.
But I ain’t even got time to relish his praise of the shot, ’cus the second Rider is fleeing. He’s running up the opposite bank, arms flailing, fringe on his leather jacket flapping like a bird ’bout to take flight.
I jump to my feet, unwilling to let him slip outta range.
I’ll get him for you, Pa. I’ll strike him dead.
“Nate, hold up!” I hear Jesse shout behind me.