Page 4

He was closer to his grandad growing up than his father, who had been off fighting the war on two fronts. Only five when his grandfather passed, he felt abandoned and couldn’t forgive him. The hole he’d left still burned to this day.

“You mean I’m a fool who doesn’t know when to give in and live to fight another day?”he asked. “Protecting that piece of dirt killed him before his time. No thanks.I’mnot interestedinhopeless causes.”

“From the accounts I’ve read, things have settled some, but we can talk more about this later,”his father said. “After we’re shed of this damned dusty prairie and get to a safe place to divvy up the profits. You better hurry on up there. We’ll lose the light soon.”

“Yes, sir,”Seth agreed—about heading out, not Texas. His pa could talk all he wanted. His life would have to turn upside down before he ever moved away from his family.

Curling in his bottom lip, he let outa piercing whistle, which caught the attention of the men despite the pounding hooves of eight horses. “Ike,”he called, “You’re with me.”

Not hanging around to see if his father’s younger brother obeyed a command from a man thirty years his junior,hewheeled hishorseand put his heels to his sides.

His uncle drew alongside him in minutes, so he hadn’t lingered to argue. Everymember oftheHartigan Gangknew Bill’s instincts were sound.

“Let me guess, kid. My consarned crazy brother had another one of his hunches,” Ike grumbled. “Why else would we backtrack in the middle of a dust bowl where we can see for miles in every direction?”

His uncle could spin a yarn better than anyone he knew and, likewise, had a propensity for exaggeration. And he persisted in calling him “kid” like he was still ten years old.

“We’re scouting and mountain climbing,”he replied, nodding toward the rock face that grew taller with every stride their horses took.

“And how in tarnation are we supposed to get up there? Fly?”he asked, staring at the cliff as skeptical as Seth.

“Nope, we need to keep oureyespeeled foratrail only a man with Bill Hartigan’s keen eyesight can see.”

“Aw, shit,”his uncle grumbled. “Not this bull crap again.”

As legend had it, Deadeye Bill could shoot the wings off a fly at 100 paces and then spy where the darn thing landed.

Although Ike looked up to his older brother, living in his shadow all his life, as Seth did in Judd’s, he’d gotten his fill of tall tales a long time ago.

Ike was ahell of a shot himself, often besting Bill during target practice.

But kid brothers were rarely the stuff of legend, especially when in the shadow of the founder andleader of anotorious gang.

Riding along the base of the bluff, with their eyes peeled for a break in the rocks, he spotted a shrub with broken branches. The grass on one side was flattened where horses had passed.

“Here,”Seth called as he turned onto the hidden path.

Whenhis uncle followedsuit, a ruckus of flapping and squawking arose from the bush as a pair of grouse flew out of it.

Startled, Ike cussed a blue streak as he waved his arms to shoo them away.

His horse didn’t think much of the commotion on his back and reared up.

Seth expected him to landon his asson the hard, rocky ground, but he kept his seat.

“Look lively, old man,”he said once his uncle had his mount under control. “The climb is steep. Let a few birds make you scream like a woman on the way up, and I’ll have to scrape your carcass off these rocks on the way back down.”

Seth didn’t have to turn to see ifhis uncle followed. Ike’s cursing and grumbling told him he was right behind him, although, he only made out every second or third word. “Insolent whelp…old my ass…”He also muttered something about Seth being too big for his britches.

The trail, if you could call it that, was rockier than his horse cared for, but he scrambled steadily up the sharp incline, managing the uneven ground and loose dirt asif he did it every day.

At the top,he and Ikelooked back over the drought-plagued plain they had traveled.

A cloud of dust rose in the distance, coming up on Bill, Judd, and the others fast.

“Can you tell who it is?”Ike asked, squinting.

Seth couldn’t make out any details; they were still too far away. “Do you have your field glasses?”

“Do I have ’em?”Ike scoffed as if he’d never heard a more ridiculous question. “Does a bear defecate in the woods?”

Ike said that at least once a day, so he didn’t bother to answer, holding out his hand while his uncle dug them out of the soft leather pouch hangingfrom his saddlehorn and passed them over.

Army-issued and in his possession for years, the outer shell had scratches and dents and one deep groove the width of a bullet.

The banged-up, half-busted glasses had a story to tell, but he wouldn’t hear it from his uncle.

Other than the little he’d shared with Bill, Ike didn’t speak of what he’d endured.

Seth knew from his pa that his uncle had fought in four wars in his lifetime, starting in ’35 during the War for Texas Independence and a decade later when Mexico tried to reclaim it.

Then, there was the half-century Indian conflict with the Comanche and Kiowa, who wanted their tribal lands back.

But the last one, which pitted brother against brother and divided loyalties among neighbors and countrymen, nearly did his uncle in.

When the first six states seceded from the Union, and a call to arms went out, Ike didn’t feel obliged to leave his property in someone else’s hands—yet again—and travel thousands of miles to fight for a cause that wasn’t his.

He’d do his part if called upon to supply horses, but he intended to sit this one out.

His plan worked for about a year, until Texas seceded, too.

Orders came through from Virginia, conscripting all able-bodied men from eighteen to forty-five to defend the newly formed Confederate States of America.

Short of being labeled a traitor and having his land seized, forty-four-year-old Ike was riding out to fight again.

Ike was assigned to a cavalry unit with many of the Texas Rangers and militia men he fought with in the past, but instead of blasting the enemy across a field with a cannon, as a sharpshooter, he spent the war picking off foes one by one, especially those on horseback with gold braiding on their hats and shoulders.

Near the end of four of the bloodiest years in America’shistory, Ike’s luck ran out.

He took a bullet in the hip that almost cost him his leg.

After months battling pain and infection, his wounds healed, but war messed with a man’s head, and it changed him irrevocably.

He never returned to the ranch, joining his brother on the Western frontier instead.

When Seth raised the glasses to his eyes, his thumb grazed the bullet groove.

The singular“eye”would be more accurate because the left lens was cracked, distorting his visibility.

He’d often wondered if the metal casing had deflected a fatal shot and saved his uncle’s life.

Why keep the piece-of-shit glasses, which must serve as a jarring reminder, otherwise?

He adjusted the focusing wheel and squinted through one side.

Seth could make out the lead rider. He recognized the Army sack coat worn by several riders, but only the man out front had an officer’s braid banding his hat.

The rest weren’t in uniform but were armed to the teeth.

One had long black hair and wore buckskin.

“Well,”Ike prompted impatiently. “Is it a pack of Cheyenne Dog Men, Ft. Collins regulars, or an irate posse from Denver?”

“All the above.”Seth said grimly, tossing him the glasses. Wheeling his horse he spurred him into a hard gallop and raced along the bluff. He didn’t slow until he came even with the six Hartigan men below.

This time, his whistle didn’t carry.

“Fuck,”he cursed, out of frustration and worry. “We need to signal them somehow.”

Ike sawed back on his reins and was off his horse before coming to a complete stop. He staggered a bit then dug into his bulging saddlebag. When he pulled out his shaving mirror, Seth grabbed it, asking, “Is there anything you don’t haul around with you?”

“If I could fit in the kitchen sink, I’d bring that along, too.”

Seth had to hope his uncle's obsessive preparedness paid off today. Setting off again, he rode full out until he moved ahead of the group of riders below. Using the mirror to catch the light from the setting sun, he flashed an alert rapidly to represent the urgency of their situation.

“How will we know if they understand?”

Seth kept signaling only stopping when he saw them break into two groups. “That’s how,”he murmured as half veered west closer to the bluff, which cast a long shadow on the flatlands, andthe other half rodeeast toward the South Platte.

They would have no trouble crossing the river as dry as it was, but the men pursuing them wouldn’t either. Riding through it might throw off their tracker, which Seth assumed was why they had the Cheyenne warrior with them.

“We better go,”Ike suggested. “If Bill saw your signal, the posse might have too. They could split up and follow.”

“Let’s head northwest,”Seth said, turning that way already. “We can hold up in Laramie for a few days then circle back to Cheyenne and meet up.”

“Good idea,”Ike grunted, as he nudged his horse forward. “Although, there ain’t much in the way of accommodations in Laramie except some tents.”

“They have a saloon, don’t they? That’s all I need about now.”

“You’re right. I don’t know how you remembered when I didn’t.”

“Probably because you’re getting on in years,”Seth teased. “You also can’t seem to remember I’m not twelve anymore. I’m ready for whiskey by the bottle, not the glass.”