William Johnstone - Dead Before Sundown

“We’ll rest here for a couple of hours,” he said. “Gabriel, ride up to the top of that hill and keep an eye on the trail behind us. If you see anyone following us, let me know immediately.”

The man Mirabeau had addressed nodded and set off to carry out the order.

Mirabeau went on, “The rest of you unsaddle your horses. We’ll fill up all our canteens before we push on, too.”

Joseph swung down from his saddle. As Charlotte dismounted, he told her, “I’ll take care of your horse.”

“No,” she said with a stubborn shake of her head. “I can do it.” She leaned tiredly against the horse’s flank. “Just let me rest for a moment first.”

Joseph took hold of her shoulders and gently moved her aside. “Go sit down somewhere.” His tone made it clear that he wouldn’t put up with any argument. “I can handle this.”

Obviously reluctant, she said, “Well … if you’re sure …”

“I’m sure—” Joseph began.

Mirabeau shouldered him aside. “Tend to your own horse, Joseph,” he said. “I’ll take care of Charlotte, and her mount.”

Anger flared inside Joseph, and for once he was too tired to suppress it for the good of their shared cause. “You’ll do no such thing,” he snapped. “In fact, I think you should stay away from Charlotte.”

Mirabeau frowned at him in surprise. “What are you saying? She and I are going to be married.”

“I don’t think so. I can no longer give my blessing to such a union.”

Charlotte acted surprised, too. “Joseph, what are you saying?” she asked. “You know that Anton and I have an … an understanding.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Joseph said. “I don’t think he’s the right man for you, Charlotte.”

A booming laugh came from Mirabeau, but the sound had an undercurrent of anger in it. “You’re tired and not thinking straight, my friend. These are personal matters and should not be discussed in public.”

“Public?” Joseph repeated. He laughed, too, and waved an arm at their surroundings. “We’re in the middle of a wilderness! There probably aren’t fifty people within a hundred miles of here.”

Mirabeau’s eyes narrowed and glanced toward the other men. Joseph understood then. Mirabeau didn’t want to appear weak in front of them, now that he had taken over command of the group. It was a matter of honor and pride.

“We will talk about this later, once we have finished our mission.”

“You mean our attack on the North West Mounted Police barracks at Calgary?”

He might as well be blunt about it, Joseph thought. Their actions would amount to a declaration of war against the Crown. It was highly likely that none of them would survive except for Charlotte. Joseph didn’t intend to let her anywhere near the scene of the attack. So this argument with Mirabeau might well be pointless. He should have held his tongue.

But it was too late for that now.

He realized that Mirabeau was giving him an odd look. Joseph suddenly felt a chill go down his back. Something else was going on here, something he didn’t even know about.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Mirabeau said. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to attack the Mounties.”

Joseph tried not to sneer. “You’re afraid of them?”

Mirabeau shook his head. “Not at all. But that’s what the Crown would expect us to do. We need to do something to surprise them, something that will leave no doubt as to how serious we are about winning freedom for our people.”

“What are you talking about, Anton?” Charlotte asked. She seemed to be as baffled by this turn of events as Joseph was.

“In a few days, they’re going to be holding a competition in Calgary for the cowboys who work on the ranches,” Mirabeau said. “A rodeo, they call it. Hundreds of people will be there, and no one will be expecting trouble.”

A feeling of horror washed through Joseph as his eyes widened in amazement. He said, “You can’t mean—”

Mirabeau nodded. “We’re going to set up those Gatling guns and wipe out the crowd before anyone knows what’s happening. Then the damned English will have no choice but to give us what we want.”

Chapter 27

Reb Russell gave Frank a friendly smile in the strengthening dawn light.

“What are you talkin’ about, Frank?” he asked. “I told you who I am. Reb Russell. Just a cowpoke from Texas headin’ for the rodeo.”

“A cowpoke who knows about the Métis and their troubles with the Canadian government?”

Reb shrugged. “It was in all the papers. How do you know about it?”

Reb had a point there, Frank supposed. It was true that he had read newspaper stories about the previous rebellions up here north of the border.

That wasn’t enough to get rid of all of Frank’s suspicions, though.

“That was a fast draw you made a few minutes ago.”

“I have a lot of time to practice,” Reb said. “And I won’t lie to you. I’ve run into my share of trouble in my time. Too many hombres still seem to think the best way to settle an argument is with a gun.”

“Funny I haven’t heard of you, then.”

“I’ve been lucky. I never had to kill anybody until I came up here to Canada.” Reb gave a rueful chuckle. “Maybe I should’ve stayed home.” He grew more serious as he hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. “Look, Frank, if you and me are gonna have a problem here …”

Frank shook his head. “No problem. Just forget I said anything, Reb. With everything that’s happened, I’m just naturally a mite leery, I guess.”

“Well, yeah, I can understand that.” Reb grinned again. “I’m glad you understand that you and I are on the same side, Frank. Seems to me that right now, you and me are all we got.”

“And Salty,” Frank pointed out.

“Yeah, sure, Salty, too, when he gets back on his feet.”

Frank looked around for his hat. He found it, picked it up, and put it on.

“I’m going to take a look around. Maybe some of those horses didn’t run off too far. If we can round up even one or two of them, it’ll help.”

“You bet it will,” Reb said. “We’re goin’ after Meg, aren’t we?”

Frank nodded. “Of course we are. And the sooner we get on Palmer’s trail, the better. Take care of Salty, will you?”

“Sure. If he wakes up and needs anything, I’ll be right here.”

Reb was right about one thing: Frank had no choice but to trust him. They would have to work together if they were going to get out of here and rescue Meg.

As he walked through the hills looking for the horses, Frank tried not to think about the fact that Meg was Palmer’s prisoner. He knew she was good at taking care of herself, and he told himself that she would be all right until they could catch up to her and her captor.

If she wasn’t, he would kill Palmer himself, even if it took him the rest of his life to track the man down.

A feeling of frustration grew stronger in Frank as he continued to search without finding any of the horses. Palmer might have taken several of the animals with him, but he couldn’t have led all of them away. Some of them had bolted in panic from all the shooting after Palmer turned them loose. They ought to still be around here somewhere.

But he didn’t see any, and when he stopped and turned around to scan the hills around him, he realized that he was out of sight of the camp, too. He didn’t want to go too much farther. Like most Westerners, he wasn’t used to walking when he could ride. His feet already hurt.

Disgusted, he turned around and started back toward the camp. He could search again later. In the meantime, it was possible that some of the horses would wander up on their own and save him from having to look for them.