William Johnstone - Dead Before Sundown

“Who do you reckon they were?” Salty asked. “Them Metties, or however you say it?”

“Could be, but why would they be going north?” Frank mused. He tried to remember maps of Canada he had seen. “From here, there’s not much in that direction except a big empty, all the way to Edmondton. We figured they were headed for Calgary.”

“We figured, but we don’t know that for sure,” Reb pointed out. “Do you think we should follow these tracks?”

Frank pondered the question for a long moment before finally shaking his head. “I saw the hoofprints that the Métis’s horses left back there where they bushwhacked Lundy’s gang. I don’t think these were made by the same animals.”

Salty snatched his hat off and looked as if he was going to slam it to the ground in disgust, but he must have decided not to because picking it up would be difficult with those bandages wrapped so tightly around him.

“You mean there’s another bunch o’ varmints wanderin’ around out here? For hell’s sake, there weren’t this many people in San Francisco the last time I was there!”

Frank had to smile. “Yeah, it’s pretty crowded for the middle of nowhere,” he agreed. “But these folks may not have anything to do with the ones we’re after.”

“Wish they’d left a few o’ them horses behind,” Salty muttered. “My feet ain’t never gonna be the same. It’s plumb unnatural for a man to have to walk so dang much, that’s what it is!”

Reb said, “I can’t argue with you there, old-timer.”

“Come on,” Frank said. “Whoever these fellas were, they’re long gone.”

By late afternoon they had covered several more miles. The hills around them were smaller now. The plains weren’t too far off, and once they reached the plains Calgary would be relatively close.

But even so, that meant several more days of walking, and Frank wasn’t sure any of them were up to that, especially Salty. The old-timer looked particularly haggard when Frank called a halt and said they would camp at the base of a wooded knoll.

Despite his obvious exhaustion, Salty said, “There’s still some daylight left. Let me just catch my breath, and then I’ll be able to keep goin’ a while longer.”

Frank shook his head. “No, we’re staying here. I want to check that dressing and make sure the wound hasn’t started bleeding again, and we all need some rest.”

“Wish there was a nice icy stream somewhere close by, so I could soak these feet of mine,” Reb said.

“That sounds good, but remember, keep your boots on.”

Reb nodded. “Sure, Frank, I know.”

Salty took his shirt off. Frank unwrapped the bandages. A little blood had oozed from the crease in the old-timer’s side during the day, which made the dressing stick. Frank eased it off and studied the wound. It still looked raw and ugly, but the flesh around it wasn’t red or swollen. That was his main concern.

“It looks like it’s healing all right,” he told Salty. “I’ll just bind it up again.”

“I reckon my feet probably look a lot worse. Dang, if the good Lord meant for man to walk, he wouldn’t have given us critters to ride!”

They kept their fire small and put it out before darkness settled down. The food and coffee made them feel better, but utter exhaustion was stealing over them quickly.

“I’ll stand first watch,” Frank said. “Then you, Reb, and you, Salty. That sound all right?”

The other two men nodded their agreement. Salty stretched out in his blankets while the western sky over the mountains still held a tinge of red from the sun. Within minutes, he was snoring.

Reb didn’t doze off that quickly. He spread his blankets, then looked up at Frank, who sat nearby on a slab of rock holding his Winchester.

“You reckon Meg’s all right tonight?” Reb asked quietly.

“I’m sure she is. Like Salty said earlier, if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s taking care of herself.”

“This frontier is no place for a woman like her.”

“That just shows that you don’t know her very well,” Frank said. “A woman like Meg, with the spirit she has, isn’t going to be happy sitting in a parlor and knitting booties. She’s got to be out and around, doing things and seeing whatever there is to see.”

“Yeah, well, one of these days she’s gonna want that parlor and those booties, I’ll bet.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“She probably wishes she was in a parlor somewhere right now, instead of being Palmer’s prisoner.”

“You’re not helping matters, Reb,” Frank said flatly.

“Maybe not. But I can’t help worryin’ about her.”

“Neither can I … and I’ve known her a lot longer than you have.”

“You and her … I mean, the two of you ain’t … you’re not—”

“Meg and I are friends,” Frank said, not wanting to sit there and listen to the young man stumble around what he was trying to say. “Good friends, but that’s all.”

“That’s kind of what I figured.” Reb sighed. “Guess I’d better get some shut-eye.”

“That’d be a good idea,” Frank said.

After a quiet, peaceful night, they were up again at first light in the morning. From the pained way Salty was hobbling around, Frank didn’t know how far he would be able to go today. His own feet were in pretty bad shape, and Reb’s probably were, too.

Salty tottered across the campsite and sank down on a log. “You’re gonna have to leave me here today, Frank,” he said. “I can’t go on.”

“Salty, I—”

“Damn it, listen to me. You owe it to Meg. You already wasted enough time takin’ it easy on me yesterday. You got to go after her as fast as you can now.”

Reb said, “That’s not gonna be very fast. I’m not walkin’ too good myself today.”

Frank came to his feet. “Blast it, I’m not giving up, and neither are you two. Salty, we’ll rig a travois and pull you.”

“A travois? Frank, you’ve gone plumb loco—”

Frank held up a hand to stop Salty’s argument.

“Blast it, I ain’t gonna shut up—”

“Listen,” Frank said.

Hoofbeats sounded through the early morning air. There were quite a few horses, Frank judged.

And they were coming closer, too.

Chapter 29

Frank lunged across the camp and took hold of Salty’s arm. “Come on,” he urged the old-timer. “We need to get up there in those trees.”

Reb was already grabbing their packs and kicking dirt and rocks over the fire to put it out and hide the signs of it.

“Who do you reckon it is?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Frank said, “but the way things have been going, chances are it’s not anybody friendly.”

He helped Salty up the slope into the trees that covered the top of the knoll. Reb came behind them, bringing both packs and his Winchester. They took cover behind the thick trunks of the pines and waited.

The riders were coming from the west, down the long, shallow valley between hills that Frank and his companions had been following. The sun had started to rise, casting its garish light over the landscape. That light was an explosion of red as the riders trotted around a bend in the trail and came into view.

The splash of color wasn’t just from the early-morning sunlight. The riders wore scarlet coats, along with black trousers and tan, peaked, flat-brimmed hats. The brass buttons on the coats gleamed in the sunlight.

Frank recognized the uniforms, and so did Salty. They had encountered a number of North West Mounted Policemen at Whitehorse the year before.

“Tarnation!” Salty exclaimed. “It’s the Mounties!”

Relief went through Frank, especially at the sight of the riderless horses being led by several of the red-coated men.