Along The Fortune Trail (6 page)

T
he days went by and Sammy improved steadily, at least at staying awake while visitors came to call. He was grateful for the company, though, and he quickly accumulated enough reading material and pieces of pie or cake to keep him eating and occupied. And naturally, the better he felt, the more stir crazy he became. It came to a head when Lundy showed up one morning.

Sammy started right in on him, not even giving him a chance to say hello. “It's time to go, Lundy. I've gotta get outta here today! Doc says another week, but I'm not doin’ it. I'm just layin’ here gettin’ soft and bustin’ with cabin fever. Parker's got an extra horse. Go check would you, Lundy? I'm good to ride right now.” Sammy was already swinging his legs to the floor and preparing to stand up.

“Whooaaa down there, Leaky. I don't know if that's such an all-fire bright idea.”

“I'll tell you, Lundy,” Sammy quickly injected with straight seriousness, “I don't believe I care to be called Leaky anymore. It's caused me too much trouble. You just get me back to the T. and I'll be all right. Come on, Lundy, I'm askin’ for your help now.”

“Well I do have the buckboard here,” Lundy mischievously said. “You think we oughta pull the big caper and spring you outta here, huh?”

“Now you've got the right idea, partner,” Sammy said with a grin of relief.

“Let me run that one by the doc for the sake of courtesy. I'm sure he won't put up too much of a fuss. I don't reckon he'd mind seeing you go unless he really figured it'd be dangerous for you.”

“You go have your conversation and I'll be dressed and ready in five minutes,” Sammy said with a tone of resolve and determination that let Lundy know that he was leaving the premises, one way or another.

Lundy shook his head with a look of mock disgust. “You sound like a man who's ready for work, but somehow I don't think you're up to it yet. But then again, you've been a surprise since day one.”

Lundy left the room and Sammy slowly got dressed. He was stiff, and each movement brought pain, but pulling on his new boots again and putting on fresh duds took his mind off it. Moments later, he stood at the top of the stairs and knew it would take some concentration to get down them in some other way than a tumble. He steadied himself and began the descent, his legs feeling rubbery and his ribs aching with each downward step. But his determination delivered him to the bottom without incident.

He walked through the parlor to Doc Payton's office where Doc sat at his desk, his attention on some paperwork that he had a pen to. Doc continued writing and spoke without looking up. “Lundy says you're leaving. I don't recommend it, but I don't reckon it'll kill you. Just lay up and stay off a horse for a good while. You sure don't want to re-injure those ribs anytime soon. They're another two months from being fully healed.”

Sammy knew the doc was right on that score. “I'm much obliged to you and Missus Jenkins for all your care. I'll follow your advice ‘cause I know from that trip down the stairs that my ambition is presently a whole lot stronger than the rest of me. What do I owe you, Doc?”

“You can settle up later. Just take it easy and stop back in next time you get to town. We'll get another look at you.”

“Here's ten dollars against what I owe,” Sammy said, pulling the money from his pocket and putting it the on the desk.

“Then five more will settle it … but no hurry. Pay me when you can. Lundy said he'd be back in a few minutes. Why don't you sit down?”

“Thanks, Doc, but I'm goin’ outside just to be there. It's been too long.”

T
he frozen wagon ruts on Main Street were lined with crystals of ice that shone brilliantly in the morning sun, giving the appearance of jeweled rails. Sammy surveyed them, knowing that they would soon thaw and give way to an avenue of mud, eventually to be recast by the day's activities and the evening's freezing temperatures. He stood on the boardwalk, happy to be outside absorbing the crisp air. The need to stretch overcame him, and he slowly raised his hands over his head as if reaching for the sky. The motion was painfully needed. He continued with it as he pushed up on the balls of his feet and held an elongated position for several more seconds before relaxing back down and feeling better, his circulation now in working order.

He sat down on the bench, prepared to watch the activities of Main Street while waiting for Lundy, when he heard a door close. Sammy's heart sped up and the sensation of cold gave way to excitement as he looked at Jenny Simpson walking toward him. Her movement was graceful and elegant. The simple blue gingham dress she wore might as well have been a royal gown, for her beauty was striking. Her long dark hair was presently pinned up in a bun and contrasted with her deep blue eyes that were soft of expression and hypnotically alluring. She smiled as she approached, a smile that melted Sammy's soul and left a puddle of confused emotion and anxiety. When she stopped in front of him, Sammy quickly stood and removed his hat.

“Hello, Sam,” she said, the tone and quality of her voice as appealing as the rest of her. “What are you doing out here? Are you well enough to be leaving?”

Sammy joyfully noted the concern in her voice. “Yes ma'am, Miss Jenny. I'm feeling much better, and I couldn't lie in that bed anymore. I'll be much happier resting up at the T. and doing what I can to help out.”

She looked at him with warm eyes and invitingly said, “I'd like it if you'd just call me Jenny.”

“All right … Jenny. I just didn't want to be disrespectful, ma'am … I mean Jenny.”

They smiled at each other as their eyes locked and held for long, lingering seconds. Without conversation, there was a powerful communication of feelings between them.

“I sure appreciate the meals you made, Jenny,” Sammy said, breaking the trance they had both fallen into. “Your cookin’ is what's got me better in such a hurry,” he said with a laugh.

“I was happy to cook for you, Sam, and I'm so glad to see you're feeling better. I came by to visit several times, but you were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you.”

Sammy's heart leapt at the news of her attempted visits. He could hardly believe it. “You should have woken me, Jenny,” he said with a deep sincerity, causing her to search his eyes again.

“I wish I had … if that's what you would have wanted,” she said, in a softer, revealing tone.

The wagon rounded the corner and rolled up the street with Lundy at the reins, his hat pulled low. Jenny and Sammy looked at the approaching wagon and then at each other, sensing the end of their short visit. “It sure is good to see you, Jenny,” Sammy said almost sadly. “I'm sorry I didn't get to dance with you at that fandango. I would have really liked that.”

Jenny gave a look of disappointment mixed with another warm smile. “After I heard what happened to you at the Frontier, I wasn't in the mood to dance. I didn't go. They said you might die. I prayed for you, Sam.”

Jenny suddenly gave Sammy a hug, her hair brushing against his face for a brief second, but long enough for him to drink in her clean, wonderful scent. She stepped back quickly and looked at Sammy, who stood as if hit by a bolt of lightning. “I'm so glad God didn't take you now.”

“Me too,” Sammy replied in a sort of dreamy daze. “Thank you for your prayers, Jenny,” he said, still dumbfounded.

Lundy pulled the wagon up and stopped, but sat quietly, not wanting to interrupt the conversation that he knew Sammy was more than happy to be having.

“I'd be pleased if you came by for a visit when you're feeling better, Sam.” She turned and began to walk away, then looked back after two steps and said with the slightest intonation of sweet hope, “Goodbye for now, Samuel Winds.”

Sammy watched her walk down the boardwalk as if nothing else existed in the world, fixated until she disappeared into the general store a block away. He finally looked at Lundy, who was looking back at him with a knowing smile. “I think you oughta do as that girl says and pay her a visit when you're feelin’ better,” Lundy casually said.

“I believe I will.”

T
he wagon rumbled along over the gently undulating upper plains, the land colored by the mid-autumn hues of yellow, gold, green, purple, and red, and rolling out in an easy ascent that eventually vanished into a forest several miles ahead. Sammy was laid out in the back amongst the supplies, his head resting on a sack of beans. His ribs ached, but the pain had let up some since he'd taken up residence on the wagon bed, having been forced there early on by the pain brought from sitting up front at the beginning of the trip. He and Lundy had talked for an hour about the goings on at the ranch, the current herd, and Sammy's ordeal. Lundy understood that Sammy had deep regret over having to kill a man, his first, but knew that the west was a volatile place where a man did what a situation demanded of him to survive. For his part, Sammy was simply mad that he'd been forced to kill the unknown stranger. “That loud-mouthed son of a bitch won't be causin’ anybody else trouble,” Sammy had said before the conversation fell silent.

Several miles went by with each man riding in his own thoughts. Sammy gazed at the deep blue sky, choked with billowing, puffy clouds, his senses keen with the outdoor movement and his unexpected encounter with Jenny. Lundy kept the team at a good pace and sat easily with loose reins in hand, happily singing a medley of trail songs.

It was early afternoon. They had just passed the canteen between them and were preparing to indulge in some fried chicken and biscuits when Sammy spotted the rider moving up their path several miles behind them. “Rider comin’ up behind us, Lundy.”

Lundy turned around and looked for several seconds, noting the rider's speed and direction. “Looks like he's tryin’ to catch us … movin’ fast … sod's flyin’ … and lookin’ right at us … must be.” He pulled back easily on the reins. “Whoaa, boys. Let's stop this travelin’ palace and pay this meal the attention it deserves while we let this feller get here.” Lundy got the wagon stopped and moments later tore into a fat chicken breast, chewing with dedicated purpose and quickly replacing what he'd swallowed with other large bites as if there were a time limit involved.

Sammy was making short work of a thigh and biscuit and intently watching the rider. He stopped chewing as recognition began to form. “I think that's Sheriff Ritter. Looks like his horse, and he wears a gray bowler like that … don't he?”

Lundy peered hard for a moment while he chewed away. “I think you're right,” he said through a mouth full of chicken, causing a morsel to be ejected that landed on Sammy's nose. “Sure looks like that blue roan of his,” Lundy continued, not noticing as another piece flew out and landed on Sammy's chest.

“You keep talking, Lundy, and I'll have a whole nuther piece of chicken down here soon,” Sammy mused, brushing the pieces off of his face and chest.

“Well, you couldn't go wrong ‘cause that's about as good as fried chicken ever gets,” Lundy replied without hesitation.

Both men continued eating and watching as the rider slowly grew closer. Minutes later, the rider pulled up alongside the wagon, his horse breathing hard. Lundy smiled at the tall, burly man whose hat was pulled low over bushy eyebrows and a weather-beaten face. His thick, brown and gray handlebar mustache curled up slightly as he smiled back, looking Lundy in the eye with the familiarity of their twenty-year friendship. “Hello, Greg,” Lundy began. “I hope you didn't bust your horse into that kind of lather tryin’ to get here for some chicken ‘cause the invalid in the back just ate the last piece. Couple of biscuits left, though.”

Sammy looked up toward Lundy with an amused expression, then he looked at the sheriff. “Good to see you, Sheriff Ritter … or maybe not. Usually if a lawman's pursuing you, it's not a good thing.”

“That's true enough,” Sheriff Ritter said, as he swung down from the saddle. He tied his horse to the back of the wagon and stretched as he walked. “Glad to get down from there. I been humpin’ it trying to catch you boys.”

“No doubt your horse is glad, too,” Lundy chuckled. “You look to be gettin’ an early start on a winter coat.”

“I reckon I'd be fatter ‘n this if I was eatin’ Jacqueline's cookin’ on a regular basis.” The sheriff turned his attention squarely to Sammy. “Yes, sir, Sammy. I'm most often callin’ on folks to make ‘em answer to the law or give ‘em news they'd rather not hear. But I know this is going to be a memorable moment.”

Lundy and Sammy looked at each other for an instant, then back at the sheriff, who was happy to let the statement hang for seconds with no follow up. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, Greg?” Lundy finally said, half irritated.

Sammy cut in right behind with a tone of curiosity. “You found something out about the dead man?”

“I sure did,” Sheriff Ritter said in a tone that signaled he was winding up for a big delivery. “Seems that hombre headed up an outfit that robbed a train in the Colorado Territory. His name was Lonny Ballantine and he killed the engineer … ole boy who'd worked for the railroad's owner, Mister Barclay Westerfeld, since the beginning. The word is, this engineer was about to retire. Mister Westerfeld wanted Ballantine's hide stretched over hell. He put out a ten thousand dollar reward for him, dead or alive.”

The last sentence hung in the air, momentarily unrealized by Sammy as if he'd misheard something. But Lundy had sure enough heard it. “Did you say ten thousand dollars?” The slow delivery and wonderment in Lundy's voice indicated a sudden need to hear it said at least one more time.

“That's right,” Sheriff Ritter replied, delighted to see the reaction by Lundy and the trance-like expression on Sammy's face. “You'll have to go to Denver to claim it, though. That's where this railroad owner lives, and he wants to personally give out the reward … get some publicity out of it, I imagine. I got all the information right here,” the sheriff said as he pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket.

Lundy reached out and took it, then handed it down to Sammy, who immediately pulled out the papers within and began reading. “How'd you land on all this, Greg?” Lundy asked.

Sheriff Ritter stepped back to his horse and began to tell the story as he unstrung his canteen. “It's quite a show. Had Jason over to Stratford a couple weeks back to see if he could find out anything pertaining to Sammy's unlucky acquaintance at the Frontier. They didn't know anything then, but got a wanted poster on this Ballantine feller a few days ago. The poster had his name on it and a good description. Story goes, one of his partners fell off the train during the robbery and busted his leg. They caught him directly, and he was happy to sing like a bird about Ballantine. Said he was leadin’ the deal. Must not of liked him ‘cause he told ‘em all they wanted about Ballantine, but wouldn't say nothin’ about another man that was said to be in on it. Nobody's caught up with him yet. As it turns out, there was a fourth man too … a shave-tail kid really. He's sittin’ in the Stratford jail now … and he's the one that was with Ballantine at the Frontier.”

The sheriff paused and took a long pull off his canteen then capped it, hung it on the side of the wagon, and started rooting in the wicker basket on the floorboard. “I'll take you up on one of those biscuits.”

Sammy kept reading the information papers while Lundy was content to sit quiet for a moment, sure that the sheriff would resume the story any second. Sheriff Ritter pulled out a biscuit and stood still, looking at the biscuit, which he was shaking slightly as if it contained the rest of the story.

He took a bite and continued as he chewed. “This kid … Royals … Cody Royals, I believe it was. Well, he got put afoot by some Navajos over near Flathead Butte after he left town. Not real sure what happened there, but he lost his horse and he's still breathin’ … so he got lucky somehow. Two young hands off the Handy J. happened by this Royals fella … good thing too. He'd been wanderin’ around for a couple days. Those boys saved his bacon. Got him fed and watered and to town … but not before they drank some whiskey together. Royals was so happy he thought he'd brag about who he'd been keepin’ company with and how big a life he'd been livin’ … from the train robbery right down to Sammy's killin’ of this Lonny Ballantine. Those boys off the J. were even younger than Royals. Guess he figured they wouldn't say nothin’ to nobody. He figured wrong. Sheriff Hardy ended up getting all the pieces … first my deputy's inquiries, then the wanted poster on Ballantine, then this Royals idiot shootin’ off his mouth. Sheriff Hardy showed up in my office this mornin’ about an hour after you boys left town. Knew you'd be anxious to know the whole story on that curly wolf … not to mention the reward.”

Sammy looked up from the papers he'd been intently studying and smiled at the sheriff like a man who'd had a heavy burden lifted off his shoulders. “I don't know how this day could get any better. Much obliged, Sheriff, for bringing this news.”

Sammy's expression turned thoughtful. “This letter says I've got six months to claim the money, and that I'll need some sort of identification or letters from the proper authorities to prove I'm the man that killed Lonny Ballantine. Do they already know who I am?”

“They know that Ballantine is dead and that a man named Sammy Winds killed him,” Sheriff Ritter replied. “Sheriff Hardy will get word off as soon as he gets back to Stratford lettin’ ‘em know of your current condition and that you'll get word out when you can figure your plans a little better. I'll fix up some sort of official letter for you. By the time you get there, they'll have had a heap of advance notice about Sammy Winds,” he said with a chuckle.

Lundy pulled his hat brim up. “It's gonna be a spell before you'll be ready for a trip like that. It's near five hundred miles to Denver, and by the time you'll be ready to travel, it'll be winter. I'm guessin’ you'd have to travel most of it by horse just to get to where a train or stage was part of a Denver route.”

Sheriff Ritter began speculating out loud about where one would have to travel to catch a train or stage bound for Denver or the possible connection points. But Sammy didn't catch much of it. His mind had slipped back to the ten thousand dollars and was paralyzed with rapture as he considered the possibilities of what he could do with such a sum. He lay there in the back of the wagon, leaning against the bean sacks, his mind clicking through all the enterprises that he knew, or had heard of, and had been interested by. The possibilities seemed endless. Sammy knew his life had been transformed at that moment, much like when he'd been rescued from the plains and brought to the Twin T. thirteen years earlier.

Lundy and the Sheriff jawboned about the travel options, unaware of Sammy's mental absence, but coming to agreement over the certainty of several routes and the probable conditions. They finally turned their attention back to Sammy to note his reaction to their collective wisdom. “I don't think he's listenin’ to us, Greg,” Lundy said, appreciating the kind of impact the news was having on his young friend.

The Sheriff smiled. “With that kind of money, he won't have to listen. He'll be givin’ the orders.”

Having heard the last two sentences, and game to join in on the amusement, Sammy said with authority, “Well since I'm giving the orders here, maybe we oughta think about headin’ to the T. ‘cause I believe that front hangin’ over Hammer Pass is gonna dispense a storm all over us if we sit here talkin’ all afternoon. And somebody of my apparent influence and station shouldn't be gettin’ wet.”

Both men shot him a hard look. “The boy's a natural all right,” Sheriff Ritter said. “He'll be settin’ the world on fire in no time.”

“Well hell then,” Lundy shot back, “We better do what he says so he don't forget us when he's fat ‘n’ rich. Why don't you ride on with us, Greg? It's four hours back and two to the T. It'll be dark in three. Jacqueline always has more than enough fixed up, and we have plenty of bunks.

“That's a good idea, Sheriff,” Sammy agreed. “Come on with us.”

Sheriff Ritter looked to the north toward Hammer Pass and didn't particularly like what he saw, the dark clouds rolling closer as the breeze began to increase slightly. “That's surely an inviting offer, but I'm gonna put in at Ward Sones’. Saw him in town before I left and told him I might have need. That'll put me close in and I can make his place before sundown.”

The sheriff untied his horse and mounted up. “I'll wait to hear from you, Sammy. If I get any word that you should know about, I'll find a way to get it to you.”

“Truly obliged, Sheriff,” Sammy replied.

“One of the boys will be to town within a week. I'll have ‘em check with you for any news,” Lundy said. Then he reached into the basket on the floorboard and flipped a biscuit to the sheriff, who caught it one handed. “See you down the trail, Greg.”

“Yep,” the sheriff replied. “Get well, Sammy.”

“Just about as fast as I can. So long, Sheriff.”

Moments later, the wagon was rumbling along to the southwest, and Sheriff Ritter rode at a canter to the northeast with stiffening wind in his face.