As Kyle neared La Veta Pass, he pulled up and took a careful look around. He'd put a little more than twenty miles behind him since he started out from Walsenburg that morning. Why was he uneasy? He shouldn't be, although he had seen some horse tracks circling Sharp's trading post, The Buzzard's Roost, just as he was leaving.
That shouldn't bother him, should it? Well, they were tracks he'd never seen before and there was a chance it could be one of the Fetchen's horses. But it didn't really affect him anymore, he was riding out of the fight and he doubted they would bother to follow.
He turned in the saddle to study his back trail.
It was then that he saw the signal fire; a thin trail of dark grey smoke making its way into the clouds. It was followed by two puffs of smoke and another long stream of it. What was it a signal for? And to whom?
Kyle turned Colt sharply to the left and the maneuver probably saved his life. A bullet whipped past his face, the sound of the shot echoing through the hills. Colt started running toward the passes entrance as Kyle tried to locate the shooter.
Sunlight reflected off of a rifle barrel making a slanting light, the shooter was to his right on the hill that looked down into the pass. He headed Colt into the pass at a dead run, knowing that if the shooter was a good shot, he might not make it through.
He heard the report of the rifle but nothing hit him.
Once he was through the pass he headed toward Russell. The only logical answer was that the Fetchen's were hunting him, but they must be getting desperate if they were sending up signal fires for any lone rider who used to work for the Half Box H.
Kyle rode into town about a half an hour after the shooting incident. He dismounted in front of the saloon and stood there staring at the ground. The grey horse tied to the hitching post beside him had left quite a lot of tracks about himself, and they were the same tracks he'd seen at Buzzards Roost. He noted the brand, but it wasn't one he recognized.
He could sense there would be trouble soon, but he wasn't willing to back out of it by riding out of town. Kyle walked up the steps of the porch and stepped through the doors of the saloon.
Three men stood at the bar and there were four other men playing cards at a table. The bartender was washing a glass and was the only one who looked up, but he didn't say anything and resumed washing the glass.
"Who owns the grey horse with the CR Connected brand?" Kyle's voice filled the room before he could even think about what he was saying.
Everyone became suddenly still, sensing the challenge of the tone that Kyle hadn't even meant to put into his words. One of the men at the poker table stood up, cashed his chips and walked out of the saloon.
The three men at the bar slowly turned around.
"I do." It was Colby Rafen who spoke; he was farthest to Kyle's left of the three of them. James Black Fetchen was in the middle, and Russ Menard was on Fetchen's right.
"It's one of them good for nothing Half Box H hands," Burr Fetchen said, rising from the poker table.
"Kyle Shore," Black Fetchen said calmly, "I figured one of your crowd would show up here eventually, I was hoping it would be one of the Sacketts; they'd be more of a challenge than you. But I suppose you'll have to do, for now. We plan to destroy your entire brand."
"Want to make any funeral arrangements?" Menard asked quietly.
"No," Kyle said, "Do you?"
Russ laughed, "Are you challenging me?"
"I just asked a question."
Four of the eight men in the room were Fetchens, and the other four probably wouldn't pick a side, so to start something now wouldn't be very smart. But now Kyle had to talk his way out of what he'd started without being mistaken for a coward.
Russ finished his beer and set the empty glass on the counter. He looked Shore up and down and took a good sized step forward, "It sure sounded like a challenge," Menard replied, "Let's see if you can live up to it." He went for his gun.
His hand was only half way to it when he froze, looking at Shore.
Kyle hadn't remembered going for his gun, but it was in his hand. He'd beaten Menard to the draw—in fact it was the fastest draw Kyle had ever made—but he didn't pull the trigger.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Kyle had been thinking, if I beat him to the draw by a long ways I won't have to shoot him. Russ Menard probably deserved shooting, but Kyle didn't want to be the one doing it.
For the first time, Kyle admitted to himself that something had snapped inside him when he'd had to shoot Larnie Cagle. He never wanted to shoot anybody ever again. And here he was facing three or four men that wanted to kill him, and he couldn't bring himself to shoot. How was he going to manage that?
He decided that if he had to shoot, he would't shoot to kill
"Look, guys," He found himself saying, "I don't want trouble."
Everyone in the room was still getting over their shock that Kyle Shore had beaten Russ Menard to the draw.
"Why'd you come asking around for my horse?" Rafen growled, "It sure sounded like you wanted trouble, and you can't back out now. You've bought yourself a ticket to Boot Hill!"
"You've been circling 'round Sharp's place, planning on messing with my friends. I wanted to know just who it was doing the circling and then decide if I should go back and tell them. It's always good to know who's sizing you up. I'm headed west, I don't work for Hawkes anymore; I'm just drifting. If I were you however, I'd head south. Don't mess with the Sacketts: that's a fight I know you can't win."
Kyle took a backward step toward the door.
"Hey! You can't just walk out; you yella'?" Burr asked angrily.
"No, but I don't think it's worth my time to kill a bunch of coyotes," Kyle replied calmly.
"Who's been shooting at you, Shore?" Black Fetchen asked suddenly.
"What?" Kyle asked warily, how could Fetchen know someone had been shooting at him? He couldn't, unless Fetchen had set it up.
"Your hat."
There was a mirror above Burr Fetchen's head, and Kyle looked into it to see what Black meant. There was a bullet hole through the rim of his hat, it had been a very close shot.
"Someone almost got ya'," Burr said grinning, "None of us will miss like that."
"I don't suspect you will," Kyle said, "If you have time to draw your guns. But, I wouldn't waste time trying because it ain't worth it. I doubt if you'll see me again anyway. Like I said I'm heading west. I'm leaving now, got a long dusty road to travel. Just wanted to stop by and chat with a few…old friends."
Kyle took two more steps backward, not wanting to turn his back to them because he knew not one of them, with possibly the exception of Russ Menard, would hesitate to shoot him in the back, and he didn't want that to happen.
Burr Fetchen didn't want Kyle to just walk away. He was itching for a fight, and he wanted to be the one to shoot Kyle Shore. He was trying to build up his reputation, and right now it wasn't very big.
"I heard that Ladder Walker didn't make it," Burr said, grinning at Shore.
Kyle's eye's turned on him. They held a cold and dangerous look.
"I was the one who shot him," Burr said proudly, his hand quivering inches above his gun.
Kyle turned to face Burr fully, forgetting the men at the bar. "Then maybe you should join him," Kyle knew that his anger was building and he might do something he'd regret. He should just walk out, Burr wasn't worth it. "But I don't think you'd be going to the same place."
"Really?" Burr asked, "I'm going to heaven? That's great news!"
Kyle put his gun back in his holster, "Alright, here's your chance Burr, and you've only got one. Draw."
In the corner of the mirror Kyle saw Black Fetchen drawing his own gun and Kyle turned, his gun coming back up, just as the shot sounded. Burr shot too, but he shot too fast and it went into the hard wood at Kyle feet.
Black's bullet hit Kyle in the side and he fell backward against the doors, which swung open under his weight. He fell outside onto the porch. A bullet hit the wood near his face, sending splinters flying, and someone else's bullet hit the saloon door.
Kyle pulled himself to his feet, ran to his horse, and swung into the saddle.
When the Fetchens came running out of the saloon, Kyle was already almost out of town. He stopped at the edge and waved, then he urged Colt into a gallop, leaving the four of them standing in the street.
He was already three miles up Placer Creek before he thought about where he was going. He should have gone south west from Russell, passed Costello's ranch, and crossed the sand dunes there. He'd have to cross them somewhere, and down there it was only about seventeen miles across. Kyle was headed toward Gap Peak, which meant he'd either have to turn around or go over the mountains.
If the Fetchens were following him—which he doubted—turning around would bring him right back into the fight he didn't want a part of. If he went in-between Saddle Peak and Gap Peak that would take him toward Bronco Dan Gulch. He could then take Mosca Pass and circle around the mountains which would take him in a wide in convenient loop, but he would definitely avoid the Fetchen's that way.
He let Colt walk the speed he wanted to and then he remembered he'd been shot. Something had been bothering his side for a while but he didn't remember it was a bullet until now. He looked down at it. His shirt was soaked with blood and the wound started to hurt.
Kyle stopped Colt and got down. His knees almost buckled, but he grabbed the saddle and steadied himself. He'd lost more blood than he'd reckoned. He washed the wound as best as he could, as far as he could tell it wasn't all that bad. It had gone through both sides, but it was very close to his side, if it had been one inch to the right it would have barely touched him.
He bandaged it as best as he could with his bandanna and then he got back into the saddle. He sat there a long moment before he started riding again.
As he neared Bronco Dan, he pulled up and looked around. His eyes passed over Lone Rock Hill…then he quickly looked back at it again. A horse was approaching the rock! As Kyle watched, the rider dismounted and pulling his rifle off the side of his saddle he started climbing the rock.
Kyle jumped his horse forward and brought Colt into a gallop. Whoever the rider was, was obviously going to lay on the hill to get a shot at someone, and it seemed pretty likely that Kyle was that someone.
At the moment the man's back was to Kyle, and Colt wasn't making much noise running across the soft sand. Kyle was almost forty yards from the man when he turned. He turned suddenly as if he'd heard something, and he brought his rifle up.
Kyle's Winchester slid into his hand, and he put a bullet in the sand at the man's feet. Apparently, the man changed his mind because he lowered his gun and ran for his horse. Something about him seemed familiar but Kyle wasn't sure what. The man's bandanna had been pulled up over most of his face so Kyle could only see his eyes, and he couldn't see them very well because the guy's hat was pulled low.
When the man swung into his saddle Kyle was only yards from him, closing fast.
Colt was much faster than the other horse, and it was only a matter of minutes before Kyle caught up with the unknown rider. Kyle reached out and jerked the reins out of the other rider's hands, and pulled both horses to a stop.
"Hey!" The rider protested.
Kyle recognized the voice instantly. It was Henry Rolf. But what was he doing here? "What are you doing in Colorado, Rolf?" Kyle asked, "And why are you trying to dry-gulch me?"
Henry looked put out. "I didn't shoot at you though, and i wouldn't have it I'd known it was you they were trying to kill. They just told me what your horse looked like, and that you always wear a black hat."
"Maybe I shouldn't, if it could get me shot. Who're they? Did you take money to kill me, Rolf? Don't tell me you became an outlaw? That would be hard on your ma."
"I ain't an outlaw! And I ain't taken nobody's money!"
"So someone just told you to lay up on Lone Rock Hill, and said that if someone happened to ride by on a black horse, wearing a black hat, you should shoot them? And you said, 'Alright, why not?' Really?"
Henry didn't meet Shore's eyes. "They're my friends."
"And I'm not? You need to get yourself better friends, kid. Let me guess, one of your buddies is on top of Mosca Pass waiting to shoot me out of my saddle if I happen to go that way?"
"I ain't saying."
"We used to be neighbors, back in Tennessee, remember? Who are your friends? The Walter brothers?" Kyle asked, jokingly. The Walter brothers had also been their neighbors up in the mountains; they were always playing practical jokes on everybody.
Henry glared at him.
"Take that bandana of your face, you look ridiculous," Kyle said, "you wanted or something, and can't have a law man ride by and recognize you or something?"
"I told you already," Henry insisted, "I'm not an outlaw." He took the bandana off his face.
"Look, I need to know who's trying to kill me, Rolf, or I won't have a fair chance. Tell me who your friends are. Are you going to stay with them and help them try to kill me?"
"I don't know why they're trying to kill you. I didn't know it was you. Sorry?"
Shore couldn't help but smile; he'd always liked Henry Rolf. Kyle wasn't sure how mature Henry was. Henry was twenty-two, but Kyle knew men even older who were trigger happy kids, shooting anyone for a reputation.
"If you tell me their names, maybe I'll let you ride with me instead. They're probably outlaws and will get you into trouble sooner or later."
"Davidge. Laine and Evan Davidge," Henry said, reluctantly.
"Davidge!?"
"Yeah. You know them?"
"You've got to be kidding me," Kyle murmured.
"What do you mean?" Henry Rolf insisted.
"Who's the third one?"
"Third?" Henry looked confused. "I don't think there is a third."
"Why are the Davidge's trying to kill me?"
"What? How am I supposed to know? I thought that you were going to tell me!"
Kyle shook his head, what was going on? There had to be more to this, it just didn't make any sense. The Davidge's were from Pennsylvania. They'd come a long way to try to kill someone they didn't know. Suddenly Kyle thought of something. "How do you know the Davidge's, Rolf?"
"I'm engaged to their sister Stella."
"You're what?"
"Shore, what's going on, you still haven't told me how you know them."
Kyle glanced at Henry. "They're my cousins."