"How soon will Hawley take these off?" Chris asked under his breath as he walked ungainly up to Bethany as she waited for Buck to emerge from their tent.
"When you're no longer a threat," she said turning to glance back at Buck, his chains now around Chris Larabee's ankles. Like the others, he was up in the pre-dawn darkness but it was doubtful he could or would be made to make the trek to the mine.
"When will he go to town again?" Chris then asked.
"When you or one of the others outlive your usefulness," she told him before Ruben shoved him roughly, rifle in hand.
"Stop jawin' and move out," Ruben commanded, sneering at Larabee before he turned to cruelly dismiss Buck, "We got no use for you anymore, cowboy."
Even though he knew it was coming, hearing his verdict spoken aloud chilled him to the bone. Too weak to protest, the ladies man turned and shuffled back into the tent.
Before he left, Chris stared deep into her eyes. "You keep him alive, you hear me?"
His unspoken threat hung in the air between them. If Buck died, from causes either natural or nefarious, before he and the others could free him, Larabee might not kill her outright but he would be sure to make her suffer. Shivering, Bethany pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and glanced up toward the mountain, still only a dark shadow in the distance.
Later, after a night where he might very well have perish from the cold, Ezra Standish, with great cunning and stealth, slipped into Ruben Hawley's humble abode unnoticed by man or beast. The squalid, one-room shack with its single glassless window, double bed - complete with soiled feather mattress - wardrobe and small table was empty, as was the dog pen. The mining camp had rousted about an hour earlier and Vin had left him to his own devices while the tracker went to reconnoiter in the early morning light.
The cabin reeked of whiskey, smoke, rotted food, unwashed bodies and, somewhere deep within the disgusting olfactory mixture, Ezra was sure he could smell the lingering odor of fear. What in God's name had gone on in this desolate mining camp and for how long? If Buck Wilmington's appearance and demeanor, according to Vin Tanner, were any indication it had been brutal.
The battered wardrobe, evidently expensive but one that had seen better care, stood against one canvas wall and trying the doors Ezra found them locked. Checking the usual places for hiding a key he could not find one but with a small blade slipped between the doors and the subtle finesse of practiced fingers they swung wide revealing a pile of woman's clothing, under which, was a locked strong box.
Again Ezra's knife and skilled fingers made short work of the lock box and inside he found two stacks of good, solid, United States currency and an ornately carved, wooden jewel box under which a bound leather journal lay. Ignoring the diary for the moment the box garnered Ezra's full attention and he was not disappointed. Within it lay a nest of tangled jewelry, necklaces, bracelets, rings, brooches and ear bobs. Even an untrained eye could see that the gold was of the highest quality, the jewels superior.
Beneath the booty he spied a Gutta Percha picture case containing a Daguerreotype of a handsome couple. A blond man standing behind a dark haired beauty, the former glory that, again according to Vin, could only be the woman Buck Wilmington now so fiercely protected.
Returning the ornate frame to the box, Ezra closed the lid, his fingers lingering on the top. Even without her share of Frank Hawley's money, when this was all over, Bethany Williams was wealthy enough in jewelry alone to return home or continue on to her original destination or travel anywhere in the world for that matter. Ezra opened the journal to the page marked by a thin red ribbon, the last entry into the book dated almost a year before.
'Our prayers have been answered. We will not have to spend another day in La Junta.
A bear of a man name Frank Hawley and his brother Ruben have agreed to lead our small band of adventures over the Cimarron Crossing and on to Sante Fe. We will bypass the cold, harsh winters of Colorado and Utah and, though the trip will be long and arduous, Mr. Hawley has assured us that we will reach our goal in good time. None of us can believe how fortunate we are.'
The entries stopped there, far short of a happy ending just as the wagons had stopped far short of their destination.