Chapter Two
"If you hadn't been here, I'd be dead now."
What was she thinking? Was this the most foolish thing she'd ever done? Her heart pounded faster than the hoof beats of the horse in front of her.
Charlotte hadn't left Annesburg alone. When she'd determinedly proclaimed she was headed to Beaver Hollow, Johnny jumped in and insisted on taking her. He offered her a ride in his cart and while it wasn't as quickly as she wished to travel, she was grateful she didn't have to walk the distance, especially when the sun hadn't risen yet.
Twice on the path, Pinkertons passed them, racing past as if the devil was hot on their heels. When her and Johnny reached Beaver's Hollow, he slowed the cart. There was a camp set up, in disarray and at its bare minimum. Her gaze worked frantically, eyeing every face, looking for Arthur. But none of the dozen men searching the camp and going in and out of the cave mouth, were him. Charlotte looked to the brightening sky. Was his absence a good thing?
"What do you want to do now, Miss Balfour?"
An array of gunfire sprayed from the west and Charlotte's eyes trailed, across the river. Should they push on? She sighed. Perhaps, this was all a fool's errand.
"We don't need to stick around, Johnny. Take me home, if you wouldn't mind." She pointed. "Continue on the trail so you don't have to turn the cart around."
He set the horse in motion again and they continued onward. Charlotte inwardly scolded herself. What had she been thinking? Foolish, foolish girl, her mother would tell her if she were here. Reckless, her father would say, and she couldn't afford to be reckless out here.
As they crossed the river, Charlotte's attention was drawn when the cart veered left. She said immediately, "You should've taken the right fork, Johnny."
He pulled on the reins, but the turn was already complete. "Sorry, miss."
Charlotte studied the narrow path. "It's fine. This trail will eventually converge in the right direction. Just keep on and take the next right."
"You sure do know you way around these woods."
She smiled, feeling some of her tension slip. "I have a map at home. When I don't have much to do, I study it."
"You know," Johnny said slyly, "if you'd let me take you to a nice dinner, you'd have plenty to do."
The sound of continuous gunfire saved her from responding. It was louder now, as if they were traveling closer to the action, rather than farther away.
Charlotte slipped her rifle off her back, just in case they ran into trouble. It was hard to see if anyone was in the trees, but she kept her eyes sharp. The gunfire went on for a few more minutes before abruptly stopping. They were passing a bluff on their left when she saw something that had her stomach dropping.
It was a horse, its body collapsed on a hill. The white stallion wouldn't be difficult to miss except on a snowy hillside. There was blood and the saddle remained. Higher on the hill was a second dead horse.
"Stop, Johnny."
He led the cart to the side of the trail and Charlotte jumped down and went to the poor animals. As she approached the horses, there was no way to deny this horse was Arthur's. She hoped it hadn't suffered. Tears pricked at her eyes. Where was Arthur?
They heard hollering and a shabby blonde man with a long yellow mustache came tearing down the hill in the distance. He looked back up the cliff, but not their direction before disappearing into the woods. Three Pinkerton agents chased after him in the next moment.
"I think we should get out of here, Miss Balfour."
He was right. They couldn't linger here. Even if there hadn't been a battle between the Pinkertons and a notorious gang, this area was known for wolves. As for the agents, the men at Beaver Hollow were sure to arrive as back-up with more fire power.
"Miss Balfour, we shouldn't stay any longer," the farm boy repeated nervously.
Charlotte gazed upward, at the rock formation. The sun was shining on it now. She turned to the cart to rejoin Johnny, took one step and then abruptly changed her course towards the rocky cliffs.
"Miss Balfour!"
"I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder.
She'd get some height, to see if Arthur was nearby. She climbed. It wasn't difficult terrain, except that she was in a skirt. She struggled up the boulders. When she crested the top, she paused to catch her breath. She looked around. Nothing. The area was flat, with some quashed flowers as evidence someone had been through, but no one was here. She felt a fool after all her efforts.
She stared at the surrounding area in shock. The sun revealed dead Pinkerton agents strewn across the mountainside. This had been a deadly last stand for those men.
"Miss Balfour!" she heard Johnny's voice echoing on the other side of the hill.
She supposed she'd better reassure him before he abandoned the cart and made his way up here too. She strode over the trampled flowers, to the side of the cliff where Johnny would be standing below.
That's when she found Arthur.
There, on the ground, facing the sunrise. He looked awful, as if someone had tossed him off the mountain and he'd tumbled on every rock all the way down. Was he even breathing?
She dropped beside him, putting her hands out, but then paused, and curled them closed again. She wanted to lay a palm on his chest, but fear took hold. Memories surfaced, traumatizing images of her husband Cal's slashed body. He'd been mauled by a bear, but hadn't died instantly. For two days she'd begged God hour after hour for Cal's survival. It had been all for naught.
Her nightmarish memories halted when she heard a rattling, wheezing sound. There was the slightest rise of Arthur's chest. He was breathing. "Arthur?"
He didn't open his beaten eyes. He didn't respond at all.
She stood and spotted Johnny and the cart. She called out frantically, "Johnny! I need your up here."
The young man took off at a run at the base of the cliffs.
Charlotte went back to Arthur, kneeling beside him. She rested a palm on his bearded jawline, telling him softly, "I'm here to save you, Arthur."