Disclaimer: The character, Frank T Hopkins, does not belong to me. The others are my own invention. I make no money whatever from this writing.

Lost Chapter 12

It felt odd, after all those days in company, to be back out in the wild, open landscape with no one to talk to beside Hidalgo.

After the – the massacre – he had been glad to be on his own. His name was well known. If he had gone into a saloon and been recognised, then someone would have bought him a drink, inquired after his health and one thing would have led to another. Always ending at that moment, when he'd handed over an innocuous-looking leather wallet with army orders held inside it.

Now, he missed someone who was in sympathy with the way he thought, someone he could talk to. His girl. As he pushed Hidalgo into a canter, he indulged himself in a dream of having left his own cabin, where he and she lived. He would be riding out to see to the stock and at the end of the day, he would ride home and there she would be. It was a good dream.

He really only had one plan in mind and if it didn't work, there was no back-up. He had a good name, at least other people thought he did, and he had the papers to prove who he was in his saddlebags. A sheriff might be willing to let him have his say, away from Mr. Watson and the rest of them. He could ride into town tonight and see him, or he could catch him the next morning. He reasoned that it was better to stay away from everyone other than the sheriff so, after an hour's riding, he found himself a sheltered hollow near the river and made camp. He'd crossed the river twice, and taken Hidalgo over a couple of well-used roads, doubling back once, so he was reasonably sure he couldn't be followed.

He let Hidalgo roam without saddle or headstall, trusting his Little Brother to return when he whistled. With a fire going and coffee on the boil, it was almost like home. He searched through the saddlebags to see what had been packed. Coffee, beans, jerky, bacon – even enough tobacco to make a cigarette, which he smoked once he had rather awkwardly rolled it. A spare shirt was in there too, and something in a small leather case. Binoculars. He held them in his strong, large hands and contemplated them. They were the highest quality of workmanship and therefore clearly Mr. Watson's.

He tried to think when Lilian could have packed his saddlebags. She had been carried to the bunkhouse and he had no idea how long that had been before he came to. But she would surely not have been grabbing his saddlebags and stuffing them full of good things while she was there. And when he'd been taken there himself and tied up, well, they'd spent nearly all the morning together. It was a puzzle, but he was grateful. He even had two blankets more than his usual quota, and his bedroll.

Yeah, almost like home.

It was a long, cold, dark night. He slept fitfully, finding the ground a sore trial after all his soft living. Hidalgo stood nearby, dozing. In the end, Frank opened his eyes and looked up at the moon, nearly full, casting the land into shadows and highlights. He could not stop his mind from working, planning, yearning for a future here, maybe not a place of his own but a foreman's job. With – with a boss who respected him, and let him go ride his races, while his wife waited for him.

He sighed. He was beginning to believe his own dreams.

He was up at first light, knowing that breaking camp and saddling up was going to be a little more of problem than usual. But his arm felt all right, his hand worked fine and he got the jobs done. He had to find himself a good spot, where he could see and not be seen, not too far from the ranch, so that could be sure he was on the road the sheriff would take. He knew a few sheriffs. They came in all types. He just hoped this one was honest.

He finally found the right spot, near a bend in the road and with a couple of folds in the land, and a couple of trees to shield him. He ground tied Hidalgo and eased forward, glad the snow which had fallen the day before was already beginning to melt away in the sunlight. He took his binoculars and wondered idly if he was going to be accused of stealing them, too.

First, a buggy, black hood in place. The doctor. About time they got the doctor to her. For a moment his stomach lurched. What if she was worse? Annoyed with the situation he shifted position and reined back an urge to go check on her. He would have to trust to some higher power to look after her. She had seemed so well yesterday morning, so much better than she had been. Just a check-up, that's what it would be.

Then, about half an hour later, a man on a roan horse, trotting along as if he was entirely sure of himself. That had to be him. Frank tried to check for a badge but even the fine binoculars would not give him that information. Maybe it was time for his luck to change.

He mounted up and eased Hidalgo downslope.

"Howdy," Frank said, reining in his mustang some yards away from the man on horseback, who had stopped some moments before.

"Howdy," said the man, sitting quite relaxed in the saddle, hand near his coat. He had a badge pinned to the thick jacket he was wearing. "You in need of something?"

"Yeah, sheriff. I'm in need of you. Mind if I come up a little closer?"

"No, I don't mind. What's the problem?"

The two men faced each other warily. "I think I'm the problem. You goin' up to the Watson place?" Frank tried to appear relaxed too but his heart was pounding. A lot was riding on this conversation.

"I am. Been called to take in a prisoner. Committed rape and arson, so I hear." The man used his knuckle to tidy his large black moustache. In any other man it would have seemed like a nervous gesture. On him, it seemed like confidence, even arrogance.

"Well, sheriff – I'm your prisoner. Only I didn't commit either of them crimes, and I'm your only witness to the ones who committed arson."

The sheriff regarded him for a minute. "Hey, son – don't I know you? That horse looks familiar."

Frank raised his eyebrows at the abrupt turn in the conversation. "This here's Hidalgo, sheriff. And my name's ..."

"Frank T. Hopkins! Saw you last year – beat those big horses to the finishing post and barely broke sweat. Well, if that don't beat all! Jack Fischer, Sheriff Jack Fischer – glad to meet ya!" And the man beamed, clearly delighted, and held out a hand that Frank gladly shook. A friend in need, as his father had said.

"Pleased to meet ya," said Frank, remembering times in the past when his hand had been shaken so many times it had ached for a couple of days afterwards.

"Now, what's all this about rape and arson? Don't sound like your style at all, Frank. Should I be holding you at gunpoint and takin' you back to jail?"

"If I had my druthers, I'd say not, but that's up to you."

"Well – if you start from the beginning and keep it all straight, just as it happened, I guess I can at least hear ya out. Go on, son, tell me what's been goin' on up there."

So the two men sat, Frank telling his story and Sheriff Fischer listening, and nodding every now and again, and throwing in questions once or twice. When Frank had finished he knew that he had told the truth as he saw it. Now it was up to the man with the badge.

"Well, now, let me see. So if I went and talked to Miss O'Donnell first, got her side of the story, she'd be tellin' me you helped her through a difficult illness and then saved her life."

"I guess," said Frank, unwilling to appear in any way heroic. "Yeah, I guess so."

"And she'd be telling me you and she are sweethearts?" Sheriff Fischer looked at Frank, who had not spelled out that part of the story very clearly.

Frank nodded, not able to bring himself to say the words.

"But Mr. Watson, he'd be sayin' somethin' about takin' you in, tending to your arm, givin' you free run of the house and so on, and then takin' advantage of a single woman who was like a daughter to him."

Again Frank nodded. He was beginning to feel very exposed on a road which led straight to the Watson place.

"I reckon you have a problem, then. Old Man Watson, he's as rich as Croesus, eccentric as they come and he's not a man to be crossed. He can buy and sell sheriffs like me if he's a mind to. But his wife now – that's a different proposition. Tell ya what I'll do." The sheriff nodded as if he had made up his mind. "You go back up on that hillside and wait there for me. I'll go talk to a few people, try and get some quiet words with Miss O'Donnell and Mrs. Watson, and I'll take a look for any tracks that might still be there, though I reckon the ground'll be pretty chewed up by now. Then I'll be back. If you go wanderin' off I'll take it you're guilty of everythin' wrong that's happened round here recently and come after you with a posse from the Watson ranch. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Frank, relieved beyond measure at the fairness of the bargain. He couldn't make up the sheriff's mind for him but at least he had a fighting chance now. "So long, Sheriff." He gathered Hidalgo and squeezed his knees gently. He heard the sheriff's farewell as he urged his horse back up the slope. When he was settled again he took out the binoculars and watched the sheriff trotting his roan up the track. He was soon joined by a couple of men who had come from the direction of the ranch, and all three pushed forward, disappearing quickly from view.

Frank shifted his position until he was practically back where he had fallen off the cliff days – or was it weeks? – ago. There was enough cover for him but he had to leave Hidalgo and walk ahead of him. Binoculars in hand he was just able to make out Mr. Watson greeting the sheriff then taking him to show him the east wing of the ranch house, now blackened and boarded up. The damage was not as extensive as it might have been but it was bad enough.

Frank wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The air was cold, even in the bright sunshine, and he blew on his hands to warm them. He felt chilled even with an extra blanket round his shoulders. He settled himself cross-legged and prepared for a long wait.

It was nearly two hours before he saw the sheriff mount up again. Several people were crowding him but he was keeping them back somehow, then he wheeled his roan and set off back towards town. Frank stood, easing the ache in his legs and stretching his back before heading back to Hidalgo, who was tugging at the leaves on a stunted tree.

"Well, Little Brother – either this is gonna work out fine and I'm gonna stay out of prison or you're going to be spendin' more time in a stable while they work out what to do with me. Guess I have to be glad they ain't accused me of horse-stealin'."

He rode back to the place where he had first met with the sheriff and waited for the man to catch him up.

At least he wasn't holding a gun on him. That had to be a good sign.

"Sheriff," Frank said, touching the brim of his hat in greeting.

"Mr.Hopkins," said the sheriff, his face betraying nothing. "I guess I won't be needin' my jail keys today. I don't care what that old man says, I don't believe you did it, any of it. Course I had to tell him I'd be out to catch you and bring you in to face 'the full weight of the law' I think he said. But, if it's okay with you, I'd like to swing around in back of that place and see if we can pick up a clear trail. I'm guessing it might go back to Eagleton's place but I could be wrong. Depends on the quality of the help he's hiring these days, I suppose. If they're stupid they'll take us right to Eagleton. If they're smart, we're gonna have a harder time of it."

"Did you see Lil – Miss O'Donnell?" The question was out of Frank's mouth before he really thought anything of it.

The sheriff smiled at him. "Good-lookin' girl, ain't she? A mite pale for my taste but she's feisty."

Frank nodded, flooded with pleasure at hearing this praise for his woman. "Got a mind of her own," he offered, grinning.

"Yeah. Had a message to give you from her – now, what did she say? Somethin' about ..."

Frank knew he was being teased and rode it out patiently.

"Oh yeah – somethin' about you'd better hurry up because she still hasn't chosen her horse."

Frank grinned. "She sayin' I'm gonna get a chance to do that?"

"Yeah. I think so. Now – we'd better get goin' before one of those ranch hands gets a sight of us. They seem real anxious to have you strung up."

"I kinda got the impression they didn't like me," he said, smiling broadly now. He didn't care any longer to cover the relief he was feeling.

"I think they're jealous, Frank."

Frank let Hidalgo fall in behind the sheriff's horse and pondered that thought for a moment, then focused all his attention on the job in hand. He kept quiet and let the man work. He knew the landscape and was taking them by a way Frank had not been, west of the ranch, down over the river then up again.

An hour later, and the sheriff was pulling up just short of a roadway.

"Right, man. See what you can see that way – I'll track down this way a while."

Frank nodded, turning Hidalgo then jumping down lightly and leading his horse.

There were several signs in the road. A wheeled vehicle, buckboard probably, well loaded and bogging down a couple of times in the mud. Two horses pulling it, and their prints made it difficult to see what else was there. But then, off to one side, the clear tracks of two horses followed by one more. Travelling fast, too. And, just as he was about to call to the sheriff, a bright, clear drop of red, and another.

"Sheriff!" he called, heart beating fast in case his luck wouldn't continue to hold out.

"Yeah – I got it! Three men, one laggin' behind and dropping blood fast. Reckon we got three stupid ones. The Eagleton place's two miles that way."

Frank nearly whooped with pleasure. His luck, so fickle in the last few days seemed to be running his way again at last. He was about to jump back on Hidalgo when the sheriff stopped him.

"Oh no, Frank. Eagleton knows you. If his boys have gone high-tailing it straight back to him he'll be trying to cover his tracks best he can. You're my star witness and you ain't goin' anywhere near him. Neither am I, not alone, at least. You are goin' into town, get a couple of deputies signed on and bring them back here. That's the only way I'll do this."

Frank was about to protest when their hand was forced. A large, well-muscled, beautifully cared-for black horse, carrying a large, imposing figure, trotted down the road, seemingly to greet them. And when a rifle cracked nearby, Frank and the sheriff split, running for some sort of cover. Frank was all too aware he was being driven as one shot then another dogged his steps. A couple of minutes later he was hunkered down amongst sparse cover, unable to see the sheriff and aware that Eagleton was heading in his direction.

Seemed like his luck had run out again. All thoughts of clearing his name and a happy future were banished to the back of his mind. Surviving – long years of practice at that would now be his only defence.