Fighting the urge to ride his big buckskin horse as fast as possible, Matt knew he had to conserve the animal's strength if he wanted to reach the relay station and continue the search. Chester admired Matt's restraint, realizing how his own deep concern for Miss Kitty paled in comparison to the Marshal's. And then there was Doc.
They stopped at a waterhole along the way, loosening the cinches on their saddles, and letting the horses rest for an agonizing fifteen minutes before resuming their journey.
Finally getting close enough to see the buildings of the Crooked Spur station, Matt and Chester stopped in a nearby small stand of trees and bushes, dismounted and crept closer.
They both peered at the figure of a dapperly dressed young man sitting in a chair on the main building's front porch.
"Who da ya think that is, Mr. Dillon? One of the passengers? Maybe he's waiting for us and the others are inside? Looks like they got away!"
"Chester. Look closer. That man is tied to that chair around his waist and neck, and that's blood covering his belly and chest, not a red vest like it looks like from here."
"Oh, my…" Chester now saw what the Marshal described rather that what he had wanted to see.
"Cover me, Chester. I'm going up there."
As Chester lay on his belly with his rifle aimed at the building, Matt pointed his own rifle in that direction and walked forward, eyes darting back and forth.
Reaching the porch, the bound man rolled his eyes at Matt in supplication, his mouth stuffed with a pair of women's gloves. Matt skirted the open doorway, carefully peered inside, rifle at the ready, and seeing the empty interior, turned and waved Chester forward.
"Chester, check the stable and corral area. Be careful."
Matt pulled the gloves from the bound man's mouth and used his pocket knife to cut the ropes, supporting his weight as he slumped forward. Picking him up, Matt carried the groaning man inside and laid him on a cot by the front window.
Chester looked inside, met Matt's eyes and went back for the horses.
Matt brought a mug of water over from the still-functioning pump near the stove, supported the man's head and held it to his lips.
"Thank you, thank you so much," the weak man croaked after drinking eagerly.
"Who are you, Mister, and what happened to you?" Matt had lain the man's head back on the lumpy pillow and was carefully separating the man's vest and shirt to inspect the bullet wound, which was as hopeless as he had imagined.
"I'm Perry Crane, and…I'm…I've got a message…for…you, since you got here in time, Marshal." Perry had seen the silver badge on Matt's chest and now desperately needed to speak as his strength ebbed away.
"What is it? Where are the rest of the passengers? Are they all right?'
Matt took a deep breath, sat on the side of the cot, and tried to be patient as the dying man struggled to speak.
Perry intently stared Matt in the eyes and spoke in gasps now.
"All still alive…but all hurt…stopped our coach…two of them, brothers…shot driver…then dumped him from inside coach…put us in wagon…shot me when I pulled hidden derringer…heard…'cave in canyon'…"
Closing his eyes, Perry's head fell back on the pillow.
"Kitty," Matt said her name in a whisper, his head down, eyes closed, as his broad shoulders slumped forward.
Perry's eyes opened, and his hands sprang up and grasped the Marshal's vest.
"Your Kitty is a beautiful and feisty fighter, Marshal. You find them!"
Eyes rolling back, Perry Crane let out a rattling breath, his hands opened, and he fell back dead onto the cot.
Chester stood in the doorway, looking over at the blood-covered young man.
"That's jest awful, Mr. Dillon. He seemed like a fine, young man. I checked all around, Sir, and there's no sign of nobody, jest some fresh wagon tracks."
"Let's get this brave man buried, Chester, and then we'll follow those tracks. Before you got here, Perry told me that they all had been put in a wagon. He also said he had heard about a cave in a canyon."
"Wal, Mr. Dillon, I do recollect one of those buffalo hunters in the Long Branch a while back talking 'bout caves around this country."
Matt stood up tall, shoulders back, his determination and resolve stronger than ever.
"Chester, go get some shovels from the stable while I check Perry for any personal items."
"Yessir." Chester hurried out as Matt began feeling inside of the dead man's vest pockets, noting the rip from where a pocket watch and chain had been removed. The only thing he found after his search of vest, pants, and suit coat was a blood-stained photograph of a lovely young woman. She had written on the back:
"Love always to my dear Perry. Your wife to be, Gloria."
Tucking it into his shirt pocket, Matt thought about the two young ruined lives one piece of lead had caused. Standing up and starting to wrap the young man in the ragged blanket he lay on, he paused, remembering that he had not checked Perry's back pockets in his pants.
Sticking his hand in the right pocket, he was surprised to feel a folded piece of paper. Pulling it out and unfolding it, Matt read the now familiar handwriting:
"Now there are six, Marshal. There are at least a hundred caves in this country. Try the next abandoned relay station, Black Canyon, for a clue. If you get there in time. Burying sure eats into it.'
Pushing his hand into the other back pocket, Matt felt another small piece of folded paper. He pulled it out, opened it and found a curl of glossy red hair.
His stomach clenched as he picked it up. Unfolding the paper fully, he read:
"Got another surprise for you down the road."
Rage coursed through the Marshal. Sliding the paper with the curl of hair into his shirt pocket, he balled up the other note, stuffed it in his pants pocket, picked up Perry's body and headed outside. Soon, he and Chester would be heading for the next abandoned relay station off the main road.