The further we rode the colder it got. By the time we reached Omaha we were wearing thick coats, courtesy of a little fur-trading outpost about a mile away from Fort Atkinson. I outplayed Jean-Pierre at poker and the coats were ours. After that, it was a lot warmer.
We kept heading north, not sure if the outlaws were still following us. After they found us in Kansas City, I wouldn't put anything past 'em. Maybe they were smarter than I thought.
We stopped in Sioux City and spent the night in what passed as a hotel. Frankly, the obscure hotel in Kansas City had more to offer, but this place at least had a bed and by the time we got there my back was demanding something besides the ground. And the advantage was we could both sleep at the same time.
The next morning we grabbed what food we could find and pushed on, determined to reach Sioux Falls the next day at the latest. The last few miles we were dodging Indians and the weather. Sioux Falls was usually relatively dry in the winter, but the sky I was looking at sure didn't look friendly. And with the temperatures where they were, it wasn't going to be rain coming down, it was going to be snow.
We pushed the horses as much as we could. After a week of traveling they were even more exhausted than we were. I thought sure one of us was going to cheer when we saw the makeshift sign for Sioux Falls – it was only two miles away. Bret and I exchanged looks and I sighed with relief. And that's when the snow started.
By the time we got to Sioux Falls, it was snowing good. Or should I say bad? Bret took the horses to the livery and I stopped in at the sheriff's office. I must have reminded him of a snowman because the look the sheriff gave me was priceless.
"Sheriff Manning? I'm Bart Maverick. The marshal from Shreveport was supposed to let you know I was comin'?" I took off my gloves and shook hands with Manning. He was about thirty-five, medium height, dark-haired and dark-eyed, but with a smile that was almost too friendly for a lawman.
"Maverick. Maverick. Maverick? Oh, the fella that recovered the money the Richards gang stole. Yeah, I got a telegram from Shreveport and one from Wells Fargo. Looks like you got a nice piece of money comin' from Wells Fargo. Let's see, where's that telegram? I know I still got it somewhere. Yeah, here it is," and he produced a piece of paper from the stacks on his desk. "Five thousand, six hundred dollars. Course the money hasn't arrived here yet, it's supposed to be on the next stage. That might take a while, seein' what the weather's like outside."
"And how about the marshal in Shreveport?" I asked.
"Let's see, that one's somewhere here too. Oh yeah, he says that's Jed Hightower and Dickie Smithfield followin' ya. Ah, if those are the two I just got wanted posters on last week, they're meaner'n snakes. Dickie was a bare-knuckles boxer till he killed a man in the ring. Jed used to be an Indian scout. Don't know how either one got mixed up with Richards, but he's put their skills to work. Uses 'em to get whatever he needs outta people don't wanna co-operate. Looks like you met both of 'em before." He gestured at what was left of their handiwork on my face.
"Yeah, I did. Once is enough, thank you."
"They still trailin' ya?"
"We think."
Manning scratched his head. "We?"
"My brothers with me. He took the horses to the livery."
"You plannin' on stayin' here in Sioux Falls?"
"Yeah, at least till that stage gets here with the reward money."
"Liable to be here longer than that, Mr. Maverick."
That was news I didn't want to hear, so I definitely wanted an explanation. "Come again, sheriff?"
"We don't get a lot a snow, but the last time we did the mountain trails were snowed in for months."
"So take a different way out."
The sheriff gave a little chuckle. Apparently he was amused by my naiveté. "That's the only way in or out, Mr. Maverick."
"That's – what? The way we came in is the only way? In or out?"
"Lessin' you wanna go over the falls."
I'd seen the falls. Nobody in their right mind was going that way. "Then I'll just have the reward money sent somewhere else."
"Sure, that can be done," Manning said. "But it's got to get here before it can be sent someplace else. And you gotta be here to get them to send it on somewhere."
Just about that time Bret walked into the sheriff's office. "We got a problem, big brother." I introduced Bret and the sheriff and then explained the conundrum we found ourselves in.
"So what yer tellin' me is we can't go anywhere until the money gets here?"
I nodded. "Smart boy. You catch on quick."
Bret gave me one of those "if somebody wasn't already tryin' to kill you I'd do it myself looks" and I tried to find a place to hide. There wasn't one in sight.
"Then I guess we're not goin' anywhere until the stage comes."
That's when Manning explained the double-edged sword known as the coming snow storm and the only way in or out of town to my brother. When the sheriff was finished Bret just looked at me and sighed. "Remind me why I just followed you up here?"
"Uh, I followed you," I corrected him. I think that I'd call the look Bret shot me a glare. "I'll give you twenty-five percent of the reward money," I offered.
"Half," he countered with.
"A third," I replied.
He stuck to his guns. "Half."
"Forty percent. My final offer."
Bret got up from the chair he'd sat in. "Have fun in snow-land, Brother Bart."
I reached out and grabbed his arm. "Alright, alright. Half."
He shot me a grin. "That's more like it. When's the stage due, Sheriff?"
"Day after tomorrow," Manning answered.
"What's the reward on those two . . . . . criminals?"
"Five hundred dollars apiece."
Bret smirked and looked at me. "All we have to do, Brother Bart, is capture Jed and Dickie, then collect the first reward from the stage, and we can leave."
The sheriff laughed, a big hearty laugh. Reminded me of Bret's. "Good luck with that."
"Come on, Brother Bret, before we wear out our welcome with Sheriff Manning."
After we got outside we headed for the hotel. "I checked us into a room," Bret told me. "Upfront. With a view of the street. Just in case one of us can't sleep. Room Two-oh-one."
"Good. Food or sleep?"
"Food, then sleep," my brother answered.
"Saloons?"
"One at either end of town. 'The Gilded Lady' and 'Pete's.' The Lady's fancier."
"Fancy, who cares? I wanna know what kinda coffee they make."