The remainder of the night was long and cold. Trampas tossed and turned restlessly, burrowed into the blankets and wondering, even while asleep, about the full identity of the man with whom he was traveling.
What if there was a chance that Sam's story wasn't entirely accurate, at least about surviving the flood? Images of reaching for him and catching only air danced through Trampas's mind. It was crazy to even consider that he was traveling with a ghost, and yet . . . well, why not? This situation was already pretty darn weird.
Trampas snapped awake. It was still fairly dark, although it could be from the storm and not from the night. Sam was slumped against the opposite wall, apparently asleep.
An idea popped into Trampas's mind. It was silly, and it was strange, but he would never get a better chance to do it. He crept across the space between them and slowly reached out, brushing his fingers against Sam's shoulder.
He only touched flesh and bone for the briefest of moments before the gun clicked and pointed right at him.
Trampas swallowed hard. "Take it easy," he said. "It's just me."
Sam, his eyes dangerous but still filled with sleep, focused. "What do you think you're doing?" he grunted, moving the gun away. "You should know better than to sneak up on a hired gun like that."
Trampas flushed. He was certainly not about to admit that he had been checking to make sure he was traveling with a living person. "I was . . . trying to wake you up," he bluffed. "We should get going again."
Sam glanced out the cave door and nodded, seeming to accept that explanation. "Alright," he agreed. "We'll eat something, gather the stuff, and head out."
But someone else had other ideas. As the mismatched pair guided their horses to the cave entrance moments later, guns clicked from every direction outside.
"Just throw down your weapons nice and slow," came an unfamiliar, but definitely deadly, voice.
Trampas exchanged a displeased look with Sam. "Look, you're making a mistake," he said. "I'm not carrying any money."
"We know you came to these parts to get a bundle," the disembodied voice replied.
"Yeah, and it's with a friend now," said Trampas.
"We'll make sure of that, if you don't mind." The highwaymen started to slink out from around the sides of the cave door. Trampas recognized them from the saloon.
"And then you'll gun us down," he said flatly.
"Oh, what makes you think that?" Now the voice was condescending and falsely friendly.
Suddenly Trampas realized that Sam had not put down his gun. He was holding it, but in the shadows, out of sight. ". . . I thought you wanted to leave us alone because of my traveling companion," Trampas said.
Sam raised his arm without warning, shooting the weapon out of one man's hand. Trampas took the initiative to snatch up his own gun and shoot at the second man's gun. When the third man appeared, Trampas and Sam both fired at the same time.
"You made a big mistake," Trampas smirked. "You should've kept to that idea of leaving us alone."
The first man glowered. "Actually, we're not really here for your money," he said. "We'll get paid ten times that by someone else."
Sam's eyes narrowed. Trampas was instantly on guard too. "For what?" he demanded.
"For taking your traveling companion back with us," was the reply. "There's someone who won't be happy at all to see he's still among the living. He'll want to personally see that's changed."
"Hand him over and maybe you'll get a cut of the take," said the second man.
Sam had stiffened. He was sure he knew who the party was—the corrupt Sheriff in the flooded town. He looked to Trampas with searching eyes, wondering what Trampas would decide. He curled his fingers tighter around his gun. If Trampas betrayed him, he would shoot. He would not die here if he could help it. But he had confidence in a close friend of The Virginian, after the way Trampas had been spoken of by him.
"He's been straight with me as far as I know," Trampas said. "And I'm not going to just hand over somebody so you can see he gets killed. Especially when it doesn't seem to me that he deserves it."
Sam started to smirk, pleased. He gestured with his gun, motioning for the trio to come inside the cave. Uneasy, they slowly complied, not having much other choice with both guns on them.
Together, Trampas and Sam started to unwind one of the ropes that had been packed. "We'll just tie you all together and leave you here while we go on to town," Trampas said. "You should be alright here until the law comes to get you."
The mercenaries glared as they were made to stand together and tightly bound with the rope. "There's going to be others besides us, you know," one said, "if word gets back that this man really is still alive."
"Then we'll just have to make sure the wrong people don't hear about it," Trampas said calmly. He and Sam pulled the rope into several tight knots and then stepped back, gathering the guns. "We'll take your horses too, so that even if you get free, you'll have to stay in here if you know what's good for you."
Sam went outside and began to look through the strange horses' packs. Finding one with some of the riders' food, he brought it in and set it in the far corner of the cave. The trapped men looked at it.
"There's no sense leaving you to starve altogether," Trampas said. "Not that it should take that long to get someone back here." He grinned a bit in triumph as he moved towards the door. "See you in town."
Sam smirked after them as he followed Trampas out.
"Who do you think they were talking about?" Trampas frowned as they got the other horses ready to travel with their own.
"There's more than one person who'd like to see me dead," Sam admitted. "But it's probably the man who tried to make sure it happened."
"That Sheriff," Trampas said.
Sam nodded. "What I'd like to know is how those people found out about his feelings." He glanced to Trampas. "You probably could have made a lot of money by turning against me."
"Well, I guess we have one thing in common," Trampas replied. "We both know and care about The Virginian and aren't about to do anything to let him down." He paused. "But since I let you off the hook, how do you feel about talking to me now?"
"I feel alright about it," Sam said calmly. "Just don't expect any real deep talking."
Trampas glowered. "You drive a hard bargain."
Sam shrugged. "You don't really seem like someone who'd want to talk deep much, if at all. Especially with a near-stranger."
"Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving," Trampas retorted. Although he supposed Sam had a point, he wasn't about to admit it.
Sam responded by climbing onto his horse and snapping the reins. The horse took off trotting through the snow, two of the others trailing behind it.
"Hey! Wait up!" Trampas yelled, hastening to follow.
Sam glanced over his shoulder with a bit of a mischievous smirk, not slowing down by much.
Rolling his eyes, Trampas spurred his horse on to catch up. The snow kicked up and flew in all directions as the animals galloped through it. Trampas reached to brush some out of his eyes, spitting some out of his mouth at the same time.
"We shouldn't be too far from that town now," Sam said. "With any luck, we'll be there in two or three hours."
"Well, glory be," Trampas muttered half-sarcastically. "You're not going to keep running out ahead of me, are you?"
Sam shrugged but said, "Nah. Not when we have these other horses to drag along with us."
"Good," Trampas shot back. "I don't want to be eating snow the whole way there."
Sam laughed. "Maybe you should think about it. We didn't stop for much of a meal before we set out."
"That wasn't my idea," Trampas retorted.
"No, but you were worried about hurrying," Sam said. "And if that guy is as bad off as you said, we shouldn't be stopping any more than we have to."
Trampas sighed, knowing that was true. "Okay," he consented. "We'll just keep going."
Sam nodded in approval.
Trampas scowled as his stomach started to vocalize its displeasure.
A proper meal was just going to have to wait.
xxxx
The morning sun was obscured by the heavy snow-filled clouds, but at least the blizzard conditions had lessened and the flakes were falling more calmly.
Sturdevant slowly opened his eyes, looking to the snow floating past the window. The room was quiet; the man from earlier was slumped in a chair, apparently asleep, and the woman was absent.
After a moment of trying to sit up, Sturdevant grimaced and abandoned the effort, sinking back into the mattress on his left side. His back was still burning. And he was very dizzy, probably from blood loss. He would have to just rest.
The man on the chair started, as if waking from a strange dream. He looked over, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "Hello again," he greeted. "How are you feeling today?"
"Pained," Sturdevant mumbled.
"I'm sorry about that," the man replied. "I wish there was something that could really help with that. Trampas isn't back yet, so it's just you, me, and Suzanne."
"What is your name, Sir?" Sturdevant asked. "I'm trying to think whether I was told, but I'm afraid my mind is blank."
"Oh, you can just call me The Virginian," was the answer. "Everyone does. It's a good enough name."
Sturdevant raised a weary eyebrow. "I don't understand. Is there a reason why you don't go by a more . . . standard name?"
The Virginian shrugged. "No real reason. I just haven't found a need to use a more standard name since I came out West."
"I would think someone would have to be in trouble to leave their name behind," said Sturdevant.
"Not always," said The Virginian.
He started to get up from the chair. "Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?"
"I am hungry," Sturdevant admitted, "but I can't figure out how to eat in a position that won't further aggravate my back."
"That is a problem," The Virginian frowned. "Can you move at all?"
"Not without more pain and probably more blood." Sturdevant sighed after another failed attempt, sinking back into the mattress. "I don't want to tear it open worse. Perhaps I'll wait a while longer for your friend Trampas."
"It could be a long while," The Virginian said. "With any luck, he might be in the town by now and fixing to leave. On the other hand, if he got caught in the storm, he might have had to wait it out until today and he won't reach the town till later."
He did not mention the other possibility—that Trampas could be lying somewhere, frozen to death. Of course he was worried, but he knew Trampas could take care of himself. Tragic deaths could come to even the most well-prepared, but he would focus on believing that Trampas was alive and would be back.
"That's true," Sturdevant admitted with unease. "I'll see how I feel in an hour."
The Virginian nodded agreeably. "Alright."
He fell silent, studying the wounded man with a thoughtful look in his eye. After a moment Sturdevant met his gaze, visibly uncomfortable. "Is there a problem?" he wanted to know.
The Virginian started back to the present. "Oh. No, no problem," he tried to say with reassurance. "I was just thinking how you kind of remind me of someone."
Sturdevant looked as though he was not sure whether to take this as a good thing or not. "Who? Someone reputable, I hope." He still felt the sting of Louis's accusations from the other night. And, knowing that the men he represented had most likely duped him, he was angry and disgusted with himself and his naiveté and the position into which he had placed himself by coming to Canada.
"Well . . ." The Virginian hesitated. "He wasn't the type who would turn up in most good social circles, I'll admit that. But he was a good man and a good friend. I guess it's mostly that you sort of look like him. Although both you and he have saved my life. I should thank you for that."
"You've been attempting to save my life," Sturdevant returned. "That's more than enough thanks."
He frowned a bit, not entirely keen on the idea that he resembled someone of bad repute. "This other man," he said at last. "Who was he and what happened to him?"
"Let's say he was a bodyguard," The Virginian responded. "He got caught in a flood a few months ago. The flood won out."
"I'm sorry."
"I am, too." The Virginian half-smiled, sadly. "I know it's just foolishness, but I guess when I realized you looked so much like him, I started having these thoughts that maybe you were him, suffering from amnesia and having taken on a whole new life and identity."
"I'm not, Mr . . . Virginian. Amnesia is one malady from which I've never suffered, I'm relieved to say."
"That's good," The Virginian nodded. "I really knew it was just the slimmest chance. You're completely his opposite in your basic personality. And I was at his grave, back in the town that flooded out. It was just wishful thinking."
"I understand." Sturdevant paused. "Am I also to understand that you did not see your friend's body, only his grave?"
"That's right." The Virginian frowned in confusion. "What are you getting at?"
"I'm wondering. If he was, as you say, a bodyguard, then he must have had a great number of enemies." From the way Sturdevant emphasized "bodyguard", it was clear that he had caught that it was largely a euphemism for something else.
"He probably did," The Virginian acknowledged.
"Then . . . and please forgive me if this is blunt or uncalled-for, but . . . are you sure his death came from the flood?"
The Virginian stiffened. "You're saying you're wondering if somebody could've murdered him," he realized.
Sturdevant lowered his voice. "Is it possible?"
The Virginian looked down, considering the query. "Yes," he admitted. "It's possible. Only . . ." He frowned more. "The Sheriff was the one who told me about what happened. And he sure seemed to think it was the flood that did poor Sam in. There apparently weren't any marks on the body, such as bullet holes or knife wounds."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, understanding dawned. "Unless . . ." A chill went up his spine. "The Sheriff did something himself and used the flood as an excuse. . . ."
"Not all lawmen are as upright as they should be," Sturdevant said quietly. "Many are little more than hired guns and outlaws. And others, even if they begin as honest men, can negatively change."
"That's all sadly true. I never had a reason to doubt what this Sheriff said, but . . ." The Virginian shook his head, deeply troubled by this possibility. "Maybe once you're on the mend and we get back to the States, I'll go back to that town and dig around a little more."
Sturdevant regarded him in concern. "If something isn't right, you could be the next victim," he pointed out.
"I owe it to Sam to find out what happened," The Virginian insisted. "Now you've put a seed of doubt in my mind, Friend. I have to make sure. No matter what Sam did with his life, he didn't deserve to be cut down in cold blood."
"No, I suppose not."
The Virginian stood, restless now. Had he been completely blind? He knew the flood had been real, and the Sheriff's reputation was clean, so he had not given the explanation for Sam's death a second thought. Nothing had seemed out of sorts. Skilled men died in natural disasters all the time. It had been hard to imagine a flood being the means of sending Sam out of this world, considering all the other things he had survived, but such was the irony of life, sometimes.
"I'm sorry," Sturdevant said, breaking into his thoughts. "I've upset you. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything yet, when you have no way of getting to that town for some time."
"No," The Virginian replied. "You should have told me now, and I'm grateful you did. I'll have time to really think about it until I can do something about it. I shouldn't go marching into anything half-cocked."
He sighed. "Of course, maybe there's nothing to it. Maybe it really was just the flood and not someone trying to kill Sam. But I want to make sure, one way or the other."
"If I can be of any help to you . . ." Sturdevant started to offer.
"You just think about getting better," The Virginian interjected. "That's the most important thing and what'll help me the most."
Sturdevant nodded. "But perhaps when I am better, I can do something for you. If you don't mind my asking, what is the name of the town?"
"Paradise Creek." The Virginian's voice turned bitter and ironic with this statement.
". . . And the creek is what flooded." Sturdevant frowned. "What state is it in?"
"Nebraska. I don't know why Sam decided to go all the way out there," The Virginian added quietly.
"Paradise Creek, Nebraska." Sturdevant looked thoughtful. "I've been there."
The Virginian looked to him with a start. "How long ago?"
"I was last there several months ago. I . . . I may have gotten out shortly before the flood."
"Do you remember seeing someone who looked kind of like you?" The Virginian asked pleadingly.
"I can't say. I'm sorry."
The Virginian sighed. "Well, I'm sure you'd remember if you had. Seeing one's double seems like something that'd be hard to forget."
"Hmm. Unless I didn't see the same resemblance you do," Sturdevant replied with a wry smile.
"That's possible too," The Virginian conceded.
". . . I do recall seeing someone arguing with the Sheriff, however," Sturdevant said after a moment. "The Sheriff said he wasn't going to let the man out of his sight. And . . . he also said something about hurting someone named Winthrop by not letting the man go back to him."
The Virginian went stiff. "It was Sam," he breathed, his heart sinking. "Did you hear what he said?"
"He said he didn't work for Winthrop anymore, so it wouldn't affect Winthrop. The Sheriff didn't believe him at first."
"And later?"
"He seemed to feel that it could be true, but he wasn't going to let the man go in any case. He said he was angry with the man he was talking to as well as with Winthrop. I honestly thought the stranger was some sort of criminal and that the Sheriff meant he would lock him up. If I'd ever once thought he meant something sinister instead, I would have intervened."
"I know you would have."
This information disturbed The Virginian even more. The Sheriff had not mentioned any such clash between him and Sam. If it had not led to foul play, why wouldn't he have said something about it?
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Sturdevant, I think I'll go see if Suzanne is up," he said now. He would check, but he also wanted a bit of time to himself, to think about what he had been told. Within a few minutes, he had gone from believing Sam's death to be a tragic accident to fearing that he actually could have been murdered. It was not sitting well with him at all.
"Of course." Sturdevant seemed to realize that there was more to The Virginian's desired departure than what he voiced, but he did not offer a protest.
Instead he sighed, resting against the pillow and wondering what would have happened if he had intervened.
Perhaps he could have saved a man's life.
On the other hand, perhaps they would have only both been killed.
He closed his eyes. It was pointless to wonder about it now. He was a practical man and he knew that all too well.
But he wondered anyway.