Gal was still turned out with the working remuda all of them hanging out not too far from the bunkhouse in anticipation of their morning grain. He walked out fifty yards into the pasture and whistled to her softly, then walked back to the saddle shed with Gal following him like a dog. He rewarded her with a feed of oats while he brushed her back and quickly checked her feet.
Throwing the saddle on her back pained his stomach some and his ribs more, but he got it done and thought things were looking up. He grabbed an old sack and helped himself to a peck of oats for her and hung the bag from the saddle horn. He gave Gal a quick tap on the nose from where she tried to reach the oats, smiling at her sadly. He mounted up and turned her toward the trail. Time to get on with the rest of his life.
He rode steadily north not pushing Gal, letting her pick her own pace, just as the sun started rising, he headed east toward the foothills. Noon found him out of the valley and gradually riding up hill toward the Sierras. He turned at the first stream running out of the mountains and rode slowly up hill until he came to a small stand of willow trees.
He stopped there, unsaddled Gal and turned her out to graze while he gathered bark from the trees. Once he had a good-sized bundle, he started a small fire and heated a pot of water with some of the bark floating in it. The rest of the bark he put in his saddlebag. After the bark had boiled for a little while, he poured the liquid into his cup to cool, put out the fire and replaced his coffee pot in his saddlebag.
He lay in the shade of the willow trees, drank his bitter tea and rested. Once he saw Gal head over to the stream for a drink, he called her, brushed her back off and re-saddled her. He stood leaning on the saddle for a moment, looking around the little meadow. He was tired and wished he could stay and just sleep in the sun for a while longer. He caught the mare looking around at him quizzically, gave her a quick scratch on her face, swung up into the saddle and headed her north again. He smiled at himself for feeling sad about leaving that fancy family, wasn't his anyway. Thinking it was funny the things a man could get to wanting.
He would just keep heading north on the edge of the foothills until he reached the River Pines Trail that would take him over Plymouth Pass and deep into the mountains. He needed to stay out of the mountains as long as he could, so there would be good grazing for Gal.
He rode for another few hours, taking advantage of the long daylight. Just as he was going to stop, he passed a band of brood mares. He rode in close and admired them. This was not collection of wild scrub ponies. These were beautiful bloodstock, many of them heavy with foal, a few with youngsters already by their side. They were tame and let him ride right in amongst them. He dismounted, walked up to them admired them, shared little handfuls of Gal's oats with the old ladies that came right up to him. Barkley horses he could see from the brands, his brother's horses. He was again touched by that pride he had felt at the house. These were fine mares, going to produce some beautiful babies, and he told them so before mounting Gal and riding on.
He rode far enough that Gal wouldn't be tempted to wander off in the night and join up with the band and stopped to cook a rabbit he'd shot earlier in the day and drink some more of his bitter, willow bark tea. He cleaned and rewrapped his wound, satisfied that it still looked like it was healing. Once the rabbit was cooked, he remounted and rode for another hour, eating half the rabbit as he rode. He wondered as he ate the rabbit how many rabbits he'd eaten over the years. He thought maybe without him, the whole state would probably have been over run with rabbits by this time.
He rode up into the rocks and found a defensible place to spend the night. He worried the fever would cause him to sleep too deeply, make him vulnerable to anyone came into his camp. He made a dry camp, hid his rifle and gear in the rocks and kept just his bedroll and saddle by him. He tied Gal close to his bedroll and figured she would make enough noise if anyone came into the camp to wake him. He put some big rocks either side of the bedroll so if he moved in the night he would bump into them and he hoped, wake up. He couldn't afford to meet Dan in his dreams tonight. Then, exhausted, he lay down and fell instantly asleep.
Sunrise found him and Gal riding north, fifty miles from the Barkleys. His fever was nearly gone and the pain was much more manageable; he felt he was on the mend. If he could stay away from the Barkleys and their fights, he probably had a good chance to heal all the way this time.
He made an easy morning, boiled more of the bark tea to go with his cold rabbit and then washed his shirt when he washed his wound and bandage. His snares had captured two rabbits in the night and he roasted both of them before he broke camp. He laughed at himself, not even one day and he was already tired of rabbit. When there was plenty of rabbit, who was he to want for something else?
He again stopped at noon to give Gal a couple hours of grazing while he lazed in the shade. He stopped early that evening, thought he'd made another thirty miles, good distance but nothing extraordinary. He favored himself and his horse, not going anywhere and in no hurry to get there.
Dan came visiting in the night and woke him with his calling while it was still full dark. He lay there for a while, remembering the dream and working hard not to remember the events that had spawned it five years ago. He'd rolled over on his rocks in the dark and figured the pain in his back had brought Dan to visit. He didn't really mind too much, hadn't been Dan, would have been some other nasty memory and Dan was at least a friend. Knowing he wouldn't sleep again, he rose and saddled Gal and got an early start on his day.
Just as the stars began to disappear, he smelled smoke and stopped Gal. He could hear a brook off to his east, loud with the spring runoff. A light breeze was falling down from the mountains and carrying the sweet smoke smell with it.
He tied Gal to a big sage bush, grabbed his rifle and ghosted up the slight hill toward the smell. He'd only walked a couple hundred yards when he saw the glow of the fire in the darkness. He crept in carefully and kept an eye out for their horses, didn't want to wake the camp. Once he got about hundred feet out, he could see one horse, he counted three men sleeping and a man sitting, bent over a fire, a rifle across his legs. Figured he must be the lookout. With the sound of the brook roaring down the mountain not twenty feet from the camp and the man looking directly into the fire, he figured, short of riding into the camp at a gallop, there was no way the man could either hear or see him.
He looked at the tied up horse and recognized a paint horse from the fight at Sample's. He wasn't surprised, there had been over sixty riders there for the railroad and those riders would still be in the area looking for a quick dollar. Figured he'd just ridden up on four of them.
He slipped back away from the camp and went looking for the rest of their horses. He found a small meadow about a hundred yards to the south of the camp. He could see several horses in the beginning dawn light, hobbled and grazing along the edge of the trees. He slipped up to them carefully, not wanting to start them moving about and alert the fire blind guard. He counted six more horses, three of them unshod. He moved very carefully toward those unshod horses, suspected they would be spookier than the shod ones, less accustomed to people. He got close enough to see the brand on two of them, the Barkley brand. All three mares, one of them open and one looked like she would foal any moment.
He backed away slowly. Men rustling Barkley horses wasn't really any concern of his, he'd taken about as many lumps as he wanted to in the last couple of days for Barkleys. He'd just pass this Barkley problem right by.
He rode Gal slowly away from the camp and kept toward the River Pines Trail. He hit the trail before noon and turned east. The country along here was all open and grassy, still rising toward the foothills of the Sierras. He rode for another hour until he came to several steep hills not far from the trail. He turned Gal off the trail to the north and rode her a couple hundred yards toward the steepest hill before stopping her. He dismounted and walked back to the trail, erasing his tracks as he walked. Then he slowly walked back to Gal, watched for any missed sign. Satisfied no one would see where he had cut off the trail, he remounted and rode along another mile, beyond the steep hills before dismounting again.
He unsaddled Gal and turned her out to graze. The hill was steep and he would be far enough away from her he didn't think she would come looking for him. He dumped his gear among some aspens, took his canteen and rifle and headed up the big hill. He didn't figure those men rustling Barkley horses were any concern of his, but he didn't want four rustlers to cut his trail and have a go at Gal.
He took his time climbing, feeling weak and tired by the time he got to the top. He paused just below the brow, careful not to allow him self to be silhouetted against the bright blue sky and surveyed the trailside of the hill. The hill over looked the trail perhaps 250 yards distant. He saw several large rocks ahead, picked two in a good location and settled himself on the ground out of sight of anyone riding past.
Two hours later and he was sorry he hadn't brought some of the rabbit up the hill with him. Two hours wasn't much of a wait. He guessed the longest he'd ever waited had been the eight hours outside Vicksburg. Had been different though. This was a lovely day, sort of a perfect temperature to sit in the shade of a big rock, very little wind and a beautiful bright sun.
That day had been cold and wet. Of course, he had been cold and wet for so long by that March morning, it hadn't seemed anything special. Just another cold wet day in Tennessee. Had been glad to see the morning light even if no sun shone after sitting in the cold rain for six hours, waiting for that light, then another two hours waiting for his target. He shifted his position, irritated at the direction his thoughts had taken. Funny, he would go months, no dreams, no memories and then something would set off one or the other and it would seem like all he could think about, all he could dream about would be the war and its aftermath.
He started playing the Brother Game to take his mind off Tennessee and long waits on wet nights. If he had a brother with him right now, what would they be doing? He guessed one of them would be up here keeping watch and the other would be down the trail a little ways on the same side of the road so they didn't get in each other's line of fire. Because if he had his brother with him now, it would be Nick and they would be tracking those stolen Barkley mares.
He liked that he could put a face to a brother. That he could picture the man further down the road waiting with him to stop the thieves. They could have brought Jarrod with them too. He would be back in the meadow watching the horses, watching their backs, making sure no one snuck up behind their position. Jarrod would maybe bring them some scrambled eggs like Silas made, or maybe some orange juice. He tasted that orange juice again and smiled, boy howdy, that juice had been the best thing he ever tasted.
An hour later he saw the four riders, recognized the paint horse before he could even clearly differentiate the number of riders. He wondered why a man, running on the shady side of the law, would ride a horse that men would remember long after the man's face was forgotten, just stupid that. He studied the horse as he came closer, but didn't see anything special to make him worth the danger he represented. Guessed the man just liked a showy horse.
They were leading the three unshod Barkley mares and traveling at a quick canter. That got his attention. No reason to be going down the trail at that speed unless they were running away or chasing something. Since nothing had passed in almost four hours, he figured they had something behind them.
He wasn't surprised to see them pull off the trail into the woods opposite his den. This was the first rough ground along the trail and the first likely place for men anxious to watch their back trail to stop. One of the riders rode off with the horses into the woods and the other three men disappeared into the rocks near the trail below him. He marked where each man had gone and then watched for the fourth man to come back out of the woods. The man appeared about ten minutes later and joined his companions.
He watched the men set up their ambush and pondered what he should do. He didn't know that those three mares were stolen. He knew the pinto had been at Sample's, but he had no way to know if Nick knew that, and if even knowing that he might not have sold them the mares anyway.
He thought they were stolen though. They were rough-coated, unshed winter hair mixed in their coats. Their feet were chipped and as rough as their coats. They were clearly fresh in off the range. He didn't believe a place as fancy as Barkley's would sell such nice mares looking so rough. They would want to clean them up and have them looking good when they sold them. He also didn't think Nick Barkley would be selling a mare about to foal to four men on the move. Didn't make sense. These looked like young brood mares and fancy ones at that. He just couldn't figure what four hired guns would want with three brood mares, except they had come across the same band of mares he'd seen and helped themselves to three of them.
But he didn't know the horses were stolen and he didn't know the men were setting up an ambush. But he also didn't know that the sun was going to rise tomorrow. So what did he do when these men drew down on whoever was coming down the trail? Whoever they had been riding fast to get ahead of so they could ambush them?
He didn't want to sit up here in these rocks and shoot at men from hiding. He had vowed he wouldn't do that again and here he was. He wondered was he just naturally the kind of man who shot other men from hiding? Or did three years of war make him find places like this where he could hide and kill men without them seeing him?
He didn't have much time to worry on that before he saw the dust down the trail. The amount of dust told him lone rider, certainly no more then two, before he could see the single horseman, a tall man on a big gelding.
Hadn't any more then noted the quality of the gelding before he recognized his brother, Nick. He couldn't believe it. Didn't seem any of these Barkleys had a lick of sense. Here was this man, chasing four horse thieves, and him riding down the middle of the trail. Not paying any more attention than his bird witted sister riding into Stockton in the middle of a Saturday night, or his lawyer brother standing out in the front of those farmers trying to get shot at Sample's. He wondered how these folks had all lived long enough to reach adulthood.