At the edge of town, Jim made a show of checking the saddle. While doing that, he looked over the horse’s back and saw a group of men coming down the street directly ahead of him. These were hard-looking men, armed, too well-dressed to be miners, and watching him with unconcealed interest. Jim couldn’t get into the saddle. There were too many people now crowded into the narrow street.
Jim turned to cut between a pair of tents to go around and saw Red waiting for him there. The big man held a shotgun in his hands, and he was grinning.
Less than a dozen paces separated them. Red started running toward him. A slop bucket sat on the open ground beside one of the tents. Jim scooped it up by the handle and hurled it toward Red’s chest. The big man swore. He tried to sidestep, but the bucket struck him dead center while Jim did a quick turn to his left and the center of town.
He needed a way out. The only one he knew of was to the south, but the advancing men were driving him away from there. He could ride for it, but in a crowd like this, a man on foot would make more progress than one on horseback.
He would also make for an easy target.
Jim ran through the churned mud, dodging around obstacles, often people, sometimes mining equipment or tools. He kept to the widest spaces. He couldn’t afford for the Appaloosa to become tangled or cut a leg.
He turned east when he passed the assay office. DeMourey and his guards stood on the front porch, watching after him.
Yelled curses came from behind him, then a booming shot.
Jim ran faster, bowling aside anyone who blocked his way. Finally, the sprawling camp thinned and Jim decided to chance it on horseback. He hopped into the saddle, spurring the Appaloosa out of Bidwell’s and up into the mountains.
The camp was still in sight when he spotted them below. They were just over a mile back—six in total—riding after him. Red, he knew by his height and bulk, but the others were all strangers. A thick man in the middle seemed in charge. He pointed to his left, then right, and a single rider fanned off in either direction.
Jim rode among a stand of thick pines. He didn’t think they could see him at all. He could fire off a few shots to slow them, but that would only confirm his location. There were too many for that, and if they knew what he carried? These men didn’t seem the type to give up on so much money. Not so easily.
Jim goaded his horse faster. Whenever possible, he changed his direction left and right at hard angles, hoping to confuse them. He followed a mountain stream for a hundred yards, then left it on a slab of smooth granite. Whenever he stopped long enough to rest the Appaloosa, he threw handfuls of pine needles over his back trail. Anything he could think of to lose or even slow them.
At times, he caught glimpses of them through the trees or in the distance. He pressed on ever northward, resisting the urge to cut east or west and circle back. He couldn’t say for sure how wide they’d spread behind him.
The sun dipped low, and the shadows grew long and thin. Still, he pressed on. He crossed a long line of mountains, pausing near the crest to watch his back trail.
They were still there. Three of them, making their way steadily along, one studying the ground, two more alert and watchful. He’d gained some ground on them. The mountain he waited on was impossible to ride straight up, and riding as he had, they were a good three miles back. But where were the others? Had they gotten around him to lie in wait? He would have to be careful.
One of them reined in suddenly, looking directly up at him. They’d spotted him then, or more likely, they’d spotted his horse against the light-colored background.
Once across the mountains and out of sight, Jim cut sharply west. There were several trails running north and south from San Francisco into southern Oregon. If he could hit one of those, he might shake them and get back to Onionville.
He crossed through a thick stand of Ponderosa pine, then dipped onto a flat covered in blue-gray sagebrush. He wove his way through it at a trot. Halfway across, he saw them, two men coming out onto the flat to his right. He recognized one from the street.
They saw him at the same time and reached for their rifles.
Jim slapped spurs to the Appaloosa and the horse sprang to speed like he was shot from a cannon. Left and right, he swerved around clumps of thick sage. Bullets flew around them. They flew well overhead, harmless, and Jim recognized them for what they were.
Signal fire. They’re signaling the others to close in.
They came to the edge of the flat, and the Appaloosa picked up speed. They whizzed through tall brown trunks. Jim saw another rider approaching from almost due west. With no other choice, Jim swung a little more north.
The newcomer turned his horse to intercept, and he had the better angle. Jim swerved around a fallen tree and put the man behind him. He ducked beneath a low-hanging branch and felt the needles scrape over his hat.
The rider behind him was shorter. He cleared the branch with room to spare.
Once again, the Appaloosa proved his worth, stretching out the distance with every stride, and Jim lost sight of his pursuers. Finally, Jim reined the big horse in. He patted the Appaloosa on the neck. The powerful horse could have given him more, but Jim couldn’t bear the thought of running so fine an animal to death.
They needed to escape. He couldn’t outrun them for long. With so many men, they could ride in and gather up more horses. Whoever was tracking for them knew his business and knew the area well.
Jim shifted his direction west for several miles, then south when he hit a rutted trail. He did not know this area at all, but he thought this was the main road between San Francisco and Oregon. Home lay somewhere to the south and east. He couldn’t ride there tonight. It was too far. And he would not lead these men to Ellen and the children.
I have to lose them somehow.
The mountains gradually pinched together like the jaws of a huge vise. Between them, the river had carved out a deep notch. Jim kept to an old trail winding up above the water. Between the trees and down below, Jim could see bits of starlight reflecting off the river’s surface.
Light from an oil lantern shone up ahead, yellow and warm. Jim reined in to study the situation. He had seen no travelers on the road; few would chance riding in the dark.
Then who would be out this far and why would they be out so late?
He slipped the riding thong off his pistol. He could think of only one reason for anyone to be on this trail tonight.
The trail was narrow, the mountain steep and dangerous on one side, the river roaring along on the other. The men he’d seen earlier were back somewhere behind him. How many were up ahead?
Jim eased the Appaloosa forward.
He could see the lantern clear now. Two men stood near a small fire. A coffeepot steamed over the flames and Jim’s stomach rumbled at the smell of frying bacon. The fire lay in the very center of the trail. No way around.
Jim took another cautious step and one of the men’s horses lifted his head and snorted. The men were instantly alert. Both picked up their rifles.
“Might as well come out,” one of the two said. He was a little shorter than the others, stocky and powerful. This was the same man he’d seen earlier, the one who seemed in charge. “We’ve got you boxed in pretty good,” he went on.
Jim heard a branch snap somewhere behind him. Evidently, the man in charge heard it too.
“Those would be my boys coming along,” the stocky man said. “You led us all on a merry chase today, but it’s over now.”
“I don’t think I will,” Jim answered. “Or if I do, I’ll come slinging lead.”
