Neill started to answer, when footsteps came from the direction of the camp.
“Dinner’s just about done,” David said and joined them. “What a grand place.”
“You left Colton cooking?” Jim asked.
“He’s improving,” David answered.
“That’s true, the last meal he ‘cooked’ wasn’t nearly so burned as the first,” Neill laughed.
“I’m afraid he takes after me in that respect,” David said. “Abigail’s the one who knows her way around a kitchen.”
“Might as well go save our dinner, then,” Jim answered.
The night was cool, but not uncomfortably so. They bedded down with little talk. To everyone’s surprise, Colton was the first to wake, and he’d gotten the fire and coffee going. The smell of sage, pine, and boiling coffee mingled in the chill morning air.
“Not bad on the coffee,” Jim said, and clapped Colton on the shoulder.
“Freighters will eat just about anything, their own mules included. But they won’t put up with bad coffee,” Colton answered.
“I imagine not.”
“I like this place,” Colton said. “It’s the kind of place a man can stretch out and grow a little.”
“I think so,” Jim said over his cup. He realized Colton had done a lot of growing over the last year. He wasn’t the same brash, foolhardy youth who’d ridden over the great trail.
“I saw a few fish jumping in the river,” the younger man said. “Thought I’d try catching some for dinner.”
“Good thought,” Jim said. “Maybe we’ll camp here a few days and see about the place.”
“You think this would be good for ranching?”
“Plenty of water, lots of good, strong grass, maybe some high meadows to hold the cattle in summertime. Seems a likely spot. You planning on living here if we do?”
“I am. At least for a time. I’d like to ride the trails some. See the country, like. But first I’d help Ma and Pa, and you and Ellen, of course, get the ranch going. Then maybe I’ll drift a bit.” Colton’s mouth turned down a little. “Is that wrong of me to want to see a few places before settling down? I wouldn’t be abandoning the folks?”
“Nothing wrong about it. Ellen and I will watch over them if you want to travel.”
“What about you? Don’t you want to see the country?”
Jim smiled. “I’ve seen enough of it, enough for now anyway. I aim to build a place for your sister and Walt and Alma to be proud of. After that’s done, maybe I’ll do a little riding of my own.”
A herd of mustangs, thirty strong, crossed the river upstream before turning to the mountains. Their leader, a powerful red stallion, paused to look back at the campfire. Jim admired the horse’s clean lines. Here was a beautiful creature born free into a wild, unfettered land. The sun rose over the Warners then, red light casting the expanse of sage in crimson and gold. The stallion seemed to revel in the dawn’s light. Then he wheeled and followed his harem higher into the foothills.
Jim knew then that he needn’t look farther; this was the place for him. Here, in these rugged foothills, among the mustangs and the elk, he would raise cattle and horses and build his great ranch.
* * * *
Cord Bannen lay belly down on a ridge overlooking Donovan’s Valley.
Six months had not dimmed his ambitions for the Heston mine. He had not forgotten about how close he’d come to claiming it, and every story of the mine’s riches fueled both his anger and determination. He could have owned it all. Two men and a few women holed up in a wooden cabin. That was all that had stood between him and that great wealth.
From where he lay, he could see the cabin. There were other buildings all around it now; the valley was full of prospectors, gamblers, saloon girls, and other riffraff. But he could still pick out that single hateful cabin amid the others.
Two men and a pair of women.
Some distance east, he could see the mine entrance plunging into the mountain. How much gold had they pulled from it so far? Gold that should have been his.
“Boss.” John jostled his elbow. “Which one is it?”
Cord’s attention turned to the trail that wound out of the valley.
“He’s in the third wagon from the front,” Bannen said dryly. Then he looked back down at the cabin that had defied him. There had to be a way to get at that gold, and he would find it. Afterward—after he had the gold—he would settle accounts with Jim Heston.
“Let’s go,” Cord said. His men were waiting down off the ridge, mounted and ready. His crew numbered eight now, including himself. More than enough for what needed doing, not so many that the split would be watered down.
The wagon had a head start on them, but the trail was rough and clogged with men pouring into the valley, narrow where it circled the small lake and dropped in elevation.
Cord’s path would bring them to a place just outside Onionville, and far quicker. They rode fast, hiding themselves among the brush and timber well before the wagons rolled around a narrow bend.
So far, the pickings had been slim coming out of the valley. The strike was so rich it had drawn a steady stream of miners and allowed Cord no opportunities to take anything of real value.
Storms brewing to the west had changed that. The roads up from the coast were overcome with rainfall. Mudslides blocked several. Swollen rivers leaped from their banks to flood others. Travel inland had slowed, then ground to a complete halt, leaving uncrowded stretches where Cord could operate freely.
The wagons rattled into view, six in total, all empty after delivering supplies to the mines. All almost empty.
John fired the first shot. More followed in a heavy volley. With no cover and no warning, the men in the wagons didn’t stand a chance.
His men stripped and searched the dead men quickly. The wagons—as expected—were bare. Cord had reserved the driver of the third wagon for himself, and while his pockets held little, the money belt he wore was stuffed with bills.
