Spirit of the Wolf (30 page)

But that
was the nub of it: She loved him enough to set aside her own hurt and rejection and concentrate on doing what was best for
him
. He could handle her anger
, c
ould handle
the
tears
.
But to watch
her
suffer in silence
because of him?
Chance
would never be man enough for that.

"
As you know,
I've
hired d
ozens of foremen over the years
. A few
were worth every dollar I
paid
'em."
Micah s
hook his head. "But
you?
" A long sigh punctuated his comment. "
Th
ere's something
different
about the way you work
. H
as been from day one. You couldn't convince me in a month of Sundays that
you do what you do,
just for the pay. This place
means
something to you."

He couldn't deny the truth of
the man’s
words, so
Chance
didn't try. He'd been standing there, hat in hand, staring sullenly at the toes of his boots
. But Micah’s last words f
orced eye contact.

"Son, I've learned the hard way
that
there are some things you just
can’t
outrun." An expression of remembered pain flickered across his face.
"This farm is what it is today, in part because I'm a better-than-average judge of a good horse.
And in part to the fact that I'm
pretty good at sizin' up
people
, too. I
pegged
you for a good man
,
right from the get-go." He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, aimed
a
bent
forefing
er at
Chance
again. "You
can’t seriously think I
would have looked the other way while you courted my daughter if I didn't
believe you’re worth of her
...."

Chance
's heart
hammered
and his palms grew damp.

"No need to look guilty, son. I've seen the way you two behave when you're together." He tucked in one corner of his mouth. "
I’m not so old that I don’t
remember a thing or two about love."

When he'd left other farms, other towns, no one had tried to stop him. No one had seemed to
care
one way or the other whether or stayed or went. Why couldn't Micah be like that,
Chance
wondered,
and
accept that he had to go, and
just
leave it at that? "I've spelled it out as best I can,"
Chance
said, taking an envelope from his shirt pocket.

Like smoke, the paternal smile vanished from Micah's face
, and
he accepted the note
with
it a cursory glance. The look on his face was more disappointment than
anything else
, and it cut
Chance
to the quick.
"I know it seems cowardly,"
he
said, nodding at the envelope, "saying goodbye that way." He held Micah's steady gaze. "It isn't the telling that scares me...it's what the telling will do to her." Shaking his head, he frowned. "I've grown mighty fond of your daughter; I wouldn't hurt her for all the world."

“You think
this
isn’t going to hurt?
"

Chance
ground his molars together as
Micah slipped the envelope into the breast pocket of his jacket. "So when are you headin' out?"

"Soon as I get my gear stowed."

"
Today?
"

Chance
nodded.

Micah sighed heavily
, then patted his pocket
. "I suppose you want me to wait 'til you're gone to give
this to
Bess."

Another nod. "It'll be easier that way."

There was a moment of profound silence, which Micah broke by saying, "For Bess...or for you?"

He didn't hesitate to
admit
, "Both."

"I'm not a rich man,
Chance
, but I'm far from poor. Let me help you."

Wasn't it bad enough that he had to leave Foggy Bottom
—and his beloved Bess—at
all?
Did the man have to pour salt into the wound
this way
?
For
a reason he couldn't explain,
the gesture
riled
Chance
.
Should've written two notes
,
so you could ride out of here with some dignity....
"I don't want your money."

"I have friends in high places. Maybe
—“

Exasperated,
Chance
blew a stream of air through his teeth. "I'm mindful of what you're trying to do for me, and I'm properly grateful, but not even your rich and powerful friends can get me out of th
e
mess
I’m in
."

Micah stood and resumed pacing, head down and fingers linked against his backside. After a moment, he stopped. "Then Godspeed, son," he said, giving
Chance
's shoulder a meaningful squeeze, "and take our prayers with you."

***

He'd just cinched the saddle when he heard the thundering hooves. Dust billowed all around the big Palomino, hiding its rider from view. He continued to watch as the man dismounted and tethered the beast to the hitching post near Micah's front porch. It wasn't until the stranger removed his hat that
Chance
recognized him: Sheriff Chuck Carter.

If he'd left last week, as
originally p
lanned, he'd be in Canada by now.
Now, he realized, despite everything he’d done to prevent it, he’d drawn this wonderful family into his troubles.
His miserable hide wasn't worth putting them at risk.
Hidden by Mamie's generous rump,
Chance
watched as
Mark answer
ed
Carter's knock. A moment of chit-chat was all it took to inspire the boy to invite the stranger inside. As soon as the door closed behind them,
Chance
climbed into the saddle and rode quietly from the barn. If he could make it as far as the north fields without being spotted,
maybe he could spare them from
further involvement
.

Mamie loved a full-speed run and needed very little urging, once he'd gotten safely out of earshot of anyone in the house, to go full out. When horse and rider reached the crest in the hill beyond the field,
Chance
stopped and looked back. Without dismounting, he stared through the spyglass Matt and Mark had given him for Christmas and zeroed-in on the manor house.

A painted pony now stood beside the Palomino....

He swiveled the spyglass left
,
just as the front door opened.
Chance
wouldn't have needed the visual aid to name the second man: Forrest Yonker.

So they'
d
joined forces
. Well, i
f Carter
came all this way
hopin
g
to
test the “Two heads are better than one”
theory, he
was
in for a let-down
, because in
Chance
’s estimation, Yonker hadn’t been born with even
half a brain
.

Yonker and Carter faced off, making it clear they hadn’t come here as partners. Maybe he’d caught a sliver of luck, he thought.

M
ovement just inside the door caught his attention, and he fixed the glass on it. Through its polished, curved lens, he saw Bess
,
looking
directly at him. “Go!” she mouthed. The silent warning echoed in
her wide, frightened eyes
.
Go, and don’t look back!

He likened his fate to that of a longhorn sheep, soon to be mounted over some dogger's cabin door, for the bounty had become the prize for whichever hunter
was first to
drag his trophy back to Texas.
Chance
would have
to do some mighty fancy footwork if he hoped to escape this time....

The sheriff saddled up, then turned and looked
north. Had he followed Bess's terrified gaze? Or was it
pure
instinct
that he zeroed in on his prey
?

In one second,
Chance
and Carter sat, locked in an eerie, distant eye contact. In the next, the lawman whirled his horse around and urged it forward.
And then
Yonker joined the chase.

He urged Mamie into a full gallop and headed for the cave where Mark and Matt had spent many boyhood days. It seemed ordinary enough on the outside as its mouth yawned big and black in the mound of dirt. But inside, dozens of deserted mine shafts aimed in all directions, like the spokes of an ancient wagon wheel.

It would be a good place to hide.

He'd take the tunnel that led east, toward the Gunpowder River. From there
—if
he was lucky
—he
could slip into the grove of pines that grew thick as wheat, then follow the B&O Railroad tracks along the river. If he made it that far without being spotted, he'd turn north, and disappear into the dense woodlands of Pennsylvania.

Mamie seemed not to notice the thick lather that coated her withers as she obeyed
Chance
's command
s
. Much as she enjoyed a fast run, she was a farmer's horse, accustomed to carrying her master for long distances...at a leisurely pace. Her breathing
became
ragged and labored, and the usually sure-footed beast began to stumble. If he didn't let her rest, she'd likely die.

But Yonker and Carter were hot on his trail. If
Chance
allowed her that rest,
he
would die.

Hunkering low in the saddle and hugging her neck, he said through clenched teeth, "Just get me to the edge of the woods, girl. To the edge of the woods...."

***

Mamie served him well, and carried him far from Foggy Bottom. He rode her hard until they entered the woods, then slowed her to a tolt.
Chance
held her to the face-paced trot until it became impossible to maneuver between the close-growing pines. Though he could tell by the way her muscles tensed under his thighs that she didn't like the feel of the bark scraping against her shoulders and thighs, Mamie, head bobbing and ears flicking, continued to obey. "Atta girl," he urged, his voice raspy and low, "nice and easy."

Up ahead, he could see a break in the trees. "We'll pull up soon," he assured. And as though she understood his words, Mamie relaxed a bit. She needed
food and water, and if the truth were told,
Chance
wouldn't mind a good long rest, himself. That clearing up ahead w
as looking better and better.

When at last they reached it,
Chance
dismounted and stroked Mamie's neck. "Good girl," he whispered appreciatively. He'd pushed her hard, harder than she'd ever been pushed, and yet she'd gone full-out without once breaking stride. She'd earned a leisurely meal, but he couldn't risk letting her stand out in the open to graze her fill. So, while the horse nibbled absently on the leaves of the blackberry bush he'd tethered her to,
Chance
set about the business of gathering an armload of the knee-high field grass that grew aplenty on the outskirts of the woods.

In the years he'd been 'heading for sundown',
Chance
had been forced to hole up and hide more times than he could count. Blending into the landscape was, by now, second nature to him. Being a fugitive all these years had taught him two things: Never stray far from water and, if you're lucky enough to have a horse, treat her like a best friend, 'cause that's exactly what she is. He was ever more grateful for Micah's generous Christmas gift....

He moved slowly and carefully, never stepping too far from the protective shadows of the trees, always scanning the high rim that ran alongside the woods, whacking at the grass with his big bowie knife...one of the few things
Chance
had managed to keep with him over the years.

He'd come by the weapon passing through Arkansas during his first year on the dodge. He'd stumbled onto the campsite of a hide rustler who'd been on the run
even
longer than
Chance
. Equally startled by the surprise meeting, the high-strung men unholstered their weapons in a heartbeat. The two of them had stood in frozen fear for half a minute before
Chance
said, using the six-shooter he'd taken from the Lubbock deputy as a pointer, "I got five beans in the wheel...how 'bout you?"