One of the men with a rifle was to my right and clearly visible, without giving it a thought I swung the shotgun a few inches, thumbed back the rabbit-ear hammers and pulled both triggers at once. At twenty-five yards enough of the double-ought pellets hit my target to send him flying through the air backwards. The loud report of the shotgun spooked the coach's horses and they leapt forward against their collars and breast straps. The sudden surge of forward movement threw me back against the seat just as I was reaching down to pick up Bob's scatter gun. That jerky movement probably saved my life as a split second later a bullet splintered the back of driver's box smack-dab between Bob and me.
I frantically reached down and grabbed the other shotgun cocking the hammers as I pulled it off the floor. I swung the shotgun around so it was pointed in the direction of the man with the pistol. I didn't worry about the rifleman because I knew it would take him at least twenty seconds to reload the Springfield he carried. By the time I had my head up ready to shoot, we were close enough to the pistol wielder that the horses were in my line of sight. Bob had urged the horse on after their scared initial leap with the intent of running the man down. The man jumped to the side at the last second and we thundered by him, the horses now at full gallop.
I took the opportunity afford by no one being in front of us to break open my shotgun, shake out the two spent cartridges and stuff two new ones into the breech. Bob was Jehu driving the devil out of that big top heavy stagecoach just keeping it on its wheels. He cut me a quick glance as he pulled back some on the reins to slow for a curve.
"Any suggestions, Jeremiah, because we sure cannot out run them," Bob stated calmly.
"Try to find us a place where we can hold them off for a while. I'll try to buy us some time while you look, then we will see how many of them are willing to die for that strong box," I replied.
Bob grinned evilly and nodded his head in understanding. I turned around and knelt on the seat so I could see behind us. The view was not a pleasant one as six riders were thundering up the road about one hundred yards behind us. I watched them for a few seconds to see if they would stay in a column of twos as they were or if they would spread out. When I saw them staying in a column even when they had room to ride abreast, I reached for my Enfield. I stretched out over the roof of the jouncing coach, plugged a percussion cap into the already loaded rifle, cocked the hammer and waited. There was no way I could acquire a clear sight picture with the coach bouncing and swaying. I did not need to make a difficult shot because my target was the middle horse in the right hand column but I would need to be somewhat steady nonetheless.
"Holler when you start to make a left hand curve, Bob," I said loudly.
Bob grunted in reply. I tried to relax, breath normally and look over the top of my sights as I waited. Bob finally yell, "Here it comes," about thirty seconds later. The coach went into the curve and leaned hard to the right. That lean cause the ride to smooth out for a couple of seconds and that was long enough for me to aim and fire. I targeted the middle horse because I hoped if I missed him I might hit one of the others. I did not miss. The big 58 caliber slug tore into the horse's chest with enough force to turn him slightly sideways before he faltered and flipped end for end. His rider rolled with him, his off foot caught in the stirrup. As a bonus for us, the horse following them collided with the downed horse and tumbled also. The rider of that horse managed to jump clear of the carnage. I disliked the idea of killing the horses. I did it because I disliked the idea of dying in their place even more.
I had hoped that the entire gang would stop to help their downed comrades. That did not happen; instead, the last rider in the left column reined in his horse and turned back. The other three simply spread out, and kept coming. I sighed and was reaching for my Spencer when Bob started whoaing on the reins and pressing his foot hard against the brake lever. When I looked at him, he inclined his head at some large boulders that had avalanched down a steep hillside and ended up at rest only a few yards from the road. Some of the rocks were close enough together to provide cover from the front and flanks.
Bob managed to stop the coach near the rocks. He locked the brake lever in place and looped the reins over it before jumping out of the driver's box. Bob yanked the door of the coach open and hustled our frightened passengers out of the coach and into the rocks. Our passengers were a middle-aged couple and an elderly woman. The man was unarmed but accepted one of the shotguns when Bob thrust it into his hands. Our pursuers stopped when we did. They dismounted and conferred for a few seconds, and then one of them took the horses and led them off the trail disappearing in a gully. The other two men started climbing the hill where the incline was gentler.
I tried to dissuade them from that idea with a couple of shots from my Spencer. The men were about two hundred and fifty yards away, a distance past the effective range of the short carbine. Still my shots were close enough to make them dive for cover. While the two men had their heads down, I heaved the strongbox out of the foot well and onto the ground near the rocks Bob was hiding behind. I made sure Bob was covering me, grabbed my Spencer, Enfield and saddlebags then clambered to the ground. I handed my Spencer to Bob as soon as I scrambled behind the large rock he was peeking around. With my back against the rock I ripped open a paper cartridge of powder and poured it down the barrel of my Enfield. Next, I inserted a minie ball in the muzzle and rammed it home. Once I pushed a percussion cap into place I leaned the Enfield against the rock and looked at our frightened passengers.
I tried to reassure them by saying that the Denver Wells Fargo office would send help for us if we did not arrive there on time. All we had to do was hold out for two or three more hours. That was a crock of buttermilk of course, but it seemed to calm them somewhat. I put all three of them watching the hillside so we didn't get flanked then peeked around the rock on the opposite side from Bob. If one of the robbers showed himself now, I had a 58 caliber surprise for him.
I was nervously watching the area in which the two robbers had taken cover while Bob concentrated on looking for the man who was holding the horses. Suddenly, a horse carrying two riders swept around the hill. Gesturing wildly and pointing in the direction they had come from, the riders did not slow down when they passed by their gang mates. I was about to drop the men's mount when about a dozen more riders came careening around the curve. The new riders pulled up to a dusty stop when they saw the coach. They were too far away to hail so Bob popped a couple of rounds in the direction of the two ambushers up on the hillside to turn their attention in that direction.
The newly arrived riders did turn their attention to the hillside and soon spotted the men on it. I heard one of the men shout some orders and watched as half of the riders dismounted and started peppering the hillside with rifle fire. Their fire was returned by the would be robbers, the posse scattered for cover and an intense gun battle commenced. Bob and I watched, neither of us unhappy to be spectators. As I looked from man to man among our rescuers, I saw a face I recognized.
"Hey Bob, is that Grady Miller over by that reddish boulder?"
Bob squinted and shrugged noncommittally. "Could be, if it is it will be the first time I have ever been happy to see him."
My wondering about Miller's presence out here in the middle of nowhere was cut short when the outlaw who had taken the horses down into the gully made a break for it. He came charging out of the gully at a dead run right in back of the three men who were holding the posse's horses. He was stretched out over his horse's neck trying to make himself a smaller target. He cold-bloodedly shot one the men holding the hoses in the back as he rode past. Then for good measure he shot one of the horses in the hind end. The wounded horse started crow-hopping around neighing loudly. That spooked the other horses and created the commotion the outlaw had counted on to facilitate his escape. With the bucking and whirling horses between him and the bulk of the posse he looked to have made his get-away.
What the murderer hadn't counted on was a former Confederate sharpshooter with a deadly accurate Enfield sitting two hundred yards away. I swung my rifle up onto the rock and lined the man up in my sights. I could have dropped his horse easily, but it was about the prettiest pinto pony I had ever seen, so I held my fire and waited. My opportunity came when he rose up from his horse's neck to look back, no doubt checking for pursuers. That was his official last act on God's green Earth. My shot took him cleanly in the center of his upper chest. I figured he was on his way to hell before he hit the ground.
I dropped back down behind the rock and instinctively started reloading. In fewer than fifteen seconds, I was again using the rock for a rifle rest as I scanned the hillside for another target. I am ashamed to admit that for a minute or two my humanity disappeared as I coldly looked for someone else to kill. I had acquired my next target and started pulling back the hammer when Bob put his hand on my shoulder.
"Back down, Jeremiah, they are trying to surrender," he said softly.
I blinked my eyes a couple of times and laid my rifle down on top of the rock. "Sorry," I mumbled as I sat down and calmed myself.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, son. You saved all of our lives," said our male passenger as he handed me a small silver flask.
I didn't comment on that, it was not all that true anyway, but I did take a drink of his excellent whisky. He passed the flask to Bob next. I thought Bob showed admirable restraint when he only took a sip. I looked at him funny as he handed the flask back. He shrugged and squared his shoulders. "It is not politic to be drinking on duty when your boss is sure to be questioning you."
Well Mister Miller did have a couple of questions for us, but more important he had a passel of answers. He told us that he and his men had been following us at a distance since we left Fort Collins. The heavy strongbox was nothing but bait to draw a robbery attempt. To avoid detection by anyone tracking us he had stayed about two miles back and counted on his two Crow Indian trackers to keep him oriented. I found it hard to believe that one of the trackers had us in sight every step of the way because we had not seen a clue of them. Anyway, when I fired the first shotgun blast, Miller and his posse had raced to save us. Miller said he had not counted on us taking independent action as we had and that was why it had taken him so long to catch us. Bob hooted at that statement and in a truly impressive barrage of foul language, told Mister Miller exactly what he thought about being used as bait.
Truth be told, I was as irked as Bob. Miller mollified us both though, when he said we had earned a sizeable bonus for what we had done. Even better, the captured men told Miller that the man I had shot running away was Isaac Pruett, a notorious outlaw with a large bounty on his head. It turns out that all seven of the outlaws were wanted fugitives worth rewards of varying amounts. Yes, Miller ended up getting all seven members of the outlaw gang. His trackers ferreted out the two that escaped on one horse by nightfall. Miller even enticed the name of the Wells Fargo employee who was proving information to Pruett by promising one bandit leniency.
After all that had happened that day, Bob was proudest of the fact that we rolled into Denver five minutes earlier than scheduled. Next on his list was the bottle of that fine whisky our passenger gifted each of us with when we deposited him, his wife and his mother-in-law at his dry goods store. I guess besides the reward, I was happiest about ending up with the pinto pony off of which I had shot Isaac Pruett. Miller had one of the trackers bring it to me at the Well Fargo express messenger's bunk house the following morning. Miller was in an expansive mood because one of the outlaws traded information for life in prison instead of the hangman's knot. The man led Miller to the canyon where Cottonwood Joe's stagecoach was cached and the bodies of Joe, his shotgun messenger and two passengers were buried. Miller even retrieved the strongbox and most of its contents.
Bob and I had to stay in Denver for a few days waiting on our reward money. We talked quite a bit while we were waiting. Well, actually Bob talked and I just sort of listened to him ramble. It was amazing watching as Bob turned our experience with the robbers into a new life for himself. We did our talking in the bunk house and not in a saloon as I had expected we would. I saw a completely different side of Robert Rollins Randolph as he made his decision. I was happy for him when he announced he had decided to apply for the position of sheriff for Boulder County and marry Camille Devereaux. At the same time, I expressed my curiosity as to why the sheriff's job was vacant in the first place.
Bob gave me that nasty little grin of his and said," No one wants the job. The last sheriff quit after two months and his predecessor was killed in a melee one Saturday night. Boulder can be an unpleasant place when the miners and cowboys hit town to let off steam. As if that weren't enough, Boulder County has become a haven of sorts for some bad elements. Isaac Pruett was even rumored to have a place there."
I looked at Bob as if he had suddenly sprouted horns. "What in the world makes you think you will fare any better than your predecessors?" I asked incredulously.
Again with that grin he replied, "It is simple my boy, they were not me nor did they have you for a deputy."
I never thought of myself as a person who was easily led astray. I had resisted some large temptations during my admittedly short life, but Bob was much like JC in that he presented things to me in a way that I had trouble refusing. Bob made it sound as if it were our Christian and patriotic duty to clean up Boulder County. My judgment was also clouded with the idea of living in the same town as the luscious Colette. In the end, I agreed to give it a try. I would ride to Fort Collins, pick up Zeke and my pack mule then meet Bob in Boulder. Another of Bob's many quirks was that he refused to ride a horse, so he caught the stage coach he once drove while I rode the pinto to Fort Collins.
Grady Miller was not in the least disturbed that we resigned from Wells Fargo. I believe he thought Bob and I were loose cannons and not the image that Wells Fargo wanted to portray. We had served his purpose and now he was happy to be done with us. He paid us our bonus, shook our hands and sent us packing.
It took me three days of steady riding before I was back in Boulder. I arrived the day after Bob was installed as sheriff. Bob had given taking the job considerable thought and he had gilded the lily somewhat in pointing out its dangers to me. Yes, the miners and cowboy were a handful, but they were mostly dangerous to themselves and each other. I soon discovered that they were mostly just nuisances ... drunken pains in the butt. Of course I did not know all that when I rode back into town. In all honesty my brain was so inflamed with visions of Colette that I could think of little else. Colette was the first woman since Millie Silvestry to captivate me so.
I rode into Boulder in the late afternoon. I stopped first at the livery stables to secure my horse and mules before making a beeline to Camille's establishment. I was there before dark hoping Colette was free for the evening. I had a disconcerting moment when a woman I did not know answered the door. She was a short, slender, raven-haired woman with a slightly prominent nose. I cleared my throat and asked for Colette. She smiled and gestured me into the building. After I walked in she closed the door behind me and took my arm.
"You must be Jeremiah, Colette has been atwitter since Bob told her you were coming," she said as she looked me up and down. "My name is Simone and I think I am jealous, because you are a big handsome man."
I was blushing hotly by the time she seated me in the front room. She gave me one last smile before she walked out of the room to fetch Colette. Colette burst through the door less than a minute later. I barely had time to stand up before she flung herself into my arms. I picked her up and swung her around as she giggled gaily. "I am so very happy to see you, Jeremiah," she gushed. I grinned and told her likewise as I set her gently on the floor. Colette grabbed me by the arm and started leading me towards the stairs. I grabbed my valise and followed her. "Camille said I need not work tonight," she said with a sweet little blush.
I stopped and held up my bag. Do you think I could have a bath first and maybe something to eat? I desperately need both," I said.
Colette gave me an appraising look for a few seconds and then flashed me a radiant smile. "I like you more with each moment we spend together, Jeremiah. You are so unlike the men who come in here all the time. They act as if they are doing us a favor by being here and that our company is their due. You are completely different and full of surprises. That makes you dangerous because it makes loving you too easy."
I did not have anything to say in reply and I do not believe Colette expected me too. She took my arm again, this time leading me to the same room with a tub that I was in the first time. This visit, though, Colette stayed and helped me bathe. It was a novel experience for me as she knelt by the tub fully clothed and washed my hair for me. She even dried me off when I stepped out of the tub. I pulled the new clothes I bought in Denver out of my bag and put them on as Colette clucked her approval at my new outfit. I dressed in black trousers, a white shirt, a burgundy paisley cravat, grey vest and black frock coat. I thought the cravat made me appear to be a foppish dandy but Colette seemed to love it.
I finished dressing and escorted Colette to the dining room. It was a very pleasant surprise to find Bob and Camille already eating at the table. Camille broke into a huge smile when we walked in the door. Bob stood up and hugged me, an act that nearly caused me to faint with embarrassment, then Camille did the same. I was not the only one sporting new duds as Bob was wearing a new suit with his sheriff's badge pinned to the coat. Colette prepared me a plate from the serving dishes on the side board, fixed one for her and sat down at the table. We enjoyed a nice meal and pleasant conversation as we all discussed Bob's and my new positions. Bob swore me in right there at the table and Colette pinned my new badge on me.
We adjourned to another room after finishing our dinner. The room was another parlor but twice the size of the one we were in my last visit. There were already three other couples in the room so Camille made introductions. The woman who met me at the door was there with a well dressed silver haired man that Camille introduced as the Judge-Magistrate. When I asked, the man explained that under the territorial charter, he was the county's chief administrate officer appointed by the territorial governor. He was Bob's and my boss. The other two men were well off businessmen, one owned the mercantile and the other owned a saloon and various other businesses including the livery stable. The townsmen were happy that Bob had applied for the sheriff's job because they had been trying to keep the peace in the town for the last two months with a corps of volunteers. They had their doubts about some of Bob's novel ideas on law enforcement but were willing to give them a try.
I notice that the music stand and violin were in the room when we walked in, so I was not surprised when Camille asked me to play. I dug my sheet music folio out of my valise, selected a couple of pieces and set them on the music stand. I tightened up the bow of Camille's marvelous violin, made sure it was tuned and played my first selection. The first number was the allegro from Beethoven's Violin Concerto Number One; it was a nice rhythmic piece that allowed me to warm up my fingers and bowing arm. After the Beethoven, I played the finale of Haydn's First Violin Concerto. I was showing off with the Haydn because it was a fast tempo piece that required considerable dexterity.
We sat around talking until nine in the evening when the other gentlemen called it a night. As soon as they were out the door, Colette and I practically raced up the stairs to her room. Amazingly, our lovemaking that night was even better than our first time together. Colette had held back a part of herself that first time, this night she did not. In return I was eager to please her and spent many a pleasurable minute exploring her lush curves. In between bouts of sweetly intense coupling she lay in my arms and we talked. I was amazed at how quickly my feelings for her were developing. She told me she felt the same way. We were both giddy with the intensity of our emotions. We thought we were falling in love.
Colette and I made love and talked until the wee hours of the morning. We fell asleep wrapped in each others arms. After that night, I was convinced that I would never be able to fall asleep not in her loving embrace. We slept until the sun was well up the next morning. I did not want to get out of bed but I had promised Bob I would begin my duties that day so I forced myself. Colette was a morning person, thank goodness, and climbed out of bed when I did. I pulled some regular clothes from my bag and dressed while Colette shimmied into a chemise and shrugged on a demure dressing gown. I might have been biased but I swear that Colette even woke up in the morning looking beautiful.