Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 18: Jasper

Clara and Ares were bent over the same tracks. For all his tail wagging and eating my jerky, I was beginning to think that the sheriff had trained Ares to track the scent of blood.

From on the stallion above their crouching heads, as they poured over the track of a horse, I could just make out the faint outline of a wagon train, which appeared in disarray. A couple of wagons seemed to be turned over, I couldn't see any horses or cattle, and the people seemed scattered.

"Clara, look," I murmured, pointing.

She glanced up at me and stood squinting at the horizon. The sun was barely rising and cast a bright glow over the cold desert.

"That's not the Mealy Gang," she breathed. Her nose was pink with cold; she wrapped herself tighter in her coat as a frigid wind blew past us.

"No," I agreed. "But they do look like they might need help."

Clara folded her hands over her chest and pursed her lips. "They shouldn't be here in this season," she murmured.

"Probably something held them up somewhere."

"It'd better not be the pox," she grouched.

"Clara," I warned.

She looked a little sheepish.

"Do you think they'll know about Rhett Mealy?" she asked, Ares had come to sit by her feet. She rubbed her hands in his long fur, while he licked her fingers.

"I reckon we could ask," I cracked a small smile, and she quickly looked away before I could see her blushing.

"Then let's move, Marshal," she decided, pulling herself up on her palomino and grasping the cold reins. I couldn't help but smile as she cantered off, Ares running aside her horse's hooves.

She rode effortlessly on her horse, it was apparent she'd spent a lot of time with the animal. The two were barely distinguishable in their movements.

I gave my stallion a small kick, and we raced across the hard red dust.

As we grew closer, I counted fifteen wagons, including the seven lying on their sides. No dogs were barking, no livestock anywhere save the oxen used to pull the wagons. The people were stumbling around, seemingly completely lost. I could hear the sounds of children crying, and men shouting.

"Clara, let me go in front," I said as we slowed to a trot.

Clara frowned at me.

"Why?"

"Because we don't know who these people are," I answered.

She eyed my hand resting on my pistol.

"I can handle anything out here," she retorted smartly.

"I know you can," I grinned at her proud smirking. "But I'd still rather have you safe behind me."

Her lips pursed for a moment, but I didn't miss the red flush on her cheeks.

"Alright then," she nodded, adjusting her skirts, so they covered her legs and reaching for the rifle she'd stolen from the two bandits.

"Stay behind me," I reminded her.

"Just move, Jasper," she sighed as she pulled her bandana up her face to cover her nose. Only her cornflower blue eyes were visible beneath her black hat.

"You look like a bandit," I told her.

She let out a bark of a laugh. "My face is cold," she admitted.

I chuckled and encouraged the stallion forward.

Making sure she was riding behind me, I rode into the centre of the camp.