Blackwell Bounty

Chapter Nineteen

Somehow Cal expected to ride into Milford and find a frenzy of panicked townspeople, but the place was as subdued and slow as a lazy river on a blistering summer's day. These people had no idea that a monster was in their midst, hunting the unfortunate sheep lost in the corners of the pasture. 

It was exactly how Blackwell had struck him the first day Cal, Bill, and Skinny had wandered into town looking for an opportunity to steal. 

"Keep your eyes open," Wyatt warned. 

The sheriff had been silent the entire journey to Milford. Wyatt looked as if he'd aged another ten years since Cal had last seen him. Even through the weariness, Sheriff Harris appeared restless. Cal had never been fond of Wyatt, Sheriff of Blackwell, but he realized there were no ugly words to be said about Wyatt, the father. 

Cal wondered if either of his parents had ever been so sick with worry over him. Probably not. How different might he be now if his father had been similar to Edith's? Before he could feel sorry for himself he remembered the various times in his life when April stepped in to mentor him when no one else was around. 

By now it was nearly noon. However, the sun had yet to find its way to the earth. The rain had tapered off, but the sky overhead was still grey and threatening. Milford was closed off from the rest of the world, caged by an angry storm and its ominous thundercloud minions.

Cal's clothes were soaked, leaving his body chilled, but he could hardly concern himself with sodden clothing while Amos' impending threat constantly hovered over his shoulder like a vulture patiently awaiting his death.

A few passersby waved a greeting to the group as they tied their horses to the posts outside the hotel. The streets were busy with the routine of everyday lives. Cal wanted to shake them all by their arms, demand they tell him where Edith was, but he knew these townsfolk were only bystanders. Even with that rational reasoning, frustration clenched an iron fist around his skull, making him rub his finger against his temple in search of some relief. His head ached like he'd downed an entire keg of whiskey. 

"Sheriff," said Zeke Porter. "I believe that geldin' over there belongs to one o' the outlaws that scattered."

All of the men followed Zeke's gaze to a bay standing outside the saloon, lazily sipping water from a trough. In the mess of the encounter with Bill and the gang, Cal couldn't recall if the resemblance was significant, but he did seem to remember a bay in the mix. 

"We should split up," George Baker suggested. "Check the places they're most likely to be."

Cal drew his brows together and crossed his arms over his broad chest. He caught the store owner's eye, and asked, "And where's that?"

Mister Baker blinked. "Well, I..."

"You don't know them." His mare shoved her nose against his arm, impatient for grain. She'd been living lazily in Blackwell's stable for well over a week after months of constantly moving from place to place. Now that she'd had a taste of a languid life she would be impossible to please. Somehow her impatience mollified his frustration. He gently pushed her nose away to make the message clear that it wasn't supper time. "Amos ain't foolish. He's smarter than you and Mister Porter put together."

Zeke's face became ruddier with sudden irritation. 

Sighing heavily, Cal added, "He's expectin' us."

Cal turned his gaze longingly toward the upper windows of the hotel. He knew that Edith was no longer safely tucked away in the hotel's room, but he longed to see her staring down at him through the window, unharmed and untouched. 

Baker spoke over Cal's thoughts. "Then what do ya suggest, Mister McClain? Of course, being that you're personally familiar with the mind of a criminal, we'll gladly consider yer advice."