“We take it back to Silverwood Springs, divvy it up with Lemuel, and go our separate ways.” Carson wasn’t sure why he included Lemuel, when the man was dying. He had said he intended for everyone else in the gang to share equally, his share going to them. Something told him that Lemuel’s share would be barely enough to pay off the doctor bill.

  “Unless you want to cut him out,” said Potter.

  “No, not that. He won’t last long, though.” Joe and Daniel whispered furiously; then Joe finally said, “Whoever’s on our back trail doesn’t know where we’re heading.”

  “Let’s confuse them, then,” said Carson. “Each of us will head out in a different direction. Rendezvous at the rocky spire, just over my shoulder. That’s about an hour’s ride off. Whoever gets to the spire first can lay down an ambush to take care of everyone coming after us.”

  Joe grumbled some, then agreed. He and his brother lit out, heading to the northeast.

  “I’ll ride straight for the spire, if that’s all right,” Potter said.

  “No reason why it shouldn’t be. If memory serves, I can get there first by heading northwest. There’s a trail leading to it.”

  “Five dollars says I get there first,” Potter challenged.

  “And another five says I not only do, but I take out the owlhoot on our heels. It’s real easy to bet money we don’t have!”

  “Yet! We don’t have money yet. But we will.”

  They let out loud whoops and galloped off. Carson slowed the pace within minutes so he could see if anyone followed him. Satisfied that he rode alone, he picked up the pace again, found the trail he’d mentioned, and curved around to approach the rocky pile from the back. He made sure his Winchester was loaded, then hiked up the rocky slope to a notch in the rock overlooking the trail due south.

  He squinted against the bright sunlight as he slowly panned from one side to the other. Potter trotted along, not a ten-minute ride away. Carson started to stand and wave, then remained flat on his belly. He settled the rifle in a rocky V to sight in on the pair behind Potter. From the way Potter rode, he had no idea anyone was within a mile of him.

  The distance was too great for a good shot. Carson, usually patient about such things, found himself increasingly uneasy. He took aim on the larger of the two men trailing Potter. From the way he rode, this had to be the bounty hunter. Brody had been wounded several times. This man rode as if it pained him, squirming about and occasionally reaching around, like he was hugging himself.

  While the details were blurred by distance and heat haze, the second rider had to be Billy Turner. He found it hard to keep up with Brody and pressed his hand to his side. Carson smiled. The former gang member had been hit, too. He hoped it had been his lead that lodged in the turncoat’s body.

  Potter reached the base of the spire and looked around. He slowly examined the heights and located Carson. He waved. When he didn’t get an acknowledgment, he turned in the saddle and waited for Brody and Turner to come into view. He yanked his rifle from the saddle sheath and hit the ground. He dropped behind a pile of rocks immediately under Carson.

  Carson saw that Potter’s spooked horse alerted the two. He fired. A second later, Potter opened fire. From his vantage twenty feet above his partner, Carson had the better chance of hitting Brody and Turner.

  Their bucking horses made one round go stray. He had intended to take Turner out of the saddle. Instead, he shot his horse from under him. The hail of bullets caused enough commotion that the horses kicked up an obscuring cloud of dust. Carson fired until his magazine came up empty. Potter was more measured and only fired when he had a definite target.

  “They’re running!” Carson called down. He stood and shielded his eyes against the sun. “One of ’em is. No, wait, there’re two of them on one horse.”

  After the two men disappeared, Carson made his way down to where Potter sat on a rock, humming to himself.

  “You had a better perch up there,” Potter said. “What went on? Did you get buck fever?”

  “One of us hit Turner’s horse. Brody picked him up, and they both escaped on one horse.”

  “They won’t be much trouble, not unless Brody comes to his senses and makes Billy walk.”

  That brought a laugh to both men.

  “Let’s see what’s keeping Joe and the kid,” said Carson. He skirted the ragged spire and mounted.

  “They must have waited for us to do all the dirty work,” said Potter.

  Joe and Daniel galloped up, looking flustered.

  Before Carson asked, Daniel blurted out, “The posse. Four men. They almost caught us!”

  “What happened?” Carson looked from Daniel to Joe. Neither was wounded, but both smelled of gunpowder. There’d been some swapping of bullets.

  “They caught us in a cross fire when we jumped down into a gully. We were lucky to avoid getting killed when they opened up too soon.” Joe looked disgusted at falling into their trap.

  “And one of them was that marshal. Sutcliff.” Daniel gasped out the identification. “I saw his badge and he was givin’ orders. And he—”

  “How’d you get away?” Potter asked.

  “That was the screwiest thing,” said Joe. “We were caught between two bunches, on either side of the road. But somebody gunned down the deputies on one side of the road. We lit out that way—and here we are.”

  “You didn’t see who helped you?” Carson scratched his chin. “It couldn’t be Lemuel. He was too bad off to roll over, much less travel out here and fire a gun.”

  “There was two, Clay. Two of ’em. At least that many,” said Daniel. He was still wild-eyed from the gunfight.

  “Why didn’t Sutcliff keep after you?”

  “We ran. We heard gunfire go on for a spell, then nothing,” said Joe. “Whoever helped us either killed the marshal or ran him and his remaining deputy off.”

  “We got rid of Brody and Turner,” Potter said. “Leastways one of us chased them away. I think it was me, but Clay there’ll argue it was his sharpshooting that did it.”

  Carson had no time for such fooling around now. They were caught up in a range war with unidentified gunmen. Some seemed to be on their side and others fought to arrest them. Or worse.

  The ones that worried Carson most were their unseen allies. Nobody who wasn’t in the gang had any reason to back them up and pull their fat out of the fire.

  He grimaced, thinking of Billy Turner. Even one in the gang had turned against them.

  “Let’s get the gold, then decide what to do with it,” he said.

  “Three rocks all piled up,” said Potter. “That describes dang near every pile of rocks in sight.”

  “We need to ride deeper into the canyon mouth,” Carson said. “There’s got to be a hot springs.”

  For the next two hours, they fanned out and searched the entrance to the canyon. From here, the increasingly steep walls ran a hundred miles to the west and north through the wind-carved, gaudy rock that formed the heart of Palo Duro Canyon. But Lemuel Jones had hidden the gold before escaping down the length of the canyon.

  They didn’t have to ride the length of the canyon. Just the mouth. Three rocks and a sulfur spring.

  “Here’s a spring,” Daniel said. He wrinkled his nose. “Nasty smell, too. Rotten eggs.”

  “Sulfur springs,” Joe said. “That matches what Lemuel said. There’s a stack of rocks!” He galloped toward them. Daniel followed.

  “What about those rocks?” Potter pointed to a similar column. “Or those?”

  “Or those?” Carson added glumly. “If the rocks were piled and not formed by the wind, they can fall over.”

  “So we look for two rocks,” Potter said. “Or one rock all carved up by the wind?” He scanned the area and laughed. “Every rock in the entire state of Texas is out there, mocking us. All of them are piled up. And hot springs? They’re everywhere.”

  “Don’t let your horse drink,” Carson warned.

  He rode around, working farther into the canyon, hoping for some hint that Lemuel had steered them right. If he had only given them more information …

  “A map,” Carson said angrily. “I need a map. He was too vague.”

  “Rocks and hot springs,” Potter said in the same tone. “You think he sent us on a wild-goose chase?”

  “What’s the point? He wanted to ride with us and would have if he’d been able.” Carson looked at several other places without seeing any trace of a hiding place.

  Or rather, all he saw were possible hiding places that matched Lemuel’s description.

  “Let’s round up Joe and the kid and get back to Silverwood Springs,” Carson said. “If Lemuel doesn’t give us more to go on, we’ll never find the loot.”

  “If he’s even alive. We left him in a sorry condition.”

  “If he’s still sucking air, we’ll get it out of him.” Clay Carson felt that Lemuel had duped them. “Even if he’s not alive, I swear I’ll get it out of him somehow.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “The town marshal,” Daniel Easterly said uneasily.

  “What about him?” Clay Carson was tired and dusty from the trail. They had made good time to reach the spot where Lemuel had said the gold was hidden. Carson had pushed the pace coming back to the point that their horses staggered from exhaustion. He wasn’t much behind the horse in feeling the effect of such hard riding, but he wanted to find out if Lemuel had been straight with them.

  If he hadn’t, there wasn’t much anyone could do to him. Some men had one foot in the grave. Lemuel Jones had both and was sliding down fast.

  “If Marshal Sutcliff has come through here, he’ll talk about us to any other lawman. We can be ridin’ into a trap.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But—” Daniel was shushed by his brother. Joe rode close to him and laid down the law as only an older brother can.

  “The boy’s got a good idea, Clay. Sutcliff’s madder’n a wet hen by now, getting himself shot up and not finding us.”

  “Lemuel first. Then I’ll have it out with Sutcliff, if he’s even in Silverwood Springs. And if he is, that might be enough to rile the local law. Sutcliff is casting out way beyond his jurisdiction in Boone.”

  “That’s true,” said Potter. “Lawmen don’t like anyone jostling their elbow.” He grinned broadly. “Or cutting in on their local swindle.”

  “Sutcliff isn’t paying attention to his own henhouse. That makes it easier for the fox to sneak in.” Carson chewed on his lower lip as he planned the way Lemuel would have. At least he hoped he was tending to the details that Lemuel always cited as important.

  The wind whispered through the canyon as they rode into the edge of Silverwood Springs, low dust drifting through the sleepy town like ghost breath. It was a place that had always felt like a halfway point—never a destination. A couple of hitching rails, a mercantile, a saloon with a cracked sign swinging on rusty chains, and a church that looked like it hadn’t seen a full congregation in a decade.

  “I’ve seen you before when you get an idea stuck in your head. Nothing shakes it loose. This time, though, well, it can be dangerous. More than dangerous. Deadly.” Potter turned somber and studied his partner more carefully now. Carson reacted to the change in attitude.

  “This is the first time you weren’t ready and willing to ride with me, Simon. That’s all right. I may be sticking my neck out. You and them, stay here. I’ll talk to Lemuel by my lonesome.”

  “Whoa, I never said that I wasn’t with you.” Potter looked at the Easterly brothers. They eyed Carson with open suspicion. “They’re never going to let you alone with Lemuel.”

  “It’s come to that, then,” Carson said. “That’s something else to lay at Lemuel’s doorstep. Stealing the gold was bad enough. And hiding it for a year.” He shook his head in dismay. “Getting us together again put us at one another’s throats.”

  Simon Potter ran his fingers around his collar and grinned crookedly.

  “I’m glad you thought enough of my neck to rescue me. I owe you plenty, Clay. I always thought of you as my partner, come what may. Now. You’ve earned more than my respect. You’ve got my loyalty.”

  Carson grunted his thanks. That was the way he’d felt about Lemuel Jones. There had been a bond before the Fort Worth robbery. Everything afterward had been wrong and destroyed any lingering good feelings.

  At least he told himself that. It took a powerful lot for him to change his opinion of a man.

  “Billy Turner,” he said. Potter looked at him strangely. “Sorry. I was thinking of men who’ve lost my trust.”

  “He’s a Benedict Arnold. Sam should never have turned his back on him.”

  Carson rode into the town silently, lost in his thoughts. He wasn’t so sure about Sam Wylie’s loyalty, either. What would he have thought if Turner claimed Wylie had tried to double-cross them. He’d have bought the story because he had come to dislike Wylie. It was Turner’s character that caused him to shoot Wylie and try to gun down the rest of them.

  A lie would have worked better, even if such betrayal would have cut deeper. A bullet robbed a man of his life. A treacherous lie stole another man’s trust.

  Carson glanced at Potter. Was Potter lying about his trustworthiness?

  Carson let out a shout of pure rage. The gold had made him doubt his closest friend.

  They dismounted behind the doctor’s surgery. The Easterly brothers crowded close behind as he went in. Potter trailed them.

  “You’re back,” the doctor said. He laid down his newspaper and took off his glasses. From his glum expression, Carson knew what the sawbones would say next.

  The waiting room was dim and smelled faintly of carbolic. A chipped porcelain basin sat on the desk, and behind it shelves stacked with old jars and instruments that looked better suited to a butcher than a healer.

  “When did he die?”

  “Just before dawn today, the closest I can tell.”

  “You weren’t with him?”

  “I put him in the back room. I was asleep here at my desk most of the night. He never called out, but he was in such bad shape around midnight I hardly expected him to.”

  “Where’s the body?”

  The doctor got to his feet and led the small parade into the back room. He stood to one side and let Carson and the others crowd in.

  “He passed in his sleep. He wasn’t in pain.” The doctor stepped back when Carson spun around and faced him. “Look, mister, I know he was your friend. There wasn’t anything I could do for him. He was too far gone.”

  “I’m not blaming you, Doc. It’s just …” Carson was at a loss for words.

  He turned back to the still body on the examination table. The doctor had covered Jones with a sheet. Carson pulled it back and stared at his friend’s face. And Lemuel had been his friend. He understood the need for him to lead the gang once more. If only he had led them to the gold a year before.

  “He’s still got his boots on,” Daniel said. “He said he wanted to die with ’em off.”

  “Doc, why didn’t you take his boots off?” Carson demanded.

  “I … It was the strangest request. He kicked and fussed so bad when I tried to take them off, I left them on. That was the only way I could get him to rest and conserve his energy.”

  “He fought you over taking them off? That doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Carson said. It was the opposite of what Lemuel had said he wanted.

  “That’s what happened.” The doctor’s tone carried an edge to it.

  “I didn’t mean to call you a liar, Doc. It’s just not what he wanted.”

  “A man going to meet his Maker gets strange ideas.”

  “Why don’t you let us have a few minutes with him, Doc?”

  “You want me to call the undertaker? There’s only one in town, but he knows his job. You left enough money to pay my bill and to get him a decent burial.”

  “Do you want to plant him here, Clay?” Potter walked to the far side of the table. He reached out and touched an icy cheek. “In Silverwood Springs?”

  “Why not? It’s not like he had a home. It’s not like any of us do.” Carson pulled the sheet off the body and stared at the shriveled man who had once led the most feared outlaw gang in North Texas. It hardly seemed possible Lemuel Jones had ended up this way.

  With his boots on.

  “Close the door,” Carson said. “Keep the doctor out for a minute.”

  “You saw the look on his face. He ain’t likely to come in, Clay,” said Daniel. “What are you plannin’ to do? I know a prayer. I can say it over him, if you like.”

  “Grab hold,” Carson told Potter. He found the heel of Lemuel’s right boot and tugged. Potter did the same with the left.

  “Reckon honoring his last request is all we can do for him,” Potter said. “Or is it? What are you doing?”

  Carson reached down into the boot and fumbled around. He pulled back. A tattered sheet of paper had been stuck to the inner sole.

  “What’s in your boot, Simon?”

  “I got a piece of paper, too. Water-soaked and hardly … legible.” He held it up and carefully unfolded it.

  Carson did the same with his piece. He laid it on Lemuel’s body, then added the second page to it. A little turning and fitting made it into a map.

  “We needed a map. Lemuel gave us one.”

  “That’s what he was telling you, Clay. If he didn’t make it, you could use the map to find the gold.” Joe Easterly let out a whoop. He and Daniel danced around like madmen.

  “From the part I can make out, we’re headed back to the same spot,” Potter said. “Only, we were a couple bends in the canyon away from where we should have searched.”

  Carson stared at Lemuel.

  “You were a son of a gun, but you were a friend to the end. Thank you.”

  “Let’s hit the trail,” Joe said.

  “After we see Lemuel in the ground. Our horses need a rest. So do we,” Carson said.

  “But the gold! We gotta get it ’fore somebody else does!” Daniel bounced on his toes in his eagerness.

  “It’s been out there for a year. Another day’s not going to matter.” Carson pulled the sheet back over the body. “We’re going to honor him with a real service.” He looked at Daniel. “You can say your prayer. He’d like that.”