Chapter 3 - THE ROAD THEY WANTED
3
By sunrise, Wilmer called every healthy rider together.
Twenty-nine men stood.
The rest were sick, injured, or exhausted.
That was all they had to move three thousand longhorns and protect forty poisoned cowboys.
Snow still fell in thin hard needles.
Wilmer drew a rough map in the mud beside the wagon using a broken spoon.
North.
Original trail.
Juniper Ridge.
East.
Adobe Wells.
South.
Flooded creek country.
West.
Open plains with almost no water.
“They expect us east,” Katrina said.
Wilmer nodded.
“Jeb heard Coyle say I’m not supposed to reach the telegraph.”
Bell folded his arms.
“Then we still need medicine.”
“Is Adobe Wells the only place?”
“No.”
“Next closest?”
“Fort Griffin supply station.”
“How far?”
Bell grimaced.
“Three days southwest if weather clears.”
“Can the sick survive?”
“Some.”
“Others?”
He looked away.
There was the answer.
Katrina hated choosing roads with human lives.
Wilmer said:
“Adobe Wells may be dangerous, but at least we know danger waits.”
Katrina looked at him.
“Do we?”
“What?”
“We know Coyle mentioned the telegraph.”
“That’s enough.”
“No. It tells us someone wants to stop you reaching it. Doesn’t tell us the whole town is theirs.”
Bell nodded slowly.
“Could be an ambush outside.”
“Or the telegraph operator paid off.”
“Or both.”
Wilmer frowned.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Go east.”
He blinked.
Katrina continued.
“Make them think we’re doing exactly what they expect.”
“And then?”
“Don’t take Wilmer.”
Silence.
“You stay with herd.”
“Katrina—”
“Send somebody they won’t recognize as important.”
Everyone looked at her.
Wilmer actually laughed.
“You?”
“Who notices the cook?”
Jeb called weakly from blankets:
“Most of us.”
Katrina ignored him.
She would ride ahead with a small group, enter Adobe Wells separately, find medicine and send a telegraph before whoever waited understood who she was.
Wilmer hated it.
“You’ve barely ridden more than wagon horses.”
“My father delivered meat by wagon six days a week.”
“That is not the same as crossing frozen range.”
“No.”
She met his eyes.
“But your best riders are needed here.”
He knew she was right.
Bell said he should go.
Katrina refused.
“You leave and men die.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“Exactly.”
Eventually Wilmer selected two companions.
Mateo Ruiz, a Mexican drover in his thirties who knew the region.
And Eli Turner, a seventeen-year-old remuda boy small enough to look harmless.
They would ride lightly.
Katrina packed empty medicine bottles, money, dried meat, biscuits, and Samuel Quinn’s notebook.
Why take the notebook?
Evidence.
If she reached law.
Before leaving, Jeb called her over.
His face remained pale.
“You come back?”
“That’s the idea.”
He swallowed.
“If you don’t, I owe you an apology.”
“You already gave one.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I gave one because Morales scared me.”
Fair.
“What would you say now?”
Jeb stared at the snow.
“That I was cruel because making men laugh made me feel bigger.”
Katrina waited.
“That’s not an apology.”
He gave a weak smile.
“You’re hard work.”
“Try again.”
“I’m sorry.”
There.
Katrina nodded.
“Live long enough to prove it.”
She mounted.
Jeb looked horrified.
“That poor horse.”
For one second, Katrina stared.
Then Jeb grinned faintly.
Old habits.
She almost dismounted and strangled him.
Instead, he added:
“Sorry. That one slipped out.”
Katrina laughed despite herself.
Progress could be ugly.
They rode east.
The plains looked endless.
Snow hid trail ruts.
Mateo guided by landmarks, creek beds, wind direction.
Katrina’s thighs burned by noon.
She refused complaint.
Not because pain proved worth.
Because time mattered.
Eli rode quietly.
At dusk they sheltered behind limestone outcropping.
No fire visible from distance.
They ate cold biscuits.
Mateo said:
“You think Coyle poisoned the men?”
“He handled coffee.”
“Coyle’s mean but not stupid.”
“Mean?”
“You never saw because he was polite around you.”
“What kind?”
“Collects debts with fists. Beats horses.”
Interesting.
Cruel men sometimes hide cruelty selectively.
“He work for Hale?”
“Long time.”
“What about Pike?”
“Amos Pike?”
“Yes.”
Mateo frowned.
“Pike ain’t Cross Tie. Double H hired him in February.”
“So why talking with Coyle?”
“Don’t know.”
Another uncertain piece.
Eli finally spoke.
“I saw Pike in Quinn’s wagon.”
Katrina turned.
“When?”
“Before Quinn died.”
“What was he doing?”
“Thought he was stealing bacon.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Eli looked embarrassed.
“Didn’t want trouble.”
Everyone on this drive kept secrets to avoid trouble.
Trouble grew anyway.
“What did Pike take?”
“Small bottle.”
Bell’s medicine?
Maybe.
Katrina asked:
“What color?”
“Brown.”
Bell’s tinctures were brown.
Pike may have been involved before Coyle.
Yet Pike remained with herd.
Why not flee?
Maybe because his job was unfinished.
Katrina wished she had warned Wilmer.
Too late now.
She memorized.
At dawn they continued.
By afternoon smoke appeared.
Adobe Wells.
A cluster of wooden buildings and adobe structures beside a creek.
Telegraph poles.
Saloon.
General store.
Livery.
A small medical sign.
Katrina almost cried seeing it.
Then Mateo stopped her.
“Wait.”
“What?”
He pointed.
Three horses tied outside the saloon.
Cross Tie brands on tack.
Coyle’s men.
They had arrived first.
Maybe Coyle too.
Katrina pulled her coat higher.
She had a practical face, dark hair braided, no reason rustlers should know her well.
But Coyle knew her.
Need disguise.
Mateo said:
“You stay outside.”
“No.”
“Miss Foster—”
“I need medicine.”
“I can buy it.”
“You know what Bell needs?”
Mateo stared.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
They circled to back side.
Katrina entered clinic through rear.
An elderly doctor named Miriam Vance looked up from a ledger.
A woman.
Katrina felt immediate relief she could not explain.
“What happened?”
Vance asked.
“Poisoning. Forty men.”
That got her attention.
Katrina described symptoms.
Coffee residue.
Missing medical supplies.
Vance asked sharp questions.
Then opened cabinets.
“I can give you charcoal, emetics, heart stimulants, fever powders. But without knowing poison—”
“Anything Bell can use.”
Vance packed.
Then Katrina asked about telegraph.
Doctor’s face changed.
“Office closed.”
“Why?”
“Operator found dead this morning.”
Katrina went still.
“How?”
“Shot.”
Trap.
Coyle had arrived.
Killed communication.
Doctor whispered:
“Three men rode in before dawn. One asked whether a cattle outfit had arrived.”
“Who?”
“Tall man. Scar under chin.”
Coyle had a chin scar.
Katrina looked toward front window.
A shadow crossed.
Someone entered outer clinic.
Doctor Vance whispered:
“Back room.”
Katrina moved.
Door opened.
A man’s boots.
“Doc?”
Coyle.
Katrina gripped butcher knife.
Doctor answered calmly:
“What?”
“Anybody come asking for medicine?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“You planning to practice medicine now, Mr. Coyle?”
He laughed.
Katrina held breath.
Coyle stepped deeper.
Through crack, Katrina saw him.
Snow-dusted coat.
Revolver.
He noticed three packed medical bags.
“What’re those?”
“Army order.”
Coyle walked closer.
Katrina realized he would open the back-room door.
Mateo waited outside.
Eli with horses.
No help.
She could hide.
Or act.
Coyle reached for latch.
Katrina yanked door inward.
He stumbled.
She slammed butcher knife—not blade—heavy handle into his wrist.
Revolver dropped.
Doctor Vance kicked it beneath table.
Coyle grabbed Katrina.
He expected soft resistance.
He got a butcher’s daughter built from years carrying carcasses.
Katrina drove shoulder into him.
He struck wall.
Mateo burst through rear door and leveled rifle.
“Don’t.”
Coyle froze.
Katrina pressed knife edge under his jaw.
He breathed hard.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Fat cook.”
She smiled.
“Still hungry?”
Doctor Vance almost laughed.
They bound Coyle.
But before they could celebrate, gunfire erupted outside.
Eli shouted.
More rustlers.
Coyle smiled despite knife.
“You’re too late.”
“What happens?” Katrina asked.
He looked at her.
“Hale’s taking the herd before sundown tomorrow.”
“Where?”
Coyle grinned.
“Ask your boss.”
“What does that mean?”
“Morales knows.”
Katrina’s blood chilled.
Wilmer?
Could he be involved?
Coyle whispered:
“Your fine trail boss sold those cattle six months ago.”
Then from outside came a whistle.
A signal.
Coyle’s smile widened.
“And now he’s gonna sell them again.”
Katrina stared.
Was Wilmer the thief?
May you like
Or was Coyle planting poison of another kind?
She had less than two days to find out.
