Blood and Gold

Wingo had laid it on the line and I felt the weight of my Colt as the gun lay heavy at my side, the handle between my elbow and wrist. Hank was out of it, but if put to it, could I draw fast enough to drop both Wingo and Ezra?

No, I decided, that would be a suicide play. From what I’d heard, both gunman were faster than me, and if we were equals, it would probably mean we’d all three be lying dead on the ground and nothing would be resolved.

I knew that for now I had to bide my time and swallow whatever insults came my way or were directed at Lila and her pa.

As it happened, the tense moment passed when Hank toppled out of the saddle and hit the ground with a thud.

Wingo turned to Ezra. “Get him in the wagon.” He nodded at me. “You, boy, go help him.”

I swung out of the saddle and helped Ezra carry his groaning brother to the tailgate of the wagon. Wingo dismounted and stepped beside us.

His glance took in Lila’s organ and the dresser and he snapped: “Get that stuff out of there,” he said.

“This damn wagon will be slow enough without us hauling all that junk.”

Lila ran beside us. “Leave it alone,” she cried. “It was my ma’s furniture, just about all she ever owned.”

“Well, your ma ain’t here,” Wingo snapped. He jerked his head at me. “Boy, toss it all out.”

Lila opened her mouth to protest again, but I took her by the arm and turned her to me. “Lila,” I said urgently, “let it go. We’ll come back for it, trust me.”

Wingo grinned. “Sure you will, boy, sure you will. Now do like I told you.”

I climbed into the wagon and, as gently as I could, removed the dresser and organ and stood them on the grass beside the trail. Then I helped Ezra get Hank into the wagon.

Lila bit her lip, her face very pale.

I stepped beside her. “It will be all right, Lila,” I whispered. “Now isn’t the time.”

The girl looked at me like I’d just crawled out from under a rock. “You could have stopped this,” she said. “You didn’t even try.”

Wingo, who was standing close by, overheard and laughed. “Oh, he could have tried, little lady. Only thing is, right now he’d be dead.” He looked at me, his blue eyes hard. “What’s your opinion on that, boy?”

Playing the part of the green puncher again, I shrugged. “I don’t see much point in dying over a tinpanny organ.”

Wingo nodded. “Boy, you named that tune, sure enough.”

He looked down at the grimacing Hank. “How you feeling?”

“I’m hurting bad, Lafe,” Hank gasped, his lips very white against the leathery brown of his face and beard. “Just . . . just get me to a doctor.”

Wingo smiled, a cruel, uncaring smirk. “You’re gut-shot, Hank. There ain’t a damn thing a doc can do for you.” He motioned to Lila. “See to him.”

It was in the girl’s mind to refuse, I could tell, but in the end she stepped beside Hank and brushed the man’s hair away from his forehead. “You won’t let me die, will you, little lady?” the gunman asked, desperation in his eyes.

“I’ll do what I can for you,” Lila answered.

She walked to my horse and got the canteen from the saddle, poured water into her handkerchief and tenderly dabbed it over Hank’s parched lips. “Don’t swallow,” she said. “But it will help you feel less thirsty.”

Hank saw me standing behind Lila. “What the hell are you looking at?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Then get the hell away from me,” Hank yelled, his fevered eyes wild.

Wingo laughed. “Don’t gun the boy just yet, Hank,” he said. “We may need him.”

He turned to Ezra. “Mount up.” And to me: “You too. We got some ground to cover before nightfall.”

I swung into the saddle and Ned Tryon whipped the oxen into motion. Lila tied Hank’s mount to the rear of the wagon and many times afterward I heard the outlaw moan as the wheels jolted over ruts on the trail and the terrible pain in his belly consumed him.

Wingo rode in the lead, his eyes constantly searching the trail ahead and the surrounding low hills.

I noticed that Ezra always rode behind me, wary and alert. It occurred to me that the man didn’t trust me, and the reason became apparent when he suddenly kneed his horse beside mine.

“Haven’t I seen you someplace, boy?” he asked. “Seems to me your face is mighty familiar.”

I felt a sudden jolt of unease. Did Ezra Owens see my face as I lay on the ground after Wingo shot me? Did he remember me?

Trying to make light of it, I said: “I’ve been up the trail a few times, to Dodge mostly. Could be you’ve seen me there.”

Ezra’s eyes were thoughtful. “Maybe so.” He shook his head. “Nope, I just can’t recollect, but it will come back to me by and by.”

Right then I realized how fast I was running out of room on the dance floor. If Ezra remembered me, then he’d figure why I was here and after that my life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel.

If I was to make my move and get back the money, I’d have to do it soon—even if the odds weren’t in my favor.

And now I had an even more urgent concern: Lila.