6

"If he's to be believed."

"I think he is, leastways, regarding this matter." Strickland caressed his beard with his left hand as he stared unseeing at a point beyond Shepard's right shoulder. "Walt's right... she wore that every day of her life up until the day she disappeared."

Shepard's brow creased in a frown, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Doc Riley walked through the front door, holding it open for Tater to enter after him.

"Mornin' gentlemen, glad to see ya'll survived the night and look spry and full of life." He shut the door and crossed to them with a wide grin bending his lips. "It sure is a grand and beautiful day, ain't it? Plum breathtaking..."

Walt rose to shake the Doc's outstretched hand and walked with him into the front room as Strickland leaned close to Shepard and whispered, "Such a cheerful greeting leads a man to think the good doctor believed each one of us would succumb to our wounds."

Shepard bit back a chuckle, "Or as a result of his doctoring."

Strickland snorted.

"Ya'll heading out now, or might I persuade ya to stay and rest up a spell? Sure would do the lot of ya some good." Doc looked to Strickland, his brows raised in a comical expression of friendly expectation and concern.

"Thank you kindly for all you've done, Doc," the Marshal answered, "but it's best if we say our goodbyes and get after those outlaws before they scurry too far ahead of us and cause a world of trouble."

Doc nodded, though, to Shepard's eye, it seemed some of his cheery sparkle dimmed at the news. "Well,... sad as I am to see you three fine men leave, I admire ya."

He shook each of their hands, his warm enthusiasm and frank kindness evident in his firm grip. "'Fore I forget, Mrs. Riley's gone and baked ya'll some goods for your travel. And I've seen to packing some medicinal necessities should you need them along your journey." Doc smiled, his brown eyes glinting happily from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.

He handed Walt a couple of brown paper packages first, then retrieved the remaining two and gave them to Strickland and Shepard. "See to it, you don't go and strain yourselves overmuch... hate to see my handiwork be wasted and find you bleeding out down the road."

"We'll do our best," Strickland smiled.

Following Walt and Shepard to their waiting mounts, they each stowed their packages in their saddlebags. He caught Shepard's gaze over Flapjack's back, "Is your body screaming at you for not resting another day, or is it just my old bones?"

Shepard nodded with a small smile bending his lips. "Why do you think I'm dawdling at tightening this cinch so long?"

Strickland scoffed, admiring Walt's relative ease in mounting his horse, then shook his head as he gathered the reins. He took a deep breath, then hauled himself into the saddle.

Patting Bubbles on her neck, Shepard followed Strickland's lead and clenched his jaw tight against a sharp stab of pain upon mounting up. A trickle of warm liquid ran down his thigh, leaving no doubt in his mind he'd likely pulled a stitch or two and would be hurting by night's end.

"Safe travels, Walt," Strickland called out, "and if you'd be so kind, let Deputy Turner and Bertie know I'll be headed home just as soon as we get this mess sorted."

"Sure thing, Jeremiah," Walt nodded. He raised his hand in a wave, "You and Shepard take care now, you hear? Sorry, I'm not able to do more to help."

Shepard waved, watching the lone rider lead the other three horses carrying their deceased owners draped over their backs.

"Ready?" Strickland asked, catching Shepard's gaze. At his nod, they nudged their mounts into motion toward the main road.

"You got yourself a new deputy before leaving San Luis then?"

Strickland nodded, "Cole Turner... you remember him?"

"Nope."

"He's a good sort, and a majority of the townsfolk like him well enough not to cause too much trouble while I'm away."

Shepard grunted.

They traveled in silence for several miles, each lost in their own thoughts and content to remain that way.

Strickland cleared his throat and said, "I figure we'll stop in Colorado Springs as planned, see if Dynamite and Oso stopped or rode on through. With any luck, they needed a doctor just as bad as we did."

"Who's Oso?"

Strickland blew his nose in his bandana, then shoved it in his pocket. "That'd be the Spaniard the size of a bear that escaped alongside him. Only met the man face to face once."

He removed his hat and scratched his scalp, then placed it back atop his head. "Heard Hetty say his tongue was cut out as a child during a Comanche attack." Strickland looked at Shepard, "But everyone in town knows that woman would swear up and down that the sky was green and the grass was blue if she thought a person was dumb enough to believe her."

Shepard held quiet for a moment as he scanned the surrounding area and allowed Strickland's words to run through his mind. "Any reason you know of why Dynamite would be riding for Colorado Springs?"

"Passing through more likely, your brother mentioned he has family up near Montana territory." He glanced at Shepard and studied him before adding, "Plan was, leastways according to William and them Haney boys, they were all gonna head out that a way to lay low for a spell before them three got caught."

Tears stung Shepard's eyes at the mention of his brother, and he fought to rein in his tender emotions. He adjusted his seat in the saddle to ease the ache in his thigh without success. "You really believe Arden told the truth about finding the locket on the road?"

Strickland hesitated. "I did at first."

He glanced at Shepard, then turned his attention once more to the vacant road ahead. "But... the more I get thinking on it... " he looked at Shepard and waited until he met his gaze before saying, "I know you and Miss Hazel were friends when you were younger; I think I remember you even being sweet on her." At Shepard's quiet nod, Strickland continued, "How long you think she had that locket? Was it one her mama gave her?"

"I gave it to her on her fifteenth birthday, six years ago next month."

Strickland's eyes widened in surprise, "Well, slap me silly and call me Martha, don't that beat all."

"Why do you ask?"

Strickland shook his head, his skin taking on an ashen hue and making Shepard worried the Marshal was about to faint.

"You feeling all right there, Strickland?"

"Yup," he murmured, looking anything but. The silence stretched out over the next mile until he turned to Shepard and said, "I got something to tell you, I know you ain't gonna want to hear. So, I need you to promise to hear me out to the end."

Shepard's stomach sunk to his toes and knotted in dread, but he gave a slow nod and waited.

"See, the night Miss Hazel disappeared," Strickland began, then paused. His bushy brows snapped together, and he shook his head, "No, firstly, I think it's best if I start back to what I mentioned earlier. If what you say is true about the age of that locket—and there's no reason why I shouldn't believe you—I no longer think Arden told us the truth about them finding it on the road."

He shook his head again, his eyes narrowing, "No sir, ain't no way it'd still hold such a polished gleam to it if that was the case. Which makes all the more sense considering Miss Hazel's leaving, I'm sorry to say."

Shepard held silent, mainly in part to his mind and lips going numb with foreboding the longer Strickland danced around the issue.

"Well, when Dynamite showed up in San Luis a little over six months ago, he didn't come into town all wild and set into terrorizing us right at the start." Strickland sneezed and wiped at his nose with his bandana. "He took up lodgings at Miss Maible's boarding house for the first two weeks till she kicked him out for lewd behavior after trying to bring a couple working girls from The Lilypad to his room for the night."

Strickland sneezed again and wiped his nose. "Shortly after, he started spending more time at The Lilypad, and one night came across Miss Hazel." He flicked a glance at Shepard and rolled his shoulders, wincing and rubbing at his left one as he said, "He wouldn't leave the poor girl alone, no matter what she did. One night, while the working girls were busy conducting business, Dynamite slipped past Noble McCoy—do you remember him, big tall fella, bald as an eagle and near as canny?"

Shepard frowned and shook his head.

Strickland shrugged, "No matter. So, Dynamite slipped past Noble, which no one had ever succeeded in doing until then, and he sneaks his way downstairs to Miss Hazel's quarters. How he knew where to find her, I haven't worked out, but fact of the matter is, he found her working on one of Miss Hetty's fancy new dresses and tried forcing himself on her."

Shepard hauled back on the reins, bringing Bubbles to an abrupt stop that sent Bouncy into braying loud enough to scatter a flock of birds from their nests.

Strickland reined Flapjack to a stop beside him and held Shepard's gaze.

He shook his head and stared at Strickland, his tongue held frozen by fear, shock, and all-consuming fury. "Did he-"

"No," Strickland rushed to add before Shepard could finish. "Alice Mitchell, one of the girls killed in the attack? She came down, needing Hazel's help in mending a torn skirt from an overzealous client, and screamed for Noble. By the time Miss Hetty fetched me, Dynamite had skedaddled. Deputy Black tracked him down, and we locked him up tight in jail shortly after... that man was a damn good deputy; had skill the likes I ain't seen since when it came to tracking." He studied Shepard for a moment before saying, "When I spoke to Miss Hazel, she was in a fit."

Shepard glared and growled, "As would be expected."

"Indeed, that was my own thought on the matter at first. But as shaken as she was over what almost occurred, the more pressing worry sending Miss Hazel into a panic was her necklace's disappearance. Near inconsolable over its loss."

Strickland rubbed at his injured shoulder and stretched out his arm, "Now, I've been a Marshal long enough to have seen my share of distressed females in her situation—even if it was at The Lilypad. And I'll be first to admit only a select few have reacted to such a violent attack in the same manner. Some of 'em bawl so hard, you can't make sense of what they're saying; others seem to brush it off and carry on business as usual."

Strickland fell silent and kept a concerned eye trained on Shepard.

Rage consumed him, rattling within his ribs like a beast locked in a cage. Shepard clenched his eyes shut, allowing the picture Strickland painted of Hazel's ordeal to fill his mind and remind him of all the many ways he'd failed at protecting those he cared for.

He wanted to hit something, preferably Dynamite; fill his belly so full of lead that afterward, no one would be able to make bullets in the entire state of Colorado for months.

"Hetty assured me the necklace would turn up eventually," Strickland murmured, staring off into the distance. "I believed her, thinking the clasp likely broke in the struggle and would be found in the bed linens come laundry day."

He wiped a hand over his face and adjusted his hat, "When I dropped by to check on Miss Hazel the following morning, Noble said she'd left in the night without saying a word to nobody. Near made me sick to my stomach."

A heavy silence descended over them as they sat in the middle of the road. A chill wind whisked on by, whipping up dust and dried leaves. Bubbles tossed her head and stomped her front left hoof, reminding Shepard of the precious time they'd wasted in pursuit of Dynamite.

Was the outlaw looking for Hazel too? Or, were they on their way to his family relation near Montana territory as Strickland believed? From what he'd managed to piece together about the elusive outlaw, he knew in his gut that finding Hazel was the answer. It was a terrifying thought.

"Any idea where she might have run off to?" Shepard asked, clenching and unclenching his grip on the reins. He needed to approach this situation like any other hunt for no other reason than to keep him sane.

"Deputy Black tracked her as far as Colorado Springs before he had to return home."

"Her trail run cold?"

"Nope," Strickland sighed and shook his head, "his wife gave birth to a baby boy two months prior; poor thing died a week into Lewis's search for Hazel."

Several silent moments passed, and then Shepard muttered, "Marshal." He adjusted his seat and released a pent-up breath.

Strickland's eyebrows disappeared beneath his hatband as a look of surprise overtook his bearded face, and Shepard had a good idea what had caused it.

Not once in the many years of knowing Jeremiah Strickland had he ever called him Marshal to his face. It had always been Strickland, regardless of the problem he encountered.

"I'm giving you fair warning...." Shepard continued as a fiery need for vengeance on behalf of his brother, and Hazel began burning low in his gut. "I don't plan on bringing Dynamite Fairleigh in alive. In fact, I intend on seeing he suffers as slow and agonizing a death as I can mete out."

Strickland pursed his lips and inclined his head in a slight nod before kicking Flapjack into motion. "Glad we're in agreement, Mr. Devil. We'll get along nicely."

That night they rode into Colorado Springs, exhausted, covered in dust and sweat, and aching from head to toe. Shepard's leg was screaming to be out of the saddle. Trouble was, every time he dismounted to relieve himself or to rest the horses throughout the day, getting back in the saddle became an arduous and agonizing task.

After a quick bite to eat at the Gold Dust Saloon, they walked the short distance to the Sheriff's office to ask if a woman with Hazel's looks had been seen in town.

It frustrated Shepard to no end that he had to allow Strickland the dubious honor of giving a current description. And it shocked him to his core upon learning she'd been employed at The Lilypad as a seamstress, not a working girl as Hetty implied six years ago.

"Seamstress?" he quietly exclaimed as they left the Sheriff's office no more enlightened on Hazel's possible whereabouts than when they'd arrived.

Shepard gathered the reins and bit back a groan as they hauled their weary bodies back into their saddles. "Since when?" He clenched his jaw against the stabbing pain in his thigh and chest and took a moment to catch his breath before nudging Bubbles into motion.

"Since her mama died, if I recall correctly, Amalia Jones had an extensive wardrobe Hazel helped in creating."

Strickland scanned the street and smiled as he nodded with his chin at a two-story weathered clapboard building. "I don't know about you, but I could sure use a good night's rest on a comfy bed...." He looked to Shepard in question, and at his nod, directed Flapjack toward the Rosie Peaks Hotel.

"Hetty made a big to-do about having some virginity auction or some such nonsense a couple months after Amalia died, but I put my foot down on the matter. Didn't take long before Hazel persuaded Hetty to keep her on as an in-house seamstress instead of joining the ranks of her working girls; outfitted near everyone residing in The Lilypad with quality garments these past few years."

When they reined to a stop in front of the hotel, both men quietly sat without moving to dismount. Several couples walked past on the boardwalk, murmuring greetings and casting curious looks their way.

"You dreading this as much as me?" Strickland murmured with a soft chuckle, meeting Shepard's tired gaze.

Shepard sighed and nodded.

"Well,..." Strickland snorted and stared at the building in front of them. "I won't think less of you if you'd rather slither off that horse of yours if you ignore any unmanly noises I'm bound to make in my quest to plant my feet on solid ground."

Shepard chuckled and withdrew his feet from the stirrups, then swung his right leg over Bubbles neck and slid from her back, "Deal."

The following morning, Strickland looked up from his table in the hotel's small dining room. "You're looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning."

"I feel the complete opposite," Shepard grunted with a tired chuckle.

He'd awoken twice in the night, shaking and drenched with sweat, plagued by distressing dreams of being too late to save Hazel.

A steaming mug of coffee and a plate of hotcakes and eggs lay before him. Strickland, with a fork and knife in either hand, motioned to the empty chair across from him, "Hungry? My belly's hollow down to my toes."

Shepard sat and heaved a sigh. "Depends... the food any good?"

Strickland swallowed his mouthful and nodded with a wink, "Fair sight better than my Bertie's flapjacks—or mine for that matter, but don't tell her I said so. I love that woman more than anything and would gladly take a bullet for her, but when it comes to cooking, just about everything she puts her hands to in the kitchen is as heavy as a brick and sticks to a man's ribs for a week."

Shepard chuckled then smiled in greeting when a pretty blonde serving girl approached their table.

"Know what you'd like to eat, mister? Morning special is taters, bacon, and a stack of pancakes with hot maple syrup fresh from my mama's grove."

"Sound's good, thank you," Shepard murmured, leaning back in his chair.

He scanned the small room, studying the people at the other tables, eating and quietly conversing amidst the cutlery clinking against porcelain dishes. Had Hazel been here? He couldn't help but wonder.

"I've got some news I know you'll be glad to hear," Strickland said, sipping his coffee.

"What's that?"

Cradling the mug in his palm, Strickland leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grunt. "Well, while you were finishing your beauty rest, I had an enlightening conversation with that young serving girl you met a moment ago."

Shepard arched a brow and glanced in the direction the girl had left before turning his attention back to the Marshal.

"Seems word spread we were looking for a raven-haired beauty, and Miss Annabelle Clayton got wind of it." He drank from his mug, then cradled it once more against his chest, "I'd no sooner ordered my meal than she said she remembered a woman fitting Miss Hazel's description passing through a little while ago. Couldn't recall a name but said we oughta have a word with a Mr. Julius Bartlett. He owns the livery and blacksmith just down the road."