The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

64: Jessed

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Storm by Angela Taratuta. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Riding out by the river, blue mountains sprawling out in the hazy distance and the smell of pine and sweetgrass heavy in the air, Storm felt as though his spirit had taken wing. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, focusing on clean air inside him and the familiar rhythm of Yellow Sky's steady gait beneath him.

Bridger had felt like a cage. He knew he'd be going back, and all too soon. But at least he could steal a few desperate gasps of fresh air while he was out on this mission with Scarcliff.

Fiona was going to be livid. Hell, she's livid now. Nothing I can do about it. I probably saved both our lives getting out of that place for a while and putting some distance between me and her...and that prick Collins.

He watched Captain Scarcliff up ahead of him, straight-backed in his blue coat, riding a well-groomed bay mare. "He's not as bad as some," he said in Absaroka.

Many Stars, plodding beside him on a skewbald pony, nodded. "You know there's been worse than him," the old man grunted, shrugging.

"I do." It was hard to remember that Captain Scarcliff was the same man that had held Saint and Wash at gunpoint while his men helped themselves to their cargo. He certainly hadn't expected to be treated with anything approaching respect by the man. I'm actually kind of surprised I haven't been shot yet.

Many Stars looked grim. "Things would be different if the woman wasn't at the fort."

Storm turned, startled, and studied the Many Star's craggy face. He nodded slowly, vague anxieties taking shape, becoming solid. "Yeah." It's not as if he didn't know that everywhere Fiona went, she was noticed. And it's not as if he didn't know she had admirers. He'd often been utterly baffled at the lack of serious interest among his own crewmates, Lynch or no Lynch. After all, he thought, his mind going back once again to the mental image of he and Fiona tangled up in each other behind the guest quarters. It didn't stop me. But hearing Many Stars say out loud what he'd been thinking...that the Captain's manner had been softened by his own interest in Fiona...awakened in him a whole new set of worries.

Her life would be easier. He gritted his teeth. Safer. He drew in a deep breath, letting a new Voice speak in his mind. The Voice of Lundy Bad Medicine settled softly over the Voice of Wisdom. Happiness...

They approached the collection of modest, sod-topped buildings ahead, and Scarcliff gave a curt shout, halting their progress. Storm could smell damp earth and the scents of cooking and woodsmoke. Freshly-hung laundry fluttered gently in the warming breeze, and though he wasn't surprised to see it, the sight of child-sized trousers and frocks made his heart squeeze in his chest. Of course there are women and children here...if you're trying to keep fear and panic going, that's who you'd attack.

A pale-haired, buckskin-clad man, toting a longarm and wearing an intense, fearful expression, stepped outside and pulled the door tightly behind him. Storm could hear it latch from the inside.

Scarcliff urged his horse cautiously forward. "Mr. Ferguson?" He raised his hands, showing that they were empty. "We have reason to think your family may be in harm's way, sir."

Ferguson didn't move. He was a strong, broad-shouldered man, and Storm knew trouble from him would be considerable. The burly homesteader looked over the detachment of soldiers with suspicion, and then squinted up at Scarcliff.

"We're here to help you, sir," Scarcliff said. "You may be in danger. I don't know if you have heard about attacks on homesteaders..."

The man nodded, lowering his rifle. "Go on."

"Based on what we think is the motive, your place might be next. I'd like to post some troops here.."

The man leaned a brawny shoulder into the door frame and swept a hand through his hair. "I got youngins here," he muttered. "And the wife...I don't know what..."

"I'm happy to have your family escorted back to Fort Bridger," Scarcliff said. "I would not see them come to harm."

Ferguson was shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "I been dreading this," he said, his bearded face pinched with worry. "Are you sure?"

"No," Scarcliff admitted. "But if I had to lay money on it, it would be my best bet. Do I have your cooperation, sir?"

"My coopera...." the man's shoulders slumped and he rapped on the door. "It's me, Ruby. Open it." He turned his head, growling unhappily over his shoulder. "Yes, you have my cooperation. Give us a moment to get some things together."

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