The Hunting Grounds

Chapter one

   To anyone from the cities of the east, the town of Cedar creek would have appeared drab, run down, and barely inhabitable. To the people who lived there though, it was homey and cozy. The buildings were made of hand cut logs crudely cut and fitted together. There were no cobbled roads or well maintained paths, only the muddy streets riddled with deep ruts filled with water in the spring and summer and slush in the winter.

  The people of this town were a hardy bunch that lived by the ways of the pioneers who had explored this land. They made their own way in life, turning their backs on the stability of city life for the freedom of open country.

   Sheriff George Yale was the embodiment of this town. He was old and weathered. His face was etched with wrinkles, his eyes were deeply recessed and tired looking, and his hair had long ago turned silver. But even at fifty-six, his body was lean and athletic. He could easily keep up with his deputies that were half his age.

   On an early, December morning in 1877, sheriff Yale mounted his horse affectionately named Checkers. It was a bitterly cold morning and Yale could see his breath. A light dusting of snow had covered everything and the ground had frozen solid.

  Yale was joined by his fellow deputies, Charlie Smith and Henry Miller.

  Charlie was the older of the two deputies. He was thirty, with wavy blonde hair and sky blue eyes. His eyesight was poor, so the deputy was forced to wear a pair of unflattering glasses that he constantly had to push up.

   Miller, who was eighteen, was a bean pole. He was tall, thin, and had curly black hair that protruded out from beneath his hat. It was almost comical to see the kid with his full kit on since Yale thought he looked a bit like a child playing dress up.

 "We'll head toward Duncan's pass and search there" said Yale. "My money is on them being there."

  "If I was a bloodthirsty crook on the run from the law, that's where I'd make my stand. We'll need help reaching the pass though. That path is treacherous in the winter, and without a guide we could get turned around. We'd be easy pickings for Higgins and his gang" said Charlie. "We should enlist the help of Mr. Gates. He's been hunting in those woods for years. He would know the best route through. Plus, he could use the money."

  "Agreed. We'll stop at the Gates homestead on our way" replied Yale.

   "What if Mr. Gates don't wanna help us?" said Henry.

  "Doesn't" said Charlie, correcting the younger deputy. "Mr Gates may not want to help us, but the bounty on Higgins is quite substantial. He would be very hard pressed to turn down the offer."

  "Oh. I see" said Henry.

  Yale led the men away from the sheriff's office and down the road made of frozen mud. There weren't many people out this early and the town felt almost abandoned. Even the saloon seemed quiet, and it was almost always occupied.

  A quarter of a mile outside town they came upon the Gates homestead. The house was a modest two story painted a blue-gray color. Two hundred feet to the left of the house was the barn where Alexander kept his horses and worked on projects. In the front yard was an old, dilapidated carriage that was overgrown with morning glory flowers in the spring and summer. The entire property was surrounded by an old wooden fence.

  Yale stopped at the gate and dismounted from his horse. He tied the animal to the fence and walked alone toward the house. He was halfway to the door when Alexander Gates emerged from the house.

   "Mornin' sheriff. Somethin' I can help you with?" said Alexander.

  Yale stopped. "Got a business proposition for you. Thought I might come up and discuss it."

  Alexander Gates was in his late thirties. He had almond colored hair, a bushy almond colored beard, and a barrel chest. He also had a small, shriveled scar above his right eye from a bar fight when he was sixteen. Another man had slashed him across the face with a broken bottle.

  "What sort of business?" asked Alexander.

  "An outlaw by the name of Bruce Higgins might be hiding out in these mountains. I'm guessing Duncan's pass. We're looking to capture or kill him and we need a guide there."

 Alexander thought for a moment, then said "I'm not your man sheriff. I'm not in the business of dyin'. Nor killin."

  Yale eyed the gun holstered on Alexander's hip. A model 1851 Colt Navy revolver.

   "The pay would be thirty percent of the bounty. I know you could use the money. You get us there, we'll do the rest."

  "Thirty percent is an awful lot to just get you there" said Alexander. "This Higgins guy must be dangerous."

    "Very" said Yale. He didn't mince words, and he wasn't going to lie.

 Alexander respected that. He respected Yale too. He let out a sigh and thought over the deal again.

   "You know Ann isn't gonna to like this. If I get killed, Higgins is the last person you'll have to worry about" said Alexander.

 Yale grinned. "I am aware."

  "Let me grab my rifle and tell Ann" said Alexander. He disappeared into the house for several minutes, then returned with a repeater strapped over his shoulder and now dressed in a heavy, blue coat. He passed Yale and headed straight for the barn. After a few minutes he emerged atop a white haired workhorse. It was a lean, muscular thing accustomed to plowing fields. It wouldn't be very fast, but Yale guessed it was the best Alexander could do. After all, what did he need a fast riding horse for?

 "We're wastin' time sheriff" said Alexander.

  The road leading east, away from the town of Cedar Creek, would take them toward Duncan's pass. It would be an easy ride for most of the trip, but the closer to the pass they got the worse the terrain would get. It would be rocky and steep. More than one unwary traveler had lost their life as they tumbled over the edge. The entire ride would take half a day in the summer. It could take a day and a half depending on conditions in the winter.

  "So, what did this Higgins fella do to earn himself a nice little welcome party like this?" asked Alexander as they plodded along the road barely a mile and a half outside of town.

  "Murder, robbery, you name it. Bruce Higgins is a dog of the Devil. He and his gang have sown terror into the hearts of people ten states over" said Charlie Smith.

  "The man is a nuisance" grumbled Yale. "One I intend to rid this mountain of before he pesters the good people who live on it."

 "Sounds righteous enough. But tell me, how do you plan to take down this outlaw and his crew with only three men?" asked Alexander.

  "Tactics and the element of surprise. I'm sure you're aware of the value of both Mr. Gates" said Charlie.

  "We didn't have to worry about transporting the enemy back to town so they could rot in a jail cell. We generally just shot them" said Alexander. "And I'd rather you didn't refer to my past deputy. That part of my life is over now."

  "Of course Mr. Gates. I apologize" replied Charlie.

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