Chapter 7 - The Divide at Bear Creek
The trail to Bear Creek wound through a narrow limestone canyon where the scrub oak grew thick and the footing was treacherous for loaded horses. Caleb rode fifty yards ahead, his Winchester across his saddle bow, scanning the red-rock bluffs above. Beside him, Aya kept her mount steady, her hands firm on the reins despite the lingering ache in her ribs. Behind them came Tom Parker and four experienced hands from the Lazy T, leading spare horses and keeping a sharp watch on their back trail.
They had been on the move for three hours when Caleb pulled his horse to a sudden halt, raising a gloved hand. The canyon narrowed sharply ahead, opening into a dry wash where the trail crossed the creek bed.
"What is it?" Aya whispered, urging her horse up beside his.
"Tracks," Caleb said, dismounting to inspect the stony ground. He knelt, running his fingers through a patch of disturbed gravel and fresh horse droppings. "At least eight riders. Shod horses, heavy iron on the hooves—commercial stock, not local range ponies. And they didn't pass through yesterday; these prints were made less than an hour ago."
Tom Parker rode up, swinging down to join Caleb in the dirt. He squatted, squinting at the hoofprints before looking up toward the ridge where the canyon walls pinched together like a V-notch. "Vance's private detail," Tom murmured. "They knew we'd have to use the creek crossing to intercept the circuit judge's wagon before it reaches the station. They're waiting for us in the narrows."
Aya’s face tightened. "They aren't just trying to stop us from reaching the judge. If we're ambushed here, nobody will ever find the bodies. They can tell the county we tried to rustle cattle and were put down by bounty men."
"They'd have to catch us first," Caleb said, standing up and dusting off his hands. He looked at Tom and the four Lazy T hands, assessing the ground. "We can't go back—Vance's main force will be sweeping the lower flats by now. And we can't charge straight through the narrows without walking right into a crossfire."
"There's an old goat path about a half-mile back," Tom suggested, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "Climbs the western bluff through the cedar break. It's steep enough to break a horse's leg if you're careless, but it comes out right above where those riders are sitting."
"We split," Caleb decided instantly. "Tom, you take the spare mounts and the baggage back down the trail fifty yards and make enough noise to sound like a full company moving up. Draw their attention. Aya and I will take the goat path and hit their flank before they realize where the noise came from."
"That's suicide, Caleb," Aya said sharply, her eyes wide with alarm. "You can't take six men on a bluff by yourself."
"I'm not taking six men," Caleb corrected her, a faint, grim smile touching his lips. "I'm taking one woman who knows how to shoot straight and isn't afraid of her own shadow."
Before she could argue further, Caleb grabbed her bridle and led her horse toward the hidden break in the brush. Behind them, Tom Parker was already shouting orders, kicking loose gravel and banging a tin canteen against a stirrup iron to simulate the noisy approach of a larger party.
The climb up the goat path was agonizing. The limestone shale slipped and rolled beneath their horses' hooves, and Aya had to bite back a cry of pain every time her bruised ribs jarred against the saddle horn. Caleb stayed close, his hand on her horse's flank, guiding the animal over the worst of the ledges until they broke out onto the high plateau overlooking the Bear Creek narrows.
Below them, half a dozen armed men in greasy wool vests and wide-brimmed hats were scattered among the boulders, their rifles pointed down the canyon toward the fake noise Tom was generating. They were completely exposed from above.
Caleb dismounted, signaling Aya to do the same. He looped his reins over a stunted juniper, checked the load in his rifle, and turned to her. Her breathing was shallow, but her eyes were cold and focused.
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"When I say the word," Caleb whispered, resting the barrel of his Winchester on a flat limestone shelf, "you aim for the man on the grey horse near the cedar tree. Don't kill him unless you have to, but make sure he drops his rifle."
Aya slid beside him, resting her pistol across a mossy rock, her knuckles steady. "I missed once in my life, Caleb," she whispered back. "I don't plan on doing it twice."
