Chapter Eighteen
Beau estimated he washalfway to Cheyenne when he met a solitary rider coming from that direction. He felt for the pistol tucked into his trousers at his back and retrieved it, holding it flat in front of him while he held the reins in his left hand.
As the man drew closer, Beau squinted into the bright midafternoon light, trying to determine if he was a threat or simply a fellow traveler. As he drew closer, the stranger’s bright red hair stood out. Beau knew only one man with hair that color.
He relaxed his stance as he called out a greeting to the stage coach driver. “Jones!”
Clarence Jones raised a hand in response. He drew his horse up alongside Beau’s. “I’m headed back to town. Had to get the stage to Cheyenne for one of the other drivers to take over. But Nessa‘s due to give birth any day now. Couldn’t wait to get all the way to Denver and back again.”
Beau nodded. Clarence had been the one who had driven the stage Beau had taken into Last Chance. He’d been friendly and just the right amount of talkative. Beau knew all about his soon-to-be-born child.
Clarence scratched his chin. “What are you doing out here?”
“I have urgent business back home in New Orleans,” Beau said. “No time to wait for the stage.” Beau’s horse shuffled, as if he was just as impatient as Beau was to get moving along. He planned to catch the train in Cheyenne that would take him east and then south again to Louisiana.
“You know,” Clarence said. “There was a fella I drove in just the other day who comes from your neck of the woods.”
Beau’s eagerness to move along stuttered to a stop. “What do you mean?”
“The man said he was from New Orleans.” Clarence’s friendly smile turned to a look of confusion as he saw Beau’s reaction.
Beau swallowed as he looked about the plains. Not another soul was in sight. And yet he felt as if one of Desroches’ men was watching him right now. “Did he give a name?”
“Not that I can recall,” Clarence said. “I take it you don’t think he’s a friend of yours.”
“Just the opposite,” Beau said, his attention already turned back toward Last Chance. It could be nothing. It could simply be another man wandering into town looking for a bride.
Or it could be the worst Beau could imagine.
“I’ve got to get going if I have any hope of getting to town before midnight,” Clarence said, shifting his reins.
Beau thanked him and watched as he rode off. Yet he didn’t direct his horse toward the south, as he’d intended.
He didn’t know if Maman was in trouble. For all he knew she was waiting to board the stage in Denver or Cheyenne. If she was, that meant it was entirely possible that the men who had written that letter were now in Last Chance. Unless it was simply a coincidence.
He looked again toward the south. Something about continuing to ride that direction didn’t feel right. Off to the north, he could still see Clarence headed to Last Chance. He’d been so stunned by the man’s news that he hadn’t thought clearly. He should’ve asked more questions.
