Buck arrived at the cliffs near noon, judging by the position of the glaring sun and the growling of his stomach. Sighing in relief, he led his gelding up a rocky hill for a ways, stopping by a large bush. He looped the reins over a branch and ducked under the horse’s head. His chestnut made as if to follow him, and Buck turned back to give a quick tug on the bridle. The gelding eyed him for a moment, snorted, then settled down. Breaking a dead branch off the bush, Buck began to cover his tracks. He swept the hoofprints away the best he could, starting at the base of the hill, where the grass turned to baked mud. When he was done with that, Buck slipped into a low cave concealed by the bush, carrying with him the canteen and matches that he had found in the barn, and the dead branch. There used to be an underwater spring that surfaced inside the cave. He hoped that it was still there.

Groping around in the semi-dark cave, Buck found the old, dry wood that his brother had kept in there. He gathered a couple of pieces and set them on a small pile of ashes. He took the dead branch and broke off the dry leaves, putting them near the wood, then struck a match. He coaxed the small flame into a good-sized fire, and looked around the cave. He knew he couldn’t keep it up long, or he would be smoked out, but he had to have something to cook his meal. Speaking of meal, he thought, I better find something to eat…

Jimmy slowed his palomino as he neared Willow Springs. The stallion blew hard and tossed his head when he was pulled up by the sheriff’s office. Jimmy swung off and patted Sundancer, then led him to the nearest water trough.

"Good boy," he breathed, nearly as tired as the horse. He felt like he’d been the one who had galloped all the way from the Sweetwater station. They had flown through the Horse Creek station, not even stopping to explain to the stationmaster why an unscheduled rider was passing through his station. Jimmy shrugged it off. The senile old man would have to get over it.

Pausing before the door of the sheriff’s office, Jimmy finally continued on to the saloon. He could talk to the sheriff later. First he needed a cold drink.

"Sasspirilla, please," he told the barkeeper, slipping him the money. The man gave him an odd look, but turned to comply. Jimmy quickly downed the glass and was turning to leave when he bumped into two reeking drunks.

"Watch where yer goin’," one man growled.

Jimmy raised his hands to show that he wasn’t looking for trouble. "Sorry, mister, I didn’t see ya," he said, edging away. The last thing he needed was more trouble.

The man sneered at him, breathing heavily into Jimmy’s face. The young man winced and turned his face to avoid the stench. A coarse hand grabbed his chin, yanking his head forward.

"You lissen here," the drunk slurred. "No more ‘a’ y’all Express Riders are gonna start no trouble now, ya hear? We c’n always take care ‘a’ you liken we did th’ other ‘un. An’ maybe this time it’ll be you who gets shot. How ‘bout that, huh?"

Jimmy wondered if the man was talking about Buck, or if he was just plain crazy. He had to get to the bottom of this, soon. But first, he had to get himself out of trouble, and fast. Without thinking, he reached for his gun. Despite the drunk’s slow reflexes, the man managed to knock his hand away before he could even draw the gun. Jimmy clasped his smarting hand, then quickly balled it into a fist and sent it flying at his attacker’s face. He heard the crunch of breaking bone and saw the drunk’s jaw go slack, crooked. The older man’s companion jumped at Jimmy, who ducked out of the way of his fists and beat a hasty retreat. He wasn’t here to look for a fight, he reminded himself; he was here to help Buck.

Ike slowed his black gelding when he reached the base of Devil’s Gate. He looked around for a sign that Buck was there. All he saw were cliffs, occasionally covered with sparse underbrush. Here and there were small, halfway dead trees, and a couple of bushes, clinging to the side of a sheer rock wall or nestled on the top of an overhang. Ike scanned the area once more, and tensed with excitement when he saw a flash of chestnut hidden behind a low tree.

Buck’s horse! he thought. His horse sidestepped, picking up on it’s rider’s agitation. Ike kicked the gelding into action, springing up a steep hill toward the other horse. They slowed when they neared the tree. Something wasn’t right.

The realization dawned on Ike when the gelding twisted to see the approaching rider. This horse had only a small star on it’s forhead, unlike Buck’s chestnut, which had the broad blaze.

Ike heard a gun cock behind him, and turned slowly.

Jimmy ducked into the sheriff’s office, and watched smugly as the two drunks turned away, frustrated that they couldn’t follow their prey any farther.

"Can I help you with som’n, son?" came a rough voice from behind him. Jimmy whirled around at the sound.

"Uh, actually, yeah, er, yessir." Something about the sheriff made Jimmy feel like he should take off his hat and put on all his best manners.

"What is it you want, boy?" Jimmy had never met anyone who rattled him like this man did.

"Er, I-I was sent by Marshal Teaspoon Hunter, sir, to find out what happened a couple, er, few, er, a day ago."

"Well, boy, a lotta things happened in th’ past week. Anythin’ partic’lar you wanna know ‘bout?"

"Uh, did a Pony Express Rider get in trouble here yesterday?"

"You mean the breed?" the man asked.

"Buck," Jimmy corrected.

"Injun," the sheriff said stubbornly.

Jimmy threw his hands in the air in surrender. He hated men like this, whose prejudices got in the way of their job.

"Can you jus’ tell me what happened…sir?" This time Jimmy wasn’t cowed by the man’s strong presence.

"Fool Injun tried to get food in the saloon over there. That’s askin’ fer trouble in th’ first place," the man sniggered. "Anyway, bunch ‘a’ town drunks jumped on ‘im, beat on ‘im pretty good. He finally got away, an’ killed Andrews. Andrews is kinda the ringleader of th’ group, ya know."

"Why didn’t you try ta stop ‘em?" Jimmy demanded.

"Boy, I’m jus’ tellin’ ya what I heard."

"Do you know how many there were?"

"There are usually seven, but now that Andrews is dead, the other six have gone somewhere. Probably ta get revenge." The man smirked.

"What about the two that are still here?" Jimmy persisted.

"Oh, them, they’re not really in Andrews’s group, they jus’ talk big."

"Great," the rider muttered. "Thank ya for your help, sheriff."

"Sheriff Burke, Alexander Burke," the man said grandly.

"Thank you, Sheriff Burke," Jimmy added, almost mockingly, and stepped out of the office. He had to get back to tell Teaspoon what he’d found out, before it was too late.

To be continued...