Chapter 3 - Walker Boone’s Impossible Rule
By sunrise, Walker Boone had made his decision.
Josephine was leaving.
He told himself it was because of Sam.
Because of the cattle.
Because twelve men depended on him to reach Kansas alive.
Because a cattle drive already offered enough ways to die without inviting a rifleman to follow them north.
He told himself all of that.
Josephine listened without interrupting.
Then she poured his coffee onto the ground.
Walker stared at the empty cup.
“Was that necessary?”
“You said I was leaving.”
“Yes.”
“Then make your own coffee.”
Dusty immediately turned away.
Walker heard him choking.
“You think this is funny?”
“No, boss.”
“You're laughing.”
“Something in my throat.”
Josephine untied her apron.
“I'll be gone in ten minutes.”
Walker had expected an argument.
Her surrender irritated him even more.
“You understand why.”
“Perfectly.”
“Do you?”
“You're afraid.”
Walker went still.
Josephine folded the apron.
“Careful.”
“You asked me to leave because somebody shot at me.”
“Somebody shot at my camp.”
“Because of me.”
“Exactly.”
“So you're afraid.”
Walker stepped closer.
“I'm responsible for these men.”
“And I'm responsible for Sam.”
“Then you should understand.”
“I do.”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“That's why I'm leaving.”
There was no accusation in her voice.
That somehow made it worse.
Ellis appeared.
“You can't send her away.”
“Stay out of this.”
“She saved my life.”
“And now I'm trying to save hers.”
“By putting her alone on the prairie?”
Walker had no answer.
Dusty did.
“He's got you there.”
“Dusty.”
“Just observing.”
Walker rubbed his forehead.
Josephine tied her bedroll.
“I'll follow the river.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You just fired me.”
“I said you're leaving the drive. I didn't say you're riding alone.”
“I don't need an escort.”
“You're getting one.”
“Who?”
Walker glanced at his men.
Nobody volunteered.
Not because they were unwilling.
Because every one of them knew Walker could spare nobody.
They were already short-handed.
Walker cursed quietly.
Josephine smiled without humor.
“That’s what I thought.”
She climbed onto the mule.
Sam slept against her chest.
Then Amos Bidwell spoke from the wagon.
“She's safer with us.”
Everyone looked at him.
Amos rarely offered opinions unless they involved food or stupidity.
Usually both.
“The rifleman knows she's here,” Amos continued. “He also knows she's got twelve armed men around her.”
“Thirteen,” Ellis said.
Amos looked at him.
“You don't count yet.”
Ellis frowned.
Amos continued.
“If she leaves, he follows.”
Walker knew the old cook was right.
He hated it.
Josephine knew it too.
She waited.
Walker looked at her.
“You stay.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“But?”
“You don't leave camp alone.”
“Fine.”
“You do what I tell you if trouble starts.”
“Depends what you tell me.”
“Josephine.”
“Fine.”
“No driving into stampedes.”
“That seems unusually specific.”
“Because apparently it needs saying.”
A few men laughed.
Walker pointed toward the wagon.
“And if I tell you to take Sam and run, you run.”
Josephine’s expression softened.
“Agreed.”
Walker nodded.
“Good.”
She climbed down.
“Now make coffee.”
Josephine handed him the pot.
“You fired the cook.”
Dusty laughed so hard he had to sit down.
Walker Boone realized his authority had suffered considerably since Josephine Vance arrived.
What he didn't yet realize was that his heart was about to suffer worse.
Because three nights later, he learned what Josephine had taken.
And why a man was willing to kill her to get it back.
It began with Sam getting sick.
The baby had been unusually quiet all afternoon.
By evening he was burning with fever.
Josephine stopped cooking.
Nobody complained.
She sat inside the wagon holding him against her chest.
Walker found her there after dark.
“Any better?”
“No.”
Her voice was different.
The strong woman had vanished.
In her place was a terrified mother.
Walker touched Sam’s forehead.
Hot.
Too hot.
“We passed cottonwoods two miles back,” Josephine said. “There may be willow near the creek.”
“You're not going.”
“I need bark.”
“I'll get it.”
She looked surprised.
“You know what to look for?”
“My mother used willow tea for fever.”
Walker saddled immediately.
Dusty accompanied him.
They returned before midnight.
Josephine brewed the tea weakly.
Drop by drop, she gave it to Sam.
Then they waited.
Walker sat outside the wagon.
He had cattle to manage.
Men to supervise.
Sleep to get.
He did none of it.
Near dawn Josephine emerged.
“He's cooler.”
Walker exhaled.
He hadn't realized he was holding his breath.
Josephine sat beside him.
“Thank you.”
“He's part of the outfit.”
Her eyes moved toward him.
“Is that what he is?”
Walker looked away.
“Go sleep.”
Josephine smiled.
“You're not very good at kindness.”
“I wasn't trying to be kind.”
“That's what makes it interesting.”
She went back inside.
Walker remained beside the fire until sunrise.
The following evening, Josephine finally showed him the proof.
A ledger.
Small.
Leather-bound.
Hidden beneath the false bottom of her flour chest.
Walker opened it.
Names.
Dates.
Cattle brands.
Payments.
Land parcels.
He frowned.
“What is this?”
“My brother-in-law, Silas Mercer, worked as an agent for cattle buyers.”
“Worked?”
“He still does.”
Walker turned pages.
Then he understood.
The numbers did not match.
Cattle purchased under one brand appeared later beneath another.
Payments were recorded twice.
Land had been transferred from dead ranchers to companies Walker recognized.
Some signatures looked forged.
“This could put him in prison.”
Josephine nodded.
“How did you get it?”
“My sister found it.”
Walker looked up.
“Where is she?”
Josephine didn't answer.
His stomach tightened.
“Josephine.”
“She died three months ago.”
“How?”
“Silas said she fell from the loft.”
“You don't believe him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Josephine's eyes filled, but she refused to cry.
“Because Ruth was afraid of heights.”
Walker closed the ledger.
“And she gave this to you?”
“Two days before she died.”
“What did she say?”
Josephine looked toward Sam.
“She told me if anything happened to her, take it north. Give it to Marshal Nathaniel Crowe in Caldwell.”
“Why him?”
“He investigated Silas once.”
Walker stared at the ledger.
Now everything made sense.
The rider.
The threats.
The gunfire.
Josephine wasn't merely running.
She was carrying evidence.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because men have died for less.”
“You thought I'd send you away.”
“I thought you'd take the ledger.”
That offended him.
“You think I'm for sale?”
“I didn't know you.”
“And now?”
Josephine looked at him.
“No.”
One word.
It affected Walker more than it should have.
He handed the ledger back.
“We get you to Caldwell.”
“We?”
“My outfit.”
“You don't owe me that.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Walker could have given a dozen answers.
Because it was right.
Because Silas Mercer had fired into his camp.
Because Amos Vance had once died trying to save another man.
Because Josephine had saved Ellis.
Instead he said:
“Because nobody threatens my cook.”
Josephine laughed softly.
Then her expression became serious.
“Walker.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
She stepped closer.
For one impossible second, Walker thought she might kiss him.
She didn't.
But neither moved away.
Then Sam cried.
Josephine closed her eyes.
Walker smiled.
“Your timing is terrible, son.”
Josephine stared at him.
“You called him son.”
Walker’s smile disappeared.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I said Sam.”
“You said son.”
“Goodnight, Josephine.”
He walked away.
Her laughter followed him.
But neither knew that someone else had heard their conversation.
Fifty yards from camp, hidden in the grass, a man crawled backward from the wagon.
He reached a waiting horse.
Mounted silently.
And rode south.
By sunrise, Silas Mercer would know exactly where the ledger was.
And he would no longer send one man to retrieve it.
May you like
He would send six.
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