The Walker Colt. Lost Love

I spat out the trail dust and took a swallow from my canteen. I straightened in the saddle and looked around the Square in front of the barracks of the third company. My head was swirling, and for a moment, I thought I could hear odd sounds that made no sense to me.

"You all right, Billy boy?" Drew asked.

"My head hurts, and my bruises have got bruises of their own," I replied. "That was the longest patrol I've ever been on."

"Your head still hurts?"

I unconsciously raised a hand to the ridge on my head where the bullet had creased my skull. "Every now and again," I admitted. "But Doc says it ain't an issue."

He nodded in reply.

We'd started out on what had been a routine ten-day sweep of the border over three months ago. I'd spent a month recovering from the wound I'd got when Daniel bushwhacked me. The first few days I'd been in the Barracks infirmary, but after Colleen and Eileen had seen the place, I was moved to the spare room at their home.

I'd recovered, but I'd have the scar to the day I died, Doc warned me to expect bad headaches, and he hadn't been lying. He'd cleared me for duty a week before our last patrol. As the endless days in the saddle had dragged on, I'd regretted pushing him to put me back on the active service roll. I could still be enjoying the comfort of a soft bed and a warm woman to look after me.

Drew, my uncle, had been in charge of the twenty-man patrol. It had become a long endless chase after a gang of murdering bandits. Only twelve of us had returned, and from the look of Sam, as he lay slumped forward over his horse's neck, we might lose another trooper.

Drew was calling out to a group of men who had struggled out of the barrack to help Sam from his horse and take him over to the infirmary. Sam had been gut shot a week ago in our final confrontation with rage bandits, and I didn't hold out much hope for him.

Drew and I watched as Sam was lifted off his horse and onto a stretcher before being carried off, then we followed the rest of the patrol over to the stable block to take care of our own horses. All the beasts looked as tired as the men; with luck we would stand down for a couple of weeks to recover. I was looking forward to seeing Eileen again, and I was sure Drew was eager to see her aunt Colleen. In the nine months since we'd first met, I'd been away for almost half of them.

It took me about two hours to get everything squared away. I joined Drew at the horse trough to perform my ablutions and shave off my whiskers. Drew lent me his razor and hand mirror. I rasped the razor across my face removing the straggly trail beard. I dipped my head under the water and rinsed the dust from my hair. I needed a haircut, and my brown hair now had a white streak from the scalp wound that bastard had given me last year. I'd been lucky; the head wound had bled so much he'd thought I was done, and he hadn't finished me off.

Drew teased me, but I noticed he was taking just as much care of his appearance. Drew, the life-long bachelor, had been smitten by Cupid's arrow. He and Colleen were talking about him leaving the Mounted Rifles and marriage. Colleen wanted him to help her with the saloon.

"What did the Captain say about our patrol?" I wanted to know.

"Not much, I sent a couple of dispatches back with the wounded, so he was aware the patrol would be longer than expected. He was just pleased that none of them survived the last clash. He'd joked that there would be less paperwork that way. We are stood down for the rest of the month until we can train some of the recruits to take the place of our losses."

Drew was a seasoned warrior and was used to dealing with life and death; I found his casual attitude to our losses hard to take. Five had been killed and buried in the field. Three more had been wounded, one badly and had been left at a friendly ranch. The other two had been fit enough to ride and had been sent back to base.

"How long do you think before we will be up to strength?" This was not an idle question. As long as our section was understrength, it was doubtful we would be sent out on patrol. That meant more time with Eileen.

"We are the worst-off section, but apparently all the others are understrength. It could be weeks if not months before there are enough recruits to bring the company back to strength."

"In that case, I'm off to see Eileen and don't expect me back for a week," I joked.

"Enjoy yourself, lad; the captain wants to see me again, and then I'm heading over to the saloon to see Colleen."

I gave him a pat on the back and headed off. I spoke briefly with the sentry at the gate before walking the half-mile to Main Street. I passed Colleen's saloon and heard a piano playing. I turned down the side street that led to the house that Eileen shared with her aunt.

I patted my pocket, confirming that the small box was still safe. I'd ordered the ring from a jeweler's catalog kept at the general store, and it had arrived just before we'd left on our last patrol. I'd carried it with me these past three months, growing ever more desperate as the patrol seemed destined to never end.

When I reached the house that Eileen shared with her aunt Colleen, I noticed an air of neglect. The porch was covered in drifts of dust and the windows were shuttered. I tried the door and it was locked and no one answered my knocking or calls.

I retraced my steps back to the main street and entered the Ace of Hearts, Colleen's saloon. I paused in the doorway blinking, waiting for my eyes to adapt to the darkness. After a few moments, the large room eased into focus. Half the tables were occupied, and several men stood at the long wooden bar. I looked around for Colleen or Eileen, but while there were a couple of the bar girls present, they were the only women in the saloon.

Simon, the barkeeper, saw me and called out a warm welcome. By the time I'd stepped up to bar he had poured me a beer.

"Are Eileen or Colleen around?" I asked, trying to hide my anxiety. "Their house looks like it's closed up."

He gave me a surprised look, "I thought you and Drew knew, they've both gone away. Miss Colleen was supposed to send you a letter."

I shook my head, "We only got back a couple of hours ago; I never checked to see if I had any mail."

Simon nodded in understanding, and said, "They both had to go to New Orleans, Miss Colleen's father is dying, and he sent her a telegram asking her to come back for a visit." He paused to think, "It must have arrived a few days after you left. The pair of them took the Post Stage to San Antonio and then they were going to find transport to Houston, then on to New Orleans."

I hadn't known Colleen's father was still alive, and why did Eileen go with her, I wondered. Then I chided myself. She was also family, and no woman would take on that journey on her own.

"When are they due back?" I wanted to know.

He gave me a shrug, "They thought it would take them a couple of weeks to get there. The telegram said her father was sick. Miss Colleen says she would write and let us know their plans once they got there."

"Has she written?" I wanted to know.

He shook his head, and I cursed under my breath. My only option was to telegraph them and find out what was happening.

"Have you got her father's address?"

Simon took a piece of paper from behind the bar and pushed it across the counter at me. My pappy had taught me my letters from the family bible, but the handwritten address scrawled on the piece of paper was hard to make out.

A hand touched my shoulder, and before I could react, I heard Drew's voice. "I guess you've found out that they ain't here."

Turning, I nodded. "How did you know?"

He held out an envelope, "Colleen left a letter for us in the company office. They both went to New Orleans a few days after we started the patrol."

"Haven't there been any other letters from them? Simon was saying that they were going to write and let us all know what was going on."

Drew shook his head and then started swallowing the beer Simon has given him. He paused to think, and the look that flitted across his face worried me.

"It should have only taken them two weeks to get there, and it's been over ten weeks since they left. We should have heard from them by now."

If Drew was worried, then so was I. "I think we should send them a telegram and see what's happening. Simon's got Colleen's father's address." I pointed at the piece of paper.

"She gave it to me, as well, in the letter," he said. From his shirt pocket he pulled out the leather-bound notebook and pencil he usually used to send messages to the captain.

"Let's think," he mused and sucked at the end of the pencil. His face scrunched up in concentration. Then he wrote.

Colleen. Concerned about both of you. How is your father doing? When will you be returning?

Drew.

On the back of the sheet, he printed out Colleen's full name and the address of her father in New Orleans.

He glanced at his pocket watch and grunted. Then he placed a silver dollar on the note.

"Billy, if you would, please run this down to the Telegraph office and get them to send it immediately." He tapped the coin, "This should cover the cost."

The Telegraph office was just outside the barracks. I didn't run, but I made the journey in less than a couple of minutes. The Telegraph operator raised his eyebrows when he read the message, then he set to tapping out the message on his Telegraph key.

When he finished, he said, "I doubt if I will get a reply until tomorrow. Check back at noon."

I'd assumed we'd get a reply in the next hour, so his words were disappointing.

"Noon tomorrow then," I said and started back to the saloon. Drew took my news with a grunt, and we settled down at the table Colleen kept for her friends.

"I think it wouldn't be a bad idea if we were to head out to New Orleans if they're still there," Drew mused.

"Surely we would've heard if there was a problem. They probably already sent us a letter, and it'll be here in the next few days."

"Maybe," he agreed, but I could see he wasn't convinced, and I was beginning to feel disturbed.

There wasn't much more we could do; we finished our drinks and headed back to the barracks. Drew went over to the company office while I sat on a bench in the shade to wait for him. To fill in the time, I unloaded, cleaned and then reloaded my pair of Colts. They had saved my life more than once and they deserved to be treated right. Drew found me as I was giving them a final wipe.

He watched as I slid the pistols into their respective holsters. He said, "The Captain is willing to give us a month's leave if we need it. I told him we'd let him know after we get a response to our telegram."

"You're worried, ain't you, Drew," I said.

"Something ain't sitting right with me. In her letter, she said she'd write as soon as they got to her father's house. So why hasn't she?"

I had no answer.

Both of us headed over to the telegraph office the next day. The telegraph clerk was busy tapping out a message as we entered. He acknowledged us with a nod of his head. We waited until he'd finished and closed his ledger.

"Your reply came over the wire a few minutes ago," he said. "I was going to get the boy to bring it to you, but I don't think you are going to like the message."

He handed Drew a telegram form, and he looked at it. "It's from her father's lawyer," he said and then read out the message.

"Regret to inform you that Mr. O'Riley passed away on the 24th of August. Unsure as to why you believe his daughter is here as she was not present. A telegram was sent on the 25th, informing her of his passing. We are waiting for her instructions as she is the sole beneficiary of his will. Please ask her to contact us as soon as is convenient. Yours, etcetera...."

"Was there a telegram for Colleen?" he asked the telegraph operator.

He nodded, "It came a couple of weeks ago. I knew she was away, so I kept it here for her."

The implication of the lawyer's message struck both of us, Colleen and Eileen hadn't reached New Orleans.

"We leave in an hour; get your stuff packed," Drew ordered. "I'll get our horses saddled; we are going to need a couple of remounts each if we want to get there quickly."

I started to agree and then thought about what we were trying to accomplish. "Are we going to straight to New Orleans, uncle Drew, only it doesn't sound like they made it there. Shouldn't we be following the same route they took and see if we can find any evidence of them?"

He hesitated, then asked, "Do we know the route they took?"

"Simon said they took the stage to San Antonio, and then they were going to find transportation to Houston," I said.

"So, that's the route we'll follow then."

We rode hard, pushing ourselves and the horses to the limits. The trail wound across the scrubland. At every stagecoach halt, we would pause to switch mounts and inquire if they had seen the two women. Most recalled seeing them stretching their legs but insisted that they were back on the coach when it left.

When we reached San Antonio, we inquired at the stagecoach depot about Colleen and Eileen. The staff remembered the two women arriving and a porter taking their baggage to a boarding house in the better part of town. We made our way there and discovered it was a boarding house for ladies—Mrs. Hanson's boardinghouse for Genteel women.

Drew and I were a sorry sight as we stood on the porch and tugged on the bell pull. The middle-aged woman who opened the door looked down her nose at us.

"This is a respectable house for genteel women," she snapped. "I cannot believe that you have any business here, so please leave before I call the constable." She gave us a dismissive gesture and went to close the door in our faces.

Drew took the lead, he put his hand up and gave her his most engaging smile. "Mrs. Hanson, I'm sorry for our state, I am Sargent Drew Pruitt, company C of the US Mounted Rifles. This is Trooper Billy Pruitt, my nephew. Again, I apologize for the state we are in, but it's been a hard ride to get here. We are looking for two women, Colleen and Eileen O'Riley. We were led to believe that they were guests a couple of months ago."

She gave the pair of us a suspicious look. "Why are you looking for them?" She wanted to know.

"They were traveling to New Orleans to look after a sick relative, and it seems that they've gone missing. We've been tasked with the job of trying to trace them," Drew explained. I guessed he thought that if it sounded like we were on official business, the woman would be a bit more amenable to our questions, and it looked like he was right.

The woman indicated a bench and chair in the corner of the porch. "If you would like to wait there, I'll fetch you some lemonade."

We sat, and shortly she returned with a glass pitcher full of lemonade and three glasses on a tray. She poured us each a glass and we both drank, grateful for the cool liquid.

"So, Mrs. Hanson," Drew started.

"Yes, you wanted to know if a Mrs. O'Riley and her daughter stayed with me."

"She's her niece," I corrected.

She gave me a withering look, and I shuffle back in my chair. "I checked the register," she said. "They stayed here for three days, two months ago, from the 5th to the 8th. I recall they said that they were waiting on suitable transportation to Houston to be arraigned."

She took a sip from her glass and added, "They must have found something because they checked out in a hurry and a porter was waiting with a handcart for their luggage."

"And this was on the 8th, you say?" Drew asked.

"Just after lunch. They came back in a hurry, brought their luggage down, settled their bill, and were gone."

"Did they say how they intended to get to Houston?"

"The younger one said that they'd met an old acquaintance and been offered a ride in his private carriage to the railhead in Houston."

There wasn't much more she could tell us. She didn't know the name of the acquaintance; in fact, she couldn't recollect a name, or if it was a man or a woman. We took our leave of her after thanking her for the refreshments. She watched us go, not making a move to return indoors until we were a good distance away.

"If they were in a carriage, there's only one decent trail that they could've taken," Drew said. "We'll rest up the horses tonight, re-provision and leave first thing tomorrow morning."

Eager as I was to head in pursuit of Eileen, I recognized the wisdom in Drew's decision. We found a livery stable for the horses and a room for us at one of the saloons.

Drew said he was going to check-in at the sheriff's office and find out if there was any news of a carriage that left for Houston. As he left, he added, "Why don't you ask around at the hotels and see if anyone remembers the carriage and who it belonged to?"

I didn't think I'd learn anything, but to my surprise, at the third hotel, I struck lucky. The clerk recalled seeing a couple of women who matched my description of Colleen and Eileen, having dinner with one of their regular guests. The following day the guest had checked out and left for Houston. When I inquired how he had traveled, the receptionist said that he traveled in a carriage. 'Similar to the type old Doc Jones uses,' he added, which didn't tell me much.

After I pushed him a bit further, he admitted that he thought the women had left with him. Then casually mentioned that three ranch hands had ridden out with the carriage.

"And the guest's name?" I asked.

He didn't need to check. "He calls himself Major James Davis. He owns a ranch near La Grange, the Rancho Grande. He stays with us for a couple of weeks three or four times a year. He's a real gentleman."

Which I guessed he meant, he tipped generously.

"What did he look like?"

"Why, he's a tall, elegant man, in his mid-forty's. He has a military bearing, grey hair and a mustache. Oh, and he walks with a slight limp; that's the reason he uses a carriage. He told me that riding long distances is uncomfortable for him."

With my new information, I was eager to find Drew, and I found him in our room an hour later.

Before he could say anything, I said. "I think I know how they left, who with and where they may have gone. The clerk at the Imperial is sure they were offered a lift to Houston by a Major Davis."

At the name, Drew went pale. "Did you get a description of the man?" He demanded.

I told him what the clerk has told me, and Drew started cursing. "That bastard! He was never a Major. He was a Lieutenant in the local militia during the war with the Mexicans; he fucked up so badly that the militia got rid of him. On top of that, he tried to have me shot by a firing squad."

"Christ," was all I could say.

Drew looked down at his clenched fists. "His troop was full of greenhorns volunteers, so the powers that be attached me to his company as their senior Sergeant. I was supposed to give them some backbone. The trouble was, he was an arrogant son of a bitch and refused to listen to me."

"And that's why he tried to shoot you?" I asked.

He shook his head, "There was a skirmish, and the troop was given an important task. The Colonel gave him an order, and the arrogant son of a bitch was convinced he knew better. He disobeyed a direct order, tried to flank a much larger force and ended up getting a section of the troop killed needlessly. Afterward, he tried to blame everything on me, said he'd told me to reposition the men as ordered and I'd sent them to the wrong place."

I'd never seen Drew so angry. He was actually shaking, and it took him a few moments to calm down enough to carry on.