Chapter Three

Wyatt was happy that Craig had returned when he made it back to the barn. He didn't want Jeb or Gill to know that he had the man tied up in the shack but Craig could help him get the answers he needed and decide whether or not to let the man go on his way.

Craig grinned as Wyatt ran up to him. 'I have to show you something' Wyatt mouthed.

"What is it?" Craig asked. "You look about as excited as a dog with a new bone."

'I got a man....' Wyatt began, happy that Craig was fluent in lip reading. It made it easier to have a conversation when Wyatt wasn't having to write down most of it.

Craig chuckled. "You do? I didn't know you were like Jeb but it does explain a few things."

Wyatt rolled his eyes and glared. He was like Jeb. If he were to ever fall in love, which he didn't anticipate happening, it would be with a man. Wyatt had never told anyone that, however. He figured there were enough things about him that made him different. He couldn't speak, he was mistrustful, overprotective and he had an overpowering fear of going to town alone. He didn't need to add one more thing to that list.

"Sorry." Craig ran his hand through his hair. "Continue."

'I found a man. I tied him up. He's at the shack.'

Craig's eyes widened. "You tied someone up?! Where did you find him? Did you tell Jeb?"

'NO!' Wyatt shook his head forcefully to emphasize his unspoken word. 'I need you to help me figure out if he's dangerous.'

"Well if he wasn't a danger before, he probably will be now that you've tied him up and made him good and mad."

Wyatt grabbed Craig's shirt sleeve and gave him a tug. Craig nodded. "Alright. Alright. Let me saddle a horse and we'll go have a chat with the man in the shack."

***

"Wyatt there is no man in the shack."

Wyatt ignored his friend's statement of the obvious and stormed to the now empty cot. He picked up the discarded rope and studied it closely. It had been cut but by what? Wyatt had checked the man for weapons and removed them! The man was gone, the horse was gone and the sack of weapons was gone.

Had the stranger had a partner riding with him that Wyatt hadn't seen? Panic began to bubble in his chest. His family was in danger! He had to know where the stranger had gone!

"Wyatt, settle down," Craig scolded gently. "Did the man say why he was riding through?"

Wyatt paced the shack, his hands clutching his shot gun. He shook his head. Craig sighed. "Did he act like he wanted to hurt any of us?"

Wyatt glared at Craig a moment before shaking his head with defeat. Craig nodded. "Then I'm sure he was just passing through and you overreacted. You've got to quit acting like that, Wyatt. You've always been protective but ever since...." Craig's voice broke and he cleared his throat as he looked away. "Ever since he died you've gotten worse. It's making us all crazy."

Wyatt felt as if Craig had just punched him in the gut. He swallowed hard and holstered his gun as his shoulders slumped. Craig simply went to the door. "I'm gonna head out. I might be gone a few days so don't worry about me."

Wyatt slumped down hard in the cot once Craig had ridden away. His heart ached. He didn't know how to fix whatever was wrong. He and Craig had always been best friends but lately it seemed they hardly knew one another.

Losing Billy, losing Willie, losing the work that they'd done together as a gang—it had changed Craig. Hell, it had probably changed him too.

Wyatt stepped out into the sunlight and took in a deep breath. He had to believe that the stranger hadn't been a danger to his family.... With a heavy heart and a worry that he couldn't completely ignore, Wyatt headed back to the house.

***
Zachariah had checked into the hotel of the nearest town after escaping the shack. He had needed a bath, a good night of rest and a chance to catch his bearings. He'd been on horseback a long while. But it was all going to end soon. He was catching up to the sons of bitches who had his sister and when he got his hands on them they'd wish they'd messed with someone else.

The next morning dawned early. Zachariah had a week long trek to reach the tiny territory town where heard the man he was hunting for called home.

Feeling refreshed and ready for the task ahead, Zachariah shouldered his saddlebags and left his room. When he approached the desk, the hotel clerk jumped a bit, clearly startled by his appearance.

"P..pardon me, sir," the thin, wiry man squeaked as he slid his glasses up his nose. "You startled me."

Zachariah grunted and pulled the money for his stay from his pocket. "Yeah. I'm sure I did." He was used to the stares, the fear and the way women shielded their children and pulled them across the road when he came walking by.

Not only was half his blood Indian blood, but the hard life he'd led thus far had left their marks on him—including a tangle of scars on his face. He was thick bodied, tall and he'd been told a time or two that he always had a hard, angry look about him.

"Just sign the register here and you'll be checked out," the desk clerk informed him, sliding the fancy stationary and fountain pen in Zachariah's direction.

Zachariah grabbed up the dainty pen in his gnarled fist and scribbled a few markings. He felt shame coloring his cheeks as he shoved the book back toward the clerk. Zachariah didn't know how to write. He could barely even read. His mother had died bringing him into the world and his father, a poor excuse of a man, had drunk himself to death only eight years later. Zachariah had been on his own since then.... And a boy of eight surviving on his own had more pressing things to worry about than education.

Without another word, Zachariah shouldered his saddle bags once again and stepped out into the sunlight. For some reason the silent man from the day before came to mind. He wondered exactly what had been going through the man's mind when he'd knocked Zachariah out cold and tied him up like a prisoner.... Not many people in the world would have been brave enough to stand up to him the way that man had—and the man had slapped him upside the head to add insult to injury!

Zachariah shook his head. He had to focus on finding his sister. He didn't have time to think about the quiet man.

He headed toward the livery down the street but stopped in his tracks when he saw the man who had moments ago been occupying his thoughts. He was walking down the road with another man of color, though the new man's skin was much lighter in tone than the quiet man's.

Zachariah attempted to duck out of sight but the quiet man saw him. He grabbed the sleeve of the man walking with him and began to hop up and down as he pointed at Zachariah with his free hand.

Zachariah thought about running but that would only result in him appearing guilty. So, instead, he remained still and sure enough, the quiet man led the other man to him. The other man appeared wary and a bit confused.

"Who are you?" he asked, his free hand hovering close to his gun.

Zachariah recognized the look of a man who was comfortable with his gun and probably talented with it as well. "Name's Zachariah," Zachariah admitted with a tip of his head. "Your friend here sure ain't the most welcoming of folks."

Zachariah saw the quiet man's head dip and the new man chuckled. "Yeah, well, we've learned well that not all folks are worth welcoming."

Zachariah nodded. "Fair enough. I'll be on my way now...."

"Wait."

Zachariah stopped at the command and it was spoken as a command. It was clear this new man had at some point in his life held some authority. "Wyatt here tells me he caught you sneaking around my land. Can I ask what you were doing there?"

Zachariah kept finding his eyes drawn to the quiet man; Wyatt was his name. He was currently chewing on his full bottom lip and kicking at the dirt with his boot as he stared at the ground.

Zachariah turned his attention back to the man questioning him. "As I told your friend there, my business is my own. I didn't realize I was on anyone's land and I'm only passing through."

The man studied him a moment and Zachariah was aware of Wyatt watching them closely. Finally the man nodded and a friendly smile split his face. "Alright then. You'll have to forgive Wyatt. We've been through a real rough year and it's put us all on guard. Name's Gilliam."

Zachariah shook the hand offered him before adjusting his saddlebags. "I gotta be going now." He tipped his hat and turned his gaze to Wyatt. "Y'all take care."

"Before you go.... Wyatt wants to know how you got free."

Zachariah realized Wyatt was indeed studying him and seemed eager for the answer. Zachariah sighed. "I had a knife holstered and tied to the underside of my horse's mane. I grabbed it when you let me go outside. I gotta go now."

Zachariah quickly made an exit before anything else could be said. He entered the livery and went about saddling up his horse. As he led the black gelding from the stall, Zachariah couldn't help but notice that it was limping. He lifted the horse's right front leg and cursed.

"Sir?" he asked, approaching the man currently mucking out a stall. "Do you all tend to hooves and shoes?"

"Yeah, I reckon." He spit a long stream of tobacco. "If you'll come back in an hour or two, I'll have him ready to go—or you can buy another horse off me right now and I'll keep that one..."

Zachariah shook his head. He'd had his horse for five years. He wasn't looking to replace him. "That's alright. Just fix him up and I'll come back."

He stepped back outside and glanced down the road before yet another curse flew from his lips. He recognized Gus McTeague... that bastard had been tailing him for weeks with his gang of brain addled or brain lacking pals.

He saw Wyatt step into the mercantile alone and Gus McTeague and his four friends chuckled to one another and followed the man inside.

Zachariah knew what kind of men those were and he had seen the looks on their faces as they'd followed Wyatt. The man was in trouble. Zachariah didn't owe him a damn thing—not after the man had all but kidnapped him! But still, he couldn't let those bastards hurt him.

It seemed Zachariah wasn't going to make it out of this New Mexico town without a fight.