After greeting each other, Preston said, "Thought about where you want to go?"

"Maybe up Colorado Gulch or past Soda Springs," she said. "It's a nice ride, not too far. We're early enough that we may have the road nearly to ourselves. The after-church crowd won't be out yet."

He nodded. "Think I know a place, if I can find it again." He fell in beside her. Gave her a penetrating glance, then said, "Understand Delaney found you coming out of the bunk car at camp yesterday."

Oh Christ.

"Oh yes." She looked out at the horizon, as if studying the distance to Mount Ma.s.sive ahead. "Well, it was that photocase I was trying to return to you. I was directed to the bunk car. I knocked at the door, but no one responded."

Think fast.

"At that point, I thought maybe I'd misunderstood, so I tried another car. I finally returned, knocked again, and, yes, I'll admit I was curious." Slide in some truth. "So I went in. Shouldn't have, I know. No one was there, and I was on my way out when Delaney showed up. Nearly scared me to death."

He watched steadily, without comment, throughout her performance. She wasn't certain if she'd been successful until she saw the wariness on his face give way to a smile. "Like I said before, can't imagine much scares you, Mrs. Stannert."

"When someone points the business end of a firearm at me, I pay serious attention." She adjusted the loop of rein over her hand. I hope he doesn't think I took that gun. Time to talk of something else less volatile.

"That fellow Sketch rescued me from Delaney's wrath. Is he a payroll guard, too? Is that what you've been doing since the war, working for railroads? Why didn't you go back to Missouri, if that's where your family's from?"

He tipped his head back and laughed.

It was the first time she'd heard an all-out laugh from him. It was a warm, uncomplicated sound. Reminded her of a C major chord, played straight out. No dark undertones, all out front.

"Whoa there. That's a lot of questions."

"Oh, I apologize. It isn't really proper of me to ask."

"I don't mind talking some about it." He was quiet for a while, as if deliberating where to start. Finally, "I never had a hankering to farm. That was my brother's road. The only thing Pa taught me that was useful was to shoot."

"So you and your brother fought in the war on different sides."

He pushed back his hat. "Yep. I was for the North. Time came to enlist, I went to Pennsylvania and pa.s.sed the shooting test to qualify for Berdan's unit. Pa would've turned in his grave to know his lessons went to helpin' the Union. Hiram joined up with a sharpshooting unit on the other side-Pindall's Ninth Missouri. After the war, Hiram stayed in Missouri, I drifted on."

Ninth Missouri. Another clink as an iron link in the broken chain closed. Jack said that Elijah Carter fought in the Ninth Missouri.

She spoke cautiously. "The other man in the photocase. With your brother. I believe he was Elijah Carter. He owned a livery in Leadville. His horse was one of the two I found wandering around the day of the rockslide. I've been told that Elijah fought in the Ninth Missouri, like your brother. And, he owned this Sharps." She patted the gun in her scabbard. "Sold it just before leaving town. Apparently, he was leaving for good. I wonder if Elijah was a sharpshooter too."

Preston's brows drew together.

Tread carefully now.

"I don't mean to pry. But I've been trying to find the connections between the two men Miss Carothers saw arguing on the tracks and....Well, you know what she says happened after that. So who was on the Rio Grande horse?"

"You're sure full of questions."

"Well, I thought, once we arrive at our destination, we'll be busy shooting and so on." A blush climbed up her face under the wide-brimmed hat at what "so on" brought to her mind. "I believe Susan's story. And I'm at a loss as to the connection between Elijah and the Rio Grande man he met at the tracks-"

Suddenly, the pieces fell together. Like random notes that, when played as one, form a decidedly minor chord. "Oh no. Was the horse your brother's?"

Inez saw a troubled look flash across Preston's face before he looked up the road. "Gotta preference for where we go from here, Mrs. Stannert?"

The Boulevard had reached the foot of Mount Ma.s.sive, leaving the wide-open meadow behind. To the left, the smooth road led to Soda Springs and Evergreen Lakes. To the right, a well-traveled but rough thoroughfare wound up Colorado Gulch.

"To the left?" Inez said.

They turned to follow the Boulevard.

Preston finally spoke, his somber tone matching his expression. "Hiram's wife-Reuben's ma-died not long ago. Times were tough back home. So, when I heard, I saw a way to make amends. Hiram and Reuben, they're my only kin now. Told 'em, if they came west, I'd help 'em get on their feet. They took me up on the offer. Shoulda known, though. Hiram didn't like working for the Rio Grande. Didn't like taking orders from anyone, especially Yankees. He always said, if it hadn't been for the Union's iron horse, the North would never've won the war."

"Iron and blood," Inez said to herself, thinking of Elliston's toast to war with the Rio Grande.

"What's that?"

"Someone once said that the important issues of our times are not decided by words and politics, but by iron and blood. Seems appropriate to the railroads as well as the War between the States. So that was Hiram's horse I found?"

His mouth tightened in an unhappy line. "'Fraid so."

She thought of what Jed had said about the explosion by the siding. "I heard the rockslide at the siding was no accident. That it was deliberately set."

"No proof of that." He sounded final. "When you brought the horse back, I talked with Reuben. He wouldn't say anything at first. Finally told me he'd ridden to the railhead with his pa. Hiram took off, headed back to Missouri. Didn't want no more to do with the railroad or the west, Reuben said."

"And he didn't take his horse? Why didn't Reuben go with him?"

"The horse's property of the Rio Grande, so Hiram did the right thing, leaving the horse. Reuben told me he wants to stay out west. That there's nothing in Missouri for him. And I believe him."

Inez thought of Reuben at the poker table, how completely he'd bluffed them all and walked off with the pot.

"But I found the horse-" she started.

"Reuben said the horse got away from him. He searched for a while, then gave up and went back to camp. I got no reason to disbelieve him."

Inez marshaled her arguments, her suspicions, and prepared to march them out, one by one-then took a good look at Preston's face, and changed her mind. She'd seen the same expression on plenty of men across the table and the bar as they struggled to talk themselves into believing something that, deep down, they had doubts about or knew wasn't true.

There's no way I'll convince him while he's arguing with himself. I'll try another time, another way.

"Besides-" said Preston, then stopped.

"Besides?"

He tipped his hat forward. "Hiram and I had what you might call a big disagreement the night previous. Didn't surprise me none that he left. Most folks thought he'd just headed out for the silver fields like the rest, and it seemed easiest to let them think what they were thinking. I'm hopin' now, with Reuben staying on, I'll get to know him better. Straighten him out a tad. I see a lot of Hiram in Reuben. Hotheaded. Impulsive. Don't like taking orders. And Hiram never did let loose of the war. Course, he had a tougher time than I did."

"Tougher time?"

"As Hiram saw it, he lost the war, lost the farm, lost his wife. Blamed it all pretty much on the Federalists, the Republicans, the Radicals, Grant. Me. Blamed everyone but himself. Didn't help that, when the railroad came on through back home, he and the other farmers thought it'd all make life easier. Instead, the freighting rates just got so high, he had to give it all up."

"Did Reuben say that?"

"Hiram did. Plenty of times. I remember the only time I went to visit after the war. Reuben was real young, must've been ten years or more ago. Anyhow, Hiram held a gun on me 'til I left. He was always the better shot, so, I didn't argue. Especially not with that Whitworth pointed at my chest when I rode up and then at my back as I rode off."

"Whitworth?"

"A rifle used by Confederate sharpshooters. The ones who earned it, that is. Had a hexagonal rifling system. Accurate up to a thousand yards."

"Oh! That's what I found-" Her throat closed on the words that almost jumped from her without thinking.

Under your bunk. The rifle.

He reached for Lucy's bridle, pulled Inez to a halt beside him. "You found what?"

It was clear he wasn't going to let go until she told him.

She cursed herself for the near dead giveaway and said, "When you lent me your coat that day, when it was raining. Well. After I returned it to you, I found a bullet and a percussion cap tangled up in my gloves. I'd put my gloves in your pocket, so I must have pulled it out with them. Anyway, the bullet was hexagonal shape. Very unusual. I kept it, thinking I'd have the opportunity to ask you about it, but kept forgetting. So it was from Hiram's Whitworth?"

He held on. "Hiram gave it to Reuben, afore he left. I've been keeping it with me. It's a valuable gun, and there's been times folks have tried to steal it."

So, it's Reuben's gun.

"I hope you have it under lock and key," she said, knowing full well he didn't. "Someone tried to kill me last night with a Whitworth, or a gun with a similar bore, from Frisco Flo's cathouse a block away." She undid the top b.u.t.ton of her high collared shirt and pulled up the black cloth. "They nearly succeeded."

The silence stretched between them several beats. Preston finally looked away.

Inez repositioned the neckband and redid the b.u.t.ton. "So you see, I have a vested interest in knowing more about the rifle."

"Someone stole it," said Preston slowly. "'Bout the time Delaney says you were around."

They began riding again.

Inez pressed on. "Did Delaney mention he caught two men lurking around the area before he stopped me?"

"Nope. He didn't."

"You might want to talk to him about that."

"I will." Preston sounded grim.

Inez wavered, uncertain whether to continue with her trail of questions. But there was one more person she hoped to link to the chain that stretched from Missouri to Colorado. "Just one last query, and I'll not talk further of this. Did you ever hear or see anything of a schoolteacher from town, someone with initials B.D.?" A whisper from the schoolteacher's letter, "...coming out with fellow travelers...," seemed to hiss through the trees above them. "I believe he left town about the same time. Maybe even traveled with Reuben and Hiram."

"Nope."

Inez frowned, disappointed. For some reason, she'd felt certain that the schoolteacher who wrote to Elijah would have arrived with the others. I would dearly love to know who this schoolteacher is. And who the Colorado Springs newsman spotted at Flo's last night.

Preston was looking off into the woods. "There've been a few fellow Missourians riding in since Reuben and Hiram, looking for jobs. I do what I can to help them out. Have to say, most who signed on with the railroad took off the closer we got to Leadville. Got the itch to get rich, I guess. Here's the place I was thinking of." He veered off the main track, taking a side trail into the woods.

They went in a ways, until the trees opened up into a long meadow, and stopped by common consent. After watering the horses at a small creek nearby, they found a shady place with gra.s.s to tether the horses.

"What'll it be, Mrs. Stannert. Shooting first?"

"Sounds good to me. And please, call me Inez."

Preston removed two empty tin cans from his saddlebag, slid the Sharps from her scabbard, and disappeared toward the meadow. Inez lingered by Lucy, picked a stray burr from her forelock, and tickled her nose. Lucy snorted and nudged Inez's hand. "Nothing to give you right now, girl," she said. "Maybe later."

Inez fished out the box of cartridges and walked to the edge of the meadow. Preston was coming back from the other end, pacing the length.

He reached her and asked, "Done much shooting, Mrs. Stannert?"

"A fair amount. Target shooting, when I was younger. Like your father, mine taught me to shoot."

He ran his hands over the Sharps in a familiar fashion. A little shiver caught her unawares.

"Looks maintained, not used much," he commented. "Has it been cleaned and oiled recently?"

"The store I bought it from a.s.sured me that it's ready to go."

He nodded. "I'll start at the beginning. Don't know how much of this you might already know. I shoot left-handed, so what I do with my left, you do with your right. This Sharps is a breechloader with a sliding breech-pin. A small block in the gun breech slides up or down in a slot. The trigger guard here is also a lever. When the trigger guard's lowered and pulled forward-" He demonstrated. There was a snick sound. "The block slides into position, opening the breech for loading. Got a spare cartridge, Mrs. Stannert?"

She handed him one.

He inserted the glazed linen cartridge into the breech. "When the trigger guard's closed-" he did so- "the mechanism raises the block up, slicing off the rear of the linen cartridge and sealing the breech. Less chance of backflash. Now, it needs a cap or a primer."

Inez handed him a small percussion cap from the packet.

"Pull the hammer back. The pull is strong; you might need to use your whole hand. The cap goes here. There're two triggers. The rear one's a 'set' trigger. Pull it, the one in front's now a hair trigger. Know how to use a sight?"

"Certainly."

"Stand back."

Inez, who had been watching to the side, promptly backed up.

He brought the rifle up.

The two tin cans glinted on a stump at the meadow's far end.

The report echoed loud and long.

Where two cans had been, one now stood.

He lowered the gun. "Been a long time since I fired one of these."

Unspoken stories crowded behind those few words. Stories, she suspected, that he'd never told anyone. Stories that crept in at night. In dreams, in the dark, pulling the past into the present with a stray sight, sound, or smell.

He shook his head as if to clear it, then held the gun out to her. "Want to give it a try?"

"Of course." After a moment's hesitation, she stripped off both gloves and tucked them into the waist of her skirt.

She took a linen cartridge and, copying Preston's movements, loaded the rifle. Before pulling back the hammer, she paused, judging the weight of the gun at about ten pounds. I can manage this, if I stay steady, don't take overly long to aim, and breathe slow. She pulled the hammer back with her whole hand, noting the strong resistance, then placed the percussion cap and steadied herself to aim.

"Hold a minute." Preston was suddenly there, behind her. His hands closed over hers. "Hold it more like-"