Chapter 4

The following morning, they awoke to the soft chorus of birds and the gentle kiss of the sun on their faces. The warmth of the new day bled into the tent, chasing away the last vestiges of the night’s chill. Sue stirred, her eyes fluttering open to find Smokes watching her, a soft smile playing on his lips.

They broke camp in a daze, their bodies still humming with the aftermath of their passionate embrace. The horizon called to them, a siren’s song of freedom and hope. They mounted the horse, Sue sitting in front of Smokes, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her head resting against his chest.

The journey ahead was fraught with danger, but they faced it together, their hearts beating as one. The sun rose, casting a golden light across the desert, a symbol of the new day and the new lives they were carving out for themselves.

As the hours passed, the dusty trail grew monotonous, and the relentless sun began to take its toll. The horse plodded on, its breaths growing heavier with each step. Smokes squinted through the dust, his mind racing with the knowledge that Mabel and the Four Horsemen could be on their tail. He knew they needed to put distance between themselves and Dreadworth, to escape the clutches of their past.

With a sudden decisiveness, Smokes tugged on the reins, steering the horse off the well-worn path and up a steep hill. The incline was unforgiving, and the horse protested, but Smokes’ determination was unyielding. They needed to cut the road and leave no clear trail behind.

Once at the hill’s crest, he dismounted, his joints popping in protest. He took a moment to stretch, his eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of pursuit. Sue slid off the horse, her gaze following his, her grip on the saddle tight. They were both aware of the danger they’d left behind in Dreadworth.

“We need to lighten the load,” Smokes said, his voice gruff with exhaustion. “Can’t have the horse wear out on us.” He began unpacking their meager supplies, setting aside the heaviest items. “We’ll cache these here. We’ll be back for them once we’re sure we’ve lost any trackers.”

Sue nodded, her eyes wide with understanding. She watched as Smokes’s capable hands sorted through their provisions, setting aside jerky and canned beans. They had enough to last a week if they rationed well, but they couldn’t risk being slowed down.

Leaving the horse to graze on the sparse grass, they walked together to the hill’s summit. The view from the top was breathtaking, a stark panorama of rolling dunes and distant mountains, untouched by the greed and despair that ruled Dreadworth. The air was cleaner here, carrying the faint scent of sagebrush and promise.

As the sun reached its zenith, they sought refuge beneath the shade of a solitary, gnarled tree. Its branches stretched out like welcoming arms, offering respite from the relentless heat. The tree’s trunk was thick and twisted, a silent sentinel that had seen countless travelers pass by, each with their own tale of escape or redemption.

Suddenly, the tranquility was shattered by the thunderous sound of horse hooves and gunshots echoing up the hill. Sue’s eyes went wide with fear, her grip on Smokes’ arm tightening. He held her close, his heart racing as he tried to discern the direction of the commotion. The cacophony grew louder, the very earth seeming to tremble beneath their feet.

They peered down the hill, their eyes straining to make out the distant figures. Through the dust cloud, they saw a stagecoach, its team of horses galloping in a panic. Three masked cowboys on horseback pursued it, their pistols blazing. The stagecoach lurched and swayed, the passengers’ screams barely audible over the din of the chase.

The stagecoach’s wheels finally gave way, sending it tumbling end over end. The sound of splintering wood and snapping leather filled the air as it came to a violent stop. The masked riders closed in, their intentions as clear as the malice in their eyes.

The first bullet hit the driver square in the back, his body jerking before going limp. The second shot rang out, and the guard slumped over, his life’s essence seeping into the thirsty earth. The bandits reined in their horses, a cruel victory laughter rising above the cries of the passengers.

Sue’s breath hitched in her throat as she watched the scene unfold. Smokes’ grip on her shoulder tightened, his eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and resignation. He knew the type all too well: desperate men with no regard for the lives they claimed. He had seen it before in Dreadworth, but this was different. This was happening right in front of them, in their path to freedom.

The dust from the stagecoach’s demise had barely settled when two figures stumbled out, one with a crimson stain spreading across his shirt. The bandits approached, guns still smoking, and the passengers held their hands up in a silent plea for mercy. The first cowboy, tall with a lean frame, leveled his revolver at the two men and, without a word, pulled the trigger twice. The sharp retort of the gunshots pierced the air, echoing through the quiet desert. The men fell, lifeless, into the dust.

The second bandit, burly with a wild beard, yanked the woman out of the stagecoach. She was young, with hair the color of moonlit wheat, and she clutched a small boy to her chest. The boy’s eyes were wide with terror, his tiny hands gripping her dress. The bandit’s gaze raked over her, a greedy hunger in his eyes that made Smokes’ stomach churn.

In the distance, two more cowboys emerged from the dust cloud, each lugging heavy bags that jingled with the unmistakable sound of gold. They threw the sacks over their saddles, their laughter carrying on the wind like the cackles of hyenas. The scene was a macabre dance of greed and brutality, playing out in stark contrast to the serene beauty of the desert.