The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress Read online

  When she eventually encountered Gordon, she would have the element of surprise on her side because he wouldn’t recognize her in her buckskin garb. He wouldn’t likely know which horse she was riding since he had sneaked up on her when she was afoot at Phantom Springs. Every advantage would make apprehending that worthless shyster easier for her.

  Eva checked the watch she had tucked in her pocket. According to Hoodoo, she should reach Purgatory Gulch in less than an hour. Anticipation bubbled inside her. Gordon Carter was not going to get away with extorting money from Lydia and mortifying her to the extreme. Plus, he was going to pay dearly for Hodge’s unnecessary death.

  The sudden rumble of thunder scattered Eva’s vindictive thoughts. She glanced up at the low-hanging clouds that engulfed the mountain. For the past few days, it seemed a building storm had hovered in the distance, gathering strength. Apparently, it was on the move. She glanced around, trying to decide where to take refuge in case of a cloudburst.

  To her vast relief, the storm passed over her with no more than a gush of cold wind before it unleashed its fury. She could see pounding rain sweeping down the path she had followed to higher elevations.

  “Talk about a stroke of luck,” Eva said to the bay as she patted his powerful neck. “If we had left the cabin an hour later we would have been in the middle of the downpour.”

  She predicted that Raven, Blackowl and Hoodoo would be forced to duck into the cabin and stay put until the fierce storm moved southeast. She wouldn’t be there to be ignored by Raven, she mused as she urged her horse into a trot. Raven wouldn’t have to continue pretending she was invisible, as he’d done the previous day.

  A wry smile pursed her lips, recalling that she had made her presence felt the previous night when she told him goodbye. The erotic memory of their midnight tryst triggered intense sensations that she doubted she’d experience again in her life. She had cast aside all inhibitions to be with Raven one last time before she struck off to find Gordon.

  “Last night was worth it,” she murmured.

  The bay pricked his ears then accelerated his pace as he rounded the bend, headed straight for Purgatory Gulch.

  “Of all the rotten timing,” Raven growled when pelting rain pummeled him and transformed the rutted wagon trail into a stream of water.

  He shot out his wet arm, directing Blackowl’s attention to the overhanging ledge of rock that could provide shelter. Together they reined their horses beneath the cliff—and not a minute too soon. The sky opened up and thunder boomed overhead, indicating the storm had worsened.

  “The Cheyenne gods are displeased. It is the curse of your white woman, I’m sure,” Blackowl teased as he dismounted.

  “She isn’t mine,” Raven answered, begging to differ. “I wonder how she’s weathering this storm.”

  “With defiance and impatience,” Blackowl speculated. “Do you think she will do something rash if she finds this Carter person before we catch up with her?”

  “You tell me,” Raven mumbled as he watched the storm pound down the trail. “You trained her to handle a gun and knife. And you already know how fiercely determined she is.”

  Blackowl scowled. “I think we have reason for concern.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Raven stared uphill, hoping Eva hadn’t washed away.

  She had suffered enough danger and near brushes with disaster already. Even though he was annoyed as hell with her for striking off alone, he was still worried about her.

  “We’ll find her,” Blackowl murmured encouragingly.

  “I just hope it isn’t at the bottom of a ravine after this flash flood tails off.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Eva stared owlishly at the steep, rocky mountainside as she approached the bustling community known as Purgatory Gulch. What might have been a panoramic landscape was littered with mechanized machines constructed to retrieve gold and other precious metals from the bowels of the earth.

  She watched in amazement as a three-story-tall hoisting wheel churned up dirt and carried it to the surface to dump it in a pile. Narrow catwalks of planks and beams provided a passage for company miners. They carted the dirt in wheelbarrows to mammoth-size screened drums that constantly rotated, sifting out gold flakes and nuggets. Discarded beams and ladders cluttered the once scenic hillside when work sites shifted to another promising location.

  In the distance individual prospectors panned for placer gold along the streams and tributaries on their ten-foot-square claims. Armed with picks, shovels and pans, they used their wooden cradles to filter gold from the water.

  Tents of all shapes and sizes were staked haphazardly on the rocky slopes where other prospectors had marked off their forty-square-foot claims for dry digging. The tent camps formed an outpost community around the stores and shops of the town.

  Eva continued on her way along the ever-widening path that eventually became the hub of Purgatory Gulch. The town had only one street that snaked along the side of the mountain. One half mile of log and rock cabins, shanties, frame-and-canvas buildings and large tents lined the street.

  Drunken men of diverse nationalities milled about. The ragtag, unshaven and unkempt crowd looked as if the closest they had come to bathing was when it rained and soaked them to the bone. Laughter, salty curses and off-color songs filled the air.

  Eva ducked her head to protect her identity as she rode into town. She noticed that only one two-story clapboard building graced the community. Unfortunately, it was called Greta’s Place and four scantily dressed harlots lounged on the upper balcony. They called to the men below, inviting them to exchange their pouches of gold for sexual favors.

  She should have known that the only other women in town were soiled doves, Eva mused. But then, Raven and his friends had warned her that this was no place for what they referred to as “protected women,” who had never associated with the rougher elements in the underbelly of society. Eva was not accustomed to living on this side of life but she vowed to adapt.

  There were more saloons and gaming halls in town than respectable hotels. In fact, there was only one hotel and Eva wanted nothing to do with sleeping in what looked to be pigsty accommodations. She’d sleep on the ground before she bedded down in that filthy, hastily constructed establishment.

  Eva pictured her father living in the same sort of squalor while he fended off claim jumpers and existed like an animal in the wilds to find his fortune in gold. It was little wonder that her father had been determined to provide better accommodations for miners who came to Denver.

  “Hellhole” did not begin to describe this place, she mused as her gaze swept over the community a second time.

  It was the perfect locale for a mangy rat like Gordon Carter to hole up, she decided.

  Dismounting, Eva surveyed the saloon in front of her. The bar counter was nothing more than a wide plank braced on two wooden barrels. It sat outside a rectangular tent in which haggard-looking men sipped their brew. She could see monte cards and backgammon boards spread out on makeshift tables.

  “What’ll you have, sonny boy?” The brawny bartender’s thick Irish accent got her attention and she pivoted to face him.

  His greasy brown hair framed his doughy face. He had fists like hams and legs like tree stumps. Eva presumed this brawny, muscle-bound man quelled his own disturbances at his bar. He certainly looked tough enough to handle a brawl.

  He grinned, exposing a wide gap where his two front teeth should have been. “Does a peach-fuzz-face brat like you drink anything besides mother’s milk?”

  Eva refused to react to the rude question. Now she understood why Raven had taught himself to maintain a deadpan expression and tamp down emotion when dealing with the annoying ruffians in the world. He had obviously endured dozens of insults because of his mixed breeding and his profession. Out of necessity he’d become a master of self-control. Eva vowed to become more proficient, too, if for no other reason than to protect her identity in this hellhole.

  “
I’m looking for my uncle,” she said in a deep voice that was heavy with a southern drawl. “I hoped you might’ve seen him. His name’s Gordon Carter. Six foot tall, green eyes, thick brown hair. He wears a goatee and mustache.”

  The bartender smirked. “Hell, brat, I don’t give out nothing for free, not even advice, directions or information. Everything has a price in this gulch. You got money?”

  Eva had more sense than to flash her bankroll to the likes of this shifty-eyed scalawag. She predicted she would have her money stolen, her throat slit and her body dumped off the side of a cliff in nothing flat.

  “No, sir, that’s why I was looking for my uncle,” she replied. “He carries the pouch of gold dust.”

  The bartender flicked his wrist dismissively. “Then be on your way, sonny boy. I got no time for the likes of you.”

  A half hour later Eva was becoming discouraged. Everyone she approached to ask for information was no more helpful than the Irish saloonkeeper. In addition, her stomach was growling something fierce and she had to take time out of her search to find food. However, she was not about to enter the dingy-colored round tent that claimed to be a café. The smells the place emitted guaranteed indigestible meals. Eva decided to purchase a few items from the dry goods store that was housed in a hastily constructed log cabin.

  She entered the store to see floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with flour, sugar, molasses, coffee and a variety of canned food. She grabbed cans of beans, pickles and peaches then discreetly retrieved a banknote from her stash of money.

  “Is that all you need, kid?” The thick-chested store owner bit down on his cheroot as he sacked the items.

  “No, I need to find my uncle,” she said then gave a quick description.

  The owner shrugged his broad shoulders then handed her the sack. “There’s men coming and going from here constantly, son. Your best bet is to scour the streets and saloons. If your uncle is prospecting for gold in these parts he’s bound to show up here eventually.”

  Eva nodded her thanks then exited the store. With her sack tucked under her arm, she grabbed the bay’s reins and hiked to the far side of town. She hoped to find an out-of-the-way spot for an improvised picnic—away from the drunks who had sprawled out to sleep off their hangovers.

  She stopped short when she spotted Gordon Carter swaggering down the opposite side of the street, dressed in the same fashion as the local miners—heavy boots, wool breeches and a flannel shirt. She noticed that he absently rubbed his belly and chest and she smiled, wondering if he might be suffering the effects of Hoodoo’s voodoo curse. Eva hoped that was the case.

  Gordon paused outside the bordello where all four harlots leaned over the railing, exposing their cleavage. She was surprised their wares didn’t spill from the diving necklines of their lingerie.

  When Gordon flashed that charming smile that had captured Lydia’s attention and sent her tumbling headlong into heartbreak, Eva gnashed her teeth and cursed him soundly. She had the impulsive urge to retrieve the handgun Blackowl had given her and blow Gordon to smithereens.

  This is not the time or place, said the sensible voice that barely overrode the voice of revenge.

  Still, outrage boiled through her as she watched him enter the brothel—much to the delight of the soiled doves who had propositioned him.

  What she felt was rage for Lydia’s sake, she realized. The emotion was even more intense than what she had experienced personally when Felix used her and discarded her in favor of a more manageable bride. No matter what, Gordon was going to pay for breaking Lydia’s naive heart and ruining her faith in men. Eva would make certain of it!

  Inwardly fuming, Eva watched Gordon saunter inside. At least she knew where he was. That was a small consolation. She continued on her way and found a place to sink down cross-legged beneath a tree. She dined on her canned food while her horse grazed beside her.

  All the while, she asked herself how she was going to take Gordon into custody and transport him back to civilization without him escaping. As Raven had told her, there were no law enforcement officers in these rowdy mining camps. There were several shabby cafés, entirely too many saloons, a print shop, an apothecary store, a post office, a bakery and a freight company. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a city marshal’s office in sight.

  “Maybe I should have allowed Raven and Blackowl to come with me,” she mumbled between bites.

  Then she reminded herself that Raven and Blackowl faced enough hardship and dangers in their professions without hiring on with her. No, this was her personal campaign for justice and she would have to devise a clever way to apprehend Gordon and haul him to jail.

  Eva finished her meal and washed it down with a cool drink from the nearby stream. From her vantage point on the hillside, she surveyed the community again, visualizing her father living this hand-to-mouth existence before he found the bonanza that changed his life forever.

  Her gaze sharpened when she saw Gordon exit the brothel to retrieve a roan pony. She wondered where he had confiscated the different mounts he had used and speculated on what had happened to the men who originally owned the livestock.

  Anticipation surged inside her when she saw Gordon pack a few items in his saddlebags. She presumed he was leaving town. Even better that he was headed toward her. If he was on his way to Satan’s Bluff—the second mining camp located in Devil’s Triangle—she could launch a surprise attack.

  Eva scrambled to her feet to pull her horse into the underbrush on the hillside so she could keep lookout on the road. Her mind raced, trying to determine when to overtake Gordon and how to restrain him. Other than giving him the good shooting he deserved, she amended.

  Her spiteful thoughts trailed off when shouts erupted from one of the canvas saloons in the middle of town. To Eva’s dismay, two men were herded toward her end of town. She gasped in surprise when she recognized Frank Albers and Irving Jarmon, the two gamblers she had met on the stagecoach. The drunken mob cursed them foully and threatened to lynch them for cheating at cards.

  “They’re in this together!” One of the outraged miners bellowed. “I saw ’em passing cards. I say we hang ’em high!”

  Eva muttered a curse to Gordon’s name when he nudged his horse into a faster clip so he wouldn’t be overtaken by the approaching mob. Typical Gordon, she thought in annoyance. He never had the slightest concern for anyone but himself.

  As much as Eva wanted to follow Gordon, the grim expressions on Frank Albers’s and Irving Jarmon’s faces stopped her in her tracks. They had the look of two men who knew they had spent their last day on earth. She suspected they were guilty of sleight-of-hand tricks at the card table, but the vigilante justice directed at them seemed too harsh to fit their crime.

  Frustrated to no end, Eva cast one last longing glance at Gordon’s departing back, assuming he was headed to Satan’s Bluff. She sincerely hoped he stayed long enough in the community for her to catch up with him after she tried her best to rescue Frank and Irving from certain death.

  Her stomach dropped to the soles of her moccasins when two members of the drunken mob tossed hangman’s nooses over the branch of the lone pine tree that stood beside the creek. Judging by the scars on the branch, she presumed this wasn’t the first time the tree had served a vigilante court and bloodthirsty mob of executioners.

  Frantically she tried to conjure up an effective way to stop this atrocity. It didn’t matter that she’d only spent one morning huddled in a stagecoach with Frank and Irving and that she knew very little about them. She just couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t make an effort to save them.

  If the drunken mob was holding a necktie party with Gordon Carter as its honored guest, she would be all in favor.

  Think! Eva urged herself when Frank and Irving commenced kicking, screaming and loudly proclaiming their innocence. Several men hoisted them onto the backs of two sorrel horses. They bound the gamblers’ wrists behind them, secured the nooses dangling from the tree limb and taunted t
heir victims unmercifully. If she didn’t do something—and quickly—Irving and Frank would breathe their last breaths and she would be forced to watch it happen.

  Raven scowled when rain came down in sheets. The downpour turned the trail into a swift-moving current of water and tried what was left of his patience—which wasn’t much. Concern over Eva’s welfare and whereabouts was driving him crazy.

  Finally, thirty minutes after the thunderstorm swept down the mountain, the rainwater drained off the path so he could tell where the footing had become treacherous. He and Blackowl got underway, dodging the eroded trenches where dirt and gravel had washed away.

  “This is no time to be breaking in a new mount,” Raven grumbled as he veered around the washed-out ditches.

  “Your Indian pony seems surefooted to me,” Blackowl observed. “You’re just dissatisfied because the horse can’t sprout wings and fly.”

  “Considering the superstitious nonsense about how I’m only half human and half Indian ghost spirit you would think two cousins from the Cheyenne Bird Clan should have the ability to fly.”

  Blackowl chuckled. “I have heard the same sort of rumors whispered about me at rendezvous. I usually—”

  Raven flung up his hand, cutting off his cousin in mid-sentence. His attention fixated on the articles of clothing that were strewn over tree limbs and bushes that jutted from the steep downhill slope beside the road. His heart stopped beating for several vital seconds and he struggled to draw breath as he surveyed the area, looking for a body—Eva’s in particular.

  “Not her belongings,” Blackowl declared as he studied the garments scattered on the hillside. “Not her horse, either.”

  Raven leaned out to look down from Blackowl’s vantage point. Sure enough, a brown pony lay on its side. Its legs were sprawled at unnatural angles and it showed no signs of life.