The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

94: Dead End

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Tommy by Melissa Zayas. All graphics by me.

Sorry this is late. Had a houseful of people yesterday and sketchy internet service.  Happy New Year!

"Mizz Lily, I dunno how you ladies do it." Luis gave her a smile around a mouthful of biscuit. "Even with the kitchen bein' wrecked, you two still can turn out a good meal. Eh?" He gestured around the parlor at the crew, crowded around on the furniture and floor balancing their plates on their laps. "Am I right?"

The parlor was a crowded place for all of them to try and eat at the same time, but at least it was warm and cozy and didn't stink of char and burnt grease. And while they never admitted it, Lily knew Luis and Jesse in particular appreciated the fact there was not a drafty, tarp-covered hole in the roof in the parlor like there was in the kitchen. They're the first two to start shivering when it's cold.

"Thank you, Luis." Lily smiled in spite of her disappointment that Saint still had not come home. At least Jesse had enough sense to have not followed him to the Silver Star. If she had to be honest with herself, she had to admit that she'd missed them both terribly while they were incarcerated. And if Saint gets himself into more trouble before he even makes it home... I'll kill him.

She wondered with an unwanted pang if he was with...her...and glanced involuntarily at Bender. As if feeling her eyes on him, he looked up and gave her a nod. "'E's right, love. Good on ya both for this."

Tommy had ridden off towards Salt Lake City shortly after lunch, and the young Three Crossings rider he'd relieved had woken from his nap in the bunkhouse and joined them for supper. It didn't appear to bother him one whit to be sitting on the hearth holding his supper on his knees. He'd introduced himself as D'artagnan, and neither she nor Fiona could work up the sand to ask him whether that was his first or last name.

In all honesty, Lily didn't think he looked much like a D'artagnan. To her, he looked more like a non-descript Sam or a Bob or a William with his scruffy sandy brown hair and light freckles.

"I hate that Tommy had to take my run," Storm muttered from where he sat on the sofa between Lily and Fiona. "I don't like having other people have to pick up my slack."

"You'd do the same for any of us, laddie," Wash said gently, chasing the last of the gravy around his plate with a chunk of bread. "Ye ain't getting special treatment."

"You know I would." Storm nodded, smiling faintly. "But honestly, the walls are starting to close in on me around here."

"You blokes 'ere that?" Bender unfolded his legs underneath him as he sat on the floor and stood up. "Rider." He frowned, put his plate on the demilune by the fireplace, and strode quickly to the window.

Jesse did likewise, anxiety creasing his face. "Are we off schedule? I didn't know we were due! I gotta get my coat! Lynch is gonna kill me!"

D'artagnan started chewing fast, putting down his plate. "Look, Hanson, I'll take it if it's going east, I'm headed back to the Crossings, anyway..." He hauled himself to his feet. "If you folks are off schedule, so am I. I sure wasn't expecting..."

"We're not off schedule," Bender said, frowning heavily and opening the door. "'Struth! I think that's Tommy." He jogged into the yard, shrugging into his coat as he went.

What on earth? Lily exchanged a baffled look at Fiona, fear suddenly clutching at her insides. Something's wrong...Tommy... She was on her feet before she was even aware of it, shoulder to shoulder with Fiona as they both hurried after the men.

Tommy was astride Comanche, looking exhausted and lost. Normally, when the riders came into the yard, they were in a high-speed frenzy of motion, dismounting and pulling the mochila free from the saddle even as the horse was coming to a stop. They prided themselves in trying to never let the mail stop moving. Tonight, however, Tommy slouched in the saddle, the mail pouch glaringly absent from it's usual place underneath him. "I've...uh...I've..." He gestured at the empty place. "Get Mr. Lynch," he said, his voice raspy. "There's trouble. Bad. It's worse than that, even...it's worse than...well, worst." He pulled his glasses off and vainly attempted to rub the dust from them onto his scarf before clambering stiffly from the saddle.

"Tommy!" Lily blurted, relieved at seeing him stand. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he said quickly, jerking her head towards the sound of her voice as he fumbled his still dust-smeared spectacles onto his face. "No, ma'am. Didn't run into trouble at all."

"No trouble? You're not making sense, laddie," Wash said, steadying him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "What happened? How'd you lose the bag?"

"I didn't lose it. I gave it to Chris Horatio from Salt Lake House. We crossed paths outside of Fort Bridger." Tommy mopped his face with his fingers, frustrated. "Simpson Springs got attacked. People are dead. Chris didn't have a mochila with him, he was sending word up the line."

"So there could still be a rider coming from Salt Lake," Jesse said, striding across the yard from the bunkhouse as he buckled on his pistol.

"Maybe," Tommy said. "But one of us has to leave now to pass the news on up the line. Told Chris I would. I guess they'll be sending army papers east...if they can...so be ready to ride."

"I'll go," D'artagnan said. "No point you having to make a two-way trip. Especially since we don't know how this is going to play out."

"So, Tommy..." Luis' dark eyes swam in a suddenly pale face. His voice cracked with barely-concealed panic. "What are you telling us? You sayin' there ain't no mail going through?"

Tommy nodded grimly. "Yeah," he whispered. "That's what I'm saying."

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