THE NEXT TWO days are the loneliest I can remember. I work out my schedule with Mayor Ha-a-a-averford and the Town Council, then hire Mary Burns to help Constance oversee the saloon and workin' girls. Next, I work out a wage for Wing Ding to spend the nights at the Spur to make sure the whores are safe. I run all the errands and solve all the sheriffin' problems I can without actually leavin' town. The third mornin' after Rose and Gentry leave, I saddle Major, and the horse Bose Rennick left behind, a big gray horse I decide to name Steel. When I catch up to the women, Gentry's backside will be ready for a horse, after ridin' on a wagon bench all those miles.
I'm well-provisioned and so eager to start, I can't sleep. I leave a good three hours before daybreak and cover forty miles before stoppin' for the first time. I figure the woman have gone about seventy miles by now, which means if I push myself hard, I can catch 'em by this time tomorrow, at around the hundred-mile mark. I wouldn't stop at all today, but the horses ain't in shape for goin' all day without breaks, and I need to keep their well-bein' in mind.
I switch horses for two reasons. One, I want to make sure Steel is comfortable with me, and two, Major will benefit from not havin' to carry my weight all afternoon. The sun is shinin' bright and hot, and the trail is flat and dry. Steel is just as fine a horse as I thought he'd be, and I'm makin' excellent time. We're doin' so well I hate to pause long enough to eat, so I squeeze out another twenty miles before settlin' on a spot to water the horses. I figure they'll want a half hour of rest before we start movin' again.
There are hundreds of people travelin' the trail today, as always, and what was a very dangerous route just five years ago has become so well-populated by pioneers and settlers and travelers, you can scarcely go a mile without seein' fifty people at any given time. If Rose's wagon breaks down, someone would be along to fix it within minutes.
I usually travel my own trail, but don't want to take a chance on missin' the women in case somethin' happened to slow 'em down. The trail to Lawrence runs about four hundred yards wide for nearly three hundred miles. About every hour I see a wagon with oxen that looks like it could be Rose and Gentry, and even though I'm lookin' for a yellow bonnet on Gentry, I'm not gonna take a chance that she's removed it at the exact wrong time. So each time I slow down to check, I lose a few more minutes of precious time.
It's dusk now, and I've come further in one day than the women did in two, which means I'm about ten miles past where they made camp last night. If I'm right, that puts me about twenty miles behind 'em. I know Rose likes to head out at daybreak, so if I leave a couple hours before that, I could catch 'em as early as noon tomorrow. I wonder how often Gentry will look over her shoulder for me tomorrow, and hope it's a lot. I been cranin' my neck and concentratin' my eyes on so many people today I've given myself a huge headache.
The land out here is flat for a hundred miles, and in the dark I can see small fires burnin' all up and down the trail. I count more than fifty, some as close as a hundred feet away. The night is so quiet and still, I can hear the people from several campsites talkin' to each other. Most of these folks are friendly by need, but no one is goin' out of their way to approach me, which is the way I want it. I want to eat some beans, get some sleep, and hit the trail.
Next mornin' I get up, fry some bacon, soak my hard biscuits in a little water and push 'em around in the pan, and eat while drinkin' two cups of coffee. I get the horses ready, and start movin' along the trail. Then it dawns on me that I might be makin' a big mistake.
It's still dark. What if the women stopped for some reason? Rose's wagon could've needed a minor repair, or maybe she came across someone who needed doctorin'. Maybe they decided to travel with another family, for safety reasons, or because the other family requested help. If they made slower time for any reason, they could be within a few hundred yards of me right now, in which case, by leavin' in the dark, I might ride right past 'em and never run into 'em till they show up in Lawrence!
Much as I hate to do it, I decide to wait till daybreak.
As it turns out, this decision, that seemed so sensible at the time, is the one that comes back to haunt me.