They got lucky.
Real lucky.
Stagecoaches were always a gamble. With shotgun messengers trying to fill you with lead and no guarantee as to the caliber of the passenger, Lenny reckoned the risks usually outweighed the reward. This had been a good bet. A few hundred dollars each, and a case of jewelry besides. They rode hard for the first couple miles. Putting distance between them and the mark. Taking a long circuit away from and then back towards Blackwater, skirting towards the west and then the south-east. Lenny wanted to get back. To jot his name down in the Ledger. Like the man up front.
Dutch was the Boss. No doubt. He provided the grand vision. Lent his class to the whole operation and set them apart from the rabble of gangs that remained. But Dutch didn't execute the plan. If Lenny Summers had to pick a man to study under, it would be Arthur Morgan. Man was tireless. Capable. Always pressing forward, faithful and fearless.
They needed him.
"Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well," father said.
Lenny understood. He saw a goal, a standard to reach same as earning his grades in school. If he worked hard, stayed eager and kept his head, he would grow into the role just as Arthur waned. The natural progression of these things.
They moved at a more ambling pace now, resting their horses a bit. Arthur looked back over his shoulder for a third time.
"Think we're being followed?" Lenny said, checking for himself. There were only the golden crests of the Great Plains, wavy in the heat of the day. The coach was long behind them. Not a soul on the horizon...
"You forget something back there, Morgan?" Bill asked with a chuckle.
"Shut up, Bill," the older man grumbled. He nudged his bay mare into a canter, seeking distance, but Bill followed. Dense as lead. Talking about that foolish bit of business. Sort of nonsense that ended with needless killing. Arthur had good sense, though. Read things quick and kept his head. Would have been a damn shame gunning down an unarmed passenger... a girl no older than Lenny himself.
"Messenger's sweetheart you think?" Lenny asked. "Maybe the fella's wife?"
"Naw..." Morgan drawled. "Just a doctor."
Yes, that would have been bad business.
"Sweet lookin' thing," Bill said, still needling Morgan. "Way you keep looking back, reckon you got some business back there."
Arthur reached up and adjusted his black hat. "Bill."
The low way he spoke, it was a threat plain as the sun in the sky.
"Some oil drillin' maybe?"
Abruptly, Arthur wheeled his horse 'round, turning on a dime, and forced Bill's stocky Ardennes to rear up.
"What the hell!" Bill shouted. Brown Jack reared again, and Bill tried to keep the horse calm. Morgan drew Boadicea to a sudden halt as they came parallel, within arms' reach. He snagged a fistful of Bill's dark plaid shirt and yanked him almost clear out of his saddle.
"One more word," Arthur growled. "Just one more goddamned word and I'll knock yer teeth out!"
Bill quieted down.
They descended into the valley around Flat Iron Lake and the trees steadily grew taller and denser. Riding around Blackwater, the cool purple dusk settled, and the gas lamps flickered to life. Indigo buntings serenaded the setting sun. They continued along, until the music and commotion of town died away. Quietly, the three riders trotted into camp a few miles south of the booming town. A shanty of tents and wagons. A loose group of migrants in search of honest work. Or so their story went.
Still, it was home. Pearson had stew bubbling in the pot and there was always a hot pot of coffee at the ready. Javier strummed on the guitar, some soft lilting tune from Mexico, humming quietly. The camp settled in for the night, around fires and at the gaming tables. Maybe, Lenny thought, he might try some dominos tonight. See what leads Hosea's picked up. Lenny led Maggie to the posts and brushed the dust out of her golden coat, settling her down for the night.
He was setting down a pail of water when Ms. Kirk wandered over. Her small scrappy frame swam in her buckskin duster. Her golden hair fell loose around her shoulders like a mantle. She patted Maggie as she smiled up at Lenny and his heart turned inside his chest. Hopeless.
"How'd you do, Mr. Summers?" she asked, sweetly. She grinned, showing her wide teeth. Golden, wild Jenny. Lenny could not help but grin back.
"We did good," he said, trying to force the smile from his face. Trying to be humble, echoing Morgan's quiet no-fuss sureness.
"Oh yeah?"
"A hundred to the gang savings, plus some to the camp box, easily."
She hooked her thumbs in her belt loops and whistled at that. "Not too shabby, Mr. Summers!"
Jenny was no damsel. She never broke cover or lost her head. She would sure look pretty in pearls all the same.
Lenny's own mother owned a string. Lustrous beads that glowed iridescent against her chocolate skin. A gift from his father. He had been a good man. Worked coal and salt mines as a free man. Scraped and saved and put himself through school, then college. Became an honest to goodness businessman in a time when they said it could not be done. Made something of himself. Played by all the rules. Yes. A good man. A decent man.
Until a pack of drunk fools murdered him.
Revenge was a fool's game, sure. Still seemed the only right course of action.
Lenny resolved then to take his portion from the jewelry. If Jenny hawked it... well that was fine too. Pragmatic as she was. Another of her many virtues. It's the thought that counts.
"How's things been here?"
She smiled coyly. "Dutch is plannin' somethin'," she said. Her eyes gleamed, grey as thunderclouds threatening to storm.
"Is that a fact?"
"Isn't he always?"
"Yeah," Lenny said with a chuckle, rubbing his chin. "Yeah, I guess that's true."
"You betcha," she confirmed. "And when he does, he'll need guns. I'm gonna throw my hat in. Would you ride with me, Mr. Summers?"
"If I'm needed," Lenny promised. "I'll be there."
"I was hopin' you would, handsome."
They sat together by the fire that night, with all the gang. Her hair afire, molten gold in the light. Slugging whisky from the bottle. Smoking and singing the filthiest songs this side of the Mississippi. Uncle led them into the rounds of Ring Dang Doo. Jenny laughing so hard she snorted, and Lenny wrapped an arm around her waist. She leaned in. Kissed his mouth, unflinching and unashamed and Lenny Summers knew he was lucky.
Real lucky.