Dovie headed downstairs, but had to stop between floors and steady herself on the railing. The abdominal cramps, blinding headaches, and joint pain she once suffered only occasionally had begun to plague her full-time within the past few weeks. The aching varied in intensity from severe discomfort to bouts of sharp agony, like the ones she was currently experiencing. She knew her condition was worsening steadily and hoped she could conceal the ravages of the disease consuming her, as it had devoured her husband, for a while longer. It was imperative Burnell not find out what she had planned; at least not yet. She only hoped her body wouldn’t fail her and, more importantly, her daughter, Idelle.

The waves of pain subsided after a few moments, but left her weak and perspiring. Dovie continued down the stairs on faltering legs and found Idelle where she’d left her, crying alone in the lobby.

“Pack a bag,” Dovie told her daughter. “We’re leaving tomorrow for Jefferson City.”

Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Pritchard, Ditch, and Paul walked out of the Wells Fargo Bank together and into the bustling streets of Abilene. Once out, all three grinned and shook hands.

After burying the four rustlers Pritchard had escorted into their camp, the SD&P outfit confiscated their horses and continued the drive to Abilene. Two weeks later they rode in, herding over 3,100 head of cattle.

Their timing couldn’t have been better. A number of the Great Plains tribes, including the Arapaho, Cheyenne, and Comanche, took great umbrage at the growing incursions by whites, particularly the cattlemen and the railroads, onto their traditional lands. Due to the infrequent Indian raids on the drovers that resulted, fewer cattle herds had entered Abilene’s Great Western Stockyards that summer, and those that did had been significantly delayed. This meant more time on the range and less meat on the cows.

Consequently, beef prices had risen. Ditch sold his entire stock, on the first day they arrived, for just under twenty-five dollars per head. He paid off his hands, giving each a handsome bonus. Then he tasked Alejandro Ruiz with collecting the flush SD&P cowboys, after a few days’ celebration in town, of course, and herding them back to the ranch in Texas.

Ditch, Pritchard, and Paul deposited over seventy-three thousand dollars in the Wells Fargo Bank. They were looking for a café to dine in, to celebrate, when their attention was drawn to a commotion in the streets.

A large crowd had assembled around a wagon that was parked on Cedar Street, in front of the Alamo Saloon. A barker standing in the wagon was addressing an enraptured public. This, in itself, was not an unusual sight, except that this particular sales pitch was punctuated with gunshots.