The Ladies of Sutter's Fort by Jane Toombs

Author:Jane Toombs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gold, gold rush, california, san francisco, gamblers, saloon girls, mother and daughter, mining town, english ladies, dancehall
Publisher: Books We Love Ltd.

Chapter Sixteen

King Sutton kicked a stone and sent it skittering into a gully. They had lost the trail. Sutton had sent four men, two on each side of the original track, to look for signs. So far three of the four had reported back. They had found nothing.

The fourth man rode in from the south.

“No luck, colonel,” he said to Sutton. They had started calling him “colonel” when they elected him their leader. As though the title gave them more confidence in him.

Jed pointed toward three horsemen approaching up a long slope, a blue-coated army officer in the lead. As the men drew near, Sutton saw that the officer was a lieutenant. He was about thirty with a short black beard and a campaign hat shading his eyes.

When Sutton rode to meet him, the officer reined in and the other two men stopped a short distance behind him.

“Lieutenant Sherman,” the officer said, “at your service, sir. We rode out from Coloma to offer our help.”

“We’ve lost their trail,” Sutton admitted. “Followed the tracks of their horses up from Hangtown to a mesa a ways back, then lost them here on the rocks.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the lieutenant said. He rode to where the rest of Button’s party waited. There were five of them, the slave Jed, Danny O’Lee, Doc Braithewaite and two others. Rhynne was back in Hangtown coordinating the search.

“I’ve done a bit of tracking in my time,” Sherman said. “What do you know of these bandits? The reports reaching Coloma were sketchy.”

Sutton repeated Rhynne’s description of the early morning raid.

“I can tell you’re a southerner, sir,” Sherman said when Sutton had finished.

“I’m proud to say I hail from Georgia.”

“A fine state, Georgia. I hope to have the opportunity to go there someday.”

“You’ll be made most welcome, lieutenant. I only trust you’ll be able to come in time of peace, not war. I’d hate like hell to have to fight you.”

The lieutenant nodded. “My sentiments exactly, sir.”

They joined the others and Sutton led them back to the last trace they had found of the fleeing horsemen. Sherman dismounted, knelt beside the trail and studied the hoof print while Sutton watched.

“I was taught the little I know of reading sign by an Arapaho,” Sherman told him. “I never completely mastered the art, but I can tell whether a horse is shod or barefoot, whether he ran or walked, and whether he’s ridden or wandering loose. I try to recognize the difference in tracks. The worn heel of a boot, the size and cut of a moccasin, the curve to a horseshoe.”

“What do you see here?”

“If I’m not mistaken the horse is a stallion or gelding from a rancho near Monterey, probably ridden by a woman who passed this way an hour ago.”

Sherman stood and faced the men waiting on their horses. “By your leave, colonel,” he said to Sutton. He had heard the men use the title and hadn’t questioned it.

“Of course, lieutenant,” Sutton said.

“Dismount and form a line,” Sherman told them.

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