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Gamble on Fate

By Robin Densmore Fuson

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Colorado Territory 1868 (Near present day Colorado Springs, Colorado)

Chapter 1

A rifle shot! The stagecoach lurched forward and picked up speed. Lydia poked her head out the side window. No sign of the driver. The horses were galloping at a high rate of speed. She wriggled through the narrow opening, grabbed the luggage rack on the roof, and started for the top. Her feet slipped off the window frame. “Aahh!” A hand snatched her ankle and placed her foot firmly on the frame. She barely took time to acknowledge. Her flailing foot joined the other and she caught a steadying breath. The ascent up the side proved difficult as wind whipped her hair and skirts, trying to dislodge her. She tightened her grip. The hat was long gone. No footholds could be found but the rail on the crown of the coach. At a crazy angle her right foot found the top as she hung on and pulled up. The out-ofcontrol horses pounded the ground in a frenzy to get away from an unknown assailant.
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A mound of suitcases on top caused more difficulty to her maneuvers. The jolting of the coach made her teeth rattle, causing her to clinch her jaw. She risked a look over the side. A face peered at her out of the window she had vacated. Lydia prostrated her body face down and inched toward the front. She peered over the edge of the carriage to ascertain the situation. Blood poured from a bullet wound in the shoulder of the slumped driver. The angle of his head indicated he may have knocked himself out. Dead? Horse reins flapped on the ground. The team of six horses had no guidance except themselves. In the process of descending to the seat, the horses swerved, causing her to tumble onto the injured man. He moaned but didn’t move. Alive! The reins were a problem. She needed them to gain control of this vehicle. With one hand clasped on the footrest, she reached down. Jolted along, Lydia kept missing the wildly swaying leather and caught only air. The ground sped beneath them. The horses needed to be stopped. She scrambled and stood to grab the rack on the top of the coach to steady herself as she tugged the hem of her skirt up and into her belt. Perspiration soaked her shirtwaist. Lydia closed her eyes for a brief silent prayer. In petticoats and drawers she leapt onto the left horse of the closest team. After a moment to stabilize and catch the galloping rhythm, she jumped to the next. Her heart pounded as she watched the ground fly past. The horses’ hooves thundered. Another deep breath and leap landed her
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on the left horse on the leading team. She took the harness reins on the bridle and pulled back. The horses didn’t heed nor slow. She had to reach over and grab the reins on her right. Her body stretched to reach and her hand latched on. Each hand held the rein of the front horse. With all her strength, she tugged back as she sat astride the horse, wishing for a saddle and stirrups to brace against. Both horses slowly responded to her, which caused the others to follow suit. “Whoa!” The team slackened their stride. Finally they came to a halt. Lydia caught her breath and patted the shoulder of the horse. “Good boy.” As the passengers disembarked, she slid from the sweating animal. Swiftly, she unbound her skirts and flapped them into place. Shaking fingers searched the mass of tangles on her head. Combs and pins were long gone. Her hair wouldn’t be as easily set to rights. A handsome man who tried to engage her into conversation on the trip, handed her hat to her. “I snagged this for you.” His brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you.” She nodded and clasped the petite hat. “Impressive.” He dipped his head and touched his wide-brimmed hat that covered sandy hair. “I would have given you a hand but I didn’t fit through the window.” She assessed his broad shoulders and muscled arms. Quite. He wore a vest under a dark brown short waist suit coat displaying wide lapels.
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Cowboy boots and a gun belt strapped to his hip completed his rugged look. A slight beard covered his jaw which she considered appealing. Passengers surrounded her as the gentleman went back to the coach. An older woman said, “Young lady, that was very daring of you! I congratulate you for being in one piece!” A jovial, rotund man said, “Why didn’t you climb out the door?” “Because, I tried that once and the door came off its hinges and we both landed on the ground and skidded to a stop. Running to catch up proved impossible.” Lydia shrugged. The woman looked askance and turned away muttering, “I shall never ride with her again if this is a habit of hers!” She wandered over to where the handsome gentleman surveyed the driver’s wound. “Ha! Great joke. I am still impressed. You proved a fine horsewoman.” The jovial man tipped his hat and left her side. Lydia, hat in hand, shaded her eyes against the blazing sun and scanned the horizon. If only that were a joke. Why was this becoming a habit? The shot came from somewhere and she hoped they weren’t targets out in the open. Sunbeams reflected off of something metal. She hurried to the others. “We need to stay on this side of the coach. I think our assailant is still out there.” “Why do you say that?” asked the handsome man. “I saw a reflection off metal and we’re in the middle of nowhere.” She nodded to the driver. “Will he be all right?”
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“He will live but can’t drive. He lost a lot of blood and has a nasty gash on his head. I’ll take the reins unless you would like to and I can ride next to you with the coach gun. I assume you are acquainted with driving given the means you used to stop the team.” She surveyed the rest of the passengers. “I’ll drive.” He helped the driver into the coach. Lydia reached in and retrieved her reticule. After the others were seated, he closed the door. She returned to the driver’s seat, placed her hat atop her head, and picked up the reins as he climbed up next to her. She nodded at the shotgun. “Do you know how to use that?” “I think I can manage.” He held his lips to the side of his mouth in what she thought of a smirk. “Since we will be riding up here together, we should know each other’s names. My name is Josiah Chandler.” He tipped his hat. “Lydia Blaise. Shall we get going?” She clicked her tongue against her teeth and cheek, and flicked the reins. “Giddy up!”


Josiah observed the strong hands holding the reins with skill. The lace gloves would no doubt need to be discarded. Probably ruined. Her long black hair, almost blue in hue, floated uninhibited down to her waist and the ridiculous small hat perched jauntily on her head created quite an image. He had never met a woman as capable and daring. Tall, he would guess, maybe five-feet-eight,
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her lithe body had demonstrated agility and strength. Beautiful and bold. Josiah decided she must be about twenty, placing her a decade younger than he. Why had that crossed his mind? Josiah should have been the one to jump into action. Before he could react, she’d crawled out the window. When her feet slipped, his heart had almost stopped. The dainty ankle flying through the air brought chills to the back of his neck. He wanted to jerk her back into the protection of the coach, but instead he firmly held on to her until she had her balance. Watching her progress was excruciating as well as humorous. He would never forget the woman with her skirt up riding bareback in her underthings. Hair flying. A chuckle almost escaped as he thought of that picture engraved on his mind until his dying day. Every time she catapulted herself to a horse, he held his breath until she seemed secure. She must know her way around horse flesh to command them to stop in their frenzy. A movement out of his eye caused him to turn. A rider parallel to them. “We have company.” “I believe I mentioned we were not alone.” “Yes, you did.” “Are you going to use that?” She nodded her head at the shotgun. “I’ll not start shooting until needful. First, this isn’t a rifle.” She snorted. He ignored her. “Second, the man might not be mixed up in this. And third, I didn’t see any more
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shells.” She nodded. “Our destination is more to the left, closer to the mountain. They named it Pike’s Peak from when men struck it rich discovering gold. The huge mountain stuck up out of the plains like a giant pinnacle to the clouds. There was a slogan in all the newspapers, ‘Pike’s Peak or Bust.’ The participants in the gold rush were christened the Fifty-Niners.” With a slight move of her wrist the horses changed course. “How do you know so much about the mountain and location of Colorado City?” “I read the newspapers and they make it sound exciting. Any boy dreams of striking it rich.” “Is the rider still following us?” Josiah leaned out and looked behind. “He appears to be just out of reach, far enough away to not get shot.” He wondered, not for the first time, why they were the target. This stage line wasn’t one to carry bankroll or payroll. The plain tan Concord Stagecoach carried passengers and mail. No one on this coach appeared to be famous. Did it have anything to do with his new client?

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