Frontier Courtship Part 8

Closing on the wagon camp, Connell heard a ruckus. Folks were milling about, shouting to each other. A flash of lightning outlined two bent figures sneaking away. His first instinct was to follow them.

Thoughts of Faith gave him pause. Once he'd seen her and talked to her-made sure she was all right-he could go after the suspicious men. Trouble was, in this storm and at night to boot, there wasn't a chance in a thousand of successfully trailing them once they got a head start.

He peered in at the camp. Looked like no one had started to saddle a horse for pursuit. By the time they did, the marauders would be long gone.

A continuing barrage of lightning gave Connell further glimpses of the fleeing men. The taller one was carrying a large, dark object draped over his shoulder while the other walked sideways and backward, apparently watching to see that they weren't being followed. Judging by their headdresses, they'd be Blackfoot, except he'd never seen braves from that tribe so far west or south before.

Connell urged Rojo forward so he could keep his quarry in sight. A pair of horses waited several hundred yards from where he'd first spotted the men. They hoisted their burden, threw it across one saddle, and the smaller man swung up behind it. As soon as his partner had mounted, they whipped their mounts and began to put distance between themselves and the wagon train.

Connell knew now what he must do. Indians sometimes rode saddles of their own making, but he'd never seen a brave yet who could abide a high Spanish cantle.

He spurred the canelo into a gallop, oblivious to the dangers of traveling so fast over prairie-dog-ridden ground. The question was no longer who who he was tracking but he was tracking but what. what.

One thing was certain. They weren't real Indians.

"I think she's comin' to," Ab warned, reining up beside Stuart. "And I'm half-froze to death. I don't know why we couldn't wear buffalo robes or at least hunting shirts the way the real Indians do in foul weather."

The heavier man grunted his disapproval. "Shut up, old man. He let us keep our long pants, didn't he? Stop your complaining or I'll shoot you on the spot and leave your sorry carca.s.s for the buzzards when I dump the woman."

"I don't think we should keep doin' this for Tucker," Ab whined. "Trouble comes, you know he ain't goin' to fess up. We'll be stuck payin' for his crimes."

"Not me. I got enough on Tucker to see he rots in some stinkin' prison like the one I seen once in Yuma. Man, it was hot there."

"Don't talk about hot." Ab's teeth were chattering. "It reminds me of h.e.l.l, where you and I are probably goin' fer doin' this. How far do we have to ride, anyways?"

"Couple a more miles." He glanced at the slicker-covered bundle across Ab's saddle. "You said she was comin' to. She ain't moving much."

"Quit about as soon as she started. Probably fainted. You know women."

Stuart chortled. "Yeah. If we wasn't on a job here, I'd sure like to see if that one's as good as she looks."

Horrified and dismayed, Faith held her breath, biting her lip to keep from crying out every time Ab's horse took a step. The saddle horn was pressing into her stomach, thank goodness, but her sore ribs got a painful jolt at every stride just the same.

They were going to kill her. That was evident. She'd been a fool to think she was safe simply because she was in the emigrant company. Clearly, a nefarious man like Ramsey Tucker was not above kidnapping her to implement his scheme to get to Charity.

Cautiously, she tried to wiggle her fingers. Ropes held her wrists fast. The same with her ankles. When they'd secured her, they'd apparently looped the rope under the horse's belly because when she tugged the bindings on her wrists, the pressure on her legs increased.

Her mind whirling, Faith tried to reason through the panic that was eating away her ability to think logically. The voices of her captors were all too familiar, yet perhaps that could work to her advantage. From what little she'd heard, it sounded like Ab was the least committed to her demise. Perhaps, if she prayed hard enough, G.o.d would make Ab speak up and give her a chance to plead for her life before it was too late.

She held her breath. Dear Lord! Dear Lord! They were stopping! Tied facedown she couldn't see much, but it was evident the men were dismounting. In seconds she was loosened, pulled from the saddle and released to fall painfully onto the soggy ground. That was the last straw. Unable to keep quiet any longer, she cried out in agony. They were stopping! Tied facedown she couldn't see much, but it was evident the men were dismounting. In seconds she was loosened, pulled from the saddle and released to fall painfully onto the soggy ground. That was the last straw. Unable to keep quiet any longer, she cried out in agony.

"She's awake!" Stuart shouted. "Get your gun on her."

"What gun?" Ab started to laugh like he was crazy in the head. "In case you ain't noticed, there's no room for a holster or a pistol in these danged costumes."

"Then hit her over the head with a rock."

"You hit her," Ab argued. "You're the one who likes that kind of thing."

"I never said that."

"Then why wouldn't you help me save Miss Irene?"

"'Cause Tucker'd a killed me if she'd a got away, that's why."

Ab continued to cackle as if he'd taken leave of his senses. "Then you'd best get ready to meet your maker 'cause that little gal is alive and well."

Stuart shouted a string of curses.

Lying in the mud at his feet, Faith began to give thanks for what she'd just learned. Now, if she could only escape, she could take word to her friend Hawk that his future bride was all right.

It was also a relief to hear that the men were unarmed, since the Colt was still snug in its military holster beneath her black slicker. The trick would be reaching it and using it to defend herself before her kidnappers figured out she had a gun.

She snaked her right arm inside the oilcloth while she tried hard to keep the rest of her body from moving. The dark, rainy night helped mask her cautious movements.

Arguing loudly, her attackers moved off a bit, thereby giving Faith the opportunity she needed. Her cold fingers touched the leather flap over the top of the holster and lifted it out of the way. Under the cover of the slicker she eased the heavy pistol from its sheath and raised it to point toward the two men in case they noticed she was fully awake and getting to her feet.

She need not have worried. Neither man was the least bit interested in her at the moment. Stuart was pushing at his smaller companion's shoulders over and over. Ab was fighting back with angry words.

"I don't care what you say. I done the right thing and I'm not sorry."

"You will be when the cap'n hears."

"Go ahead. Tell him. I ain't goin' back there, anyhows."

"Oh, yes you are."

"No I'm not."

Ruing the added weight of her wet, muddy skirt and petticoat, Faith edged herself partially behind the weary horse she'd been tied to, then pulled the black slicker off the pistol barrel. Having the gun would do no good unless she took careful aim before ordering the drovers to surrender.

Gathering her courage, she shouted, "All right. Hands up, both of you!" How weak and puny her voice sounded in the vastness of the open prairie!

Ab lifted his hands over his head with a wild laugh. "Ha-ha. I see somebody somebody remembered to bring a gun!" remembered to bring a gun!"

"Shut up, old man," Stuart ordered. He began edging away from his companion, making a split in Faith's target.

Not sure which man to continue to point the gun at, she wavered, her eyes blinking fast against the falling rain.

Lightning flashed. For a moment she was blinded. Something told her Stuart was lunging for her, but not wanting to shoot without being certain, she held her fire.

He hit her low, like a cowhand bringing down a steer from the back of a running horse. The blow made her squeeze off one wild shot.

In an instant he'd wrestled her to the ground and torn the pistol from her grasp. The next lightning flash showed him standing over her, the menacing-looking Colt pointed right at her head.

"Nice of you to bring your own gun, Miss Faith. It makes my job much easier."

"I was always good to you." She hugged herself to ease the pain in her side. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Stuart c.o.c.ked the hammer of the pistol to bring another loaded cylinder into play. "Don't want to," he said. "It's just the way things worked out. No hard feelin's."

His uncaring att.i.tude made Faith boiling mad. He might actually kill her, but she wasn't going to Glory without giving him a piece of her mind no matter how much it hurt to breathe and talk.

"No hard feelings?" she spit out. "You bet there are, mister. I'm going to be mad as a hornet at you if you pull that trigger. Maybe I'll even come back to haunt you. Do you believe in ghosts?"

Ab appeared at Stuart's elbow. "You'd better listen to her. There's talk on the train she's got special powers. Just might be able to do as she says."

"I didn't hear no such talk."

"Well, there was." The thin man raised his trembling right hand. "I swear."

"Bah. Get away from me, you old fool. I got work to do." With that, he raised the pistol higher and took aim.

Connell hadn't been more than a quarter of a mile behind the riders when they and their burden had stopped. He thanked the Good Lord over and over when he recognized Faith's discarded bonnet and realized exactly who he'd been following and what was apparently going on.

He'd dismounted to approach on foot when he heard her shout "Hands up!"

A single gunshot cracked amid the thunder.

Faith cried out.

The sound tied Connell's gut in knots.

It was clear that at least one of the men had doubted she'd really shoot to kill, because Connell had seen a dark, crouching figure run at her and knock her to the ground.

When the man scrambled to his feet, Connell glimpsed the reflection of a shiny object in his hand. Faith's pistol! His heart sank. He'd left Rojo behind in a ravine so he could sneak up on the abductors more easily and his Hawken was still in its scabbard. That left only his .44, a much less accurate weapon than the rifle, even under the best of conditions. Which these were not.

It was dark except for the scattered cl.u.s.ters of lightning flashes. Rain was falling in bursts, as if someone were emptying buckets on him from above.

Connell knew if he chanced a shot and missed, the man with the gun would fire, likely hitting Faith. Yet if he waited until he was within better range, it might be too late. Unless...

Using a trick he'd learned from Little Rabbit Woman's people, he pulled his hunting knife and began to slice off thick bunches of grama gra.s.s. The idea was to make his swiftly moving shadow resemble a large, dangerous animal like a mad buffalo.

It would have been much better to use a real animal's hide but he'd left that behind, as well, so a subst.i.tute would have to do. The ploy didn't have to fool anyone for long. It was meant only as a delaying tactic and a way to get closer to Faith and the men.

Growling, snorting and making as much animal noise as he could, Connell started off at a dead run toward the three people. He was counting on surprise to keep them from firing at him. He was wrong.

Wheeling, Stuart squeezed off a shot. The bullet whizzed through the grama gra.s.s bundles. Connell dropped them, hit the ground, rolled away in the darkness and sprang to his feet with the speed and agility of a p.r.o.nghorn antelope.

Plunging headlong into the danger ahead, he raced over the wet ground as if he knew every inch of it and with no thought of personal risk. This was the way the Native People felt about the land, about nature, he realized. It had been literally years since he'd sensed such a oneness with a Greater Power and it made him feel almost invincible.

There was no time to pause and draw his .44. Stuart was turning back to Faith and bringing the gun to bear.

With a soul-deep roar of rage, Connell lived up to his nickname and launched himself into the air with a mighty leap, his arms reaching like a hawk's talons for its prey.

Stuart's scream was cut off by the attack almost before it began. He fell beneath Connell. The Colt flew from his hand to disappear in the mire.

A soggy, muddy mess in spite of the heavy slicker, Faith scrambled to her feet and pushed her limp hair out of her eyes with her hands. The furor died down in mere moments. "I can't believe you found me out here in the middle of nowhere. How did you do it?" she asked, sounding amazed.

Connell shook his head. "It was just a feeling I had. I guess you could say the Good Lord sent me."

"I don't doubt that. I've been asking Jesus to send help ever since these two grabbed me."

"Well, I guess He heard you because here I am." Connell got to his feet and gazed down at the muddy, disheveled woman. "Are you all right?"

"I think so." She managed a smile. "Stuart, I see. What happened to Ab?"

"I'm right here," the weasely man squeaked. His hands were raised high over his head and he was trembling visibly as he edged closer. "D-don't shoot."

It was a natural reflex for Connell to reach for his pistol anyway. Faith stayed his hand. "No. Don't. He tried to help me. Even made up a story that he'd heard I had supernatural powers." She brightened. "And he says he helped your Irene, too."

"What?"

Grabbing him by the upper arms, Connell lifted Ab overhead, gave him a mighty shake and held him there while rain cascaded off him like the headwaters of the Mississippi.

"I did. I helped her," the little man sputtered.

Connell wasn't convinced. "Prove it."

"She's...she's with the Arapaho. I took her there myself, I swear."

"When?"

"Last year, when the wagons came through these here parts. Tucker married up with her, like usual, then told me and Stuart to get rid of her." Ab's thin voice broke. "Only I couldn't do it. She reminded me of my ma."

It wasn't exactly the same story Connell had heard from the Indian hunters, but it was close enough to reaffirm the good news that Irene had survived Tucker's planned destruction.

Angry, Connell thrust Ab aside. "I doubt you had a mother! How could you be a party to such cruelty?"

"It was me or them!"

"All right, all right. Shut up. I believe you," Connell replied. "At first light, you'll take me to Irene. Understand?"

"I...I can try. The camps move around, ya know. Follow the buffalo. Might not be there no more."

"Then we'll keep looking till we locate the right band."