Wilderness Double Edition 13

by David Robbins

  “When you have kids of your own, then you can criticize,” Mabel said indignantly. “I’ve done the best I could with the talents I was given. Maybe by your highfalutin standards that’s not good enough. But none of my boys are drunkards. Or wastin’ away in prison. They’ve done me proud.”

  Felicity couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The woman had raised a pack of cold-blooded murderers, yet had the gall to brag because none of them were behind bars? “By their fruits ye shall know them.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Cole demanded.

  Mabel snorted. “She’s sayin’ we’re swine, son. She thinks we’re so ignorant, we ain’t ever read Scripture. Frankly, boy, I’m commencin’ to think she’s more bother than she’s worth. She’ll make you a miserable wife. Always gripin’ and lookin’ down that little nose of hers at us.”

  “Not if I slap her around, she won’t.” Cole appeared ready to do it then and there.

  “Go on in,” Mabel said. “Me and her need to have a woman-to-woman chat.”

  “About what?” Felicity inquired when the lecher was gone.

  “About you, missy. About your attitude. Did you think I wouldn’t notice how you’ve been actin’ all day? I’ve met your kind before. You believe you’re too good for everyone else. That the Almighty made you perfect and the rest of us ain’t but miserable sinners.” She raised a hand when Felicity tried to respond. “I ain’t done. Cole has his sights set on you, and I ain’t about to deny him. He’s the oldest, my first, and they’re always special. But were it up to me, I’d have you gutted and tossed into the same hole as your man.”

  “I wish you would kill me too,” Felicity said, and she meant it. She would rather die than go on living without Simon.

  “Weren’t you listenin’? You’re going to be Cole’s wife whether you like the notion or not. So we need to talk about whether we do this the easy way or the hard.”

  “There is an easy way?” Felicity quipped. In her opinion, nothing could make so hideous an outcome bearable.

  “That’s up to you. You can raise a stink. You can bitch and moan. You can treat my Cole like dirt and lay there like a lump when he’s feelin’ frisky. But then all you’ll get is grief and more grief. I can be mean when I want to.”

  What do you call how you have been? Felicity inwardly shouted. Rather than provoke another cuffing, she asked, “What’s your point?”

  “I want you to treat Cole decent. I want you to be the best wife you can be.”

  Felicity could only stare.

  “A favor for a favor, missy. I did you one by lettin’ you go to your hubby. Now you can do me one by makin’ Cole happy.”

  “Never.”

  “It might be in your best interest to reconsider. Whether a person is fed to the gators one piece at a time or tossed in whole don’t make much of a difference except to the person the gators eat.”

  Felicity wasn’t quite sure she understood, and said so. “Let me make it plain, then. Your man can die quick or he can die slow. Quick, we put a bullet in his head and there’s little pain. Slow, I have one of my menfolk whittle on him like he’s a piece of wood. We’d start by chopping off his fingers and toes. Then we’d chop off other parts, if’n you get my drift.”

  “Surely you wouldn’t!”

  “Please, dearie. You must know me better than that by now. I’m a woman of my word. Either you agree to do as I want or your husband will die a death I wouldn’t wish on an Injun. You’ll hear his screams the rest of your days. And you’ll never shake the memory of how he looks with stumps for arms and no manhood to speak of.”

  Total, utter loathing filled Felicity. “You’d make me watch?”

  “To punish you. It’s what you deserve if you turn me down.” Mabel’s features grew as rigid as marble. “So what will it be? Will you take up with Cole without any fuss? Or will you be pigheaded and make your husband suffer?”

  It was no choice at all. Felicity bowed her head again, this time in real grief. She would rather be tom limb from limb by ravening beasts than let Cole Coyfield put his foul hands on her. But she would do anything to spare Simon more misery. Even if that meant the unthinkable.

  “I want your decision,” Mabel pressed her.

  “If I agree, will you let me see Simon one more time?”

  Mabel knew she had won. Smiling in triumph, she placed a hand on one of her pistols. “Hell, we’ll go visit him right this second if it will make you feel better. Then I’ll spring the good news on Cole.”

  Felicity glumly dogged the heavyset woman’s heels. She thought of grabbing a rock, of doing as she had planned to do with Mary Beth. But Mabel was five times her size and as strong as a man. Trying to bring her down would be like trying to bring down a tough old boar. Lost in sorrow, Felicity didn’t realize Mabel had stopped until she bumped into Mabel’s back.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Felicity stepped to the left so she could see her husband.

  In a heartbeat she was hurled from the depths of despair to the heights of joy. Elation coursed through her, and she wanted to shout for joy.

  Simon was gone!

  Eight

  It was the idea of his wife about to do something that could get her killed that spurred Simon Ward into escaping. He had been trying for hours without success. On seeing how distraught she had become, he realized he must break free quickly, before she brought the Coyfields’ wrath down on her head.

  So, clenching his teeth against the agony, Simon twisted and turned his forearms without letup. Soon both were slick with blood, but he didn’t stop. The blood helped. It made his wrists slippery enough that with a lot of effort and a dollop of luck, he might finally be able to slide his hands from the loops.

  Simon heard the Coyfields talking in front of the cabin. The comment about killing Nate King filled him with horror, lending added incentive. He couldn’t let anything happen to the Kings. They were wonderful, sweet people. The salt of the earth. Even moody Zach had proven himself a friend. So now, in addition to saving his wife, Simon must somehow save his neighbors.

  Thudding hoofs galvanized Simon into throwing his whole body into the attempt. The strain on his shoulders and hips was incredible. But he went on thrashing and churning until the pain threatened to make him black out. Sagging, exhausted, caked with sweat, he resisted a flood tide of bitter disappointment. It was hopeless. He couldn’t get loose even though his life depended on it!

  Angry at his failure, Simon jerked on his right arm in frustration. Suddenly, right in front of his eyes, was his hand. The wrist had been tom raw, the flesh was seared deep. Blood caked the sleeve. But he was free! Swiftly, Simon turned his full attention to his left wrist. Prying at the knots, he soon loosened them enough to free his other arm.

  Simon made short shrift of the loops binding his ankles. No one had appeared. He thought of rushing to his wife’s side, but he’d heard Cole’s voice a short while before. Unarmed, Simon would be no match for the hulking bruiser.

  Reluctantly, Simon dashed into the high grass and circled around behind the cabin. When he was abreast of the corral, he halted. He had a decision to make. Should he stay and help Felicity? Or should he steal a mount and fly to Nate’s for help? Such a heartrending choice! It would take all day and most of the night to reach the King cabin. By then, who knew what the Coyfields would do to Felicity?

  The matter was taken out of Simon’s hands by a throaty bellow to the south.

  “Jacob! Samuel! Get everyone out here! He’s gone! The damned Yankee has busted loose!”

  Simon couldn’t hope to open the gate, throw a bridle on a horse, and ride off before the Coyfields spotted him. So he spun and ran, staying bent low. He had to find somewhere to hide, somewhere to lie low until nightfall. Since he knew the valley better than his enemies, he stood a good chance of eluding them.

  On second thought, Simon had doubts. They were hill folk. Which meant they were probably skilled hunters, skilled trackers. Like a pack of bloodho
unds, they would trail him to the ends of the earth.

  There was one small consolation. With the two youngest, Jess and Bo, gone, his prospects were slightly better. Now there were only four men and three women left. Only! Seven against one were hardly fair odds. Seven against two, he corrected himself. He mustn’t forget Felicity.

  Simon was fifty yards from the cabin when Jacob’s voice thundered.

  “Spread out! Find his tracks! I want him alive! Wound him if need be! But I want the son of a bitch!”

  With wings on his feet, Simon angled to the southeast, toward the nearest woodland. His wrists were aflame and his shoulders throbbed, but he shut the distress from his mind. He covered another twenty yards. Then Cole Coyfield gave a whoop.

  “Here, Pa! Over here are his tracks! He’s makin’ off through the grass!”

  Simon straightened and ran. He had hardly taken two steps before a rifle cracked and a slug nearly took off his right ear.

  “No shootin’, Tinder, you cussed idiot!” Jacob bawled. “We want him breathin’ yet, remember?”

  It made no sense to Simon. They wanted him alive just so they could murder him later? He sprinted on, running as he had never run before, the grass swishing against his legs. A glance showed that Cole, Tinder, and – of all people – Mary Beth had given chase. Tinder was far back, but Mary Beth and Cole were coming on fast, with Cole slightly in the lead.

  Simon spied Felicity by the cabin, ringed by Jacob, Mabel, and Samuel. He smiled to encourage her but couldn’t tell if she noticed or responded. Of Cindy Lou there was no trace.

  Legs pumping, Simon concentrated on the tree line. The undergrowth would be his salvation. It would slow him down, but it would also slow down the Coyfields. And if he remembered what Nate King had taught him, if he stuck to the hardest ground and was careful about leaving tracks, he could elude them. That was his plan, anyway.

  The nicker of a horse alerted him to a potential hitch. The reason Simon had not spotted Cindy Lou was that she had been at the corral, saddling a pair of mounts. Now, astride one and leading the other, she galloped after her kin.

  The distance between Simon and the trees was less than that between him and Cindy Lou. But a horse could cover ground five times as swiftly as a man. She might overtake him before he reached cover.

  “Go, gal! Go!” Mabel hollered.

  Felicity Ward had her hands pressed to her throat. In wide-eyed fear, she watched her beloved’s race for life and wished she were at his side. Barring that, she wished she might lend him speed and stamina.

  Cindy Lou had passed Tinder and almost caught up with Mary Beth, who was amazingly fleet of foot. Mary Beth slowed, holding out a hand for the reins of the spare horse. But Cindy Lou sped past her, onward a dozen feet to Cole.

  “Brother! Here!”

  Cole Coyfield took one look, pivoted in midstride, and was ready when the spare mount came even with him. Snagging the saddle, he swung up, seized the reins, and smacked his legs against the gelding’s sides. Cindy Lou had shot on by, but he swiftly caught up. They were now less than thirty yards behind Simon.

  Forgetting herself, Felicity shouted, “Run, Simon! In heaven’s name, run!”

  Mabel whipped around and backhanded Felicity across the mouth. “Hush, damn you! You’d best hope we catch that man of yours quick. The harder he makes it on us, the harder we’ll make it on him.”

  Holding her bloody mouth, Felicity felt intense fury roil in her like boiling lava in a volcano. She wanted to strike out, to hit Mabel in the face again and again, to go on hitting until Mabel was unconscious, or dead. Felicity didn’t care which. She wanted the mother and all the Coyfields dead. Dead, dead, dead! And she didn’t feel the least bit guilty. Felicity had never thought she would want to slay anyone, but if there was ever anyone who deserved to be slain, it was the Coyfields.

  Samuel was yelling for his boy Tinder to run faster, to catch up with the others. In his excitement he failed to realize one of his pistols was within easy reach.

  Felicity glanced at Jacob and Mabel. The former was glued to the chase. The latter was urging Cole and Cindy Lou to ride like the wind. Lunging, Felicity grabbed the butt of Samuel’s flintlock. She had it out and was cocking it when Samuel spun toward her. “Don’t move! None of you!” Felicity backpedaled, swinging the muzzle from one Coyfield to the other.

  Jacob sneered, then growled at his brother, “What do you use for brains? Mush? How could you let her make a jackass of you?”

  Mabel wasn’t the least bit worried. “It’s your gun, Sam. Take it from her.”

  Felicity was trying to keep an eye on them and one on Simon. He was close to cover, but Cole and Cindy Lou were close to him. “I want all of you to drop your weapons, or else.”

  “Or else what, dearie?” Mabel retorted. “You can only shoot one of us. And as soon as you do, the other two of us will beat you into the ground.”

  “Which one of you is eager to die, then?” Felicity challenged, aiming at Mabel. “How about you, you despicable woman? Or maybe your pig of a husband?” Felicity pointed the pistol at Jacob.

  “I don’t take kindly to being called names,” Jacob said.

  “Who cares?” Felicity practically screeched. She was so agitated, her whole body shook. With every fiber of her being she wanted to squeeze that trigger.

  Mabel’s fleshy chin lifted in an oily smile. “Calm down, Yank. You’re liable to have a conniption.” She took a half step. “Maybe I was a mite hasty. Put down that gun and I give you my word that we’ll go easy on you.”

  “You lying witch! I wouldn’t believe you if you swore on a stack of Bibles. You’re scum, the whole bunch of you!” Again Felicity checked on her husband. Simon was almost to the forest. But Cole had raised his rifle and was taking deliberate aim. “Simon!” she shouted. “Look out!”

  At that very instant, when she was distracted, all three of the Coyfields rushed her. Samuel was nearest. Felicity fired, the flash of the pan followed by the blast of the smoothbore. Samuel wrenched sideways but was still struck. Knocked backward, he staggered. Felicity sought to flee, but Jacob was on her with a quickness his bulk belied. A callused hand seized her right wrist. She punched at his neck, at his chin, but it was like striking a pillow. The rolls and folds of fat absorbed her blows. He barely felt them.

  “Let go!” Felicity said, struggling her utmost. She would have been better off saving her breath, for the next second Mabel drove a fist into her stomach. It was like being kicked by a mule. All the air in Felicity’s lungs whooshed between her parted lips and she doubled over.

  “Yankee bitch!” Mabel raged, raining fists. “You shot my Sam! I’ll bust every bone in your body!”

  Felicity shriveled like a flower under a deluge of hailstones. Tucking her chin to her chest, she tried to ward off the onslaught, but it was impossible. Her head, her shoulders, were brutally boxed and clubbed. She attempted to scramble away, but Jacob held on to her arm. An ear, her cheek, an eyebrow were savagely pummeled. The butt of a pistol slammed into her next. Her head swam and she was on the verge of passing out when a gun cracked in the distance. The beating ceased.

  “Did you see, Ma? He got the varmint!” Jacob exclaimed. “Cole shot the Yankee!”

  An inky veil claimed Felicity.

  Simon Ward was only a few feet from the pines when the rifle discharged. Something seemed to push against his back, low down on the left side. Propelled forward like a child’s doll, he stumbled and would have fallen if not for a small pine he snared and held on to. Lancing pains racked him.

  The jagged exit wound poured blood. Simon clamped a palm over it and ran on. He barreled into the thicket, paying no mind to the many sharp branches that tore at his clothes.

  The drumming of hooves was much too close. Simon flattened and crawled, scuttling like an oversized crab. Slanting to the left, to the north, he snaked among the prickly plants, thankful they pressed in so close above.

  Horses arrived at the undergrowth’s edge. “Wher
e’d he go?” Cole said irritably. “I lost track of him!”

  “He can’t have gotten far,” Cindy Lou responded. “You go right, I’ll go left. As soon as you find his tracks, give a holler.”

  Simon froze. He saw the legs of Cindy’s mount bearing wide to one side. Cole’s horse he could only hear. He braced for an outcry. They were bound to spot him. But Cindy’s animal trotted within seven or eight feet of where he lay and she never said a word. The only explanation he could think of was that she must be scouring the woods up ahead. They must have believed he had gone on through the thicket.

  “I still don’t see him!” Cole complained.

  “Keep looking! He can’t have gotten far!”

  Brush crackled to the passage of their mounts. Simon listened to the noise dwindle. He was set to rise when footsteps pattered. Out of the corner of an eye he caught fleeting sight of Mary Lou. She had a long knife in her right hand. Pausing, she looked right and left, then ran after her cousins.

  After mentally counting to ten, Simon rose onto his hands and knees and heaved out of the thicket. His cheek was cut, his temple gouged. He saw Mary Lou’s retreating figure, grinned, and started to run to the north. Around a tree came Tinder Coyfield. It was difficult to say which of them was more surprised. Tinder snapped up his Kentucky and jerked back the hammer. Simon leaped, but he had two yards to cover and the hammer descended before he could make it. Instead of a flash of flame and smoke, though, there was a dry click. Tinder had neglected to reload after firing earlier.

  Simon reached the burly backwoodsman as Tinder made a play for a pistol. Gripping the Kentucky, Simon ripped it from the southerner’s grasp. As Tinder flourished the pistol, Simon swung the rifle like an ax. It slammed into Tinder’s jaw. Tinder was jarred backward and collided with the trunk of a tree behind him. Simon drew back the rifle a second time. Tinder’s pistol was centering on his chest when the stock connected with the side of Tinder’s head. Samuel’s son collapsed like a house of cards.

  Simon didn’t waste another precious moment. Squatting, he removed Tinder’s ammo pouch and powder horn and slung them across his own chest. Tinder’s pistols went under his belt. In his hurry to get away before one of the others returned, Simon ran off without taking Tinder’s knife. He had no plan, other than to elude the Coyfields. Once he had, he would ponder how to save Felicity.