When the outlaw she had befriended made her watch while they killed her father, Carmen had broken down and finally realized the mistake she had made.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Carmen asked aloud.
“No, Carmen, I don’t hate you. Really, I don’t. I feel sorry for you, but I don’t hate you.”
“Then why did you stop talking to me? We were best friends.”
“Carmen, I still talk to you. I’m doing it now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but you act like I am a ghost or something; like I’m not even here most times. I only did what I had to and you can’t understand that I was scared. I...”
“Scared?” Patti interrupted. “You led those butchers to my home. You gave yourself to those pigs to save your own life, Carmen. It was your choice. You weren’t thinking of anybody but yourself when you told them what they needed to know and now your father and mother, my father and probably my brother are dead because of it. God, Carmen, do you really think anything can be the same with us now?” She was almost shouting.
Patti turned her face to the wall. Her hands and feet were bound to the small bed. She had been tied there after she fought savagely against the last man who had taken his ‘turn’ with her. She knew it was just a matter of time before one or another would come and satisfy his lust.
Carmen rose from the chair she was in and walked over to Patti. She leaned down and untied the ropes binding the wrists of her childhood friend and then moved her attention to the ones at Patti’s feet.
“There, Patti, see I do really care. Go on. I went to the bunk house. Gunner and the rest are passed out over there. You can be miles away before they sober up. You have until at least tomorrow morning.” Carmen turned and went back to her chair.
Patti sat on the edge of the small bed, staring at Carmen in disbelief. Taking her light shift from the floor where Gunner Farren had thrown it, she pulled it over her head. Without a word she went to the window and looked around. She saw only the one they called Lefty huddled in a blanket and clearly sleeping while on guard by the fire. Turning and looking back, she motioned for Carmen to come with her. Seeing that Carmen had no intention of leaving, Patti shrugged, opened and stepped through the door, silently making her way to the side of the cabin and into the woods beyond.
Barefoot, with only the light cotton shift she was wearing, Patti made her way to the spring that supplied the men with water. Stepping into the icy, cold mountain water, she turned and went downstream. With luck she would find a place to get out of the water that wouldn’t leave a trail for the men to follow. That is, if she didn’t get frostbite first.
* * * *
Two days on the nearly cold trail; Shannon crossed an odd track in the mud by a stream. The water flowed out of a canyon that led to an abandoned trapper’s cabin. The odd part was that its maker had been barefoot. From the size of the footprint, the person could only be a very small woman or a young girl, and it was fresh, not more than an hour old.
Following the tracks and the stream, she found another footprint in the mud, but this one belonged to a booted man. It was clear the woman/girl was being followed. She dismounted and drew her pistol before following the mingled tracks along a clear game trail.
Sounds of a struggle reached her a few yards downstream. Silently, she tied her stallion to a sapling and stealthily moved forward, using the low brush and trees as cover. Tall mountain pines screened a clearing. Instinctively, she knew what the screams and struggling sounds ahead meant.
Looking over tangled brush, she saw a man pinning a bound girl with his knee and forcing his attentions on her. Shannon was suddenly filled with rage; she let out an animal scream. The man spun at the sound with his knife drawn. Drawing his baggy pants from around his ankles, he began to stalk toward the brush where she hid.
She was consumed with anger and fury when, seconds later, she burst from cover and fired, hitting him in the upper chest. The sound of the impacting bullet was the most satisfying sound she could have ever wanted. Her second shot hit him low and he went down, clutching his groin, wailing like a terrified woman.
On his knees, clutching his wounded manhood, he looked up at her through pain-filled eyes. She picked up the knife that dropped from his weakened grip and looked him in the eye as she pulled the blade across his neck, cutting off his air supply and severing the carotid arteries. Turning, her eyes filled with blood lust and hate, she moved toward the girl, still holding the knife.
“Shannon? Shannon, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Patti Baker. Shannon, don’t you know me? Oh God, please don’t hurt me, Shannon,” Patti pleaded.
Shannon Hill was, at that moment, the image of death. Hate in her eyes, the dead man’s blood covering her clothes, face and hands; she slowly began to come back to herself as the bound girl repeated her name over and over.
She approached the girl, then turned away, dropped to her knees, and vomited. Wave after wave of bile spewed from her as if it were the very evil she had just killed. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she rose and returned to Patti and cut her bonds. Still filled with adrenalin and no way to release it, she began to shake uncontrollably.
“It’s all right now, Shannon. You sure killed that bastard. You saved my life. Shannon, please say you are all right. All that blood, are you hurt?” Patti asked, growing concerned.
“I’m fine, Patti. Did anyone else escape besides you?”
“Nobody escaped. Miss Maryanne, Carmen and me were taken away after everyone was killed. Those men took anything they could use and burned everything else. They hurt Miss Maryanne terribly and just left her on the trail to die. They killed my father, Shannon. They made me watch. They hung him from the hay beam on the barn. They are planning to go back and keep the valley for themselves, Shannon. Where will we go?”
Patti began to cry. Tears flowed down her dirty cheek and dripped onto her breasts. She realized she was naked and scrambled to the fallen tree where her now dead captor tied her and covered her nudity with the dress the man had torn from her body. More tears came as she tried to reassemble the light garment.
“Come on, Patti. It’s time to go get Carmen. I have extra clothes in my saddlebags. Move, girl, we haven’t got all day to cry over what can’t be changed,” Shannon ordered.
“Shannon? Do you know if Caleb is all right?”
“Caleb is dead, Patti. I held him in my arms as he died. He called me an ‘Avenging Angel’. As God is my witness that is all I will ever be again. Do you understand?” Anger tempered the words she spoke.
“Cal is dead? I knew it deep down that he was. I told Carmen he probably was. You don’t know how it is, Shannon. Carmen joined them. She led them to each homestead in the valley. When we get to her, I will surely kill her and any of those sons of bitches I can.”
“All right, Patti. We will leave Carmen for now. It’s probably best that I take you back to my place and tell Mama and the others the plan you told me about. There is a Texas Ranger with them. Hurry now, we need to get away from here and take care of your hurts. Okay?”
* * * *
Riding double on the large, muscular black stallion through mountain passes and game trails fit only for goats on the circuitous route back to the Hill farm left the animal lathered and showing signs of strain as Shannon pushed him as far as his endurance would go. In her mind, and rightly so, she needed to place miles of timber between them and the outlaw gang, before setting out once again on her self proclaimed mission of death.
They rode hard throughout the day before reaching Still Lake; only then did Shannon relax. Dismounting and leading the stallion, she made her way to a secluded copse of trees. Hidden within was a small hunter’s cabin. She used it only when hunting, fishing or for no other reason than to be alone. It was her sanctuary, her place of renewal as she grew into womanhood. Nobody, now alive, knew it existed.
&n
bsp; Beside the cabin, a stream ran with clear, pure water. The trees around the shelter held the worst of the winter snow at bay, along with the mountain winds that came with winter blizzards. The winds, no matter the season, always came from the same direction. Blowing off the mountain, it swept smoke from the modest fires the cabin needed out onto the lake to be dissipated.
Built years before, it had only rudimentary furnishings and a dirt floor. Water was carried from the stream. It held a cast iron, wood burning stove for cooking and heat. Fuel, in the form of split wood, was stacked behind the cabin.
Windows and doors were shuttered and barred against animals, both two-legged and four. The anonymous builder maintained the thought that self-protection might be needed at some point in time, for the shutters all had crossed firing slots. Once barred from the inside, the cabin’s occupant controlled a field of fire near to being in the open on all sides of the log structure.
If an attacker managed to reach one of the windows, their field of fire into the dim interior of the structure was limited to only a few feet in two directions, making it possible for the defender to wait until a shot was made and simply return fire from any angle inside the room.
“Get down, Patti, and wait over by the stream,” Shannon said. “I’ll check things out.”
She tied the stallion to one of the posts holding up an attached porch and walked a complete circuit around the building. Satisfied that it hadn’t been disturbed in the months since her last visit, she removed a key from around her neck and unlocked a well-oiled padlock, securing the only door into the cabin. Swinging it aside, she entered.
Motioning Patti to join her inside, Shannon went about lighting beeswax candles and laying a fire in the iron stove. Staple provisions of salt, jerked meat, rough ground wheat flour, and rendered lard were stored in a suspended strongbox, making it unattainable to even the smartest rodent. All of the dishes, pots, and utensils were gleaned by the unknown builder from items cast away to lighten loads for passage through mountain passes too steep or rough for a normal team. These remnants were the only indication that others had journeyed nearby.
“Shannon?”
“What is it Patti?” Shannon turned to the girl.
“You got an outhouse close by? We only stopped the one time and I have need, really I do.”
“Oh damn. God, I’m sorry, Patti. Yeah, but you had better use the chamber pot over there in the corner until I check out the damn thing. It’s up the hill a ways and there’s no telling what may have made it a home over the winter.” She pointed to a covered porcelain pot.
* * * *
With Patti fed and sleeping for the night in the single, small bed the cabin boasted, Shannon surveyed her options. She found that she had few, if any. Alone, she could track down and pick off the outlaws one by one. As it stood now she hadn’t the means to face the entire group. If they were as good at surviving as they seemed, they would have no problem finding her trail and eventually the cabin.
Traders Cut was only twenty or so miles north and she could get help there. The farm was closer by a few miles, straight down the valley past Still Lake; yet another day of travel if she decided to go there. In her headstrong flight from her home, she’d left her mother in the care of Tucker Prophet and the others. She trusted him to see that her mother would be taken care of. Her problem now was Patti. What was she to do with the girl? She had no desire to take responsibility for anyone but herself.
Thoughts of the tall, good-looking Tucker Prophet triggered a surprising response in her. Clearly he was much older, but she was attracted to him in a way she had never been with anyone else. His was a quiet and gentle manner. He was attractive, and if her appraisal was right, well built. He emanated strength and confidence.
Her hand stopped tracing the growth rings of the tabletop suddenly. It shocked, yet exhilarated her to be thinking the way she was. Her body began to tremble and her imagination ran wild, concocting images of herself with Tucker Prophet. One such had him naked to the waist, splitting wood. His muscles rippling as the axe connected with wood, tensing again as he drew back for another blow.
With eyes closed, breathing soft and relaxed, she drifted among the dreams her mind and heart concocted for her.
Her arms were locked around his muscular waist as her head rested upon his chest. Soft, down-like chest hair tickled her face as contentment flowed through her. Together they lay silently as soft, warm sunbeams dappled their skin. Warm breezes caused chill bumps as they disturbed tiny hairs upon her nude body, her hands exploring his…
With a start, Shannon awakened suddenly and looked around the darkened cabin. She was trembling in the afterglow of the intensely erotic dream. It was a new experience. So new that it embarrassed and disturbed her. It left her thoughts confused.
“Damn!”
* * * *
Miles away, fading starlight was replaced by the light of false dawn that softly illuminated the barren fields around the Hill farm. Tucker watched the surrounding area closely on his turn at guard. Only half his attention was on the quiet valley. His thoughts were, and had been since she’d ridden into the mountains, on young Shannon Hill. These were confusing, though pleasing thoughts which invaded his awareness every moment of each and every day.
Leaning against a fence post that connected corral to barn, he could see her in his mind. Her smile softening the anger she held within, her long, blonde hair flowing in a gentle breeze as she came near him. He looked up at the lightening sky, wondering where she was. He turned and let out a breath that became a sigh. At this point in his life, she had entered and now he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts.
Movement to his left brought his attention back to duty. In the field, a shadow moved. He watched as the movement became a horse and rider approaching steadily, but slowly, through the morning mist. He tensed and cocked the hammer on his rifle. He waited and watched. The wait was short.
The clop, clop sound of a walking horse, muffled by the soft earth of the recently cleared east field, drew closer and closer. In the soft morning light, a rider dressed in buckskin appeared. His rifle bore eagle feathers and he rode bareback on a paint mountain pony. Ute!
“Hold it right there, injun.” Tucker stepped into the light, his rifle ready. “What’s your business here?”
“Trade. Shadow Fox comes to trade.”
“Does Shadow Fox have others hiding out there in the trees?”
“Yes. Others wait.”
Keeping his rifle up and ready, Tucker glanced nervously beyond the young brave. He could see nothing that would present a threat. The door to the cabin opened and Wheeler stepped out to join him.
“Step on down, Shadow Fox.”
The Indian brave didn’t move. “Where is John Hill? Shadow Fox would trade with him.”
“John is dead, Shadow Fox,” Maryanne said as she walked out to the mounted brave. “Tucker, please lower your gun. Shadow Fox and his people are our friends.”
* * * *
Gunner Farren turned and slammed his fist into the table, causing it to jump clear of the plank floor. Unsatisfied, he kicked it over, splintering the rough wood. Gathering momentum in his anger, he lifted a chair and it joined the shattered table. His temper cooled with each act of destruction. Glaring around the room, his eyes fell upon the pot of steaming stew hanging over the open fire. He moved toward it, a vicious smile on his face.
“Don’t you dare!” Carmen shouted.
“Don’t mess with me, bitch. Or maybe I’ll give you another lesson on the way a proper woman acts.”
“Go ahead, beat me again. I can’t stop you. Look around though, Gunner. I’m the only woman you got in this camp full of inbred idiots. So you do what you want. Just leave the stew be. I’m hungry, you’re hungry, and unless you want more of that half-cured jerky Lefty makes and nobody in your bed while I heal
up, back off.”
“You gettin’ a big mouth on you gal, but you right. Get that stew ready, I’ll be back shortly.”
Gunner flung open the door to the cabin and walked out onto the porch. Ed Thornton was leading a mule into camp with Blue’s body. He walked out to meet the grisly delivery. Lifting the head up to confirm what he’d already been told, he saw the throat of his cousin had been cut almost to the point of decapitation.
“God damn injuns! Ain’t got no respect for the dead.” He let the head fall back against the mule.
“Warn’t no Indian done that, Gunner,” Thornton told his leader. “Boot tracks all over the damn place. One Ball went out trackin’ ‘em. Appears Blue caught up to that runaway gal and just walked right into a trap. Whoever it was shot him high and shot him low, then cut his damn throat. Hell of a way to die.”
“Dead is dead; get him buried. We’ll do for the one that killed Blue after we set up on that farm at the head of the valley. Y’all get ready to ride,” he ordered. “We gonna own this here valley.” Gunner turned and went back to the cabin.
“If that trader was right, it’ll be only a matter of time before me and the boys find that gold them farmers been stashin’. Then I’ll be set for life. Too bad about the boys, though. Accidents happen!” He thought to himself.
Ed Thornton looked toward the cabin. He wondered why his friend and leader would be laughing in a time of mourning.
* * * *
Picking his way through the tangled forest, One Ball Brown spotted a light-colored thread hanging from the thorn of a bramble bush. He dismounted and led his horse to the item. Lifting it gently, he scanned the surrounding ground for tracks. There were none. A slightly mounded hump of loose dirt and pine needles caught his eye. It didn’t fit with the ground nearby.
He scraped the loose soil and sniffed it. He smiled. “I’m still the best tracker around. They stopped here for sure. Wiped away the tracks but ain’t no way they could hide the place they peed.”
Chuckling to himself, he mounted and heeled his horse into a walk and rode slowly. Farther down the ridge line, near the base, he found a game trail that had seen traffic recently. It was a clear trail with the tracks of a shod horse, no more than a couple of days old. The shoe print was the same as ones he’d found near the body of his one-time friend.
Prophet's Rest Page 4