Felicia Andrews

by Moonwitch

  He shook his head. "Give me a minute," he said. "And something to drink."

  Harley quickly filled him a glass of whisky, glad at last for something to do besides listen.

  A few minutes later, as Fae crept in to stoke up the fire for the evening, he explained that while he was traveling, he had also decided that unless he wanted to be a fugitive for the rest of his life, he was going to have to do something about the accusations against him.

  "So I paid myself a little visit to town, " he said.

  "What?" Amanda jumped to her feet. "You were . . . you were here all this time and you didn't tell us?"

  Doug looked pained, and he groped for the hand she had pulled away. "Amanda, listen. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell anyone. If I'd tried, Eagleton would have found out and I'd be a dead man right now. Instead, " and he smiled, "I dropped in on an old friend of ours. Badeye Jones. "

  "You?" Harley said. "You're the . . . but we thought he'd skipped off. Denver. Wichita. Someplace like that."

  Doug's smile slowly faded. "No," he said. "I came in the back way, made his acquaintance with my gun, and we took a week's ride into the hills. I found a trapper's shack out there, and we had a little talk. "

  The "talk" lasted for days. Jones, despite the fact that he knew what would happen to him if he didn't tell Mitchell the truth, was far more afraid of what Eagleton would do if he ever found out he had worked a betrayal. And eventually it was a betrayal.

  It had been Eagleton who'd murdered Webber, with Diane's help, and Eagleton who had paid Jones over one hundred dollars to stick to the story about Diane and Carla. And during the fuss over Carla's body, it was Bad eye who had pulled the knife from the wall and stuck it under his shirt, then smeared the gash with dirt so it would blend in with the rest of the wood. He had, in fact, been working against the sheriff for some time before the double murder.

  "Double murder?'' Amanda said. "But you can't call shooting anyone in self-defense murder. "

  "That's the trouble, Mandy," he said. "I didn't shoot Carla. I'd missed her. It was Badeye who'd done it. He fired the same time I did, and it was only natural for me to assume it was my bullet that hit her. I didn't know that damned idiot was waiting at the corner already. "

  "Badeye," Harley said suddenly. "Is he still out at the shack?''

  Doug shook his head. "When the storm hit, I figured it was a good time to come in here and get help. I . . . I didn't come before because Badeye . . . " He paused, took a long drink, and savored it before swallowing. "Mr. Jones, " he continued, "needed some persuading. Don't you see, Amanda? I had to have the whole story. He wouldn't have talked no matter what happened if he was here, because he figured Eagleton would come looking for him and get him out safe. I had to hang onto him. " He brushed a hand through his hair wearily, not at all sure now that he had done the right thing.

  "Anyway, we started out as soon as the snow did. The wind turned us around several times, and he was complaining and trying to get away all the time. I had to hit him more than once, and he's a bitch to carry, let me tell you. Finally I had to dump him or I would have froze to death. " His grin was bitter. "Once again the brave Indian--during one of our fights, he managed to get off my coat. It was dark. I couldn't find it."

  "Doug, " said Harley, "is he . . . dead?"

  "Hell, no, " Doug said, his grin this time genuine. "He's out in one of the barns, sleeping with the cows."

  Amanda had only to look and Harley was gone; faster, she thought, than she'd ever seen him move in his life. When she looked back, Doug was flinging aside the bedclothes. She put a hand firmly to his chest, but he would have none of it.

  "No time, squaw," he said. "Hand me my trousers. We've got to get Jones into Nate before Eagleton finds out where he is. I don't think our friend Trevor will want to take all the heat without dragging a few others with him to the fire. "

  "Oh m y God, Doug, " she said, clinging to him tightly. "Is it really over now?"

  "I hope so, Mandy," he whispered into her hair. "I sure as hell hope so."

  The door opened quickly.

  Amanda spun around, her mouth open to demand why Harley had returned so soon.

  It was Abe. His shirt was covered with blood.

  "What?" Doug said when Amanda could not speak. "Come on, Abe! What is it?"

  The fact that she had never seen the farrier flustered before only added to Amanda's horror . . . as he told her that he had gone to the woodbin for fuel for the stove and had found Alex crawling through the snow toward the house. He had been stabbed once in the lower back. But no matter how hard he looked, Abe could not find Bess.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Doug's arms windmilled when she shoved him out of the way, but she was moving too fast to see him collapse onto the bed. Abe, noting the outraged blaze in her eyes, stepped quickly to one side as she bolted over the threshold into the hall. He made to follow, then turned as though he would assist Doug in the rest of his dressing. Mitchell, however, only waved him angrily on, and he lumbered after her into the living room where, after a swift glance around, he saw her disappearing into the corridor toward the kitchen.

  Hell itself, he thought as he chased after her, would be the safest place to be tonight.

  Someone had swept all the plates and utensils off the long kitchen table and had spread a narrow white cloth atop it.

  Alex was lying on his stomach, his arms folded and his cheek resting on his arms. He was awake. He grimaced a smile when his mother exploded into the room, shuddered as a wave of pain washed over him. Fae was holding a lantern near his back; Bert had already cut away the back of the shirt and was packing the wound with damp cloth wrapped around chips of ice.

  Amanda dropped to the floor in front of her son and cupped his cheek in her hand. His skin was pale, his hair plastered to his skull wetly, and if it had not been for the bloodstains on the backs of his hands and on the floor beneath the table, he would have looked more enraged than in pain.

  "Little Cat?" There were no tears. There was only a deep-settling anguish that held the music from her voice.

  "I'll be all right, " he said grimly, gritting his teeth as Bert sprinkled sulfa powder over the wound.

  "Just a scratch, " Bert told her when she IDoked to him.

  "But Abe--"

  "--gets panicky sometimes," the carpenter said. "Knife sliced through some flesh here, but . . . " He peered closer at his packing, blowing away from its bundle the excess medication. "Yeah. Looks okay t'me. Should have Doc look at it, though, soon as he can."

  "I'll send someone in fur him."

  Alex tried to rise up on his elbows, grunted, and fell back.

  "Damn. "

  "Some brandy," she ordered without looking around to see who had joined them. A glass was pressed into her hand, and she held it while Alex drank it in two gulps. He coughed, winced, and closed his eyes tightly for several long seconds ..

  "I thought you said it wasn't bad," she accused Bert.

  "Said it wasn't bad," the carpenter retorted. "Didn't say it wouldn't hurt. "

  "Mother, " said Alex urgently. "Mother, you've got to get Bess.

  She held her breath for a moment to stifle the screams that wanted to break from her throat; then slowly, carefully, aware that time was fleeing, she questioned the young man, discovering that he and his sister had been out past the last barn when the attack had occurred. He had found what he'd thought were cougar tracks leading into the western woodland. Bess had wanted to keep on, but he would not have it. He hadn't brought a weapon with him and, as he'd told her, "we don't have the voice for them the way Mother does." She had pouted, accused him of treating her like a child, and had suddenly run off. Alex had called after her, then lost his temper and told her he would go back to the house and she would have to find her way back-alone, in the dark.

  There was no answer.

  He had actually taken a few running steps toward the house when guilt overtook him. He swerved and made his way through the calf-deep sn
ow until he was in the trees. Here the snow was not nearly as deep and he could walk almost normally, calling for his sister, knowing that she would not go far and knowing too that she was probably getting even with him for being a spoiler.

  Twenty minutes later he found her sitting glumly on an exposed rock, rubbing her ankle and glaring at him as though it were all his fault.

  "I didn't even have time to laugh," he said. "I was going to pick up her. Someone dropped on me. I heard him falling, and I tried to get out of the way. Elizabeth screamed something, I don't know what. I felt a pain, and then I was hit on the back of the neck. I blacked out. When I came to, she . . ." He closed his eyes and buried his face in his folded arms. "She was gone, Mother. "

  "Did you see any of the men?"

  "No. It happened too fast. "

  "They were waiting."

  Amanda glanced sharply over her shoulder; Doug was standing in the doorway strapping on his gunbelt.

  "They had to be, Mandy. They must have been out there every night, all day maybe. Waiting for a chance to grab her. "

  Bert told Alex to arch his back, then proceeded to wrap a bandage around his middle, to hold the patch in place. She tried not to listen to his soft groans as she rose and stared blindly at the faint red eyes of the stove against the wall. Abe shouldered his way inside, buttoning a clean shirt while one arm tried to struggle into his coat.

  "Sam," she told him. "He's out in the stable. Bring him in. Then check the barns. Jake might be there. Send him in for Doc Manley, then go yourself to the range and bring me at least two dozen men. With guns. "

  "Amanda," Doug said, "you've got to be careful."

  She turned slowly on her heel to stare at him; and he could not meet the harsh glare that darkened the sullen green of her eyes.

  "I'm not a fool," she told him, loudly so the others could hear her. "I know what he wants. He's going to use her to make some demands. He won't kill her. And I'm not about to charge in there like an idiot to make sure that he does. " She sucked on her lower lip for a moment, chewed the inside of her cheek. "I want those men here just in case. There's still Hope and little Dawn. I don't want them hurt just because I've been an ass . "

  A thick oaken counter ran the length of the kitchen's right-hand wall, interrupted only by a dry and wet sink, the large black stove, and an icebox where most of the day's meats and vegetables were stored. She walked stiffly to the nearest open counter space, then slammed a fist hard on its knife-pitted surface.

  "Goddamn, how could I have let myself get so lazy!"

  She looked to the ceiling, at the shadows huddled between the heavy beams, then at each of the men, who could only look away as if they shared the blame. Fae said nothing; she only set the lantern on the table and left, her hands buried in the folds of her apron. Amanda knew what she would be doing: within five minutes she would have Grace and Hope in one of the bedrooms, or in her and Abe's small apartment in this wing, and they would be tearing up sheets for bandages. Fae knew better-before this was over, there would be some fierce fighting.

  "What will we do, Mother?" Alex asked from the table.

  "Nothing, " Doug said; then looked quickly at her in apology for speaking out of turn. Amanda only nodded, wearily, sadly-wondering if she had come all this way just to collapse once again. "We can't do anything now," he said to the boy. "Your mother's right, Little Cat. Maitland wants Bess for some demand. We can't go busting in there without putting her in trouble, so we'll just have to wait. "

  "For how long?"

  Amanda's smile was more bravado than courageous. "As long as it takes, Little Cat. As long as it takes. "

  They had moved into the living room. Amanda took Bert to one side as they waited for Harley.

  "There were supposed to be two of our men watching the ranch.

  "Right. Booth and LoBrutto."

  "Were they supposed to come here if they noticed anything?"

  "Straight here, missus. Ride like hell, Alex told 'em."

  "Well, either they missed something then, or else the ones who took Bess were sent from town. "

  "You mean the sheriff?"

  "Who else?"

  "Could be somethin' else, missus."

  "What?"

  "They could have been found out."

  Fae brought in some thick-bread sandwiches and coffee. None of them felt much like eating, but Amanda stood there like a general until the platter was cleaned. Douglas sat in her chair, Alex was lying facedown on the couch, and as she looked from one to the other she was struck by the aura of comfort, of belonging, that clung to them; as though, she thought, they were father and son.

  Shortly past noon Doug remembered his prisoner and asked Sam to fetch him. Half an hour later the trembling, half-frozen black was dragged into the house. Without asking, Sam brought him into the living room where, wrapped tight in warm blankets, he was dumped into the comer by the study door. As Amanda stared at him without blinking, she tried to imagine the absolute hatred, and the consummate greed, that had worked in tangent to weave such terror around her.

  Maitland she could understand; his insanity had been fermenting for over a decade, had actually started when she had refused to have anything to do with him, either as his wife or-after her father was dead-as his business partner.

  But Eagleton, he was of an alien breed entirely. From what she could gather, he would do anything for money, no matter how long it took, as long as the gold was there for the asking.

  Gunfighters were one thing; they were so much a part of the West that few people even thought of them as being different. Men like Trevor, on the other hand, were not even immoral. They seemed not to grasp either right or wrong, they seemed only to care what was best for them. They had no amorphous code of ethics, no so-called honor among others in their, for want of a better word, profession. They simply existed, to be had for the highest bidder and the easiest work.

  Human, she thought then, was not· even a good word for them. Yet she would not dignify Eagleton by calling him a name culled from the animal world. He was . . . just himself. Far more dangerous to life and limb than the most treacherous serpent, the most powerful wind.

  And in thinking, she crossed the room slowly, her heels cracking on the bare floorboards where they were not covered by the oval hooked rugs. She stood in front of the study door, then opened it slowly, walked in and turned on the lamp on the leather-topped desk. She looked sadly at the guncase on the wall behind the door, then opened a small drawer in its base and pulled out a key. The glass door swung open silently. Behind it, amid the rifles and shotguns, was a wide black gunbelt studded with silver; in it was a polished Colt with an ivory handle, ivory carved into the relief of a cougar.

  The last time she had used it was to fight Jason Quill, who had tried to take Four Aces from her. She had hoped that it would never be taken out again.

  When she returned to the living room, then, only Harley looked pained. She saw the memories rise painfully in his eyes, and when she smiled at him saw them take too long to vanish.

  "You think you're Wyatt Earp?" Doug asked when he saw her.

  "I think I'm not going to get myself killed," she told him.

  She knew how she looked, with her deep brown shirt and trousers and the gun on her hip, yet there was nothing ludicrous or fanciful about the way she could shoot if she had to . . . or the way she could wield the knife nestled in her boot. But it was not so much the firepower she was looking for as the second thoughts it would give Maitland and Eagleton when they saw her.

  Maitland would remember; and Eagleton would guess. And neither would ever underestimate her again.

  By three o'clock Douglas had fallen into a fitful sleep on the couch, and she had had Alex moved into his bed where Hope, looking after their child, fretted over his wound and spent most of the time trying to convince him he was in no condition to do any riding, much less fighting.

  Amanda stood on the porch and waited. She stood without moving in the middle of the steps,
her arms loose at her sides, her hair pulled over her shoulders. She did not feel the cold, nor did her eyes narrow at the glare from the field of snow stretched before her. She only waited-and watched.

  And she did not blink an eye when the horseman rode up from the road.

  "Mrs. Munroe?"

  He was wearing a thick white coat, his hat tied to his head by a scarf that knotted under his chin. When she nodded, he reached into his pocket and slowly, his eyes darting to the windows, pulled out a sheet of folded paper. He hesitated as if unsure, and she was pleased to see the perspiration gathering at his upper lip and at his temples. She said nothing to him, only took the paper from his hands and read it slowly. Twice.

  "Are you expected to bring back an answer?" she asked him.