by Moonwitch
He started and wiped a hand nervously over his mouth before he nodded.
Her first impulse was to tell Maitland she would see him in hell before she would knuckle under, but she knew what that would mean to Bess. Instead she slipped the paper into her trouser pocket and stared at him.
"I'll have to think about it. "
"He says . . . " The man stopped. No one had told him he was going to have to deal with the moonwitch in person, and from where he sat, looking into those ice-green eyes, everything he had heard was true. She wasn't human. They were talking about her only daughter, and she wasn't even blinking an eye. He didn't like it. He had told Eagleton that once and he would tell him again-they should leave well enough alone and let that queer old bird at the Circle B fight his own wars.
"Yes?"
He swallowed hard and again mopped at his face with his hand. "He says he has to know by tonight. "
"Is there an 'or else'?"
Please, he thought, hoping his expression would show her his pleading; for God's sake, woman, don't make me say it!
"Well?"
"If I'm supposed to be thinking about this, you're wasting my time." _
"He says he'll kill her, " he said quickly, and without looking for her reaction spurred his mount around in a tight circle and bolted down the cleared path toward the road. She watched until she could no longer see him, then turned around quickly and returned inside.
Harley looked up from the sofa. Bert, standing nervously by the window with a rifle in his hand, followed her with his eyes until she had taken her chair, falling into it as though her legs had been cut out from under her.
"He says, " she told the room, "that he1l give Bess back on one condition only-that I give up the ranch and leave Wyoming."
"What?" Harley was on his feet, hands fisted, face reddening.
"If I don't he's going to kill her."
"No question, then," Bert said behind her. "I'll get the men and we'll-"
"No!"
They froze, staring at her in disbelief.
"No," she said again, more softly, her hands- limp in her lap. "This is all foolishness, Harley. I can't get within five miles of that place before he'll . . . kill her. "
"There's no guarantee he won't anyway," Peterson growled. Then he turned and nudged Douglas until he sputtered back to consciousness. Amanda looked at him for help, for support, but he only slid back on the cushion and stared at his hands.
"She's my daughter, " she said finally. "Without taking a thing away from Alexander, she's the only child that ever came from here," and she punched hard .at her stomach. "I can't take the chance. "
"So, " Doug said, not trying to hide his displeasure, "you're going to give it all up. "
"Well, what d o you want me to do? Tell him to go to hell, and then wait for him to send back her body?" She threw up her hands, looking from Doug to Harley and seeing the same expression on their faces. "What in hell do you want me to do?"
"We want you to do what you told that lackey you would, " Doug said harshly to her. "We want you to think, Amanda."
She glared at the two of them, launched herself out of her chair and ran outside, down the steps and along the cleared path until the cold air burned through her lungs and slowed her.
It was impossible. She could not understand how they could be so heartless. It was Bess they were talking about. Bess! What could they be thinking that they would dare put her life second to the existence of a . . . a damned ranch! She thought that was something Eagleton would consider, but . . .Doug? Harley? Especially Harley, after losing a daughter of his own and knowing, knowing the pain she was feeling now.
She fell weakly against the fence that bordered the road and looked to the sky at the lowering Glouds that promised another storm before another day had passed. Far to her left she could sense a movement and almost had her gun out before she remembered the men Bert had brought to the house. They were watching her. They were waiting for her to give them a sign.
Boots crunched on the snow path behind her. She did not turn around, not even when she heard Hope's voice.
"Douglas told Alex and me, Amanda. "
"No doubt. And I suppose he said that we should take our army and ride over there like we were the goddamned cavalry."
"No, .. was the answer. ''He said you should know what everyone thinks first." When Amanda finally looked at her, she was fighting back tears. "It's your decision at the last, Amanda, and we all know that. And I know that I'd do anything, anything at all if that was Dawn over there in that. . . " She stopped and took a deep breath.
Amanda saw how thin her dress was, and the equally thin shawl she had thrown over her shoulders. "You'll freeze dressed like that, Hope. Go back inside. "
Hope pointed at her. "You don't have anything."
"I don't feel anything. "
"Amanda, I just want you to know this: I would do anything to get my girl back if it was her, like I said, but . . . damn, I wish I was full of learning like you! I don't know the right words. I don't . . ."
She began to cry, her hands covering her face until Amanda took her shoulders and gathered her into her arms. Though her gaze was directed at the house behind them, she saw nothing, feeling Hope's pain transmit itself to her. She would not cry herself, however. It was not a point of weakness, but the time had not yet come. Later, perhaps, when it was done--however it would be done--she could have the luxury of shedding her tears.
But not now, not now.
And when Hope finally eased herself away, the two women walked slowly back to the house.
The snow began to fall. The wind began to slither through the trees.
Can I take the chance? she wondered. Dare I take the chance? What if Bess is killed; how would I live with myself? I would have to . . .
She stopped suddenly and urged Hope to continue alone. The girl did not want to leave her, but Amanda stroked the soft blond hair and her nod told her it would be all right.
And it was. Perhaps it was.
Until now Maitland had done everything perfectly legally, leaving the underhanded and filthy work to Trevor and whatever men he would afford. But this was different. Maitland had lost all sense of his mission now, all sense of the plotting he had taken years to develop and years to implement. He was, she realized abruptly, more afraid than she had dared hope. Taking Bess was not the calculated act of a man who had reached all the way to San Francisco to begin his subtle reign of terror. It was an act of desperation, the unthinking and thrashing about act of a man who has come to the end of his wits.
And if that were so, then he was more dangerous than ever.
And . . . if that were so, he might be more prone to mistakes.
She almost ran the last few yards to the porch, startled them all inside by slamming open the door and · sweeping them with her frown as she pointed to the eight-day clock that rested on the mantel.
"We have one hour," she told them. "One hour for you to come up with a plan to get Bess back. Otherwise . . . otherwise, I'll be out of Wyoming before the sun comes up."
THIRTY-THREE
The only sound was the soft crunch of hooves settling into the snow and the snorting of the animals as they took in the cold.
The wind had stopped.
It was an eerie scene, made more so by the fact that Amanda had taken off her blouse and trousers and had dressed in the white deerskin with which she had retaken Coreville and driven Maitland from its streets. Doc Manley had not arrived by the time she was ready, and she told Alex to be sure not to try anything foolhardy while she was gone. He gave her no argument, only kissed her cheek and touched her hand.
Now she was riding through the woods alone, and by an odd freak of wind far above the mountain peaks, holes had been tom through the center of the storm and, although the snow still fell in tiny dry flakes, the moon also shone through to add silver to the black. The flakes, then, seemed like tiny streamers that whirled on their own currents; and the boughs that were wei
ghted heavily toward the ground were capped with silver-gray boulders glittering like gems.
Beneath the deerskin she wore a heavy shirt and thickly wrapped leggings, but her face felt the pinch of the cold and her fingers were stiff from holding onto Wind's reins. Streaming like smoke from a midwinter chimney, her breath exploded into the sharp air and clouded in front of her. There were gray shadows, and gray movement of disturbed snow creatures.
And it was silent.
She came to the edge of the tree line cautiously. Her gaze shifted nervously from side to side, searching for betrayals of the guards Maitland had surely placed around the house. And when she found nothing, she released a deep breath she had not known she was holding.
Wind shuddered, and she reached over to stroke the length of his neck, tug lightly and playfully at his snow-matted mane. Her tongue moved across her lips, then she quickly dried them with a sleeve, the fringe catching the moonlight and holding it like lightning trapped in a fine net. She reminded herself that she had to wait at least ten minutes before she could move into the open, ten minutes that might bring about her discovery. She could have worn black for hiding in the trees, but for this time, and this man, the deerskin had to be. She had to take the chance, then, on being spotted. No one had been able to argue her out of wearing these clothes.
Ten minutes.
She dropped the reins across the blanket on Wind's back and tucked her hands into her sleeves, rubbing at her arms along the thick shirt, thinking that it would be a miracle if she were ever warm again.
Five minutes.
Her left hand drifted unconsciously down her leg to her boot, and her fingers pried through the space between legging and leather to touch at the cold-hot hilt of the razor-sharp dagger. It was a comfort, and she sighed. She wanted no men dead this night; she only wanted Bess back alive. But neither was she foolish enough to believe that everything would end as it did in one of Bess's thin books.
One minute.
She straightened her back and looked neither left or right. With her head high and her silver headband flaring in the moonlight, she rode slowly into the open, toward the golden soft glow of the house a half-mile distant.
Doc Manley crammed as much as he could into his black bag, muttering all the while and glaring at Jake, whose massive frame almost did not make it through the surgery doorway.
"I can't believe this," he said, reaching for a scalpel while his wife stuffed rolled bandages into a larger satchel. "The man must be mad to try something like that!"
"Can't argue with you, Doc," Jake said.
"Have you told anyone else?"
Jake shrugged. "Made a quick stop at the Silver Palace. Saw a few friends and said a word or so."
Manley, his white hair falling in tangles over his face, glanced over at him. "She didn't tell you to do that, did she."
Jake touched at his unshaven face. "She would have, if she'd thought about it."
Manley grinned. "I just hope they use their heads. "
"Oh, they will, Doc. They know when they're needed. They'll stay away as long as they can . "
"If I know them," Helen Manley said as Bill grabbed for the satchel, "the best they'll do is count to ten."
Jake only shrugged, shifting from one foot to the other to mark his impatience. Manley watched him, then quickly kissed his wife on the cheek. "Don't wait up," he told her while he slipped into his coat. "I'll probably be out there for at least a day.
"I'll get someone to ride me out there later," she said to his back as he ran for the door. "You're going to need some help."
He raised a hand in quick acknowledgment, then slammed the door shut behind him and sprang onto the buckboard's front seat. Jake was already there, and before he had a chance to toss his bags into the back, the horses were leaping in their traces, the large wooden wheels spinning on the snow and kicking up rooster tails behind.
As they passed the Silver Palace, Manley saw the crowd growing slowly on the walk, saw several men running down toward Sophie's Wooden Dollar. By twisting around in his seat, he was just barely able to make out the sheriffs office window-it was dark. He frowned. Someone should have been there.
Doug, Bert, and two other men were already in their saddles, waiting by the porch. Harley was standing at the doorway, Olivia holding tightly onto his arm.
"It's time," he told her softly and with one trembling hand caressed her pale cheek.
"You remember that I love you," she whispered and threw her arms around him, hugging him so tightly he could not breathe. "And you bring that child back safe, you hear me?"
"I will, Livy. "
"And Amanda, " she said as he turned to leave. "You bring her back, too. "
He looked at her, bit at his lip hard, and nodded.
At the road gate they paused. Doug glanced back at the house, then over to the trees that would lead them to the end.
"Harley?"
"Right here."
"Any man touches her, he's mine, you understand?"
A painting, Amanda thought as she neared the house; the backdrop of dark woods, the snow blanketing roof and grass, the moonlight turning the flakes to silver rain. It was peaceful, it was gentle, not a hint in anything that there was violence waiting to be unchained.
As she drew nearer, she wondered in which of the rooms they were holding poor Bess. Here, in this unreal night, the house looked ten times larger than it actually was. With its high ceilings and several peaks it rose monolithic above the open ground, and the lights in its windows made it seem as though it were a creature of someone's nightmare squatting in ambush, its paws hidden beneath just waiting to reach out and--
She shook her head vigorously. This was no way to start thinking if she was going to rescue Bess without harm. It was only a house, nothing more. It was stone and wood, and it did not matter that there were devils inside.
There were no horses at the posts in front of the porch, and none that she could see as she approached from an angle from the left. The wagons were gone, no carriage, no trees that anyone could sit in and wait. There were several lines of tracks, however, leading in from the right, and she imagined that someone in town must have seen Jake arriving, guessed something was up, and had told Trevor about it.
She did not worry--she had counted on it.
Twenty yards from the front door she stopped. No one had challenged her, and no one was standing under the eaves. It was hard to believe that there were no guards posted, unless they were settled further back, in the trees. If that were the case, she had little to worry about. Doug and the others would cover that route for her.
She heard a scraping sound. She did not move her head, but a sudden flare of white on the roof directly in front of her told her what she wanted to know. She felt better, in spite of the fact that she was probably straight in the sights of a man's loaded rifle. At least now she knew that Maitland wasn't totally a fool.
A curtain shifted at the right-hand window. A shadowed face peered out and vanished again. On the left, the same. Rivulets of snow fell from the eaves to the bushes underneath, hissing through the branches. The ragged gap in the clouds above began to close. But not before she saw a shadow stretch away from the house on the right.
When the door opened and light spilled across the porch and down the steps toward her, she was ready. She touched a heel to Wind's side and the great palomino rose on its hind legs, kicking at the air and holding its head arrowed toward the sky. He stayed in position while Amanda stared at the black figure who came out to greet her. She stayed in position impossibly long while speared by a single shaft of moonlight that left the rest of the world black.
And when the light was gone, Wind dropped back to all fours. He did it without a sound, and with a thrill she could barely contain, she sensed the fear emanating from the man on the porch. It was working, she thought; oh, Douglas, it's working!
"Come a little closer, " the man said. He was not wearing a coat, only a pinstriped suit. His head was bare. As f
ar as she could tell, he carried no weapon.
"I'm staying right here until I see that my daughter is all right, Simon . "
"Simon, is it now? What happened t o Mr. Maitland?"
She did not respond, and after a full minute of silence he half turned and gestured to someone she could not see. A moment later Bess stood on the threshold with Eagleton behind her with a hand clamped to her shoulder.
"Elizabeth, are you all right?" She spoke without calling out, yet her voice carried as though she had shouted. And she was astonished that the words did not quaver from the sheer joy she felt at seeing the girl alive.
"I'm fine, Mother," Bess said, shrugging her shoulder in an effort to free it. "Is Alex all right?"