And then—the trail was perfectly clear.
At nightfall, they camped on the western bank of the Pond River, ate a quick supper, then tucked in for whatever sleep could be snatched. Many of the men were snoring in minutes. Ben envied them, as he and others tossed, seeking either a better position or more tranquil thoughts.
Somewhere out there, likely on the other side of the river, were the Harpes. Would tomorrow be the day they finally confronted them?
Ben slept at last, only to be awakened by a short but brisk rain shower sometime after midnight, but that ended quickly and most of them fell back asleep. Dawn found them stirring and saddling up again after the briefest of breakfasts. They forded the river and easily picked up the trail on the other side.
Under the spreading trees, the morning cool lingered even as the sun rose higher. It seemed, though, that the entire country held its breath, waiting, watching—
“Hie there, here’s something,” Leiper called out from his place in the lead.
Two hunting dogs, lying beside the path with their throats cut.
“Those look like the hounds belonging to Hutchins and Gilmore,” Tompkins muttered, and McBee nodded.
“I’d say the Harpes took ‘em along, and then, when it looked like the dogs might give ‘em away by their barking—” The man chewed his lip, shifting his solid frame in the saddle. “Seeing as how the bodies haven’t bloated up in the heat, they haven’t been here long.” He lifted his head and looked around. “We might want to dismount. Send three or four of our best on foot ahead, while the rest bring the horses along, slowly. Stealth is our best weapon here, like Indians.”
Leiper, Stegall, Christian, and Lindsay ran ahead on foot, while Ben, McBee, Grissom, and Tompkins all each took an extra horse. Ben chafed to be left behind with the older men, but owned that he might not be as skilled as the backwoodsmen at being quiet.
They’d only gone another mile or so farther, however, before the four came trotting back and remounted. “There’s nothing this close,” Leiper said, “and we’re too slow on foot anyhow.”
They settled in, riding single file down the trail again, looking this way and that as they wound up and around a rugged hillside.
Movement caught his eye, over on a hillside opposite them, across a narrow hollow. At the same moment, McBee pointed and cried out, “There they are!” and spurred his horse off the trail.
And surely it was. Not two men, but three—all afoot, Micajah holding a horse, while he and Wiley faced the third man. Both Micajah’s and Wiley’s heads came up. Wiley took off on foot, while Micajah leaped on his horse and sped away.
Ben and the others were already in pursuit, behind McBee, crashing through the bushes. The third man turned toward the mounted party then suddenly darted to the side and hid behind a tree, which did not quite cover him. McBee drew his horse to a sliding halt, and taking aim with his gun, which he’d loaded the day before with two balls, fired away—just as Stegall cried out, “Don’t shoot! It’s George Smith, from up the river.”
The smoke from McBee’s gun was still billowing when the man squealed, hit, and came staggering out from behind the tree. “Squire McBee! I’m so sorry—don’t shoot again—”
McBee lowered the gun and swung off his horse. “What are you doing, man? I might have killed you!”
He inspected the man’s wounds—both balls had found their mark, in his right thigh and arm, but neither appeared to be life-threatening. Smith was shaking, half laughing, half sobbing. “I’m sorry. I was ‘most out of my senses, expectin’ to be killed any moment by the Harpes—and then you all rode up and I just couldn’t recover soon enough and treed instead of calling out.”
“Well.” McBee set to reloading his gun. The Harpes were quite out of sight already. “How did you happen upon them?”
“I was just out huntin’ and came upon Little Harpe on foot, gun in one hand and kettle in the other, going for water in the creek there. He commenced to asking me about the settlements, but I could tell by the way he talked loud, he must have wanted someone else to hear—and then Big rode up and dismounted.” He heaved a breath and peered up at McBee. “I’ve never been so glad in my life to have someone show up as y’all. Might you do me the favor of helping me back home?”
McBee peered at the forest around them. “If he was on foot, coming for water, their camp must be close. Let us go on in pursuit, and then we’ll be back. Will you be fine on your own for a little while?”
Smith nodded, and taking himself over again to a tree, sat down heavily. “Aye, I’ll just rest a bit.”
Ben, Leiper, and Stegall were already inspecting the ground for the trail, and the party set off again.
Sally woke in the cool dimness of the little cave they’d found, tucked under a rock overhang in the side of a hill, its opening shielded by yet another stone outcropping. Big and Little were already up and about—Little had taken the kettle for fetching water, and Betsey and Susan were about the work of tending little Joe and Lovey. Both were old enough to sit up now—well, Lovey nearly so—and both grinned widely at their mamas and the world at large as swaddling was changed and such.
Sally’s breasts had finally ceased their aching—but her heart, not.
In short, an early morning like so many others.
A clattering came from outside the cave, and Big ducked inside, expression fierce and breath coming fast. “Get your things—we have to go.”
“What?” Susan burst out. “I thought you said no one would find us here.”
“Just shut up and come, woman!”
He went back out—likely to saddle the horses. Susan and Betsey exchanged a glance and were in motion immediately. Sally grabbed her bundle—she’d not properly unpacked the night before—and followed them out.
Little was there as well, the reins of a saddled horse already in hand.
“—should just kill the babies too and be done with it,” Big growled. “They’ll only slow us down.”
“Nay!” Susan cried, shrill.
Little only grimaced. Big turned upon her, his visage terrible in its fury. “Dinnae ye want to live, woman?”
Susan and Betsey both paled, exchanging another glance. “I—” But she could only shake her head.
A strange calm settled over Sally. “Let me take ‘em. I’ll keep them safe—give them a chance—give y’all a chance at getting away too.”
Big looked murder at her, but unmoved, she tossed her bundle aside and held her arms out to the other women. “Here. Please, let me do this.”
Susan gritted her teeth then handed Lovey off to her. Betsey followed suit, and Sally balanced the two, one on each hip, as the women scrambled to mount.
“We’ll go thataway,” Big said, pointing down the hill, “and you go the other. We’ll meet up—oh, over opposite Cave-in-the-Rock again, I reckon.”
He cast Sally another glance then mounted up again and led the other women off at an angle down the hill, as fast as the horses would allow.
Little stood still, staring at the ground, making no move to mount.
“Wiley.” She spoke his name, but he gave no sign of hearing. “Wiley,” she said again, stepping toward him.
He tossed the reins over the horse’s head, checked the cinch, then froze. Finally he did look at her, his eyes shadowed, pleading and desperate.
They stared at each other until the crackling of leaves and brush carried to them, from somewhere out of sight around the ridge. Wiley threw himself on the horse, and without a single word, galloped away, in a different direction than what Big had directed.
Sally blew out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and shifting the babies on her hips, carried them inside the cave and set them down. “Don’t y’all get yourselves into trouble now. I’ll be back.”
And so she was standing there outside the cave, waiting, when the other men came, more than half a dozen. The lead was a stocky man, not old but not young either, who gazed at her sternly then looked
around, as they all did. “Are the Harpes still here?”
She folded her hands into her ragged skirt. “They’ve gone. Big Harpe was just here, mounted each of his women on a good horse, then took off.” She nodded off down the hill. “That way. Little took off as well.”
The man bobbed a nod to her and led away in the direction she’d indicated, the rest of the party following.
“Sally,” a voice said, startling her.
She looked up into the bearded face of a younger man who could be any backwoodsman, except—“Mr. Langford?”
“It’s me, yes,” he said, with a thin smile, barely holding his horse back. “Did they leave you here alone?”
She nodded, her gaze straying to the search party stretching in a rough line across the hillside, picking their way down, then looked back at him. “They left the babies here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
He glanced about then apparently coming to a decision, gave a firm nod of his own and said, “I’ll be back for you, I promise,” and took off after the others.
Feeling weary beyond her years, yet with an eerie lightness, like she was in someone else’s body, Sally grabbed her bundle and trudged back inside the cave. More than half their provisions still lay scattered around. Little Joe sat sucking his fist, grinning at her through the slobber, while Lovey had rolled to her back and tried to grasp her feet through the swaddling.
Dropping her bundle, she took her blue cloak, spread it out over against the wall, and carried the babies to it, one at a time. Then she lay down, and while Joe amused himself with the edge of the cloak, she nursed first Lovey to sleep then shifted to her other side and did the same with Joe. She had little enough milk left, but they seemed satisfied.
She’d nearly drowsed off as well when a clattering of horses’ hooves echoed again from outside. Sally carefully disentangled herself from the sleeping babes, and rising, was refastening her clothing when the man leading the party appeared in the opening, pistol in hand and pointed at her. “Where again did you say they’ve gone? If you’ve deceived me, woman, I’ll shoot you right here and now.”
Mr. Langford was right behind him. “McBee—”
She sighed and brushed off her skirts. “You’d be doing the world—and myself—a favor, I promise you.”
Brushing past them both, she emerged into the sunshine. The rest of the search party pulled their horses out of the way, as if she were also armed and would somehow fell them on the spot. But she ignored them all, and tracing the path where Big and the women had gone, walked a few steps down the hill and lifted her arm to point. “There, that way,” she said, turning back to meet the older man’s gaze.
Only slightly less severe, he glared back then put the pistol away. “Y’all go on—I’ll catch up,” he said to the others, and except for Mr. Langford, they filed away once more, on the corrected path this time.
The man marched over to where the Harpes’ horses were tethered—they’d acquired several by now, some for riding and others as pack animals—and took the one that was still saddled. “Get on. You’ll come with us.”
“But—the babies, in the cave—”
He glanced toward the opening in the rock, shook his head. “Nothing for it. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“McBee,” Mr. Langford said, in a tone of protest.
The older man rounded on him. “Do you want to stay and be nursemaid, or catch the Harpes? I’m not leaving this one behind. We can come back for the infants.”
Chewing his lip, looking furious, Mr. Langford finally nodded. “Come, Sally. I’ll give you a leg up.”
With another sigh, she climbed on, without question. Better to be in their company than another moment with Big—or Little. But—
Lord, protect the little ones! And let us not be away too long.
Chapter Seventeen
Blast his need to be up with the heart of the chase, as well as see to Sally’s safety. McBee likely could be trusted to guard the woman, but Ben had to be sure. Sally was doing a fair job of keeping up, however, and McBee of catching up, as intent upon the chase as Ben.
Ivy didn’t like not being in the lead, Ben had already discovered, and during the ensuing chase, she not only caught up with the others but edged her way near the front of the pack, until only Leiper and Christian were in the lead. Tompkins had a good horse—a Virginia thoroughbred that, if not having the single-foot gait and overall stamina of Ivy, was still renowned for her speed—but held her back, probably for the purpose of saving her strength.
Ahead of them, Leiper pulled his mount to a halt, and hallooed to three mounted figures just ascending the next ridge. “We see you! Stop and give yourselves up!”
Micajah was immediately off again, as Leiper raised his rifle to his shoulder and shot, but to no effect. The women’s horses jumped, one shoving against the other, and for a moment they had a hard time of it, controlling the animals. Ben urged Ivy down one hillside, across the stream below in a single leap, and back up again, with both Leiper and Christian keeping pace.
Susan and Betsey glanced this way and that, first in the direction that Micajah had gone and then back at the search party. Apparently they saw the futility of running any farther and didn’t even attempt to escape this time. The barest recognition flickered in their eyes as Ben drew up, with the others gathering around the women. “Ladies,” he murmured, but neither responded.
Leiper dismounted, yanking at the ramrod in his rifle. “Doggoned thing must be swollen from the rain last night.”
“Here, take mine,” Tomkins said, offering both gun and powder horn.
“Well, why didn’t you shoot?”
The older man shrugged. “Nance here is fast, but she’d shy at the shot and I’d miss anyway.”
Leiper fairly growled through clenched teeth, staring longingly in the direction the elder Harpe had gone, then turned back to the women. “Where’s Little Harpe?”
“Wasn’t with us,” Susan said.
“Here.” Tompkins dismounted. “Leiper, you take Nance—she’s faster’n yours. Lindsay and I will stay back with the women. The rest of you go on ahead.”
Leiper was already in the saddle, the borrowed gun in hand and horn slung around his body, and they were off again in a pack.
McBee and Sally were nowhere in sight, but Ben had to trust that the older man would be along in a moment, without harming Sally.
This time the line of them was strung out a little farther—Leiper in the lead, Christian not far behind, then Ben, Stegall, and the others—he couldn’t see just who was where, right after.
Five of them gained enough on Harpe that Christian pulled ahead a little and lifted his rifle, then shot. Harpe flinched, and blood appeared on his leg. Stegall was next but missed, then Ben and Grissom in turn, also missing. Tompkins’s thoroughbred surged to the fore again, leaving even Ivy behind, but Ben had a clear enough view, while trying along with the others to reload from the saddle, to see when Micajah hauled his own mount to a stop and wheeled to face Leiper. “Stay back or I’ll kill you all!”
Did he think Leiper’s gun empty as well?
“Give yourself up, Harpe, now!” Christian roared.
Leiper jumped off the thoroughbred, refreshing the priming of the rifle even in mid-motion, and lifted the gun to his shoulder. Smoke billowed with the shot, and Micajah reeled from the impact. The men beside him cheered, but Micajah lifted his own rifle and leveled it at Leiper, only to have it snap—a misfire.
Snarling, he cast the rifle aside and set heels to his mount once more. Leiper hauled himself back into the saddle, and he, Christian, and Ben were once again in close pursuit.
Stegall and Grissom had apparently lingered to reload, because they were far behind. The forest was but a blur of green around Ben as he kept Ivy close on the heels of Christian’s mount, while Leiper was just ahead.
The three of them fanned out, trying to flank Micajah, who had his tomahawk out now. “I told you, stay back!”
“
Give yourself up!” Leiper shouted in return.
Blood ran down Micajah’s front, and it was an obvious struggle for him to stay in the saddle. His tomahawking arm sagged. “Stop your horses! I’ll surrender. Only, don’t kill me.”
Suspicion clogged Ben’s throat, but seeing Micajah pull his mount to a halt, the three of them did likewise, dismounting. Micajah sat his horse, leaning against the saddlebow, the tomahawk barely hanging from his fingertips.
Christian and Leiper took the moment to reach for powder and shot, but Ben pulled one of his pistols from his belt. “Get off your horse,” he told Micajah.
The big man huffed, then with a “Haw!” set heels to the horse’s side. As the animal leaped away, Ben fired, but again missed, and the thoroughbred Nance likewise startled and galloped after. Cursing, Christian mounted and followed, while Leiper stood, hands on knees, also spitting epithets. “Very well,” he growled aside to Ben. “It’s one or the other of us be killed here.”
Christian had the thoroughbred caught already and was bringing her back. They mounted again without reloading and once more gave chase.
Down into a hollow, through a small but tangled canebrake, then bursting out the other side—
Where they found Micajah and his horse at barely a walk, the man himself drooping in the saddle, hands empty now and clutching only the saddlebow and mane.
Leiper and Christian made no hesitation, but drawing their horses up beside Harpe’s, one on either side, they pulled him from the saddle while likewise dismounting. Ben also swung down and hovered to see if he should be of assistance, but as Harpe lay stretched on the ground, unmoving, he took the moment to catch all the horses’ reins and tether them to nearby trees.
“Water,” Harpe rasped. The wound in his breast went all the way through to his spine and beyond, and by the awkward angle of his legs, appeared to have paralyzed him.
The Blue Cloak Page 21