In Close Pursuit
Page 1
In Close Pursuit
Colleen French
To my grandparents, Judy and Les, who after fifty years of marriage still ride the carousel.
. . . With a special thanks to Aunt P.
Copyright © 1991, 2018 by Colleen French. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121,
evan@evanmarshallagency.com.
Version 1.0
This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
Published by The Evan Marshall Agency. Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York, under the title Love's Sweet Bounty and under the name Colleen Faulkner.
Cover by The Killion Group
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Chapter One
Ogden, Utah
August 1881
The steam locomotive gave a whine and then a whistle and the passenger car Jessica Landon had just boarded lurched forward. Her fifteen-year-old brother kneeled on the seat beside her and hung out the window, waving.
She tugged on the tail of his plaid cotton shirt. "Sit down, Mark. Who are you waving at? We don't know a blessed soul in Ogden, Utah."
The tow-headed young man plopped down on the dusty seat beside his sister. "Not waving at anyone in particular, just waving 'cause everyone else is." He nibbled on his fingernail. "Where is Ogden, Utah, anyway?"
She slapped his dungareed knee. "You should have been studying your geography lessons instead of slipping away to shoot coon."
"Studying lessons is girl-stuff." He lifted his hands, aiming and firing with an imaginary rifle. "I'll take care of the man's work—shootin' Indians and such. You think you could get me a Winchester rifle when we reach Washington? Every man needs a Winchester."
Jessica sighed, shaking her head as she glanced out the window. She knew leaving Tennessee was the best thing she and Mark could have done. Jacob Dorchester had left her no other choice. But she hadn't realized how hard the trip would be. She wiped her perspiration-dotted forehead with her red bandanna and then tied it around her neck. She hadn't known how hot and dry the West would be in July or how slow the trains would move . . . how unorganized the entire railway system was. The trains never ran on schedule. It was taking her twice as long as she'd anticipated to get to Washington territory.
Jessica leaned forward to touch the bundle of apple tree saplings lying on the seat facing her. The damp newspaper felt good beneath her fingertips, even if it did stain them black. These trees, the two horses in the cattle car behind them, and the small carpetbag that lay at her feet, were all she and Mark had left of her parents and their farm in Tennessee.
A little red-cheeked girl with long, blond pigtails peeked over the back of the seat in front of Jessica and smiled. Jessica smiled back. This wasn't a time for sadness or regrets; it was a time of rejoicing. She and Mark had escaped Jacob's clutches and soon they would be in Washington buying their own piece of land . . . starting that apple orchard.
Jessica waved at the child with her index finger. "Hello, there. My name's Jessica. What's yours?"
The girl of five or six screwed up her mouth in obvious indecision. When she spoke it was in a loud whisper. "My ma says I ain't to talk to people on the train. There's lots of baddies that eat little girls, you know." She studied Jessica through a veil of blondfringed lashes. "I'm Emily. Emily Memily's what my pa calls me. You don't eat little girls, do you?"
Jessica laughed, tucking a lock of her damp sable-colored hair behind her ear. "It's too hot to eat little girls, don't you think?"
Emily broke into a grin, showing a hole where her front tooth had once been. "We're going to Seattle. My pa's a gunsmith. He's gonna make rifles for my Uncle Elsmere."
Jessica caught one of the little girl's yellow blond braids and gave it a playful tug. "That's my brother Mark. We're going to Washington territory, too."
Emily poked her finger through a tear in the sparsely upholstered seat. "Is your pa going to make guns for Uncle Elsmere, too?"
"No." Jessica stared out at the passing scenery as the train chugged north. The land was desolate, dry, and void of trees. "My papa's dead; my mama too." She met the child's inquisitive gaze. "My brother and I, we're on our own."
Emily's mother turned around in the seat. "Excuse my girl," she apologized. "She can't mind her own knitting. Emily, sit down and let the passengers be."
"It's all right." Jessica gave Emily a wink. "I could use the company. I'm Jessica Landon and this is my brother Mark." She indicated with a wave of her hand. Mark was busy drawing pictures of cavalry soldiers with his finger on the dusty train window.
Emily's mother gave a nod. She wore an immense faded blue poke bonnet that shielded her face. "Please to meet you; Miss Landon. I'm Kat Wiedenhoeft. My husband sittin' in front of us is Billy."
"I got a sister Holly Dolly and a baby brother," Emily piped in. "We call him Pauly Wally."
Jessica looked up at Kat. "Emily says you're headed for Seattle. We are too."
Kat nodded. "My brother Elsmere says it's beautiful there. Green, you can't see anything but green. We've been seven years in Texas trying our hand at cattle. I'd be happy if I never sets eyes on mesquite and chaparral again!"
Jessica laughed with her. "We're from Tennessee. Mark and I are going to buy land for an apple orchard and for raising horses."
Kat glanced over the back of the seat at the apple saplings. "I brought a rosebush with me. It was my mama's and hers before that."
Jessica sat back on the seat, falling into easy conversation with her newfound friends. "The train's crowded. I didn't expect to see so many people traveling."
"There's some families movin' like us. Others"—Kat indicated with a nod of her chin—"are businessmen."
Jessica glanced over at the man in the dark suit seated across the aisle from her. His bowler hat was pulled down over his eyebrows. Clasped between his knees was a leather money bag. Jessica lowered her voice to a whisper. "A bit hot, wouldn't you think, in that starched shirt?"
Kat lifted her infant son on her shoulder and began to pat the sleeping child. "Railroad business most likely. My Billy says they make 'em all wear a coat, a hundred and ten in the shade or not."
"You think there's money in that fancy case?" Jessica mused aloud. Her own blue and gold carpetbag lay on the floor between her and Mark. Every cent made from the sale of her father's farm was in that bag. "He's sure got a death grip on it."
"Let's hope it is money, railroad money." Kat passed her sleeping son into Emily's arms and the little girl sat down, disappearing from Jessica's sight.
"Why?"
Just then the rear door of the car slid open. Kat and Jessica both looked up at the same time. Jessica drew in her breath. For an instant she feared the train was under Indian attack!
The man who had entered the car, and now walked calmly down the aisle glancing from one passenger to the other, had hair the color of a polished crow's wing. His skin was a shade of burnished copper Jessica had never seen before. He was a tall imposing man with broad shoulders, dressed in a pair of leather breeches and a faded blue cotton shirt. His shoulderlength hair was pulled back in a knot of feathers and brightly colored beads. Down his back trailed a shabby black wool hat. On each hip he wore blackhandled pistols that Jessica recognized immediately as premium Bisley Colts.
"Wow!" Mark breathed. "Get a look at him! You think he's gonna rob the train?" Mark swung his imaginary rifle onto his shoulder and beaded in on the stranger. "I could take him at ten paces if I had that Winchester."
The Indian passed their seat and for an instant he met and held Jessica's green-eyed gaze. His eyes were as black as the pits of hell, with fire and brimstone raging just beyond the pupils. Jessica moistened her upper lip. The spell was broken and the red man moved on.
"Da-gone, Jess!" Mark leaned over his sister, trying to catch another glimpse of the mysterious man before he exited the front of the car. "That was a real Injun! You think he was one of the ones that killed poor old General Custer at Little Bighorn?"
Jessica exhaled with exasperation. She wiped her damp hands on her soft suede traveling skirt. "Of course not, Mark. Use your head. Now sit down and stop gawking!" She waited until Mark had taken his seat. "Those were Sioux Indians, from the Dakotas. The government's got them under control. They don't let them off their reservations!"
Kat pulled off her poke bonnet, fanning her sunburned face with it. "Pshew! I don't know what he was, but he was the best-lookin' man I think I ever set eyes on." She glanced over her shoulder. " 'Cept of course my Billy," she amended.
Her Billy, a spindly five and a half feet tall, with a sparse pate of blond hair, grinned and returned to his whittling.
Jessica dared a smile. "He was something, wasn't he. I never saw skin that color." She looked up at the door the redman had just disappeared through as if she could somehow conjure him up again. "It was like fresh turned soil, baked red by the sun."
"Jess," Mark breathed, taking Jessica's arm. "I think we're gonna get held up."
Jessica frowned. "That's enough, Mark. You'll be frightening people." But as the words fell from her mouth the grip Mark held on her bare arm made her look up and out the window.
"Dear God!" Jessica gasped as the train brakeman threw on the brakes and the train wheels screamed on the track.
Kat gave a high-pitched cry, reaching for her nearest daughter.
Jessica watched, mute with horror, as four masked men on horseback raced by the train window, a dust cloud in their wake. "Do as you're told," she managed, clutching Mark's hand. "No one will get hurt as long as we sit tight and don't cause any trouble." She slid her carpetbag under the seat with the toe of her riding boot. "Just think of that apple orchard we're going to have, Mark. We'll get through this, you and I—together."
Fearless, Mark craned his neck as the rear door of their passenger car slammed open. Jessica pulled him down as he bobbed up out of his seat. Passengers were beginning to scream.
Kat sobbed quietly in the seat just ahead. "I knew we should have stayed in Texas, I knew it, Billy."
"Please, Mark," Jessica begged, holding him down with the pressure of her hand on his leg. "For once, do as I say."
Two men wearing red bandannas around their faces came down the aisle. "All right, folks, empty your pockets. Ladies, get them rings off your fingers!" the blond masked man instructed, waving a flour sack in one hand. Both robbers carried loaded rifles.
Jessica sat ramrod straight in her seat. Mark's hand clasped tightly in hers. "Pray," she whispered. "Pray for the bastards' souls!"
"Da-gone! Look! That passenger's one of them!"
Jessica looked up to where Mark pointed. A man who'd boarded the train just in front of them at Ogden and had been sitting a few seats ahead was out of his seat. Jessica had remembered his red shirt, though she didn't recall seeing his face. Across his nose and mouth he now wore a black bandanna.
"Do as they said and nobody gets hurt," the thin man in black mask ordered shakily, brandishing a Smith & Wesson pistol.
Behind her, Jessica could hear the bandits moving forward. Metal clinked as jewelry and coins were deposited into the flour sack.
"I can't get it off," a woman moaned from behind Jessica. "I can't get the ring off."
Jessica glanced over her shoulder to see a middle-aged woman tugging desperately at a ruby ring on her index finger.
Her little husband sat beside her twisting his hands in anguish. "She can't get it off," he explained to one of the bandits. Sweat dripped down his hollow cheeks.
"What's goin' on here?" the black-masked man demanded, passing by Jessica's seat. It had suddenly become obvious that he was the leader.
"She says she can't get the rock off'en her finger," the blond-haired bandit explained.
The black-masked man glanced at the sobbing woman. "Then cut her finger off," he answered with a nervous shrug.
The woman gave a high-pitched shriek and fell back against the upholstered seat. Her husband tugged desperately at her finger.
Jessica leaned over to whisper to Mark. "Sit tight!" She yanked her carpetbag from the safe haven under Kat's seat and dug into it, coming up with a tin of salve.
Kat grabbed for Jessica. "Don't do it! Don't call attention to yourself!"
"I'll get it off," Jessica volunteered, coming out of her seat. She fell to her knees in the aisle and took the woman's hand. "I'll just grease it up a little."
"It won't come off," the woman sobbed hysterically. "My hands swell in the heat. They always have!"
"Sure it'll come off," Jessica assured her. "All you need is a little goose grease to loosen it up!" With trembling hands she worked the thick jelled salve over the woman's red, swollen finger.
"Hurry it up!" the outlaw's leader ordered. "We ain't got all day, boys!"
"Just a minute, "Jessica cried. "I've almost got it!" She gripped the slippery ring and twisted. To her relief it popped off into her hand. "I've got it!" She thrust her hand in the air and the dark-haired bandit snatched it from her.
"Thank you! God Bless you!" the woman cried, still sobbing.
The two bandits pushed by and Jessica was shoved back, separating her from Mark.
"Hey! You can't take that!" Mark hollered, bouncing up out of his seat.
The blond bandit straightened up, Jessica's carpetbag in his hand.
"Mark! Sit down!" Jessica warned. An ominous shiver snaked up her spine. She was suddenly so frightened that she barely recognized her own voice.
"You can't have that!" Mark shouted belligerently, snatching the carpetbag out of the bandit's hand. "That's my sister's!"
Tears slid down Jessica's cheeks. She tried to reach Mark but the black-masked man caught her by the bandanna around her neck and shoved her out of his way. She hit one of the seats and her straw bonnet flew off her head, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders.
"What's goin' on up here? I thought I told you two to hurry it up!" The leader waved his pistol, looking to the front and then to the rear of the railway car. "We got to get off this train, boys. That damned redskin Sern's aboard!"
"The k . . . kid's givin' us a hard time," the blond bandit stammered.
The leader grasped Mark by a fistful of his blond hair. "You giving my boys a hard time, kid?"
"Take the bag! Don't touch my brother," Jessica sh
outed. "He's just a boy. You can have the bag! It's got money in it! A lot of money! Just please don't hurt him!"
In a split second the bandit reached for the carpetbag and Mark gave a shout of angry protest, shoving him off balance. Jessica dove for her brother, but the brown-haired bandit swung his fist catching her in the mouth and knocking her down. The black-masked bandit's pistol belched smoke; the sound filled Jessica's head as if it was an afterthought. She saw her brother reel backward under the impact of the shot through a veil of tears.
"No!" she heard herself scream. She climbed over the seat, shoving passengers aside. Men and women screamed as they dove for cover.
Sobbing, Jessica reached Mark. He was sprawled out, half on the seat, half on the floor. His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping, but a puddle of crimson blood stained his faded shirt and the fabric of the seat. "Oh, God, no," Jessica moaned as her tears fell on her young brother's cheek. She stroked his unmarred face with the back of her hand. "Don't leave me. You're all I have left, Mark. I'll buy you that Winchester, I swear I will." Her lower lip trembled.
Mark was dead. She knew he was dead. There was a great, gaping bloody hole in his chest.
In a rage Jessica flew up out of the seat hurling herself at the black-masked bandit. "You killed him!" she raged. "You killed my brother!" She slammed into the startled man, pummeling him with her fists.
The blond bandit caught her by the waist and started to drag her off his boss.
"Get her off!" the leader shouted. "Get this crazy bitch off me!"
"I can't!" the blond bandit cried.
Jessica struggled to rip the carpetbag from the leader's hand. "You're not going to take my brother and my money, too!"
Suddenly the front door of the car swung open.
"Lay down your guns!" bellowed a deep, resonant voice.
The masked bandit gripped Jessica, hauling her to her feet. "Put it down, Sern," he shouted in a trembling voice.
Jessica looked up to see the Indian standing in the doorway, both pistols raised. "I said lay down your guns!" Adam Sern ordered.
The black-masked leader broke into nervous, high-pitched laughter as he raised his pistol, pressing the barrel into Jessica's temple. He held her in his iron grip, her back pressed to his chest. Jessica's entire body shuddered with fear.