Ketta took care to move like she’d seen Yester’s friend Nat Fontaine do when the boys were younger than she was now and they used to play cowboys and Indians—Yester truly being a cowboy and Nat truly being an Indian. Partly, anyhow.
She crept across the open space toward the horses. If she could get Beau to stand still while she climbed onto the thick trunk of an old fallen tree she’d seen, she figured to clamber aboard bareback and run for it. Beau could outrun these other horses. He was one of Big Joe’s best.
CHAPTER FOUR: YESTER
Yester spent the night rolled up in a blanket on the Fontaines’ cabin floor. He didn’t drowse off for a long time; then the next thing he knew Fontaine was kneeling beside him shaking him by the shoulder.
Yester blinked his eyes open into a pre-dawn still lit by a waning moon.
“Better get up,” Fontaine said softly. “Big Joe will be champing at the bit as it is. My wife will follow when she is ready.”
“She’ll be ready soon, won’t she?” Yester threw off the blanket, the urge to act coursing through him.
“You bet. Not more than an hour behind us, she said.”
Relieved, Yester got to his feet and stretched out a few kinks, put there by the hard floor and a long day yesterday in the saddle. By that time, Nat, who’d risen a while before him, had biscuits and cold bacon scrounged from the pantry ready to shove into his hand.
“Father says we’ll eat as we ride,” he said, eagerness showing in his voice. “I already saddled the buckskin for you. Let’s go.”
Go they did, horses fresh enough to cut an hour’s ride down to forty-five minutes. Even so, they found Big Joe waiting for them with reins in hand and a scowl on his face. He nodded coldly at Fontaine, acted as if he didn’t even see Nat, and said to Yester, “Where the hell you been? Think I sent you off on vacation? Them horses will be long gone by now, and it’ll be your fault.”
Yester’s head hung, afraid Pa had the right of it. He should’ve come straight back last night to care for Ma, if nothing else. Even so, he appreciated it when Fontaine came down on his side saying, “Too dark last night to track anything. Just now it is light enough to see.”
“Get off that buckskin and hand him over.” Big Joe, ignoring Fontaine, spoke to Yester. “Rope yourself one of them others. A couple wandered in last night, looking for water.”
So, Yester thought, dismounting, Pa hadn’t gone looking for horses last night, either, but waited for them to come to him. His complaint about Yester being tardy didn’t hold true.
Feeling a little better, he asked, “How’s Ma?”
Big Joe shrugged. “She didn’t get up to fix my breakfast, I can tell you that.” He said it like he’d been slighted.
“I’ll go see,” Yester said and refused to listen when his pa told him to hurry up, that they didn’t have time to coddle the woman.
The house stunk of burned wood and smoke. Looking it over now, Yester wasn’t any too sure it could be made whole again. Part of it needed to be torn down, and new rafters, a roof, and framing put up. But at least the corner bedroom where he’d put Ma was still intact, if smoke-stained and the atmosphere noxious. Barney lay on a rug beside the bed, keeping her company while his own wound healed. At least, Yester trusted it was healing. Barney heaved himself to his feet and came over to lick Yester’s hand, which made him think so.
Ma’s eyes opened at Yester’s soft-footed approach. “Did you find Ketta?”
He shook his head.
“He wouldn’t let you go, would he?”
Yester knew who “he” was. He shook his head again.
She smiled a little. “Well, he was right. I don’t know what I was thinking. You can’t go up against those men, Yester. That’s a full-grown man’s job. The sheriff’s job.”
Yester felt like somebody had just yanked a weight off his back. “Are you feeling any better, Ma? Mrs. Fontaine is coming over to see if she can help.”
“Bird is?” Magdalene smiled faintly. “That’s real nice of her. Is that where you’ve been?”
Hadn’t Pa even told her that much?
He nodded. “Pa says he’ll pay Mr. Fontaine to track the horses. We’re leaving right away.” He frowned. Ma sure wasn’t moving around much. And she hadn’t answered when he asked if she was better. “Will you be all right?”
Her faint smile flashed again. Not a real smile, Yester realized, but something else. Something hopeless.
“I’ll have to be, won’t I?” she said. “Go then, son. Just take care of Ketta and see she gets home.”
Big Joe, with single-minded intensity, had fixed the corral for the returned—and returning—horses and even daubed some purple concoction on the cow’s wound. Hadn’t done the morning chores, though, nor attempted to put the outhouse or chicken coop into workable condition. There was nothing Yester could do about those things now, what with Pa cracking the whip in the background.
Nat, complaining about all the practice he was getting saddling white men’s ponies, helped Yester out by tacking up a nice black mare named Queenie for him. Yester fed the chickens, milked the cow, and made sure the critters had water. At last he was ready, and it was time to hit the trail.
In moments, Fontaine, taking the lead, had them all leaving the yard and heading for the hills to the south. Yester, though not a tracker, could see traces in the dirt where the outlaws had been pushing the stolen horses along in front of them. Big Joe whooped when he recognized Beau’s track, notable for what looked like a question mark beaten into the shoe.
“This is easy tracking,” he said to Fontaine. “Looks like I don’t even need you.”
Fontaine’s expression, though his face took on a darker hue, never changed. “You will,” he said.
In another hour, his answer proved prophetic.
Big Joe, out in front and pushing the buckskin into a lope, swept around a bend and disappeared from sight. Fontaine, following at a distance far enough to keep himself and the boys out of the dust, stopped and held up his hand.
“Wait.” Dropping out of the saddle, he walked from side to side of the narrow trail.
“What’s he doing?” Yester asked Nat, who rode beside him.
Nat’s gaze followed his father. “Trackin’,” he said. “The job your pa is supposed to pay him for.”
Yester thought his friend sounded a little doubtful about the pay part.
“Here,” Fontaine muttered, as though to himself, then louder, “You boys hear that creek running?” He nodded off to the right.
Nat cocked his head. Yester followed suit, drawn by Fontaine’s mention of the sound. “You thirsty, Mr. Fontaine?”
Fontaine grinned. “Well, I might be, but I can tell you a couple of them horses the thieves was trying to steal were. Two horses broke off here, heading toward the creek. I figure if you boys was to ride up on them nice and slow they’d be glad to get home.”
Yester assumed responsibility and took the lead. Now that Fontaine had pointed it out, the evidence of the horses’ passage was clear. Broken branches, a pile of turds, and, when they reached the creek, plenty of milling hoofprints in the mud at the edge. A few weeks later and he figured the creek would dry up, but for now the grass on the bank was lush and green. Hipshot and enjoying the day, a couple of his pa’s horses stood in the shade of three or four cottonwood trees. They were one of Big Joe’s prize mares and her foal, a colt Big Joe had high hopes for.
Pa, Yester thought, should be pleased about the animals’ recovery. Maybe it would put him in a better mood when he saw them.
Just as Fontaine predicted, the horses appeared glad to see him. In moments, he and Nat had rigged a rope halter for the mare and led the animals back to find Fontaine. The scout had already progressed a quarter of a mile farther on and had in his possession a young gelding with Big Joe’s brand on its hip.
Yester held out his dripping canteen. “Fresh water, sir?”
Fontaine laughed, uncorked the metal container, and drank deeply. “My t
hanks,” he said. “This is good water. Have any trouble?”
“Nah,” Nat answered. “These horses are tame.”
“They are,” Fontaine said. “Well trained. Found this one over in that little clearing we passed.”
Yester nodded. He’d noticed the place. “Thanks, Mr. Fontaine,” he said. “I wonder why Big Joe passed him by?”
“Going too fast to see what’s in plain sight.” Fontaine shook his head.
“All guts and glory.” Nat looked off into the distance. “Just like Custer.”
Fontaine cast a quick glance at his son. “My son, show respect for your elders. That’s Yester’s pa you’re talking about.”
Nat’s shoulders stiffened. “Sorry, Yester.”
Yester figured out pretty quick when Nat said “sorry” he only meant he regretted Big Joe was such a wranglesome kind of feller. A fellow’d have to be stupid not to decipher the way his friend stifled all comment at mention of Big Joe. In fact, it was almost funny the way his mouth clamped shut. Yester, though, didn’t see any reason to dispute Nat’s opinion. He’d been on the losing end of Pa’s fist often enough to know the truth.
They tied the mare and the gelding together and, leaving the colt free to follow its mother, they went on. Nat led the two.
“We’ll trade off,” he said to Yester. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.” The pact sounded fine to Yester.
Though no tracker, he found it easy enough to follow the hoofprints left by Big Joe’s horse even without Fontaine’s guidance. They overlay the outlaws’, the dust from his passage filling in and blurring the older tracks.
The quiet under the trees lining the trail gave an illusion of peace. It would’ve been a pleasant ride, cooler here in the trees than in the open. If it hadn’t been for their objective, anyway.
Ketta had been gone for over a night, now. Those men wouldn’t do to her what they’d done to Ma, would they? Yester was worrying himself sick over the idea. A young girl like her, and small besides? His fingers clenched on the reins, causing his horse to throw up its head and dance to a stop.
Nat, close behind, called out, “See something?”
Yester shook his head. Forcing himself to relax, he loosened his grip, and the horse plodded on.
Presently, they came to another of Big Joe’s horses, a sorrel with one white sock. He’d been tied to a bush for them to find. Adding him to the string, the boys traded off, and Yester led the horses. In another mile they found two more of the Noonans’ missing animals, and then Fontaine sent Nat after another whose tracks he spied when they were almost past. That one had acted like he’d been spooked, jumping a fallen log to get away.
Fontaine and Yester went on a couple hundred yards before the scout stopped again. “Look there,” he said, pointing down.
Yester looked, and his nose wrinkled. “What’s that? Uh. Is that dried puke?”
“Yes. But only a little. Your sister, she got sick, I think.”
“Do you think they hurt her? Ketta don’t hardly ever get sick. She’s little, but she’s strong.” Had to be, as Yester knew for himself, growing up around Big Joe. She was as tough as he was, and he considered himself pretty tough. Nevertheless, his earlier fear came back to haunt him.
Please God, she’s just a kid and innocent as a flower in a field.
There was nothing to do but go on.
KETTA
Eyes wide, Ketta glanced all around into the darkness before loosening the lead shank used to tie Beau to the outlaw’s makeshift picket line set up between two fir trees. Crickets chirped. A night bird cooed, undisturbed by her gentle movement.
“Shh, Beau,” she told the horse, stroking his velvet nose. “You know me. We’re going home.”
To her relief, the horse whuffled his breath in her hair all friendly-like and agreeable. Maybe he remembered the small person who often fed him a misshapen carrot out of the garden. But just as she prepared to lead him away, he shied, nearly lifting her off her feet.
All that held her down was the heavy hand that clamped onto her shoulder.
“Where you going, little one?” The words sounded soft and slurry.
The black man, Ketta realized, her bladder an instant from giving way. The one Kuo called Tug. A cuddly sounding name for a man who wasn’t cuddly at all. How had he found her, creeping upon her so quietly she hadn’t heard a thing?
Her heart beat hard enough it like to came right out of her chest.
“I . . . I’m petting the horse,” she said, the first thing that came into her head.
“The horse doesn’t need petting, girl. You go back to bed. And stay there.” His teeth, very white in his dark face, flashed as he leaned in close. “Kuo’ll have to tie you up, otherwise. Or I will. Understand?”
Mute, heartsick, and angry all at the same time, Ketta nodded.
“Then scoot.” Tug gave her a push that almost sent her to her knees as she tried to think of a way to escape. Maybe her intentions showed on her face, because he grabbed her again and propelled her ahead of him.
Kuo rose onto an elbow as they approached, Ketta firmly in Tug’s grip. They stopped beside Ketta’s saddle blanket, where Tug pushed her down.
“Heh.” Kuo glared at Ketta, then at Tug. “What’s this?”
“Caught her trying to sneak off,” Tug said.
Kuo’s hand lashed out, catching Ketta on a forearm raised barely in time to save her face. It hurt, but Big Joe had hurt her worse, before she learned to dodge. Still, she knew from experience there’d be a bruise.
“Ow,” she whimpered, her face puckering as if to cry. The act worked on Kuo better than it ever had on Big Joe. His hand hovered, then dropped.
“I’ll tie the brat to me, Tug,” Kuo said. “She won’t be going anywhere ’less she drags me along with her.”
The two men shared a chuckle. Tug found a piece of rope and formed a loop to put around Ketta’s fine-boned wrist.
Kuo took the end of the rope and gave it a jerk, drawing her almost level with him. “That’ll work.”
He flopped back down and was asleep almost before Tug faded away as silently as he’d sneaked up on her.
Ketta, with her arm stretched as far as it’d go, didn’t sleep at all.
The next morning, they went on. At times the men rode side by side, other times strung out single file. They got through the high ground beyond the Noonan ranch early and struck out across an area of steep, rolling hills. Patches of trees dotted the gullies where, in season, water ran. Now, with summer heating up the landscape, the gullies were mostly dry. Leaves on the few trees hung in parched and yellowed curls. The firs put out a strong resin scent, alternating with the dry aroma of sage in the open areas.
“Where are we going?” Ketta finally asked her captor in a small voice. She didn’t think of him as her father. Not at all. He’d left the rope on her wrist, although he’d detached it from his own. It chafed, turning her fair skin bright red and leaving a welt. Surreptitiously, she worked the rope looser, until it hung over her hand.
“None of your business,” he said. “But where I go, you go. Got it?”
“What are you going to do with me?” It came out an embarrassing squeak.
“A girl like you?” He shrugged. “You’re a pretty little thing. Probably get a good price for you from the right man. If I took a notion.”
Ketta’s stomach turned, and she was sick again, the small contents of her stomach splashing onto Kuo’s leg when she bent over Beau’s side.
Kuo cursed and set her on the ground. “Walk,” he said. Or maybe he meant run.
Kuo led the little cavalcade. After a while he took pity on Ketta, half-winded and puffing alongside Beau, and lifted her up again.
Or maybe, she decided, hot, breathless, and sweaty, it wasn’t pity, but impatience from having to go slow enough she could keep up. Scar and Snaggletooth—well, she should properly call them Milt and Frank, although she didn’t know which was which—kept to the center, and Tug rode last. W
hen Ketta looked back, she saw the horse he was riding, the one that had gone to its knees yesterday, limping quite badly now and going slower every minute. Consequently, Tug, who stopped often to rest the horse, lagged behind. Every once in a while, Kuo stopped for him to come level.
Before long, the other two men began complaining, and even Kuo’s aggravation showed. Tug knew it, too.
“Got to find me another horse,” he said, lifting his floppy felt hat and wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Or else shoot that one and walk. If the girl can, I guess you can, too,” Kuo said on one of their stops, although Ketta was riding in front of him again by this time.
Shoot one of Big Joe’s horses? Horrified, Ketta, watching his narrowed eyes, saw Kuo wasn’t joking.
Tug’s face went blank. “There’s a ranch over yonder.” He waved a large meaty hand to the south. “They keep their remuda in a little valley about a mile from the house. We all could do with a fresh mount. What say we go help ourselves to a few?”
“How do you know about the horses?”
Ketta could tell Kuo was suspicious of any idea not his own.
“Worked there for a couple months. Long enough for me. The boss is a hard man to please.”
Snaggletooth laughed. “I say yes. They got any women at that ranch?”
Tug lifted his shoulders. “Don’t know. But I do know Ben Patton has a gun and ain’t above shootin’ trespassers. Might want to use a little stealth, if you know what I mean. Should give us a few hours head start.”
Afternoon found the black man walking, limping almost as badly as Big Joe’s horse. Forced to slow down, they paused frequently for Tug to catch his breath. It had taken them several hours to circle around the ranch and find the valley, tucked away as it was between two hills formed of rocks and soil blown in from the Palouse country. Sure enough, just like Tug’d said, there were several horses to choose from, blocked from escaping by a wide rail gate and a well-built fence.
Tug collapsed onto a chair-height rock in the shade of a cottonwood and huffed out a relieved sigh. He looked more gray than black, Ketta thought, covered in dust kicked up by the others’ horses.
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