“Son of a bitch,” he said. His shirt was wet with sweat from his effort to keep up.
Kuo lifted Ketta down, giving the rope on her wrist a shake and rubbing the raw spot enough to make her wince.
“You stay put,” he said and went on giving orders. “Frank, take the saddle off Tug’s horse. And hurry it up.” He spoke over the snaggletoothed man’s protests. “I don’t like it here. It’s too open. You, Milt, shake a loop. Select a horse and get saddled up.”
“What’ll we do with these here horses we’re riding?” Milt asked.
“Turn ’em loose,” Kuo said. “Who cares?”
“Well, I ain’t shooting the lame one,” Tug said.
“ ’Course not.” Kuo sent him a scathing look. “A gunshot’d probably bring a dozen men down on us.”
Ketta realized that Kuo, her father—the sickening reminder shot through Ketta like a lead ball—was the leader of this group of outlaws. Furthermore, he didn’t like the black man. Sometimes, he stopped just short of making fun of him. Well, that was all right. She didn’t like Tug, either. Hated them all and him, her father, the most. She had to get away, escape and get back to her mother. The memory of Mama fighting those awful men flashed through her mind.
But how? Her mind scurried like a mouse between two cats. She needed to make a plan, that’s how, and carry it through quick, before Kuo took her any farther.
Ketta looked around and almost burst into tears.
She didn’t know where she was or how to get home, but even so, an idea was forming in her brain. The rancher Tug talked about would know what to do. And chances were, he’d take her home, too, when she told him her story. She just had to escape first, that’s all. Disappear until the outlaws gave up looking for her.
The men were busy, their attention on selecting and saddling fresh horses. Inch by inch, Ketta crept backward. If she made it as far as those rocks a couple hundred feet off to the side, she’d hide. She was good at things like that, hiding almost in plain sight. She’d had a lot of practice in her short life.
She felt sure Kuo, being in a hurry to leave the ranch behind, wouldn’t take the time to look for her. Not for more than a few minutes, anyway.
Would he?
CHAPTER FIVE: YESTER
For all his pa’s bragging about not needing Fontaine’s scouting abilities badly enough to pay for them, Big Joe had cause to eat his words before much more time elapsed.
Fontaine, along with Yester and Nat and their string of horses, caught up with Big Joe in an hour or so. They found him dismounted and gazing around, slapping his hat on his leg and making the horse fidgety at the motion. He stood at the edge of a campsite empty of everything except scrapings of food and the lingering odor of charred wood. The surrounding grass had been eaten down by the outlaws’ horses. Big Joe’s horses.
“About time you got here. You’re letting these thieves get away.” He sent them a scathing look. “See you managed to find a few of my horses, at least.”
He didn’t sound particularly grateful, to Yester’s way of thinking. According to the look on Nat’s face, he didn’t think so, either. But then, Big Joe wasn’t known for a generous attitude or for saying thank you under the best of circumstances. Of which this wasn’t one.
Fontaine grunted, which could’ve meant anything. He paid Big Joe no attention, but paced the area, his searching look going everywhere, his nose sniffing, even his ears pricked, if such a thing could be in a man. He reminded Yester of a tracker hound.
“I think this is all of the stolen horses, Pa,” Yester said, counting the animals they’d gathered, “except for the ones they’re riding.”
“One of those is limping,” Fontaine said. “It will slow them down.”
“Limping,” Big Joe repeated, then cursed, like it was somehow Fontaine’s fault. “Which one?”
Fontaine smiled, a faint twitch of his lips. “The one carrying the heaviest of the men. I do not know the horse’s name.”
Yester started to smile until Big Joe scowled. “Well, let’s get after them,” Pa said.
They mounted up, his pa once again pounding off in the lead ahead of Fontaine, Nat, and Yester.
“He will make tracking harder by destroying the signs of their passing,” Fontaine said, his censure mild in view of Big Joe’s head-up-his-butt attitude. He pointed to scuffed marks in the forest duff where the only traces they saw belonged to Noonan.
Embarrassed for his father, and embarrassed by him, too, Yester found it impossible to meet Fontaine’s gaze. Well, this wasn’t the first time, he thought, remembering their time in town just yesterday. He made a sound low in his throat.
Nat shot him a look that spoke of sympathy.
Big Joe kept on until he broke out of the timbered hills into the flatter, drier prairie lands that would eventually take them down to the Snake River.
They caught up with him at a spot shaded by a single tree where the outlaw party had stopped and milled around for a bit. Even Yester could tell there might’ve been some confusion going on between the outlaws. And it was he who found their target’s prints in the dirt. The heel of a boot, regular as could be, about a yard apart. Fontaine nodded approval at Yester’s find, although Big Joe said nothing.
But then the tracks traveled across a dry creek bed and vanished into the hard-packed earth.
“The horse is still limping,” Fontaine said, “The man is walking and leading him. Soon the others will either abandon him and go on without him, or they will find a way to get more horses.”
Big Joe sneered. “Where? This country is empty as a broke eggshell.”
“I have been this way before,” Fontaine said. “There are ranches.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“There.” Fontaine pointed south. His finger moved. “There.” Again, “And there.”
“You’re the scout. Which way did they go?”
Fontaine shrugged. “We will fan out. Don’t get too far apart. Watch the ground; eventually there will be sign. Be careful not to destroy it. When one of us finds something, wave or holler, and we will join together.”
“Takes time,” Big Joe growled. “Meanwhile, they’re spoiling my horses. And these here could use water.” He indicated the string of recovered animals, patiently following at the end of Yester’s lead.
“Then take them home,” Fontaine said. “The boys and I will go on. Find the rest and free the child.”
Yester saw the look on Big Joe’s face. He’d forgotten all about Ketta.
For a moment he appeared to consider Fontaine’s suggestion, then his jaw, unshaven in days and dark with stubble, tightened. “We’re all going on. I ain’t turning back without all my property, and Yester ain’t, either.”
He didn’t say a word about Ketta. Yester’s heart sank.
It was Nat who picked up the trail, yodeling an attention-getting cry and waving his arms to signal the discovery. Yester, being nearest to the others, passed the signal on. Gigging his horse into a trot, the recovered animals followed on their leads as he headed over to Nat.
He reached his friend’s side first. “You’ve got good eyes, Nat. This sign is hard to see.” As far as he could tell, the scant traces consisted only of a few blurred marks, a couple overturned stones, and a crumpled branch of sage.
Pushing out his chest, Nat’s face lit up. “My father is a good teacher.”
Yester nodded, his gaze going to Big Joe, who’d nudged his horse into a lope, cutting ahead of Fontaine in his rush to reach them. Then, his impatience clear, he had need to wait for the scout to make sense of the sign.
Fontaine dismounted, plucked a bit of the sage and sniffed. Scanning the hills rising before them, he shook his head. “They are headed for Patton’s Rocking Box P, I think. The closest place to find a horse to mount the man afoot.” He switched his gaze to Yester’s pa. “And they are miles ahead of us.”
“Patton, eh? I’ve heard of him.” A scowl furrowed Big Joe’s forehead as he took off his hat and
wiped sweat. “You know where to find this Patton’s place?”
“Yes.”
“What’re you waiting for then? Let’s go.”
Fontaine lifted a hand. “Cautiously, Noonan. Patton is known to be quick with a gun.”
“Good. Then maybe them thieves are already dead,” Big Joe said.
“As you may be if you barge onto his land like some kind of war party and without his say-so. Especially if these outlaws have already been there.”
Big Joe, not being one to hide his feelings, glared, although Yester noticed he slowed down and let Fontaine take the lead.
They went on, sure now of their destination.
Although slowed somewhat by the string of recaptured horses, within a couple hours, Fontaine had guided them to a rutted wagon road. In the distance, a group of ranch buildings nestled in the lee of a small grove. Yester figured the trees had been planted some years ago for a windbreak. They were only slightly stunted, so he guessed there must be a good spring to keep them watered.
But before they got to the buildings, they found the road blocked by a gate. The gate wasn’t connected to a fence, which struck Yester as strange. The land alongside the road was wide open. A hand-lettered sign hung on the gate. YOU GOT BUSINESS HERE, COME IN. YOU DON’T, RIDE ON. IF YOU ENTER, CLOSE THE GATE BEHIND YOU. SAME WHEN YOU LEAVE, UNLESS I’M SHOOTING AT YOU.
Not exactly welcoming, but kind of funny, in a way.
“Huh,” Big Joe said. “Who’s that sonofagun think he is?”
Fontaine’s lips twitched.
Yester figured this Patton and his pa should get along fine. Unless they didn’t.
Big Joe rode around the gate. Fontaine gestured for Nat to drag it open since Yester was leading the horses.
“But, Father,” Nat protested. “Why not . . .”
“Open the gate,” his father insisted.
They politely entered the property and, like good guests, meticulously closed the gate behind the last horse.
By the time they were a quarter mile from headquarters, two people came out of the house and stood on the front porch watching them come. A spotted dog stood beside them barking loudly. As they got closer, they saw the craggy man with salt-and-pepper whiskers held a Winchester lever-action rifle. The woman, wrinkles making a map of her face, clutched a double-barrel shotgun. Both wore grim expressions. Yester believed either would shoot if they thought it necessary.
Fontaine drew rein a short distance from the hitching rail. Taking a prudent course for once, Yester’s pa followed suit.
The rancher, whom Yester assumed must be Mr. Patton, cocked his head and studied them.
“Fontaine,” he said, acknowledging the scout. Sharp eyes examined Big Joe, the boys, and the string of horses before finally sliding away. “Pleased to see you again. You’re some way off your stomping grounds.”
Fontaine crossed his hands over the saddle horn, his reins loose and relaxed. “Yes. On the trail of four horse thieves and kidnappers. Yesterday they stole this man’s horses and his twelve-year-old daughter. We aim to get them back. They headed this way. Thought you might have seen them.”
Big Joe muttered something, causing Patton’s gaze to shift toward him before the rancher looked back at Fontaine.
While Patton might not have heard him, Yester had. “Not my daughter,” is what his pa had said. Ornery old sonovagun.
To his surprise, Patton’s face flushed a bright turkey-wattle color. “Seen ’em, no. Seen what they did, yes. Appears this feller here”—his nod indicated Big Joe—“and me got something in common. They got into my remuda and stole several horses. Bastards stole my prize Percheron. Well, Percheron mix.” He shook his head and breathed deep. “Then they ran off the rest, probably to hide their own tracks. What they did,” he turned to face Noonan and pointed at Rory’s hip, “is leave the wore-out ponies they were riding behind. Horses with the same brand that one there is wearing. They’re taking up space in my pen as we speak.”
He didn’t sound all that pleased about it, either.
“Only reason I’m to home right now is I’ve got my hands readying to go after them,” Patton continued. “We’ll be gone directly.”
“Penned, you say,” Big Joe breathed. “Then we got no more business here. I’ll pick up my horses and get ’em on home.”
“You do that,” Patton said with a short nod.
“Pa?” Yester said, meaning to ask after Ketta. But Mrs. Patton, if that’s who the woman was, got in before him.
“Horses!” she snorted. “What about the girl? They’ve still got her. A twelve-year-old girl.”
Yester had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew what she meant.
KETTA
Ketta crouched low.
Tiptoeing light as a fairy and fairly flying across the dry ground, she’d made it to the boulders scattered at the right of the barrier where the horses were corralled. When she’d decided on the rocky area as a place to hide, it had looked ideal. But now she was here, she regretted her decision. The rocks grew into a solid bluff behind her with no way out. They formed a barricade as much to keep her in as to keep others out. It wasn’t a bit like her hideaway at home, where the entrance was hidden from view and had a way for a wily kid to slip out of sight.
Still, she thought hopefully, these men were in a hurry. She’d heard them talking, even as she pretended to pay no attention. They wanted to put miles between them and the law. Horse thieves and robbers were bad enough, but what they’d done at her home was worse. What if Mama—
Her mind stuttered. She didn’t want to think of that. Better to get herself out of her own predicament.
If the men were unable to find her right off, she expected they’d abandon the search real quick. Those men—Tug, and Frank, and Milt—they had no use for her. Her father—her father—had no use for her, either. Did he? He wouldn’t really sell her—would he? Even Big Joe hadn’t threatened such an awful, frightening thing.
No. He’d rather she were dead.
All these worrisome thoughts made her stomach hurt again. Swallowing down nausea, she risked a glance over the top of her rock.
Kuo stood beside his selection of mount, a dun that stood twitching his tail as the man tightened the cinch. Tug was already astride the biggest horse she’d ever seen. It was black, with such huge feet it could only be a mixed draft/saddle horse. The other two men were ready to ride. Each had chosen a nondescript bay, and they were passing a jug and swallowing deeply of its contents.
Ketta recognized the jug’s shape. She had a feeling Kuo wouldn’t be pleased if the pair imbibed so much they slowed the getaway.
Kuo finished with his horse and put his foot in the stirrup. Once settled, he looked around, spun his horse in a circle, and looked again.
For her.
Ketta barely stifled a shriek of fear. Without thinking, she took a step backward. And another and another, until the rock bluff at her back put a stop to any retreat. Frantic, she turned around, searching for any small place to hide. The only possibility she found was a crevice, more a fold in the stone than a real opening. She pressed herself into it, not even feeling the weather-honed stones slashing at her arms, or the blood starting from the small wounds.
“Ketta,” Kuo called. “Come out. You can’t hide. I’m your father. You belong to me.”
Did he hear her heart beating? So fast, so loud the rocks around her seemed to vibrate.
“Ketta.” He walked his horse back and forth in front of the gate. “Come out now, and I won’t punish you.” He stared into the remuda pen where the remaining horses milled, disturbed by the strangers’ intrusion, as if expecting to find her there.
Go away. She was willing him with all her might. Go away.
But he didn’t.
With an angry gesture, he yanked open the gate and let it fall as he rode into the pen. “Hiya,” he yelled at the first few horses. They began trotting in a circle, closer and closer to the downed gate.
�
��What’re you doing?” Milt asked, gaping at Kuo.
“Looking for the girl. Where is she?”
The men looked at each other and shrugged.
“Leave her,” Tug said. “We need to go.”
Yes, leave me. Go.
“The rancher’ll see the dust these horses are stirring up.” Tug scowled, eyes flashing in his dark face. “I’d just as soon not be around when he comes after us. No sense in making it easy for him.”
“Scared?” Kuo sneered.
“Not scared. Just trying to be smart. Unlike you. Leave the girl go, and let’s get out of here.”
Why, Ketta thought, doesn’t Kuo listen to him? Oh, please.
He acted as if he hadn’t heard. Within moments he’d cleared the pen, sending the horses off across country with the dust Tug had mentioned flying up from under their hooves.
Frank uttered a curse lost in the tumult of galloping horses and blowing dust. He and Milt exchanged wary glances and, without a word spoken between them, set spurs to their mounts and charged after the escaping horses.
Tug didn’t stir, just sat on the huge black horse he’d chosen to steal and waited.
Why Tug? Ketta wondered, taking a quick peek. Kuo doesn’t like him, so why is he the loyal one? Why does he stay?
Kuo—she couldn’t bring herself to call him her father—gave up examining the pen where the horses had been. Evidently deciding she hadn’t been trampled into the ground, he reined the dun close to Tug’s giant horse. The men spoke softly, beyond her hearing.
Tug pointed toward the rock bluff. Right toward her hiding place, if just a couple degrees off center.
“Ketta,” Kuo called again. “I see you. Come out. Now.”
She jumped a little. He didn’t really see her, did he? He was trying to trick her.
“Now,” he repeated.
A stone turned under her foot and twisted her ankle, painful enough she gasped just the least little bit.
She closed her eyes. If she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her. Right?
Yester's Ride Page 5