“C’mon,” Nat said, tugging on Yester’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Figuring he’d probably heard everything relevant, Yester took out his jackknife and snapped it open. Shoulder to shoulder, he and Nat bulled their way out of the alley, leaving a few disgruntled slant-eyed devils behind. He’d had to scratch one of them with the blade of his knife, drawing a tiny trickle of blood. Guess he hadn’t been as cowed by the odds as they’d expected. He’d never been so glad as he was right now that his height made him imposing. Even though he was only sixteen years old, he was man-sized on a man’s quest.
He and Nat mounted up and rode out, their horses kicked into a fast trot.
“Where should we go next?” Nat asked when they’d left the furor behind.
“East. Into the hills.”
“Any place a little more specific?”
Yester shrugged. “A few Chinese still mine a little along the Snake. Some of the tributaries, too. We can look there. But mostly, I think—” His heart almost failed him at the idea of their next adventure. Those men who’d taken his sister, they were bad, bad men. Look what they’d done to his ma. What would they do to him and Nat if they got the chance?
The sad face of the girl from the woodshed haunted him.
Worse, what would they do to Ketta if the Chinaman didn’t protect her?
After a minute, Nat said, “You think what?”
“I think we need to check out that outlaw hideout the old bugger at the livery told us about.”
The old feller had gotten quite talkative when threatened with the law. And since the stolen Percheron was standing right there in his corral, he’d have had a hard time denying involvement. Turns out, he’d opened up pretty good.
“East,” he’d said, pointing off in one direction before changing his mind and pointing another. He’d been right the first time, Yester noted. “Somewhere in those hills. I figure it’s twenty miles or so. A long day’s travel.”
Nat gave him the eye. “Probably lying,” he’d said to Yester.
“I ain’t.” A sneer lifted a corner of his scraggly white mustache. “He ain’t anything to me. I don’t like Chinks any better than I like Injuns. As for the black feller and a couple men them two usually run with, well, they got prices on their heads. They’ll all be laying low for a spell.”
As a reason to trust his directions, it seemed a bit less than convincing, but Yester didn’t see any other option. Especially since the Chinese girl had said practically the same thing.
He looked at Nat. “Let’s go,” he said, so they did.
KETTA
Ketta leaned her head against Kuo’s back and wept. Silently, careful not to let herself shake or make a sound, so he wouldn’t know. She didn’t want him to guess how weak she was. How terrified. How much she wanted to be back home with her mother and her brother. Even Big Joe, the enemy she knew. What if she never saw any of them again?
They traveled the lonely trail for several miles, through sparse woodlands and rising hills marked by dark cliffs, leaving the river behind. She missed the sound of rushing water, the coolness in the patches of cottonwoods and fresh fragrance of their sun-baked leaves. Even the birds were mostly silent as they soared through the blue, blue sky. Insects ceased their chatter when the horse’s legs brushed the weeds and grasses sprouting from the poor, dry soil.
After a while, she sat straighter, horrified to see a wet spot on his shirt where her tears had soaked through.
“It’s hot,” she said. “My face is sweating.”
“Yes. It is hot.” His body gave a little shake. “There’s a camping spot just ahead. We’ll stop there and go on in the morning, when the horse has rested.”
Ketta suppressed a snort. Evidently, he forgot he was speaking to a girl who knew a bit about horses, seeing they were the family business. This horse wasn’t tired. He strode along under the combined load of Kuo and herself that still was a good bit lighter than the average-sized man. And they’d gone slowly, plodding along and never breaking out of a walk. Even so, she wasn’t in any more of a hurry than Kuo to get wherever they were going.
Maybe he wasn’t so sure about this hideout he’d mentioned. Not so sure about what, or who, he’d find there. The other man, Scar—or Milt, she supposed she ought to call him—who must’ve been the one to shoot Frank in the head, would he be waiting to do the same to Kuo? And if he succeeded, what about her?
A thought occurred to her. “Did the black man—”
“Tug,” Kuo said. “He has a name. All of us have a name.”
It stopped Ketta for a moment. What did he mean, all of us? Then, “Are you sure Tug got on the boat?”
“Yes. He sold that horse he was riding for the passage money. Had to. Milt has control of—” He cut himself off. “There was no money at your ranch,” he finally continued, as though in disapproval. “Noonan must be very poor.”
Ketta sniffed. At least no one could accuse Big Joe of being a thief.
“Did you see him get on the boat?” she persisted.
“Why?”
“Just to be sure he is gone. Maybe he doubled back and shot . . . that man.”
Apparently, this logic made Kuo think, and think he did, until Ketta wondered what was going on in his mind.
“He got on board,” he said at last. “Milt, or one of the others, shot Frank. Frank, he rubbed some people the wrong way. Whined a lot. A real complainer.”
“Others?” It came out a squeak. Did he mean more outlaws? How many? How would anyone ever rescue her from a whole gang? Or was anyone even trying? Her heart felt as heavy as a block of granite.
“Milt’s sons, for the most part.” Kuo laughed bitterly. “A regular robbers’ roost.”
Ketta didn’t see anything funny about it. She remembered Milt hadn’t liked her. He’d thought she’d fetch a good price from some unknown man who liked young, pretty girls. Like Ah Kum, the girl in the shed. She’d said her name meant “good as gold.” Ketta wondered who’d given her the name. The old woman?
They stopped long before dark, when the trail started an abrupt climb. The sun still shone above the bluff where Ketta knew the river to be. She had a very good sense of direction and figured to find her way home by herself if she got the chance. She wasn’t lost. Not by a long shot, having kept careful track of their route.
Doves hiding in the brush called out, their soft sounds warning of intrusion but not frantic with fear. Somehow, they helped Ketta feel calmer, too.
Kuo chose a pleasant camping spot. Dismounting and lifting Ketta to the ground, he hobbled the horse amongst a stand of yellowed grass. A trickle of water spurted from the mountain at the bottom of one of the draws, forming a small pool.
Spurted cold and clear. Ketta washed her face and hands and drank until her belly said enough. Here Kuo finally relaxed, taking the saddle from the horse and spreading it and the blanket on the ground to dry before dark.
“Build a fire,” he told Ketta. “A small one, with no smoke. I want some coffee.”
The main trail was invisible from this point, which she supposed eased his mind. Perhaps he didn’t want unexpected—or unwelcome—visitors anymore than she did. Their difference might be in who each considered unwelcome. Ketta would be glad to see Big Joe, even if he sneered at her. But maybe not if he beat her.
Kuo hadn’t beat her. Slapped her a few times, though not so hard as to jar her teeth. An odd thought ripped through her, one that knew surprise.
Before the coffee boiled, Kuo fell asleep, and Ketta set it aside, keeping it warm until he awakened only a few minutes later.
Ketta was watching him when his eyes opened. “Do you have a last name?” She handed him the cup, blowing on her fingers because the tin cup radiated heat.
“ ’Course I do.” He yawned and guzzled coffee. “Why?”
“What is it?”
He frowned at her, his slanted eyes tilting downwards. “Horner.”
Her mouth shaped the word—words. “Kuo
Horner.” It sounded strange to her, like the two didn’t mesh together. Horner was an American name.
“Is my last name Horner, too?”
In the midst of taking a large swallow of coffee, he broke into a fit of coughing. “No. I don’t think it works that way. You take your mother’s name.” He paused. “Because her and me, we’re not married. So, you take hers.” He sat back. “When’s supper?”
Ketta figured he was just trying to divert her questions. “Does that mean I belong to her?”
“Sure,” he muttered. “I guess so.”
Her head lifted. “Then you should take me back to her. You stole me, and I want to go home.”
Kuo stared at her for a long minute, his black eyes glittering, then said, “You think you belong to Noonan? That’s what they call you, isn’t it? Ketta Noonan? You like his name? I hear he beats you, little girl. Maybe,” he added, “you deserve it. Do you?”
Mute now, Ketta shook her head. After a moment, she said, “My mother never beats me. And my brother Yester, he takes care of me. Sometimes he takes a whupping Big Joe means for me. Sometimes he gets between Big Joe and me.”
“A regular hero, eh?”
Ketta smiled a tiny smile. “Yes.”
She didn’t think her answer pleased her father. Why? Did he want to be a hero? Something to ponder as she portioned out the food they’d neglected at noon.
Later, the rising wind blew dust and bits of debris from the dry countryside over their campsite, coating Kuo’s blanket and Ketta’s saddle pad. She just buried her face in the blanket, thoughts and images running through her head. But her thoughts were not of the wind or the dust. They were about Kuo. Her father.
Ketta had the strange idea that maybe he really did want to be a hero.
But he wasn’t. He was a kidnapper.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: YESTER
Yester and Nat made good time in the cool of the morning, having departed the town early. Their horses were fresh and well fed; the boys eager to be back on the trail. The only problem was their uncertainty of whether they were on the right trail.
Along about mid-morning, they chanced upon a woodcutter headed back toward Lewiston with a wagon load of red fir cut in stove-size pieces. A heavy load, from the looks of things, with four chestnut-colored draft horses harnessed to the wagon. None of the horses, Yester observed, had quite the size of Patton’s Percheron. These cross-bred Belgians had worked up quite a lather.
They met at a narrow spot in the trail, and both parties stopped.
“How do,” Yester said.
“How do yourself,” the woodcutter replied.
He, along with a helper sitting up top the load, were willing enough to give the horses a breather while they exchanged pleasantries. Yester crossed his wrists over his saddle horn and nodded at the wood.
“How many cords you got there? Is there a good market for wood in Lewiston?” He figured his questions were as good a way as any to get the feller talking. Men always liked to talk about their work. Leastwise, all the men he knew.
“Got around two cords, this load.” The woodcutter took out his chew and gnawed off a bite. “Got to go some distance to find wood for cutting. Most of the timber’s been used up around here.”
Yester scanned the way ahead, to hills blue on the horizon. “You come from there today?” He tilted his head.
The woodcutter looked, nodded, and spat. “Yup.”
“See anybody else on the trail?”
Shrugging his shoulders, the man spat again. “Didn’t notice.”
“I did, boss.” The younger man, a kid not any older than Yester, grinned down from his perch. “He probably don’t know I saw him, but I did. Seemed to me he tried to avoid meeting up with us. Steered his horse off the road when he saw us coming. We drove right past him.”
The driver frowned. “I didn’t see nobody.” To Yester, he said, “Willy is a little prone to letting his imagination run away with him.”
“Yeah?” Willy grinned. “And you’re a little prone to sleeping and letting the horses drive their ownselves. It’s a good thing the horses know what they’re doing,” he added to Yester with a wise nod.
Yester and Nat exchanged a wary glance. Ducky, Yester thought, as Nat snickered not quite inaudibly. A feller who imagined things and another feller who slept and drove a team at the same time.
He figured it couldn’t hurt to ask his questions, even of such unreliable observers. “You get a look at the feller?”
“A little. He was pretty far off and stayed out of sight. Just a man on a horse. Wore a black hat and a black shirt. I figure he must be hot in that black shirt. Ain’t no color hotter than black.” Willy had on a sweat-stained chambray shirt washed and faded to almost white. He still looked hot.
Meanwhile, the description didn’t do Yester a lot of good. He had only the vaguest memory of the Chinaman he’d seen in Pullman, since he hadn’t wanted to get caught staring. Sure thought he’d been dressed all in black, but then, so were a lot of people.
He shrugged. “I’m looking for a Chinaman,” he said.
Willy stared at him. “Well, what do you want with a Chinaman, fer God’s sake?”
“First intelligent question I’ve ever heard you ask anybody,” the driver said and spat again, the brown juice splattering onto the road and raising a dust. The raw stench of it rose to where Yester sat his horse.
“He’s a kidnapper,” Nat said, finally adding a penny’s worth to the conversation.
“A kidnapper!” The driver shot Nat a look. “Who’d he kidnap?”
“My sister.” Yester shifted uncomfortably. “Was the yahoo you saw a Chinaman?”
Willie pondered, moving uncomfortably on his seat atop the piled wood. “Don’t know,” he said at last. “Didn’t get that clear of a look at him.”
“Hell.” The driver snorted. “Everbody knows you can’t see twenty feet in front of you.”
“Can too,” Willie said.
“Can’t.”
Yester figured this exchange might go on forever if he didn’t put a stop to it. “Well,” he broke in, “could you see if he had anybody with him?”
At this, though Willie turned his eyes upward as if searching the cloudless blue sky for an answer, he had a positive answer. “Nope. One horse. One man.”
Yester’s shoulders slumped. Are we on the wrong trail? he wondered.
“His sister is young,” Nat said. “Only twelve and small. She’d probably be riding either in front of her kidnapper or behind him. You might not have been able to see her at a distance. Do you think this might be possible?”
They all, even the driver, looked to Willie, whose eyes turned upward again.
Grateful for Nat’s intervention, Yester waited for Willie to think and to answer. Finally, he did.
“Could be,” he said, then more firmly, “Yeah, it’s possible.”
It wasn’t much to go on, Yester thought as, after getting a description of just where Willie had seen the man, he and Nat rode on.
“Think Willie knew what he was talking about?” he asked Nat, a half mile farther down the road. They rode side by side, any trail wide enough for a wood wagon being plenty wide for the two of them.
Nat shrugged. “He seemed pretty sure of where he saw them. Guess we can take a look at the tracks. See if the horse is the same one we were tracking yesterday.” He seemed confident.
“If we can find the place.”
“We’ll find it.”
The sun beat down. Twists and turns took them from shadow to bright, from cool to hot. The sound of the river rang strong. Presently, they came to a sharp turn, where the road’s builders had gone around a room-sized boulder.
“Don’t guess Willie could’ve missed this,” Nat said.
“Nope.”
They guided their horses off the trail into a small bunch of cottonwoods on the river side. They’d gotten plenty of moisture, their leaves lush and green even in the summer heat.
Nat pointed d
own. “Look.”
It struck Yester that his heart plumb lifted in his chest. Here under the trees, a heavy dew had collected overnight. The soil retained the ability to show tracks. Sure enough, there was a trail. But not, he saw, the hoofprints of the horse they’d been following yesterday. No bent nail marked this shoe. Disappointment—more, a kind of grief—surged through him, until Nat gripped his arm.
“No, look here,” Nat said. “Ketta.”
There, off to the side, was the clear imprint of a small shoe. One of a size to fit a small girl.
“Ketta,” Yester agreed.
Sure now of the right direction, they slowed, taking time to watch for traces of the horse to follow. If it hadn’t been for Nat, Yester knew, he would’ve lost the trail, especially when their prey left the road and headed off through an almost trackless cut. They followed, stopping where they saw signs that Ketta and her kidnapper had stopped. Finally, they came back to the sound of running water and the river.
Yester rose in his stirrups to ease his rear end. “Gotta take a break. Horses could use a drink, too.”
Nat agreed. “Yeah. I’m about paralyzed.”
Yester mustered a chuckle. “You? I thought you were born on a horse. Least that’s what you told me.”
Groaning, Nat dismounted. “Huh. That’s what I told Ketta. She believed me.”
Sobered, the boys took reins in hand and, finding a fairly level path down to the water, led the horses to drink.
Nat’s sharply indrawn breath drew Yester’s attention. “What?”
“What’s that?”
Yester followed Nat’s pointing forefinger. He squinted. “A downed tree.” He looked harder and blinked. “Maybe it came out of somebody’s yard. It’s got—”
“Clothes on.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s . . .”
“It’s a man,” Nat yelled, causing both horses to snort and pull back.
By the time the boys had them under control again, the body had drifted farther down the river, tumbling and turning, and pausing as it whirled in an eddy. A wayward spin caught the dead man in a current that took him to the river’s opposite bank, and there lodged him in the branches of a tree that had fallen into the water.
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