Seasons of Glory

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  * * *

  No more than thirty minutes after they’d left Glory, still in her nightclothes and standing in the great room of the Lawless house, Riley reined in when his father and brothers did. He sought their eyes, but knew the answer even before he asked, “Right here? This is where you found Ma’s bonnet?”

  “Yep,” Caleb answered him. “Right here.”

  Zeke chimed in with, “There aren’t any other clues here. We looked. And we told you—the ground’s too hard for wagon ruts or hoofprints to be left behind. Even the tallgrass has already stood back up from the wagon wheels.”

  Riley ignored Zeke as he huffed out his breath and scrutinized the ground around them all. But like Zeke said, not even a single, trampled blade of grass could he find to act as a clue. Nothing to point the way. Fearing defeat before he even got the chance to try, Riley notched his Stetson up. “All right. John, you and Zeke go on back home, wait there in case Ma shows up. In case she and Miss Biddy did just go off on a visit.”

  When the younger two of the five Thorne sons started to protest, Ben cut into their griping. “Do as he says. This ain’t no time for arguing. In fact, Henry, you take Caleb and the two of you go get any of the men we can spare from the herd. And then ride for the Lawless place and meet me and Riley there. Now, get going—all of you.”

  Surprised at and more than a little worried by his father’s words, Riley frowned as his brothers obediently paired off and wheeled their horses in the two separate ways Ben Thorne had just sent them. When only he and his father remained, surrounded by the quiet indifference of no-man’s-land, Riley spoke his mind. “‘Meet us at the Lawless place?’ What are you thinking, Pa?”

  Ben shook his head and firmed his lips before meeting Riley’s gaze. “I’m thinking that if there’s trouble, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

  Riley’s stomach clenched, as did his hands around Pride’s reins. “No Lawless did this, Pa. You can’t ride in there, guns blazing. Think about it—Miss Biddy wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt Ma. And the Lawless hands sure as hell wouldn’t hurt Miss Biddy.”

  Ben’s lined and craggy features hardened. “Who rode over to our place and got your mother? Biddy Jensen. She’s in with them. They’ve got your ma. If your judgment wasn’t clouded by your feelings for Glory, you’d see that.”

  “That’s crazy talk, Pa, and you know it. Miss Biddy plotting against Ma? She’d never do that. If your judgment wasn’t clouded by your wanting the Lawless land above all else, you’d see that.” For long, hard moments, Riley stared without blinking at his father, who said not a word in reply.

  For a split second, Riley’s thoughts turned inward. Glory. He saw her as he’d left her. Alone. Scared. The same look on her face she’d had the night someone tried to kill her out on the verandah. Son-of-a-bitch. That’s it. Riley blinked, focusing on his father’s grim face. “It’s not Ma and Miss Biddy at all. Their being kidnapped was a trick to draw us all away. Pa, it’s Glory he’s after. Not Ma. Not Miss Biddy. But Glory. She’s the target.”

  Ben’s thick, white eyebrows all but met over his nose. “Like hell she is. It’s not Glory’s who missing. It’s your ma, boy. Your ma. Don’t you have any concern for your own blood?”

  Riley wheeled Pride until the gray gelding faced the direction of the Lawless spread. His muscles bunched with his effort to control the stamping, grunting animal. He pulled back sharply on the reins and all but spat out his next words to his father. “I’m telling you that it’s Glory who’s the target. And as sure as I’m sitting here and talking with you, she’s been taken, too. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. When we find her—if she’s not dead already—we’ll find Ma and Miss Biddy. Are you with me, Pa, or against me?”

  Ben’s mouth worked. His dark eyes snapped. He looked over his shoulder, back the way they’d just come, and then turned in his saddle to stare toward home. Finally he looked again at his son. “I’ve got to go look for your mother, Riley. There’s no Lawless I’d ever care to—”

  “Glory’s not a Lawless and well you know it.” The words exploded out of Riley. “She’s never done a thing to hurt you or anyone else. Put aside your differences. J. C. Lawless is dead. There is no feud. No one to fight with anymore. But someone wants Glory dead. Now, I’m riding back for her, and I’m asking you to come with me. I’m asking you to choose between a piece of land and the woman I love. Choose between your hard feelings for anything Lawless and the life of an innocent girl.”

  Knowing full well the import of his words, Riley watched the play of emotions across his father’s face. Ben looked once more toward home, took a deep breath, and turned to Riley. “You better hope to hell you’re right, son. Because if you’re wrong, and something happens to your mother as a result, I’ll never forgive you. Now, let’s ride for the Lawless place.”

  Chapter 18

  Deserted. The Lawless spread appeared deserted. No one manned the arched gateway to challenge Riley and his father as they walked their horses under it. Not one soul inhabited the dirt expanse of the wagon yard. Only one narrow door stood open on the big horse barn. No smoke arose from any of the two-story main house’s chimneys. No kerosene-lamp light shone from within, against the afternoon’s growing darkness.

  The quiet was downright nightmarish. Even Pride spooked, forcing Riley’s attention momentarily back to his gelding. He then exchanged a glance with his father, whose grim expression mirrored how Riley felt inside. Then, fisting Pride’s reins in one hand, Riley reached under his saddle coat with his other and withdrew his Colt from its holster. Ben Thorne did the same. The sounds of the two guns being cocked broke the silence.

  “It’s too quiet, son. Something’s real wrong here.”

  Eyeing the main house just ahead, and forcing himself into a relaxed-appearing posture, Riley nodded “Yeah. I agree.”

  At Riley’s right, his father shifted his weight in his saddle. “You think it could be an ambush we’re riding into? I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’ve got a bull’s-eye painted on my back.”

  “I’m feeling some of the same,” Riley admitted. But targets for whom—the Lawless hands? Or Lawless enemies? Had something unspeakable again happened here since they’d ridden out? With his heart thumping in time with each of Pride’s dull, thudding steps, Riley tried to see everything at once, with as little outward evidence as possible of doing just that.

  Then … he saw him. Just sitting on the verandah and staring evenly back at him. The sight forced Riley’s blood through his veins at a heightened pace. He pulled back on the reins, bringing Pride to a halt. At his side, Ben reined in, too. “What is it?”

  Nodding his chin toward the shadowed verandah, Riley said, just above a whisper, “Over there, Pa. On the porch.”

  Ben shot Riley a questioning glance and then turned to look where he directed. “What am I looking for, son? I don’t see nothing but an old redboned hound dog.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. That’s Skeeter. Old Pete Anglin’s hound that was wounded the day of the murders last September. This is the first time I’ve seen him off Old Pete’s grave since he just showed up one day with a healed wound. No one knows where he went to lick his wounds. But wild boars couldn’t get him out of that cemetery since then.”

  “That’s mighty interesting,” Ben said, cutting his narrowed gaze in a slow circuit around the hard-packed dirt of the wagon yard. “And yet, here he is. On the front porch. If that don’t beat all. It would seem, then, that something awful important drew him away.”

  Riley nearly slumped in relief. Pa understood—and was giving the Lawless folks the benefit of the doubt. “That’s the way I see it,” Riley commented as he searched the area for the metallic glint of an aimed gun, for the glimpse of a furtively scurrying man as he moved from one hiding place to another. But … nothing. Only a stray chicken or two, a couple of kittens, and a long-haired dog, his nose to the wind, went about their business.

  Then, as if the qui
et weren’t eerie enough, Skeeter suddenly jumped up and began an awful baying as he paced the length of the verandah. Startled almost out of his skin, Riley jerked his gun up, aiming at anything that moved. His father mimicked his actions. Then Riley wheeled Pride, urging the gelding alongside his father’s mount. With the gray’s nose even with Ben’s mount’s rump, the men could turn their horses in a slow, defensive circle without anyone sneaking up on them. No one did.

  “There’s nobody out here—that’s for danged sure. That baying would bring ’em running if there was. Go see what’s eating at that hound, son, before I shoot him myself. He’s setting my teeth on edge.”

  “All right.” With that, Riley turned Pride and set him at a trot for the main house. Once there, he called Skeeter. The hound came to the edge of the verandah, to the top of the wide steps, and stayed there. Wagging his tail, the dog bayed his greeting to Riley, and then stared at him, as if waiting for him to understand the problem. Riley gave the dog an assessing gaze, then trained the same look on the main house’s closed front door. Finally, he turned to look back at his father and the barn behind him.

  Nothing had changed. Or moved. Focusing again on the hound, knowing this animal’s keen tracking skills, Riley spoke softly and levelly. “She’s not in there, is she? Find her, Skeeter. Where’s Glory?”

  Skeeter cocked his head at Riley. Then he wagged his tail hard enough to wriggle his long and lean body. Nervously, he moved in place with mincing steps, raised his big head, whuffed at Riley, and then jumped off the porch, tearing for the barn. Like a red arrow shot out of a taut bow, he covered the ground at blinding speed, never once wavering in his direction.

  “Damn,” Riley muttered, looking after the hunting dog. Then, digging his heels into Pride, urging the big, tired horse after the hound, he signaled for his father to follow them. Ben turned his mount and came at a fast clip behind Riley.

  Once at the barn’s open door, the two men dismounted and cautiously, leading with their drawn weapons, made ready to enter the dim interior. But before they did, Ben asked, “What the hell’d you say to that hound?”

  Riley shrugged his shoulders as he cautiously moved to enter the barn. “I told him to find Glory.”

  “Hmm,” Ben offered. “Well, let’s see what’s in here.”

  With that, the two men slinked inside, sticking close to the rough walls, their guns held at the ready. A few curious horses watched them flattening themselves against the walls and peering around corners. But it quickly became apparent that their stealth was unnecessary. The barn was as empty of folks as was the yard. Riley straightened up and holstered his gun.

  Doing likewise, Ben asked, “Where’d that dog go?”

  Before Riley could say he had no idea, Skeeter answered for himself with a throaty bark. Riley exchanged a look with his father and then turned toward the sound. There, about halfway down the central aisle of stalls, stood Skeeter, his tail wagging slowly. His big, dark eyes never looked away from whatever … whoever … was in that stall. And then, suddenly, Riley didn’t want to see who it was.

  If it was Glory … If she was … A hand squeezed his upper arm. Riley jumped, and felt suddenly sheepish when he met his father’s knowing gaze. “It’s okay, son. We’ll go together.”

  Riley nodded, then moved to the open gate of the stall he knew was Daisy’s, Glory’s little chestnut mare. Only there was no horse inside. And no Glory. But Smiley was. The old foreman lay moaning and spread-eagled atop the hay. A blood-crusted lump just above the man’s temple told its own story. Riley rushed over to him and knelt, helping the older man to sit up. “Smiley, what the hell happened here?”

  Smiley blinked and clutched at Riley’s sleeve for support. Frowning in confusion, breathing shallowly, he mumbled out, “Brown. Carter Brown. He knocked me on my head.”

  Riley jerked in surprise and sought his father’s gaze. “That bastard must be the one who attacked Glory the night before I fired him and Abel Justice.” His expression hardened at the same rate his heart did. He eased the Lawless foreman back down and jumped to his feet. “I’ll kill him.”

  He didn’t get any farther than one long-legged step before his father grabbed him by his arm. “Calm down, son. Going off half-cocked could get you and all three women killed.”

  Just then Smiley Rankin shoved to his feet and clutched at the stall side to steady himself. “Three women? Who—?”

  “My wife, for one,” Ben threw out before Riley could answer. “And Miss Biddy and Miss Glory. They’re all missing. Do you know where they are?”

  Smiley’s eyes widened as he stared at Ben and then Riley. “Miss Glory’s missing, too?” Almost absently, the old foreman rubbed at his head just above his temple and then frowned at the clumpy, dried blood on his fingers. “If this don’t beat all.” He then looked from Riley to his father again. “We got to find them right now.”

  Still gripping Riley, Ben held his other hand up to Smiley. “Not so fast. No one wants to find them any more than we do. But it was riding out with nothing more than piss and vinegar to guide us that created this mess. So, think for a minute, Smiley, around that headache of yours. What do you know about what happened here? How come there’s not a man to be found on the place?”

  The old foreman stared at Ben a moment, as if he didn’t recognize him, but then shook his head, telling him, “After you and yours left, I gathered up my men and rode out to look for Miss Biddy. We didn’t see nothing—the men are still out searching. But I had second thoughts about Miss Glory staying put, and so rode back myself to check on her. When I got here, Heck told me he’d left her here in the barn with her horse.

  “I knew right then she meant to light out on her own search for her nanny. But when I came in here, hoping I’d catch her, she was gone. I’d no more than turned around before that damned Carter Brown came at me with the butt-end of his pistol. We struggled, but he got the better of me. And knocked me on my head. Then you two showed up.”

  “Damn,” Riley spat out between his clenched teeth. He pulled away from his father’s grip and stepped out of the stall. His back to the two older men, hearing them talking in low voices but not listening in, Riley put his hands to his waist and stared absently at Skeeter, who sat quietly on his haunches. Carter Brown. And I hired the bastard. But then he thought about Smiley’s exact words and jerked back around. “Did you say Glory was already gone when you came in here?”

  “Yep,” he confirmed. Then his eyes widened. “That means he doesn’t have her, right?”

  Riley nodded, rubbed a hand over his jaw. “At least not then, he didn’t.”

  “Then, son, there still may be time.”

  Riley met his father’s gaze. “I hope so. I didn’t tell you before, but Jacey wrote Glory to warn her about some shootists hired to track down the Lawless sisters. Jacey didn’t know the why of it when she wrote, but Glory’s convinced it has something to do with her real folks. Carter Brown must be that tracker. And I hired the son-of-a-bitch, just brought him right into the fold, didn’t I?”

  “You didn’t know, son.”

  “That won’t make me feel any better if he kills—” Riley bit off his angry, fearful blurt when he saw the stricken look form on his father’s face … a collapsing, vulnerable, old-man expression he’d never before seen there. Affected in ways he couldn’t put into words, Riley made a helpless, apologetic gesture towards Ben. But the white-haired, older man abruptly turned his back on his son. For a moment, Riley didn’t know what to do, where to look.

  In the next moment, though, Smiley made a throat-clearing noise. Riley gratefully turned to him, saw that the foreman’s face was regaining some color. It then occurred to Riley that someone else was missing. “Mr. Rankin, I didn’t see Heck anywhere. Didn’t you say he was here when you rode in?”

  Smiley stopped in the act of brushing hay off his clothes to shoot Riley a look of dawning understanding. “Yeah, he was. He’s the one who told me to come in here—where Carter Brown was. And Heck�
�s the one who let Glory out of his sight—against my orders. I’ll be danged. You think he’s in with Brown?”

  Riley shrugged, frowned. “He could be. I’d hate to think it, though, as long as he’s been with you.”

  Holding onto the wide slats of the stall side, unsteadily groping his way out hand over hand, Smiley gritted out, “Help me find that boy. If he’s anythin’ but dead or just plain stupid, I’ll shoot him myself.”

  Riley quickly lent a helping hand to the determined foreman as his wobbly steps brought him to the stall’s gate and then out into the aisle. Without a word, Ben Thorne positioned himself on Smiley’s other side, also gripping his arm. Thus, the three men headed for the open barn door. From the corner of his eye, Riley saw Skeeter padding along obediently beside him.

  As they headed for daylight, Riley’s thoughts broke out into words. “This is just what we need, isn’t it? By now Henry and Caleb will have our men all riled up and searching the prairie. And your men”—he stabbed a finger at Smiley—“are already doing the same. And each posse’ll think the other one’s got the women.”

  Smiley gave a fatalistic nod of his head. “And if the two meet up … given all the years of bad blood between us … shootin’ first and askin’ questions later is bound to happen.”

  “Yep. And I’m responsible for a lot of that,” Ben Thorne threw in, surprising Riley. “But even with two of my boys amongst those men, I say we’ve got to take our chances on that outcome and concentrate on finding the women.”

  Riley shot him a look, grateful that his father would meet his gaze. “I agree with you.” He then turned to Smiley. “You think you can ride, what with that lump on your head?”

  The foreman jutted his stubble-shadowed jaw out. “I can ride. My horse is out by my office. Just walk me there.” Smiley muttered his next words, but loud enough to be heard. “Can I ride, he says.” Then, pinching his features up into an insulted grimace, he raised his voice and eyed Riley. “Boy, when I can’t ride my horse, you bury me—’cause I’ll be dead.”