Seasons of Glory

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Despite himself and their dire predicament, Riley felt heartened by the crusty old man’s gumption. “Then we’d best ride—and I mean now.”

  Ben nodded. “Let’s do it. But in which direction? The prairie’s a mighty big place. More’n one man’s hidden out here, never to be found if he so chose.”

  Riley knew the truth of that. No-man’s-land, while home to a handful of law-abiding cattlemen such as themselves, was also an outlaw haven for the very reason his father’d just named. “And Carter Brown would so choose,” he finally commented.

  Ben Thorne’s bushy eyebrows lowered over his deep-set black eyes. “But he ain’t as familiar with this country as we are.”

  Riley nodded at that, adding, “Another thing in our favor right now is”—he cut his gaze to his father’s face and just as quickly looked away—“he has three women with him. Who don’t want to be. So he won’t get far—at least not with the afternoon getting long on shadows. I figure he’ll have to hole up somewhere pretty quick—somewhere he can easily corral Glory, Miss Biddy, and Ma.”

  Riley’s chest tightened at the somber gazes his father and Smiley Rankin leveled on him. No one wanted to say it. No one dared say it. But they were all thinking it. If Carter Brown still has the women with him. If he hasn’t already killed them. Riley took a deep breath and then spoke with a quiet confidence he didn’t feel. “They’re alive, Pa. They’re with him. They have to be.”

  “I know, son,” Ben answered, his eyes holding a suspicious moisture that had him again turning his head away from his son’s gaze.

  In the ensuing silence that ticked away at the minutes and added miles to the distance separating them from the tracker and his prisoners, Riley squinted in fevered concentration as he prayed for inspiration and catalogued what he knew, starting with Carter Brown. Where might he be holed up right now, what with three women to herd and with night approaching? That was the question that needed answering.

  But Riley had also to consider that Brown was smart enough to know he’d be found out and would be hunted. Might he then not stick to the most direct route back to Arizona, his eventual destination? At the least, he’d cover his tracks. Maybe even leave an obvious but false trail behind.

  After all, the man was a trained tracker. “What we need,” Riley mused aloud, “is a tracker of our own, someone who can smell out the man’s trail.” The words were no more than out of his mouth before he stopped short, causing the other two men to do the same and to stare at him. Riley met their gazes and grinned, turning to stare down at the dog behind them. “And there he is. The best nose in the territory. Can you do it, Skeeter?”

  The big, redboned hound, a keen intelligence shining from his black eyes, stared back up at them. With no more than a disdainful blink for such an absurd question, he then padded around them, heading for the open barn door. Once there, he raised his nose to sniff the air and then turned to look back at them.

  “Hot damn!” Smiley Rankin blurted around a chuckle. “Cain’t man nor beast hide from that hound. I bet he’s already got the scent.”

  “Yep. And he’s been waiting on us to figure that out.” Riley grinned broadly as hope began thawing the cold that clutched his heart. Glory’s sweet and smiling face suddenly popped into his head. She was quickly joined by his mother and Miss Biddy. We’re coming. Just hold on. Be strong. Do whatever it takes to keep yourselves alive, Riley told them from his heart. He then settled his gaze on his father and Smiley Rankin. Pointing at the hound, he told them, “If anyone can find them, he can. Let’s mount up.”

  * * *

  Despite her dire circumstances, despite her shock at seeing Carter Brown again, Glory exhaled in relief. Biddy and Mrs. Thorne were indeed alive. She could now face anything that happened to her. And had to admit, anything could happen to her. Because here she was, relieved of her gun, tied up and gagged, and only moments ago thrust onto the hard-packed earth floor of a long-forgotten squatter’s shack.

  But this old place was on Lawless land, and only about a twenty-minute ride from the main house. Hope renewed itself in Glory’s soul. They’d be found before nightfall. It was that simple. All they had to do was stay alive until then. She pictured it in her mind. The men would discover that she and Biddy and Mrs. Thorne were missing. They’d spread out and search for them. And sooner or later, they’d stumble onto this cabin.

  Already feeling it in her bones, Glory tried to communicate some assuredness to the two older women. Bound and gagged just as she was, they lay on their sides, facing her. Their creased foreheads and fear-edged expressions, as they stared back at her, broke her heart. Glory could only blink and shake her head at them. Don’t be afraid. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you freed. I swear it.

  It wasn’t working. Glory slumped. They were as scared as she was. Still refusing to give in to hopelessness, she resolutely told herself to ignore her throbbing jaw, the chafing of the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles, and the foul stench of the dirty bandanna that all but cut off her breath. She couldn’t do anything about them, anyway. Instead, she needed to be brave and to—Oh, who was she kidding? She was as defenseless as a newborn. All their lives were in danger.

  Abel Justice had tricked her, had talked her into lowering her defenses. And now look at her. Tied up tighter than a hog bound for butchering. Stupid, stupid, stupid. When would she learn? And who was she to think of bravery and big plans of saving Biddy and Mrs. Thorne? Saving them—how? Why, these hired killers could decide to shoot all three of them at any minute. And if they did, what could she do about it?

  Having thus chastised herself to the point of terror, Glory wriggled about until she could see—and keep an eye on—the two hateful men whose backs were to her. They hadn’t moved. She exhaled a hot breath through her nose. Positioned one on either side of two narrow windows set in the east wall, Abel Justice and Carter Brown scanned the hills for riders. Glory didn’t doubt for a moment that riders would indeed show up sooner or later. And when they did, more men would die … because of her.

  Blinking back sudden tears, she struggled to rid her mind’s eye of the vision of Riley falling wounded or dead from Pride’s back. No! She couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t live if that happened. Why then hadn’t she acted on her suspicions about these two men weeks ago? Why hadn’t she asked more questions, taken more control? Acted more like the boss lady she’d fancied herself to be?

  The guilt was hers. She admitted it. Everything. All of it. Her fault. Then why couldn’t she be the only one to pay for her inexperience and bad judgment? Glory’s brutally honest thoughts directed her unwilling gaze back to her two bound-and-gagged companions. Riley’s mother and Biddy. The older women’s mournful gazes met hers. And made her feel worse. And more determined to get them out of this drafty, falling-down old hovel alive—even if it meant her own life. She owed them that much.

  Glory had no more than settled that for herself before the guttural sounds of the trackers’ low voices captured her attention. She saw Carter Brown nod at Abel Justice. Then both men turned their heads to stare at her. Their expressions reflected a calculating slyness. Glory’s throat all but closed. Her stomach muscles clenched. They’d been talking about her.

  As if to confirm this, Justice spoke up again, this time taking no care to keep his voice down. “We got her now,” he was remarking. “So we don’t need them old ladies. Let’s just kill ’em and ride for Mexico. If we hand her over to Señor Calderon, maybe it won’t matter none that we messed up and killed J. C. Lawless. ’Cause it’s her he wants—even more’n them two Lawless girls.”

  Carter Brown’s expression could only be called dubious. “I don’t know. We were forced to kill J. C., all right. He didn’t give us much choice. Still, the boss ain’t going to be none too pleased. You sure she’s important enough that he’d overlook the mess we made of things here?”

  Stunned beyond a reaction, beyond blinking, or even taking a breath, Glory stared at the two killers. She heard the gag-muffled, m
ournful sounds coming from Biddy’s direction, but there was nothing she could do to help her nanny. It was all she could do to breathe and to look into the eyes of the men who had killed J. C. and Catherine Lawless.

  “Hell, yes,” Justice finally answered, nodding at Glory. “She’s the one he wants. The old man’s been planning this for years.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Brown reasoned. “With J. C. dead, so’s his plan. He ain’t going to be none too happy.”

  Justice’s face suddenly reddened and his voice rose. “I’m telling you, it’ll work. Now, I’m for riding for Cielo Azul. You going with me?”

  Carter Brown’s jaw jutted. “No. I’m telling you—we got J. C. Lawless’s blood on our hands. If we show up in Sonora—with or without her”—he stabbed a beefy finger at Glory—“we’ll find ourselves buried alive up to our necks in the desert and feeding every ant and scorpion that happens by.”

  Justice exhaled gustily and thumped a bony fist on his thigh. “Then why in hell did we stick around until my shoulder healed and then stir up all the trouble we could before kidnapping these women? We can’t ransom them. There ain’t no one left at the Lawless place to ransom ’em to. So we’re stuck. We got to take her to Señor Calderon and talk our way into gettin’ him to pay us for her.”

  “Pay us?” Brown all but snorted. “He’ll kill us—right along with her—is more like it. And I for one ain’t about to die for something I didn’t do, for something that wasn’t our orders. You shot J. C. Lawless—not me. And I seen you do it. You back-shot him while he stood over his dead wife. And I’ll be glad to tell Señor Calderon that.”

  Abel Justice’s snarl robbed Glory of a response to Carter Brown’s horrible accusation. “You-son-of-a-bitch,” the smaller man gritted out. “We’re both in this up to our ears, and don’t you forget it. But if I’d knowed you was going to chicken out on me, I would’ve carried on by myself—and kept all the money we’re due. It’s rightfully mine, anyhow, and you just admitted it.”

  Brown jumped up so suddenly that Glory jerked back against the rough wooden wall behind her. She heard the sharp inhalations coming from Biddy’s and Louise Thorne’s corner, but didn’t dare spare the two women a glance. Not with this scene unfolding in front of her.

  “Who you calling a chicken, you skinny little turd?” Brown was yelling as he hauled Justice up by his coat’s grimy lapels.

  “You,” Justice answered calmly, for someone whose boots no longer came into contact with the ground. Before another second passed, he raised his arm, stuck his pistol’s bore flat against a very surprised Brown’s forehead, and said, “I shoulda done this a long time ago,” and pulled the trigger.

  Everything happened at once. The gun’s muffled report jerked Brown upright, his blood spattered the wall behind him, he released Justice and wilted to the floor. Justice fell atop him but instantly scrambled to his feet. Glory sucked in a shocked breath through her pinched nostrils, felt ill, feared she’d vomit into her gag and choke to death. From their corner of the one-room shack, Biddy and Louise made similar noises.

  And then … just as suddenly as the chaos had begun, all was quiet again. Until Justice, holstering his gun as nonchalantly as if he’d just shot his supper and not his partner, riveted his narrow-eyed gaze on Glory. And started for her.

  Shaming herself by whimpering in fear and drawing her knees up to her chest, Glory tucked her chin against her shoulder and breathed in and out too fast. Her head all but swam with her worsening light-headedness.

  But still the cold-blooded little man came closer and closer with each step.

  As resigned and unresisting as any trapped animal that knows it’s going to die, Glory prayed—screamed in her head—for courage and presence of mind. But felt neither of those things. Standing over her now, Justice looked into her face, and then flicked his gaze up and down her before drawling out, “What’s the matter? You look scared.”

  Glory’s jaw jutted convulsively against the smelly bandanna covering her mouth and knotted at her nape. She swallowed time after time, realized she was slowly shaking her head from side to side. And couldn’t remember the last time she’d blinked, so dry and scratchy were her eyes.

  Justice knelt beside her on one knee, his hands resting on his thighs, as he remarked, in a tone of voice all the more chilling for being pleasant, “It would appear there weren’t no need to tie you up, after all. ’Cause we cain’t stay here now. Not even for the one night.”

  The implication of his words hit her like a slap. He meant to leave right now and to take her with him to Mexico, to Señor Calderon. Biddy and Mrs. Thorne instantly set up a muffled fuss. Glory cut her gaze toward the hoarse sounds, but made one of her own when Abel Justice grabbed her roughly, wrenched her away from the wall, and flipped her roughly onto her stomach.

  Breathing in the musty scent of the dirt floor under her nose, Glory suspended thought as she concentrated on the feel of his callused fingers clawing at the rope securing her wrists and booted ankles. In another moment, she felt the ropes fall free and realized she could move her arms and legs. Some deeply imbedded survival instinct told her to lash out. But she’d no more than braced herself to do just that before Abel Justice grabbed her arm and flipped her over to face him.

  His six-shooter—again drawn and this time aimed about two inches from her forehead—rid her of any notion of trying to overpower him. Coupled with that cold-steel deterrent was the certain knowledge that if she didn’t win the upper hand in a struggle with him, she knew she wouldn’t be the one he killed.

  No, she was valuable to him—a bargaining chip and a pile of money—according to his own words earlier to the now-dead Carter Brown. If she resisted him, he’d probably shoot Biddy and Mrs. Thorne. And make her watch. So, helpless with fear of the man and fear for the other women’s lives, Glory did nothing but tear her gaze from the pistol’s black and round bore to stare into the man’s dark-brown snake-eyes.

  He arched a thin eyebrow at her. “Get up, Miss Glory.” As she struggled to comply, he grabbed the bandanna tied around her mouth and yanked it down, untying the knot. Stuffing it in his coat pocket, he then hauled her up with him, pulled her close against his sweaty self, and gritted out, “One thing you need to think on, Miz Glory, is I ain’t got no more use for them old ladies over there.”

  Glory’s stomach clenched. “Then turn them loose.” She heard her own voice, no more than a dry husk of its usual timbre. “They’re no threat to you.”

  Justice dragged a hand over his chin. “Well, I think they are. They know too much. An’ it’s all their own fault, too. They shouldn’a been out by theirselves this morning. Taking them wasn’t me and Brown’s plan, but they sure made a nice distraction. ’Cause here you are. And I’ll bet them Thorne men and the Lawless men are out there right now a-killin’ each other over them.”

  Before she could stop herself, even knowing as she did that it was foolhardy to rile this killer, Glory blurted, “Or maybe they’re right outside, right now. Waiting on you to show yourself.”

  Far from riled, looking instead more considering—like a rattler thinking about striking—Justice cocked his balding head at her. “You think so? Well, won’t they be surprised when they start shooting—and I throw you outside, right in the line of fire? That’d be plain tragic.”

  Wondering where this Jacey-like bravado was coming from, but not questioning it, Glory countered with, “More tragic for you than me, Mr. Justice. If I die, you don’t get paid—or worse.”

  The man’s features hardened. He gripped her arm, hauled her up to his face. “You ain’t as smart as you think. See, Brown was supposed to ride to yer place and nab you while I guarded these old women. But when he didn’t show, I set out to see why. That was when I spied you riding hell-bent-for-leather over them hills. And Brown was smart enough to head here when he seen you wasn’t at home. So you rode right into a trap. No, not too smart.”

  Hot-eyed and tight-lipped with helpless anger, Glory sile
ntly met her captor’s level stare. Let him brag on. Maybe, just maybe, Riley or some of the other men would happen along before she was forced to ride off with this hired gun. Now she hoped they would show up, would kill him. Because what he didn’t know was she no longer needed him. Before, he’d held the upper hand. He knew who was behind her folks’ murders. But now, he’d given her the only thing she needed—a name. And it was Calderon.

  Justice blinked, breaking the spell between them. He then yanked Glory around until she faced Biddy and Mrs. Thorne. “Now we’re back to these two. I don’t need ’em no more, so if you give me any trouble, they’re going to end up like Brown. But if you behave yerself and ride out with me all nice and peaceful-like, I just might leave ’em here alive. It’s up to you. What’s it going to be?”

  Glory didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll behave. You just keep your word.”

  Justice snickered … an evil sound competing with Biddy’s and Mrs. Thorne’s renewed but muffled protests, which he ignored. “I cain’t. I never gave it. But you’ll just have to take yer chances and behave, won’t you?” He then shoved her ahead of him and toward the door. “Let’s go. Me and you’s going for that little ride to Mexico I told you about earlier.”

  Chapter 19

  I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. That one recurring thought, with Carter Brown’s face on it, tightened Riley’s white-knuckled hands around Pride’s reins. And kept him sane as he and his father and Smiley Rankin, about thirty minutes out from the Lawless barn, sat immobile atop their horses, atop a tallgrass-capped hill. And watched Skeeter nose and nervously circle a patch of ground.

  Repeating his pattern of the past half hour, the redboned dog lifted his nose high in the late-autumn air and sniffed. His black and wet nose fairly wriggled as he tested the air for a scent revealed only to him. Suddenly, the big hound stilled, his muscles shivered under his loosely hung coat of fur. Knowing what this signaled, Riley tensed, gripping his prancing gray gelding’s belly with his thighs and knees.