Love's Mountain Quest

by Misty M. Beller

  “I haven’t seen either of them.” His sharp gaze scanned the mercantile. “I’m pretty sure I’d know if that boy was in here.”

  She bit back a sob. He was right. If Samuel wasn’t moving his body, he settled for working his mouth, talking until the adults around him clamped their hands over their ears in exasperation.

  If she could just hear his sweet voice now, she’d never be exasperated again.

  “Laura took Samuel to the swimming hole while I finished my work. But they’ve disappeared. I searched down the creek and back at my house. They’re not anywhere.” Her voice broke. “Something’s very wrong.”

  Mr. Bowen stepped toward her. “Did you check both sides of the water? How far down did you go?”

  She pressed both hands to her temples. “Not both sides. I went as far down the creek as I thought they would walk, and I yelled for them the entire time.” Had she not searched hard enough?

  “Let’s go have another look. I know a back way we can check, too.”

  Joanna nearly wilted from relief. Having someone help with the search—someone who knew more about the area than she did—removed a layer of strain from her shoulders.

  As they traveled down the quiet street, Mr. Bowen’s long stride ate up the ground, but she was glad to run along beside him. Even though her body protested against another sprint, her nerves craved to move even faster.

  Near the edge of town, he veered to the right before they reached the water, then led her down an overgrown path through the woods. Before long, they reached the swimming hole.

  Her hungry eyes scanned the area, and she cupped her hands around her mouth to call them again. Once more, no response.

  “Let’s go downstream to where the crossing is shallow. Did they leave any sign they’d been here?” Mr. Bowen was already moving.

  She lengthened her stride to keep up while her chest struggled to inflate. “Laura’s sack is in the grass on the other side. I dropped mine somewhere, too.”

  He slowed to help her across the rocky streambed, but she motioned him on. “Go. See what you can find.”

  He hesitated but must have seen something in her eyes that convinced him, for he turned and leapt up the steep dirt bank in two long steps.

  By the time she reached the open area where she’d left Laura’s bag, Mr. Bowen had ventured farther into the woods than she had during her own sweep of the area. He was crouched down low, examining something partially hidden in the grass behind a cluster of trees.

  “What is it?” But as she neared, the lump of clothing took shape. Her feet slowed as her eyes struggled to make sense of what she was seeing.

  A person lying in the grass? Her heart surged. Not Samuel. Lord, no!

  Mr. Bowen looked up at her approach, his gaze turning wary. He stood and stepped toward her, his hand outstretched as though trying to stay her. His body blocked most of the figure lying prone on the ground. A numbness sank through her, taking over her mouth so she couldn’t force words out. Taking over her mind so she couldn’t think straight. Not my son. Surely God wouldn’t take the only person I have left.

  “It’s the sheriff.” Mr. Bowen’s words buzzed in her ears. “He’s been shot.”

  The word shot finally broke through the haze locking her mind, and she replayed his explanation to make sense of it. Not her son? She leaned around Mr. Bowen to see for sure, her body moving before her mind knew what she was doing.

  A swollen face glared up at her, eyes rolled back in his head. The bruises disfigured him so much she could barely see the scars from pockmarks that usually glared a bright red, remnants of the smallpox outbreak that had surged through the community only months before.

  Blood trickled from his lip, and more from one ear. She bit her lip and turned away, her stomach threatening to spill what little was left.

  She’d seen plenty of gruesome images living in this mountain wilderness, including the mangled arm of her late husband. But just now, her nerves were in too much turmoil to be strong.

  She took a step backward, dropping her gaze to the ground beside her. “What happened to him? Was it a hunting accident?” And did this have anything to do with why Samuel and Laura were missing? Maybe they’d found the dead man and hurried back to town to report the news. But wouldn’t they have gone to the mercantile? Everyone knew Mr. Lanton served as acting deputy whenever the sheriff wasn’t around.

  And with this new turn of events, it looked like Mr. Lanton would have his hands full.

  Mr. Bowen knelt again beside the body for several minutes, then stood and studied the ground around them. He walked several paces across the clearing, studying the grass with an intensity that seemed to mean he saw something of interest.

  Keeping herself from asking what he saw was no easy feat, but he would tell her when he was ready. Men hated pushy women. At least Robert had.

  At last, he looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “It wasn’t a hunting accident. The bullet went through his chest at an angle he couldn’t have accomplished himself. There are horse tracks, too. Were Miss Hannon and your son on horseback?”

  She jerked back, trying to process the odd question. “We don’t own a horse. Are the prints recent?” She’d lived in the wilderness long enough to be able to read some signs, but probably nothing like the abilities of this sage mountain man.

  He turned back to examine the ground, and Joanna neared to see what had captured his attention. Deep hoofprints marred the grass, much more than one horse could create, unless that horse rode back and forth through the area several times. Gooseflesh tickled her arms. “How many do you think were here? Indians, do you think? Why would they shoot Sheriff Zander?” And where was her son? Maybe she should go look for Laura and her boy while Mr. Bowen investigated the sheriff’s death. But what if the two events were connected?

  “I don’t think these tracks are from Indian ponies. The horses were shod.” Mr. Bowen stood, then turned back toward the creek, his gaze still focused on the grass.

  As relief sank through her from his words, she looked again at the ground, but nothing jumped out at her. The early summer grass was a mixture of green and brown, and still thick enough that it didn’t show human footprints. Only those deep tracks from horses.

  Mr. Bowen straightened from examining the grass, then turned with a determined expression as he marched toward the road. “I need to see where these tracks are headed.”

  The knot in her middle tightened at the sight of his squared shoulders. Joanna focused on clamping down her imagination as she waited for Mr. Bowen to return. And when he did finally turn and come back to her, the dark foreboding in his eyes was almost her undoing.

  She met him partway. “What is it? Where are they?”

  “Four sets of horse tracks, all shod. One looked like it was running loose, maybe the sheriff’s mount. Two men dismounted and moved toward the river, then four people walked back to the horses.” He paused and worked his jaw, as if tempering his words. “The two additional tracks were smaller, one narrow like a woman’s boots, and the other small like a child.”

  Breath wouldn’t fill Joanna’s chest as his statements tumbled through her mind. His words hinted at something too awful to accept. Too horrible to fathom. “What are you saying, Mr. Bowen? Just tell me.” She grabbed his arm, willing him to produce her son right then and there.

  He placed his hand over hers, but she was too focused on his face and the sorrow creasing his features to trouble over anything else. “I think it’s possible that whoever killed the sheriff kidnapped Miss Hannon and your son.”

  THREE

  But why would they take them? What would they want with a woman and boy?” But she knew what they would want from a lovely young woman like Laura. Joanna’s knees nearly buckled, but she held herself up by sheer force of will and her grip on Mr. Bowen’s firm arm.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed under the scruff of newly grown beard at his throat. “Maybe the two saw the shooting. The men might’ve gotten scared and scoop
ed them up so they couldn’t be witnesses. Killing a lawman is a hanging offense, no doubt about it. I’ll round up some menfolk from town and we’ll set out after them.”

  She gripped his arm tighter. “I’m coming, too. I’ll get a horse from the livery.” She tripped over her skirts as she ran to gather Laura’s bag and her own satchel of food. With a stumble, she barely kept herself from tumbling down in the grass beside the swimming hole.

  “Mrs. Watson. It’s not safe for a woman to go after them, and we can move faster without you.”

  She ignored his words. There was no time to quibble, especially when nothing he said would change her mind. With the satchels in one hand and the hem of her cotton work dress in the other, she sprinted along the dusty road toward town.

  Halfway there, she registered the deep breaths and pounding feet of the man running beside her and glanced at him. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, but his expression seemed equally set on rounding up the help they needed. For that she was thankful, despite the panic urging her forward. Dare she hope they could find Laura and Samuel before it was too late? She could well imagine what they would do to Laura, but what would the evil men expose her son to?

  The streets of town remained empty and deserted. Why had she brought Samuel to this tiny settlement in the middle of nowhere? If only she’d gone back to St. Louis, such a travesty would never have happened, or at least there would be other lawmen around to help.

  The livery stood near the edge of town, and Mr. Bowen stopped at the doorway. “I’ll have Sam get the horses ready, then go tell Lanton the news.”

  But as she followed him inside the livery, the place seemed devoid of human presence. All the men must still be in the mines, or maybe there was some kind of town meeting she didn’t know about. Horses nickered from the stalls as they entered, and the high-pitched bray of a mule sounded from far down the aisle.

  “Anyone here?” Mr. Bowen called as he strode in.

  No answer sounded, so he called again. At last he turned to her. “Sam must be off for dinner. See if there’s a bay mare in one of the end stalls. She’s gentle and will work well for you. I’ll run down to the mercantile, then come back and ready my animals so we can get going.”

  She’d never been in this barn, had never met Sam, but she wasn’t about to question Mr. Bowen when he was helping her find her boy. She’d deal with the cost of renting the horse later.

  Even though she moved as quickly as her shaking hands would allow, by the time she found a saddle and readied the bay mare with the kind eyes, Mr. Bowen had returned and was saddling the chestnut gelding he’d been riding the day before. Within minutes, he had another horse lined up in the hallway and was fastening a packsaddle on its back.

  Her throat tightened. “You think we’ll be gone overnight?”

  He pulled a strap tight to fasten down one of the packs. “After we find your boy and Miss Hannon, I’ll ride home from there, so I’d like to have my things with me. Besides, something in here might come in handy.”

  He thought they’d find Samuel and Laura within a few hours? She wanted to cling to the hope. But they’d been gone for so long already. Hours, probably.

  “What did Mr. Lanton say?”

  Mr. Bowen pulled the cinch strap on the packsaddle. “He’s gathering men to bring in the sheriff’s body, then to help us catch up to the people who have your son. I told him we’d ride on ahead and follow the tracks.”

  Good. At least they wouldn’t have to wait for others to saddle their horses.

  After Mr. Bowen scribbled a note for Sam explaining why they’d taken the horses, they mounted and rode out of the barn.

  Her heart cried a desperate prayer with every beat of her horse’s hooves. God, save my boy.

  They rode as fast as Isaac could track on the rough wagon ruts that passed for a road through this mountain valley. The hoofprints led away from town, which made sense if the men who shot the sheriff were running. Maybe they were ne’er-do-wells living up in one of the ravines where miners congregated. But their trail wasn’t going in the direction of any communities he was aware of.

  Lord, let us find them before dark. They would. They had to. If he lost the tracks, there was no telling how far ahead the despoilers would get. Maybe all the way back to the rock they crawled out from under.

  But as the tracks left the main path, heading southwest instead of north toward the mining camps, his chest squeezed tighter. Just traveling this direction brought back memories he never allowed himself to relive.

  For ten years he’d avoided this trail—and for good reason. He still fought against the dark, hollow places that catastrophe had etched in his heart.

  He had no choice now but to go on. Mrs. Watson needed him. So he swallowed the bile churning inside and rode forward.

  The one good thing about being familiar with this land was his ability to move fast through the mountain passes, finding the hidden ravines he used to travel back in his lawless days.

  Yet, the fact that the men they pursued also rode through those ravines didn’t sit well in his gut. Those men must be just as familiar with this hidden path that would keep them far from any form of law, just as at home in the treacherous gorges and gullies.

  Please, Lord, let this not be the gang I started all those years ago. Just because this was the trail to the hideout they’d used didn’t mean the three horsemen they followed were part of that band.

  No. He thrust the menacing thought aside. He’d long ago stopped letting his past rise up to haunt him.

  For her part, Mrs. Watson kept up remarkably well, her horse following close behind his pack gelding. But as daylight faded to dusk, then to night, the tightness in Isaac’s chest gripped harder. There was enough moon that he could see the tracks as long as they were out in open areas. If they moved into tree cover, he’d probably lose the trail.

  Should he keep going? With this woman? He’d hoped to overtake the men before nightfall, but that had turned into a foolish wish. Were the other men from town following close behind him and Mrs. Watson? The posse would have to stop for the night, too.

  Since it looked like this chase wouldn’t be over tonight, should he return Mrs. Watson to town where she’d be out of danger? He should at least try.

  He reined in his horse and turned to her.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Her voice held a thick edge of panic, but she hadn’t fallen into hysterics on him yet, proving once again that she was a strong woman. The only kind who could survive in this mountain wilderness, if any could.

  He chose his words carefully. “It doesn’t look like we’ll catch them tonight. You’d better go back to town. I’ll stay on their trail, and when the men Lanton sends catch up, we’ll free your son and Miss Hannon.”

  The moonlight shone in patches on her face, casting her eyes in deep shadows. “I’m not leaving my son out there without searching for him. He’s all I have left. I’d rather die than risk his life in someone else’s hands.”

  God, what do I do? If he allowed this woman to accompany him, keeping her safe may be the hardest part of the journey—especially if it turned out the kidnappers were the ghosts from his past. Or men like them. Or worse. Perspiration coated his palms at the thought.

  “We have to ride on. Every moment we’re not moving, those men are getting farther away with my boy.” She moved her horse up beside him. “We should keep going. Both of us. Now.”

  The hard set of her chin made her resolve unmistakable.

  Will you keep us safe, Lord? But he knew the answer deep in his bones. He’d placed his life in God’s hands, and the Almighty would guard them. The quiet whisper in his spirit only confirmed it.

  Breathing out his pent-up nerves, he nudged his horse forward. “We’ll ride until we can’t see the trail any longer.”

  “This is where we get a few hours’ sleep.” Mr. Bowen’s voice broke the silence between them.

  Joanna stared up at the crags and angles of the mountain rising above th
em. Her spirit fought against the idea of stopping before she had her boy in her arms, but Mr. Bowen was right. They couldn’t traverse this peak in the dark of night without endangering them both.

  And right now they were Samuel and Laura’s best hope.

  In fact, it didn’t look very likely they could scale those cliffs in the daytime, but she had to trust Mr. Bowen’s leading. What choice did she have? And if a group of despicable men could find a way over them with her son and her friend in tow, she and this seasoned mountain man definitely could.

  “How far ahead do you think they are?” She leaned forward to dismount, her body aching with the movement.

  “I’m hoping only an hour or two, but it’s hard to tell how old the tracks are in the dark. We’ll know more come morning.” His voice drifted through the night air, guarded and weary. He’d already slid from his horse’s back and was working at the pack behind his saddle.

  She led her mount toward a spot of ground that seemed more level than the rest. “I guess this is the best place for sleeping.” Except she’d brought nothing with her to use for bedding. She’d only had the satchel of food she’d intended as a picnic, and she’d shared half of that with Mr. Bowen while they rode.

  Maybe between her saddle blanket and the sack, she would have enough to cushion her head. Thank the Lord the weather was warm enough she wouldn’t need a cover.

  “Here. There’s food and blankets in this pack.” He handed over the bundle from behind his saddle. “If you’re hungry, eat. Then divide up the bedding between us. I’m going to stake the horses out so they can graze.”

  A breath of relief slipped from her. At least he’d come prepared. Perhaps she should feel guilty for using his things, but as she laid the blankets and furs in two stacks, a breath of thanks was all she could summon.

  She had biscuits remaining in her satchel, but maybe he had roasted meat in his pack to accompany her meager fare and fill her protesting belly. Several leather-wrapped bundles looked to be the foodstuffs, and in the second one she checked, she found what she was looking for. Chunks of cooked meat.