Tin Star

by Jackson Lowry

  Luke caught his breath when the light flickered in just the way it should if someone moved about inside.

  He gripped the pistol more firmly and rode closer. When he got within fifty feet of the cabin, he dismounted. The smart thing to do was circle the cabin and find out how many he faced.

  He threw caution to the winds when the door opened and a woman was silhouetted.

  “Audrey!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LUKE HADLEY FORGOT about the aches and pains in his side and leg. His head had been battered about during his hand-to-hand fights and he ignored it all. It had been worth every cut and bullet wound.

  “Audrey!” His voice came out a hoarse croak. Emotion choked him.

  He ran halfway to the cabin when the woman turned and went back inside. She hadn’t seen or heard him. The door closed, once more showing light around the frame and even through the cracked, half-rotted door itself. Before he called out to her more loudly, someone called his name from behind. He skidded to a halt and whipped around, the captured six-gun coming up. Shadows moved.

  “Marta? Is that you? I found her! My wife!”

  “Don’t leave me. Please, Lucas. Don’t leave me or I’ll have to tell them.”

  He went cold inside. Sarah Youngblood had been far from his mind. He had forgotten she had been kidnapped by Benedict and the gang.

  “Quiet. Don’t cause a ruckus.”

  “Don’t leave me. I love you so!”

  The shadow shifted and then turned darker as the woman retreated into the woods. Luke heard her sobs as she ran from him. He glanced over his shoulder. Getting Audrey away from here was foremost in his mind, but what chance did he have if Sarah, in her pain of his supposed betrayal, warned the gang? He had no idea how many armed men he faced, but if only Rhoades and Benedict showed themselves, the opposition was formidable and deadly. They had proven themselves to be cold-blooded killers. Defending the gold they had just stolen would add to their viciousness.

  Luke didn’t fool himself. If Benedict recognized him as the gunned-down bridegroom, he would take extra glee in a shootout.

  His plan for rescuing Audrey had been faulty. Worse. He realized it had been nonexistent since deep down he struggled constantly to quell the niggling doubt that she had survived. No matter how he had lied to himself, he always feared she had died horribly at Benedict’s hand. And if not him, any of the others riding behind Rollie Rhoades showed plenty of brutality. A single word, a careless glance, not enough fear, those were reasons enough for any of the outlaws to kill her.

  He looked into the woods, then back at the cabin. Audrey still moved around inside. There hadn’t been any hint of Benedict with her. From everything he saw, she was alone. The gang thought she was safe enough to leave alone and on her own. He looked around the darkened terrain. How close were they? How far? If he didn’t stop Sarah right now, she would bring the whole gang down on his and Audrey’s heads.

  In the distance came Sarah Youngblood’s sobs, loud enough to wake the dead. Why did they let her roam freely? Or were they confident enough that both women were bottled up in this camp? That made him even more skittish. Pulling Audrey up behind him on the plow horse hardly made for a speedy escape. Carrying two riders was a snap for the strong horse. But its speed never varied. How long before the rest of the gang missed the owlhoots Luke had killed?

  And where was Marta? Had she run afoul of the robbers and was now their prisoner?

  Too many questions tore at him. He had to find answers fast or they all might die.

  Sarah began keening like a banshee. The normal forest sounds disappeared like mist in the morning sun. As still as the night was, that screech carried for miles. The outlaws had to be deaf not to hear Sarah and come investigate.

  A desperate look at the cabin convinced him he had to deal with Sarah before going to Audrey. He had never thought he had woman troubles before the day of his wedding. Since then there hadn’t been anything but trouble. While he had never signed on for the job, he now had to secure the safety for three.

  He plunged into the darkness, stumbling and trying to keep a sharp eye out for any of the gang. The night cloaked his way too fully. He slowed to better home in on Sarah’s mournful cries. Before he reached the top of the hill, she had switched to a song he didn’t recognize. This did nothing to ease his concern. She ran free—crazy free. How the outlaws allowed that puzzled him, unless she had escaped. And if she had, everything she did provided a way for them to find her.

  At least she hadn’t been murdered.

  A smile came to his lips. Neither had Audrey.

  Almost knocking himself down by colliding with a sapling in the dark, he recoiled and chanced a call to the crazy woman.

  “Sarah! Sarah Youngblood! It’s me. I’ve come to take you home. You want to go home, don’t you?”

  “I waited, Lucas. I waited for you. Now you want her. I saw how you were when you saw her! After all I’ve done, you’re leaving me for her.”

  “You’re wrong.” The words burned Luke’s tongue. He lied and wished that the woman believed him. She might be crazy, but she wasn’t stupid.

  “No, I’m not. You are a bad man, Lucas. Bad! You lied.”

  “Quiet down. Come here and let’s talk. You want to talk, don’t you? Make me come back?”

  He worried that she might do just that, yet he had no other choice but to capture her. Maybe if he hog-tied her and left her gagged somewhere in the woods, it would give him the chance to rescue Audrey and get away before Benedict and the others noticed. Then he could come back to cut her loose. Or send the posse in. As long as Sarah was out of the line of fire, she’d be safe.

  He told himself that and wondered if she wasn’t right about him being a liar.

  She rustled about in the undergrowth but made no effort to obey. He turned slowly and pinpointed her location amid the sparse trees. Walking with a deliberate step, he pushed into the bushes. He felt her presence rather than saw her cowering behind a tree. As gently as possible, he spoke softly to coax her out.

  “Hello, Sarah. It’s good to find you all safe and well.” He held out his hand. She didn’t budge from her safe spot. “How did you get away from Rhoades? He stole you away from me. You haven’t taken a shine to him, have you? You’re not giving up on me so you can go with him?” His stomach churned at such tactics, but their lives depended on him catching her before she drew unwanted attention from the outlaws.

  She sobbed. “I waited so long for you, Lucas. You went to war. It took forever until you came back.”

  He made his way through the foot-tangling brush and came out onto a game trail. A dark figure a few yards away moved. When she moved into a spot letting starlight shine down, he caught his breath. Sarah still wore the disheveled wedding gown. If anything, she was even more skeletal than before, as if no one fed her—or she never noticed food in her search for a long-dead husband. But what stunned him was the way she momentarily looked like his wife on her wedding day. It was all illusion, he saw now. He saw what he desired most. Sarah Youngblood looked nothing like Audrey. Nothing. His own journey here had been taxing and his senses reeled.

  “I want you to get away from here. We can go home.”

  She said nothing. Sarah whirled about and darted into the night. He went after her, doggedly refusing to give up. Too much rode on silencing her before she alerted the gang. He dodged trees and bushes as he went along the hilltop. Somewhere he lost her trail. Panic flared as he stopped and turned in a complete circle, hunting for her.

  A heavier tread breaking twigs and crushing leaves warned him someone else prowled through the trees. He drew his pistol, then returned it to the holster. An accidental discharge now ran the risk of hitting Sarah—or worse. He might bring down the gang on his neck. Stooping, he felt for the knife sheathed in his boot top. He had killed to get this knife. He had even more reason now to u
se it.

  Blade in hand, he went toward the noise, then slipped behind a tree, back pressed hard into the trunk. His heart hammered as the footfalls came closer. As the indistinct figure passed, Luke acted. He was no killer, not like those in the Rhoades gang, but too much depended on him right now. Driving the knife forward as hard as he could, he grabbed for the man’s chin to hold him in place.

  His coordination was off. He dragged one leg slightly and failed to get a secure stance. The reasons for his attack to fail became greater than he dared count. The knife missed a clean kill by several inches. Blood still spurted over his hand, making his grip on the handle too slippery. The weapon went sailing as his would-be victim let out a bull roar, spun and drove an elbow back into Luke’s face.

  Staggered, he fell back against an oak tree. The jolt stunned Luke and gave his opponent time to draw his six-gun. Looking down the barrel wasn’t something Luke relished. He had done it too much lately, and now his enemy had no reason not to pull the trigger.

  “You cut me bad. Who are you?” The outlaw held his gun in a shaky right hand and tried to stanch the blood flowing down his left side by pressing with his other hand. “The boss said to bring anybody we found in, but I’m gonna shoot you.”

  “Do you intend to talk me to death?” Luke’s fear evaporated. He had faced death too many times to let this scare him now. His only regret lay in not saving the women from their fates. “Or are you waiting for her to come back?”

  “What? You talkin’ ’bout the loco we picked up?”

  “Her name’s Sarah Youngblood.”

  “You know her? If you care for her, you’re as loony as she is.”

  “Take me to Rhoades. He’ll want to find out what I know.” Luke shifted his weight. His legs refused to move exactly right. To draw and fire before the man facing him squeezed the trigger wasn’t likely.

  “You got yourself a passel of guns. One in a holster, one slung over your shoulder and another tucked into your belt. You fixin’ to fight a war?”

  “Looks like,” Luke allowed. “You should take the guns from me.”

  “It’s startin’ to hurt something fierce.” The outlaw wobbled now from loss of blood.

  “She’ll take care of you. Behind you.”

  “I ain’t fallin’ for any trick like that. It’s the oldest one in the book.”

  “Hello, Lucas.” Sarah floated ghostlike to the gunman’s left side. She distracted him enough for Luke to press his foot against the tree trunk and shove himself forward. He collided with the outlaw. His hand circled the man’s brawny wrist. Even wounded, the man’s strength was greater than Luke’s.

  They hit the ground and rolled over and over. Luke tried to get to one of his guns. The man had dropped his own six-shooter and used both his hands to pin his opponent. Luke grated out, “Help me, Sarah. Help me!”

  She started singing “The Sow Took the Measles.” The rising notes distracted the outlaw again long enough for Luke to press his hand into his vest pocket. His fingers traced the derringer’s outline. Jerking around, his right side pressed into the ground, he cocked the derringer through the cloth and pressed the trigger.

  The report drowned out Sarah. For a moment Luke wasn’t sure who had screamed. His throat felt raw. He had not been quiet. The lead slug ripped open his vest and kept going upward, through his coat and into the outlaw. The man slumped over, dead. The slug had entered under his chin and blasted smack-dab through his skull.

  “He’s dead,” Sarah said. “You killed him.” Her voice was neutral. She might have remarked how many stars were in the sky or how lovely the sunset had been.

  “For you,” Luke said. “All for you.” He lay sprawled on the ground until he regained both senses and strength enough to push the dead outlaw away. No sense of accomplishment went with these deaths. The men were only faces on wanted posters he had seen in sheriffs’ offices. He had killed three men and it hadn’t been personal. Not like it would be when he finally found Rhoades and Crazy Water Benedict.

  “We can be together finally, Lucas. I waited for you.” Sarah began singing, the words lost in the ringing in his ears. Discharging a derringer so close had taken its toll on him in ways he hardly realized.

  “Come here,” he said, sitting up. The aches and pains had returned. Worst of all was sitting on the hard ground. He rubbed his butt, then levered himself to his feet. All the energy fled and his bones turned to water when he looked around.

  Sarah had gone off again.

  He started to call to her, then worried the derringer shot had been heard by others in the gang. The ringing in his ears died down, making him wonder if the sound had been all that great. His body muffled its report as he had pressed close to the dead man.

  Letting faith take over, he loped into the woods, hunting for Sarah. She couldn’t have gone far. His hearing returned, but she wasn’t singing. For once he wished she’d belt out a song or two for him to find her. This time, he vowed, he would rope and gag her so she’d be safe. If he failed to find her soon, he faced a new decision. Let her be and go back to Audrey or keep looking.

  Sarah had somehow been free and roaming the woods on her own. The Indians believed crazy people were possessed by spirits and, if not venerated, were considered holy. He doubted Sarah was somehow possessed with spirits of the dead or had wisdom to impart, but he felt responsible for having gotten her into this mess.

  “There you are! Stay put, Sarah. Don’t move.”

  She sat on a stump, legs crossed and one foot kicking back and forth. She leaned on one hand and stared at the stars above. Luke made his way to her, then froze. He wasn’t alone.

  They weren’t alone.

  A quick glance to his right made him curse his impatience. A rifle barrel poked through the foliage and pointed directly at him. He slowly raised his arms in surrender.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THERE’S NO NEED to shoot.” Luke Hadley tried to figure how to decoy the gunman’s aim away from Sarah so she could escape. But there wasn’t any way he could be sure she would see his sacrifice as something to take advantage of. She turned her face skyward, as if basking in the rays of the sun. The moon wasn’t even up. Only the stars shined down on her, turning her into a thin, ghostly silver statue.

  “Why would I shoot, you fool? The saints know it would put you out of your misery, but that’s not my job.”

  The question shocked him. A quick turn spun him around to face Marta Shearing as she came from the darkness, a rifle held in her hands. When she saw him staring at it, she lowered the muzzle.

  “I took it off one of the gang. He wasn’t in any condition to use it anymore.”

  “I . . . I’ve killed three of them. How many are left?”

  She stopped a few feet away and looked up at him. Her brown eyes were wide and she started to say something. She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. The look of surprise forced him to explain—or was it confess? The men he had killed deserved their fate, and Luke only wished he wasn’t the one to take justice into his own hands.

  “Two of them outside the valley and one in the woods, when I tried to catch up with her.” He pointed to Sarah Youngblood. The woman jumped up and stood on the stump, struck a pose and burst into song. Both he and Marta cringed at the loud sound blasting out across the valley.

  “Can you shut her up?” Marta lifted her rifle just enough to let him know how serious she considered the noise.

  “Don’t shoot. I’ll try to quiet her. She’s not right in the head.”

  “She’s not the only one.” Marta glared at him. He wondered if she meant him or herself.

  He edged closer to Sarah and held out his hand. She looked down from her perch on the stump, smiled and then took it. Her song died as she let him help her down. With a deep curtsy in his direction, she recovered and tried to run. He caught her and spun her into his arms. She looked up. T
he contrast between her and Marta startled him. The Pinkerton agent was calculating, sharp, intelligent—and deadly. Sarah Youngblood’s eyes reflected the stars and a gentle insanity that tore at his heart. Nothing returned her to the real world. She was doomed to drift in her own mind, thinking only of dreams, for the rest of her life.

  “Kiss me, Lucas. It’s been so long.”

  “Later. When we get back to your cabin.”

  “Our cabin.” She clung to him so hard he winced. His side hurt and the bruises accumulated during his wrestling matches with the outlaws began to throb and ache something fierce. He guided her around to where Marta watched him like a bug under a magnifying glass. For some reason, her scrutiny made him even more uncomfortable, as if he had to explain everything to her.

  “Our cabin, my love. Let’s go there now.”

  “That’s a right fine idea, Sarah. Why don’t you let Miss Shearing escort you there?”

  “Hold on!” The Pinkerton agent grabbed him by the arm and yanked him aside. “I’m not a nursemaid. If you want her out of danger, you take her. She’s taken quite a shine to you, unless I miss my guess.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Look at her making cow eyes at you. She’s in love.”

  He saw Marta enjoyed this a little too much.

  “We’ve got our own trails to ride. I can’t let her get in my way, not when I found Audrey.”

  Marta stared hard at him. If he felt she was examining him before, his very soul had pieces torn away now.

  “You’re not lying, are you, just to get me out of the way? You found your wife alive?”

  “In the cabin at the mouth of the valley.”

  “I skirted it,” Marta said, chewing on her lower lip. “I followed one of the owlhoots in that I thought was Rhoades. He turned out to be another of the gang, but he led me to their main camp. It’s a ways from that cabin.”

  “How many did you find?” Luke found Sarah to be more than a handful. She twisted and writhed about as if all the bones in her body had evaporated. Trying to escape was the least of his problems with her. She licked her chapped lips and hummed, ready to begin her loud singing again. He considered punching her to knock her out. As frail as Sarah was, he worried he might kill her.