He settled his own hat on a pine branch and waited five more long minutes until he saw her dark Stetson poke up from a rocky crevice. He belly-crawled to a stand of coyote bush, thumbed off the safety on his rifle, and fired one shot into the campfire below.
Five men scrambled for cover.
Jericho lifted his head. “Tucker?” he shouted. “We’ve got you outnumbered. Toss your guns on the ground.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” came a rough voice from the camp.
“Sheriff Jericho Silver and nine deputies with rifles. Do what I said, drop your guns.”
Dead silence. “Hurry up, Tucker. You’ve got five seconds.”
He began counting aloud. “Five...four...”
One of the gang members, a scrawny beanpole of a man, tossed away his gun belt.
“Three...two...” Jericho fired a second shot that kicked up dust in front of Beanpole. Another shot from behind the boulder opposite him whined into the ground a foot closer. Yeah, Maddie could shoot a rifle, all right.
Then he spied her black hat bobbing up and down and another shot zinged down into the camp. Beanpole skittered backward and thrust both arms into the air. “Hell, Tuck, they’ve got us surrounded.”
One of the gang fired three quick shots at Maddie’s hat but quit when a rifle shot cracked from another direction. The man tossed away his weapon.
“Tucker?” Jericho yelled. “Throw your gun over by the others.”
A thunk told him the outlaw had obeyed. That’s two men disarmed, he thought. Three more to go. He hoped to goodness Maddie stayed out of the line of fire.
Almost in answer, a rifle bullet skimmed into the fire pit, then a few seconds later another popped from a different direction. Good girl! Maddie was circling.
With his foot Jericho waggled the pine branch with his hat perched on it, quietly crept some yards away, and fired two more shots.
Another gun belt plopped down near the others. Two more left. He crept another ten feet to his left and opened fire again. More rifle fire cracked from behind Maddie’s black hat.
“Okay, Silver,” Tucker yelled. “Call off your men.” Another gun belt skidded into the pile, followed by a rifle and two more revolvers. Four figures crept forward, hands in the air, followed by a tall paunchy fellow. Tucker.
“Toss all your firearms over behind the rocks,” Jericho ordered.
When the thuds and clanks ceased, the gang milled awkwardly around the fire and Jericho stood up. “Now sit down,” he yelled.
Pointing his Winchester at Tucker’s chest, he started down the hill. “Pick up their weapons, men,” he called to his imaginary deputies. He heard a scrape and then sounds like something being dragged across the ground. Maddie was collecting the guns. God bless that woman!
“Sing out when you’ve got ’em all, men.”
He waited, eyeing the ragtag bunch huddled below him. Only Tucker showed no fear. Beanpole and a short, fat kid sat with their heads down on their knees, passing a mashed cigarette back and forth between them.
“Got ’em all, Sheriff,” came a raspy voice from the boulder nearest him.
“You backin’ me up, Deputy?”
“Yo,” the ‘deputy’ yelled.
Good work, Mrs. Detective.
Jericho walked carefully down into the camp. Behind him something scraped against a rock and he heard a grumbly voice. “I am covering your back, Sheriff.”
Then she made the mistake of standing upright to aim her Winchester.
“Get your horses,” Jericho snapped at the seated men. “Mount up and stay put or you’ll get a bullet in your back. I’m taking you back to stand trial.”
The men shuffled off toward their horses. All except Tucker, who stood eyeing Maddie.
“Why, that’s nuthin’ but a kid,” he shouted. From inside his coat he pulled a pistol and sent a shot toward her.
Maddie yelped and went down. Tucker then took aim at Jericho.
Two gunshots split the air. Tucker spun away, holding one arm. Jericho took a bullet hip-high, but he managed to stay upright and aim his rifle. The shot whanged off a boulder instead of nailing Tucker.
Tucker staggered to his horse and with a whoop, all five of the outlaws thundered away from the camp. Jericho loosed a volley of words that would fry a nun’s ear. He sent a few shots after them, but the riders were already out of range. Dammit, he’d lost them.
Blood soaked his shirt and his jeans. It felt like a white-hot knife was chewing into his hip and he struggled to breathe through the agony.
“Maddie?” he shouted.
“Y-yes?”
“Are you hurt?”
“Y-yes.”
God, she’d been shot. He swung his bloody leg forward, fell, and clawed his way on his hands and knees up to where she lay.
“Where are you hit?” Jericho demanded.
“My leg. Above my knee.” Her voice was tight with pain.
He felt up her trouser leg until she sucked in her breath and his fingers felt something warm and sticky.
“Jericho, are y-you wounded, too?”
“Yeah. Got a bullet somewhere in my hip.”
She let out a shaky breath. “What are we going to do now?”
He groaned aloud. “Hell, if I knew that, I’d be doing it.”
“I’m afraid I cannot walk,” she whispered.
“I know that. I’m gonna carry you down to the fire, see how bad hurt we are. Come on, put your arms around my neck.”
“But you cannot—”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” he retorted. “Just shut up and hang on.” He bent over her, lifted her hands to his neck and lurched to his feet. Gritting his teeth against the molten fire in his hip, he stumbled in jerky steps down to the camp. He laid her down, dug out his pocketknife and slit her trouser leg above her knee.
In the firelight he could see the blood. “Maddie, looks like the bullet went clean through your thigh right above the knee, but it left an ugly path.” He snaked the bandanna from around his neck and bound it tight around the ragged hole. Blood soaked through before he finished tying the knot.
Then he stripped off his shirt and dropped his jeans. “Where’s my bullet wound?”
“Near your hip bone,” she said with maddening calm. “In the fleshy part. I think the bullet is still in there.”
Damn. He yanked up his trousers and sat down to sort out what to do. They were probably forty miles from help, but both of them were wounded and losing blood. They had to get themselves back to Smoke River.
“We’ll have to ride,” he said at last.
“I thought so.” She sounded near tears and he didn’t blame her one bit. When the chips were down, she’d been fearless, but now...
Now they were in real trouble.
“Listen, Maddie, I’ll go get the horses. Maybe there’s some of that painkiller left in my saddlebag.”
He propped her close to the fire and dragged himself past the boulders and up the hillside to where the horses waited. When he reached them his hands shook and he was sweating, but he knew what he had to do. He lifted his saddlebags off Dancer and sent the mare off with a slap on its rump.
“Go for help, girl. Go back to Smoke River.” The horse pounded off into the darkness.
Leading her horse, Jericho stumbled back down to where Maddie lay. His thigh felt like it was on fire, but he clamped his jaw shut and reached out to help her stand. She clenched her teeth and her breath hissed in, but she didn’t say a word.
By the time he wrestled her into the saddle, it felt like a red-hot poker was boring into his hip. He clamped his jaw hard, pulled himself up behind her and wrapped his good arm across her middle.
“Take the reins, Maddie. I sent my horse back to town. Follow Dancer’s tra
cks. Walk her slow and easy so we don’t lose too much blood. Understand?”
“Yes.” Now her voice sounded unnaturally calm and he bent to one side and gave her a sharp look. Her eyes were wide, her face gray. She was hurt and frightened, and probably sick to death of the West and himself in particular, but she looked into his eyes and tried to smile.
A little knot of warmth settled in his chest. Dammit all, Madison O’Donnell was one helluva woman.
Chapter Eleven
Mile after agonizing mile Maddie rode with Jericho at her back, pointing out the trail she could not begin to see and murmuring encouragement in her ear. “Keep it up, Maddie. You’re doing just fine.”
“Impossible,” she muttered. “Jericho, I hardly know where I’m going.”
“Don’t worry, the horse does. We’ll make it back just fine.”
“You are not just saying that to keep up my spirits, are you? I would hate that.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Maddie. We’ve got a long way to go, but we can do it.”
Maddie snuffled. For the last hour she had been weeping silently, and now her nose was running in a most unladylike manner.
“Gettin’ kinda dusty. Pull your bandanna up over your nose and mouth.”
She yanked up the square of blue printed cotton to cover her mouth, then used the tail to mop at her tears. He knew she was crying; no doubt he could feel her uneven breathing against his chest.
“Is your leg hurting?”
She gave a choked laugh. “I don’t know. I’m so tired I can’t feel it anymore.”
He said nothing, just pointed out a faint hoofprint to the left. She pulled the reins accordingly.
As the miles stretched on, she began to develop a new appreciation for the taciturn sheriff. He was still bleeding. She could feel his upper thigh, warm and sticky, pressed against her hip, and every so often he gave a muffled groan, but he just kept urging the horse forward.
Finally, when she was thinking up ways to tell him she could not go on one more mile, they stopped to water and rest the horse. Her leg throbbed relentlessly and it took all her strength just to move it, but he made her get down and stretch out on the grass. All she wanted to do was curl up on a nice, soft bed and sleep for a week.
Twenty minutes later, Jericho grasped her elbow, maneuvered her back into the saddle and dragged himself up behind her.
They rode on.
How she wished Jericho’s clever ruse had worked; at least they would have something to show for their efforts besides bullet wounds and blood-soaked clothing. She had wanted to help, and perhaps she had, despite everything. He almost did capture the gang, and he did it with her help. Of course, when Tucker recognized she was not a real deputy their plan was blown to smithereens. But she had helped, up to a point, had she not? The thought brought a thin-lipped smile and a tiny glow of satisfaction.
She most certainly was not at home in the West, but she wanted the sheriff to think well of her. He might not like her, but she was beginning to feel that the respect of this man was worth gaining. Respect was better than liking.
Jericho grunted at her back. “Maddie? What the devil are you thinkin’ about? You’re grinning like riding ten hours in the dark is amusing.”
“I was remembering when I was twelve years old and tricked a bunch of rowdy boys who were stealing apples from a neighbor’s orchard.”
“Yeah? How’d you do that?” His voice sounded drowsy but at least she’d stirred his interest.
“I dressed up like a scarecrow and jumped out from behind a tree. Scared them half to death. They ran off, and I gathered up the all apples they dropped.”
“Pretty clever.”
“Maybe not. I wasn’t smart enough to stay quiet about it. Papa laughed and laughed, but my mother confined me to my room for three days.”
He said nothing. She could tell from the hitch in his breathing that he was having trouble staying conscious. Probably that’s why he kept asking questions.
“Jericho?”
“Yeah?”
“What did you do with all those weapons they tossed down?”
“Stashed them in a safe place.”
“Where?”
“Inside a burned-out pine.”
How in the world had this man with a bullet lodged in his hip managed to hoist a bunch of heavy rifles and revolvers up into a hollow tree?
“When we get back to town I’ll send Sandy back to get them.”
Maddie bit her lip. If they ever did reach town.
The thick blackness surrounding them began to lighten just enough to make out the shaggy outlines of trees and the meandering river they followed. Maddie closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the burbling water.
She longed for a bath and clean clothes. And a hairbrush. City things, she admitted. The thought of bathing in a creek made her shiver.
“Maddie?”
“Yes?”
“Think we’d better stop. I’m real dizzy. Feel like I’m gonna throw up.” He reined in the horse, dismounted and stumbled off a few yards. She could hear him retching, and her stomach clenched. There could not be much food in his belly, but he kept vomiting for what seemed like hours. The sound brought tears to her eyes.
“Jericho, do you need help?”
“No. Stay put, Maddie. I’ll be all right in a min—”
He broke off abruptly.
She felt awful, but at least she was not sick to her stomach. Her entire body ached, her wounded leg especially. Her eyes felt grainy and hot, and her thighs were cramping.
“Sheriff, perhaps we should rest here awhile.”
No answer.
“Jericho?”
He walked toward her, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. “Got to keep goin’. Got to warn the bank in town not to ship that gold tomorrow.”
The gold shipment. Heavens, she’d almost forgotten the thousands of dollars in gold dust the Smoke River Bank had entrusted to Wells Fargo.
Jericho pulled himself into the saddle behind her. “Let’s move on.”
Her throat tightened at the tiredness in his voice.
They rode on for another two hours while Maddie fought down a growing fear. What if Jericho’s wound became infected? Could he die from loss of blood? She kicked the mare into a canter.
Without warning, he sagged sideways and Maddie reined up beside the river they were following. “We will stop here to rest, Jericho. Do not argue.”
He didn’t. He jockeyed himself out of the saddle, his face white and strained, and laid out a blanket close to the riverbank. He stumbled over to Maddie, dragged her out of the saddle and laid her down on top of the rough wool, then collapsed beside her. Within minutes he was asleep, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist.
Jericho had no idea how long he slept, but when he opened his eyes it was full dark and he knew he was burning up with fever. Must be his wound was festering.
Maddie lay curled up beside him, still sleeping. Very gingerly he rolled away from her and sat up. Something at the edge of the blanket caught his eye. What the—
A scant foot from Maddie’s head sat a tight-woven willow basket holding a whiskey bottle filled with some kind of liquid. Beside it lay a bundle of tree moss and a stack of soft deerskin strips.
“Maddie, wake up.” He touched her shoulder. “Our Indian friend’s been here.”
“What did he take this time?” she mumbled.
“Nothing. He left something for us.”
He worked the cork out of the bottle and sniffed at the contents. “Willow-bark tea. The Indians use it for fever.” He tipped it into his mouth and gulped down four big swallows. It tasted bitter, but he had to smile. He couldn’t begin to guess how the old Indian knew of their difficulty, but he was sure gratefu
l. He didn’t even want to wonder why he hadn’t heard any footsteps.
“Lie still, Maddie. I’m going to bandage your leg.” He unwrapped the bloodstained bandanna around the wound, packed the torn flesh with half the moss and bound it tight using the strips of deerskin.
When he finished, he lay facedown beside her, tugged his shirt free of his jeans, and slid them down a few inches. “Put the rest of that moss on my hip, would you? Then snug it up with those deerskin strips.”
Without a word, she bent over him and rucked up his shirt. He liked the feel of her hands on his flesh, but he was too tired to think much beyond getting them back to town.
Before they remounted, Jericho left a pound of good jerky and two cans of peaches on the river bank as a gift.
It was growing light enough to see now. They headed away from the river, and just when Maddie knew she could not ride one more mile, Jericho suddenly leaned forward.
“Pull up,” he rasped.
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Look ahead. Riders comin’.”
Her heart plummeted into her belly and she hauled back on the reins.
“Four riders,” he breathed. “Comin’ fast.”
She tried to keep her voice steady. “We should find cover.” She reined off the trail, heading toward a stand of cottonwoods near a bend in the river.
“Wait!” he ordered sharply.
“But—”
“That’s Sandy. I recognize one of his horses. And Doc Graham is with him.” He tightened his arm around her waist.
Dust plumed behind the mounted men. Jericho waited until they were closer, then dismounted and walked unsteadily forward to meet them.
The two other riders turned out to be Colonel Wash Halliday and Rooney Cloudman, the half-Indian scout who used to ride with the colonel. All four men reined in their mounts, and Doc Graham and Sandy immediately scrambled off their horses.
“I knew somethin’ was wrong the minute Dancer came into town last night,” Sandy said. “Figured you got into some kinda trouble so I deputized Mr. Cloudman and Colonel Halliday.”
“Good work,” Jericho said, his voice grainy with exhaustion. “I stashed some weapons a ways back. One of you could go get them. They’re hidden in a rotted-out pine about five miles from where the railroad runs close to a circle of big river boulders.”
Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone SheriffThe Gentleman RogueNever Trust a Rebel Page 10