“Don’t toss that!” She moved forward to take it from him.
She waited there to see if anything else was coming out of the sack, but he started eating, so she went over to a big oak tree and sat down there, resting her back against the trunk, and did the same. Plain fare and yet it tasted so good. She rarely got to eat bread and cheese, and she savored every bite.
Degan finished eating first and opened his friend’s leather satchel and took out all the posters. He came over to the tree she was leaning against and sat beside her. Their shoulders were nearly touching, but she didn’t move.
Sated and lulled by the sounds of the singing birds and buzzing bees, she momentarily forgot her vow of silence. Glancing at the papers in his hands, she asked, “What are you trying to figure out?”
“I told you that I need three of you before I can call John’s favor paid and move on.”
Max decided it might be to her benefit if he had other outlaws to pick from in case she could still figure out how to talk her way out of being one of the three, so she reversed her earlier decision not to help him and grabbed the papers out of his hands.
Thumbing through them, she pulled out a poster. “This fellow holes up in Colorado. I was in that state long enough to see him more’n once over the course of eight months. He had a young girl with him both times. Seemed like a family man to me, not a bank robber.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
She gave him a nasty look, knowing full well that remark was directed at her, but he was looking at the poster she’d indicated, not at her, so she pointed to another poster. “This Bixford fellow they call Red Charley, I’ve heard folks talking about him a few times—in fear. The way he kills, by blowing up buildings and everything in them, you don’t see him coming, which is why people hope he gets caught before he wanders up this way.”
“An unusual method of killing.”
With that being Degan’s only comment about the vicious outlaw, she pulled out another poster to show him. “Now this one actually shared a camp with me early this spring when I was making my way slowly through Wyoming. I stopped before dark to hunt up my dinner, had a rabbit and two trout roasting, which is what drew him my way.”
“You fish?”
“Not in the usual way, no, least, not since I left home. I used to carry a little net with me until I had to break camp fast one night and left it behind. But I still had the net that day when I was following a stream teeming with fish. Anyways, this man looked hungry, probably was, since we were so far from any towns, and I had more’n enough to share. Didn’t know he was wanted by the law. Didn’t recognize his name when he gave it. He seemed harmless enough and was traveling alone.”
“So you’re in the habit of taking in any stray that comes along?”
She detected a note of disapproval in his voice. He obviously didn’t know what it was like to have to avoid civilization, to not see or talk to another person for months.
“Hell no. But as you might have guessed, I like to talk, and I hadn’t spoken to anyone but myself or Noble in ages, and Noble doesn’t exactly talk back, so I made an exception. I didn’t sleep that night. I’m not that trusting. But he took off in the morning and I stayed another day in that camp to catch up on my sleep.”
“I assume you learned something about him to have mentioned him?”
“These notes say he was last seen in Arizona, but he said he spent the winter in Montana getting a spell of gold fever out of his system. He did approach from the north and headed south when he left. But he said he was heading home to Kansas, that his brother had a farm there. You might want to add that to your friend’s notes—unless you think I’m lying about that, too.”
He didn’t confirm or deny it, just asked her, “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Willie Nolan and his gang aren’t hitting the railroads in Kansas anymore. These days, he and his boys prefer the Northern Pacific line over in the Dakota Territory just east of here.”
He took the poster from her. “Really?”
“You find that interesting?”
“A friend of mine was robbed on that train on her way to Nashart this year.”
Her? So he did have women friends in each town just as she’d guessed? That annoyed her and she wasn’t sure why. Of course she didn’t need to have a reason to be annoyed with Degan Grant. She’d have more trouble finding a reason not to be annoyed with him.
But his mentioning women friends reminded her of the one who had inadvertently helped her to escape. “Who is the fancy lady who was so happy to see you in Helena?”
He finally glanced at Max, but she wished he hadn’t. She could almost feel the sudden coldness coming off him. “No one important.”
“Really?”
He wasn’t going to explain. Instead he asked, “How do you know the Nolan gang is in Dakota?”
“Don’t you dare try to pin train robbery on me,” she growled.
“It was a simple question, Max.”
Now she was touchy? She huffed before saying, “I heard a couple miners talking ’bout it when I went to one of the Helena camps to trade for some lantern fuel. One of them came to Montana on the Northern Pacific and had to sit through one of those robberies. He used to live in Kansas and recognized two of the robbers as members of the Nolan gang.”
“It’s Will Nolan who’s wanted by the law. Did the miner see him during the robbery?”
“No idea. I only heard him telling his friend who was leaving the territory not to take anything on that train ride that he wouldn’t mind losing, or to use a different route instead. And that’s why he went into that long story about getting robbed on that train and who did it.”
They both heard the posse riding down the road from the north at about the same instant. So much for her stay of execution. One of the deputies must have recognized her as they rode out of Helena.
“Don’t look so glum,” Degan said as he stood up. “They aren’t coming for you.”
“How do you know?”
“I recognize that white stallion. Jacob Reed rides one just like it.”
“Never heard of him. Who is he?”
“I shot his brother a few years back. It was a fair fight. Jacob was even there to see it was, but he’s still got a powerful urge to kill me for it. He tried that day, rode after me on that stallion.”
“And yet he still lives?”
Degan shrugged. “He was in a rage from his grief. I wasn’t going to kill him for that. I hoped a couple wounds would make him see reason, but all it did was send him back to town for a doctor. I found out last year that he’s been looking for me ever since.”
“And getting mighty close by the looks of it. Or maybe he ain’t following you today.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. I’ve been in Montana too long and a lot of people know it. And someone shot at me in Helena. I had a feeling it might be Reed. Get behind the tree.” He moved the horses a little farther down the other side of the knoll. “I’d rather not deal with Jacob and his friends while I have you in tow.”
“ ’Fraid I’ll catch a stray bullet?”
“No, afraid I’ll have to shoot you when you take advantage of my distraction and run.”
She chuckled. “Course I would run. But I could’ve taken care of your Reed problem if you didn’t empty my bags of all my rifle bullets. I could have picked off all five of them as they rode by.”
“So you are a killer?”
Did he sound disappointed? Him? She snorted. “I hit exactly what I aim at, and a wound to each of them would have sent them back to Boulder for the nearest doctor.”
“Or started a shoot-out that could have lasted until dark.”
That could have been a possibility if she didn’t shoot to really hurt them, so she conceded his point and mentioned instead, “There’s a trail near here that will take us through the hills directly south. There’s a couple decent-sized lakes down that way.”
“How do you know so much about the wes
tern part of the territory? I thought you came up here through Wyoming.”
“I did, but we’re only a few hours’ ride from the shack I was using. I couldn’t risk going into Helena more than once a week so I kept busy by exploring. It’s useful to know where gulches and big rivers and lakes are located. Might take us an extra hour or so before we can wind back toward Butte, but the trail through the hills will keep us from catching up to that bunch on this main route.”
“Or we could just wait here a little longer.”
“Or you could just go kill Jacob Reed and be done with it. ’Sides, you won’t actually find Kid Cade in Butte. He knows he’s wanted by the law, so he’ll be avoiding towns like I do. But if he’s around these parts, he’ll need to be near water, and there’s plenty tween here and Butte, just east of the road your friends are traveling on. Chances are, you’re going to end up searching this area anyway. Who knows, you might get lucky and be able to turn both of us over to the Butte sheriff tonight.”
“Come mount up.”
She glanced around the tree to make sure Reed and his friends were gone before she started toward her horse. But he grabbed her arm and pulled her over to his palomino.
“What—?”
“You can’t lead the way if I’m pulling you along behind me.”
Ride with him? She started to back away, but didn’t look behind her first. She tripped on a large rock, fell, and actually rolled a few feet, crushing flowers and getting poked by acorns that had fallen from the oak tree. But that’s not all she’d disturbed. She heard the bees before she felt them and panicked at the first sting on her upper arm. She leapt to her feet, slapped at her arms, her head, her legs. She thought she might have gotten them all off her until she felt another sting on the back of her neck and yanked her vest off to use it to swat behind her.
But one more sting on her back had her yell at Degan, “Get it out!” She quickly unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off her shoulders. “Hurry!”
He pulled the shirt away from her back and looked down it. After a moment he said, “One just flew off.”
“Are there more? It feels like I’ve been stung all over my back.”
“The bees are gone, but I see a few red spots and one on the back of your left arm.”
“I hate bees.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not so sure. Gran said I had a bad reaction to a bee sting when I was a tyke. I don’t remember it, but she always cautioned me to stay away from bees.”
“Maybe she should have warned you not to trip over your feet instead.”
Was that supposed to be a joke? Or was he just trying to distract her from the burning bee stings? Either way, the remark earned him a glare instead of her thanks.
But she gasped when he added, “The one thing I do know about bee stings is that you have to remove the stinger fast or else more venom will get into those wounds. Drop your shirt.”
Chapter Eighteen
THIS HAD TO BE the most uncomfortable ride of her life, Max thought for the tenth time, and not because of the welts on her back and her arm that had developed from the bee stings. Those were still burning, but not as badly as before. As long as her shirt didn’t rub against them, she could almost ignore them. Almost. And she hadn’t been embarrassed when Degan had removed the stingers for her because she hadn’t taken off her shirt. She had merely lowered it and then lifted it so he could get at the spots where she’d been stung. But being this close to him . . .
Seated in front of Degan, she couldn’t relax or she’d be leaning against Degan’s chest. She couldn’t keep her legs from touching his because there was nowhere else to put hers. Although she was supposedly leading them, he didn’t even give her the reins to do so! And his arms kept touching hers as he guided the animal where she told him to.
This was so unnecessary. The way to go was mostly obvious. Then she started feeling things she shouldn’t be feeling. It caught her by surprise. The flip of her heart when his leg moved slightly under hers—like a caress. The tingles when his breath touched the back of her neck as he adjusted the reins. The brush of his shoulder when he turned to look behind them made her flush with heat for no reason. The man needed to sit still!
“Put me back on my horse,” she finally demanded. “I can yell at you when you need to turn.”
“Luella didn’t have your letter?”
Where the hell did that come from? Or was he just trying to distract her from her bee stings? But she did need distracting—from him, so she answered, “She did.”
“Good or bad news?”
“Mostly bad, but confusing, too. And I haven’t had a chance to finish reading it.”
“Then finish it. That might clear up your confusion.”
He was right. Even though the letter was disappointing, Gran might have tacked on something hopeful toward the end. Max had taken her coat off when they’d stopped to eat back at the knoll, which was why she’d gotten stung so bad, but she was wearing it now and dug the letter out of her pocket again. A few minutes later she was close to tears. Some of the letter still didn’t make sense, but when her grandmother referred again to the tragedy Bingham Hills had had to deal with, the fact that Carl was dead really sank in. She’d clung for so long to the hope that he was alive, that someday she’d be able to go home without having a noose waiting for her. That hope was gone now, and Degan was going to make sure she couldn’t avoid that fate any longer.
She stuffed the letter back in her pocket, too despondent to say a word. The rest of letter was about Gran and Johnny and how they were getting on. Johnny had assumed her role as the hunter in the family and Gran’s right hand on the farm, but then he didn’t have much choice about it. Max and her brother were nothing alike. She took her licks and didn’t complain—much. He was a good shot, but he didn’t like to hunt or do farm chores. And Max knew Johnny was too sensitive not to be riddled with guilt for letting her take the blame for shooting Carl. She had known her younger brother wouldn’t be able to survive alone in the wilderness as she could. So she’d made Gran promise to keep him from making any foolish confessions about his part in the shooting.
Of course, she’d never thought she’d be gone this long. She was the one who should be taking care of Gran. She’d assumed that role as soon as she learned how to shoot, which was right after their pa took off. Johnny had big dreams of seeing more of the world, of becoming a sailor like their father. If none of this had happened, he would probably have left Texas by now. Maybe his wish would come true this year. . . .
“Still confused, or is the bad news even worse?”
The wide path through a gulch had allowed them to ride at a good speed. But deep in thought, she almost missed the easy way out of it, which slowed them briefly to a walk. And why was Degan suddenly showing some curiosity about her situation? Boredom, probably. But maybe she should share the bad news with him. If he had any sort of conscience under his dispassionate exterior, she might at least make him feel a little guilty for being the death of her even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“Well, Gran was happy to hear from me since she didn’t know if I was still alive. But she wants me to come home because she misses me and she’s in bad health.”
“I’m sorry about her health, but is that what confused you? That she would encourage you to go home?”
“That’s just it, she said that despite Carl’s death, she’s sure I’ll be dealt with fairly if I just come home and explain my actions. That’s what doesn’t make sense, since she knows I didn’t shoot Carl and I made her promise to keep Johnny from making any fool confessions, so she also knows I’ll never say Johnny did it. But it also bothers me that she’d even mention her health. She’s always been in good health, and even if she did get sick, she wouldn’t complain about it.”
“So you think she didn’t actually write the letter?”
Her eyes flared. “That didn’t occur to me. I’ve been too upset that the news wasn’t what I’d hoped it would b
e.”
“Is it your grandmother’s handwriting?”
“It looks like it.”
“Did she get mail regularly or would the arrival of a letter for her be a special occasion?”
Max was beginning to feel a tiny spark of hope. “That’s why I had Luella send my letter, because Gran never gets mail and the whole town would probably know about the letter before it got into her hands.”
“Who runs the post office in your town?”
“One of Carl’s tenants, of course.”
“The discrepancies suggest your letter was intercepted and someone replied with a fake one to encourage you to turn yourself in.”
Max turned and looked at Degan incredulously. “Are you suggesting Carl might be alive?”
“No, he’s dead. Bingham Hills has gone to too much trouble to get you back, offering such a large reward for your capture and tampering with the mail, for it to be otherwise. But my guess is that your grandmother is probably still in good health.”
She was relieved to hear that, but annoyed that he’d dashed the tiny spark of hope that had barely formed that a noose wasn’t waiting for her at home. But she reminded herself that he was the most skeptical man she’d ever met. She wondered if that skepticism came naturally to him or if he’d honed it for his profession.
Then she realized something alarming. “If you’re right, then they know where they can find me now.”
“You’ve already been found—by me.”
And how could she forget that!? She snapped her mouth shut and didn’t say another word, deciding to concentrate on a different hope she still had—of getting away from him.
A while later, Degan said, “You forgot to mention there would be a river in the way.”
He sounded annoyed, which got a chuckle out of her. “This is one of two that run through here, both forks of Little Boulder River, but I know where to cross ’em.”
Wildfire in His Arms Page 11