by Sara Orwig
“At the general store the clerk said there is a way station on this trail.”
Eb Kearney tugged on the reins and slowed the horses to a walk, turning to her. “If those men come after us, we’re unprotected. Did you ask how far it is to the station?”
“We should reach there around mid-afternoon.”
“Lord, that’s hours away! Should we turn back? We can go straight to the hotel and stay inside until a wagon train comes through. We stopped our wagon by saloons. The whole town won’t be like those men. I heard them talking—they’ve been north on a cattle drive.”
She thought about going back to Fort Worth, worrying over being alone and vulnerable, worrying about her sickly father who used to make all the decisions. Pa couldn’t take an attack out here without help. He wasn’t up to a fight. Not since the war. He had come home from the War Between the States suffering from a wound in his chest, one in the calf of his right leg, barely able to talk, and his nerve gone.
Fine lines of white scars crossed his temple and his throat. He was uncertain, and fearful. It hurt to see him that way, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Moments of crisis pushed him into taking action like today. He drove the wagon without hesitancy. He had acted forcefully in the confrontation with Alvin Eubanks in Vicksburg. Then Pa had been a fearsome, angry man who had defended his family and property. But afterwards, he was a wreck of nerves, shaking, indecisive again.
“We keep going,” she answered, feeling determined to go, knowing all decisions were on her shoulders.
Josh climbed back into the wagon and Rachel scooted over. Lifting her face to the breeze, she watched heat waves roll up from the land. In the distance was a shimmering mirage that looked like a silver-surfaced lake. Riding out of Vicksburg to Fort Worth, the land had been rolling with tall pines, and then the cross-timbers, but now the trees were gone. High and green, grass rippled like the sea. A tingle ran down her spine and her breath caught. She felt awed by the immensity of space. Spreading miles before her, the green grass bowed in the wind, and for the first time since Vicksburg she felt free. The land was different, the future filled with hope.
“Pa,” she said, gripping his arm. “Look at this land. Texas is so open.”
“It’s wild, Rachel. And dangerous. I don’t know if we’ll like it or not. I don’t know if we’ll survive it or not.”
“We’ll survive,” she said. “It’s grand,” she added lowering her voice, feeling a sense of oneness with it. “Pa, we belong here. Look at it. We’re free here.”
“We don’t know anything about this land. We’re accustomed to planting cotton, to shade and rivers. This land looks flat and empty, and we’ve been warned about the dangers. Snakes, savages, renegades, miles and miles without water. They say wind can tear across it so fierce, it’ll knock a man down.”
She barely heard him. She inhaled and the air was sweet. Freedom. The land stretching miles to meet an endless blue sky. With each roll of the wagon wheels, the terror of prison and a barred cell for her pa faded. “Pa, it’s going to be good.”
“Keep the Winchester handy. We’ll need it.”
As the sun moved across the sky, to her relief no one followed them. Mid-afternoon they stopped at a way station where Rachel asked if a wagon train had been through recently. “We’re a single wagon and I hoped if one is only a few hours ahead, we can catch up with it,”
“Nope,” the tall, thin man said, peering through rimless spectacles at Rachel. “It’s been three weeks since the last one and sometimes it’s more than a month between travelers. This trail is used mostly by cowmen driving herds north. A single wagon is risky. Lots of things out here to interfere—wheels broken by rocks, attacks by Indians, renegades, storms.”
“Thanks,” she said, turning away. She didn’t want to hear about the dangers. Gazing back to the north, she hoped other travelers came along.
In the last hours of daylight the sun became a flame in the western sky, throwing up streaks of red that were broken by streamers of white clouds. She saw trees in the distance and when the wagon drew closer to the line of cottonwoods, she touched Eb’s arm.
“Pa, see those trees. There might be a creek. We should stop and make camp.”
Within the hour the wagon was beneath a cottonwood beside a dusty riverbed that held a trickle of muddy water. They built a campfire, and Rachel cooked a pot of potatoes.
As dark settled Rachel took the first watch while the family bedded down. Overhead stars twinkled, and the cry of a coyote made a chill run down Rachel’s spine. For the first time since leaving Fort Worth, she felt alone in a vast land where danger lurked in the dark.
Another lonesome cry of the coyote carried through the night, and she rubbed her arms. The fire was smoldering embers, and everyone was asleep. She was to wake Pa later, so he could keep watch. She looked beyond the dying glow of the fire into the darkness. Fear chilled her, and she jumped up, getting the Winchester and cocking it, feeling exposed by the firelight. She stomped out the campfire and kicked dirt over it, smothering the last plume of gray smoke.
Maybe they shouldn’t have built a fire. The stories of savages began to haunt her, tales of scalpings, women taken captive. She sat with her back against a wagon wheel and stared into the night, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as a silvery sliver of moon rose in the sky.
Later she jerked up her head. What had disturbed her? The soft whicker of a horse was distant, and Rachel’s flesh prickled. Someone was out there in the darkness.
She rose to her feet, standing slowly, listening and peering into the night, her drowsiness vanishing.
There wasn’t a sound except the deep, steady croak of a frog and a high singing sound of crickets. Frightened, she raised the Winchester, her finger on the trigger. She strained for a sound of someone moving.
Get Pa. Now. Pa and Josh won’t be much help, but two guns are better than one. Someone is out there. She took a step.
Arms locked around her from behind, and a hand came over her mouth.
Chapter 2
The rifle was yanked from her hands, and a warm breath played over her ear. The arms that held her were muscled, powerful, and she couldn’t break free. She had to warn the others! Wild with panic, she fought her captor, struggling and twisting against his lean body.
“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t scream. I came to help.”
Could she believe him? Straining against tight arms, she had no choice, so she stopped struggling.
“Don’t yell now,” he said and released her, still holding her Winchester.
Feeling her heart pound with terror, she spun around to face a stranger. “What do you want?”
“I saw you and your family in Fort Worth.”
It was the man who had lounged against the wall, the stranger in black. The man stood only inches away, and she tried to get her breath. What did he really want? What did he intend to do?
“One wagon shouldn’t be out here alone. Some of the men followed you today. I’m offering my help. I’m Dan Overton.”
“Give me back my Winchester.” Feeling angry, she didn’t trust him, and her knees shook from the fright he gave her.
He handed the rifle to her, and she stepped back, pointing it at him. Her pulse still raced, and she didn’t believe him.
“Whoa, there,” he said, making a dismissive gesture. His voice was deep and mellow, and he sounded confident. “I came to offer protection. I don’t want to get shot for trying to help.”
“You have a fine way of offering aid!” she snapped, still scared and furious with him. “If your intentions are good, why didn’t you ride up before sundown and offer help when we could see you coming?”
“Because I didn’t want the men following you to see me. I wasn’t going to show myself tonight, but I don’t trust them to wait. They’re camped three miles behind you.”
“Three miles is a distance.” She didn’t believe the stranger. He had been at the wagon when Pa was tied
. He had been in the saloon when she rescued Abigail. Now here he was in their camp. Too many times he had been the same place they had. Bounty hunter? Detective? Renegade or robber? The name Dan Overton meant nothing to her.
“Ma’am, a family shouldn’t travel alone the way you folks are doing. Soon a wagon train should come along this way. If you’ll go back and wait at the way station, when wagons come, you folks can join them and you’ll have protection.”
“We can travel without your help, mister. I don’t know what you want, but you get going. We don’t need your help.” Why didn’t Pa or Josh wake up? She talked in a normal tone of voice and hoped they would hear her and one of them get the pistol.
“There are six men back there, and they were all in the Red Bear. They know this country and they’re tough.”
“We’ll take our chances. Thanks for the warning. Now get!”
“Not very trusting, are you?”
She raised the rifle. “We can bury you out here, and no one will know what happened to you.”
“Mister,” came her father’s whisper from the wagon. Eb leaned outside and pointed the revolver. “You do what she says.”
Dan Overton nodded. “Fire two quick shots if you want me. The sound will carry a long way out here.”
“Thanks for your warning and help,” she answered, relieved to see him stride away. His horse was out there somewhere. She watched his hands, and they stayed away from the gunbelt around his slender hips. She didn’t trust him. Why would he appear in the middle of the night? Why had he followed her to the saloon?
A shiver of fear ran across her nape as she watched him. He had the easy stride of a strong, fit man. He turned to look into her eyes, and her heartbeat quickened. With his angular features, his prominent cheekbones and solid jaw, he looked like a hard man who wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of taking what he wanted. She remembered the assessing look he had given her in town. It had been a bold appraisal that seemed to strip away the boyish clothing. Was he a bounty hunter? Were men camped three miles away and were they being followed? Or was that merely a ruse by Dan Overton for an excuse to travel with them? Overton vanished into the night, and she wondered where he went. Was he only yards away where he could watch and hear them?
Pa appeared beside her, the pistol in his hand. “I heard you talking.”
“He said men from the saloon are camped three miles behind us, and they’re following us.”
“Maybe we should have let him travel with us, Rachel. He’s alone. He may be in danger, too.”
“I don’t trust him. He doesn’t act like a man you can trust, slipping up on us in the night.”
“I suppose you’re right. We could move on.” Eb Kearney looked overhead. “It’s about two in the morning. If we go slow, we should be able to travel.”
“If we go now, we couldn’t hear if anyone slipped up on us, and we couldn’t see the trail,” she said, feeling jumpy, unable to shake her fear of Dan Overton. The first few moments she had been completely helpless and at his mercy, and the feeling frightened her. She didn’t want to move on during the night when she couldn’t see riders approaching. The problems they faced seemed to mount instead of dwindle. She hadn’t had to make so many decisions in Mississippi, choices that held their lives in the balance. She prayed she was making the right one now.
“We don’t need to see the trail. That’s one thing the war taught me—how to follow stars and move around at night.”
“Let’s wait closer to dawn.”
“Get some sleep, Rachel. I’ll stand watch.”
“I’m not sleepy any longer. I’ll wake you when I’m tired.”
He nodded and disappeared around the wagon. She sat down again and stared into the darkness, worry nagging her. She hadn’t heard a sound when Dan Overton had come up behind her. The only warning had been his horse whinnying. And were there actually six men from the saloon riding after them? Josh knew how to fire a pistol, but he couldn’t aim. Abigail refused to handle guns, and Pa’s hands were often too shaky to be a dead shot. They couldn’t hold out against six. Would they make it to San Antonio? Feeling nervous, she settled against the wagon wheel, holding the Winchester across her lap, her gaze sweeping the darkness before her.
By the first hint of dawn they were moving and soon the sky held streamers of pink, changing to a bright glow as the sun rose over the horizon. To the east a line of trees snaked along the flat ground; otherwise the land stretched and unbroken before them, waves of heat shimmering over rippling grass.
While Rachel sat beside Eb as he drove the team, she looked around. Climbing to the back of the wagon, she continued her scrutiny, feeling certain Dan Overton trailed them and was out there somewhere. How could he hide in such open space?
“What are you looking for?” Abigail asked.
“A man wanted to join us last night. He said we’re in danger.”
“What man? And what danger?” Abigail’s voice rose.
Rachel’s attention shifted to her younger sister. Six years older than Abigail, Rachel felt protective toward her and debated whether to alarm Abigail about the possible danger. “He said there are men following us, camped three miles behind us.”
“Men from the saloon?” Abigail asked with terror in her blue eyes. “Rachel, I’m scared. We’re so alone out here. Will all the towns be like the last one?”
“No. And I’m sure there are fine people in the last town. We just happened to meet the wrong men. We stopped near a saloon—next time we’ll keep the wagon away from the saloons. Next time we’ll wait for a wagon train or other people before we head out alone.” Rachel’s tone of voice softened. Sometimes Abigail still seemed as much a child as Josh.
Rachel leaned out the back of the wagon and looked around. High grass and a line of trees in the distance were all that she could see. Dan Overton could be in the trees, sitting on his horse and staring back at her. Remembering the moment when his arms gripped her, she bit her lower lip. She recalled being held against his strong body and the memory frightened her. She gazed behind them at the trail. If he was out there—and she felt sure he was—he was keeping well-hidden. Why?
Later in the afternoon, she mounted the spare gelding to drop back along the trail. She couldn’t spot men following them. Had Dan Overton lied? Was he after Pa? She turned the horse and galloped back to catch the wagon.
That night they camped in a draw under the shade of willows. There was no creek, so they had to use the water they carried.
As she sat with her back against a wagon wheel, Rachel stared at the fire. Would Pa be able to keep watch? For supper he had killed a rabbit. They had roasted it, and it tasted as good to her as the most succulent roast pig at home. She heard rustling and looked around as Pa emerged from the shadows.
“You get some sleep tonight, Rachel,” Pa whispered, standing close to her. “You must be worn out.”
“Thanks, Pa.” She nodded and moved to the back of the wagon. Retrieving her bedroll, she placed it behind the wagon. Pa was on the other side, near the fire and the front of the wagon. If anyone rode toward the wagon from the south or the east, she should wake. Hopefully, if riders approached from the north or west, Pa would see them. In minutes she was stretched on a blanket, her muscles relaxing. Millions of stars twinkled overhead in a cloudless, black sky. Sleep came, bringing oblivion that was swift and deep.
“Rachel! Rachel!”
Even though it was Pa’s raspy voice, the calls penetrated her sleep. With a momentary confusion, she blinked and came wide awake, her heart lurching at the sound of Pa’s hoarse cries. With her pulse racing in fear, she came to her feet and snatched up the Colt revolver. Horses and men’s voices were loud and her fright increased.
With firelight flickering over him, Pa stood with his rifle pointing into the darkness. Too late, she realized they should have put out the flames that revealed them so plainly. She moved away from the fire, so her eyes could adjust to the night. Gripping the Colt tightly in her hand,
she shook her head to get her hair away from her face. Her breath caught as she gazed at the line of men riding into view.
Looking powerful, six men rode forward, and her attention focused on the one in the lead. It was the tall, blond man from the saloon. She suspected he was one of the leaders in tying up Pa and tormenting Abigail. His blue eyes settled on her, and she saw the satisfaction in his gaze, the certainty in the slight smile, the lift of his full mouth.
“Evenin’, ma’am,” he said.
“You and your men stop right there,” she snapped, her fear changing to the same hot anger she had felt when she had seen Pa tied to the wagon. The man looked as smug as a bobcat caught with a baby rabbit, and his confidence fueled her fury. “Pa’s got a gun and my brother has a gun and so does my sister.”
The man grinned and threw up his hands. “We’re peaceful folks. We just thought we’d join you. I’ve shot a deer and dressed it and thought we’d share it. I’m Lyman McKissick, ma’am, from San Antonio. I own the Circle M ranch.”
“We ate hours ago. You take your men and ride on.” With a pounding heart, she braced her elbow against her side, holding the revolver aimed squarely at his chest.
“We don’t mean any harm, and I wish you’d reconsider. A little female company would be nice.”
“My sister has seen all she wants of you and your men. I’m a married woman with a baby. Mrs. Elias Johnson,” she said, giving a neighbor’s name, feeling the muscles in her arm tighten from holding the heavy revolver. “Get out of here.”
“Sure, little lady.” McKissick’s blue eyes looked amused; a lazy, assured smile was on his face. “But this deer is going to taste mighty good, and you folks could use protection. You’re alone out here. Real alone,” he said, giving it emphasis. “The Kiowa and the Comanche both travel this country. They scalp men and boys and take the women captive.”
“In one more minute, I squeeze this trigger,” she snapped, her fury making her hot. He was trying to frighten them and if Josh and Abigail were awake, he might succeed. She didn’t need more worries, and they didn’t need more to fear. “Now you and your men go.”