“Don’t you say nuthin about my pa,” Ian yelled.
“Shut your lip, boy,” Victor warned, raising his hand in a definite threat, “you don’t talk unless you been asked a question. Got it?”
Flinching from his lifted hand, Ian nodded, sniffling, using his sleeve to wipe his nose, his eyes on his lap. With a sigh, Victor stared down at him, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt. “Now I gotta decide what to do with him.”
“The jail?” Tyler suggested.
“And have him get broke out just like Johnson?” Victor groused, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t need another strike to my noggin.”
“Johnson must be with them,” Charlene said. “Is that true, Ian?”
She received a sullen nod but no other answer. ‘So, the jail is out,” she commented.
“Well, we need to keep him somewhere,” Victor complained, pacing away from the kid. “At least until I can get him to San Antonio. His brother won’t find him there. Or break him out. The sheriff there has deputies.”
Tyler grinned. “We can always take him up to my place and put him in the care of the Comanches.”
At his words, Ian screamed, loud and piercing, making Tyler wince and Charlene to cover her ears. Drawing breath, he continued to shriek, crying, “No, no, no, no.”
“That’s enough,” Olivia snapped, her voice carrying over the boys. “Stop it, Ian.”
Unbelievably, Ian silenced instantly. He continued to sob, hoarse, his entire body shaking. Tyler felt sympathy toward the kid again, wondering how any father could treat his children the way this boy obviously had been. Beaten, taught nothing but hate and fear, then abandoned. No wonder he was troubled.
Glancing up, Tyler found Olivia’s frown of intense disapproval aimed at him. “What?”
“Putting this child amid those he is terrified of is cruel, Tyler,” she grated. “You should have known better than to suggest it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His eyes met Charlene’s, her lips lifted in a grin. “I think it would have served him right,” she muttered from the side of her mouth.
“I heard that, Charlene.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“What about that old jail?” Harold asked. “We could put him there. No one would find him, and he can yell until he’s blue in the face.”
“What old jail?” Victor’s scowl faded away in his bewilderment.
“You don’t know about it?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking, now would I?”
Harold grinned. “Back in the day, the town’s founders built a jail inside solid rock, planted the bars into holes drilled into it. It’s almost a cave but doesn’t go in very far.”
“I had heard rumors about that place,” Charlene said thoughtfully. “I never knew it really existed.”
“From what I had heard,” Harold said, “the law back then kept condemned men in it. Then our current jail was built, and the other fell into disuse and obviously was mostly forgotten.”
“Have you been there?” Victor asked. “Can you show me in the morning?”
“Certainly. But what do we do with Ian tonight?”
“I reckon he’ll have to stay in the other tonight until we can shift him in the morning,” Victor replied, glowering at Ian.
“Don’t stay at the office alone, Vic,” Tyler advised. “I’ll go with you to take him, then lock him up and you can come back with me. No sense in risking them jumping you again.”
“All right. Let’s get him on down there.”
As Victor reached for the boy’s arm, the front door opened with Jack entering the small house. Seeing Victor, he nodded. “You were right. The horse carries the Bar H brand. It’s tied up out front.”
Grabbing Ian’s arm, Victor hauled him up, staring down at the cringing boy with a fierce glare. “Horse thief. You’re in serious trouble, boy.”
Glancing at Harold and Jack, Victor said more calmly, “You boys stay here and look after the ladies. Tyler and I will take this child to sit in my jail and think of his interesting future in prison.”
Since Ian started struggling again as Victor started toward the door, Tyler took his other arm to ensure he didn’t wriggle free from Victor’s grasp and bolt. He himself knew how fast this boy could run. He glanced at Charlene as he left the house, offering her a grin. “Back soon.”
“We’ll be here,” she replied.
Pausing to untie the Bar H horse, Victor led it with them in his free hand, muttering under his breath as Ian continued to kick and howl. “Looking after this little monster will not be easy or pleasant,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in town woke to his racket.”
“He can certainly wake the dead,” Tyler agreed.
Sure enough, no few residents emerged from their homes to discover what the fuss was about. A man yelled from the doorway of a house, “What in tarnation is going on out there?”
“I’m Sheriff Barker, and I’m taking this juvenile horse thief to my jail,” Victor hollered back. “Go on back in your homes. Nothing to see here.”
The resonating sound of galloping hooves echoed through the night as three horses broke from an alley almost beside them. At the same instant, gunfire pierced the dark, small flames erupting from the barrels. Tyler, unable to raise his rifle in defense and keep a hold of the kid, let go of Ian and aimed at the charging riders. He fired off two shots before the shoulder of one of the horses struck him, sending him spinning to the ground.
As his rifle was wrenched from his hand, he fought to grab it while Victor cursed. His body twisting, Victor fell to his knees, and let go of both the Miller kid and the horse. Both bolted in the direction of the riders, who had slowed their mounts to wheel, shooting at Tyler and Victor again. Bullets peppered the ground near Tyler’s head, forcing him to duck and roll.
Seizing his rifle, Tyler rose to his knees, firing at the riders, now halted in the street. He knew one bullet struck home when he heard a choked off cry, but none fell from a horse. A shadow reached a hand down to Ian, hefting him up behind his saddle. Tyler fired one more round before his rifle clicked, empty.
Fearing the riders would charge back to finish off both Victor and himself, he got his feet under him, prepared to bolt to shelter. The riders didn’t charge. Instead, they hit a gallop again, fleeing down the street to vanish into the night.
Tyler stood. “Vic? You all right?”
“No, I ain’t,” Victor groaned. “I been hit.”
Chapter Nineteen
Four days after Franklin died, Aaron rode his horse down San Antonio’s main street. For a disguise, he wrapped his bandana around his head, keeping his distinctive red hair tucked under his hat, the blue cloth covering his brow. Dirt and a new mustache, his cheeks and chin shaved, half hid the rest of his face. Despite the heat, he put on an old coat and slouched in his saddle.
Passing people on foot and horseback, he eyed the street vendors, many of whom were Mexicans selling food, trinkets, serapes, boots, and saddles. A few Comanche Indians traded in town, bartering at the tables. White folks shopped there or passed them by, and no one seemed to pay much attention to him at all. Strangers were common here, and with so many people, he didn’t think he would stand out among them.
Reining in at one of several saloons, Aaron dismounted and tied his horse to the rail among several others. Thinking that perhaps Price may have spent time in San Antonio, or lived near the town, Aaron suspected a saloon might be the best place to start.
Standing at the bar, well away from the others there, Aaron ordered a beer and tossed a coin to the bartender. Glancing around covertly, he saw no one who seemed particularly interested in him. The barman came back with his beer and set it on the mahogany counter in front of him.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Aaron ventured, catching the man’s attention. “I think he moved here from El Paso.”
“What’s his name?”
“Tyler Price.”
The bartender
shook his head, his jowls wobbling. “Never heard of him.”
“Good looking fellow,” Aaron pressed on. “Long black hair.”
“Don’t know him.”
The bartender moved on to serve his other patrons leaving Aaron to nurse his beer, thinking that San Antonio was large enough that Price might be here, and no one knew him. Yet . . . . Aaron tapped his glass thoughtfully. If Price lived around here, he would have to come into town for supplies.
That would mean he would purchase them at the general stores.
Finishing his beer, Aaron went back out into the raging inferno that was the Texas summer and untied his horse. Mounting up, he rode down the street, keeping an eye out for mercantile shops, and halted his mount at the first one he found. Three women left the shop as he entered, scenting sawdust, coffee, candy, and tobacco.
Other shoppers roamed the place as he walked to the two men behind the counter. One glanced at him. “Help you?”
“Yes, maybe you can,” Aaron replied. “I’m hoping to find a friend of mine. Tyler Price. Does he maybe buy his goods here?”
The fellow shook his head. “Never heard the name, mister. Sorry.”
“Good looking guy? Long black hair?”
“Doesn’t sound familiar.”
Riding up, down and through the town, Aaron asked the same question of all the general stores he found, the bank, the assayer, even the Mexican from whom he bought his lunch. All he received for his trouble was the same answer, “No, never heard of him.” Discouraged, Aaron rode back through town toward the outskirts where his brothers awaited him.
“Maybe he did head to old Mexico, then,” Elmer said, his tone thoughtful as he and George sat beside the fire, a haunch of beef spitted over the flames.
Aaron unsaddled his horse and led him to the creek for water, then picketed him where he could graze. “I still think that’s not Price’s style,” Aaron replied, sitting down beside the fire. The odors of the cooking beef made his mouth water, even as he sipped from the bottle of whiskey he had bought in town and passed it to Elmer.
“How else can we find him?” George asked. “He could be anywhere.”
“That’s true,” Elmer said. “Now will you consider giving up this fool plan to find Price? Let’s just focus on Benji.”
Taking off his hat and the bandana, Aaron pondered that idea. While he craved his revenge on Tyler Price as much as he craved food, he began to rethink. Elmer was right. Price could have gone anywhere, from old Mexico to New York and never leave a trace behind. Come to think of it, he may even have gone back to Colorado. Aaron knew he had spent many years there.
He nodded at last. “We’ll focus on finding Benji, but if we come across Price’s trail anywhere, we go after him. Got it?”
Elmer nodded. “Fair enough. Are there any federal marshals in San Antonio, you think?”
“It’s a fair-sized town,” Aaron replied, his eyes on the sizzling meat as George turned the spit. “There could be. As I have already been there, asking questions, maybe you should go tomorrow. Ask around. If there are, we can pay him a visit.”
I don’t have a problem with that,” Elmer said. “George, you’re gonna burn that side if you don’t work that spit right.”
* * *
Aaron discovered the wonders of napping in the shade while the sun beat down upon the land from above. George sat cross-legged nearby, playing with a deck of cards. Elmer had ridden into town hours ago and likely wouldn’t return until late. Aaron had given him instructions to bring back not just whiskey, but coffee and salt as well.
Aaron woke suddenly out of another dream of Franklin where his brother reached for his throat with blood caked hands. Breathing hard, his heart racing, he glanced around, expecting danger to arrive with guns blazing. The horses quietly dozed in the shade of a cluster of cedar trees, rear hooves cocked, resting as George lay back against his saddle, sleeping.
Rising, Aaron walked to the stream for a drink and to splash cool water over his face and head. Hearing hoofbeats approaching, Aaron drew his revolver, ducking behind the rocks to peer over the top. Two horses, riding at a slow canter. The lead horse, a bay with a wide blaze across his face, he recognized as Elmer’s.
Shoving his gun back in its holster, he trotted back to George, kicking his brother’s ankles. “Wake up. Elmer’s back, and he brought someone with him.”
George woke with a snort. “What?”
“Get up. We’ve got company.”
“Who?”
“Get up and find out.”
Striding to the dry wash, Aaron stood in plain view as George scrambled to join him, placing his hat on his head and adjusting his gun belt. “But that’s Elmer,” George said.
“But who is that with him?”
Waiting for the two horses to approach, Aaron squinted to see better against the brilliant sunlight. A man with a star on his vest. And a gag across his mouth. Aaron almost whooped as he recognized that the man’s hands were bound behind his back. “He’s a prisoner. Elmer must have captured him.”
“What for?” George asked, puzzled.
“I’ll guess he’s a federal marshal we can interrogate.”
Elmer’s wide grin flashed in the sun as he halted both horses a few feet from Aaron and George. “Aaron, meet Federal Marshal James Colbert. James, meet my brothers Aaron and George Dawson.”
Colbert’s ice blue eyes over the gag glared his defiance, yet Aaron observed the faint quiver in his shoulders, the nervous tic next to his right eye. The man was scared, and that’s exactly how Aaron liked federal marshals to be.
“Welcome, Mr. Colbert,” Aaron said, stepping to the horse’s head, gazing up. “I hope you don’t mind answering a few questions for us.”
Colbert tried to yell behind his gag, but all that emerged was what sounded like a muffled curse word. “George, help him down from his horse,” Aaron said, stroking the horse’s nose, watching Colbert closely as George dragged him from the saddle and dumped him in the dirt.
Elmer stepped to his side, staring down at the marshal. “He recognized me, Aaron,” he said. “He was following me, so I led him into an alley and got the drop on him. Had to take him through a lot of side streets to get him out of town unseen.”
Aaron clapped Elmer on the back as George seized Colbert by the boots and hauled him near the fire. “You did excellent, brother mine.”
Elmer gazed into Aaron’s face. “But he’ll be missed. We have to get what we can from him and haul out of here fast.”
“Right.”
Aaron squatted beside Colbert’s head and removed the gag. “You know who we are.”
Colbert nodded, his lips thinned in defiance. “I know who you are.”
“Where did your pals in the marshal’s service take our brother Benji?”
For a moment, Colbert’s eyes clouded in confusion, his brows started to knit. Then his expression grew defiant again. “If I tell you, you’ll release me?
“Not when you’re lying,” Aaron replied calmly. “I read it in your face – you don’t know. Do you?”
Colbert licked his lips, nervous. “No. I do not. I wasn’t part of your brother’s detail in taking him to prison. It’s a secret that’s been guarded, and no one who was part of it is talking.”
Aaron took off his hat, scratched his head with a sigh, and put it back on. “Then, you’re no good to us.”
“Shall we kill him now?” George asked, his voice eager.
Colbert’s expression changed to fear. “Wait. I can tell you where I think he was taken. I don’t know for sure, though. I’ll tell you only on the promise that you don’t kill me.”
“Why would you believe the word of a Dawson?” Aaron inquired politely.
“I – have to. Give me your word, and I’ll tell you.”
“But then you’ll tell your marshal friends that we had you, and then warn the prison that we’re coming. That doesn’t work out so well for us, now, does it?”
“Look,” Colbert said
, sweat sliding down his temple to mat his silver hair, “we give each other our word. You let me live, and I won’t tell my friends what happened to me. Deal?”
“And the prison?”
“I don’t care what happens to that,” Colbert replied, licking his lips. “You can wait a year from now when they’re done looking for you, your brother will still be there, and you can break him out when they think you’ve gone to Canada. That’s nothing to me.”
An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance) Page 18