Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4)

by James Reasoner

  She stopped that sentence before she could complete it, but the thought was there in her head. How would she like it, she had started to ask herself, if she had been kissing Frenchy LeDoux and Catherine had been spying on her?

  Well, that would never happen. Not in a million years. Alexandra shook her head and started to turn away, intending to go back to her horse.

  The sound of more hoofbeats, ringing abruptly through the night air, stopped her.

  She turned back and lifted the field glasses again. When she found Catherine and Paxton through the lenses, she saw that both of them were looking toward the big bluff to the west. Alexandra swung the glasses in that direction, and this time she did gasp as she spotted the large group of riders galloping toward her sister and Paxton.

  The raiders were back! Alexandra had no idea where they had come from, but she knew they hadn't used the pass. She was close enough to the opening in the mountains that she would have heard them sooner if they had. But how they had gotten here didn't really matter. What was important was that they were sweeping right at Catherine and Paxton.

  Alexandra jerked the glasses back to the two of them. Why didn't they run? she asked herself. They had a head start on the rustlers; they might be able to outdistance them. But they were just sitting on their horses, watching the night riders coming closer. Paxton was probably afraid that if they turned and ran, the rustlers would open fire.

  As Alexandra watched in horror, she saw the raiders close in around Catherine and Paxton. Moonlight winked on drawn guns. It was too late to save them now. There was so much confusion that Alexandra couldn't tell exactly what was going on. The gang of rustlers surrounded her sister and Paxton so that she couldn't even see them anymore. After a few moments, they broke into a gallop again, heading across the valley.

  At least there hadn't been any shooting, Alexandra thought as she lowered the glasses shakily. Catherine and Paxton might have been taken prisoner, but at least they were still alive. The rustlers probably planned to use them as hostages, just in case any pursuit caught up to them.

  Alexandra turned and ran back to her horse, shoving the glasses in the saddlebags and swinging up hurriedly into the saddle. She didn't worry about trying to be quiet. She jammed the heels of her boots into the animal's flanks and shouted encouragement to it as the horse lunged into a gallop that carried them out of the trees. Alexandra didn't try to follow the rustlers and their prisoners. Instead she pointed her mount toward the ranch house.

  The only real chance Catherine and Paxton had was if Alexandra could alert her father and the rest of the men in time. She leaned forward over the neck of her horse, knowing all too well that she might be in a race for her sister's life.

  * * *

  By the time Alexandra reached the ranch house, she heard the distant popping of gunfire to the north. Her heart fell. That was where most of her father's herd was being kept, and it was obvious the rustlers had struck again, crossing everyone up by raiding Latch Hook two nights in a row.

  As Alexandra's horse pounded up and slid to a halt in front of the house, Austin Fisk was already running onto the porch, a rifle in his hands. Some of the punchers were tumbling out of the bunkhouse, shouting questions.

  "It's .Alexandra, Pa!" she called to her father. "The rustlers are back! They've got Catherine and Wilt Paxton!"

  Fisk stared at her in shock. "What? What are you saying, Alex?"

  "I saw them," she said breathlessly without bothering to dismount. She clung to the saddlehorn to steady herself. "Catherine was with Wilt Paxton . . . they were kissing— and then those rustlers rode up and captured them!"

  "Damn it, you're not making any sense, girl!" Fisk bit out. "Catherine and Paxton . . . ?"

  "I suppose they're in love," Alexandra said impatiently. "That doesn't matter. What's important is that those rustlers have them!"

  Fisk jerked his head in a curt nod. "You're right, of course." He turned to the Latch Hook riders who had gathered around the porch. "Saddle up, men! We've got to get to the herd and stop them!"

  The punchers ran for the corral to get their horses. Fisk turned back to Alexandra and went on, "You saw the rustlers, you say?"

  "That's right."

  "Did they come through the pass from the Diamond S?"

  Alexandra shook her head. "I don't know where they came from, but they didn't use the pass. I'm sure of that."

  Fisk took a deep breath. "I seem to have misjudged those damned Texans. We may need help, Alexandra. I want you to ride over there and alert Sawyer to what's going on. Can you do that?"

  She nodded without any hesitation. "Of course I can. You're going after the rustlers?"

  "With every man I've got," Fisk said fervently. "How many of them were there?"

  "More than I saw last night. Twenty, I'd say, maybe a few more."

  "We're liable to need help, then. I hate to send you out like this at night—"

  Alexandra wheeled her horse. "Just go after them, Pa. You've got to save Catherine!"

  Without waiting for any more talk, she heeled her horse into a run again, this time heading for the pass that would take her to the Diamond S.

  * * *

  Cole sat with his back against a tree trunk while not far away, Ulysses cropped contentedly on Kermit Sawyer's grass. Casebolt was sitting beside another tree, his hat tilted down over his face. Soft snores came from him.

  Frenchy LeDoux and Lon Rogers both hunkered on their heels nearby. All four men waited in the shadows of the trees on this hillside. Not far off was the spot where Cole had lost the tracks of the stolen cattle. If the rustlers came back tonight, Cole figured they would use this route.

  "Hope you don't mind us waitin' out here with you, Marshal," Frenchy said softly. "It's Mr. Sawyer's orders, you know."

  "I know," Cole said. "That boss of yours doesn't trust us. I reckon he knows Billy and I aren't mixed up with those rustlers, but he just doesn't like anybody else poking around on his land."

  "That's about the size of it," Frenchy said with a nod. "You think those thievin' sons o' bitches will be back tonight?"

  "Could be," Cole said with a shrug. He sat up suddenly as a faint noise came to his ears. "Listen! You hear that?"

  Casebolt snorted and lifted his head. The other three men stood up and moved to the edge of the trees, listening intently.

  "Hoofbeats," Lon said after a moment. "And moving fast, too."

  "Somebody's in a hurry," Frenchy agreed. "Sounds like it's gettin' louder."

  Casebolt joined them. "Who's that ridin' hell for leather in the middle of the night?"

  Cole shook his head. "Don't know, but I reckon we ought to find out." He started toward Ulysses.

  The others followed suit, catching the reins of their horses and mounting. Frenchy said, "Sounds to me like it might be comin' from that pass over to Latch Hook."

  "Can we get there in time to head off whoever it is?" Cole asked.

  "We can damn sure try," the segundo said. He put his heels to his horse.

  The four men galloped down off the hill and turned to the south, following the line of mountains toward the pass. By the time they reached it a few minutes later, the lone rider they had heard had already emerged and was racing across the valley toward the headquarters of the Diamond S. Cole spotted the horsebacker in the moonlight and pointed. "There!"

  The urgency with which the man rode told them there was some sort of trouble afoot. Cole and his companions galloped after the rider, whose horse seemed to be tiring. Within minutes, they had closed the gap, and Cole shouted, "Hold on there! This is Marshal Tyler from Wind River!"

  The rider reined in, and as Cole, Casebolt, Frenchy, and Lon trotted up, they all saw that she was a woman, not a man. Long, dark hair framed the pale face she turned toward them.

  "Marshal Tyler!" she exclaimed. "I'm Alexandra Fisk, from Latch Hook."

  Frenchy had already recognized her, and he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Alexandra! What are you doin' here?"


  "The rustlers," she said, having trouble catching her breath. "They . . . they came back to Latch Hook. Took my sister Catherine and our foreman Wilt Paxton prisoner. They're hitting our herd again."

  "Damn!" Cole burst out. The wideloopers had fooled everybody, had done the one thing it had seemed least likely they would do. And now Catherine Fisk and Wilt Paxton might pay with their lives for Cole's mistake in judgment.

  "My father sent me over here to ask Mr. Sawyer for help," Alexandra went on. "He and our cowboys were going after the rustlers."

  Cole thought rapidly. "LeDoux, you and Rogers take Miss Fisk on to Sawyer's house. Tell your boss what happened and see if he'll send some men over to Latch Hook. Billy and I will head there right now."

  "Nope," Frenchy said. "Lon can take Alexandra to see Mr. Sawyer. I'm goin' with you and the deputy."

  There wasn't time to argue. Cole nodded curtly and heeled Ulysses into a run, pointing the sorrel toward the pass. Casebolt and Frenchy followed.

  Alexandra would have gone with them if Lon hadn't reached out and caught the reins of her horse. "I want to go with them!" she protested. "You can take the message to Sawyer, cowboy!"

  "No, ma'am," Lon told her. "That horse of yours is just about played out. There's no way you can keep up with Frenchy and those two lawmen." He paused, then added, "But you can get a fresh horse from our corrals, I reckon."

  Impatiently, Alexandra jerked the reins out of his hands and turned her mount toward the headquarters of the Diamond S. "Come on, then," she said.

  She wished she could have gone with Frenchy, but she knew the young cowhand they had left with her was right. Her horse couldn't go much farther. She just hoped Frenchy, Marshal Tyler, and Deputy Casebolt got to Latch Hook in time to help.

  And she prayed that Catherine and Paxton were still alive, that death hadn't already struck in the night.

  Chapter 27

  Michael was as miserable as he had ever been in his life. The sickness in his belly had subsided and the pain in his head was only a dull ache now, but he still felt like a fool. And that was the worst feeling of all.

  He had lain there on the bunk inside the wagon and listened to the others making preparations to leave Wind River.

  Deborah had left him for a while, after using a strip of cloth to gag him so that he couldn't call for help, but now she was back. She leaned over the bunk and untied the gag. "I'm sorry I had to do that, Michael," she told him. "But I couldn't take any chances. It was hard enough to convince the others we ought to keep you alive. Bramwell and Calvin still want to kill you, you know."

  He swallowed and nodded. "They probably will, once we get away from town," he said. "They're just playing along now to keep you from causing trouble."

  She shook her head. "Uncle Nicodemus won't let them hurt you. He agreed with me that we should let you live."

  Michael didn't believe that for a minute. Professor Munroe was just placating her, too. He was convinced that his hours were numbered. Before the sun came up the next morning, he would be dead.

  And he would never see Delia or Gretchen or Lincoln again, would never again hold his son or hear his daughter's laugh or feel the touch of his wife's hand . . .

  He had to swallow hard once more to keep a sob from welling up his throat. He concentrated on his anger instead of what he was about to lose and said to Deborah, "It was all an act, wasn't it? You never really cared for me."

  "How can you say that?" she protested as she sat down beside him on the edge of the bunk. "Of course I liked you, Michael. You're so sweet and handsome. But I have to admit it came in handy to have you helping us, even when you didn't know you were doing it. You even spotted Otis and pointed him out to Uncle Nicodemus, so he didn't have to do it himself. That looked even more convincing."

  He turned his head away, unable to look at her anymore.

  Deborah put her hand on his chin and turned his face back toward her. She leaned over and kissed him, pressing her mouth hard against his, letting her breasts prod his side. Her hand moved down over his belly to his groin. She took her lips away from his and whispered, "As soon as we've gotten started, I'll untie your legs so that we can have some fun."

  Michael suppressed a groan of despair. A hundred times in the past few days—no, a thousand!—he had dreamed of Deborah caressing him like this, saying soft words of love and passion.

  Now her touch shriveled him and made him want to flinch away from her, and her voice was like the hiss of a demon.

  How could he have been so stupid?

  But maybe, he suddenly thought, just maybe he didn't have to die after all. There might be the slightest chance he could get out of this . . .

  A moment later, Munroe poked his head in the side door of the wagon and told Deborah, "We're ready to roll. You stay in here with our young friend."

  "That's exactly what I intended," she said with a smile.

  Munroe closed the door, and a few seconds later, Michael felt the wagon shift a little as the professor climbed onto the seat. He was joined there by someone else, Michael could tell, probably Chief Laughing Fox. That would leave the Dumonts to handle the other wagon.

  Carter had probably slipped back to the hotel, and Stokes would go back to wherever he had been staying, since it wouldn't do for anyone to see them leaving with the medicine show. Doubtless they would rendezvous somewhere outside of town.

  As the wagon lurched into motion, Michael took a deep breath and said, "Deborah?"

  She came to the bunk and sat down beside him again. "Yes, Michael?"

  "Thank you for . . . for everything you've done for me," he forced himself to say. "I realize I owe my life to you."

  She leaned over him, smiling. "You're welcome. And if you want to repay me, well, I can think of a way."

  He pasted a smile of his own onto his face and said, "Anytime you're ready."

  She leaned over and kissed him again, probing at his lips with the wet tip of her tongue until he opened them. Despite everything, he felt himself becoming excited. That was all right, he thought. It would just make the act more convincing. Deborah had pulled the wool over his eyes; now it was his turn to fool her.

  Her breath was coming faster and harder as she pulled away from him and reached down to his bound ankles. Several deft tugs loosened the ropes, and she pulled them away from his feet. "There, now you can move around a little," she said. She stood up and reached for the buttons of her dress.

  "I wish I could put my arms around you," Michael said, hoping he wasn't overplaying his hand.

  "I'm sorry, Michael," she said, sounding as if she meant it, "but you know I can't let you loose. Not yet. Maybe when we're out of town . . ."

  He would just have to make do, he thought. Deborah had her dress unbuttoned, and she slipped it off her shoulders and pushed it down around her hips. She wore a chemise under the dress, and Michael had to admit she was beautiful as she came toward him, hips swaying.

  He twisted on the bunk, rolling onto his side as if he was eager for her, and she smiled seductively. She leaned toward him once more, her tongue coming out to lick over her lips.

  Michael pulled his knees up, straightened his legs suddenly, and kicked her in the stomach as hard as he could.

  Deborah didn't even have time to cry out. She flew backward across the wagon and slammed into the wall. She crumpled to the floor, curling up around herself, gagging and gasping for breath. Michael rolled off the bunk and landed on his knees. Pain shot through them, but he ignored it. He got a foot under him, then surged to his feet.

  The inside of the wagon was fitted up as living quarters for the professor and Deborah, including a wardrobe and a dressing table. Michael spotted a pair of scissors lying on the table and lunged backward toward them, fumbling for them behind his back with his fingers. He felt the wagon coming to a halt and heard Professor Munroe call, "Deborah! Deborah, are you all right back there?"

  Munroe must have heard the thump when Deborah hit the wall, Michael knew. His
fingers closed around the scissors, and he brought them up and began using them to saw awkwardly at the cords around his wrists.

  The smaller door that led to the seat of the wagon flew open, and Michael saw the face of Chief Laughing Fox peering in at him.

  For once, the Chippewa's features weren't devoid of any expression. Laughing Fox glared angrily at him, and Michael saw a glint of lantern light on steel as the chief's arm raised.

  Michael threw himself to the side as a tomahawk flashed through the air at him. As he fell, he felt the scissors slicing into his arm. Luck was with him, though, and the ropes around his wrists parted at the same instant. He jerked his arms around in front of him, wincing at the pain that shot through stiff muscles, then rolled desperately out of the way of a second tomahawk that hit the floorboards of the wagon and stuck there. Michael came up on his hands and knees and lunged toward the door where the chief crouched.

  Terror gave him enough speed to beat the Chippewa's third throw. Michael crashed into Laughing Fox's midsection in a diving tackle, and both of them went sprawling on the wagon seat next to Professor Munroe. The professor cursed angrily as Michael slammed a couple of punches into the Indian's belly. He fumbled a small pistol from under his coat and slashed at Michael's head with the barrel.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw the blow coming and jerked out of the way. Munroe cried out in frustration as the pistol missed Michael and caught Laughing Fox in the nose. The Chippewa sank back, stunned by the impact, blood gushing from his nose.

  Michael drove his left elbow back into Munroe's side, then twisted and sledged a fist into the professor's face. Michael had never been much of a brawler, but he was fighting for his life now and that gave him unexpected strength and speed.

  Munroe sagged against the body of the wagon. Michael got his hands on the pistol and twisted it out of the professor's hands.

  A grunt warned him that Laughing Fox was back in the fight. Michael turned on the crowded seat to see the Indian looming over him, face bloody, another tomahawk poised to fall in a blow that would cleave Michael's skull.