Every crisp sound from below swept up the steep incline where he crouched in a stand of cedar to the right of an old, gnarled oak. He’d hidden his horse a short distance away and prayed the animal stayed put.
“Hurry up with those cows! We’ve gotta get out of here. Shepard and his men are close enough I can smell ’em!” the ringleader yelled.
Where were his men? Richard had reported that a head of cattle had gone missing this morning, and they’d pulled together all the ranch hands they had to go in search of them. Seven men including him worked on the Shepard ranch. He’d sent them two by two to all four corners of the property except the east side, and he’d decided to come check out the gullies here himself.
Letting the outlaws escape took everything Clint Shepard had. But to his way of thinking, there were too many of them for one man to try to stop alone. Surely his men had realized by now that he hadn’t returned to the barn and would be coming out to find him.
He peered closer as the rustlers tried to drive the bawling cattle up the draw. But the ornery cows seemed to be smarter than the outlaws. The rustlers yelled obscenities at the animals and each other as they tried to drive them out of the canyon. The cows broke away from the group, scattering this way and that. Clint allowed a grin. These rustlers were definitely not cattlemen.
Clint adjusted quickly to the situation. His mind whirled as he searched for some kind of a plan. One shot in the air would alert the other men to his position, if they were near. But would they arrive before the outlaws got to him?
The hot sun bore down. Sweat trickled into his eyes, making them sting. He wiped it away with an impatient hand.
From his hiding place, Clint watched the rustlers. He couldn’t afford to lose those cows to outlaws. His livelihood and Grace’s depended on him hanging on to the herd. Slowly, he drew his gun and prepared for the fight.
He hated shooting at men and prayed his bullets wouldn’t kill anyone, simply injure them enough to keep them from rustling his cattle. Clint knew he had only one chance to scare off the outlaws. But if they decided to fight back, it was all or nothing.
His first shot ripped into a man’s shoulder. As the outlaw screamed, Clint quickly swung to the next target and caught the rider’s thigh. A third shot grazed another’s gun hand. The next man leaned from the saddle just as Clint pulled the trigger.
Before he could fire again, cold steel jabbed into Clint’s back. A hand reached for his gun. “Let’s have a look at ya. Don’t turn around. Just show me your face.”
The order grated along Clint’s nerve endings and settled in his clenched gut. He listened for any sounds to indicate his men were nearby. If they weren’t, he was as good as dead. He heard nothing except the bawling of cows and rustlers yelling to each other over the chaos that he’d caused with his bullets. He silently prayed the noise below was the reason he couldn’t hear his own men.
Clint turned his head slowly. Cold, dark eyes glared over the top of the rustler’s bandana.
He narrowed those eyes at Clint. “Well, whadda ya know? I got myself the owner of the Shepard Ranch.”
Though Clint couldn’t see the outlaw’s mouth, the tone of his words told him he wore a sneer. Clint straightened his spine. “I’m not here alone. My men are here, as well. I suggest you tell your partners that they’d best clear on out.”
“That right? Well, from what I can see, no one is firing at us but you.” The gun barrel poked harder into Clint’s back. “Get on down there.”
Clint could have managed without the rough shove. The soles of his boots provided little traction in the gravel. Slipping and sliding down the steep embankment, he glanced for any sign that would suggest help had arrived, but saw nothing.
At the bottom, riders on horseback immediately surrounded him.
“Good job, Spence.” The outlaw pushing to the front was the ringleader. He was dressed all in black, from his hat to his boots. “Let’s teach this cattleman not to mess with us. I’ve a special party in mind for him. One of you, find his horse and get a rope. Spence, march him back up the hill. The rest of you drive those cattle to the makeshift corral.”
Clint’s mouth grew dry as the man named Spence bound his hands in front of him, then pushed him up the steep incline.
Any minute, Clint knew his men would arrive. Just a matter of time, he told himself, praying he was right. His horse and a rope could only mean that the leader planned a hanging party. He’d just as soon not be the guest of honor. Somehow, he had to stall until help arrived.
“Spence, do you know the punishment for hanging a man?” he asked.
“Shut up, and get movin’.”
Clint tried again. “Are you willing to throw your life away for a man who doesn’t give two cents about you? The sheriff is a friend of mine, and he will hunt each and every one of you down if you do this.”
Spence gave him a rough shove forward toward the oak tree. “You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’, so keep your trap shut. One more word out of ya and I’ll shoot you in the leg and drag you the rest of the way up this here hill.”
Clint lapsed into silence. He could see Spence had closed his mind against anything he said. If he ran, he’d be lucky to make it a few feet before hot lead slammed into his leg. Clint was sure that the men in this group would rather see him hang than to die of a fatal gunshot wound. Even if he made it to the cover of the trees, what then? He had no gun and no horse. Maybe he could spin around and get Spence’s gun.
But just as he prepared to twist around and take the weapon, the ringleader rode up beside them and shouted, “Hurry up, you two! We don’t have all day.” His evil laugh sent a chill down Clint’s sweating back.
As they made their way up the steep incline, Clint watched an outlaw appear with his horse. The steed bobbed his head in greeting. Once they were at the top, the horse nuzzled Clint as though offering sympathy or maybe a last goodbye.
Stalling, Clint stoked the face of his faithful friend, murmuring a few quiet words of comfort, to both himself and the animal. He sent more silent prayers heavenward, asking the Lord to send his men quickly.
“Enough of this nonsense,” rasped the leader with an impatient motion of his gun. “Put him on the horse.”
Clint scanned the landscape anxiously, hoping to glimpse his men, but saw only the branches of cedar, oak and cottonwood trees swaying gently in the breeze. He strained against the ropes binding him but they wouldn’t budge.
His heart pounded against his ribs. Panic so thick he could taste it lodged in his throat as they jerked him into the saddle. Clint refused to cower in front of them. He sat straight and tall in the saddle, not allowing them to see the fear and regret that gathered in his heart.
He regretted not allowing himself to have feelings for another woman since Martha’s death. Clint knew he had cared for Laura. Not the love of a man for a woman, but it could have grown into that had he allowed it to happen.
Sitting tall in the saddle, Clint silently vowed to the Lord that if he lived through the day, he’d stop feeling guilty for Martha’s death and find a true mother for little Grace. He knew Martha wouldn’t be happy with him, if she knew he was raising her daughter without a mother’s influence.
The leader laughed as he threw the rope up and over one of the gnarled oak branches. “Better pray hard, Shepard. You are about to meet your maker.”
Shots rang out close by. The sound of horses crashing through the trees filled Clint’s ears. He could hear the men yelling below and the sound of gunfire. Had his men split up, and were they attacking both the ridge and the gully below?
Growling a foul word, the leader looked up at Clint. “It’s your lucky day, Shepard.” Then he jumped on to his horse. He raised his gun. Clint felt sure he was about to die, and then Richard burst through the tree line.
The leader of the rustlers spun his horse and ran. Richard waved as he p
assed, in heavy pursuit down the steep incline.
Clint’s horse snorted as Clint struggled with the bonds that held his hands in place. “Steady, boy.” From the hilltop vantage point, he watched as Richard and his men chased after the outlaws. He prayed for their safety as he continued to work at the rope around his hands.
He still couldn’t believe all that had transpired since breakfast. Richard had reported a large field of cattle missing. They’d all gone in different directions with Clint going off alone to the east. He’d no idea that the band of rustlers had been so large. In his mind, he’d thought there would only be about three men to deal with, not the twelve he’d encountered. Now his men were fighting for their lives.
Finally, his hands were free. Clint tore off after his men and the rustlers. He could no longer hear gunfire and prayed that his men were all safe.
Clint arrived just as the last outlaw was being shoved up on to his horse. He rode up beside Richard. “Is everyone all right?” His eyes scanned the condition of his men.
“Luke took a bullet to the arm, but it went straight through so I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Richard hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Looks like we got them all.”
Clint’s heart sank. “No, the leader isn’t here. You didn’t get them all.” He spun his horse around. “Richard, get them into town to the sheriff. I’m going to the house to check on the ladies.”
He didn’t give Richard time to answer but sped back toward the house. If the leader came across the house, what would he do to Laura, Camelia and the girls? With his heart pounding in time with his horse’s running feet, Clint prayed over the women and children in his care.
Chapter Eighteen
Laura hung the last of the wash on the line. She yawned, wishing she could take a nap like the little girls. Wash day wasn’t her favorite, but it had to be done. Camelia walked up beside her with another basket of wet clothes.
“Is that the last of it?” She reached in and pulled out one of Grace’s little dresses.
“Yep. I could have done this by myself.” She set the basket down and walked to the other clothesline.
Laura hid her grin. “I know, but you wouldn’t have had much time left for all your other chores. Besides, when Clint hired me, he didn’t say I couldn’t do my and Hope’s laundry.”
Camelia chuckled. “You are one stubborn woman.”
She revealed her grin around the little dress hanging on the line. “Maybe I’m part Irish.”
At that Camelia did laugh. “You know, you just might be at that.”
The sound of horses coming into the front yard at a fast clip had Laura and Camelia exchanging worried looks. “What do you think is wrong now?” Laura asked, turning to walk to the front of the house.
“With our men, there is no telling. How do you lose a whole herd of cattle?”
Laura shook her head. “Cattle don’t get lost, they get rustled.”
Camelia frowned. “Rustlers?”
They hadn’t talked about Richard’s earlier visit, but now that new trouble seemed to be brewing, the ladies frowned and continued.
“Only way to really lose cows, at least as far as I know.” Laura stepped around the front of the house just as Clint’s horse slid to a stop.
His voice sounded urgent. “Where are the girls?”
Camelia walked up beside Laura. “Napping inside.”
“Good. That’s where I want you ladies, too.” He walked to Laura and Camelia and took each of them by the arm.
Laura pulled away from him. “Hold on one minute, Clint. What is this all about?”
“Rustlers.” He grabbed her arm again.
Richard tore into the yard. His gaze took in the scene of Clint trying to get the women into the house.
Clint barked at him. “I told you to stay with the other men.”
“And let you run off on your own again? Sorry, boss, couldn’t do it. I sent Luke with them into town. He’s angry at being shot and has put fear into those rustlers. They’ll get to town, all right.”
Camelia covered her mouth with her free hand.
“Someone shot Luke?”
As if he remembered the ladies, Clint proceeded to pull them toward the house. “Yes, and I want you inside so you don’t get shot, too.”
Camelia needed no more urging. She practically ran inside.
Laura, on the other hand, wanted answers. She dug her heels in and jerked away from Clint once more. Her gaze moved to Richard, waiting for him to answer her question.
He swung from his saddle. “Yes, he got himself shot. He’s fine, just angry.” Richard faced Clint. “The women are probably fine. I don’t think the rustlers came anywhere near the house.”
So that was the problem. Clint was worried the outlaws had come to his home to cause more trouble. She picked up her skirts and calmly walked up the front porch steps. “We haven’t seen or heard anyone, and we’ve been outside most of the morning.” Laura turned to face Clint.
He stood in the yard, looking up at her. Worry lined his face. Did he really think they were in harm’s way? “The leader got away. Please, keep the girls inside until the sheriff captures him.”
She shook her head. “No. If I made that promise, I’d have to break it. What if he heads for another territory and never comes back? Do you want us to be cooped up in the house forever like chickens afraid there might be a wolf at the door?”
Richard laughed. “She’s right, boss.”
Clint shot a mind-your-own-business look at Richard. He sighed and turned to Laura once more. “All right, will you at least stay in the house for the rest of the afternoon?”
She nodded. “But only if someone will help us get the wash in before sundown.”
Richard’s lips twitched. “I’ll help you.”
“No, you won’t. We have to feed the rest of those cows and someone will have to stand guard. I’m thinking we should move the remaining herds up to the house.”
Richard smiled at Laura. “Sorry, Miss Laura. The boss has spoken.”
Laura turned on her heel and entered the house. She wasn’t going to cower in the house. When the clothes were dry, she’d go get them. Decision made, Laura continued on into the kitchen.
Camelia sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee. Worry etched her face. “What do you think we should do?”
“About what?”
Green eyes searched hers. “About the rustler.”
Laura laughed. “Nothing. I doubt he’s anywhere near the house. He’s after cows, not women and children.” She filled a mug full of coffee and took a sip.
She understood Clint’s desire to see them safe, but she really felt he was overreacting. Was it because of his feelings over his wife? When would he learn he couldn’t control everything and everyone around him?
* * *
Clint felt bad. The sun had descended, and he’d not made it home in time for Laura to take the clothes off the line. He walked around the house to take them down for her. Only they weren’t there.
He stomped to the kitchen door and entered the quiet house. Didn’t she realize the danger she’d put herself in? What if the leader of the rustlers had been out there waiting for her?
A plate sat on the back of the stove just like before. Only this time there was no Laura up and waiting for him to come home. Did she think he’d be angry with her and yell? Is that why she’d already gone to bed?
Camelia came into the kitchen. “Good evening, Clint. Did the sheriff catch the cow thief?” She poured him a cup of coffee and placed it in front of him.
“Thanks.” He took a sip and sighed. Weariness weighed on his shoulders. “No, I have men guarding the cattle in shifts tonight.”
She grinned. “You took the first shift?”
He nodded. “Me and Parker.” Clint picked up a chicken leg and tore the meat f
rom the bone.
“Should I fix a plate for Parker?”
He swallowed. “No, he’s having ham and beans. I made sure he ate before I left the bunkhouse.”
“Good.”
They sat in comfortable silence for several long minutes. He finished his supper and pushed the plate back. “Thank you for holding supper for me. Sometimes I forget how blessed I am to have you in my life.”
Camelia reached over and patted his hand. “You are like a son to me, Clint.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Thanks.” Clint smiled at her, then released her hand. “How was your day?”
“Well, up until we found out there were rustlers on the place, it was pretty good.” She smiled. “Laura refused to stay in the house, though. She said we aren’t cows and that cattle rustlers weren’t interested in stealing women and children.”
“So she did take the wash in?”
Camelia chuckled. “She sure did. Although, I noticed she didn’t take any longer than was necessary and made the girls stay inside.”
Clint sighed. “Maybe I should have told her to stay outside, and then I would have gotten the results I wanted from her.”
“Possibly.” Camelia stood and yawned. She took the plate and silverware to the washtub that Clint had been using. It didn’t take but a couple of minutes for her to wash and dry them. She returned to the table. “Clint, I need a few supplies from town. Do you think it would be all right if Laura and I took the girls and went to town?”
He studied the bottom of his cup. If Laura was in town, she wouldn’t be running around outside here at the house. Was that what Camelia thought, too? Clint nodded. “Yeah, but you’d better ask her to go with you. If I tell her to go, she will dig her heels in here for sure.”
“Good, and can you send one of the men with us? I don’t feel comfortable on the road alone.”
He stood and yawned. “Yep. I think I’ll ask Parker. He’s been hinting he’d like to go to the general store for another charcoal pencil and pad of paper.”
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