“That’s so kind of you Mr. Boyd.”
“Just Boyd, ma’am.”
She held out her manacled hands. “Would you mind helping me up?”
“Certainly.” He grasped her hands and pulled her upright. Still carrying the rope he walked beside her into the brush and trees bordering the creek.
All she had to do now was wait for the right moment to stumble against him and lift his pistol from his holster at the same time. Marshal Quinn could return at any moment, so patience was hard to come by. There, where the creek bank sloped sharply. She’d not only be able to knock him off balance easily but he’d get wet and muddy too. A small twinge of guilt niggled at her. Nonetheless, her life was at stake. If they got her to Laramie, Big Si would see to it that she went through a travesty of a trial and was hanged within the week. She had to escape.
As they neared the bank, they heard the click of a gun being cocked. “Stop right there, and get your hands in the air.” whispered a toneless voice.
She and Boyd lifted their arms.
“Muh’Weda?” she asked sotto voce.
The Shoshone stepped from the brush. “Relieve the man of his pistol, please. Did you worry about me, Dabai’Waipi?”
“You aren’t alone?” Boyd’s question required no answer. “We watched your camp for several minutes before going for you and didn’t see anyone else.”
As she removed the pistol from his holster, Kiera swallowed against the lump that threatened to form in her throat. Her Shoshone name as well as Muh’Weda’s solid presence reminded her of how much she had to be thankful for. Life for her was much more than the threat of bounty hunters and hangings. She had friends. Friends who would help her in just about any difficulty. She ignored Boyd’s remarks. “I missed you too much.”
“I am sorry, but I wanted to be certain I could take at least one of them captive. Thank you for helping, even though you did not know you did so.”
“The other man is Marshal Evrett Quinn.”
Muh’Weda’s expression turned grim. “No wonder they found us. We covered our tracks pretty well. We’ll just have to be extra cautious.”
“Boyd?” The Marshal’s voice carried over the trickle of the creek.
Muh’Weda placed his gun to Boyd’s temple and spoke low. “Tell your friend you’re on your way back to camp from the creek. Be natural. Do nothing to alert him to my presence. Understand.”
“On my way back from the creek. Had to escort the lady on a private matter.”
“Very good,” murmured Muh’Weda. “Now stand up and keep hold of that rope. Lower your hands and walk naturally into camp. Kiera, go ahead of him, as if he still guards you. When you get to camp walk past the Marshal then turn Boyd’s weapon on Quinn.”
“Got it.”
Ev was about to start into the woods, when the Wildcat walked out. He could see Boyd’s tan hat behind her. “You should have waited for me.”
Kiera walked past him arms, manacles and all, crossed beneath her modest chest, as if he were something slimy she didn’t want mussing her clothes. It irritated him that she would act so proud and defiant, as if she’d never committed a single wrong. Petty as it was, he wanted to take her down a notch. He reached out to grasp her arm so she would remember who held the upper hand.
Before he could speak, she drew a six-shooter from under one arm, pointed it in his face and cocked the trigger. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”
Out of self-preservation, he released her and raised his hands palms outward. “Now don’t go getting all excited, ma’am.”
She moved back and to the side, out of arm’s reach to where she could cover both him and Boyd.
Ev kept her in his peripheral vision and turned to Boyd. “What the hell happen … ” He caught sight of the tall Shoshone holding a gun to Boyd’s neck.
“Damn. We thought she was alone.”
“Big mistake, Marshal. Kiera’s my friend, and I’m not letting you arrest her. She’s innocent, and I’m betting those who aren’t would see her railroaded straight to a hanging to hide their own crimes. Now pinch the butt of your pistol and toss it over there, then lay face down right where you are.”
Ev had little choice but to comply. One glance at the Shoshone showed the man wasn’t bluffing. He’d shoot if he had to. And the Wildcat’s hands were shaking. She was wound tighter than a short fuse on a powder keg. Anything might set her off. Slow and easy, he rid himself of his six-shooter then lay down.
“Boyd,” said Wildcat. “Toss me the key to these manacles. Then you lay down too. Right where you are.”
Ev watched as the gunman followed instructions and as Wildcat’s moccasins strode over to the key now lying in the dirt.
She picked it up, removed the chained cuffs, and walked back to stand a bit more than an arm’s reach beside him. “Put your hands behind your back.
Ev considered grabbing her the minute she came close, but she was smart enough not to get into the Shoshone’s line of fire. The manacles closed over his wrists and determination overtook him. She’d live to regret the day she treated him like the criminal he was coming to think she wasn’t.
However, Wildcat hadn’t finished. She left Ev’s line of sight, and seconds later, he felt a rope knotted tight around his ankles. He couldn’t see, but he could imagine. A few quick twists and he was effectively hobbled, completely unable to move freely about the campsite. She hadn’t made a single mistake so far—other than to get into his black book—so he doubted he’d be able to work the knots loose. He’d try, nonetheless, just as soon as the two let down their guard.
“I’ll keep an eye on these two,” said the Shoshone. “You go find their horses. Check to see if they have a second set of manacles for Boyd.”
Ev lifted his head, but all he saw was Wildcat walking away in the direction he’d taken when he’d left her with Boyd. He’d warned the gunman that she was dangerous. I never should have left the two of them alone. Ev had learned his lesson. Boyd might be deadly with a gun, but he was too green to be relied on to think for himself. That woman was more dangerous than a sidewinder. At least a rattler gave you warning when it was going to strike.
When both he and Boyd were thoroughly trussed, the Shoshone brave tested the knots and nodded. “Good job, Kiera. Let’s eat.”
At the mention of food, Quinn’s stomach rumbled. It’d been a long time since the biscuit and hard tack lunch he’d swallowed on the trail. But he knew better than to ask for food or any other consideration. He had no doubt that the Wildcat and her Shoshone friend both knew the risks of going easy on their captives. The night stretched ahead long and uncomfortable and cold. They weren’t yet in the high country, but this close to the mountains even summer nights were chilly. If he couldn’t get some circulation going in his feet, he might easily suffer frostbite. His toes were already so numb that he could scarcely feel them. The iron manacles chilled his hands. By morning, he wouldn’t be able to stand or hold a gun, even if he could get loose. Working at the ropes was his best chance for freedom, but that would have to wait for his captors to go to sleep. So despite the grumbles from his belly, he shut his eyes and tried to rest, saving his strength for when he’d need it most.
He couldn’t sleep. Night sounds that normally comforted seemed loud and unnatural. He opened his eye to study the night around him trying to discover what—besides being trussed like a chicken—distorted the dark. He couldn’t see Boyd but heard the gunman’s soft snores. Nor could Ev see the Shoshone, and that was worrisome. The brave could be standing right behind or he could be yards away.
The brush near the creek rustled and Wildcat emerged. She carried a clean pot, plates, and utensils. Stopping near the buffalo robe she’d spread as a bedroll, she stowed the gear in her saddle bags. She moved to the fire, put on more fuel then surveyed the camp. Her gaze met Ev’s. He made certain she saw retribution in his answering stare. She ignored him and returned to her buffalo robe where she settled with the appearance of intending to sleep soundly.
> Hours later, Ev had no idea how many, she shifted her position for the tenth time. Why couldn’t she sleep? Why did he care? If she didn’t rest, it was all to his benefit. The trail was exhausting, and they were only in the foothills. He had no way of knowing where Wildcat planned to take them, but if she was tired, he’d have more opportunity to reverse their positions. He had no business feeling even a twinge of sympathy for the woman who left him bound and cold in the night. For all he knew she’d kill him in his sleep and leave him to feed the coyotes. His best defense was to stay awake.
Chapter Four
Ev woke the next morning, warm if not toasty, under a blanket and with his head pillowed on some sort of folded up cloth. Every part of him ached. He could thank whoever covered him for the ability to feel those pains. Despite the small comforts that appeared during the night, his nose seemed to have gone numb. He couldn’t smell anything. No coffee, no bacon, no wood fire, not even the horses or the musty earth scent of the woods. He could hear birds and small creatures moving through the brush. He should have heard Boyd snoring if nothing else. However, no evidence of other people came to his senses.
He remembered glaring at Wildcat when she came back to camp from washing up. He remembered his brief and failed struggle to loosen the rope at his feet. He remembered being so numb with cold that he feared he wouldn’t wake up in the morning and deciding that staying awake all night was his best chance of staying alive.
He’d fallen asleep anyway, and someone had gotten way too close. But who? The Indian might have some sort of moral code that prevented outright murder, but in Ev’s experience, Indians didn’t bother to comfort captives. Between her and the Shoshone, the Wildcat was more likely to consider how the cold would affect him. Given past experience, charity fit with her character, but it shouldn’t, not when kindness might eventually land her in prison or worse. Maybe she was just plain crazy. Who could explain the actions of a crazy person?
He kept his eyes closed, listening for sounds of movement, wondering how he’d slept through having his head touched enough to get it onto the makeshift pillow. Nothing but the normal sounds of the woods waking for the day came to his ears. He opened his eyes and took a look around. His position restricted his vision, but he should have been able to see Boyd on the other side of the now cold and smokeless fire. Boyd was gone, and the ashes were scattered, as if the woman and the Indian had already departed. Ev lifted his head to increase his field of vision. Their bedrolls were missing. Nothing human remained save himself.
Something close to panic shortened his breath. Had those two left him trussed and vulnerable to any predator that came near? He didn’t relish the idea of being eaten alive, supper for some cougar or a pack of wolves. Why take only the gunman and not both of them? Why worry about his comfort during the night. With that thought icy calm returned, accompanied by the sound of quiet footsteps. The amount of light filtering through the trees indicated dawn had recently broken.
“All right, Marshal, time to be on our way.”
The blanket was snatched away, and the cold slapped Ev’s body about the same time that anger consumed all remnants of calm. He twisted to stare daggers at Wildcat. All he could see was her moccasins and the fringe of her buckskins as she knelt beside him. He strained against the ropes, so badly did he want to get his hands on her.
“Relax, or I won’t be able to get these knots undone.”
She sounded cranky and impatient, as if unhappy with something. Good, he didn’t want her happy. He shook his head and forced his muscles to go slack. If he kept reacting emotionally, he’d miss any chance to turn the tables, and with the ropes gone an opportunity was sure to occur when he could jump her or maybe get her gun.
The knot holding his feet loosened, and he straightened his legs. Pain shot up from his toes and spangled along his nerves all the way to his hips. He failed to repress a groan.
She put a hand on his shoulder, indicating he should stay on the ground. “Better take it easy, Marshal. Your legs won’t be steady for some time.”
The heat of her hand burned through his flannel, and he felt a stirring in his groin. She was affecting him, but this time of morning arousing a man was easy. He just needed to relieve himself. Yep, the Wildcat raised no physical reaction at all.
She stood and walked away.
Much to Ev’s disgust, the heat of her touch lingered.
What now, he wondered as he tried to lever himself into a standing position? He’d only succeeded in rolling from his side to sitting, when she came back into view. She held the reins of her horse’s bridle. His mount was linked to hers with a leader. The Shoshone rode up behind her, a lead linking his pony to Boyd’s gelding.
Thank the Lord. Irritating as the gunman was, Ev was relieved to see they hadn’t killed him. Looked more and more like killing wasn’t the plan—Boyd’s or the Wildcat’s—and that fit with last month’s ambush. She’d had the chance to kill them and had actually made sure they’d survive.
The Shoshone dismounted, handed his reins to Wildcat then manhandled Ev to his feet.
“Let’s get you mounted, Marshal.” The man hauled Ev over to his horse and held the stirrup for him to place his left foot.
Ev gave two second’s thought to causing a ruckus, just to slow the thieves down. With hands manacled behind, he knew he wasn’t going to get free, but maybe he could make it possible for the army or the posse to catch up. Then he remembered that blanket and the makeshift pillow. Dangit all, why’d she have to go and do something thoughtful? Made her human, even if she was crazy, and he didn’t want to think of her as anything but a criminal suspect.
“I can sling you across that saddle, if you’d prefer being carried to riding.”
The Indian’s steady stare told Ev he’d better make up his mind, so he lifted his foot and let himself be helped into the saddle. He nearly slid off the other side of the horse. The shards of returning circulation had subsided to the level of his knees, but pain still stabbed at his toes, and he could scarcely feel the stirrups.
He steadied himself and relaxed into the saddle, grateful that the horse would do most of the work.
In moments, they left the campsite, headed back into the trees. They followed a suggestion of a path that ran up hill through the woods beside the creek. The trail was so faint that only someone who knew the path would find it. Ducking under low branches kept him busy until they emerged onto a plateau. They skirted the edge of the plain, with the drop-off growing ever steeper until around mid-day they arrived at a skinny switchback leading down into the area surrounding Yellow Stone Lake.
The switchback—Ev preferred to think of it as a goat track, for only a mountain goat could follow the trail with any degree of security—required all his riding skills. Remaining seated was a challenge, with his hands linked behind him and the horse jolting and twisting over the rocky surface. Far below the track disappeared into more trees.
“I know easier ways to get to Yellow Stone Lake,” he groused more to needle his captors than because he believed they should have taken a different route.
“So does everyone else who might follow us,” Wildcat stated. “Besides, this trail may be more difficult, but it’s put us two days ahead of anyone who doesn’t know about it. They’ll all have to detour south, before swinging back to follow the Snake north until they turn off for the lake. Then, since they won’t know exactly where along the shore we intend to camp, they’ll have to skirt the lake, which can be treacherous. By the time anyone gets to the Shoshone campsite, I’ll be long gone.”
The woman was no fool and knew exactly how dangerous her situation was. Those other pursuers would probably shoot her on sight. Traveling with a dead criminal was a whole lot easier that toting a live suspect back for the reward.
• • •
Along about sunset they emerged from the trees onto a small prairie that marched right up to the shore of the lake. At the northern most end of the prairie, where trees and rocky outcroppings blocked
the worst of the wind coming off the lake sat a Shoshone encampment.
As the party rode into the center of the camp, people emerged from every tipi. Several small groups came running from the woods and the shoreline. Soon the horses were surrounded by so many Shoshone that the travelers came to a halt.
The crowd parted for three elders to approach. A quiet conversation was held with the man called Muh’Weda. Wildcat answered a few questions. Then the crowd dispersed. The woman handed Ev’s horse over to her friend and rode out of sight around a large lodge. Ev and Boyd were forced to go where the Shoshone led them.
Muh’Weda took them to a small lodge where he removed the manacles and turned them over to the care of four younger men. The men didn’t talk, merely grunting when two girls brought washing water. Ev and Boyd finished just about the time Muh’Weda returned.
“We will hold council.”
The four young braves fell in on either side. Clearly, Ev thought, he and Boyd weren’t to be trusted, so why remove the chains. Muh’Weda turned, leading the way through the camp to the largest lodge.
At the council, Ev and Boyd were seated at the front of the circle beside Muh’Weda. Across the space, Wildcat sat with a group of women and right beside the three elders who had met the party when they first rode in to camp. Ev studied her. He had to admire the confidence carried in her straight back and square gaze. Was that stare bravado or real confidence? Once again the thought occurred that she didn’t fit his idea of a murdering thief.
A ceremonial pipe was lit and, starting with the chief, passed around the circle. When the pipe completed the circle and was carefully put away, the medicine man stood. From the few Shoshone words Ev knew, he thought the man called for a blessing on the proceedings and for all present to act with the wisdom of the wolf.
Next the older chief spoke. “Marshal Evrett Quinn. I have heard that you are a man of justice. Why did you treat Dabai’Waipi—Sun Woman—who is like our daughter so cruelly? Why did you put chains on her and threaten to shoot her? These actions do not seem those of a just man.”
Loving the Lawmen Page 73