Klint, after speaking softly to Fritz, had followed Chance. When the sounds of the horses’ hooves faded away, she moved back toward the campfire, although the wood had burned down and offered little warmth. She did not sit but remained standing.
Fritz retrieved the small spade from his saddle and threw dirt over the embers, snuffing out the last bit of light. She had no knowledge of how much time elapsed before she realized she shivered with cold.
“We’re going to freeze,” she said, to her brother’s back.
His stiffened stance radiated his anger. Toward her? For kissing Chance? Anger welled up within her aimed back at him. Why had he been so unwilling to ride away with Chance and Klint? Emotions poured forth from her as if a dam had broken, overwhelming, soaring, circling, tightening the muscles in her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
When she spoke, her voice was but a croak. “We need to go after them.”
When Fritz did not respond, she made her way to her bedroll and climbed in, pulling the blankets tight before releasing one arm to pull the canvas above her chin. She wrapped her arms around her, not only as protection from the cold, but to keep the anger from spilling out. She’d never been so furious in her life, not even when she’d discovered her brothers had robbed the Brokken Bank.
She breathed deeply and tried to remember Isaac’s teachings. There were a lot of verses in the Bible about anger, and with her penchant for impertinence, as her grandmother called it, she’d memorized many of them, mostly against her will. She searched her mind for an appropriate verse, and the only one that came to mind was from Ecclesiastes. “Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry: for anger resteth in the bosom of fools.”
And she was a little angry at Chance. He had abandoned her, left her. No one else had seen anything, even after they searched. He should have stayed, or she should have gone with him. No, she couldn’t have gone, not after that kiss. She touched her lips. He’d never kissed her with such... passion.
For him to kiss her like that, in front of Fritz and Klint, even if it had been dark, was scandalous. Her cheeks burned, and her breathing became ragged as she remembered the feel of him against her.
Her feelings for him were too strong, too strong to be alone with him. She closed her eyes tightly. He said he’d be back tomorrow. Couldn’t she bear to be apart from him for only one day—less than a day, more than likely?
Maybe she should have gone instead of lying there in misery. Marriage was simply a commitment, and she was committed to him, mind and soul. They should have thought before leaving Brokken and had Preacher Grisson marry them.
If they were married, she could be with him instead of being left behind with Fritz. But her brother needed her, not only because of Karl and Curt, but for comfort. He’d left Lydia behind and was heartbroken. She understood, now, more than ever.
She opened her eyes and peered in the direction she’d last seen her brother. By the dim light of the stars, she made out his form. He sat near the darkened campfire, his shoulders hunched. He propped on something ... his rifle. Maybe he did believe Chance and had decided to keep watch.
She closed her eyes again, able to relax her stiff muscles. Her worries eased, and she tried to sleep, but the ground was uncomfortable. Tiny rocks poked in her back. She rolled to her side and finally dozed.
It seemed only a few minutes had passed when a hand shook her awake. She startled and sat upright, confused for a moment, until Fritz’s face came into view.
“What?” she managed to say before he pressed the back of his hand against her mouth.
“We’re leaving.”
She took the cue from his soft whisper and nodded, not sure if he could see her. It was darker than it had been when she’d dozed off. Without making a sound, she rose and rolled up her bedroll.
Fritz already had their horses saddled. It wasn’t until they ridden far away from the camp that he spoke. “Chance was right. Someone was at our camp.”
“Did you see who it was?”
He shook his head. “I’ll be glad when the sun comes up. No moon and the clouds are blocking out the stars.”
They rode on in silence. The hair on Deborah’s neck stood on end, and the prickling continued down her back. Someone might be following them, watching from behind, and it was too dark to know.
Her face burned in the cold wind, distracting her. To be riding in the darkness, in December, in the coldest part of the night, was not all bad. The discomfort distracted her from worry. All she could think of was getting out of the cold. She hunched forward, close to the horse’s neck, for a bit more warmth.
Deborah was half frozen when the graying of the day arrived. The cold did not dispel, even when the sun made an appearance. Its thin rays wavered in the frigid air, as if the cold was too much for even it. This was the coldest Deborah had ever been in her life, although she’d never been out riding at night in the middle of December.
Fritz pulled his horse to a stop, and Deborah stopped beside him. He took his hat from his head and wiped his brow, although it was too cold for him to be sweating.
He cast a glance in her direction as he settled his hat back on his head. “We’re going back.”
“Back? To Brokken?”
“No. To the campsite. I want to see if I can pick up the track of whoever it was spying on us.”
“But Karl and Curt ...”
He swung an arm in the air. “We’ll never make it to Mexico if we’re bushwhacked.”
Deborah nodded although she remained uneasy about retracing their steps. The time wasted tracking down a drifter could be used to get them closer to her brothers. And Chance, her mind whispered, but she pushed the thought aside. Chance knew where she was. He’d find her if his will was as strong as his want.
Fritz led the way, and Deborah followed. The air did not grow any warmer, and she shivered until Fritz stopped and pulled out his own blanket for her to wrap around her shoulders. Deborah wasn’t hungry, but Fritz urged her to eat a few bites and to drink from her canteen before they continued.
They arrived back at the area near the campsite. Fritz did not go directly to where they’d camped but circled around, looking at the ground. Deborah did the same, her gaze sweeping the area, looking for any sign of life. After a few moments, she spotted half a hoofprint and called to Fritz. He swung off his horse and dropped the reins, approaching slowly as he inspected the print, and then he moved farther away.
After a few minutes, as if he was satisfied, he gave a short nod when he returned to Deborah. “Someone else has been here.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t Klint or Chance’s horse?”
“I’m sure. This horse is headed toward Brokken. There are more tracks over here, and someone was leading the horse, walking ahead. It’s a small footprint, but whoever it was wore boots.”
“What do we do?” She patted her horse’s neck and spoke softly to calm her.
“I’m not sure. Follow the tracks seems our best bet.” He took his thumb and pushed his hat back to peer up into her face.
“If we follow the tracks, we’ll be heading toward the sheriff. And what if it was a scout from her?”
Fritz took off his hat to wipe his forehead again and then settled it back in place, pulled low over his eyes. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”
She frowned, and it felt as if an invisible hand squeezed her heart. He’d lied. She’d lied. They had all lied. Somehow, she thought the lying was done with. She steeled herself. “What do you mean?” Her voice was as chilly as the air.
“Benito Juárez’s men captured father and ...”
Her mind could not comprehend what he said, and she held up a hand to stop his words. “Father died in the War,” she said flatly.
“No, Deborah. Our father behaved in a way some might consider dishonorable—he deserted the Confederacy at the eleventh hour. Many Confederate soldiers, afraid of punishment from the Unionists, fled to Mexico at that time, lured there by promises of resettlemen
t by Emperor Maximilian. Father was one of the Confederate officers summoned directly, and he took a stash of weapons with him.”
“Father stole weapons?”
Fritz frowned and shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. The War was over. The Unionists would have confiscated the weapons and sold them to President Juárez.”
“So, Father is still there, in Mexico?” Her heart beat wildly in her chest at the thought of seeing her father again.
He shook his head slowly, sadly. “No. Maximilian was executed by a firing squad in June of this year.”
Deborah gasped. With all the marriages and her own courtship with Chance, she’d had little time to pay attention to the news. “And what of Father? Why did he keep this secret?”
“He was caught in another war and didn’t know how long he’d be there. He was afraid it would distress you to know he went to Mexico instead of returning home.”
“But for y’all to keep it from me, to tell me he had died in the War...”
Fritz held up a hand. “No one ever said he’d died—it was an assumption you made. We never corrected that assumption.”
Deborah digested what he had told her. “And where is he now?”
“He was imprisoned... I do not wish to distress you.” His forehead creased, and he looked away.
“No, please continue. No more lies.” She pulled the blanket tighter around her.
His voice broke when he spoke, and his face remained averted. “Father was tortured. Juárez’s men knew he had sold weapons to Maximilian and wanted the gold he’d been paid.”
“Why?” But as she asked the question, she knew. “Father had hidden it? And they were trying to find out where?”
“No, not Father. Karl. Karl had been in Father’s regiment and went with him to Mexico but didn’t stay. Karl returned to Brokken alone, with the gold.”
Fear choked her, and she could only nod for him to continue.
“As I said, Juárez’s men tortured Father until he told them—I’m not sure what. We knew of this, had contacts from Maximilian’s men who had not been captured—well, Karl did. I tried to stay out of the whole affair, until one day, an emissary from Juárez came into the bank. We had to make a decision, and so we did. We traveled to Mexico with the emissary.”
“One of Juárez’s men came to Brokken?” Her head swirled with this information.
Fritz’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, but we had already hidden the gold. We were afraid they’d simply take the gold and kill us if we arrived with it. When we tried to negotiate, they demanded more than double what we had hidden—even with the money from the town, it was not enough. They kept Curt and Karl as hostages and sent me to Brokken for the gold they demanded.”
“What happened to Father?”
“He had already died from the torture.” He passed a hand over his eyes and reached blindly for his sister’s hand. She leaned to the side to take it.
After a moment, Fritz spoke again. “So, you see, the man who was here could have been one of Juárez’s men.”
Deborah’s heart leapt to her throat. “Here? This close to Brokken.”
Fritz shrugged. “I didn’t think they would follow me but maybe they did.”
Her heart drummed in her chest. Deborah shivered, more from the thought of the men who had killed her father than the cold. “Isn’t that all the more reason we need to find Klint and Chance first? What if it’s more than one man?”
Fritz nodded, his eyes unfocused, as if lost in thought. He released her hand and moved away to search a few more moments before mounting and pulling his horse alongside of hers.
“I’m unsure of the best course of action.” Lines of puzzlement crossed his forehead.
“How many men do you think may have followed you?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Surely only a few, but I don’t understand why they would.” He shrugged.
“Perhaps they thought you would not return with the gold. Shouldn’t we be going?” Her voice sounded very prim as if her brother had become a stranger. He had. All three of her brothers and even her father, God rest his soul. They’d kept her father’s whereabouts a secret, planned a course of action, carried it out, and had never confided in her.
Fritz frowned at her. “In which direction do you think?”
Fritz seemed incapable of making a decision. She puckered her brow, resentful for a moment. She should not have this burden thrust upon her.
How could she turn away from Chance, the man she loved, when he waited for her? But what if this man was scouting for Juárez’s men? Or for the Andrews Gang? She sighed deeply. “We’ll follow the man’s tracks and find out who he is. Do you agree?”
“Yes, that is the course of action I would suggest.”
“But I have one more question...”
“What?”
“When you stole the town’s money...”
Fritz held up a hand, grinned, and for a minute, looked like the young brother who’d gone off to War. “That’s just it. We didn’t.”
Chapter Three
Chance and Klint arrived back to the camp after mid-day. The clouds had obscured the sun all day, although it had yet to rain. As cold as it was, Chance would not have been surprised to see snowflakes.
They dismounted and left the horses near a clump of trees and approached the place they’d left last night. Only last night? The hours of misery made it seem much longer. The ashes were cold, although that was not a surprise.
“What are you searching for? Don’t you believe Fritz and Deborah kept to the original plan and headed south? We should be able to catch them if we push the horses,” Klint said.
“We’re here. We may as well have a look around.” As much as he wanted to race off in search of Deborah, Chance had to consider all possibilities.
He did not confide in Klint his doubts that had grown as they rode back toward the camp. He’d almost convinced himself that the person he’d seen had not been a person at all, but a cougar. It had only been a perception, nothing more than a shimmer, a shadow, that had flitted across his line of sight.
But if it had been a person... He could not bear to think what might have happened after he’d galloped away. As much as he disliked Fritz, though, the man was perfectly capable of defending himself and Deborah. Worry should not gnaw him so.
He searched carefully until he found something, a partial hoofprint. Other prints were visible and immediately recognizable as belonging to Deb and Fritz’s horses. Each horse had shoes of different sizes, different imperfections, easily identifiable if one knew what to look for.
He called Klint over, and they followed the prints farther from camp, noting the direction Deborah and her brother had taken—north, toward Brokken.
Klint frowned at him. “Why would they head that way? They’re going straight toward the sheriff.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But it looks as if they were on the man’s trail.”
“But why? I see two other choices for our mysterious visitor, besides Juárez’s man or a member of the Andrews Gang. It could be someone Vic, I mean Sheriff Vic, sent looking for us or maybe a drifter. Going back is too dangerous. We’re trying to get away from the sheriff, not ride to meet her.”
Klint was right. It didn’t make sense. Unless Fritz knew more than he was telling. He shrugged. “The question before us is what action should we pursue? If it was the sheriff’s man, we’d be riding to meet her and her posse. We need to decide if we want to follow Deb and Fritz.” But Chance had already made up his mind.
“That’s not a viable option if you want my opinion,” Klint said.
The answer gave him some comfort—Klint cared more for his own skin than he did for Deborah. He cast Klint a sideways glance. “So, let Fritz and his sister face the sheriff alone?”
“I suppose we must consider your sweetheart and her brother, after all we’ve been through. We can’t leave them hanging out to dry.” Despite his solemn words, Klint’s eyes sparkled.
Chance frowned at him, remembering the first time he’d seen Klint, on the train, sitting across from Deborah who had seemed attracted to him.
Chance cocked his head. Never had he caught Klint in a bad mood. Surely, any woman in her right mind would prefer someone with a pleasant demeanor—not someone like him who often found it difficult to smile at a joke, much less laugh.
But it seemed Deborah accepted Chance as he was—at least for now. Marriage, children, would bring a new set of challenges. Eventually, she’d tire of his sullen ways, and what then? He desired to change, longed to please Deborah. He pushed his hat back to get a closer look at the man who was his rival, if only in his own mind. “What’s your secret, Klint?”
Klint’s eyebrows rose. “What secret?”
“Nothing seems to bother you.”
Klint’s blue eyes narrowed, became serious. “Have you heard of Epictetus?”
“The Greek philosopher?” Chance hadn’t had much schooling, but he loved to read, had read during the War since he found himself alone most of the time.
“Yes. His teachings were to accept whatever happens with calm, to not kick against the pricks.”
Chance frowned. “Kick against the pricks? That’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it was also a Greek proverb. Kicking against the pricks gets you nowhere. Circumstances we cannot change, we must accept. Otherwise, we get stuck and can’t move forward. We’d be like a blind hog. We might find an acorn once in a while, but only by accident.”
For a moment, Chance contemplated Klint’s words and then snorted. “Greek philosophy, Bible verses, and cowboy sayings. Quite a collection you got there.”
Klint laughed, and for a moment, Chance forgot his envy of this man. It was true Klint flirted with Deborah, but that was his way, his nature. Deborah paid little heed to Klint, at least, as far as Chance knew.
Klint laughed until tears streamed down his face. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. “I was the son of a plantation owner and had a...” His face drew serious although the corners of his mouth tilted up as if he wanted to smile. “... a classical education.”
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