Stuck Together

by Mary Connealy

  For once, Vince wasn’t wearing the black broadcloth pants that made him feel like a lawyer. For long rides he wore brown canvas pants. The color was lucky because they’d help him to blend in with the surroundings.

  Looking disgruntled, Luke handed over his coat. Vince shoved his at Luke and pulled the buckskin on.

  The man shot again and again.

  “What is that fool shooting at?” Dare asked. “Hasn’t he figured out we’re out of range?”

  “Probably just wants us to be too afraid to come any closer,” Luke muttered. “And that doesn’t have a single chance of working, so let him waste his bullets and let’s hope he runs out.”

  “We should’ve checked with Tug Andrews to see if Wilcox stocked up, or with Dodger to see how hard he dips into the bullets you keep around the bunkhouse.” Vince looked around the canyon. “You all stay here for a bit. Make it so one or two of you is visible now and then. That way he’ll think we’re back here taking shelter.”

  “Don’t tell us how to create a diversion.” Dare crossed his arms. “It’s insulting and you’re wasting time.”

  Vince left his friends to handle their part of this lame-brain plan. Out of sight of the shooter, he angled toward another jumble of stones. Wilcox—assuming it was Wilcox—was giving his position away with every shot, the idiot. Vince would have to slip along and belly-crawl when he got closer, but for now all he needed to do was keep out of the line of sight, and the stones were scattered in a way that made that easy. Vince would be up that canyon wall and behind Wilcox, able to disarm him, without the drunken coyote even knowing anyone was coming.

  That was if everything went like he’d planned. When did that ever happen in a gunfight?

  Chapter 23

  “Go get Missy and the children. We need to fan out.” Tina raised her voice to call, “Livvy, here girl.”

  Glynna had turned to run through the diner to gather help, but then stopped abruptly and grabbed Tina’s arm. “Why are you calling the dog? Call for Virginia Belle, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Should I?” Tina was surprised by the suggestion. “What chance is there that Virginia Belle will come when she’s called?”

  “Well, at least try that first!” Glynna shot up the steps and into the diner, a shortcut to her house.

  “Virginia Belle? Mrs. Yates? Mother?” Just to be thorough, Tina yelled, “Livvy?” At this point she just wanted someone, anyone, to respond.

  There was nothing except the sounds of Glynna yelling for her children, a door slamming shut, pounding feet, and shouting for Missy.

  “Mrs. Yates?” Tina had no idea which direction to go. Mother had headed south last time, so Tina dashed toward that end of town just as Paul, with Janny on his heels, came running for her. She wanted to send each searching in a different direction, but she didn’t dare let the children go out there alone.

  More running feet and she saw Glynna enter the saloon. A woman never went into a saloon. Even Tina, who’d stood just outside the door of Duffy’s Tavern dozens of times, and even peeked inside on occasion, had never entered the place. Then Glynna was back, with Duffy and Griss right behind her. They headed for the general store. A moment later, Tina noticed them twist the knob. The door didn’t open. Where was Tug Andrews? Maybe he snuck in a nap after dinner?

  Duffy and Griss gave up and headed for the livery.

  Missy came running toward Tina just as Glynna rushed over.

  “Duffy said he’d find more men. I told them we’d split up and take the south and west sides of town. He’s gonna cover the north and east sides.”

  Missy looked at the five of them. “Is it safe to split up? What about that prisoner who broke jail? Will she be out there?”

  Tina inhaled as slowly as a panic-stricken woman could. “Dare seemed sure she was long gone, and we have no choice but to trust him because we’ve got to find Mrs. Yates. Glynna, you take the children and go west. Missy, you come with me to the south.”

  Shaking her head, Missy said, “You go with them and I’ll hunt on my own. I don’t think Glynna and the youngsters should be on their own.”

  Paul drew his gun and checked the load with quiet confidence. “She’s not alone. I’ve got a gun and I’ll protect my ma.”

  Looking at Paul and his calm eyes, Tina decided she had to let go of her image of him as a child. The boy was grown now, and that was that.

  “You’re right, Paul. Glynna’s probably in better hands with you than me.” Tina turned to Missy. “The two of us will team up. And we need to get going now.”

  The first cry of “Virginia Belle” went up from the far side of town. It was Sledge Murphy’s voice. Close after was another man’s voice, Duffy most likely, though he and Griss sounded a lot alike. It galled Tina that the two were being so helpful.

  With a quick jerk of her chin in agreement, Missy said, “Let’s go.”

  Missy led the way, with Tina hard on her heels. As they plunged into the rugged undergrowth and dodged the red rock slabs—many of them tall enough to hide an addled woman—Tina called for Virginia Belle, and Missy even eventually called for Livvy.

  Neither of them got so much as a whisper of response.

  Movement was what drew a man’s eye. So Vince inched forward slowly, doing what he could to blend in to the rocky ground, the clumps of winter-dried weeds and stumpy mesquite. Vince made himself to look like just one more brown lump in a brown and lumpy landscape.

  He’d advanced nearly two hundred feet and was well within rifle range now. He had cover, but nothing that would stop a bullet. He slithered along, finding dips in the rugged ground, some so small he was hiding more in Wilcox’s mind than in truth. He dragged himself along on his belly with waving bunches of grama grass as his only shield, then made it behind another slab of rock. He had twenty feet of open space ahead. His only hope of getting across was if Wilcox wasn’t looking this direction. Then there was a copse of young cottonwood trees and a tumble of rocks, more tall grass, and then another open space before Vince reached the bluff on top of which Wilcox was perched.

  Vince kept getting closer and closer. For the next twenty feet he’d be exposed, and moving so slow that even a half-wit had a good chance of hitting what he aimed at.

  Even if Wilcox missed, he’d know Vince was coming and that would put an end to Vince’s hopes of scaling the cliff and getting a drop on him.

  Vince eased along when he wanted to clear that stretch at a dead run. He crept like one of the desert critters, blending in, staying silent. Seconds passed between each move. The day was starting to wear down, and the shadows grew longer from the canyon walls. Vince could use those shadows when he got to them, but he had no notion of waiting for them to come all this way. He didn’t think the Kiowa were that patient, and truth be told, he wasn’t either.

  Another inch, then a foot, then a yard. Vince thought back to the war.

  He’d been a spy. His mother’s Southern accent was easy for him to mimic, and he’d spent time in his childhood visiting his grandparents at their plantation. He could talk to the Southern soldiers and mix in with them.

  He even had sympathy for them, because he knew they were fighting for their homes. So he’d made his way to a camp and hid in the darkness, sometimes almost right under their guns. Then he’d pick a moment and join the Southern forces.

  He felt like that now. Like a sneak and a spy. A lot of people would’ve thought those were insults, but Vince liked knowing he could keep up his guard, pretend to be who he wasn’t. He was a natural at ignoring how he really felt and adopting a manner that suited him for whatever reason. He’d learned all those skills—sneaking, spying, pretending, hiding his feelings—from a lifetime of dealing with his father.

  Hard to like the idea that handling his father had trained Vince for war.

  A coyote’s howl jerked Vince back to the present. He realized he’d gone into his daydreams for a while. Slowly he advanced another yard, then another.

  A shot blasted out of th
e canyon, and Vince braced himself to rush for cover. The young cottonwoods weren’t much, but they were closer than the rock. But he’d be pinned down there.

  Thankfully the shot wasn’t aimed in his direction. Soon return shots came from Dare and Luke. Vince risked a glance backward and saw that his friends had moved in closer, to just out of rifle range.

  They were diverting Wilcox’s attention, all right. Vince picked up speed and got himself behind the cottonwoods. He let himself rest only a few moments, then went on—faster now as he skirted the trees and the rock pile. He scrambled with speed behind the tall grass.

  He saw the shadows stretching toward him. That darkness would hide him almost as well as a real barrier. Shadows wouldn’t stop a bullet, but they could keep a man from pulling the trigger to begin with.

  Breathing deeply to steady his nerves, he slid into clear view of the shooter and looked up. Wilcox stood behind a boulder high up on top of the canyon wall. He was concealed from anyone straight ahead of him, but Vince was off to the side and could see the sidewinder clearly. In fact, Vince could’ve probably put a bullet into Wilcox from where he was hiding. But a shot upward while lying on his belly was tricky, and Vince’s position would be given away.

  Being careful not to draw Wilcox’s attention, Vince closed the distance between him and the shadow. Once there, he had thirty more feet to the wall of the bluff, where Wilcox couldn’t see him anymore, not without coming right to the edge of the canyon top and looking down.

  Vince glanced up. Wilcox took a long pull on his bottle. A few more feet of progress and finally Vince belly-crawled into the shadow cast by the lowering sun. Moving steadily, he picked up speed and was soon against the rocks.

  He could now see Jonas, Dare, and Luke, and they saw him. Luke tugged on the brim of his hat, and Vince nodded back. Vince saw Luke talking, and neither Dare nor Jonas even looked over. They were cautious men and too savvy to give him away by so much as a glance, just in case Wilcox hadn’t drunk himself cross-eyed.

  From his vantage point, Vince could see a few of the Kiowa, too. They had taken cover, and he’d have never seen them if he didn’t know they were there.

  Vince let himself relax for a minute, then gazed straight up the canyon wall. He needed to scale this cliff and, once he was up on Wilcox’s level, end this thing. He touched his Colt, hooked with a strap over the trigger so it wouldn’t fall out of his holster while he crawled.

  He hoped he could avoid shooting, but he’d do what he had to do. He took off his buckskin gloves and tucked them away, then reached for his first handhold.

  “She dropped a handkerchief last time,” Tina said. “Why couldn’t she have done that again?”

  She and Missy rushed here and there, looking behind every clump of grass and rock big enough to hide a woman. They’d been at it for at least half an hour and had left Broken Wheel far behind.

  “Virginia Belle, where are you?” Missy shouted.

  “Maybe since she fired you, she’s not answering.” Tina looked at Missy and knew her furrowed brow matched Tina’s.

  “Then you holler. I’ll keep quiet if you think it’ll help.”

  “Let’s listen for a while instead. Surely Mother or Livvy would make some sound walking along. Livvy yips all the time.” Silence prevailed as they kept walking. Tina could almost hear a clock ticking away, counting down the time Virginia Belle had been lost, maybe hurt, maybe snakebit.

  Tina came up close to a steep rise of rock. It had the beautiful stripes of red running crossways that made this area different from any place Tina had ever seen. She looked at that wall of rock and knew Mother hadn’t kept moving forward. If she’d come this way, this would have stopped her. To go left or right? Which way?

  Tina stood in front of a swaying cluster of mesquite that seemed to grow right out of the rock. Then, because she had no idea where to go next, Tina looked closer at the clump of stunted trees. It formed almost a solid wall in front of the striped stone, but a gust of wind made the mesquite bend and dance. Tina saw something she couldn’t quite make out behind the thick copse of trees. She narrowed her eyes at the rock behind the trees, or rather the lack of rock.

  A sudden stomping of footsteps from their left whirled them around. Tug Andrews came out from behind a couple of scrub junipers, looking surprised to see them. “Uh . . . sorry to . . . to startle you, ladies.”

  Tina remembered that the general store had been locked up when Glynna was looking for help. She wondered where Tug had been, and with everyone running out of town, how had he even known they were out here?

  “Mrs. Yates wandered off again,” she explained.

  Tug swallowed hard and tugged at his bristly beard. “I heard. How long you been lookin’?”

  “We’ve been out here for the better part of an hour.” Missy’s voice broke.

  “Now, don’t get in a fret. I’ll help you find her.” Tug kept worrying the gray whiskers on his chin. The beard had never seen a trim. He yanked, and Tina noticed he had a makeshift bandage on his hand. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there were several spots of fresh crimson blood dotting it, so his wound must be fresh. He had a battered buckskin coat that had the look of being made by hand. It had beadwork on the fringe that looked similar to a coat Luke owned, one made by the Kiowa. Tug wore a fur cap, and his coat was tied tight with a leather belt. He was bundled up as if he planned to be outside a long time.

  “Thank you. We have no idea where to search.” Missy sounded sweet and very grateful to the man for helping. And honestly, Tina was herself grateful. Everyone in town had helped. Even those whiskey-hustling Schuster brothers.

  “I scouted this edge of town and thought I saw a footprint. Of course, that was after you two had come this way, and I ain’t done much trackin’ for a heap of years. But one of the shoes was different from the two of you. I think she went this way.” Tug began searching along the front of the rock wall.

  “Wait!” Tina turned back to the rocks behind the stunted trees. “I want to look closer here.”

  “Nuthin’ back there,” Tug said. “Best we head out of here. I think I see a track.” He pointed and started off again.

  “You go ahead,” Tina said. She pushed the trees aside and leaned closer.

  “I thought someone said she had her hound with her.” Tug’s voice was a mite too loud, and it drew Tina’s attention. Tug was looking at her hard, wanting her to stop what she was doing and get along after him right now.

  “She does. Livvy’s missing, too.” Missy stood halfway between Tug and Tina, looking back and forth, as if unsure of who to follow.

  “Well, the lady could fall and get knocked cold. It already happened once since she came to Broken Wheel. But the chance of her and the dog both being hurt, knocked into silence, is real unlikely.”

  Tug had an excellent point. “So it’s doubtful she’s close by or we’d’ve heard one or the other of them.”

  Missy gave Tina an impatient look. “Let’s keep hunting.”

  The man was almost certainly right. Still, she couldn’t move on just yet. “Not until I’ve looked behind these trees. There’s something back here. Missy, can you . . . ?”

  The harsh crack of a cocking gun spun Tina around to face Tug Andrews. He had a pistol aimed straight at her heart. He moved the business end of the gun toward Missy, then back to Tina. His eyes shone a cold, ruthless blue that scared Tina right to the bone.

  “You shoulda come along when you had the chance, Miss Cahill. Now you’ve bought into the fight just like Mrs. Yates did.”

  “Then y-you know w-where she is?” Missy stuttered, her eyes fixed on the gun.

  “Yep, I know she’s in the cave behind those trees, because I put her there myself. Her and that cur of a dog.” Tug held up his hand, and Tina saw the bandage was soaked with blood. Tug’s blood. The dots—from what had most likely been a dog bite—had spread.

  “What did you do to them?” Tina felt her fury rise at this man harming someone as decent and innoc
ent as Mrs. Yates. “Did you kill them?”

  “Nope. I ain’t no killer, ma’am, leastwise I don’t make a habit of it. Tyin’ up and muzzling that hound was about all I was worth. They’re both fine and secure in that cave. If you’d have walked on, I woulda spared you being bound. I woulda settled my business, then untied the addled woman and let her roam in the woods until you found her. But now I gotta put you in there, too. I’ll make sure your menfolk know where to find you later. But they won’t be gettin’ the note until I’m a fair piece away. I reckon it’ll be cold and uncomfortable, but you saddled your own bronc by nosing around the wrong cave.”

  Tug motioned toward the stand of trees. “Let’s go. Time for you to pay a visit to that loony woman and her nasty dog.”

  Chapter 24

  All he had to do was climb a mountain, get up to Wilcox’s level, get the drop on him and arrest him. Vince had even brought shackles along—just like a real lawman.

  Maybe seeing Wilcox clapped in irons would satisfy the angry Kiowa.

  Vince remembered that it wasn’t just Red Wolf who’d been in danger because of this coyote. He’d also shot at Luke, with Dodger and Ruthy in the line of fire. Or maybe he hadn’t shot at anyone. Maybe with his head muddled from whiskey, he’d just fired his gun wild. Then like a low-down, no-account weasel, he’d blamed the shooting on someone else.

  Vince would enjoy chaining him up for that alone.

  The wall was mighty sheer, but not so bad Vince couldn’t handle it. He shed the buckskin coat. No need now to use the earth-toned coat to conceal himself. Wind cut through his shirt as he scaled the canyon wall.

  Though the first stretch was almost straight up, there were enough handholds and toeholds to keep him moving so that he made good progress. As he climbed up the bluff, being careful not to make any sound, he saw that the rock wall sloped inward the higher he got. And there were scattered stones that Vince was wary about trusting with his weight.

  Soon the rock was sloping enough that Vince could go to crawling on his belly again, dragging himself along. At last he made it to the top and now was only a few dozen feet behind Wilcox. Pulling his gun, Vince watched Wilcox wobble, holding his gun more as a cane than as a weapon. He had the rifle in his right hand, braced on the ground, and a whiskey bottle in his left.