“But—”
She held up her hand. “What you do is up to you. I’m not waiting any longer.”
In a few minutes, the wagon slowed, and she inched her way toward the end of the wagon bed. The man behind the wagon was a long way back, probably trying to stay out of the cloud of dust emanating from the wagon. At that moment, the wheels hit something, and the wagon careened sharply, jutting out over a sloping embankment. In the front seat, Vera fell against Thaddeus who struggled to stay planted on the seat.
There would not be a better time.
With a quick prayer for the safety of her unborn child, Angel hitched her skirt up, lurched to her feet and jumped. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she rolled forward and tumbled head over heels down the slope. Briars tore at her face and hands while rocks bruised and battered her body. Finally, she came to rest at the bottom of the slope.
Thank God, I’m alive.
She heard noises and glanced over her shoulder. Simpson rolled down the hill. Despite her pain, she smiled. He’d finally found his courage. She struggled to her feet, rushed over to him, and helped him to his feet. “Hurry, hurry.”
She bolted down an animal path, running like a frightened deer. Suddenly, the ground fell out from beneath her, and she went flying through the air. As she landed on her feet, her ankle twisted and folded under her. Red hot flashes of pain shot through her.
Simpson knelt beside her. “Come on. I’ll help you up.” He pulled her to her feet.
She took a step, then fell. “No, no. I can’t put any weight on my foot. I can’t walk. You go on. I’ll only slow you down.”
“But—”
“No, go on. Find help. I’ll find a place to hide.”
Simpson nodded, then jumped to his feet and raced off as fast as his pudgy legs would take him. She crawled over to the nearest tree, grabbed a low-hanging limb, pulled herself upright and leaned against a boulder. Her ankle had already swollen. She quickly scanned the area for something to use as a crutch. There—a piece of a dead tree limb. She picked it up, then looked for a place to hide. She had to give Mr. Simpson as much of a head start as she could. She headed in the opposite direction from the path he’d taken.
After a long, agonizing walk, she found a dense clump of bushes. She crawled under the branches and wormed her way to the middle, all the while praying no snake or other critters had decided to inhabit the same place. Her ankle throbbed like someone had taken a hammer and beaten it. She put her hand on her belly. “Hang on, little one.”
Loud cries in the distance gradually grew closer. Had they already found Simpson? Did he now lay dead or dying? In minutes, the voices were audible.
“Dammit, where the hell could they be? People just don’t disappear into thin air,” Max whined. “Why don’t we just leave them? They’re on foot. They can’t go anywhere.”
“Stop your sniveling,” Vera yelled at him. “If you’d been following the wagon closer, they’d never have gotten away in the first place. They’ve got to be around here somewhere, so keep looking.”
“Look,” Max said, “here’s some tracks. Somebody came this way.”
Suddenly, a long sharp stick slammed into the earth just inches from her. It disappeared then reappeared even closer. She sucked in her breath as the pointed weapon continued to probe the depths of the bushes. Then the stick found her injured ankle, and she screamed
“Found one,” Max howled in triumph.
Rough hands seized her from her hiding place. Sharp branches cut long gashes across her face and arms, snagging her dress and ripping it. The man jerked her to her feet to face an angry and sneering Vera.
“You bitch,” Vera screamed and then slapped Angel’s face. “You’re costing us a lot of time.”
The stinging blow sent Angel reeling.
“I told you we should’ve killed her and that banker fellow back at the bank.”
“You’d best let me go if you know what’s good for you,” Angel threatened, hoping she sounded sure of herself, but she’d never felt less confident than she did right now. “Once Mr. Simpson catches up to the soldiers, they’ll be back.”
A brief flash of what could have been fear crossed Max’s face, but Vera gave no sign of worry. “He’s on foot. That old woman won’t never catch up to the soldiers in time.” She thrust her gun in Angel’s face. “There’s no one coming to help you. Now you get back up that hill. You try one more thing, and I’ll put a bullet in you. That’d give me real pleasure.”
Angel trudged forward, her ankle burning with pain, but the gun in the small of her back kept her going. She could only pray Simpson would catch up to the soldiers. She stumbled and fell to her knees. “My ankle, my ankle. I think it’s broken. I can’t go on.”
A bullet hit the ground beside her with a thwack. She looked up to see a smoking gun in Vera’s hands. She’s crazy. She’s going to kill me. And she’ll enjoy it. She’s evil through and through. Biting her lip, Angel struggled to her feet and half crawled, half hopped up the hill to where Thaddeus waited with the wagon.
“Did you find Simpson?” Grayson asked.
“No. The brush was too dense. Lost his tracks.”
Thaddeus cursed.
“Relax, boss. There’s no way he can catch up to that cavalry. He’s on foot, and he can’t get far.”
“We’ll see. Get her up in the wagon, you two. Let’s put some distance between us and them soldiers.”
“Why don’t we split up right here?” Max asked. “You give me my share, and I’ll vamoose.”
“No,” Thaddeus said. “We stick to the plan.”
Max pulled his gun. “I want my share now. I ain’t waiting around no longer.”
“You traitorous son of a bitch.” Vera pointed her finger at him. “I’ll kill you for this.”
“I have a hunch you planned to kill me anyway and keep all that gold to yourself.”
“That’s not true,” Thaddeus said in a wheedling voice. “We’re equal partners in this.”
“Good. Then, like I said, this equal partner will take his equal share—now.” He nudged his horse closer to the wagon. With his gun still pointed at the Graysons, Max leaned over and picked up two bags of the gold. He draped them across the saddle in front of him and then leaned over for two more.
A shot rang out, and the man fell forward, a look of surprise on his face. A crimson stain spread across the front of his shirt. He slid to the ground. The heavy gold bags fell over him, spilling golden nuggets glinting in the sunlight.
Vera grinned evilly and blew on the smoking gun barrel. She pointed it at the other man. “You got any ideas?”
Andy shook his head. “Not me.”
“Good. Now you—” Vera waved her gun at Angel. “—and her pick up that gold and put it back in the wagon.”
Without a word, Angel limped over to the lifeless body. She stooped and picked up the gold. Oh, Evan, where are you?
****
The shot echoed down the line of horses and riders. Evan glanced at Jenkins and read the same fear there that he felt for Angel’s life. At the same moment, they spurred their already lathered mounts forward. The horses dashed madly down the trail.
Ahead, the trail widened into a clearing. As Evan rode forward, he saw a man’s body sprawled on the ground. In a single fluid motion, he jumped from the saddle. He stooped down and rolled the man over. He recognized him as one of Grayson’s cohorts. Several gold coins were strewn on the ground, a few still clenched in the dead man’s hand. He picked up the coins. “Looks like they robbed the bank.”
“Is he dead?” Jenkins yelled.
“Yeah.” He tossed the coins down, then vaulted into the saddle. “We’ve got to hurry.”
The long line of soldiers galloped forward at breakneck speed. Soon, in the distance, Evan saw the wagon. Two people perched precariously on the seat. A lone horseman rode in front of the wagon. Where was Angel? His blood ran cold. Had they already gotten rid of her? Then he caught a glimpse of flame-c
olored hair bobbing up and down in the wagon. Thank God, she was still alive.
“We’ve got to get in front of them to stop the wagon,” Jenkins yelled to him.
“Yeah, but how? The trail’s too narrow.”
“Maybe we can pick off the two men.” Jenkins pulled his gun.
“No, don’t shoot,” Evan yelled. “Angel’s in the back of the wagon. You might hit her.”
“I think I can—”
“No. We can’t take a chance. I’m going to cut off the trail and try to circle around and get ahead of them. You stay on their tail.”
“Okay.” Jenkins motioned his troops forward.
Evan jerked on Buck’s reins and turned him down the steep slope. The gelding fought the reins, but he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. Buck plunged down the cliff, digging his back hooves into the loose earth. A cascade of rocks followed horse and rider. Tree branches slashed at Evan, but he lowered his head and kept moving.
Reaching level ground, he urged Buck forward. The horse seemed to sense his urgency and flew over the rocky ground. Evan glanced upward, trying to determine the location of the wagon. He saw it, careening wildly along the narrow trail. At any moment, it looked like the wagon would sail off the mountainside.
But he was gaining on it. He turned his horse and gradually worked his way up the slope. The wagon was now on a downhill path and picking up speed. Angel’s head bobbed up and down like a cork on a fishing line.
He drew closer. The man on horseback spotted him, drew his weapon and fired, but the shot went wide. Evan pulled his gun and returned fire. He missed, then fired again. This time his aim was true. The outlaw tumbled from his saddle in front of the on-coming wagon.
Thaddeus lashed the team harder, but the tired animals could not go any faster. The strain of pulling the heavy wagon up the steep mountain slope had taken its toll. The wagon slowed. Evan holstered his gun and drew alongside the wagon. Angel’s frightened stare met his.
Before Thaddeus saw him, he jumped from Buck’s back into the back of the wagon. He grabbed Grayson and jerked him backward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vera aim her gun at him. He pulled Grayson’s body between him and the crazed woman. She grabbed for the reins, but the wagon swerved, and she fell to the floorboard. Grayson struggled to his feet and swung at Evan, hitting him in the nose. Evan felt his nose break. Blood spurted everywhere, and pain momentarily blinded him.
Grayson’s fist came at him again. He raised his arm and blocked the blow, then swung a roundhouse punch that connected with the man’s jaw. Thaddeus fell into the wagon bed and landed at Angel’s feet. She grabbed a money bag and slammed it over his head, knocking him unconscious. She flashed Evan a triumphant smile.
Just then, Vera whirled to face him. Seeing Thaddeus out cold, a vicious expression crossed her face. She screamed, pointed her gun at Evan’s heart and pulled the hammer back. “Damn you, Montgomery. You’ve stood in my way long enough. I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to kill her.”
She fired, and the bullet ripped through his shoulder. Pain slashed through him, and stars swirled before his eyes. He sank to his knees as Vera’s triumphant laugh sounded in his ears.
Angel’s scream cut through the fog in his brain. He fought the darkness closing in on him. If he didn’t get Vera, she’d kill Angel. He reached for his gun, knowing he only had a split second.
He aimed his revolver at Vera and fired. The only sound was a loud click. Misfire!
“Got you now.” Vera’s crazed scream filled the air. Her laugh followed the bullet.
“No,” Angel yelled and dove in front of Evan.
The bullet struck Angel. She slumped against Evan.
“No!” Evan drew his gun in one fluid move and returned fire. Vera’s eyes widened, and she looked down at her blouse which was rapidly turning red. The gun dropped from her hand, and she clutched her hand to her chest, then fell over the side of the wagon.
Evan cradled Angel in his arms. The front of her dress was covered with blood. “Angel, speak to me. Ohmigod, Angel, don’t die. I won’t let you.” He faced Heavenward. “Please, God, don’t take her from me.”
Chapter 20
Angel tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy. It was as if someone had sewn them shut. She knew she had to wake up, but she was afraid. She couldn’t remember why, only that something terrible had happened. Something that she couldn’t face.
In the hazy distance, a familiar voice called to her. “Angel, honey, wake up. Come on.” Someone shook her with gentle hands. “Snap out of it.”
She wanted to respond to that soft voice, but the warm cocoon which enveloped her refused to loosen its grip. She drifted off to a place where no one could reach her. A safe place. Darkness closed around her, shielding her...protecting her.
She hid there in the darkness until it faded, blurring into shades of gray and white. A voice called to her again—a different voice—and she fought returning. But the shadows receded, and she opened her eyes. She was alone in a strange bedroom with frilly white curtains and a lacy flowered bedspread. And dressed in a pink nightgown. But where was she? And why was she here?
More importantly, where was Evan?
Angel sat up in bed and immediately doubled over. Every part of her body ached. She collapsed back on the pillow. Dreadful memories flashed through her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. The robbery, the chase, the bullet.
But where was Evan? What had happened to him? She had to get up, had to find out. She gritted her teeth and shoved herself to a seated position, then inched her way to the edge of the bed.
The door opened, and Mary walked into the room carrying a tray which held a cup and saucer. “Oh, no, no. You get back in bed.”
“I have to get up. I have to find Evan.” Angel stood, tottered and sank back to the bed.
Mary set the tray down on the bureau and rushed over to her. “You can’t do this. You’ve lost too much blood.”
“But I’ve got to find Evan.”
“If you’ll lie back down, I’ll tell you where he is.”
“Then he’s alive?” At Mary’s nod, she sent up a prayer of thanks and allowed herself to be settled back on the pillow. “Thank God.”
Mary grabbed the cup and pulled a chair up next to the bed. “But first you must have some tea.” She held the cup up to Angel’s lips. “Drink now.”
Angel sipped the tea, then scrunched her lips up. “It’s bitter.”
“Drink some more.”
Angel forced down a few more sips, then pushed the cup away. “Tell me about Evan...now. Please.”
“Evan has gone away—”
“Gone away, but where? Why?”
“He needed some time to be alone, time to come to terms with...what happened. I’m so sorry.”
Weak and confused, Angel could only stare at the older woman. “To come to terms? I don’t understand.”
“Why, because of the baby, that’s why.”
The baby. She’d lost her unborn child. Emptiness overwhelmed her. A strangled sob exploded from her lips. It was all her fault. If she’d only listened to Evan...
“He went away,” Mary continued, “and he said he didn’t know if he could forgive you for killing his child, or if he’d be back.”
“No, no, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave me.” Angel closed her eyes, squeezing them shut to forestall the tears. When at last she could open them, she found Mary staring at her, a strange expression on her face. “What happened to the Graysons?”
“They’re dead, and it’s all your fault.”
“That’s not true. They robbed the bank, and they were going to kill me.” A nagging suspicion gnawed at her gut. “Why am I here?”
“Why, Evan asked me to take care of you, so of course I said yes. You see, when he returns, he and I are going to be married. You tried to make a fool of me, but it didn’t work. I’ll not be the laughing stock of Deadwood any longer. You know what everyone was saying? Well,
I’ll tell you. Poor, poor Mary, they said. But no longer.”
Angel stared at her. Had the woman lost her mind? She had to find Evan and learn the truth for herself. She tried to move, but she was too weak, too stricken with guilt, too tired...
“Don’t try to get up. I put some belladonna in the tea. You’ll sleep for a while.”
“No, no. I have to...get up.” But it was as if she was paralyzed. Her body refused to move.
When she awakened, it was morning, and she was alone. Bright sunlight streamed across the floor. Angel shoved herself up on her elbows. The pain was still there, but not as bad. Gingerly, she pushed the gown aside and looked at her wound. The bandages showed no sign of blood.
Angel pushed herself to the edge of the bed and stood. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she grabbed the chair by the bed for support. When her head cleared, she slowly walked toward the door. She put her ear to the door and listened. When she heard nothing, she grabbed the knob and turned it.
Locked.
An uneasy feeling settled over her. She had to get out of here. She glimpsed a desk in the far corner of the room and slowly made her way to it. Maybe there was a spare key. She opened the desk drawer but could not find a key or a sharp object to pick the lock. A bundle of papers, old and yellowed with age, caught her attention. The top letter was addressed to Mary...Larson?
Gut instinct told her she was in danger. With trembling fingers, she untied the bundle of letters, then choked back a sob. All the letters were addressed to Mary Larson and all were signed “Love, Bobby.” At the bottom of the stack was a picture. It confirmed her suspicions.
Thaddeus and Vera, a smiling Vera no less, stood by a young man and woman in a wedding dress. The young woman was Mary. The younger man had to be the Graysons’ son—the one who had died in prison.
As the full impact of what she’d discovered hit her, she pressed the heel of her hand to her heart. Mary had lost her husband to prison and, because of Angel, she’d lost her mother-in-law and father-in-law and Evan. Evidently, she’d lost her sanity as well.
A key scraped in the lock. Startled, Angel dropped the letters. She bent to scoop them up and felt her wound open. She had barely managed to climb into bed when the door opened and footsteps clicked on the floor.
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