Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  Sonny danced with excitement. "Hey, I want to go."

  Nathan shrugged. "Sure. Go dig up a mess of worms. I’ll rig the poles."

  The tension in Tiller’s shoulders eased. Thanks, Nate. Without knowing it, he’d just solved Tiller’s problem.

  Squirming with impatience, Tiller wiped his wet palms on his trousers while Nathan cut and trimmed two limber oak branches and rigged them with the makeshift tackle. Pulling his hat low over his face, he saluted Tiller and lumbered upriver, Sonny bounding behind him like a flop-eared hound.

  Now that Tiller’s chance had come, he couldn’t seem to move. His heart pounded and sweat broke out on his top lip. He swiped it away, his nervous gaze fixed on Hade.

  In the years since Nate had coaxed Tiller to join Hade’s gang, he’d never trusted the man. Never respected his spiteful tactics. Savage as a meat ax, Hade’s unpredictable cruelty was the reason Tiller rode away from every ambush. Still, what he was about to do wouldn’t be easy.

  He stood, flexed his fingers at his side. Raised his head and sought the heavens for courage. Unsheathed his knife and squatted in front of Hade.

  His mouth sagging, one arm flung over his head, Hade snored like the call of a bull moose. The leather pack under his neck forced his head back, exposing his fleshy throat like a formal invitation.

  His first try, Tiller shook so hard he had to withdraw, taking deep breaths through his nose to settle his nerves.

  Biting his bottom lip, he inched the blade forward again.

  "Just … back away, Tiller boy." Nathan’s hoarse whisper jolted Tiller so close to Hade’s jugular, he nearly severed it. A firm grip on Tiller’s hand guided the knife away from the man’s throat. Dropping to his knees beside them, Nathan cocked his head and raised his brows to question marks.

  "What’s going on?" Hade mumbled, struggling to sit up.

  Nathan pried the knife from Tiller and swept moldy leaves from the base of the tree. "Just digging for worms, Hade," he said, twisting the knife in the exposed dirt.

  "Worms?" Hade blinked his bleary eyes then hurled a foul curse. "Don’t dig them from under me, you fool." He waved his arm. "Go over yonder and dig the blasted things."

  "Sorry, pardner. Go back to sleep," Nathan cooed, rising to his feet.

  He pulled Tiller up by his collar and marched him across the camp to the river. Smiling brightly, he waved at Sonny, perched on a rock about fifty yards away, dangling his pole over the water. Hauling Tiller around, Nate punched his arm. "Are you crazy? It’s a good thing I forgot my cork."

  Tiller frowned. "Where did you learn to be so quiet?"

  "I’m a Lumbee, remember? We learned to be quiet or be dead."

  He shoved Tiller’s shoulder. "What did you think you were doing? You’d never get away with killing Hade Betts. Besides, with your tender conscience, you couldn’t live with yourself."

  Tiller lifted his chin. "I wasn’t going to kill him."

  Nate flung the knife, burying it to the hilt in the ground. "I don’t know if you know this, Tiller boy, but if you slit a man’s throat, he dies."

  Bending to yank the blade free, Tiller wiped it on his trousers and shoved it in the scabbard at his side. "I didn’t intend to cut him, but Hade had to wake up believing I would."

  "If he believed it, he’d kill you even deader." Nathan pointed at the knife. "Do me a favor and leave that Mississippi toothpick in its sleeve. I know what you’re trying to do, but you’re going about it all wrong." He patted Tiller’s back and strolled ahead. "Just sit tight and leave the scheming to me. Trickery’s not your style."

  Tiller ran up and caught his arm. "What are you up to?"

  Nate winked. "Watch and learn." Pulling free, he nodded toward camp. "Go fetch my corks and bring an extra hook for yourself. We need to land a few catfish and get them frying before the old man wakes up again."

  After rounding up Tobias and a few able-bodied men, Joe led the party down the Trace toward Jackson. The plowed soil, churned up by pounding hooves, left no doubt which way the fleeing men had gone. They’d burned a path into the rain-soaked dirt for several miles before slowing to a walk. A few yards later, their tracks faded into higher ground and disappeared.

  Before Joe could dismount, the red-haired woman, as small and spry as a boy, slid off her horse and scrambled up the grassy knoll. After a spell, she trudged into view at the top of the rise and pointed behind her. "They came up here then veered off downriver."

  Joe caught her horse’s reins, and the riders climbed the sloping earth wall that bordered the sunken road, cut out by years of rolling wheels, plodding hooves, and determined shoe leather.

  Hooper nudged up the brim of his hat. "They wouldn’t go much farther without resting the horses. Not after riding them so hard."

  Watching Hooper’s calm, determined face, Joe saw a man of power, a leader of men. He sensed in him the same strength he couldn’t deny in Tiller McRae.

  Joe nodded. "Keep watch for signs of a camp along the bank. They’ll be long gone by now, but we’ll be able to pick up their trail from there." He twisted in the saddle and repeated the charge in Choctaw.

  "Hoop, what if the old man and Joe’s niece are wrong about Tiller?" Wyatt asked, his throat working. "From what she said, Nathan’s in tight with this gang. We could be walking into a gunfight with our own kin."

  Hooper wound his reins around his hand. "Once they know it’s us, I doubt they’ll take a shot." His jaw shifted. "If they do, we’ll get out of Joe’s way and let his men settle their hash."

  Respect for Hooper surged in Joe’s chest. The dark-eyed man’s spirit was indeed strong and good. "I make you this promise," Joe said. "My men won’t harm Tiller unless he strikes first."

  "And Nathan?"

  Joe raised his chin. "We’ll fire if we’re fired on. Not before."

  Hooper nudged his horse closer and held out his hand. "Thank you, Joe. I couldn’t ask for more."

  The skillet sizzled over the fire, and the smell of seared catfish hung in the air. Nathan boiled a hunk of venison jerky in water from his canteen, stewing up a savory broth. Flicking weevils from sheets of hardtack, he busted them up in the broth and left it to thicken.

  Tiller peeled and roasted the chicory he’d dug earlier, and Nathan brewed a fresh pot of coffee. For the first time since they’d fled the house, Tiller realized his belly was empty.

  Fingering the tin plates Nathan kept in his pack, he leaned to peer into the pan. "Is the grub almost ready?"

  "Just about." Grinning, Nathan lifted the biggest fish from the grease. "Hand me your shingle. I know it’s hard for you to wait."

  Hade sat up moaning and briskly rubbing his face. "I smell food."

  Nathan glanced behind him. "Almost ready, boss."

  Hade gazed around with a blank look until deep furrows marred his brow. "What time is it, Nathan? Why the devil didn’t you wake me?"

  "Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine," Nate said. "You woke up in a fine pucker."

  "Why are you boys hanging around here? There ain’t near enough road stretched between us and that blasted inn." Grunting, he struggled to his feet. "You hear me, Sonny? Get this mess cleared up, and you plug-uglies break camp. It’s time to get a move on."

  Nate went on stirring the hardtack slop. "Load your plate first, Sonny. We eat before we do anything else."

  Sonny stood, his hesitant gaze jumping from Nathan to Hade.

  Hade stalked to the fire, nervously working his fingers. "I’m telling you, we need to pull foot. Tiller’s spunky little innkeeper will have the law on our tails."

  Nathan laughed. "She won’t turn in our boy. Didn’t you see the way she looked at him? The little lady is well smitten after a taste of Tiller’s charm."

  "Nate’s right," Sonny said, dishing up his grub. "Tiller must’ve poured it on thick."

  Tiller’s hands tensed until his plate shook. Forcing himself to relax, he squatted in front of the fire. "Don’t worry." He turned steady eyes on Hade. "Maria
h won’t turn me in."

  Hade snorted. "I wouldn’t be so sure, pretty boy. You know what they say about a scorned woman."

  "’Heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury, like a woman scorned.’"

  Their heads swiveled to Sonny.

  Fried fish clutched in his dirty hand and grease smearing his cheeks, he blinked. "What? You think I got no culture?"

  Hade shook a warning finger at Nate. "Eat up then, but make it quick. If we get set on by the law, I’ll row you up salt crick." Filling his tin plate to overflowing, Hade settled against the tree to grumble and eat.

  Nathan showed no fear of Hade rowing him up a creek. By the time Hade put away his usual three helpings, his bulging gut would be too heavy to give chase, much less give anyone a beating.

  Tiller raised his brows at Nathan. His answering smile meant his scheme, whatever it was, must have been going according to plan.

  FORTY-THREE

  Mariah walked Miss Vee to her room and tucked her in bed, plumping the crocheted pillows at her back. Sitting in a chair beside her grief-stricken friend, Mariah held her hand while they shared memories of the man who was father to one, cherished love of the other.

  At last, Miss Vee slept. Her every shudder, every hitching breath laid the finger of blame on Mariah’s aching heart. Unable to bear another minute, she slipped from the room and closed the door.

  Downstairs, she had Rainy fetch meat from the smokehouse and gave instructions to Dicey about preparing lunch, though she wondered who would have the stomach to eat. The thought of food put sawdust in her mouth, and she doubted Miss Vee would touch a bite.

  And with Tiller gone—

  The sound of his name in her head shot pulsing waves of pain to her chest. With Tiller gone, the house would go on feeling empty, the food tasteless, her once cheery table a soulless place.

  Losing Father had robbed her of the ties to her past. Losing Tiller would mean the loss of her future, a loss she couldn’t bear.

  She pushed onto the back porch, his spirit rising from every board and nail. Sitting on the top step, she ran her hands along the smooth cedar rail.

  How blind they’d been in their innocence. Blissful, content, falling deeply in love—unaware of disaster approaching from three different directions.

  Hooper McRae from the east, coming to cart Tiller home to Scuffletown.

  Uncle Joe from the west, intent to carry Mariah away, over his shoulder if need be.

  Hade Betts and his gang from out of nowhere, determined to lure Tiller back to their degrading lifestyle.

  Angry, she brought her clenched fist down on the porch. "Why couldn’t they all just leave us in peace?"

  "Life seldom works that way, little missy."

  She raised her head. "I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there."

  Otis ambled to the porch, wiping his hands on his baggy britches. "Just washing up at the pump." He glanced heavenward. "One of God’s greatest gifts is water. Did you ever consider what a stinking lot we’d be without it?"

  Mariah tucked her chin at the mention of the God she’d sorely neglected. "I thought you were resting. What are you doing outside?"

  He pointed over his shoulder. "I thought I’d lend Rainy a hand in the garden."

  "Oh?" She angled her head. "I didn’t know you liked to work the soil."

  "You’ll find most men do. There’s nothing more healing to the soul than the promise of new life." Otis patted her hand. "It’s the reason we’re awed by a woman ripe with child." He chuckled. "We can’t pull that off, but we can give birth to a fine crop of tomatoes."

  Mariah’s cheeks warmed, but she couldn’t hold back a smile.

  He leaned back to study her. "That’s better. I don’t like to see you fret. It paints lines betwixt them pretty eyebrows."

  Mariah sniffed. "Lately I’ve had my share of things to fret over. But the most pressing burden I’m relieved to have off my chest." She stole a glance at him. "How did you know? That day in your room, I mean."

  He crooked one brow. "You mean your secret?"

  Lowering her gaze, she nodded.

  "Well, I didn’t really know, did I? God gave me just enough to get His message across." He laughed. "If I’d known the particulars, I may have turned you over my knee."

  Mariah covered her face with her hands. "I’m so ashamed. I don’t suppose I’ll ever forgive myself."

  With palsied fingers, Otis lifted her chin. "It starts with asking God’s forgiveness."

  She shook her head. "Oh, I couldn’t. I can’t even find the words."

  "Well, that’s different." Otis withdrew his hand. "Sorry, gal. I mistook you for one of His."

  Her head whipped around. "But I—I am. At least I was."

  "Was?" He quirked his brow. "The Book says, ‘I have loved thee with an everlasting love.’"

  Mariah braced her forehead with her palms. "Otis, I ache for God’s pardon. For everyone’s."

  "What are you waiting for? God says to fess up then bet on Him to forgive. He goes the extra mile and washes us clean." He nudged her with his shoulder. "Why are you making it harder than He did?"

  Tears squeezed between her tight lashes.

  Otis pulled her close. "Oh, lamb. Why is it easier to accept mercy from your uncle and Miss Vee when God loves you most of all?"

  She wiped her nose. "I don’t feel worthy."

  "None of us are. Don’t you see?" He took her hands and peered into her eyes. "Godly sorrow pleases Him because it leads to repenting. Condemning yourself does just the opposite."

  She nodded. "I think I understand."

  "Good." He stood and hitched up his pants. "I’ll leave you alone so you and God can have a little talk."

  Mariah stretched out her hand. "Before you go, I have to ask you something."

  "Anything, child."

  She searched his gentle eyes. "Will Tiller be all right? Will he come back to us?"

  A shadow crossed his face. "I can’t see the future, honey. But I can tell you one thing—Tiller left here fully intent on coming home."

  At the door, he turned. "While you’re talking to God, ask Him to be a stone of stumbling and a rock of offense to those disobedient men for Tiller’s sake."

  Hade lounged across the fire from Tiller, shoveling hardtack mush in his mouth with a wide spoon. After two helpings, he laid aside his plate and pulled the pan off the fire to wolf down the rest.

  Sonny tried to elbow in next to him for a share, but Hade turned aside, growling like a dog on a bone. "This here’s fine mush, Nathan," he said with bulging cheeks. "Best you ever made."

  "You ought to share, Hade," Sonny whined. "I’m still hungry."

  He tossed the empty pan at Sonny’s feet. "Here, I’ll share the washing up. Take that down to the river and rinse it out before I beat you to a jelly."

  Sonny bent to grab the handle. "Aw, Hade. That ain’t no way to do."

  Cackling, Hade watched him go, the corners of his eyes crinkled with glee. "I hope he don’t fall in and drown. It wouldn’t be near as much fun around here without old Sonny, would it?"

  Dodging Hade’s grasping fingers, Nathan slid the last fish on Tiller’s plate. Hade leaned over and snatched it before Tiller could take a bite. "Let’s don’t be greedy, boys."

  Leering, he took a deliberate bite then tilted his chin. "So, what do you say, Tiller? Are you ready to ride with us again? We’ve got big plans, and I think you’d fit in real nice." He swiveled to Nathan. "Don’t you think so, Nate?"

  Nathan shrugged. "I’m not sure Tiller’s cut out for robbing banks."

  Hade licked his fingers then wiped them on his britches. "Sure he is." He pointed. "With that guileless face, he could spin one of his yarns while we emptied the safe. They’d be so caught up in his tale, they wouldn’t notice until we were long gone." He winked. "How about it, Tiller boy? Can we count on you?"

  Tiller slowly set his plate aside. "I don’t know, Hade. It’s like Nathan said. I wouldn’t be good at robbi
ng banks."

  Hade’s features hardened. "Now you listen up…. I’ve invested years in training you. I don’t take kindly to folks running out on me."

  Tiller gnawed the side of his lip. "I’m not running out on anybody. It’s time to split the sheets, that’s all."

  Chest heaving, Hade pushed to his feet. "We ain’t splitting nothing but the take, you hear?" He loomed over Tiller with his fists clenched. "You owe me, boy."

  His fury raging to the surface, Tiller stood, but Nathan stepped between them. "Settle down, boys. There’s no call to get riled."

  Shoving him aside, Hade advanced on Tiller.

  Tiller took a step toward him, his hand on his knife.

  The frying pan sailed toward them from the brush, spinning across the dirt and landing at their feet.

  Wide-eyed, Hade stared dumbly at the greasy skillet. "What the—" He glanced around. "Where’s Sonny?"

  A large rock arced from the other side of the camp, landing three feet away and rolling past them. Then another that struck the fire, flipping a burning limb into the air and raising a spiral of glowing embers.

  With a shout, Hade spun in a circle as a storm of sticks, stones, and pinecones showered from the sky.

  Tiller grinned. A familiar storm.

  "It’s come-to-judgment-day, pretty boy," Hade roared. "They’re on us, and it’s your fault."

  Down and up so fast Tiller couldn’t react, Hade drew back the skillet and swung. With a shout, Nathan leaped, shoving Tiller out of the way. The heavy pan hit the back of Nate’s head with a sickening thud. He dropped without a whimper.

  The clearing erupted with running feet and loud voices just as Hade pulled the pistol at his side. "You’ve been both blessing and curse to me, son. I should’ve cut my losses and let you go."

  Tiller braced for a bullet, his soul crying out to God, his heart to Mariah.

  Four hundred pounds of mad Indian sailed at Hade, knocking him to the ground. The gun went off, firing harmlessly into the trees.