“I know the spot.” A sudden gust of dust-filled wind stung Sage’s face.
Yates studied him a moment longer. “Mister, if I was the marrying kind, and it was my wife up there, I’d be doggin’ those men too. Get on down off your horse, and I’ll show you what’s in the corral.” He turned to the other men. “Get these two some coffee. They’re okay,” he shouted. He looked at Newell. “Were you close to Kate?”
“Close as you can get without a weddin’ ring,” Newell answered.
Again, Yates tugged on his hat. “Well, now, me and a couple of others over there know Kate real good—and she’s a gem. They ain’t gonna like the fact that some bastard broke her skull. I don’t like it either. Could be I can get you some help in this.” He nodded toward the other men. “This bunch here—they’re all no-goods—but they ain’t the kind to beat on no woman, not even a whore. And they wouldn’t go riding off with some other man’s wife neither.”
Newell nodded. “I’ve met this man’s wife. She’s a good woman.”
“Come on then. Get yourselves some coffee, and I’ll go with you to pick out a couple of horses.”
Newell glanced at Sage. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
Sage grinned. “I’m thinking we might have found ourselves some help.”
Newell studied the red cliffs nearby. “Up there, though, they might have pulled five or six more men to their side. If we manage to get up there, it’s gonna be a real gun battle.”
Sage dismounted. “Then we’ll just have to be ready, help or no help.”
Newell followed suit, climbing down from his horse and shaking his head. “I reckon’ so,” he muttered. “All I know is, I ain’t goin’ back to Kate without bein’ able to tell her that the men who hurt her so bad are dead.”
Sage put out his hand. “And I’m not going back to Paradise Valley without Maggie.”
Newell smiled sadly and shook his hand. “Agreed. We both came to finish what them men started, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
Sage squeezed his hand. “Thanks for coming along, Newell.”
Newell turned to follow Bob Yates to the corral. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away,” he answered. “And speaking of horses, let’s go find us some good horseflesh to get us up that little hill over there.”
Sage walked beside him. He’d been up that “little hill” before, and he didn’t relish going up there again.
Thirty-nine
Maggie felt like a trapped animal, waiting for a hunter to come along and torture or kill it. After arriving at this cabin at the top of Hole-In-The-Wall yesterday, Walt Sloan shot two men inside and declared the cabin would now be used by him and those who accompanied him. In some ways, Walt seemed to be taking over as boss of the four men rather than Jasper, who was afraid of the man and probably regretted asking him to join him and Jimmy.
After the shooting, several men in a nearby cabin shrugged it off, all but one who challenged Walt using the code of the gun. He, too, was shot down, and that was the end of the argument over cabin occupancy.
Animals. They were all animals, like the wolves that tried to occupy the cave she and Sage claimed that night at Wolf Canyon. Survival of the fittest, or the smartest—or in this case—whoever was fastest with a gun.
In spite of her miserable, aching, filthy, tired condition, she’d been ordered to make coffee and a meal for her abductors, who after filling their bellies, started drinking and playing cards. By some miracle, they left her alone after that, probably too worn out to pay her any sexual attention. She knew that couldn’t last, not when she felt their eyes on her constantly and heard their crude remarks. She could only thank God that last night they’d left her alone, but while they used the beds, she was forced to sleep on the wood floor with only two blankets, her wrists tied behind her. She’d used her teeth to pull the blankets over herself and laid awake most of the night, imagining Sage coming for her, but so far today, no help arrived.
She’d hauled wood, hauled water, cooked breakfast on an old iron stove, scrubbed pans and dishes, and cooked a rabbit. Jasper kicked her in the rear more than once when she didn’t move fast enough to suit him. She was not allowed to bathe, and she’d never been so achingly tired on this whole journey as she was now. Her stomach lurched at how filthy and stained the blankets and mattresses were. She was actually glad to have slept on the floor last night.
From what she’d seen, she figured there were at least six men living in the cabin next door, all thieves and murderers, no doubt. Apparently, these cabins were used by any number of men at different times, with blankets and utensils left there for whoever might use them next. And as one would expect of such men, no one cared if anything was washed or organized.
Maggie knew better than to expect any of those next door to have a change of heart and try to rescue her. Jasper had ordered them to stay away from her, told them she was his woman. They probably figured that if Jasper wanted to abuse her that was his business as long as she really belonged to him. A few of them had stared at her curiously, probably wondering if they might be able to trade a couple of horses for her. One man looked as though he was wondering if Jasper was telling the truth. Maggie suspected he at least gave some thought to helping her, but he’d seen Walt Sloan in action and was not about to go up against the man.
Today, Walt and Arny took turns watching the trail to the top, lying in wait for Sage. Maggie felt sick with dread at what would likely happen, if and when Sage did come for her. No, not “if.” She must not think that way. When. On one hand, she was relieved that their attention and conversation centered around Sage’s arrival rather than on her, but the fact remained Sage would be a sitting duck. Once it was over, if Sage were killed, she would have no reason to live. She’d find a way to kill herself before she allowed these hideous men to have their way with her and then hand her over to the filthy cowards in the next cabin.
Her only hope for Sage was Jasper’s comments that he could “take that sonofabitch down in a fair gunfight any day.” He’d actually commented that rather than pick Sage off on his way up, he might let Sage reach the top and face him squarely. Walt Sloan relished the idea, and the two men argued earlier over which one would have the pleasure of shooting it out with Sage. They decided that whoever won at cards tonight would get to face Sage—and would “win” Maggie. Maggie figured that even if it came to a one-on-one gunfight, it would not likely be “fair” at all. Someone would end up shooting Sage in the back, even if he did beat whomever he faced.
Tonight she slept on the floor again, more fearful of what she dreaded most. Jasper and the others had taken baths earlier, if one considered jumping into a watering trough in their long johns a real bath. They were rested. Walt had even shaved. Their bellies were full, and now, while she lay trying to sleep they played cards… and talked about needing a woman.
“We’ve got one right here,” Walt Sloan said.
Maggie wanted to vomit. Apparently, it didn’t matter that she needed a bath. It didn’t matter that she was tired to the point of collapse, that she was covered with scrapes and bruises and dirt—her hands raw from scrubbing so much wash all day. She was their slave, there to be used however they pleased. It had only been a matter of time… and the time had come.
She lay waiting, like a rabbit hiding in the bushes, trying to decide when to flee, yet knowing that once it tried, it would be caught and killed. Finally, the inevitable happened. Walt Sloan rose and walked to where she lay. He removed his gun belts.
“I won,” he told her. “And since Jasper is out of money, you were the payoff.” He reached down and grabbed her wrist.
Forty
Maggie winced when Sloan jerked her into one of the other two rooms in the cabin. He shoved her onto a bed, while in the outer room, the three men laughed and made more crude remarks.
“You gonna cooperate, or do I have to tie your wrists and ankles?” Walt asked. “I ain’t aimin’ to hurt you long as you don’t make it necessary.�
�� He loosened his belt and started unbuttoning his pants.
Maggie scrambled to think. She’d rather die than let another stranger touch her. “Do you really think Jasper is out of money?” she asked, hoping to get him to think about something else.
He hesitated. “What are you talking about?”
“He stole a lot of money off Sage Lightfoot,” Maggie answered, “more than what he told you. He only told you he’s broke and offered me up, so you couldn’t get more of his loot. He’s made a fool of you.”
Walt stiffened. “You’re lying.”
“Am I? Why do you think Sage Lightfoot is so bent on finding Jimmy and Jasper? Jasper told you Sage would come here for me, but it’s not for me. You already know Jimmy and Jasper raped me once. Sage knows it too. He happened to come along and help me afterward, and together we started looking for those two. But do you really think Sage Lightfoot would risk coming here for a raped, pregnant woman he’s known only a couple of months? It’s the money he’s after!”
When she spoke the words, they sounded too sickeningly true. Maybe once this was over, and Sage had most of his money back, she would learn that the money was the real reason he’d come this far.
“Pregnant?” Walt asked.
It was only then that Maggie realized she’d mentioned her condition. In her addled, desperate state, she’d blurted it out. She got off the bed and faced him. “Would Sage Lightfoot care about a woman who’s carrying an outlaw’s child, especially when it belongs to one of those two wretched men out there—men who stole from him?”
Sloan stood there looking befuddled, and Maggie took hope in his confusion and hesitation.
“Yes, I’m carrying a baby fathered by Jimmy or Jasper—or maybe, by their third partner—the one Sage Lightfoot killed! The baby is a bastard! Why would Sage Lightfoot care about me when he knows that?” she reiterated, hating to refer to her baby as a bastard. Right now, she would do anything to discourage Walt Sloan from what he wanted to do. She walked closer, facing the tall, intimidating man as though she were just as tall and intimidating. “I’m telling you it’s the money! Go ahead. Ask Jasper where the rest of the money is.”
Sloan squinted, studying her closely. “You telling me the truth, woman?”
“I sure as hell am!”
Walt took a deep breath, then buttoned his pants and stormed into the next room.
“What the hell!” Maggie heard Jasper yell. His exclamation was followed by the sound of a man’s fist landing into someone. There came a crash. Maggie walked to the curtained doorway and looked to see Walt jerking Jasper to his feet.
“You didn’t tell me and Arny that she was carryin’!” he roared. He threw Jasper against a wall. Jasper grunted and stood there with the breath knocked out of him. Walt walked over and strapped his guns back on. “I might stick myself in anything with a skirt on,” he growled, “married or not, willin’ or not—but I’m not pokin’ a woman with a kid in her belly!” He pulled out one of his revolvers and charged back to Jasper, shoving the barrel of the six-gun under the man’s chin. “Where’s the money, Jasper?”
Jimmy and Arny sat staring, neither reaching for a gun.
Jasper swallowed. “What money?”
“The rest of the money you stole from Lightfoot! The money you didn’t tell me about!”
“I paid you plenty to come along and help us,” Jasper told him, his face covered in perspiration. “I gave most of what I stole to you. You won the rest tonight.”
Walt cocked his gun. “I don’t believe you.” He finally backed away. “You lied, Jasper.” He holstered his gun and grabbed his hat and jacket. “I ain’t helpin’ a liar! Out here you gotta be straight about what you’re doin’. I’ll sleep at the other cabin. Be back for my gear in the morning—after I kill Sage Lightfoot. Then you and me are gonna have a little showdown of our own! If you don’t come forth about the rest of the money, you’re a dead man! I’ll let you think about it tonight.” He walked out, slamming the door.
Jasper stood there looking dazed. Jimmy and Arny exchanged glances. “She’s carryin’?” Arny asked.
Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You should know,” Maggie said, moving into the main room. “You could be the father.” She moved her gaze to Jasper. “Or you!”
Jasper stared as though she was some strange creature he’d never seen before. “You’re lyin’,” he growled.
“I don’t think she’s the type to make up somethin’ like that,” Jimmy spoke up. “And as long as we ain’t sure, we gotta leave her be. Jesus, Jasper, let her go. We can still lay in wait for Lightfoot and kill the son of a bitch, but let the woman go. We still have a lot of money left.”
“How much money?” Arny asked.
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Look, we’ll pay you more, if that’s what it takes. Just stay with us. By this time tomorrow, I’m figurin’ it will all be over. Lightfoot will be dead. We can hand the woman to that bunch in the next cabin, and they can decide what to do. You can come with us back to Lander. The rest of the money is in a bank there.”
“Shut up, Jimmy!” Jasper warned.
“What the hell, Jasper? The cat’s out of the bag. I’m tired of runnin’. We’ve been high tailin’ it for nearly two months now. We’ve made the woman suffer, and if she’s really carryin’ a kid we put in her, that’s good punishment for givin’ us such a headache ever since we had our fun with her. She’ll be carryin’ a bastard kid. It’s like Walt said. He’s comin’ for the money, and he won’t get it. Killin’ him and leavin’ the woman to fend for herself from here on is good enough for me.”
Jasper glowered at Maggie. “I ain’t so sure about that.”
Jimmy turned back to his cards. “If you want to go pokin’ a pregnant woman, go ahead. I ain’t got no desire for it.”
Maggie folded her arms, glaring at Jasper. She felt a sudden resurgence of strength. God had put exactly the right words into her mouth to get rid of Walt Sloan and give the other three second thoughts. “Go ahead,” she sneered at Jasper. “I already know you don’t have a brave bone in your body! Prove it again!”
He came for her, but rather than push her into the bedroom, he jerked her back over to the fireplace. He shoved her to the floor and threw a blanket at her. “You’ll sleep out here on the floor again tonight,” he huffed. “I ain’t wastin’ my time with a used-up piece of woman carryin’ a bastard kid.”
He returned to the table and took a long slug of whiskey. “Deal me in,” he told the other two. “Now that Walt is out of the game, I’ll keep playin’. He was a little too lucky tonight for my likin’.”
“What are you gonna do about Walt tomorrow?” Arny asked. “He meant it about facin’ you down, if you don’t tell him where the rest of the money is.”
“I ain’t worried about that bastard. I’ll shoot him on sight and not give him the chance to pull his gun on me.”
Arny chuckled. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a real interestin’ day.”
Maggie curled up on the floor, miserable physically, but exultant mentally. She’d found a way to stave off her abductors for another night, and that’s all she needed. She prayed that tomorrow Jasper and Jimmy would regret messing with the likes of Sage Lightfoot, that tomorrow Sage would finally catch up. The only trouble was that he was up against incredible odds.
Worse than that was her worry that she’d been right in saying Sage Lightfoot wouldn’t care about a woman carrying a bastard child spawned by the likes of the men he was after. Once this was over, if Sage lived, she’d be forced to tell him the truth.
Forty-one
Someone pounded on the door. Maggie jerked awake, then squinted against a shaft of sunlight that glared through the one and only front window of the cabin. She groaned with pain-filled bones and muscles as she managed to get to her feet, realizing the last few hours were the first time she’d truly slept in days, mainly because she no longer felt the threat of rape from Jasper and Jimmy. If it weren’t for the rude awakening
from the banging on the door, she might have been able to get a little more rest.
A hungover Jasper stalked grumpily out of the bedroom wearing only his long johns. “Who the hell is it?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Maggie replied. “In a place like this, I’m not about to open the door to strangers.”
“Well, heat some coffee, woman!” Jasper pulled his handgun from its holster where it hung on the wall. There came more pounding.
“Who is it?” Jasper shouted.
“Name’s Skeeter,” came the shouted reply. “I was the watchman last night for the men next door.”
Jasper finally opened the door, covering his bloodshot eyes against the bright sun. “What the hell do you want?”
“Just lettin’ you know that some men are comin’ up the wall.” Skeeter was tall and lanky, and Maggie noticed his eyes were huge with excitement. “I know the one in front. Name’s Bob Yates. He’s from a ranch below, and he’s bringin’ up supplies. He does that sometimes. Me and the others are anxious to have fresh food and tobacco. I reckon’ he’s carryin’ whiskey too. You might want to do some tradin’ with him.”
Jasper squinted and ran a hand through his matted hair. “Do you know a man named Sage Lightfoot?” he asked Skeeter. “Anybody in their party look Indian?”
Skeeter shook his head. “I ain’t never heard of the man, and ain’t none of them looks Indian.”
Maggie’s heart fell. She busied herself with lighting a fire in the stove to heat the coffee and start breakfast.
“You sure it ain’t the law comin’?”
“Shoot no. Ain’t no lawman ever comes up here. Like I said, it’s just Yates comin’ to do some tradin’. I rode part way down to be sure. He even brung along a travois he says is packed with potatoes, beans, and such. I rode hard back here to tell everybody, so’s you can be ready to trade. They’re just now makin’ it to the top and will have to rest their horses a bit before they get here.”
Rosanne Bittner Page 21