She Wore It Tied-Down

by r. William Rogers

  SHE WORE IT TIED DOWN

  by

  r. William. Rogers

  *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Robert W. Rogers on Smashwords

  *

  Copyright © 2012 by Robert W. Rogers

  ebooks ISBN: 978-1-4762-4360-3

  Cover Design Copyright © 2012 by:

  (http://DigitalDonna.com)

  Smashwords Edition License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to any other person.

  Although this is a work of fiction, it is as geographically and historically correct as possible. The author guarantees all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. The views expressed in this ebook are not necessarily those of Smashwords.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 1

  The glowing embers that were all that remained of the campfire contrasted starkly with the eerie darkness that had closed in all around her. A solitary coyote howled its loneliness to anyone of a mind to listen.

  Dorothy cradled her father’s badly wounded body close to her bosom. She kissed him gently on his sweat-covered forehead while she rocked him to and fro. She listened into the night with tears of anguish and sorrow streaming down her cheeks.

  The coyote repeated to no avail its attempt to locate companionship.

  Dorothy looked skyward. The blackness that hovered outside the soft glow cast by the embers was about as dark as any she could remember. The night was unseasonably cold for late May. Although uncomfortable, the chill that hung in the air was not to the point of being intolerable.

  She worked a hand free and picked up a stick from the meager supply that was all that remained on the ground beside her. She tossed it onto the bed of coals. A protesting shower of sparks ascended in a twisting spiral and dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.

  She began to hum a tune that her mother had sung to her countless times, but for the first time that she could remember, its familiarity did nothing to soothe her. She let it fade from her lips; the tears remained on her cheeks. She wished her mother were still alive. She needed her to be there to comfort her.

  Dolly and her father—he’d always called her Dolly—had been returning from a successful business trip to Pueblo, in south central Colorado. They had made the trip to hire a trail boss who in turn would sign on a bunch of drovers. The plan was for them to drive a herd of J Bar R cattle from Las Animas to the pens in Dodge City for rail shipment to the eastern markets. The usual way of doing things was for a herd to be sold in Dodge, or one of the other cow towns that were scattered all across the Kansas grasslands; but Jason Randolph was a man of means.

  That comforting assurance, coupled with him being blessed with the patience of Job, allowed him the added flexibility of being able to ship his stock directly to the east where it brought more than twice the price it otherwise might in Dodge. It didn’t take much more than just an average level of intelligence to figure out that the financial benefits associated with a fella doing his own contracting with the railroad were well worth the added effort.

  Jason moaned with pained discomfort as Dolly scooted out from under him.

  She carefully lowered him onto the blanket. “Hang on, Daddy,” she whispered softly. She used a coat sleeve to wipe away her tears. She then patted his cheek affectionately, rose, and got serious about building up the fire.

  The sticks were dry and took hold quickly. With the circle of light again serving well to keep the darkness at bay, she felt some better. She piled on the last of the sticks and limbs and sighed, wistfully. Thoughts of what had befallen them again pushed their way into her mind and the tears returned. She steadfastly willed them to remain at a minimum and set about collecting any additional sticks she might find within easy distance of the circle of firelight.

  Chapter 2

  She awoke to the familiar sound of a whippoorwill as it announced the arrival of a new dawn. She delighted in the playful song and for a brief moment managed to forget the troubles that had befallen her and her father. She began to stretch leisurely.

  The effort was cut short as he groaned.

  She was immediately wrenched back to the reality that was facing her square. Mixed emotions again tested her ability to sort through it all. She was understandably saddened that her father had been shot, but was at the same time happy, or at least relieved, that he had survived the night.

  He groaned again.

  She flung aside the threadbare blanket that had managed a less than adequate job of warding off the nighttime chill. Without rising to her feet, she scooted over to where he lay on the opposite side of the circle of smoldering white ashes that was all that remained of the previously blazing fire; she had been faced with having to feed it a number of times throughout the seemingly endless night.

  She saw that his forehead was again sweat covered and reached for the canteen and cloth that she had placed handily on the ground beside him. She unscrewed the cap and after tipping the container, soaked the cloth.

  While absentmindedly bathing his brow, she allowed her mind to wander...to again remember the stark horror of what had befallen them. It was hard to believe that it had been only the day before that they had been ambushed so ruthlessly; it seemed so long ago. For the umpteenth time, she recalled the events that had left them both in their present predicament.

  *

  Dorothy Randolph had just turned seventeen barely three weeks prior and was far from being a worldly kind of girl. She was therefore understandably nervous and uncertain when the three rough looking men had ridden into their camp uninvited. She’d been on the trail enough times with her father to know that that was not the way of respectable drifters. Fellas just didn’t ride into another person’s camp uninvited.

  “Howdy, stranger” the obviously older of the trio had said with about as much cordiality as a rattler with a toothache. “What’re you ’n this pretty little filly doin’ out here all by yer lonesomes?” He’d gestured toward Dolly with a casual flick of a wrist.

  She remembered that to pa’s credit he hadn’t been fooled one little bit. “That would be none of your business,” he’d said flatly. She recalled seeing his hand resting on the butt of his six-gun...just in case the gent was inclined to not take to heart what he’d just been told.

  The man’s expression had briefly taken on what she had seen as a narrow-eyed agitation. He had then straightened his eyebrows and gestured with a jutting chin in the general direction of the two younger fellas. “These two young’uns are my boys...Jake ’n Walt.”

  Dolly had made the mistake of looki
ng at them in turn, as he’d indicated that the obviously younger of the two was Jake while the other one was Walt. There wasn’t much doubt that they were indeed his sons, judging from the sneer that pulled their mouths sideways and the leering looks in their eyes that exactly matched that of their pa. Jake appeared to be in his late teens—seventeen or eighteen, she’d supposed—while Walt was more than just a good bit older and easily into his mid-twenties.

  She had quickly averted her gaze.

  “No need ta look away, Missy,” Walt had said, giving her cause to again look his way. “We ain’t gonna hurt cha none,” he’d added. The leer that had turned into what was probably supposed to have been a disarming smile, said differently.

  Unnerved, she’d again averted her gaze.

  “Mind if we was ta step down an’ rest a spell?” the older man had asked and started to climb down.

  It was right about then that pa had followed through on his threat and pulled his pistol. “Yeah...I mind.” She remembered him saying. “I mind that you ’n your boys feel welcome here.”

  The man settled back into his saddle, but not without the scowl on his face letting it be known that he was displeased with this new development.

  Dolly remembered feeling a sense of foreboding come over her as the man allowed the sour expression to linger.

  Pa had continued, “I’d not mind, though, if the three of you was ta stay right atop them nags an’ ride ’em on outta here.” He had then waved the business end of the Navy .36 back toward the way they’d come, while thumbing back the hammer in the process. “And I’m figgerin’ that this’d be about as good a time as any. Now git!” he’d ordered coldly.

  She remembered having felt a whole lot better right about then. She also recalled how she had allowed a small confident grin to leak out.

  “Might be someday the you’ll be smilin’ outta the other side of yer pretty little mouth, girlie,” Walt had said curtly. “Might be you’d be doin’ that alright...yes, sir, you never can tell about such things.”

  “Ain’t no reason for you ta get all froggy, Mister,” the older man had said icily.

  “We was just hopin’ ta get us a cup of that coffee an’ maybe warm our backsides a spell, was all.”

  “Ain’t neither one a them two notions gonna happen. So you ’n them boys of yourn can pull them pieces a crow bait around an’ just ride on outta here like I said.” He had again waved the barrel of the .36 back the way they had come.

  The man had given pa a piercing glare while at the same time motioning with a jutting thumb back over his shoulder. “C’mon boys, we’re outta here,” he’d hissed through clenched teeth and savagely jerked his horse’s head around.

  *

  Dolly was pulled back to the present as her father reached an unsteady hand out to her. She quickly took it and cradled the side of his face with her other palm.

  He moved his lips; nothing came out.

  The tears threatened to reappear. She forced them back down. “Don’t try to talk. You just rest easy until you get some of your strength back.”

  He raised his other hand feebly. With great effort, he motioned her to him.

  She lost the battle with the tears as she bent over. Lowering her ear down next to his lips, she listened intently as he whispered things about the workings of the ranch. As well as things like, how much he missed her mother, and how much he loved them both. She had the chilling feeling that he felt he wasn’t going to last much longer.

  Not wanting to listen to any more, she straightened up, and wiped a sleeve across her eyes. “Don’t you be talking like that,” she said around a forced, wane smile. “If a person didn’t have any better sense, they’d think you were giving up.” She gently rubbed her palm against the two-day stubble on the side of his face. “You just rest easy now. I’m going to fix us something to eat. As soon as you regain some of your strength we’re gonna head for the nearest town and find you a doctor.”

  He smiled up at her. “Okay,” he managed softly. His eyelids closed gently.

  She busied herself with laying out some of the dried cornmeal cakes and previously cooked bacon she had prepared before they had set out on their journey. Once everything was all set, she propped him up with his back solidly against his saddle.

  She ate sparingly while devoting most of her efforts to getting some sorely needed nourishment into him. To her delight, he ate hungrily. He even began perking up a bit.

  She was pleased with this unexpected development and figured that if he kept improving, at this rate, he’d only have need to rest up one more day and by first light they could possibly be heading for the nearest town.

  “Looks like your appetite hasn’t suffered any,” she teased.

  He grinned weakly and slowly worked a sleeved arm across his mouth. “Must be your good cookin’,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Yeah…must be,” she agreed. “You want more?” She extended her piece of cornbread while arching an eyebrow questioningly.

  He shook his head.

  “Good thing,” she replied good-naturedly. “You already ate about enough to put a rooting hog to shame.”

  He looked around, squinting with wonderment. “How long we been here?” he managed just above a whisper.

  “Almost a full day.”

  He tried to look up into the sun, but quickly changed his mind. He pressed a hand against the pain the effort had caused to his chest. “Feels like I got hit pretty hard,” he said, and tried briefly to look inside his coat. “How much daylight’s left?” he asked, returning his gaze to her.

  “The entire day; it’s morning.”

  “A whole night an’ half of yesterday is long enough for any man to stay put in the same place. We’re not waiting any longer. If those fellas decide to come back I don’t want us to be anywhere around here. We’re leaving.”

  “But you’re in no shape to sit a horse. That bullet hole is close enough to your heart to give cause for taking it easy for another day.”

  “I’m in good enough shape to sit that old piece of swaybacked dog food if you’ll tie me on her if there’s a need. Now quit givin’ me a hard time about it an’ let’s get outta here.” He tried to rise, but fell back against the saddle.

  She knew better than to argue with him. He was a man of decision and had been for as long as she could remember. She again recalled the three men and the abuse she’d been subjected to. Maybe he was right. Maybe they should put some distance between here and anyplace else.

  She shuddered, remembering the unbearable feel of the hands that had taken liberties with her body. She again saw the image of the first of the men as the other two had pried her legs apart. She sobbed, reliving the searing pain as they had each taken a turn.

  She forced the image away, all the while knowing that pushing it to somewhere into the back of her mind was only a temporary remedy. She also knew that yesterday had been a day that would be forever etched into her memory. She now figured she knew how a newly branded calf felt after being thrown down and hogtied during the spring roundup.

  Without realizing it, she had clenched her teeth so tightly that her jaw had begun to ache. She relaxed it, easing the pain, as she again turned her gaze on her father. His eyes were closed. She was thankful that he had been unconscious during her ordeal and had no idea of what had befallen her. She brushed the tears away with the sleeve of her coat.

  “You crying again?” he asked softly, after opening his eyes and catching her in her meager attempts to clean up her face.

  She tried to throw him off by showing a forced smile. “Yeah, I guess I’m just a big sissy.”

  “You may be a lot of things, Dolly, honey, but you’re certainly not a sissy...never have been an’ never will be.” He reached out to her.

  She took his hand in hers and held it securely, clasping it with her other one in the process.

  “Them fellas made a strong impression on you, I’d say,” he said, under narrowed eyes. “Once we get back to civilization,
we’ll get the law on ’em. They’ll certainly be made to pay for what they did. Fellas can’t just go around shootin’ folks and not expect to pay the price for doing it.”

  She hoped that were true. She hoped that not only would they be made to pay for shooting her father, but...

  The rest of her thoughts became jumbled as she again started to relive the horror of those filthy men doing what they’d done to her. The tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. She let them go this time as she looked into the puzzled expression on her father’s face.

  He reached up weakly and thumbed away a tear that had made it down to around the left corner of her mouth. “There’s more to this than meets the eye, isn’t there?” he asked tenderly. His eyebrows narrowed. “Did those men do things to you?”

  Unable to speak, yet unwilling to start lying to him at this stage of the game, she looked up with a trembling chin, and nodded slightly.

  His whole demeanor immediately changed. “Get me the hell up an’ on my horse!” he ordered. “I’m gonna go right now and find them three heathens an’ kill ’em!”

  She used both palms in an attempt to clean up her face. “No you won’t!” she said just as forcefully. “First things first. First thing is to get you to a town and to a doctor. Then we’ll both ride out after those lowlifes.”

  The look in her eyes was reason enough to give any man cause to not doubt her sincerity.

  “But by then the trail will be cold,” he argued and again tried to rise by first pushing his way up onto an elbow.

  “Not cold enough, it won’t,” she resolutely assured him. She got to her feet. “You just stay put until I break camp and get things picked up.” She then gathered his saddle from behind him, and after hefting it onto her shoulder, set about the task of saddling their horses and stuffing the camp into the saddlebags.

  Once all was ready, she helped him to his feet and supported the bulk of his weight after ducking under his arm.

  Dolly Randolph wasn’t small in stature by any means. She was nearly five-foot-seven, and would tip the scale down at old man Berkshire’s feed store in Las Animas at right around a hundred and thirty-five or thirty-six pounds...but that’d be with her boots on. She had intensely blue eyes that went real well with the blonde hair that was mixed with just about the right helping of light brown as it hung nearly to the middle of her back. She often times would keep it under control by gathering it at the back of her head and tying it with a brightly colored ribbon on special occasions, or a length of rawhide...like now. Her face was slender, but not overly so. Her nose turned up a mite right on the end. Her lips were full and there wasn’t a man alive who’d not jump at the chance to sample their sweet loveliness. Most of her freckles had long since disappeared, but a few remained and dotted the upper part of both cheeks.