Sure hope the others get back today like they said they would. I need to get that saddle and rifle off of Tom's horse, and I can't leave them alone.
The others didn't show up. Tom was worse by evening, burning up with the fever, tossing and turning, crying out. Nellie kept trying to get water into him, but mostly it went all over his bedclothes. She ate her supper sitting beside him, wiping him with a damp rag between bites of the quail Malachi had found in one snare.
She was tired, as tired as he. Dark half-circles lay under her eyes, and her hair was mussed, with loose strands hanging beside her face. The white patches on her cheeks stood out even more than usual. After supper, she went off to her tent to rest, at his insistence. If she was going to stand watch, she needed to get some sleep.
He yawned. Sleep! Something he'd had all too little of lately. Four hours last night, a couple of hours this afternoon, and if he was lucky, another four tonight.
If they're not here in a few days, I'll start thinking about heading out. Burdened, as he was, with an injured man, a woman, and fifteen head of stock, he'd be a fool to go looking for the rest. He'd leave a note and they could follow him back to Boise City, if they were still alive.
* * * * *
One of the mules made a sound, not quite a bray, and the others all lifted their heads. They were looking out towards the small lake.
Nellie's hands tightened on the shotgun stock. Something was out there.
Should I call Malachi? He had told her to, if she had the slightest suspicion that she was in danger.
He is so tired. I'll wait.
After a while the mules relaxed their vigilance, dropped their heads in sleep.
She walked around the corral, hating the fear that hovered at the edge of her mind. Even as a child, she had feared the dark, just knowing it was full of evil creatures waiting to snatch her with long, sharp claws, to eat her with long, sharp teeth. She had gradually conquered her dread, but now she discovered it still lurked in the back of her mind.
If there were no moon, I don't know what I would do. Only a few nights past full, the moon still gave enough light that she would see any creature that tried to cross the wide expanse of flat grass- and sagebrush-covered ground between the corral and the nearest edge of the woods.
An eternity later, Malachi emerged from the common tent, carrying his rifle. He met her as she reached the corral entrance. "He's better," he said, keeping his voice low. "Fever broke a little while ago."
"Did you get any sleep?" He'd promised to, but she knew he would have only dozed beside Mr. Ernst's pallet.
"Sure. And so will you. No need to go in. I dosed him with willow bark tea and some laudanum." His hat brim tilted as he looked down at her. In its shadow, his eyes gleamed. "Good night, sweetheart," he whispered, just before he kissed her lightly.
Nellie knew she should have protested. After all, hadn't he agreed that they should act as if nothing had happened?
"Good night, Mr. Brad-- Malachi." She touched his cheek, then quickly turned away before she gave in to the urge to throw herself into his arms.
Nellie was so tired she didn't even think about lighting a candle or undressing. She merely unlaced and removed her boots, unbuttoned her coat and laid the shotgun aside, before crawling under her blanket. A soft rustle from behind the pile of supplies in the corner told her that the chipmunks had found their way into her tent again, but since they had never bothered her at night, she ignored them.
She closed her eyes, and felt herself drifting.
* * * * *
Gertie waited behind the piled-up gear until Her Girl's breathing slowed, then waited a little longer. After a while, she crept to the doorway of the tent, stuck her head out, and hissed.
Buttercup crept around the corner, made a soft questioning sound.
"Go stir them mules up good," she told the cat. "I want lots of noise, in case she yells."
Another question-sound.
"Go on! Food, Buttercup. Fetch food!"
He slunk away, in the direction of the corral. As soon as he was out of sight--good thing a body couldn't see more'n a corner of this tent from the corral--she went back inside.
It was dark as pitch, but she knew exactly where Her Girl was layin'. She took the leathern bag she'd made and held it ready.
In a minute all hell broke loose over by the corral. Gertie slipped the leathern bag over Her Girl's head, tied it around her neck. Then she grabbed both flailing arms and whipped the thong she'd held in her teeth about the wrists.
The ruckus went on outside. Keep him busy, Buttercup!
Getting both feet tied took a little more work, but she managed it once she sat on Her Girl's legs. For such a little, bitty thing, Her Girl was strong as could be. Gertie checked the knots in the thongs, then slit the back wall of the tent. She dragged Her Girl out that way, holding her by the rope between her wrists.
I'm surely sorry to hurt you, My Girl, but there just ain't no time to explain.
Once she was sure she was hid in the trees, Gertie swung Her Girl across her shoulders. She was strong, real strong, and had carried many a haunch this way, some of them weighing more than Her Girl.
She could walk all night long like this.
After about an hour, Buttercup caught up with her. He looked right pleased with himself.
* * * * *
Malachi hadn't ever seen a panther behave like that one did. It acted almost like it was playing at attacking the stock, not caring whether it got inside the corral or not. It squalled a couple of times, and once it made a dash at the corral across from where Malachi was. He never had a change of a good shot, because it stayed on the other side of the corral from him. After a while it ran off to the edge of the woods, where it found itself a limb to sit on.
He knew it was still there, because every so often it'd give a yowl, but it never acted like it was going to attack.
Just try telling that to a bunch of fussed-up mules.
Malachi stayed alert, not calling Nellie for her predawn watch. She shouldn't have to contend with the cat, in case it decided it was hungry after all.
Just after dawn, he went in to check on Tom. The kid was sleeping quietly, his skin warm, but not the awful, dry hot it had been last night. Malachi set the coffee pot on the embers of the fire, added some wood. He'd drink what was left, no matter how strong and bitter it was. Anything to keep him awake.
He cleaned Tom up, gave him some water, and a few sips of beef broth. The kid's wound was looking better and he stayed awake long enough to say his toes had stopped tingling. Maybe he'd pull through this without a hitch.
Malachi went back outside, sopped a cold, hard biscuit in the bacon grease from yesterday and choked it down with more sips of last night's coffee.
Nothing helped. By midmorning he couldn't keep his eyes open. No matter how much Nellie needed her rest, he had to wake her.
Outside her tent, he called "Nellie?"
No answer, not even a rustle of clothing. Louder. "Nellie?"
Malachi stuck his head inside the tent. A ray of sunlight fell across the bedroll, showing it tangled and strewn across the tent floor.
A ray of sunlight shining in through a slit in the back tent wall. "Nellie!"
Even knowing it was useless, he burst inside and scrabbled through the bedding, through the neatly folded clothing in a pile against the side wall. He tossed blotters and papers for the presses aside until he'd looked in every square inch of the six-foot square tent.
She wasn't there.
Not caring if he tore the canvas even more, he pushed out through the slit. Fifty feet away the forest began, and extended all the way to the shore of the larger lake. On the ground between was a scuffed trail, as if something had been dragged away.
"Nellie?" he whispered. "Oh, God, Nellie, where are you?"
* * * * *
Although she had been paralyzed with fear for a moment, Nellie had then gotten mad and had fought for all she was worth.
It
hadn't done her a whit of good. Her captor was strong and determined, while Nellie was stupid with sleep and exhaustion. Being dragged over rough ground had finished waking her, but then she'd--incredibly--gone back to sleep when she was carried for what seemed like hours across the person's shoulders.
Who had captured her? Where was he taking her?
And why?
She was afraid she knew why. Please God, not that!
They were going uphill, that much she could tell. Had been, for a long time. She didn't know how long now she'd been a captive, but it had to be several hours. Her bladder was reminding her of its presence and her belly was complaining that it had been on short rations for the past day and a half.
How she wished she could see. And breathe! The only air reaching her nostrils was hot and smelled of leather and old smoke. The sack that was over her head had a few small holes in it, through which pinpricks of light shone, but they didn't let in nearly enough air. Or perhaps it was her position, head and feet hanging down, a bony shoulder in her middle, that was making her woozy and faint.
Abruptly she was swung down and dropped. Something was forced between her bound ankles, then wrapped tightly around the left one. She kicked out, only to discover that she was attached to something solid. Her feet had moved only a few inches. The rope just above her elbows prevented her from striking out with her hands, and the bag over her head kept her from taking a deep enough breath to scream.
Would anyone hear me if I did?
The bottom of the bag over her head was loosened and it was pulled off. Her eyes automatically shut against the light. She forced them open a slit.
She was in a cavernous dark room, lit only by a flickering fire. Squatting before her on a section of log was a gargoyle! An enormous, ugly, hairy creature with squinty eyes and filthy, misshapen hands cupped around knees covered in some kind of dark garment. Dirty feet protruded from under the skirt, grotesque feet with bent toes and thick, cracked callus on the soles.
The creature's mouth opened in a hideous grin, showing blackened teeth with gaps between. "Yes, you're a pretty one, My Girl," it crooned. "So pretty, just like your ma was when she was a youngster. No wonder all the men want to lay their hands on you."
One of the hands stretched out and Nellie shrank back. It touched her cheek, a rough, scratchy touch that left her feeling soiled. "Don't be scared. I'll pertect you from 'em, them bastards. They won't lay a hand on you, won't take you off in the hills and leave you lost somewheres with a sick baby and no food."
Biting her lip, Nellie tried to scoot away from the hand. The bond on her ankle held her in place.
"Here, let me turn you loose. I'll bet your hands are sore as all get out. But I had to do it, My Girl. You'd've yelled otherwise, and that feller in the black hat would've caught me afore I got you away. He doesn't know you're My Girl." The hand disappeared, came back holding a knife. Quickly the bonds between Nellie's ankles, around her upper arms, and between her hands were cut.
Once released, her hands fell lifeless to her lap. She had no feeling in them. Hot tears of frustration welled in her eyes and she willed them back. I will not weep! To do so would show how terrified she was. She closed her eyes. Perhaps if she didn't look at the creature, she would not be so frightened.
"That's right My Girl. Sleep. 'Twill do you good, you being up keepin' watch half the night. I don't know what that feller was thinkin', leavin' a pretty little thing like you out where any hungry critter could have you for dinner."
The unexpected sympathy made Nellie completely unravel. Tears flowed down her face and a great, painful sob grew in her chest until her lungs felt crushed behind it. She gasped for breath.
"There, there, My Girl, you have yourself a good cry. There's nothin' like it to clear the air and make a body feel better." The words were accompanied by a gentle pat on the shoulder.
This creature is female!
For some reason Nellie's fear shrank to a small knot just below her heart. If her captor was a woman, there would be no rape. She might still be in grave danger, but the thing she had feared most would not happen.
"Who are you?" she said, her voice coming out as little more than a whisper. "Why did you capture me?"
"Why, don't you recognize me My Girl? Your own ma?"
* * * * *
The scuffed trail through the sagebrush disappeared in the forest duff. Malachi cast about, but found nothing clearly identifiable as a footprint. He ran back to camp, refusing to let himself speculate on who--or what--had taken her.
The kid was sleeping again. Malachi shook him. "Tom! Blast you, Tom! Wake up." Then the kid's eyes opened, he handed him the shotgun, saying, "Take this. You're on your own. I'll turn the stock loose."
"Wha-- What's wrong?" Tom's eyes were bleary, his movements sluggish, but his hand closed around the shotgun stock.
"Nellie's been taken. I'm going after her."
Going to his own tent, Malachi strapped on his pistols, filled his coat pockets with ammunition for them and for his rifle. Then he went to the corral, opened the gate. If he didn't come back, the animals would find their way free.
Once again he followed the trail through the sagebrush, and once again he lost it just inside the woods. Most folks traveled in a straight line when they could, so he went on without turning, stopping often to examine the ground. Once or twice, he saw a place where the thick layer of pine needles might have been disturbed, but nothing he could call a real track.
When he emerged at last on the sandy lake shore, he stood and stared, a sick, empty feeling in his gut. Instead of a smooth expanse, the sand was stirred up and hummocky, as if a herd of elk or deer had walked along it.
The disturbed sand extended from the creek to the woods on the east side of the lake. Although he traversed the area several time, and went into the woods every few feet, Malachi could find no trace of footprints, no convenient fragment of Nellie's clothing caught on a twig.
The sun was low in the western sky when he at last gave up, having walked from her tent to the nearby woods half a dozen times, crossed the stretch of sand thrice, and combed the margins of the far woods until he was certain he knew every tree, each straggly bush.
When Willard gets here, I'll send him out. He's the best tracker we've got. Pray God he's good enough.
He refused to let himself think of what might be happening to Nellie in the meantime.
Tom was asleep, the shotgun at his side, when Malachi got back to camp. He'd drunk the water and eaten the food Malachi had left, so he must have been awake a while.
The mules were placidly grazing in the sagebrush near the corral. Buck and Rogue were asleep, nose to tail, down near the creek. Sheba was nowhere in sight, though, and neither was the cow. I don't care about that consarned cow, but Nellie will never forgive me if anything happens to Sheba.
He stumbled, kept himself upright with an effort of will. Can't rest. Not 'til I find Nellie.
He went to the cold fire ring, poured coffee into his cup. It was more grounds than liquid, so he chewed and swallowed. As he stood there, the cow ambled out of the woods near where the scuffed trail ended. She was closely followed by the ass. As if Sheba's herding her!
Wondering if he missed some vital clue, he went again to Nellie's tent. The gaping slit in its back wall was unchanged. The scuffed path where something--Nellie!--had been dragged for fifty yards was undisturbed. The hair on his nape stood up. Had whoever--whatever--took Nellie been human?
Or a haunt?
Old superstitions die hard. His grandmother had believed there were haunts in the dark, hilly forests west of their farm.
He was staring through the slit when he heard a shout. Hope sprang into his heart, then quickly died as he recognized Willard's gravelly voice. Rising stiffly, he ducked through the tent flap and walked toward the corral.
Before he could say a word, Dr. Kremer said, "Bradley, prepare to break camp tomorrow. We'll move up to a lake about fifteen miles south of here, use that for ou
r base camp for the rest of the summer."
Malachi looked past him. "Willard, did you see any sign of anyone on the trail? Anybody at all?" he said to Willard. "You, Murphy?"
"Bradley, I gave you an order. Don't ignore me!"
"Shut up," he snapped. "Well, did you?"
Willard grimaced as he got down. "Not a soul," he said, "but we didn't come by the trail. We've been following along the foot of the hills across the valley for two days. The Perfessor--" He might have well have said the fool-- "The Perfessor wanted to take a look at the outwish plain."
"That's 'outwash plain' you simpleton! Bradley, we'll have supper in an hour. It will take me that long to clean up."
Malachi didn't even turn around. "If you want supper, sir, you'll have to fix it yourself. You or Beckett," he said over his shoulder. "Willard, did you see anything out of the ordinary?"
"What's wrong, Mal...Malcolm?" Willard said. "Where's the kid?"
"Nellie... Miss Sanders is missing. Somebody took her out of her tent last night."
"Bradley, must I remind you again that you are being paid to manage this expedition to my satisfaction?"
This time Malachi did face the old man, clenching his fists to keep from striking him. "Dr. Kremer, your niece was taken...was kidnapped, sometime last night. I've been searching all day."
"Kidnapped? Nellie? Nonsense! Who would kidnap my niece? She's just gone off collecting somewhere. Nothing to worry about."
"Why you old--"
"Hold it, there," Willard said, catching his upraised arm. "Perfessor, you go on and have yourself some brandy. Let me jaw a while with Mal-- with Bradley, here. We'll figger out what's goin' on right quick."
Despite his worry and his anger, Malachi said, "Brandy? He's got brandy?"
"The old fool brought in God only knows how much in a crate labeled 'tobacco.'" Willard snorted. "First night out, he poured hisself a cup, sat sippin' it whilst Murphy and me set up camp and cooked dinner. I asked Beckett about it, he said not even Miss Sanders knew he was bringing it."
Somehow the smuggled brandy didn't seem as important as it might have a day or two ago. Malachi said only, "We'll see about that later. Right now the important thing is to see if you can follow the trail of whoever took Nell-- Miss Sanders."
Knight in a Black Hat Page 21