by Kay Stuart
Laurie nodded her head while her eyes searched Faith’s face. “It is alright Dear,” Faith said taking hold of one of Laurie’s hands. “Mr. Hargadon is a friend. You can trust him.”
“No one ever wants us,” Laurie said her words little more than a whisper. “The sheriff in Cooper Creek told Pa to move on,” Laurie sobbed then sniffed back her tears. Royce understood some of the child’s fears. On occasion he had asked men to move on. It was never a pleasant situation. More often than not heated words were exchanged. Laurie had witnessed these occasions and was now fearful of men that wore a badge.
“Then what happened,” Royce asked, “After the sheriff told you to move on?”
“Pa said we were coming here. He knew some men here and could find work. Only . . . Only when we got here the man on the funny looking horse came. He and Pa talked. I could not hear what was said.” Laurie took a deep breath. “When he came back the next day he shot Pa.”
“Does he know you saw him,” Royce asked. Suddenly, Laurie’s father’s death took on more sinister possibilities. Was her presence in their home endangering the Gaines family. “The funny looking horse,” Royce asked wondering what Laurie meant.
“Mr. Turner,” Faith whispered softly. “He rides a speckled gray horse. Laurie says the horse had poke-a-dots. I can see how to a child the coloring might look like poke-a-dots.”
“What has Walden done,” Royce asked knowing Sheriff Walden would have been told of this matter. The Gaines family was law biding citizens.
“Sheriff Walden rode out and talked to Mr. Turner but like he cautioned. The man had friends that swear he never left his ranch,” Faith stated her voice growing angry. Color was high on her cheeks. Fire was in her brown eyes turning them cherry red. “Coyotes always travel in packs protecting one another!”
Turner? Royce had not heard the name before. “What do you know about the man?”
“He has a small ranch,” Faith replied. “He comes to town every few months for supplies. I’ve seen him a few times over the years.”
“Mystery man,” Royce whispered. Not wanting to alarm Faith or Laurie.
“Sheriff Walden said he would not mention Laurie’s name. He was concerned about . . .,” Faith stopped talking and tilted her face to one side. Her eyes were expressive.
“Safety,” Royce said and watched Faith nod her head.
While they talked Get-a-long ambled over to the fence and nudged his nose against Laurie’s back. Hogan’s two horses followed stopping a few feet away. Lowering their heads to the ground they cut off choice pieces of grass. Noticing Royce’s interest Faith said, “They belong to Laurie’s father.” Slipping through the fence Royce approached the nearest horse. “You recognize the brand,” Faith asked.
“Yes,” Royce replied. His look was puzzling when he turned back to Laurie. “What is your name?”
“Laurie Hogan,” the child replied.
The light that shone from Royce’s green eyes acknowledged he knew the name. “I didn’t recognize you at first,” Royce stated coming to stand next to Laurie. “Must be the new dress,” he added softly for Faith’s benefit. It was not the new dress. Laurie was clean. Her face washed and her long hair combed. The last time Royce saw the child she was a dirty rag-a-muffin.
“Imogen and Faith made my new dress,” Laurie replied proudly with a wide smile on her lips.
“The last town you and your father were in was Cooper Creek,” Royce asked sure of Laurie’s answer. The town where the Mail Stage was robbed and his letter to headquarters had been intercepted. Hogan always ran with an unsavory crowd. He just might have hooked up with Barlow or a member of his gang. Hogan also would have recognized Royce’s name. Had Hogan told anyone who he was or had the man’s intentions been to wait and see how the winds blew. As long as Royce had known Hogan the man was not able to keep his mouth shut for long. If he knew who Barlow was this could have signed the man’s death warrant. Barlow would not take any chances.
“Yes Sir,” Laurie replied.
“How long were you in Junction City before the man on the funny looking horse showed up,” Royce asked using Laurie’s description of the horse.
Laurie looked to Faith for the answer. “Did you sleep in Junction City before the man came,” Faith asked knowing children paid little attention to time. She might remember sleeping in a new town.
Nodding her head yes Laurie studied Royce with fear bright in her eyes. She did not trust Royce.
Royce touched Laurie on one cheek with the rough tips of his fingers. The child moved away reaching for Faith. “I am a friend if you ever need me,” Royce declared securely. “Faith and I are friends.” He did not realize he was using Faith’s name for the first time. He thought of her as Faith. “It is time we went back,” he added a moment later. If Barlow was in possession of his true identity he did not want to endanger Faith.
The Gaines house was full of people. Citizens of Junction City stood around the dining table filling plates. Their voices were a loud murmur that blended together. In the kitchen ladies were slicing pies, cutting cakes into thick wedges, replenishing baskets of sliced loaves of bread and biscuits.
Faith carried in a basket of sliced bread and placed it on the dining table. Glancing over the tabletop decided more plates were needed. She was walking back to the kitchen when a hand grasped her wrist and shoved her against the wall. Mr. Cook towered over her menacing. “What do you mean going off with Mr. Hargadon,” he growled. His fingers bit into Faith’s flesh. “You have no right to be seen in public with another man now that we are engaged.”
“We are not engaged,” Faith replied tight lipped. Her heart pounded in her chest. A pain started in the back of her head from banging against the wall.
“I talked with your father. He has agreed to our marriage,” Mr. Cook reminded his dark red face was twisted in fury. He stepped closer to Faith. His features were menacing.
“Father and I have talked,” Faith replied swallowing down an impulse to scream. She steeled herself against Mr. Cook’s blazing eyes. Faith felt her heart thump wildly against her ribs then take off at a rapid pace. Admitting for the moment she was afraid of Mr. Cook. “Father has left the decision to marry up to me. I have decided I do not wish to marry at present.” Faith hoped she sounded determined wondering if she should have told Mr. Cook outright she would never marry him.
“We will be married,” Mr. Cook growled. He pulled Faith’s hands against his chest tightening his hold on her wrist.
Faith panicked. Her eyes widened in fear as she glanced around for a glimmer of hope. The dark haired man standing behind Mr. Cook with his back turned to them looked familiar. Her rattled brain sought help. “Sheriff Walden,” Faith’s voice squeaked as she looked hopefully towards the sheriff.
“Miss Gaines,” Sheriff Walden said turning his attention to Faith. He read fear in her eyes. “Is there something I can do for you,” he asked.
Swallowing Faith tried to focus on Sheriff Walden. She was shaking so violently she could not at first speak. “Mr. Cook is leaving,” Faith’s voice squeaked as she gulped for air. She felt as if she was suffocating. “Will you please escort him to the front door,” Faith requested hoping she would not fall at the man’s feet. She was as close as she had ever come to fainting. The thought was mortifying and stiffened her spine.
“You say the word Miss Gaines and Mr. Cook will spend time inside one of my jail cells,” Sheriff Walden replied stepping so he could get a better look at Mr. Cook’s taut features. The man was in an uproar. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. His eyes bulged from their sockets.
“That won’t be necessary,” Faith declared breathing a sigh of relief. “Goodbye,” she said looking Mr. Cook straight in the eyes.
“This is not finished,” Mr. Cook growled. He leaned towards Faith his anger boiling over.
Sheriff Walden was sure he heard Jim Cook call Faith a bitch and grabbed the man by the arm. “Yes it is,” Sheriff Walden retorted. “You cause any
more trouble and whether Miss Gaines feels it is necessary or not you will see the inside of a jail cell. Do I make myself clear!”
Mr. Cook stalked angrily out the front door and shook off Sheriff Walden’s hand. “I will have your badge for this insult.”
“If I worried every time I have heard that line I wouldn’t have time to do anything else,” Sheriff Walden retorted his eyes glacier cold. He had never liked Jim Cook and now had even more reason to dislike the man. Amos Walden had seen the red welts on Faith’s wrist. “If I see you anywhere near Miss Gaines I will bend my gun barrel over your head,” the sheriff said in cold tones.
Mr. Cook studied Sheriff Walden for a long moment before coming to the conclusion the man was not bluffing. Walden was appointing himself Faith’s protector. “Mr. Gaines has given his permission for Faith and I to marry,” Mr. Cook said proudly. As if he was purchasing a new filly and was wanting everyone to know the brand Faith was now wearing was his.
“I believe Miss Gaines has decided otherwise. My warming still stands,” Sheriff Walden stated. He understood men like Cook. It was necessary to use force against force. Without further comment Mr. Cook stalked off. But, Amos Walden was not fooled. He would need to keep an eye on Faith as well as Jim Cook. A storm was brewing and if he was to protect Faith from the fallout, he must remain on his guard.
The moment Sheriff Walden escorted Mr. Cook across the dining room Faith darted into the kitchen and up the backstairs. She was trembling all over. Her breath came in short gasps. In the room she shared with Elizabeth and Lydia, Faith sank down on the stool before their vanity dresser. She locked her fingers together and leaned towards the mirror. She was as pale as a ghost.
“Faith,” Mary Gaines said from the open door.
“I am alright,” Faith replied, her voice shaky.
“What happened,” Mary asked coming into the room.
“Nothing of consequence,” Faith replied.
Mary took her daughter’s arm in her hand and examined the bruises on Faith’s wrist. “Who did this,” she demanded.
“Mr. Cook,” Faith whispered. Finding she could no longer hold back her tears she turned away from her mother and wept silently. “I asked Sheriff Walden to show him the door. Father won’t be pleased. I am sorry.” The hopelessness in Faith’s voice wounded her mother’s heart. “I tried, Mother. I really did. I know how much it means to Father that I marry well.”
“Philip will understand,” Mary said quietly. Comforted by the fact Faith leaned her head against her. “He doesn’t know the real man behind Mr. Cook’s congenial face. Philip only sees the good in people. That is alright when you are a Minister facing the daily problems of a diverse congregation. Not so useful in trying to raise five lively daughters.” Mary’s smile was sad.
“Mr. Cook says we are engaged.” With this statement Faith began to tremble again. Mary placed one arm over her daughter’s shoulders and kissed Faith on one cheek. “Philip will straighten out any miss understandings,” she whispered. “I dare say if your father sees these bruises he will take his buggy whip to Mr. Cook’s back. Philip can be formidable when he feels justified.”
“There mustn’t be a scene,” Faith whispered knowing how the ladies of Junction City liked to gossip. While in her mind Faith could see her calm, gentle father chasing Mr. Cook through the streets of town snapping his buggy whip across the man’s back. Taking comfort in these musings her fears vanished. Between Sheriff Walden and Father she need not fear Mr. Cook any longer.
“You let Philip worry about gossip,” Mary advised. “Your Father can handle Mr. Cook as well as any malicious rumors.”
“Yes Mother,” Faith replied feeling comforted by home and family.
“You stay here. I will send Laurie up. The child has had enough excitement for one day.” Faith knew her mother was thinking up an excuse for Faith’s absence and readily agreed to watch Laurie. “I will send Imogen up with a plate of food.”
Faith wondered why her mother always believed food was the cure for everything bad that happened in the world and was able to smile. After all, maybe her mother was right.
Chapter Sixteen
Royce dressed in a dark shirt and denim jeans. Strapped on his gunbelt and picked up his Henry rifle. The sun was inching down the western horizon when he let himself out the side door. Keeping to the shadows with his hat pulled low over his forehead Royce walked along boardwalks and crossed alleyways. The back streets of Junction City were just coming awake. Laughter could be heard erupting from saloons and cafes. Horses tied to hitching posts were lining both sides of the road. For Wednesday night the boardwalks were crowded. People in for Hogan’s funeral were out celebrating the fact they were still alive.
Leaning his shoulder against the last building on West Ninth Street Royce stood surveying his surroundings. Windows on the Baptist Church glowed bronze. The sky overhead was turning dark blue as shadows lengthened. Royce crossed the road and hurried into the darkness under bare limbed oaks and cottonwood trees. Red cedar trees looked black green when he moved between branches and smelled the trees’ tangy scent. A few moments later he was walking along side the weathered barn behind the Gaines family home.
Faith had left the tackroom door unlocked as she promised. In the dim interior Royce located Reverend Gaines’ saddle and bridle. He roped Get-a-long and led the gelding into the shadow cast by the barn. Quickly saddling the horse Royce led the animal out of the corral and mounted. Taking the trail through the trees Royce rode Get-a-long towards the schoolhouse. Not stopping until he was among the trees behind the Elementary School. Miss Ferguson’s house was in view. A light shone through the front window. Hunching down, Royce settled against a dark tree trunk for a long night’s vigil.
A short time later Miss Ferguson’s light went out. Milton Ferguson’s heavy treads were heard crossing the front porch. The man walked upright. His long stringy hair was loose on his shoulders. His dark hat pulled low over his eyes. “John,” he called before stepping off the porch.
“Here,” a voice called back. In the deep shadows behind the house Royce searched for the man but could not locate him.
Crossing the yard Milton Ferguson swung open the corral gate. The hinges squeaked. “Damn,” he growled before walking towards the small barn and went inside. He returned moments later with his saddle.
Back in the trees behind the house the red glow of a cigarette caught Royce’s attention. Having now located John, Royce concentrated on the spot hoping to identify the man.
“Ferguson,” a voice came out of the dark a few feet away from Royce. He resisted the impulse to turn towards the man. The slightest sound would alert them to his presence.
“Sam,” Ferguson replied leading his horse out of the corral and closing the gate. Sam Turner rode into the open space between trees and corral. He was mounted on a dark gray horse. Turner was another one of Ferguson’s cohorts and the man that supposedly killed Laurie’s father.
Turner slouched in the saddle.
“You have anything between your ears,” Ferguson growled. The wind was blowing away from him so Royce did not hear what else was included in the heated exchange that followed.
The man in the shadows rode a dark horse to the corral’s end post. “You two finished squabbling,” he asked. The words were soft spoken the man’s face hidden in shadows. John could be the man’s name or an alias. Royce studied him hoping to pick up something familiar that would giveaway his identity. Was he Barlow or another of the Outlaw’s subordinates. Perhaps he was Hardin.
“Let’s ride,” Ferguson said in clipped tones. The third man was in the lead as the group moved into the shadows cast by trees. The ground was soft under foot. The leaves under the trees were damp so they did not rustle beneath the horses’ hooves.
Royce made his way through the trees where he had tied Get-a-long to a young sapling. Trailing men after dark was never an easy task. Tonight the three men Royce followed were known killers. One misstep could cost him his life.
South of Junction City the men rode onto the southbound road. Before moving out of the shadows Royce stopped and patiently listened. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction carrying any sound he made towards the men ahead of him. Riding across the road Royce cut into the trees before heeling Get-a-long in the ribs.
Royce missed Black Jack, his trusted horse. Get-a-long was an unknown quantity likely to give him away when he least expected it. The outlaws rode at a leisurely pace. Not in any hurry to get wherever they were going.
Get-a-long stepped on a fallen tree branch. The snap was loud. Royce reined the horse to a halt and set quietly waiting and listening. Ferguson and his men did not look in his direction. Animal sounds abounded in the night. It was a time of foraging. A fox stopped at the edge of the road and stood up on his hind legs. His nose was in the air sniffing. Moonlight was shining off his glossy coat. An owl hooted from a concealed location among the trees.
Royce heeled Get-a-long and the horse responded moving silently through the night. He came to the road ahead of Ferguson and sat in the saddle as the three men rode pass. In the moonlight he saw John Layfield riding in the led. Until that moment Royce had hoped the third man was not Layfield. An older man would have better fit Barlow’s description. He had already ruled Layfield was not Barlow. The man was barely out of his teens. What about Layfield’s father. Royce had not thought about this possibility. It could account for John’s earlier gruff attitude.
Royce rode ahead of the outlaws. He was surprised at Get-a-long’s deftness at moving silently through the trees and underbrush. Layers of leaves covering the ground deafened the sound of the horse’s hooves. The rising moon lit their way. The dark bowl overhead was speckled with thousands of tiny lights. Royce breathed deeply of the autumn crisp air. Leaning over Get-a-long’s neck he kept his eyes on the men he was trailing until they disappeared behind him.
At the bend in the road Royce hid in the shadows and listened to the night sounds around him. He should be no more than minutes ahead of Ferguson. Another minute ticked by then another leaving Royce to wonder if he had mistaken Ferguson’s intentions. Royce stepped out of the saddle and leading Get-a-long headed back the way he had come. Four riders sat on their horses in the middle of the moonlit road. Royce knelt, placing one knee against the damp ground his hand holding onto Get-a-long’s bridle. He waited.