“No, thank you. But we’ll all be leaving Scottsburg tomorrow by the steamer, if anyone should ask.”
“Ah, then I should forward any incoming mail for Mr. Stone to his home in Eugene?”
“That’s correct.”
Dan drew on his gloves and went out into the dusk. A flicker of movement at the corner of the building drew his eye. Had someone just ducked back into the shadows? The back of his neck prickled. He’d never been fanciful, and he didn’t for an instant think he’d imagined it.
He turned and strode quickly toward the general store, where several lanterns burned brightly inside. If Peterson or his hirelings lurked about, Dan wouldn’t give them a chance to work mischief tonight.
CHAPTER 26
Anne had a nap after Dan returned from the post office. He came and knocked on her door as promised when their supper was delivered from the kitchen. She freshened up quickly and was only half surprised to find Dan coming up the stairs when she opened the door to the hallway.
“Your uncle sent me down to settle the bill for all of us,” he said.
“Oh.” She tried to read his face. “That was kind of him.”
“Extremely. He had me tell Mr. Reed we’ll all leave in time to make the steamer in the morning.”
Dan seemed uncomfortable with that statement. He’d probably worked hard to word it so that he wasn’t lying about their departure time. She started to close her door.
“Want to bring your last bundles over to Mr. Stone’s room?”
“All right.” She went back in and placed her hairbrush and gloves in her bag and looked around to be sure she hadn’t left anything. Dan leaned against the doorjamb, waiting. He smiled when she turned toward him.
“All set?”
“Yes.” They went out, and she locked the door. “What should I do with the key?”
He held out his palm. “I’ll slide it under the door on our way out. But not until then, in case you want to go back in for something.”
“Daniel, you’ve been so good to me and Uncle David. I’m sorry for the discomfort we’ve caused you.”
“Think nothing of it. If I can just deliver you safely to Eb Bentley’s house, I’ll be satisfied.”
His tone brought a wave of regret, and she touched his sleeve. “Satisfied, but not happy?”
He started to speak but shook his head slightly. “Come. Let’s eat, and I’ll take the last of the bags down. Mudge will be coming before long for instructions. I’ll show him exactly where our stuff is in the stable, and we’ll pack all of your uncle’s gear and our extra baggage on the pack saddle.”
“I’m so glad you were able to find a mule for his things,” Anne said as they walked down the hall toward David’s room.
Dan grimaced. “I traded his sluice box and other mining gear toward the price of the pack mule. I just hope I didn’t attract too much attention doing it.”
“Peterson, you mean?”
“Yes. Something tells me that man doesn’t miss much. If he sees we’ve bought an extra mule, he’ll figure out that we’re not sailing from here on that little steamer.”
“I hope not. And we’ll be much more comfortable without having all our bundles hanging about us on the horses.”
They reached Uncle David’s room, and Dan looked back toward the stairway then knocked on the door. A moment later it opened.
“Everything’s ready,” David said. “Past ready—getting cold.”
“I’m sorry,” Anne said. “I should have moved a little faster.”
“Forgive me.” David bowed his head in contrition. “I’m afraid I left some of my manners at Stoneford.”
They sat down to eat. Ernie had sent his best, in Anne’s opinion. The cook had shown himself a true friend to her uncle. The roast beef, baked potatoes, corn, and squash went down well. She’d asked for tea, and it was there in a silver teapot. Dan drank it with them, though she knew he preferred coffee.
He smiled when she handed it to him, already laced with milk and a little sugar. For a moment she wished they were in England, in the parlor at Stoneford—but the image of Dan calling there at tea time didn’t fit. How many times last summer had she put a tin cup of coffee in his hand at the end of a long day on the trail? That was Dan, not high tea and evening dress for dinner.
Or was it? She’d seen Uncle David in both worlds now, and he seemed as much at home here, in the raw West, as he had been in England. Perhaps Dan could straddle both comfortably, too. Did she want that? The idea startled her. She’d spent many hours mulling the possibility of staying in America. Always she knew she didn’t fit in his farming future. But Dan in England? He might blend in very well. But he’d probably disdain the wealthy people she’d always associated with and befriend the tradesmen and village folk. Her old friends wouldn’t abide it and would cut her cold. What was the use of thinking about it?
They talked quietly through the evening, and it seemed to Anne that the two men had their stagecoach line planned, almost down to the last horseshoe nail. She tried not to take it too seriously, yet her fears strengthened as she listened. David might actually do it—and never leave Oregon.
Mudge came on time, and he and Dan went to the stable for half an hour. Shortly after Dan returned, Ernie came to get the tray.
“I thought you’d have gone home by now,” David said.
“I should’ve. We had a lot of folks in for dinner tonight, but I wanted to say good-bye, sir. It’s been a pleasure serving you and your friends.” Ernie nodded at Anne and Dan.
“You’ve been very helpful,” Anne said, “and tonight’s dinner was wonderful.”
Dan murmured his thanks, and David stood and shook the cook’s hand.
Ernie picked up the laden tray and rested one edge on his shoulder. David walked with him to the door.
Ernie paused and looked back at Dan. “Mudge says he’ll do everything just the way you said, sir.”
Dan nodded. “Thanks. We appreciate it.”
David let Ernie out and secured the door then checked his pocket watch. “Well, another hour.”
“Yes.” Dan fell silent. Everything had been said. If they could only get away clean…but speaking of it would make Anne anxious, so he said nothing.
“About that stagecoach line,” David said, ambling to his chair.
“Yes, sir.” Dan sat a little straighter.
Anne caught her breath. Here it was again. Her uncle was obsessed with the idea.
“Whether I go to England or not, I think it would be a good investment. Now, I figure I’ve got to stay here over the winter anyway. Don’t want to sail this time of year, and the overland route is impassable now.”
“Well, yes,” Anne conceded. “I thought I’d stay with Elise, or—” She looked hesitantly at David.
“You can stay at the farm in Eugene with me, if you like. Or I could winter in Corvallis. Let’s see what the wind brings when we get up there, shall we?”
“Of course,” she said.
He turned back to Daniel. “But we could get a lot of things in place this winter. I want to talk to someone in Oregon City about this. I’m pretty sure the mail coach only goes as far as Corvallis right now, but if we had a plan ready for taking it the length of Oregon, why, I think we’d have a good chance of getting a contract.”
They talked on for the next hour. Dan had an idea how much livestock would cost, and David, having run several stores, could figure fairly close on harness, grain, building supplies, and other commodities that a stage line would need.
“It’s certainly doable,” David said. “And I think I can sell my mining claim. That would give us some working capital.”
Anne noted he’d said “us,” linking himself to Daniel. Uncle David seemed serious about the venture, but what role would Dan play? Would he be a hired station agent, or would her uncle make him a partner? Dan wouldn’t have nearly as much money to invest. But he looked utterly content, discussing the business as if it were a fact.
He ga
zed over at Anne, and her heart fluttered. Ever since that night in the hills, when he’d lectured and bullied her, she’d sensed a change in her feelings toward Dan. They hadn’t talked about it, but he’d saved her life—no question about it. And he’d called her “dearest Anne” in the tenderest, most endearing way. She would never forget it.
Yet since then, they’d ignored what had passed between them. They’d rarely been alone, it was true—first with Whitey’s presence and then Uncle David’s, but still…She could not deny that she was closer to loving Dan than ever before. His friendship went deeper now. He’d seen her at her worst.
Did he still dream of marrying her? Why would he, when she’d told him no so many times? She wondered what she would say if he gathered his courage and asked her again. But maybe he was past wanting her now. Had she annihilated his love up there in the hills?
He’d kept his politeness since then, and he’d always been quiet. On the wagon train, she’d caught him staring at her several times with a moon-calfed, lovesick gaze. She hadn’t seen that in a long time. Did that mean he was over his infatuation with her? Or had it solidified into something else? Part of her hoped it had, and part of her was repelled by the thought. It would only be harder to return to England if his love was the deep, true, forever kind. Last summer, she’d taken his admiration for a boyish crush and thought he’d be over it by winter. But if he knew the real thing, did she really want it to pass?
He smiled and looked away—back to her uncle. Anne took a shaky breath.
“It must be time for Anne and me to go out,” he said.
David extracted his pocket watch and opened it. “Ten o’clock. Go then. I’ll see you in ten minutes at the junction.”
They all stood. Anne stepped toward David, suddenly loathe to part from him.
“Uncle David—”
“It’s going to be fine,” he said. “And I’ll be careful.”
She smiled. Even though they’d been apart so long, he knew her thoughts.
“You’re very like your grandmother,” he said.
Anne barely remembered her grandmother, the countess before her mother. “I like that,” she said. “Please tell me more about her next time we’re at leisure.”
“I shall.” He stooped and kissed her cheek.
Anne went to the table near the door and retrieved the bonnet that matched her riding habit. She put it on while Dan and David shook hands and Dan put his coat on. He came over and held her cape for her.
“Good-bye, Uncle David,” she said.
“Godspeed.”
David waited until they had gone down the back stairs. They would sneak out and make their way to the stable, trying to avoid being seen by any other patrons or the hotel staff. Three minutes found the limit of his patience. He put on his wool jacket. Anne had mended the tear where the bullet had pierced it, and he could barely tell where the rift had been. Bless her heart, he hoped she didn’t get killed for coming to find him.
He clapped his hat on, turned out the lamp, and grabbed the last bag—his small crocodile leather kit of personal items. He still wondered what had become of his Bible and his onyx cuff links. Probably the chambermaid had taken a fancy to the cuff links, but a Bible seemed an odd choice for a thief.
In the hall, he locked the door and slid his key beneath it. The Miner’s Hotel had been mostly good to him. If he ever came to Scottsburg again, he’d probably stay here. He flitted quickly down the carpeted corridor to the back stairway door. As he opened it, a door farther down the hall opened. No time for indecision. He ducked into the stairway and pulled the door closed behind him, taking care to do so quietly.
The stairway was pitch-dark. He ought to have brought a lantern or a candle. Had Anne and Adams gone down here without a light? He found the railing and clung to it. His heart pounded as he felt his way, step by step, down the narrow staircase. It curved near the bottom and apparently had a few triangular treads. He nearly plunged downward before he realized it, but he caught himself on the railing and managed to reposition his feet in time.
After the turn, he could see a sliver of light shining through the crack at the bottom of a door. Why hadn’t Ernie or Adams or someone warned him about this treacherous avenue of escape?
At last he felt the door panels and fumbled for a knob. Instead he found a thumb latch. It lifted, and light bathed him. He squinted and took a moment to orient himself. It was a pale light really, coming from the next room—the dining room, he supposed. He was in a large kitchen and could make out the bulk of a cookstove, tables, and cupboards.
He edged toward what he assumed was the back wall and slammed into the corner of a table. He sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth. Why on earth hadn’t he come down when Anne and Adams did, or asked Ernie to show him the way out?
At last he found the back door. Adams had left it unlocked. A fine mist was falling outside. Next summer it would be bone-dry and hotter than a griddle, but for the next few months, this chilly rain would stay with them. He shivered and turned up his collar.
He was tempted to walk around the hotel and look toward the stable to see if they were in there. But he’d promised to go straight to the rendezvous, so he ambled out to the edge of the street and stood for a moment, looking all about. Far down the road, near the smithy, a couple of people were walking, but they were headed the other way. David turned to his right and kept to the shadows of the buildings as he worked his way to the meeting place.
A narrow alley ran between a boardinghouse and a feed store. He slid into it and leaned against the wall of the feed store. He could see the junction, and there didn’t seem to be a better spot to wait where he couldn’t be seen from a distance. He folded his arms and slumped against the log wall. He could hear the river in the distance, soft but insistent. An occasional voice called out indistinguishable words, and a couple of dogs traded noncommittal barks. An owl flew overhead, so low he heard its wings flap, and he shivered. This was the sort of place where that thug would gladly kill him. Was he a straight-out idiot to come out here alone?
He looked up at the sky. Still cloudy, and black as the inside of a hat.
“Lord,” he said softly, “I sincerely hope we know what we’re doing. Seems to me we maybe ought to have prayed about this plan before we settled on it. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Anne waited while Daniel opened the door to the stable. It creaked so loudly she was sure everyone in the hotel could hear it.
“Let me light a lantern,” Dan whispered. “They have one hanging just inside the door here.”
He stepped inside, and Anne paused, holding the door open to give him a little light, though that was meager. The moon was either hidden by clouds or not yet risen. She hadn’t kept track of it since they’d gotten to Scottsburg. Dan probably had—didn’t farmers always know the phase of the moon and when it would rise, the way sailors and fishermen knew the tides?
He rummaged about, and soft pats and rustles came to her. A horse nickered. At last Dan scratched a lucifer, and the flame spurted. He lit the lantern and adjusted it. Anne squinted and looked away from the glare. After a few seconds she could see the inside of the barn, and she moved inside and shut the door behind her.
“You get Bailey and Captain,” Dan said. “I’ll get Star and the mule.”
Anne could see all four animals, tied in straight stalls on the right. Their hindquarters and flowing tails showed, all in a row. The last one’s tail didn’t flow, however. It was scruffy and short. The mule, no doubt.
She walked into the stall with Bailey first. The chestnut gelding greeted her with a soft neigh. Her sidesaddle was in place. She patted his neck and shoulder.
“Hello, boy,” she murmured, raising the saddle skirt so she could check the girth. She tightened it then fumbled for the fastener on the short chain that held him. “Are you ready for a midnight ride?” She got the snap off his halter and let the chain fall. Putting one hand on Bailey’s nose, she backed him slowly from the stall.
“Is there a place to hitch him?”
Dan, in the next stall with his bright pinto, looked around and pointed. “There’s a ring in that beam.”
On the other side of the center aisle, iron rings were mounted in the thick, square, upright posts that supported the roof. Anne led Bailey to the nearest one. She had no lead rope on him. Mudge had put his bridle on over the halter so that he could leave the horse bridled but hitched up in the stall. She looped Bailey’s reins through the ring and went across the aisle to get Captain.
As she entered the stall, the horse shifted and snorted.
“Easy,” Anne said. Dan was taking Star out of the stall next to Captain’s. “What’s the matter, boy?” The bay gelding moved over as far as he could away from her.
Something else moved, near the horse’s head, and Anne jumped back with a gasp. She was not alone in the stall with Captain.
“What—?”
A firm hand closed about her wrist and jerked her forward, toward Captain’s head. The horse squealed and strained against his chain, trying to get away from them.
“Daniel,” she screamed.
A man hauled her close to him and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Hush,” he hissed in her ear. Her heart hammered. The man pulled her closer, an unyielding arm about her waist, until her body pressed against his. Horrified, she struggled. The hand that had silenced her released her, but he reclaimed her wrist and twisted it.
“Let me go,” she gasped.
Another voice stilled her struggles.
“Put your hands up, Mr. Adams.” She jerked her head around. Dan had dropped Star’s reins and was halfway between his pinto and her position. He stood stock-still now, staring at her with a tortured expression on his face as he slowly raised his hands above his shoulders.
Two paces behind him stood a young man with a revolver pointed at Dan’s back.
Anne’s heart plummeted. “Mudge.”
“Quickly,” the man behind Anne called. “Tie him up, and make it tight.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 61