Jon helped Jake to the nearest chair, turning it back upright for the old man. “Did he hurt her?”
“She made for the brute, swinging a piece of wood at him. He caught her over the head with that damned rifle in his hands. Knocked her out, he did.” Jake started to shake uncontrollably, twitching frantically from side to side. Jon snatched a blanket off the floor and wrapped it around the man. Taking another log off the pile, Jon encouraged the embers to come back to life with the fresh addition. The orange and red tongues licked the dry wood, the flames rising to a decent level.
The shivering man lifted his hand towards the fire, flexing his fingers. “My daughter…” He lowered his head, giving a shaky sigh. “Samantha…”
“I’ll bring her back,” Jon whispered, poking the blaze into an even higher rage. “I’ll take care of Victor once and for all, and I will bring Samantha back to you.” He growled over the growing fire, “I will.”
Gil skidded into the workshop with the two deputies in tow, his little face red. Skittering to a stop by the fire, the boy bent over, hands on knees, barely able to stay standing.
Robert whistled as he stared at the beaten man’s face. William scowled.
“It was Victor Morton.” Jon tried to keep the accusing tone out of his voice. “I told you he was dangerous.”
William nodded. “That you did, but we’ve no time to argue over the details. Gil, get Doctor Weston.
I’m pretty sure he’s over at the Mayfair Hotel. He’s got a girlfriend who performs there. Tell him to get here now or I’m gonna be annoyed.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Very annoyed.”
Gil shot a nervous look at Jon before he ran out the open door, still huffing. William knelt by the chair holding Jake. The older man had stopped shaking and now just studied the fire with a blank expression.
“Was it that Morton fellow?” He looked at Jon, then back at Jake. “Was it, Jake? Are you sure?”
“Of course it was, you damned fool,” Jake growled. He pushed the deputy to the ground with a firm shove to the chest. “I’m not an idiot. I know what I’m talking about. Jon, get me some of that whiskey.”
Jon scrambled to his feet. The old man still had a lot of fight left in him. He trotted over to the workbench, retrieved the bottle of amber liquid and one shot glass and filled it to the brim before returning with both bottle and glass.
He glanced at the two deputies. William had gotten back to his feet and was now standing by his brother, both muttering to each other. Robert nodded while William shook his head. William waved a hand in the air while Robert’s arms stayed at his sides. True brothers, probably arguing over what to do and how to do it with the least effort on their parts.
Jake took the glass and emptied it in one swallow. Wiping his mouth, he held it out for a refill.
“You get out there and find my daughter, you bastards.” He began to cough, leaning forward out of the chair to pound his chest with a fist. Jon snatched the glass before it hit the floor and filled it back up.
The fit lasted a minute until Jake recovered. Reaching for the glass, he grabbed the whiskey from Jon’s grasp. “What are you all waiting here for, staring at me? I’m fine.”
The two brothers finally separated. Robert pushed his hat back from his forehead. “Dally’s out at Deer Ridge, waiting for the military to get there. I heard they sent out a unit, should have gotten to the outpost by now.” He glanced at his brother. “I’ll send a runner, but he’s not going to reach them all ’til morning, easy.”
“Can you get the military involved?” Jon glanced from one man to the other. “Can we use the airships?”
The two brothers stared at each other, then at Jon. William spoke first. “You don’t seem to understand how things work out here, Mr. Handleston. We can’t just call the military and have them come running for a missing woman.”
“A kidnapping,” Jon corrected him, his voice rising. “A woman kidnapped by a madman who assaulted her father and is threatening to kill her.”
Jake spat into the glowing fire. “Idiots.” He stared at Jon. “They won’t go out into the dark. Scared like little children to go out at night.” He scowled at the two deputies. “All they want to do is curl up in the dark with their women and play at being lawmen.”
“Sir.” Robert drew himself up to his full height, tucking his hands into his gun belt. “We are not afraid of the dark. What we are, sir, is aware of the dangers of traveling in the dark outside of the town.” He glared at Jon. “Once you get out of the range of the city lights, it’s pitch-black out there. We won’t have a hope of finding any sort of track until dawn, at the earliest. Running out there with a bunch of lanterns ain’t gonna do anything other than tell this Morton fellow exactly where we is and where he can’t be.”
“The local airships won’t fly at night, not low enough to see anything worth seeing. And before you ask, the long-distance ones do fly at night, but high up to stay safe,” William added, shooting an angry glare Jake’s way. “You know that.”
“That’s my daughter out there,” the engineer shot back. “If it were one of your women, you’d be on your way out the gates without looking back.”
Robert stood his ground. “That might be, but we’re not talking about anyone but your daughter.” He turned his attention to Jon. “Do you think that this Morton fellow will hurt her? Really…hurt her?”
“He’s already knocked her out. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I thought I knew the man, but…”
Jon shook his head. “I can’t say.”
“I can guess,” Jake groused, finishing the second glass of whiskey. “He’s going to keep asking her what the secret is and if she doesn’t tell him what he wants to know…” He closed his eyes. A single tear dribbled down the leathery face, falling to land on the back of his hand. “Oh, Samantha.”
Jon spun around, facing the two deputies. “We’ve got to do something.”
“And we will.” Robert put up his hand before Jon could continue. “At dawn. He can’t have gotten too far with her anyway before the sun set, so it’ll be easy to pick up his trail in the morning. We’ll get the men together, meet up with Dally out on the road as he returns, and we’ll find her.”
“I could find him now.” The small voice floated through the air, filled with a confidence that startled Jon with its maturity. “I could find ’er now.”
The four men turned to see Gil. He stood beside an older man, obviously the doctor. The young boy nodded, his head bobbing.
“I can find ’em,” he announced. “I know I can.”
Chapter Twenty
Sam opened her eyes slowly, blinking as the shadowy images came into focus. A rock, a few scraggly shrubs, a man standing nearby, his back to her. The dark sky was clear, stars sparkling overhead. He tossed a bundle of twigs on a fledgling campfire, encouraging the hungry sparks with fresh fuel. The dry wood coughed and then burst into flames, sending a rush of heat over her. The hard ground pressed into her cheek, jabbing the delicate skin with small, sharp rocks. She was definitely not in the workshop anymore.
Turning her head to one side, she vomited up the last of the teahouse’s delicacies. Her head ached and she could taste blood in her mouth, along with the faint, bitter aftertaste of moonshine.
She closed her eyes, trying to pull up her last coherent memories. Morton had stepped out of the darkness. He had come through the door when they weren’t looking. It must have been left unlocked when she returned from the teahouse, too happy and giddy to remember the most basic of rules, that you always lock the door behind you.
A burst of pain shot through her head, causing her to cry out. The man-shaped shadow detached itself from the other side of the fire and moved closer. She squinted hard, trying to wipe the fuzziness from her vision.
“Don’t panic, my dear, don’t panic.” A damp, cool cloth mopped her forehead and wiped her mouth, dabbing away the foul-smelling debris. “You’ll be fine in a few minutes. My apologies for the bump on the
head, but I had to make sure you would be quiet for the trip out here.”
Her eyes focused on Victor’s face, an odd look of concern on the older man’s features. His dark brown eyes locked with hers as she forced the dust out of her eyes with fresh tears.
Victor continued his monologue, oblivious to her tears. “I’m so sorry about this, but you have to understand, it’s not your fault. It’s not my fault either. It’s that dratted Handleston’s fault. All his fault.”
The strong hands around Sam’s waist shifted her upwards and backwards as she gritted her teeth against another wave of nausea. Something solid forced itself against her back, likely a boulder. Her hands were tied behind her, legs stretched out in front of her, all securely bound with some sort of thick material.
In the back of her mind she thanked her father for allowing her to wear pants whenever she worked.
The idea of being dragged into the wilderness wearing petticoats or whatever long skirt was in fashion would have made the situation almost intolerable, not to mention embarrassing and possibly dangerous.
She couldn’t run worth a damn in a skirt. But she definitely could move in pants, and she planned to at the first opportunity. After thumping Victor Morton in the head.
“I assume you like coffee. My apologies, I didn’t think of bringing any milk with us, so you’ll have to have it black.” Morton moved around to stand by the campfire, giving her a clear look at her abductor as he knelt down to pluck the coffee pot from a flat rock next to the flames.
The older man held little resemblance to the sharply dressed man who had appeared only hours earlier in the workshop. His jacket was torn and frayed in spots, brambles and straw sticking out at odd angles.
The well-oiled hair was ruffled and a mess, salt-and-pepper strands pointing straight up and out to all sides, reminding her of a jester’s cap. All in all, he looked like a man who had been in a fight.
And if she could just get free, she’d finish it right up.
Victor poured some coffee into a steel cup and blew on it as he walked back around the campfire.
“And before you get all upset about drinking some vile concoction, this is good coffee. My own personal blend. I always carry some with me.” He waved a hand behind them back into the shadows. “Always prepared.” The smile was weak, but there.
Sam squinted, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness as the tears cleared her vision. Behind the man she could just make out the silhouette of a wagon and a horse, the beast munching on some grass. The silly man hadn’t even unhitched the poor animal from the wagon, leaving the reins dragging in the dirt.
She flinched as Victor touched her cheek with one finger, drawing her attention back to the offered hot coffee. She glared at him before clamping her lips together as tightly as she could.
“Don’t be an ass, woman.” He shook his head before standing up. Victor pressed one hand against the small of his back, wincing as he leaned backwards. “You’ll want this before long. I can’t believe that foul taste in your mouth is something you want to keep.”
Unfortunately, the man had a point. She sighed. “Could I have some water instead? Please? I’d rather have something I don’t mind spitting out. Be a waste of good coffee, as you said.”
Morton took a deep swallow from the cup before answering her. “A reasonable argument. I hoped you’d come to your senses.” After putting the tin cup on the ground next to the fire, he walked into the darkness near the wagon.
Sam closed her eyes, trying to banish the buzzing in her ears. As she licked her lips she could taste fresh blood, probably from the head injury.
She heard the gurgling of water. A minute later he was next to her again, offering a canteen to her lips. Flinching inwardly, she allowed him to tip the moss-colored container upwards, the lukewarm water trickling into her mouth. She swallowed the first mouthful and then held the second, shaking her head.
Morton stepped back just as she spat it out, splashing into the dirt near his boots.
“Nice try.” He screwed the top back on the canteen and tossed it to one side. It bounced once, twice, sliding behind a pile of rocks. “But a little water isn’t going to get you out of this.” Victor pulled on his waistcoat. “All I want from you is the secret of that hand, and you’ll be free to go. That’s all.”
“There is no secret. I told you already.” She wrestled with the coarse rope holding her hands firmly behind her. “There is nothing at all odd about Jon’s hand brace.”
“Oh, now it’s Jon, is it?” The man sneered, putting his hands on his hips as he stood in front of her.
“You find Mr. Handleston interesting, yes?”
“He is nothing more than a good gambler,” Sam protested. “There is nothing about his hand that gives him an advantage over you or anyone else.”
“You’re lying.” Morton kicked a stone into the fire, sending sparks spiraling into the midnight sky.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of the plans for that toy, trying to bribe the designers to tell me what they did to it, trying to get inside information to find out what it does and no one can or will tell me. But now you’re going to tell me or else.”
“Or else what?” she responded, her voice steady and calm. “Mr. Morton, you haven’t quite thought this out. The military, not to mention the sheriff and my father, will be out at dawn to search for us. They know the terrain, you do not. They will find us and they will capture you and charge you with kidnapping, not to mention a variety of other crimes. And you will never play a hand of poker again, unless it is in a prison far, far away from here.” The long speech made her head dizzy, the aching on the side of her skull growing. “The best thing you could do right now is untie me and throw yourself on the mercy of the authorities.”
“The best thing I could do to you…” Victor moved closer, towering over her. “The best thing is to get you to tell me what I need to know before I have to resort to more…primitive interrogation techniques.” He grinned. “I won’t go into my past, but let’s just say that I know how to make people talk.” Picking up a stick, he sat on one of the larger rocks surrounding the campfire. “I’ll let you think on that for a minute or two. Just imagine what your father would feel like if he found his daughter…injured in some way.” He poked the fire, sending another series of sparks skyward. “I am a reasonable man, Miss Weatherly. Do not make me become unreasonable.”
Sam failed to suppress the shiver running down her spine. She stared at the night sky, calculating the odds for her survival. And if Jon Handleston was as good at beating them as he said.
“What do you mean, you can find her?” Jon knelt by the street urchin, putting his good left hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tell me, please.”
Gil nodded. “I can track ’em. I’ve got the gift.” He stared at the ground, the words a mixture of pride and loathing. “My dad was an Injun. We know how to do tracking.”
“Your father died when you were a baby.” Doctor Weston watched the boy. The elderly man was clean shaven, with only a few small tufts of grey hair poking out from under his bowler cap. He knelt as well. “You weren’t old enough to learn anything from him. You don’t even remember him, I wager.”
“Yes, that’s true. But people kept telling me I’m a damn Injun, so I went and learned some things.
Some from books and some from talking to other Injuns. And I know I can find Miss Sam in the dark. It ain’t any worse than sneaking ’round town at night.” He looked at Jon, chewing on his bottom lip. “She’s been good to me. I can’t sit around and do nothing until morning.”
Jon studied the eagerness and angst in the young face. He had seen enough lives thrown away on the battlefield for noble causes, youthful determination and optimism overriding common sense and survival.
But this was different, this was a young man who truly loved and cared for Samantha. As he himself did.
Robert shook his head. “You’re a damned fool, boy. Once you get outside of the town you’ll be as blind a
s a bat. I don’t care what sort of night vision you think you’ve got or Injun blood or what, you won’t be able to find her.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Gil replied. “But I’m gonna try with or without you fellows.”
“And I’m going with you.” Jon stood, turning to face the two lawmen and Jake. “Doctor, please make sure Mr. Weatherly here is fine.” He held up his right hand, seeing Jake about to protest. “Sir, your daughter will not stand for it if she returns and finds you unwell. And for you two, start your search at dawn, as you said you would.” Jon put his hand on Gil’s shoulder. “We’re going to go out now and try and find her.”
“Don’t be stupid.” William spat a long stream of tobacco juice into the spittoon. “You’ll get lost out there and then we’ll be trying to rescue you as well.”
“The only way you’re going to stop us is to arrest us.” Gil crossed his arms. “And if you ’rrest us, I’m gonna scream the entire night.” He drew a deep breath as if to begin his threat in earnest. Jon couldn’t help grinning at the shocked faces on the deputies. Obviously they had little experience in dealing with temper tantrums.
“Let them go, please,” Jake said to the deputies. The doctor knelt beside him, checking his pulse. “I’m fine, just a little shaky. You don’t expect to get knocked about in your own home.” Pulling away from the doctor, he turned around in the chair. “Go find my daughter and bring her home, Jon. Please.”
“Sir.” Jon touched his forehead with two fingers, bowing as he studiously ignored the deputies. “Let’s get going, Gil. We’ve already lost precious time.” Turning his back on the two lawmen, he strode towards the front door, Gil trotting alongside him. He snatched up the derringer from the floor, checking it before replacing it in his waistcoat pocket. Two shots against a madman’s rage. But it’d have to be enough to save Samantha.
Wild Cards and Iron Horses Page 17