“That’s true,” Matt replied, stroking his chin as if considering the suggestion, fully aware that Zeb was merely japing the lieutenant. “That would be the smart thing to do.”
Lying pinned to the ground with one man sitting on his legs, the other on his shoulders, and his own revolver pressed against the back of his head, O’Connor was terrified. He was certain they meant to kill him. At first, he attempted to threaten certain retribution by the army. “If you kill me,” he stuttered between quivering lips, “the army will hunt you down. You’re both good as dead.”
“The army might thank us for doin’ them a favor if we kill you,” Zeb replied. “Hell, we might even get a medal. Whaddaya say, Slaughter, you wanna cut his throat, or you want me to do it?”
Knowing time was running out before the guard would be discovered in his hospital bed, Matt quit the game. “The sentry’s headin’ up toward the far end. You’d best get that rope. I’ll take care of the lieutenant here.”
Without another word, Zeb got up and disappeared in the shadows of the oaks. Feeling the weight removed from his legs, O’Connor started to struggle. “You just hold still,” Matt warned. Fearful moments before to the point of soiling himself, the lieutenant now realized that they did not intend to kill him. Feeling less frightened, and more authoritative, he demanded, “Get off of me!” When there was no response from Matt, he tried to yell out. “Help!” was as much as he got out before Matt brought the pistol barrel down hard upon his skull.
In a matter of minutes, Zeb returned with a coil of rope. They used it all, trussing O’Connor up like a mummy. With the end of the coil, they looped a turn around his belly, threw the free end over a limb, and hoisted him up off the ground. Satisfied with the job, Zeb gave the suspended body a little push, and they left him swinging gently under the oaks.
The lieutenant taken care of, Matt focused his concern upon Molly, who had stood patiently by, watching the activity. What to do about her was the next question. She had saved their lives, but in doing so she was now involved in his escape. He should have realized that the decision was not his, and in fact had already been made. She turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the trees to return moments later, leading her horse with all her things secured in a saddle pack. Matt didn’t know what to say. She had made up her mind to go with him before the incident with O’Connor.
Zeb said it for him. “Well, Molly, darlin’, we’re mighty pleased you could join us. Ain’t we, Matt?”
Matt stood there, struck speechless as he gazed at the slender young girl, her eyes searching his for an answer. Then she slowly brought her hand up before her. Placing it over her heart, she then pointed to him.
“I reckon,” he said softly.
Zeb did not miss the subtle exchange between the two young people. He nodded his head in approval, a pleased smile spreading across his rough features. “Yes, ma’am,” he allowed. “It’s a good thing to have a woman along, especially if she don’t tend to chatter a lot.”
* * *
With a few hours of darkness remaining, the three rode away from Fort Laramie, leaving a confused sergeant of the guard searching for an escaped patient as well as a missing officer of the day. Matt, Molly and Zeb were all fugitives now, and didn’t give a damn. They turned their horses north and west, toward the Wind River Mountains and beyond. A smile of contentment firmly in place, Molly knew she was finally where she was meant to be. She could not tell in the darkness, but somehow she knew that Matt was smiling, too.
There were many things that were not yet settled. Matt thought about Ike. There was still a void in his life that would always be there. He had thought a lot of the huge man. Iron Claw was still out there somewhere west of the Powder, but Matt decided to let fate dictate the next meeting between the two. It would come. He had a strong feeling about that. Foremost in his mind at the present was to find a safe place for Molly. After that, there would be time for Iron Claw and the promise he had made over Ike’s grave. There was bound to be a war, since Red Cloud and the other Sioux chiefs had pulled out of the peace talks. The Powder River country was going to be bloody. He thought about Cooter Martin and wondered where a war between the Sioux and the U.S. Army would leave the old man.
Then he glanced up ahead at Zeb. The rough-hewn old scout was most probably close to the same age Ike had been. It was hard to tell. Matt still marveled that Zeb would sacrifice his job as an army scout and cast his lot with an outlaw, all because he missed the high mountains and yearned to see them again. There was more to it than that, Matt figured. Zeb was already acting the part of an uncle. Uncle Zeb, Matt thought, grinning at the notion.
Riding up ahead of the two young people, Zeb had a grin on his face, too. It was brought on by the image he had in his mind of the arrogant Lieutenant O’Connor swinging from the limb of an oak tree like an ornament on a Christmas tree.
The Hostile Trail Page 23