by Bobbi Smith
"I say we hang the bastard right now! Who cares about a trial? We know he did it! Look at the way Hale's throat was cut!"
"Let's go get the breed and be done with it!"
"That's what that colonel said before he headed back to the fort! He said we should hang him and save the court the trouble!" another man added.
"I don't give a damn what anybody said," Sheriff Warren announced as he came through the swinging doors, his rifle resting in his arms. "There ain't going to be any trouble here tonight."
"That's what I was telling them, sheriff," Deputy Sullivan said nervously. He'd been listening to the level of anger growing and knew he needed help. One man alone against all these men wouldn't be able to hold them back. When Charles Brennan had volunteered to send somebody to the sheriff for help, he'd let him.
"Why don't you boys just all go home and sleep it off? If the breed is guilty, he'll be convicted and then we'll see about a hanging."
"But Hale's dead! He ain't getting no justice! He's six feet under already! Ain't nobody thinking about poor Hale."
"If an innocent man is wrongly hanged, then there would be two dead men to mourn. We wait for the trail," Sheriff Warren dictated. "Now, if I hear any more talk about this, I'll close the place down and send you on home. Understand?"
A grumble of discontent went through the drunken crowd, but they did not threaten the lawman in any way. He stayed around a little while longer to make sure everything was quieting down, then he headed back to the jail.
Brand and Sheri reached the outskirts of town without incident and then urged their mounts to a gallop. They rode like the wind into the night. The farther away from town they got, the better. Brand was glad for the cover of darkness. They would need all the help they could get escaping the posse he was sure would follow. He knew where he was going.
They needed a place to hide out until he could find the real murderer, and the small cave was just the place.
The jail looked peaceful and undisturbed, and that was just the way Sheriff Warren wanted it. He didn't bother to check on Brand right away. He put the rifle aside, but within arm's reach, and then locked the office door from the inside. He was just about to settle in at the desk, when he thought he'd better take a quick look at his prisoner.
The explosion of profanity that followed reflected his fury as he found himself staring at the empty cell, its door standing wide open. He shook his head in disbelief, trying to figure out how Brand had escaped. He checked the back door and found it unlocked. It made no sense. If someone had come in the back door, they would have had to break it down, but the locks were intact. Then he remembered the extra set of keys. He ran back to the front office to check on them, and, to his surprise, they were right where he always left them on his desk.
Warren tried to remember all the people who'd been in the office that day who could have taken them and then left them after the jailbreak. He grew even more frustrated, for there were any number who could have done it. The more he tried to narrow it down, the more he focused on the St. John woman. She had been the one most concerned about Brand. She had been the one pressuring him to release Brand with that story she'd made up to get him out of jail.
Storming from the jail, Warren headed out to find Deputy Sullivan. He would search the town from one end to the other, and then, at first light, if they hadn't found Brand yet, he would get a posse together and track him down.
Night had just fallen, and O'Toole was working with his horse when he heard someone call his name. He looked up to see the lieutenant coming toward him.
"Yes, sir?"
"I need to talk to you for a minute. I have some news. . . ."
At his uneasy expression, O'Toole frowned. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm afraid so. The colonel has just returned from town. It seems a man named Marcus Hale was murdered in Phoenix last night." He paused, then added solemnly, "Colonel Hancock just informed me that Brand has been arrested for the crime."
"Brand?" O'Toole was shocked. "I didn't even know he'd gone into town, but why the hell would he kill anybody?"
"The colonel and I broke up a fight between them earlier last night. Brand threatened to kill Hale. Everyone who was in the saloon heard him."
"But why? It's not like him to lose control like that."
"This Hale had made some remark about Brand making whores out of white women, and that set him off. They didn't find Hale's body until after I'd already left town this morning. That's why I just found out."
"What can we do to help Brand? We gotta get him out of there."
"Colonel Hancock visited him in jail, but he says there's not much we can do, what with the witnesses to his threat and all."
"I can tell you right now, Brand didn't kill the man," O'Toole stated firmly.
"Then who did?"
"I don't know, but I've got to find out. I can't just leave him there to hang. You know what kind of justice he'll get, being a half-breed and all."
"I'll talk to the colonel first thing in the morning and see if I can get us permission to go into Phoenix and check on him."
"Good. Let me know right away. I can be ready to ride in a few minutes."
The two men parted, each concerned in his own way about the fate of their scout.
Sheriff Warren and Deputy Sullivan were frustrated. Their search of the town had turned up nothing. There was no sign of Brand anywhere. He was gone and so was his horse. The sheriff had questioned the hand at the stable about who'd come for the mount, but he'd sworn that he hadn't seen or heard anything unusual that evening.
"I've got a strange feeling that I know who's involved in this. Come with me. We're going to pay a call on one Sheridan St. John."
They got Maureen and Sheri's room numbers from the hotel desk and went upstairs to knock on their doors. No one answered, and Warren was angry. He returned to the desk.
"Where are Miss St. John and Miss Cleaver?"
"I don't know, sir. I haven't seen them for some time."
He was about to leave when he saw Maureen netering the hotel on Charles's arm.
"Miss Cleaver, I want to talk to you."
Maureen looked shocked at his fierce attitude. "Of course, sheriff. What is it? Is something wrong? Has something happened to Sheri?"
"That's what I was just about to ask you. Where is your cousin, Miss Cleaver?"
"Why, she decided to retire early rather than go out to dinner with Charles and me. I last saw her about an hour or two ago. Did you try her room?"
"Yes, we did, and no one answered."
Maureen looked worried. "I'd better check on her. It's not like Sheri not to answer the door if someone calls."
"There's more to my wanting her than just to check on her, ma'am."
"Why? What is it, sheriff?"
"There's been a jailbreak, Miss Cleaver. Brand's been broken out of jail and I have an uneasy feeling that your cousin might have had a part in it."
Maureen managed an outraged look. "How can you even think such a thing? I'm sure she's up in her room, sleeping soundly. You'll see."
With righteous indignation, Maureen marched ahead of him up the steps to Sheri's door. She knocked several times herself; then, when the manager came up with another key, he unlocked it for her.
"There must be something gravely wrong with her, not to answer me," she told them worriedly as the manager swung the door open.
They stepped forward to find the room deserted, and some of Sheri's clothes thrown haphazardly about.
"Dear God . . . Something's happened to her."
"Just as I suspected!" Sheriff Warren thundered. "She's gone! She must have been in on it."
"In on what? Freeing Brand?" Maureen and Charles looked at him in outraged innocence.
"Yes," he told them coldly. "Be warned, your cousin is now accused of helping a murderer escape justice. We won't go easy on her when we find herand we will find her."
Maureen saw the fury in his gaze and moved closer to Charles. He
put a supportive arm around her.
"I'll be sure to cover this for the newspaper," he told him.
"You do that, Brennan. An accused murderer has been broken out of my jail and is on the run. There'll be a bounty on him in the morning." With that, he stalked out of the room.
Maureen was trembling as she realized just how much trouble Sheri was in.
"She's going to be all right, isn't she?" she asked, turning her desperate gaze to Charles.
"Yes, she'll be all right, but we're going to have to do our part."
"What can we do? You've already interviewed everybody who was there that night."
"Everybody but the lieutenant. I think I want to go back out to the fort and have a talk with Long. Do you want to come with me?"
"Absolutely. I have to help Sheri in any way I can. This is serious. She's in trouble and so is Brand."
"We'll go back tomorrow. Maybe the lieutenant saw something that nobody else did. You never know. The least that will happen is we can set up contact with Sergeant O'Toole and let him know what's going on."
"I'll be ready whenever you are."
Charles started to leave. Then, unable to help himself, he turned back to Maureen and took her in his arms and held her close. "We'll figure this out. I know we will."
"Thank you."
She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with her feelings for him. Charles could not resist the invitation in her eyes. He bent to her and kissed her. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night," she breathed as she watched him go.
She went to her own room, after locking Sheri's door behind her. She hurried to the window and watched Charles as he left the hotel and headed off down the street. She stayed there watching until he had moved out of sight. Only then did she undress and retire for the night, but sleep did not come easily. Thoughts of Sheri on the run with Brand stayed with her, and she hoped they would find the real killer soon.
"Sullivan, I know it's late, but I want you to ride out to the fort and tell Colonel Hancock what's happened here. Tell him to keep an eye out for Brand and the woman. I'll form up a posse first thing in the morning, and we'll be heading out then."
"Shall I meet you on the trail and ride with you?"
"No. You come back here and keep an eye on things in town for me. I have no idea how long this will take, but I am not letting that breed get away with murder."
"Yes, sir. I'll leave for McDowell right now."
Chapter Seventeen
Brand, the Half-Breed Scout, or Trail of the Renegade
The Pursuit
Terror filled their hearts as they raced across the desert. Behind them, they could hear the sounds of the battle raging, and they worried that Brand would be killed. He had saved them, and now he was sacrificing himself for them. . . .
The troopers, with Captain Stewart in the lead, were returning from a short scout when they saw the single horse charging toward them. They recognized it as Brand's and rode out to intercept it. When they realized there were two women riding the horse, they urged their mounts to a gallop. One of the men grabbed the reins and slowed the exhausted animal to a halt.
''Mercy! Thank God, it's you." Captain Stewart dismounted and rushed to his wife's side, taking her down from the horse's back and clasping her to him.
"Oh, Clark! I can't believe you've found us!" Mercy cried, collapsing in her husband's strong arms.
"You have to help Brand!" Rachel managed. Pain was searing through her from her wound, but her only thoughts were of Brand, the brave scout who had rescued them from certain death.
"Where is he?"
"Near the mountains . . . The renegades attacked us there, and he stayed to fight them on foot!" Rachel pointed out the way.
"Three of you men, see the women safely to the fort. The rest of you, ride with me!"
Clark kissed Mercy tenderly, then rode off to help Brand. The scout had risked his life to save Mercy. The captain could do no less for him.
Brand and Sheri rode through the night, stopping only to rest the horses. He knew that the best way to avoid the posse that would be coming after them was to head back to the mountains. Silence was essential, so neither spoke unless it was necessary. They kept up their steady, ground-eating pace, and when the sun lightened the eastern horizon, Sheri could see the craggy peaks looming in the distance.
"We made it," she said triumphantly, gazing up at them. She had never thought she would think these mountains beautiful, but they were to her this day.
"Not yet, we haven't," Brand told her, watching for some sign that they were being followed. "I don't know how close they are behind us. We might have half an hour on them or we might have six or seven. There's no way of knowing."
"Then we keep riding?"
"We keep riding."
They continued on, desperation driving them toward their only haven.
Colonel Hancock stared at the deputy, his expression one of disbelief and loathing. "You let the damned half-breed murderer escape?"
"No, sir. We didn't let anybody escape. Someone broke him out."
"Who?" Hancock thundered.
"We're not sure, colonel. It could have been anybody. Maybe even that womanyou know, the writer? She was in the office with the sheriff twice yesterday trying to get him released."
"You and the sheriff let some female from back East outsmart you?" Hancock sneered. "I can't believe your incompetence! You had a cold-blooded killer locked up, and now he's on the loose again! Is anyone safe in this territory?"
Deputy Sullivan had suffered many tongue-lashings in his time, but this man sounded crazy. "We'll catch him again, colonel. Sheriff Warren's riding out with a posse at sunup. They'll find him and bring him in."
"You hope. The man's half Apache, or have you forgotten that? He's a scout! You'd better hope your trackers are as good as he is, or you'll never see him again!"
"We'll find him."
"Let's just hope you do, deputy. Killers shouldn't be running free. He deserves to be hanged for what he's done!" He was ferocious in his tone. His face was red, and veins bulged in his neck.
Sullivan was glad to get out of there. He'd done what the sheriff had told him to do. He had delivered the message. But something about the colonel scared him. He had expected the man to be upset. They were upset! Brand had broken out of their jail. But he had never thought the colonel would be as furious as he was. That was strange.
"I expect full reports from you on the status of your search," the colonel yelled after him. "Notify me immediately when you have him back in custody."
"We will."
Hancock was glad to see the deputy go, and as soon as he had left his office, he got up and began to pace the room. He had planned everything so carefully. It would have worked, too, if it hadn't been for that damned interfering St. John woman. It made sense that they suspected her of helping Brand get away. She had followed Brand around worshipfully from the first, believing he could do no wrong. She had been nothing but trouble since she showed up. He regretted now that he had accommodated her in her request to research her novel. True, the orders had come from Washington and it had been exciting at the time to think of themselves portrayed in a novel, but that was before she had caused such an uproar around the fortfirst, with the raid and, now, this. . . .
He swore loudly at the thought that she might have been the one who'd helped Brand escape. He had finally had the filthy breed right where he'd wanted himready to hang. Now, everything had gone wrong, and it was all because of Sheridan St. John.
A sudden shaft of fear shot through him as he thought about his visit with Brand in jail. He realized that he might have revealed too much. A terrible feeling of unease overcame him, making his fury even greater. He would do whatever was necessary to see that Brand was caught and hanged. Brand deserved to die . . . for what he'd done to Becky. . . .
It was morning before Hancock finally ventured outside. He had remained locked in his office, desperately seeking a plan to deal
with Brand. As he made his way across the parade ground, the lieutenant approached him.
"Sir, I spoke with Sergeant O'Toole about Brand last night. He was concerned about him."
"He was concerned about a murderer?" Hancock sneered in wonder.
Philip ignored his comment. He'd long recognized that there was no love lost between the colonel and Brand. "We were wondering, sir, if you would give us permission to go into town, so we could talk to Brand and find out how he is?"
Hancock fixed him with a deadly glare. "There's no need for that. I spoke with him yesterday."
"Colonel, there's every need. He's one of our men. I want to make sure he's being properly treated."
"He is a half-breed!"
"Yes, sir, but Brand is the best scout we've got. I believe he's innocent. I want to help him."
"Lieutenant," Hancock sneered. His tone was cold. "This just shows how sadly lacking your judgment is."
"Sir?" Philip was shocked and almost took a step backward at the venom in the colonel's words.
"Your wonderful, innocent scout is a renegade! He broke out of jail last night."
Philip stared at him. "When did you hear that?"
"Deputy Sullivan rode out with the news in the middle of the night. I spoke with him at length, and he's already returned to town. The posse was leaving from Phoenix at sunup."
"Why would he run?" Philip was confused.
"Why, indeed, lieutenant." Hancock was scathing. "He's guilty. Why else?"
"But . . ."
The colonel interrupted him. "I've given the matter much thought, and I've decided that you, O'Toole, and several of the other scouts should find the posse and help track the breed down. It's the least we can do to help. After all, as you say, he is one of our men."
"Yes, sir."
"Tell the sheriff that the man is to be considered a murdering Apache renegade. I wouldn't blame any of them if they shot him on sight!"
"But he could be innocent!"
"Innocent men don't run," Hancock snarled. "I will be waiting to hear from you. Don't disappoint me, lieutenant. It's humiliating enough to learn that one of our men is a cold-blooded killer. I want you to find him and see that he pays in full for his crimes."