Since then Wind River had done nothing but grow and prosper, even after the railhead moved on. Unlike some hell on wheels towns, it hadn't faded away, due in large part to the efforts of Simone McKay, Andrew McKay's widow, after her husband was murdered. When McKay's business partner was killed as well, Simone had found herself running things, at least until Durand's daughter Brenda showed up.
Then Simone, too, had lost her life under tragic circumstances, and with a few exceptions such as the hotel, the land development company, the newspaper, the blacksmith shop, and the café, Brenda now owned most of the town. That made her one of the richest women in the territory.
And it was one more reason she would never have anything to do with him, Lon Rogers reflected as he rode up a brushy draw on Diamond S range, searching for any of the rangy longhorns that might have wandered up here. With winter coming on, Kermit Sawyer's crew of Texas cowboys was scouring the hills for stock so the cattle could be gathered and moved to better pasture where they would be more likely to survive the coming months.
Lon was looking at the piles of rocks and thick clumps of brush, but he was seeing Brenda's face, as hauntingly lovely as ever. He had thought about her a lot since his latest encounter in town with her, several days earlier.
He had even found his mind wandering to her when he tried to read one of the books he had sent for. He really did have a love of reading, fostered by Mr. Sawyer's late wife Amelia while Lon was growing up on the Sawyer ranch in Texas, but it was hard to concentrate on the printed word or anything else when he kept thinking about the beautiful young woman.
That was probably why he didn't notice when the old bull burst out from behind some rocks and charged him and his horse, its long, dangerous horns held low and ready to rip upward into them. Lon didn't see the longhorn until somebody yelled, "Look out, kid!"
His head jerked up and fear shot through him as he saw the maddened critter barreling toward him.
A rifle cracked, the echoes of the report bouncing back from the surrounding hills. The bull stumbled, then its front legs gave way and folded up. One horn dipped, dug into the ground, and caused the bull to spill over in a spectacular fall that left it quivering and dying on the dirt only a few yards from where Lon had yanked his horse to a halt.
Hoofbeats pounded up behind him. Frenchy LeDoux, the Diamond S foreman, reined in sharply as he came alongside Lon. He still held his Winchester in one hand as he demanded angrily, "What the hell were you thinkin', Lon? You know you can't go around wool-gatherin' when you're dealin' with these loco varmints!"
Lon gulped. "Sorry, Frenchy," he said. "You're right, I wasn't paying close enough attention. You saved my life!"
"Maybe," Frenchy said as he thumbed a fresh cartridge through the rifle's loading gate to replace the round he'd fired. "Mainly, though, I was savin' myself the trouble of havin' to explain to the boss how you wound up with your guts ripped open by that old mossyhorn. He won't be happy about losing that steer for no good reason, but he'd have been more upset to lose you."
"Well, I'm sure obliged to you, no matter what the reason."
Frenchy snorted. He was a lean, dark-complected Cajun originally from Louisiana, although he had spent most of his life in Texas. He had started out as a puncher on Kermit Sawyer's ranch sprawled on the Brazos and had risen to the job of foreman, so when Sawyer had decided a couple of years earlier to relocate to Wyoming Territory, it was just natural that Frenchy had come along, too.
"Get the hide off that steer," he ordered Lon. "Might as well get some use out of it, now that it's dead."
Lon tried not to wince. Skinning the longhorn would be a hard, ugly, messy job, but he supposed he had it coming. The only good thing about the chore was that it would take place far from town, so there was no chance Brenda would see him covered in blood.
Just like that she was back in his head. He had it bad, no doubt about that. But there was nothing he could do about it. A man couldn't help what was in his heart.
Frenchy slid the Winchester back in the sheath strapped to his saddle. "When you're done with that," the foreman told Lon, "get back to work."
"Sure, Frenchy." Lon didn't point out that skinning the longhorn ought to be considered work, too.
He sure as blazes wouldn't be doing it for fun.
Before either of them could say anything else, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came to their ears and made them look around. One of the hands, a big blond man called Swede, was riding up the draw toward them, and he was coming hell for leather, too. Red-faced from effort, he hauled back on the reins and brought his mount to a skidding stop a few feet away from Lon and Frenchy.
"Mr. Sawyer wants everybody back at the house right away!" Swede reported. "Big trouble in town!"
"What sort of trouble?" Frenchy asked. "And why is it any of our business?" There had been a certain level of animosity between the townspeople and the cowboys ever since the Diamond S crew had arrived from Texas.
"That newspaper fella from Wind River, he rode out and told the boss a bunch of outlaws attacked the town this morning. Killed some folks, cleaned out the bank and some of the other businesses, and carried off a young woman as a hostage!"
The foreman cursed softly in French, one of the rare expressions of his Cajun heritage. "Mr. Sawyer put some of his money in that bank," he said. "I reckon that's why he wants to go after that bunch. That's what he wants, isn't it, Swede?"
"Well, he didn't exactly say," Swede replied, "but I'll bet that's what he's thinkin', yah."
"All right, come on, Lon," Frenchy said. A grim smile played around his lips. "I guess you get out of skinnin' that ol' mossyhorn after all."
"I'd rather not get out of it this way," Lon said.
"I know. Swede, the rest of the boys are over yonder." Frenchy waved to indicate the direction Swede should take to look for the other Diamond S punchers. "Lon and I will see you back at the ranch."
The two young men headed one way while Swede rode the other. After a few minutes, Frenchy commented, "Things must be pretty bad for Marshal Tyler to ask the old man for help."
"Yeah, I guess so," Lon said. "We've got some experience trading shots with owlhoots, though. Most of the people in Wind River don't."
"I reckon that's true. Better grab some provisions and plenty of ammunition when we get back to the bunk house. This is liable to be a pretty long chase. You never know."
Kermit Sawyer already had men saddling fresh horses when Lon and Frenchy reached the ranch headquarters. The rugged old cattleman nodded to them as they dismounted and said, "I reckon Swede told you what happened."
"That's right," Frenchy said.
Lon saw Michael Hatfield standing on the front porch of the ranch house. The young newspaperman looked tired, and he was covered with trail dust from the hard, fast ride he had made out here. Lon went over to him and nodded.
"How bad is it in town?"
"Pretty bad," Michael said. "Several people were killed, and more were wounded. Those outlaws hit town like . . . like a cavalry raid, I guess, although I wasn't in the war so I don't know first-hand. But I know they struck several places at once, including the bank. That's where they shot Deputy Casebolt."
"Good Lord!" Lon exclaimed. "The deputy was shot?"
"Yes. He was still alive when the marshal sent me out here to fetch Mr. Sawyer, but he was hurt pretty bad. I don't know if he'll make it."
"That's a shame. I liked Deputy Casebolt."
Michael looked at Lon and said, "You like Miss Durand, too, don't you?"
The question made alarm shoot through Lon. "What?" he said. "What about Brenda? Was she hurt, too?"
"She was in the bank when the outlaws robbed the place," Michael explained. "They took her with them."
Lon took an involuntary step back. He felt like a mule had kicked him in the gut. Swede had said that a young woman had been taken hostage, but it had never occurred to Lon that the captive might be Brenda Durand.
"From what I heard, she was all r
ight when the outlaws rode off with her," Michael went on, "but God knows what's happened to her in the meantime."
Lon turned quickly, forgetting all about Frenchy's advice to gather up some supplies and ammunition. Instead he bounded down from the porch and ran toward the corral where the fresh horses waited. Sawyer and Frenchy saw him coming, and the cattleman lifted a hand, saying, "Lon, what are you – "
Lon bolted past them, jerked the corral gate open, and leaped into the saddle. He jerked the horse around and jabbed his heels into its flanks.
"Lon, wait!" Frenchy called.
Lon ignored the order. As the horse lunged out of the corral, Frenchy and Sawyer had to scramble to get out of the way. Lon raced past them, kicking the horse into a hard gallop as he headed for town.
Earlier, when he was riding up that draw, Brenda had filled his thoughts, and now once again she was all he could think about.
This time, though, he was filled with fear for her safety.
If those outlaws hurt her, he would track them down, every last one of them, and he wouldn't stop until either they were all dead . . . or he was.
Chapter 10
Less than an hour after the raid, Cole had a posse of ten men ready to ride out of Wind River. His best estimate was that the gang contained about a dozen men when the outlaws made their getaway, so the odds weren't really that uneven.
Such things couldn't be measured solely in numbers, though. Jeremiah was going along, and the blacksmith was a good man but not much of a hand with a gun. Monty Riordan, the biscuit-shooter at Rose Foster's café, had volunteered as well, and while he had experience as an Indian fighter, he was old and about half crippled. The only fighting he'd done in recent years had been with pots and pans.
Nathan Smollet insisted on coming along, too. Dr. Kent had cleaned the gash on the side of his head and wrapped a bandage around it. Smollet had good intentions, but Cole didn't expect much fighting ability out of him.
The other volunteers were an assortment of townsmen and farmers. Cole didn't know any of them that well. Some of them might be able to hold their own in a fight, but he couldn't really count on that.
He wasn't going to wait for the men from the Diamond S to arrive, though, especially since he knew where the gang's hide-out was located. By heading directly for that hidden valley instead of following the false trail that the outlaws had laid to the south, there was a slim chance Cole and the posse might be able to head them off before they reached their stronghold.
"Mount up!" he called to the men who had gathered in front of the livery stable. He swung into the saddle on Ulysses' back and looked around at the others. "Everybody got plenty of ammunition?"
Several of the men answered in the affirmative. The others nodded.
Cole nodded toward the blacksmith and went on, "If anything happens to me while we're out there, Jeremiah's in charge."
Jeremiah looked surprised by that decision. He said, "But Brother Cole, I'm a preacher, not a lawman."
"You're all lawmen today," Cole said. "Let's ride!"
He led the posse out of Wind River, riding north along Grenville Avenue to the railroad station, then cutting around the depot, crossing the tracks, and heading west. Quite a few of the citizens had turned out to watch them depart. Enthusiastic cheers went up from the crowd.
Cole hoped they would still be cheering when the posse got back.
He urged the big golden sorrel into a ground-eating lope. The others trailed behind, some of them struggling to keep up. The settlement soon dwindled into the distance behind them.
Cole followed the railroad tracks and kept his eyes on the hills bulking to the north. The farther west the posse rode, the closer those hills came to the railroad, slouching across the terrain like great, gray, prehistoric beasts.
At the same time, he watched to the south, searching for a dust cloud that would mark the location of the outlaw gang if Cole and the posse had managed to get between them and the hide-out. Realistically, Cole considered the odds of that unlikely, but there was an outside chance and he couldn't afford to overlook it.
Before leaving Wind River, he had stopped at Dr. Judson Kent's office to see how Billy Casebolt was doing and to ask a favor of the medico.
"Deputy Casebolt is an extremely stubborn man," Kent had said, "and that works in his favor. Even though he hasn't regained consciousness, I get the feeling that he's determined to hang on to life. That can only help him."
"Were you able to get that bullet of him?" Cole had asked.
"Fortunately, yes," Kent had replied with a nod. "I don't believe it damaged any vital organs, but the shock of being wounded, along with the blood that he lost, is the real threat now. I'll do everything I can for him, Cole."
"I know that. I've got a favor to ask of you, as mayor, I guess you'd say, instead of as a doctor."
"As mayor, I'm devastated as well as furious about what happened to our community this morning, so go ahead."
"I sent Michael Hatfield to fetch Sawyer and the Diamond S crew," Cole had explained. "I think there's a good chance they'll come. Sawyer's got no love for outlaws, and I'm pretty sure he had some money in the bank, so he'll want to get it back. When they show up, tell them not to follow the trail that the gang left." Cole had gone on to explain what he had found out from the prisoner about the location of the outlaws' hide-out. "Send them that direction instead. They can follow the tracks the posse will leave, because that's the way we're going."
"You'll be taking a chance by not following their trail," Kent had pointed out. "What if that prisoner was lying to you?"
"I think he was too scared to do that. He knew I was about to shoot him if he didn't tell me the truth."
"You mean you threatened to shoot him."
Cole had just smiled grimly at that.
As he thought back over the conversation now, he knew that Kent would do what he had asked. The Texans ought to be an hour or two behind the posse. Maybe the fireworks would all be over by the time they caught up.
However, if the posse didn't get that lucky break and stop the gang from reaching the hide-out, the smart thing to do would be to wait for Sawyer and his men to arrive before trying to fight their way into the outlaw stronghold.
The problem was, Cole didn't know if Brenda Durand could afford to wait that long . . .
* * *
Brenda had known fear in her life, but never anything like this. She was cold through and through, the chill of terror. She wasn't sure she would ever be warm again.
Adam Maguire still held her snugly in the saddle in front of him with his left arm looped around her waist. Her skirt was pulled up shamefully high on her legs. She had never ridden astride before today, but the outlaw hadn't given her any choice when he hauled her out of the bank and practically threw her on the back of his horse. Her fear and his rough treatment of her left her too stunned to fight back anymore.
She tried to force her brain to work. When the riders crossed the railroad tracks, she realized they had to be going north. She knew they had galloped out of Wind River to the south, so that meant they had traveled in a big curve, no doubt intended to throw off any pursuit.
Now they were headed for a range of rugged, ugly hills. In the six months she had lived in Wind River, Brenda had never ventured very far out of the settlement itself, so she had no real idea where they were.
As if he knew what she was thinking about, Maguire said, "Pretty soon we'll be where we're going. I reckon you'll be glad to get off this horse."
He seemed to be expecting an answer, and she didn't want to make him angry. She said, "Yes, I . . . I'm not accustomed to riding this much."
"Sorry it's been rough on you. You've got to understand, though, I couldn't leave you behind."
"I don't see why not. You got what you wanted. You cleaned out the bank."
Maguire chuckled. "I didn't expect a pretty little prize like you, though."
"The marshal will come after you. He'll get a posse together and hunt y
ou down."
That brought a full-fledged laugh from Maguire. "I'm not worried about the marshal," he said. "Where we're going, he won't be able to bother us. He won't be able to do anything except go along with what I tell him . . . if he wants to get you back safe and sound, that is."
"Am I going to get back?" Brenda asked. "Safe and sound, I mean."
"I don't plan on hurting you unless I have to." Maguire's voice hardened. "Unless I don't get what I want."
"What is it that . . . that you want?"
"You're a rich girl."
"No, I – "
"Don't bother denying it," he cut in. "You admitted it yourself in the bank. You've got friends and family back there in Wind River, don't you? I'll bet they can come up with a lot more money to pay for you coming back to them."
"You're holding me for ransom?"
"That's the idea."
And it was probably a good one from Maguire's point of view, Brenda had to admit. With all of her holdings, her grandmother could probably raise a considerable amount of cash. But even if the ransom was paid, that was no guarantee she would be released unharmed. After all, the easiest and simplest thing for the outlaws to do once they had the money would be to kill her.
She considered trying to deny that she was really that wealthy, but then she decided it might not be a good idea to convince them of that. Instead she said, "You're right, Maguire. I have plenty of money, a lot more money than you got out of that bank. But you'll never get your hands on any of it if any harm comes to me."
"Now why in the world would I ever want to hurt anybody as nice and pretty as you?" Maguire asked. Brenda couldn't tell if he was serious or mocking her. He leaned forward and his lips nuzzled the side of her neck, making cold chills go through her again. "Of course, I figure that while you're staying with us, you and I will have the chance to get to know each other better."
Ransom Valley (Wind River Book 7) Page 5