"But how will you find them?" Kent called after him.
Lon paused in the doorway just long enough to look back and say, "Chances are I can just follow the shooting."
* * *
An old log cabin sat near the creek that ran through the valley. It looked like it had been abandoned for years. There were no windows, and the door hung crookedly on leather hinges that had rotted from exposure. The roof had a few small holes in it.
"Probably ought to fix that door," Maguire said as he forced Brenda toward the cabin. His fingers were wrapped tightly around her upper arm. He chuckled and went on, "I wasn't counting on having any company. If I'd known somebody like you was going to be staying here, I might have fixed the place up nicer."
Several tents were pitched near the cabin, and a couple of crude lean-tos had been erected in the trees. This was just a temporary camp, not a permanent sanctuary for the gang. They had stayed here long enough for Maguire and Beaumont to scope out the lay of the land in Wind River. Brenda knew from the talk she had overheard among the outlaws that they had planned to come back here and split up the loot from the raid, then scatter for a while to make it more difficult for anyone to trail them. They would get back together later to pull their next job.
Brenda's kidnapping had changed that plan. They would have to stay here until the ransom could be delivered. After that . . .
Brenda didn't want to think too much about what might happen after that.
She hadn't completely given up hope that she might be rescued. She hadn't gotten to know Cole Tyler all that well during her time in Wind River, but she knew the marshal was a stubborn man, and he didn't lack for courage. She was sure he would come after the outlaws.
He wouldn't have Deputy Casebolt to help him, though. The memory of seeing the deputy's blood-soaked form lying on the floor of the bank made a shudder go through Brenda as she stepped into the cabin.
"Hey, now, it's not that bad," Maguire said, misinterpreting what had caused her reaction.
The cabin really was pretty bad, certainly enough to provoke a shudder from anyone accustomed to more civilized living. Rain had dripped through the holes in the roof and rotted the floor in places. Wild animals had gotten in and made their homes here; the inside of the cabin stunk of their droppings. A thick layer of dust lay over the furnishings, which consisted of a splintery, rough-hewn table, a couple of equally rough chairs that looked like they might collapse if anyone sat on them, and a couple of crates. The only halfway decent thing was the bunk against one wall. A threadbare gray blanket covered its corn-shuck mattress.
"Some old trapper must have built this place, back in what they called the Shining Times," Maguire said. "He probably worked a trap line in that creek. But the beaver eventually ran out and he left. Or maybe the Indians killed him and took his hair. Either way, it was nice of him to leave the place for us."
"You're going to keep me in this rathole?" Brenda asked.
"I've been staying here. It's better than nothing."
She glanced up at the holes in the roof. "Not by much. And I did say it was a rathole."
Maguire's face hardened. "Listen, missy, you'd better get it through your head right now that you're not in the Territorial House back in Wind River, and you're sure as hell not in the fancy sort of surroundings you probably came from. You're not in charge here. I am. So you'll do what I tell you and stay where I want you to stay and like it."
Her chin tilted up defiantly as she said, "You can't force a person to like something."
His open hand came up with no warning and cracked across her face. The blow made her stagger back a step and gasp in surprise and pain. She put a hand on the table to steady herself.
"The hell I can't," Maguire grated.
Brenda lifted her other hand to her cheek, which glowed red from the impact of Maguire's slap. "You hit me!" she said.
"And I'll do it again if you keep mouthing off and arguing with me. I'll do worse."
She didn't doubt for a second that he would. But the fierce pride that burned inside her, that had driven her to come west to claim her father's legacy in the first place, wouldn't allow her to back down at first. She continued to glare at the boss outlaw for several long seconds, until Maguire growled and took a menacing step toward her.
Brenda dropped her gaze. She didn't want to, but she knew she didn't have a choice.
"All right," she choked out. "I'll stay here. I won't complain."
"That's right, you won't," he said. "And there'll be a guard outside the door all the time, so don't even think about trying to get away. You'll regret it if you do."
The anger on his face went away, replaced by his usual cocky grin. He moved closer to her anyway and lifted his right hand. She flinched away from it, but all he did this time was brush the back of his hand against her cheek.
"You'll get used to me," he went on. "Who knows, you might even get to where you enjoy spending time with me."
Brenda couldn't force a smile to her lips, even though she tried. Then she thought about how it would feel to watch him kicking out the last seconds of his life at the end of a hang rope. She smiled a little in spite of herself.
"You might be right," she said.
* * *
When Cole finished recounting his conversation with Lije Beaumont to the posse, he said to Nathan Smollet, "Do you think Mrs. Palmer can come up with that sort of money? I figure you'd have a better chance of knowing than any of the rest of us."
The banker pursed his lips and frowned in thought. After a moment he said, "I'm not sure, but I believe she could. I'm not privy to all of the lady's financial dealings on her granddaughter's behalf, of course, but I know she's wired a number of deposits back to banks in the east, to accounts in Miss Durand's name. Miss Durand also has interests in businesses elsewhere to go along with everything she owns in Wind River. I'm certain Mrs. Palmer could borrow against them and raise a significant amount of cash, in time." Smollet shook his head. "But not by the day after tomorrow."
"I don't reckon Maguire's really smart enough to know what he's asking," Cole said. "He's cunning, I suppose, or he wouldn't be able to keep that bunch of owlhoots under control. But he probably thinks rich folks have a ton of money just lying around their houses."
Jeremiah said, "Why would Miss Durand keep some of her money in other banks when she owns the one in Wind River, Brother Smollet?"
"Because when you keep all your money in one place, it's easier for something bad to happen to all of it," Smollet replied with a faint smile. "Like having a gang of outlaws come in and steal it."
"Oh." Jeremiah nodded. "I reckon that makes sense. But the Lord's blessed me. I'll never have enough money that I have to worry about anything like that."
"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Cole said. "In the meantime, I need a volunteer to ride back to Wind River and deliver Maguire's demand to Mrs. Palmer. She probably ought to start working on getting the money together, even if she can't do it in the time that Maguire's giving her."
One of the possemen spoke up, saying, "I can do it, Marshal."
He had been looking nervously at the body of the man who had been shot out of the saddle earlier. Cole had stopped and retrieved the body on his way back to the trees, deciding that if the sharpshooters on top of the bluffs hadn't killed him by then, they weren't likely to. The dead man was now stretched out on the ground under the trees. Jeremiah had covered him with a blanket and knelt next to him to offer up a prayer for his soul.
The man who had volunteered to take the message back to town probably wasn't the only one who wanted to cut and run. Cole could tell that several of the others were regretting their decision to come along. He felt a surge of annoyance. Once you'd said that you were going to do something, you damned well ought to stick with it, he thought.
But not everybody felt that way, so he said, "All right, you go ahead and do that, Harry. You can probably find Mrs. Palmer at the Territorial House. If not, I'm sure Dr. Kent
will know where she is. And any more of you fellas who want to head back to Wind River are free to go, too."
"But you need us to help you with the outlaws, Brother Cole," Jeremiah protested.
"Nothing's going to happen right away. Sawyer and the rest of those Texans ought to be here soon."
Nathan Smollet said, "We can fight just as well as a bunch of Texans."
Well, that was nowhere near true, Cole thought, but he didn't see any point in hurting the banker's feelings by saying it. "You're welcome to stay, too, and I'll be obliged to those who do. Just letting you know that it's not necessary."
Several of the men shuffled their feet. Cole knew he was losing them, and sure enough they mumbled excuses and then went to get their horses. In the end, four men rode off toward the settlement, leaving Cole with Jeremiah, Smollet, and three other men. Not enough to fight off that gang of outlaws, but luckily – if you could call anything about this unholy business lucky – the outlaws weren't going anywhere right now.
"So now we wait?" Smollet asked.
"Now we wait," Cole said.
Jeremiah asked, "What do you think are the chances of a couple of men being able to sneak into that hide-out once it gets dark tonight?"
"I've been thinking about that," Cole answered honestly. "I reckon it's possible, although it would be a longshot. But the chances of freeing Miss Durand and getting everyone back out alive . . . well, shots don't get any longer than that."
Chapter 13
With the wind blowing out of the north, it was chilly under the shade of the juniper trees, but a while later Cole noticed that beads of sweat had broken out on Nathan Smollet's face. The banker used a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat. He fumbled some when he tried to stuff the handkerchief back in his pocket.
Frowning, Cole started to ask Smollet what was wrong. But before he could get the question out, Smollet's eyes rolled up in their sockets and his knees started to unhinge. He would have fallen if Cole hadn't been close enough to spring forward and grab him.
Jeremiah and the other men hurried over as Cole lowered Smollet to the ground. "What happened?" the blacksmith asked.
"Looks like he passed out," Cole said. "There's a canteen on Ulysses' saddle. One of you fetch it for me."
When Cole had the canteen he held Smollet's head up and trickled some water into the man's mouth. Smollet choked a little, but most of the water went down his throat. His eyelids fluttered a few times and then opened.
"Wha . . . what happened to me?" he asked.
"You passed out, Mr. Smollet," Jeremiah said as he leaned over the banker. "You don't remember?"
"I . . . I remember feeling very . . . lightheaded all of a sudden. And then . . . nothing until I woke up just now."
"Jeremiah, give me a hand with him," Cole said. "Let's get him sitting up." When they had propped Smollet against a tree, Cole went on, "I'm not too surprised. From what the folks in the bank said, you took quite a wallop from that outlaw, and Doc Kent warned me it might have done some damage."
"My brain is perfectly fine," Smollet said stiffly.
"Maybe so, but you'd better not take any more chances. I think you should head back to town, too." Cole looked at the other possemen. "One of you gents needs to go with him to make sure he gets there all right."
"Blast it, no!" Smollet said. "This . . . this posse has already dwindled to almost nothing. If you lose two more men – "
"Sawyer's on his way," Cole said, hoping that was actually true. So far he hadn't seen anything of the Texans, and he thought they ought to be showing up by now. "Once that wild bunch gets here, we'll be more than a match for those outlaws. Besides, I've got a hunch an army couldn't get into that valley without losing a lot of men. It's going to take something else besides sheer force to save Miss Durand."
Smollet closed his eyes for a second as he paled. Cole figured he was feeling another wave of dizziness. Smollet didn't pass out this time, though. A moment later when he had recovered some, he said, "I suppose you're right. I should have known I wouldn't be of any use. I'm just not a fighting man."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Cole told him. "But it doesn't look like this is gonna be your fight." He looked at the others. "Let's see if we can get him on a horse."
Cole let the men figure out who was going back to Wind River with Smollet. When that was settled, they helped the banker climb into the saddle. Smollet seemed a little steadier now, but Cole knew that probably wouldn't last. Smollet needed rest and possibly even more medical attention from Judson Kent.
When the two riders were gone, Jeremiah said quietly, "I'm glad you didn't ask me to take Brother Smollet back to town, Marshal."
"I'm not a total fool, Jeremiah," Cole said with a smile. "It's only a matter of time until we have a battle of some sort on our hands again, and I want you here beside me when that happens."
The drumming of rapid hoofbeats caught their attention then. The members of the posse who were left turned to look toward the sound. A rider came into view around a bend in the twisting trail that led up here and galloped toward them.
"Can you tell who that is?" Jeremiah asked
Something about the rider was familiar, but Cole couldn't identify him just yet. As fast as the horse was going, though, it didn't take long for the man to get close enough for Cole to recognize him.
"It's that Rogers boy from the Diamond S," Cole said. Lon Rogers seemed to be alone, though. Cole wondered where the rest of Sawyer's crew was.
A moment later he realized something else, and Jeremiah was aware of it, too.
"I don't think he's going to stop!" the blacksmith exclaimed.
* * *
The part of Lon's brain that could still think sensibly knew that he was on the verge of riding his horse to death, but he couldn't stop, couldn't even slow down. Brenda Durand was somewhere ahead of him and in danger. He had to get to her as fast as he could.
He had barely halted when he ran into the former members of the posse who were on their way back to Wind River, stopping just long enough to get directions to the valley where the outlaws had their hide-out. Then he had galloped on and didn't pause when he encountered the banker Mr. Smollet and another man. He swept past them without a wave, a nod, or even a glance.
Now a stand of juniper trees loomed at the top of the slope in front of him, and beyond that would be a level bench with a line of bluffs on the far side. Beyond the bluffs was the valley where Brenda's kidnappers had gone.
The same part of his brain that knew he was pushing his horse too hard screamed a warning at him. If he charged across that open flat, obviously intent on reaching the outlaw stronghold, the sharpshooters on the bluffs would cut him down. Dead, he couldn't do Brenda a bit of good. It made sense to slow down and assess the situation.
But the part of him that was filled with love for Brenda and fear for her safety, her very life, didn't listen. That pounding pulsebeat of terror and anger inside his chest drowned out everything else and drove him on.
As he reached the trees, though, he had no choice but to haul back on the reins suddenly. A couple of men had leaped out in front of him, waving their arms for him to stop. For a split-second Lon thought they might be two of the outlaws. That thought sent his hand streaking for the gun on his hip. He stopped his draw, though, when he recognized Marshal Cole Tyler and Jeremiah Newton, Wind River's blacksmith and preacher.
The horse careened to a halt, stumbling a little from exhaustion. Lon glared at Cole and Jeremiah and snapped, "Get out of my way, Marshal."
"You just hold on a minute, Lon," Cole said. "You may not know this, but if you try to ride hell for leather across that bench, you're liable to get shot."
Lon forced himself to control his anger and impatience, or at least try to. He said, "I know about the outlaws on top of the bluffs. I ran into some of the posse a ways back, and they told me. I don't care. I have to help Miss Durand."
"Getting your head blown off won't help her," Cole said, unknowingly e
choing what Lon had thought a short time earlier. "Anyway, I'm not sure your horse can run that far. Poor varmint looks like he's about to collapse."
Lon felt bad about that, too. He loved horses and hated to see them abused. Brenda's safety was more important than any horse, though.
"Listen to the marshal, Brother Lon," Jeremiah urged. "He wants to help Miss Durand just as much as you do."
Lon doubted that – the marshal was courting Rose Foster, everybody knew that – but he was sure Cole wanted to bring the outlaws to justice. With a sigh, Lon nodded. He dismounted and patted his horse's sweat-flecked shoulder.
"Sorry, fella," he muttered. "I appreciate how fast you got me up here."
Cole said, "I reckon if you talked to those men who were on their way back to town, you know the situation."
Lon nodded. "The outlaws have Brenda – I mean Miss Durand – at their hide-out in the valley on the other side of those bluffs. They're demanding a big ransom for her."
"That's about the size of it," Cole agreed.
"There's no guarantee that they'll let her go if the ransom is paid, though, is there?"
Cole shook his head. "I hate to say it, but no, there's not. I figure there's a better than even chance they'll kill her anyway, even if they get the money. Or they might keep her with them to use as a hostage while they're trying to get away."
"Those bastards," Lon said. "No-good bastards." He shook his head. "Sorry for the language, Mr. Newton."
"That's all right, Brother Lon," Jeremiah told him. "I completely understand the sentiment."
"What are you planning to do, Marshal?"
Cole answered that question with one of his own. "How far behind you are Kermit Sawyer and the rest of the Diamond S punchers?"
"I don't really know. I left the ranch before they did, as soon as I heard that Miss Durand had been kidnapped. But I think they were about ready to ride out, too, so they should be here before too much longer."
Cole glanced at the sky. "Before nightfall?"
Ransom Valley (Wind River Book 7) Page 7