She wanted to burn with hatred and the need for revenge on them. So far, that wasn't too difficult.
Since the door was barely hanging on its rotten hinges and wouldn't keep anybody inside, the outlaws had posted at least one man outside the cabin to guard her at all times. As the daylight faded into dusk and its inevitable slide into evening, the big man in the derby hat took his turn.
Brenda had been waiting for him to show up. During the ride here she had seen him watching her often enough, with interest and undisguised desire in eyes set deep under bristling brows. She heard the rumble of his deep voice as he talked to the man whose place he was taking, and she caught a glimpse of him through the gap where the door hung crookedly, wedged into place.
She had been sitting on the bunk for the past few hours, trying not to think about the fact that Maguire slept there . . . and asking herself whether or not he intended to tonight. When she realized who was standing guard now, she stood up and went over to the door.
"Hello?" she said through the opening.
"You need something?" the guard asked her.
"I . . . I could use some water."
He laughed. "I know Maguire left you two canteens in there. You're trying to trick me, aren't you?"
"No, not at all. I wouldn't do that," Brenda insisted.
"Sure you wouldn't." He laughed. "I reckon you'd do just about anything to get away from us uncivilized brutes and ruffians, wouldn't you?"
She was surprised at the tone of self-deprecating humor in his voice. Something about it told her he had some education. She hadn't expected that in this bunch of wild desperadoes.
"I know what you're thinking," he went on, and sure enough he did, proving it by continuing, "You probably figured I couldn't muster up anything more than an inarticulate growl, like some sort of Neanderthal."
"I . . . I didn't think anything of the sort," Brenda protested.
"Sure you did. But I'm not offended. It serves my purposes to have people feel that way. Makes 'em more scared of me, you know, since I'm such a big hombre and that's all they expect, anyway." He paused. "Now, did you really want anything?"
"I could use something to eat."
"The boss said he'd have somebody bring you food later."
"Oh. All right." For a moment, Brenda felt defeated. But her pride still wouldn't allow her to give in to despair, so she went on, "What's your name?"
"My name?"
"It's a simple question," she said a bit tartly.
He laughed again and said, "So it is. Cornelius. Cornelius Van Houten, of the upstate New York Van Houtens. Old Hudson River Dutch, you know."
Brenda couldn't stop herself from laughing. "I'm from Baltimore," she told him. "How did two people like us find ourselves in the wilds of Wyoming Territory, Cornelius Van Houten?"
"I don't know, miss. Just lucky, I suppose."
"If you can call it luck . . . Is he going to kill me, Mr. Van Houten? That man Maguire, I mean."
"Not if your grandmother pays the ransom for you, he won't."
"But what if she doesn't? What if she can't?"
Van Houten didn't answer. Brenda heard the scuff of his boots on the ground as he shifted around on the other side of the door. The man's silence and his uneasiness provided all the answer Brenda needed.
"He's not going to let me go even if he gets the ransom, is he?" she asked in a half-whisper.
"I don't know anything about that," Van Houten said. "Maguire doesn't share his intentions with me or anybody else, unless it's Lije Beaumont."
"That's all right," Brenda said. She went back over to the bunk and threw herself down on it. The inside of the cabin grew dark around her. She knew now that her fate was sealed. She was doomed.
Unless someone showed up to help her, and she didn't hold out much hope for that.
* * *
Cole couldn't remember how many times he had snuck up on enemy camps during the war and then later when he was working for the army out here on the frontier, battling against the Sioux, the Cheyenne, and the Pawnee.
And now he was doing it again, only this time the enemy was Adam Maguire's gang of outlaws. Cole had always had some respect for the Indians. They were fighting for what they considered to be their land and their way of life.
Those bandits were just bloodthirsty killers who wanted to get rich without having to work for it.
When Cole and the five men with him reached the base of the bluff, he put a hand on Frenchy LeDoux's arm and leaned close to his ear to say, "I want you and another man to take the bluff on that side of the gap. You'll have to get down on your bellies and crawl across the opening, otherwise any guards inside the passage might see you silhouetted against the fire down there in the trees."
"I don't much like imitatin' a snake," Frenchy said, "but I reckon there's a good reason for it."
"When you get to the top you'll be on your own. You'll have to scout around, find out how many men are up there and where they are."
"I know what to do, Marshal. You just watch out for Lon if you can. That jug-eared, bone-headed varmint is sort of like a little brother to me now."
Lon whispered, "I'm right here, you know. I can hear what you're saying."
Frenchy chuckled. "Reckon I must've forgot."
Cole patted him on the shoulder and said, "Good luck."
"To you, too, Marshal."
The group split up. Frenchy and the man who was going with him dropped to their knees and then their bellies to crawl across the open space in front of the gap between the bluffs.
Cole, Lon, and the other two Diamond S punchers started up the bluff on this side. It was too steep for a man to walk up, but in most places he could climb on all fours, being careful to test each handhold and foothold before resting too much weight on it.
The bluff was a couple of hundred feet tall. In daylight, it wouldn't have taken too long for an active man to climb it. At night, especially a dark night such as this one where they had to feel their way along, it took what seemed to Cole like a long time for him and his companions to make the ascent. Here and there, sheer rock faces jutted out from the slope, which meant the climbers had to find a way around them. That slowed them down even more.
Despite the cold night, sweat slicked Cole's face and trickled along his sides under the buckskin shirt. That was a result of the effort it took to scale the bluff and also the knowledge that he and the others were climbing right into bad odds. Cole had confidence in the men with him, but he also knew they would need a lot of luck to make it through this deadly night.
Finally he pulled himself over the crest and stretched out on top of the bluff. Lon crawled up beside him, followed by the other two punchers.
Cole lay there for a moment, catching his breath, and then lifted his head to listen intently. He had worried they would climb right up into the lap of one of those sharpshooters, but that hadn't happened. The top of the bluff was relatively level and covered with grass. Dark shapes here and there marked the locations of trees, bushes, and boulders.
A muffled sound that Cole recognized as a cough came from somewhere to his right. A moment later, even though he hadn't seen a match flare, he caught a whiff of tobacco smoke. One of the outlaws had just fired up a quirly.
Cole touched one of the punchers on the shoulder and pointed. The man nodded in understanding. He and the other Diamond S hand started crawling toward the sound of the cough.
Crawling on their bellies, Cole and Lon headed for the other side of the bluff. Disposing of the sharpshooters was up to the other men now. The two of them had to get down into the valley as quickly as they could without giving away their presence.
When they were a hundred yards or so from the edge, Cole risked coming up on hands and knees. Lon did likewise. They could move a little faster that way, and they reached the other slope fairly quickly.
Cole had hoped that climbing down on this side would be easier, but that didn't prove to be the case. The slope fell away sharply into a bl
ack void.
Farther out, that darkness was relieved in places by the flickering glow of a couple of cooking fires and the steadier illumination of several lanterns. Those lights marked the site of the outlaw camp, Cole knew.
Lon must have figured that out, too, because Cole heard a sharp breath hiss between the young cowboy's clenched teeth. Lon was probably thinking about how Brenda Durand was a prisoner down there, somewhere around those lights, close enough that he might have been able to see her if it was daytime. Cole gripped his shoulder for a second to reassure him, then motioned that they should start climbing down the bluff.
If anything, the slope was steeper on this side and the climb down more harrowing than the climb up. Cole and Lon turned around to face the rocky surface and slowly descended.
Lon's feet slipped once, and he had to make a desperate grab for the roots of a bush that stuck out of the ground. For a second they were all that kept him from a nasty fall until Cole could reach over and take hold of his arm. With that extra support, Lon was able to find footholds again.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"I'm just glad you didn't fall and bust your neck. Come on."
As they worked their way down toward the valley below, Cole listened for tell-tale sounds of a struggle from above. The last thing he wanted to hear was a shot. That would alert the outlaws that something was going on and make the chances of this rescue mission succeeding a lot worse.
The night was quiet, though, and Cole was thankful for that.
Anybody who was dying up there on the bluff was doing it silently.
At last they reached level ground. Again they paused to rest, but only for a moment. Cole knew that Lon wouldn't stand for any longer delay than that. The youngster was too worried about what might be happening to Brenda.
So was Cole, to tell the truth. He thought the outlaws would keep her safe for the moment, but you never could tell about varmints like that.
They were liable to do anything.
* * *
Despite what she had told Cornelius Van Houten earlier about wanting something to eat, Brenda really wasn't hungry. Maguire himself brought her a tin plate of food, though, and she was too afraid of him not to eat it, although she tried not to let him see her fear.
It was crude fare: bacon fried almost to a black husk, beans, and a stale biscuit that had probably been baked several days earlier. As Maguire handed the plate to her, he said, "I know the food's not as fancy as what you're used to and this isn't fine china, but it's the best we've got right now. You want a cup of coffee to go with it?"
"I don't suppose you have any brandy," Brenda said coolly. "Perhaps some sherry?"
Maguire threw back his head and laughed. "Not hardly!"
"I'll take the coffee, then."
Maguire stepped over to the door and told Van Houten, "Corny, go get some Arbuckle's for the lady."
The boss outlaw had brought a lantern with him, which now sat on the table and filled the room with a smoky, inconstant glow. It was better than the darkness, Brenda thought. Earlier she had heard things rustling around in here with her, or at least she thought she did, and the terrors her mind conjured up were probably worse than the reality. She knew that, but she liked being able to see anyway.
When Van Houten came back with a cup of coffee that he handed through the door to Maguire, Brenda caught the big man's eye and said, "Thank you."
Van Houten smiled. "You're welcome, miss."
"You didn't thank me for bringing your food," Maguire pointed out.
Brenda didn't say anything. She took another bite of bacon, gnawed on it, and washed it down with a sip of the bitter brew in the tin cup Maguire gave her.
Maguire sat down at the table and rested his arms on it. "You know, you could be a little friendlier," he said.
"I find it difficult to be friends with someone who kidnaps me."
"You could have been treated a lot worse so far, I promise you. You ought to appreciate how we've handled you with kid gloves."
She stared at him in disbelief, so angry that she couldn't say anything for a moment. Then she told him, "When I woke up this morning, I was in my own bed in my suite at the hotel, living a normal life. Since then I've seen men gunned down in front of me, been thrown on a horse and forced to ride for hours, then shoved into this hovel like I was no better than a slave! I've been threatened repeatedly with death – or worse. And you say I should appreciate the way I've been treated?" She laughed coldly. "We obviously have a much different perspective on things, Mr. Maguire."
He stood up and glared at her. "Eat your supper," he snapped. "Out here on the frontier, you never know when a meal might be your last one."
With that he turned and stalked out of the cabin, slapping the door aside so roughly that Brenda thought it might finish the job of falling down. The old leather hinges held, though.
At least he had left the lantern behind. Brenda was grateful for that.
Van Houten looked in through the open door and said, "It's probably not wise to sass him like that."
"I'm not afraid of him," she declared boldly, which was an absolute lie, of course. "Are you?"
"There's a difference between fear and discretion."
Brenda tossed her hair and scoffed. "Is there?"
"I'm not afraid of Maguire," Van Houten insisted.
"I see," she said, but her tone made it clear she wasn't convinced.
"Maybe you will," Van Houten said. He stepped back and shoved the door closed, as much as it would go in its ramshackle condition.
Brenda sighed. She had planted some seeds. Now if Maguire tried to hurt her and Cornelius Van Houten was around, the big man might feel like he had to prove his courage by stepping in and stopping Maguire. That could work to Brenda's advantage.
She finished the food, turned down the wick on the lantern until it cast only a feeble glow, and stretched out on the bunk to rest. She knew she was too scared, angry, and upset to sleep, but the long ride had left her with stiff, aching muscles and an undeniable feeling of weariness.
Despite what she thought, exhaustion proved to be too much for her. Without even being aware of it, she quickly drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 16
Most of the vegetation in the valley was confined to a strip that ran a couple of hundred yards on either side of the creek, so the landscape through which Cole and Lon traveled at first was mostly rocky and barren. It still provided cover, though, in the form of boulders that littered the ground and fissures in the earth.
They had to slide into one of those fissures and hold their breaths at one point as several riders passed close to them. Cole figured the men were on their way to the gap to relieve the outlaws posted there. Either that, or they were going to replace the sharpshooters on top of the bluffs.
When the men had ridden on, Lon said quietly and urgently, "We don't have much time, Marshal. If they find Frenchy and those other fellas up there, they'll start shooting."
"I know," Cole replied. "We're not far from their camp now, though. We'll be there pretty soon."
Indeed, the smell of woodsmoke from the campfires was pretty strong now as the north wind carried it toward them. Cole and Lon resumed their stealthy journey, and a few minutes later they began slipping through the brush that had grown up near the creek.
The sound of voices drifted to Cole's ears. He had hoped that all the outlaws would be asleep except for one or two guards, but that didn't seem to be the case. Crouching low so they wouldn't be spotted, they moved closer until Cole was able to carefully part the branches of a bush and peer through the gap at the camp.
All the fires except one had burned down to embers. Around the one that was still blazing, four men sat playing cards, using a blanket spread on the ground for a table. Loud snores came from the tents and lean-tos, confirming that some of the outlaws had turned in for the night.
Cole looked past the fire and saw the old cabin about fifty yards away. That seemed to be the m
ost likely place for Brenda to be held. A light of some sort burned inside the cabin, casting enough of a glow for Cole to see that the door hung crookedly on its hinges. It probably couldn't be fastened securely, which explained the presence of the guard sitting on a stool just outside the door. The man held a rifle across his knees.
A familiar laugh came from one of the card players. Adam Maguire said, "Looks like this pot is mine."
"You're lucky, Adam," Lije Beaumont said with a surly note in his voice. He sounded like a man who had been losing regularly all evening.
"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Maguire boasted. "They may call poker a game of chance, but it's all skill, amigo, all skill."
"Sure, sure." Beaumont fished a long black cigarillo from his vest pocket and lifted a burning twig from the fire to light it. "If we hadn't been partners for so long, I might be a little offended by the way you've taken so much money from me tonight. Hell, we just stole it today, and you've already got damn near half my share in your pile!"
"That's the way the cards have been running," Maguire said. A steely edge had come into his voice. "You wouldn't be accusing me of anything, would you, Lije?"
"Me? Hell, no," Beaumont replied with a shake of his head. "Anyway, I know the day'll come when the cards favor me more. Everything evens out in the end, don't it, especially when you're partners like us. Share and share alike, right?" Beaumont tipped his head back and blew a cloud of cigar smoke into the air. "Even things like that little gal's favors."
Cole had had a suspicion where the conversation was going. He was ready to clamp his hand around Lon's arm and remind the young cowboy that they couldn't afford to reveal themselves. He felt the trembling in Lon's muscles and knew that Lon wanted to burst out of the brush with guns in both hands and put those pistols to work.
Instead, Lon just took a deep breath and brought himself under control.
Over by the fire, Maguire said, "Don't push it, Lije. You know good and well that if you just stick with me, everything will work out and you'll get everything you want, sooner or later."
Ransom Valley (Wind River Book 7) Page 9