The only problem he could see was her spelling. It was atrocious. She spelled words by sound, totally ignoring the fact that some words had silent letters, and that she sometimes mispronounced words due to her gentle southern accent. Some of her errors were so bad that he wasn’t able to figure out what the word was supposed to be.
Jim grinned when he remembered their discussion the night before over a word. He still wasn’t convinced that she believed him when he had told her that shoe was not spelled with a u.
He suspected that March and Mazie Wright, who had befriended the younger woman, had some plans up their sleeves for the Fourth of July celebration. Jim was so pleased that Mazie had taken March under her protective wing in such a motherly fashion, that he could overlook her occasionally autocratic demeanor. March missed her mother, though she rarely mentioned it, and she badly needed a woman friend. Mazie willingly filled both positions.
He hadn’t apologized to March yet for his reaction the previous afternoon, when he’d walked into the kitchen and found the Indian eating at his table. Sometime during the long trip to town, he hoped to find the perfect opportunity to try to explain to her the danger she faced by so generously feeding total strangers. There were far too many drifters roaming around for her to continue opening her kitchen to them.
Not that it would do much good, he acknowledged wryly. March was too intimately aware of hunger to let anyone else do without, if she was in a position to prevent it. Maybe he’d be wiser to buy her a single-shot derringer that would fit into her apron pocket. She probably wouldn’t be able to hit anything with it, but the noise alone would send someone to investigate.
He grinned when he thought of her actually shooting someone. She’d be on her knees trying to patch them up before help could arrive.
His expression sobered as he watched Breed approach. The grim look on the foreman’s face warned Jim that he wasn’t going to like what the man had to tell him.
“We’ve found three more.” Breed stopped in front of Jim, his forbidding expression deepening.
“Like the others?” Jim questioned.
“Two cows and a calf, shot once through the head. Figure it happened sometime early yesterday or the afternoon before. Another calf was still beside its mama. We heard it crying, and that’s how we found them. The calf was too far gone to save. I had to put it down.”
“Damn!” Jim swore softly. Someone was almost systematically killing his herd. One of the cowhands had discovered the first carcass a couple of weeks earlier. Since that time, they had found eighteen more. Breed’s latest find increased the count to twenty-one, plus the calf that had had to be destroyed.
Every rancher expected to lose a percentage of animals each season; the very young or the older ones who couldn’t survive the stress of a hard winter or hot summer. A few were killed occasionally by an itinerant family, or by a roving band of Indians on the run from the army. Jim could accept and even tolerate those losses, because the animals provided sustenance. So far, except for two or three calves, all of the dead animals had been young cows in prime breeding condition. These weren’t being killed for food; the carcasses were left where they fell.
“Did you find a trail?”
“Like all the others, nothing.”
Jim knew that Breed was frustrated because he couldn’t pick up a trail on the man or men doing the killing. They suspected that it was only one man, using a powerful rifle, perhaps a Sharps or a Winchester, that let him shoot at the animals from such a long range that no traces of his passing were left for evidence.
“Have any of the men heard anything in town?”
Breed shook his head. “Nobody’s talking about killings going on at other ranches, and nobody’s bragging about killing your stock. Whoever’s doing it seems to have a grudge against you and means to make you suffer.” The only man Jim could think of who might have hard feelings against him was Fred Ham- ner, but Fred wasn’t in the area. The elder Ham- ner had refused to join the rancher’s consortium, claiming that he didn’t want to lend his name to smaller outfits who were destined to go under. He had sent Fred East to locate outlets for his herd this fall.
“We’re going to have to move them closer in,” Jim stated quietly. He hated to move the herd,
but he knew of no other way to protect them. “And we’ll increase our night watch.”
“I started the men on it before I came in.”
“Good, that’ll save some time.” The horses hitched to the buckboard moved restlessly, reminding him of the planned trip to town.
He hated to disappoint March, but it would have to be postponed until another day. He couldn’t very well go into town and leave his men to do the work of rounding up the livestock.
“I’ll change clothes and meet you at the barn.” Without waiting for a reply, Jim turned and headed for the house.
He heard March humming cheerfully when he entered the kitchen, and found her packing a basket with food for their noonday meal. She smiled merrily when she saw him.
” ‘Bout ready. All I need to do is gather up your son and all his belongings, and we can leave.”
“We’re going to have to go another day, angel,” he said softly, watching the smile leave her face. “There’s been some trouble and I’m needed here.”
“Trouble?” March stopped tucking the towel in around the edge of the basket. “What kind of trouble?”
“Nothing serious,” he replied lightly. “There’s always something coming up unexpectedly on any ranch operation and sometimes only the boss can make the necessary decisions.”
He began unbuttoning his shirt as he walked past her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I know how much you looked forward to the day in town. We’ll go tomorrow or the next day.”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s not your fault that you’re needed here.”
Jim had seen her quickly masked disappointment, and his respect for her increased when she didn’t try to force him to change his mind. He’d make it up to her, he decided, as he climbed the stairs. Maybe he’d take her into Tucson. They could make it an overnight trip and he’d take her to supper at the nicest restaurant in town.
When he returned to the kitchen March was talking with Hank. Jim stopped long enough to ask the old man to unhitch the team from the buckboard, and to tell March not to wait supper for him. Locating several hundred head of cattle strung out over several hundred acres of land was going to take some time. And a lot of patience.
“Leave the wagon, Hank,” March instructed as Jim walked out of sight. “I think I’ll just go ahead into town on my own.
“I ain’t thinking the boss is gonna be happy ‘bout that, little missy,” Hank replied.
“Hank, I’ve been to town many times by myself.”
“Not since you’ve worked here,” he reminded her.
“That’s true, however, it doesn’t change the fact that I have gone by myself and I’ve never had any problem. There’s no reason for me not to go this time, too.”
He removed his hat and scratched his head, carefully smoothing down the ruffled hair. “Walp, if’en you’re set on goin‘, ain’t no reason why I can’t go with you. Ain’t much goin‘ on here that I’ll be missed for, and I ain’t been to town since that youn’en were a few days old.” March liked the old man and found him pleasant company. It wouldn’t be a hardship to make the trip with him. He always had stories to tell, many of which she decided he made up as he went.
“If you’re sure, I’d welcome your company. But I don’t want to pull you away from something you’re supposed to be doing. I’d really looked forward to going today because Walt promised he’d have some dibs and hens waiting for me. He might sell them to someone else if I don’t come claim them.”
“What’ja gonna do with dibs and hens? This ain’t no farm, it’s a ranch.”
“Eggs and fried chicken?” she asked with a smile. “You do like fried chicken, don’t you?” Eagerness lit his faded eyes as he placed his hat back on
his head. “What’ja waitin‘ for, missy? If ‘en you’re willin‘ to make up some fried chicken, I’m willin‘ to eat it. It’s been a long time since I’ve sunk these old teeth into fried chicken. Why I ‘members when …” March handed him the lunch basket and picked up Jamie. It would be a pleasant trip into town, Hank’s stories assured that.
“ … You ain’t never seen such nonesuch! And then that ole mule finally backs up right on Woods’s foot!” Thoroughly enjoying his own story, Hank’s throaty laugh ended with a cough as he tried to regain enough control to finish. “I’ll tell you what, missy, I ain’t heard such caterwaulin‘ since — “
Lulled by the rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves as they struck the hardened ground and the jingle-jangle of the rigging on the buckboard, March was unprepared when the sound of a gunshot pierced the quiet, silencing Hank and spooking the horses into a run. Even as she realized that someone had shot at them, Hank began to slump to the side; the reins slipped from his grasp.
March grabbed for the reins as she tried to keep the old man from sliding from the bouncing seat. Glancing quickly at her feet to reassure herself that Jamie was secure in his box on the floor, she fought to slow the frightened horses.
Knowing that by stopping the team she was giving their attacker another clear shot, March momentarily debated letting them run. But Hank had been hit by the bullet and was deadweight against her, giving her no real choice. She couldn’t continue to support him and hope to hold the horses back, and she desperately needed to know how badly he was hurt. She wouldn’t let herself even consider the possibility that he was dead.
Gritting her teeth, she used her meager strength against the power of the team, finally bringing them to a halt. Far from calmed, the horses stood restlessly, their sides heaving as they stomped their hooves in agitation.
Tying the reins around the brake handle, she glanced first at Jamie to find that he had slept through the wild ride, then turned her attention to Hank. Blood darkened the front of his shirt, and blared scarlet on the white of her blouse where he had leaned against her.
Sliding forward, she lowered him onto the seat. Reaching into the basket that contained Jamie’s things, she found a towel and ripped open Hank’s shirt. Folding the towel into a pad, March pressed it against his wound, appalled by the amount of blood he had lost.
“Hank, please don’t be dead,” she whispered in a prayer. “You don’t deserve to die like this. Please, Hank.”
“If he ain’t dead yet, I got another bullet with his name on it.”
Fighting to control the rage that flooded through her, March turned and met the grinning face she had once thought so handsome. “Why?” she said through clenched teeth. “Get down.” If Fred heard her or understood the question, he gave no sign as he motioned for her to get off the buckboard.
“No.” The refusal was a snarl of powerless fury.
Fred smiled and pushed his hat back from his eyes. “Get down, whore, or I’ll shoot him again. And if you still refuse, that kid will be next.”
“You bastard.”
“Wrong, I got me a daddy; a rich, powerful daddy.” His voice was almost pleasant as he motioned toward the ground. “Now get down. I’m getting tired of waiting.”
Her hair had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck, and blew freely in the gentle breeze. Pushing it from her face, March slowly climbed to her feet and stepped from the wagon.
“Get the brat,” Fred instructed, waving his rifle in her face as a reminder of his threat.
“Why?”
” ‘Cause you’re going with me.”
“But why take the baby?” The road to town was heavily traveled, and while there was danger in letting Jamie stay unattended in the buckboard, he’d probably be found in a short time. She wasn’t so sure he’d be safe if she kept him with her.
“You’re taking the baby because as long as you’ve got him to worry about I don’t think you’ll be giving me any trouble. You’ll do everything I say — or he dies.”
He was right, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to prevent Jamie from being harmed. And her chances for escape, if escape ever became possible, were greatly reduced with the infant to worry about.
“Leave him here, I’ll come quietly.”
“Oh, you’ll come quietly,” he smirked, cocking the rifle and pointing it at Hank, “or the old man is dead.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You owe me, bitch. I spent nearly a month in bed, because of the beating your friend gave me. Now get the kid, you’ve wasted enough time.”
March untied the thongs that laced the box where Jamie slept. Unfolding a small blanket, she placed several of his towels in the center, tied it closed, and slung it over her shoulder.
“Girl …” It was barely a whisper of sound, loud enough for only her to hear as she bent to free Jamie from his box. “Sorry, gal …” Afraid that Fred would shoot Hank again, if he realized that the old man was conscious, March didn’t reply. Her brief smile was meant to be reassuring, as she turned away with the baby in her arms and the make-do bag on her shoulder.
“I’m ready, Fred Hamner,” she said clearly. “If you insist on doing this, then I’d say you’re about to make a mistake that you’ll regret the rest of your life, brief though it will be. There is a law against kidnapping, you know.”
“Shut up!” He put the rifle in the saddle scabbard and reached for the baby. “Hand me the kid. I’ll hold him, while you climb up behind me. We’ll be miles away from here before they find the wagon.”
March had no choice but to comply. Hank’s and Jamie’s lives depended on her doing as he said. But as she handed the infant to Fred, she made a silent promise to herself that he would deeply regret this someday.
With Jamie in his grasp and March behind him on the horse, Fred reached over and untied the reins on the buckboard. Slapping his hat against the rump of the nearest horse, he startled them enough to get them running.
“Oh, God, no,” March murmured as she saw Hank slip to the floor. The horses were running wild, and she could only pray that they would come to a halt before further tragedy happened.
“He ain’t gonna help none, so you can quit praying … if a whore knows how to pray.” With a chuckle, he turned the horse toward the desert.
The sun blazed down on her uncovered head, but the sweat disappeared as quickly as it came. For nearly two hours Fred traveled at a killing pace, until the horse was lathered and it audibly gulped for each breath.
“If you don’t slow down, we’re going to be walking.” As much as she hated sitting so closely behind him, she hated the thought of being on foot even more.
“We ain’t going much farther. He’ll just have to make it.”
“What are you going to do if he doesn’t? Shoot him, too?”
“Shut up! If I want your opinions, I’ll ask for them. But don’t hold your breath, any opinion from a whore ain’t worth shit.”
March obediently closed her mouth, but only because it suited her. She worried that if she further agitated Fred, he might do something that she’d regret. As long as he held Jamie in his arms, she would do nothing to instigate his anger.
She had tried several times to look around his shoulder to reassure herself that Jamie was covered from the sun, but her position on the back of the horse was too precarious to give her the necessary leverage. The baby had been quiet, almost too quiet, but she refused to let herself worry that something might be wrong with him.
Except for the mountains in the distance, the land looked deceptively flat. That they had been riding up a gentle incline was proven as the roof of a shack came into sight. March soon recognized the structure, and couldn’t believe that this was Fred’s intended destination. Surely he didn’t think he’d get away with keeping her on Jim’s own land!
“I thought it was fitting,” Fred smirked, as he pulled up beside the dilapidated line shack that had been her home for several months. “No one will think of looking
for you here. I really wanted to take you back to our picnic grounds,” he grinned, referring to the spot beside the river where she had innocently promised love, but had learned betrayal. “But then I got to thinking that someone might come along and ruin my plans.”
“You’re a bigger fool than I thought,” she muttered, regretting her quick tongue when his body stiffened.
“Get down!” he snarled.
March slid from the back of the horse, her legs buckling briefly.
“Catch.” The single word was the only warning she had as Fred smiled evilly and literally dropped the baby into her arms. Catching him, she hugged him tightly, lifting the blanket from his face to discover alert blue eyes. Usually unhappy with his face covered, it was as if the baby understood the danger they faced and hadn’t complained.
“Hello, sweetheart,” March murmured, as she loosened the blanket around him. It was a wonder that he hadn’t smothered in its folds.
Fred climbed from the horse as she walked toward the cabin. Trying to ignore memories of her family as she had last seen them, she pushed open the door. The inside was stifling hot, but at least it did provide some protection from the sun.
She wasn’t surprised to discover that the room was totally bare, even the bed and bed frame were gone. Her father had been his usual thorough self, taking everything that wasn’t nailed down.
In a corner away from the open door, March made a pad out of the blanket for Jamie and efficiently changed his wet towel. Leaving him on the floor wasn’t the best solution, but at least he wasn’t scooting around too much yet. If she kept an eye on him, he should be safe enough.
“Get out here, bitch,” Fred ordered, his eyes gleaming savagely as he watched her. “Unsaddle my horse and rub him down.” He threw the reins at her and lowered himself to the ground. Leaning against the side of the cabin with the rifle across his knees, he waited, as if anticipating her refusal.
Knowing that exercise would work the kinks out of her sore muscles, she approached the animal and patted his lathered neck. Woods had once told her that you could judge a man by the way he took care of his horse. From the look of the abused animal, anyone could guess that Fred wasn’t worth the price of a bullet to kill him.
Desert Angel Page 17