When they looked in the direction indicated, Perley said, “Looks like they mighta been headed across the pasture toward that gap near the end of that ridge.” Possum and Rooster agreed.
“There’s a little stream on the other side of that gap in the ridge,” Rooster said. “At least there is this time of year. Most of the time it dries up when the middle of the summer gets here. You might be able to pick up some tracks there.” They continued in the direction they had agreed on, across the pasture. Before coming to the gap in the ridge, they reached some smaller trees and discovered evidence of horses in the form of fresh droppings. It was natural to assume the kidnappers had left their horses there while they went into the camp on foot.
They continued on to the gap, and beyond, to the stream. As Rooster had predicted, it was only a few inches deep, but there was a bare, sandy area on each side of it. And even without the lantern, the moonlight shone bright enough to plainly see the hoofprints where the horses had crossed. “I make it four horses,” Perley announced. “What do you think?” Possum and Rooster concurred. “Looks to me like there was two of ’em, and they brought a horse for Emma and a packhorse.” Again, there was agreement. “So, I reckon we’ll start out after ’em as quick as we can. That is, as long as we can pick up their tracks. Wise to wait till mornin’, but I’m for startin’ now. Who’s goin’ with me?”
“Hell,” Possum replied, “you know I am.”
“Me, too,” Rooster volunteered.
“Somebody needs to stay with Emma and the girls,” Perley said. “I expect that leaves you, Tom.”
Accompanying them as a silent spectator to that point, Tom spoke up then. “The hell I will! That’s my wife they’ve run off with. I’m damn sure goin’ with you.” He left very little doubt about his intentions. So Possum reluctantly decided he would stay with Emma and the girls, since Rooster knew the country better than any of them. Emma was more satisfied with that arrangement, since Possum had been looking after her ever since they left Kansas.
Thinking of the small herd of horses he had driven down from Butcher Bottom, Perley proposed a plan for the chase. “Whaddaya think about each one of us leadin’ a spare horse and switch over on it when we tire the first one out. We might make up a little time on ’em and hope they didn’t get too far ahead tonight. They’ve gotta be slowed down some with a woman and baby with ’em.”
“That might be worth a try,” Possum said. “So you’d best get busy saddling up.”
They got ready to ride, first rounding up the horses and selecting their spares, fitting the extra horses with bridles only. Perley pulled his saddle off Buck and threw it on a roan. With plans to release the first horse after tiring it out, he chose to end up with Buck for the balance of the chase. Traveling as light as possible, they took some jerky in their saddlebags for food. When all was ready, they filed out of the camp, each man leading his extra horse, with Possum and Emma wishing them good luck and the little girls waving good-bye.
Leaving the little stream, they rode along a narrow valley the tracks led to. It seemed like a natural trail to follow, so they continued until it ended at a line of low hills. Then it was necessary to find some sign to point the way from there. As the moon traveled farther across the Texas sky, it became more difficult to strike a sign, forcing them to dismount to search on foot. They were about ready to declare the search off until daylight when Perley almost stepped on some fresh droppings. The thought shot through his mind of his brother John. Had he been there, he would have reminded Perley of his oft-repeated phrase of his propensity for stepping in a cow pie. This time, it wasn’t bad luck, he thought, for it told him that the men they were after had turned abruptly to follow a narrow ravine up a hill. At the top, he found another ravine leading down to an expanse of flat prairie with sparsely scattered trees. It was on this prairie that the hunt ended for the night with the lack of any visible sign.
It was a grim camp that night, absent the usual lighthearted banter that would normally be present with three men around a campfire. There was coffee, thanks to Rooster thinking to get his battered coffeepot from his cabin, along with some coffee to brew in it. There was naturally talk about the possibility of not being able to find their trail in the morning, and what they would do in that event. Perley had to assure Tom that he planned to go to the Lazy-S should that happen. He figured Zachary Slocum was crazy, but not an outright evil man, and surely he would release Rachael when he found out she was not his grandson’s mother. He didn’t express it, but he was just as determined to return the baby to his real mother.
Sunrise brought them out of their bedrolls and back to the search for tracks. Water became a crucial factor at that point because they had been forced to make a dry camp, so it was with some relief when the morning light revealed a line of low trees and shrubs stretching across the prairie about half a mile away. They decided to head for it, hoping that in addition to watering the horses, they might find evidence that the party they followed had passed that way. It seemed to be in the same general direction they had been traveling. When they reached the creek, there were no tracks, nor did they really expect to find any. That would have been a real piece of good luck. “What do we do now?” Tom asked, his patience nearing the breaking point.
“Well, after the horses get a drink, we’ll split up and scout this creek in both directions before we decide they didn’t come this way,” Perley said. “Rooster, I’ll take downstream, if you’ll go upstream. Tom, you can go with either one of us, or you can stay here, whatever you want.” Tom decided to go with Rooster, so they split up and started scouting the creek bank.
Perley had gone no more than half a mile when he heard Rooster yelling. He turned to see him galloping toward him shouting something he couldn’t understand, but he figured he must have found some tracks. “We found where they was!” Rooster shouted. “They musta made camp here last night. There’s ashes of a fire, and I could see where they slept.” Perley was quick to turn his horse around and follow Rooster back. When they came to the spot, Tom was waiting for them. “You was dead-on when you said they came this way,” Rooster exclaimed. Perley didn’t admit that he was just guessing. After they came out on the prairie, he had no idea which way they had gone. “And those ashes are still warm,” Rooster went on. “I’d say we ain’t that far behind ’em, after all.”
Perley looked the campsite over and came to the same conclusion Rooster had. The ashes were still warm, and there were fairly fresh droppings their horses had left behind. Clear hoofprints led out of the camp, heading north, following the creek. “Rooster, you know this country. Where does this trail beside the creek go? The way these two men are goin’, it almost looks like they were lookin’ to strike this trail.” He pointed at the tracks. “Now, it looks like they’re followin’ the trail.”
“There ain’t nothin’ up that way,” Rooster answered. “This trail ends at Comanche Run. That’s an old waterin’ hole the Comanches used to camp at. It’s where a clear spring runs into this creek. Nothin’ there but a burnt-up piece of cabin a feller tried to use for a tradin’ post. The Comanches killed him and set his cabin on fire.”
Perley looked over at Tom. “Comanche Run,” he repeated. “I’m bettin’ that’s where these two are figurin’ on campin’ tonight. So, if it was up to me, I’d say let’s forget about tryin’ to scout every track on the trail and head straight to Comanche Run as fast as we can.” Back to Rooster then, he asked, “How far is it from here?”
“I don’t know, close to forty miles, I reckon.”
“Forty miles,” Perley said. “We can make it up there tonight if we swap horses about halfway. Whaddaya say, Tom?”
Tom didn’t hesitate. “I say let’s go for it. I think you’re right, and if you ain’t, we’ll just go on to the Lazy-S.”
CHAPTER 18
After their second day of traveling, Rachael’s abductors made camp at the place they called Comanche Run. It was still fairly early in the evening, but they gave he
r the impression that this was a planned stop. She knew it for sure when Joe Cutter commented, “Ain’t nobody here. I thought he was gonna be here when we got here.”
“Can’t you do somethin’ to stop that baby from squallin’?” Waylon Logan complained. Then, answering Cutter’s remark, he said, “He’ll be here when he gets here.” He turned back to glare at Rachael.
Tired in addition to being frightened, she had not closed her eyes all night long the night before. When they had camped, they made her cook the bacon and jerky they had brought. When it was time for bed, they realized they had not decided on the best way to restrain her for the night. If they tied her up, hands and foot, as they would have if it was just her to worry about, that would keep her from running off during the night. But as Logan had pointed out, “How’s she gonna take care of that baby, if she’s all tied up? You gonna take care of him?”
“Hell, no,” Cutter had answered. It was going to be a problem for them, and they couldn’t think of a solution.
“I’ll give you my word that I won’t try to escape, and you won’t have to tie me up,” she had suggested, which brought a hearty laugh from both of her kidnappers. In the end, they decided the only way was to have her and the baby sleep on the blanket between them. To restrain her further, her ankle was tied with a rope around Logan’s ankle. They felt confident that if she tried to get up during the night, one of them would be awakened. To her discomfort, they didn’t give her much room, so she could barely move without touching one of them. Consequently, she had been afraid to go to sleep. During the long night, she had been constantly on guard for the seemingly casual hand that strayed toward her. Her only defense had been to give the baby a little pinch whenever she felt an exploring hand, causing the baby to cry, which resulted in a string of profanity from Cutter, Logan, or both.
“He needs more milk,” she said.
Joe Cutter got a can of milk from the packs and opened it with his heavy skinning knife. “Here’s the damn milk,” he said and handed her the can.
She took the can and backed quickly away from him. She picked the baby up then and went over to sit near the fire. She reached under her skirt and tore off a piece of her petticoat, then, using it as a wick, she poked it in the hole in the can. When it had soaked up some of the milk, she pressed it on the baby’s lips. He stopped crying and took the milk. Terrified when they had stopped the night before by the creek, she could not stop herself from shaking, which seemed to have amused the cruel pair. It had inspired them to make lewd remarks and threaten to do any number of crude things to her. She believed the only hope she had of surviving the night without being violated was to say that she was the baby’s mother, so she did.
Logan walked up to the fire and stood over her, watching her feed the baby. “Maybe you weren’t lyin’, maybe you really are dried up.”
“What if she was tellin’ the truth when we first got her?” Cutter wondered. “What if she really ain’t the real mama?”
Logan looked back at Rachael. “Then I reckon we’ll kill her and keep the baby. Then you can feed him with that rag.”
* * *
It was a little past sunset, with still no sign of the party the two kidnappers were supposed to meet. In a few minutes after the last glimpse of the sun dropped below the horizon, it was as if some great being had suddenly blown out a lantern, leaving the prairie deep in darkness, waiting for the moon’s appearance. “Dump the rest of that coffee and make us a fresh pot,” Logan ordered Rachael. She laid the baby on her blanket and went to the spring to fill the pot. When she straightened up again, she froze when she saw the dark outlines of two men on horseback watching her.
“Cutter? Logan?” A deep voice rang out.
In a panic, Logan and Cutter scrambled away from the firelight, grabbing their rifles as they rolled over on the ground to take up firing positions. “Who is it?” Logan demanded.
“Take it easy,” the voice returned. “Who do you think it is?” Ballenger said sarcastically. “Just wanted to make sure it’s you—we’re coming in.”
“You coulda fooled me,” Logan informed him. “I thought it was some fool lookin’ to get shot—come ridin’ up outta the dark like that.”
The two riders walked their horses into the firelight. “I see the woman,” Ballenger said. “Where’s the baby?”
“Yonder on the blanket,” Logan answered and pointed, “safe and sound. Where’s the money?”
“Have you ever known me not to honor any deal between us?” Ballenger asked. “I’ve got your money. Any trouble?”
“Nah, no trouble, I just wanna get this cryin’ young’un off my hands.” Remembering the coffee then, he said, “We was fixin’ to make us a fresh pot of coffee. Step down and have some.” He looked toward the spring, where Rachael was still standing terrified. “Get on back here and get that coffeepot on.” He and Cutter watched as Ballenger and his companion dismounted and walked up closer to the fire. “Who’s this you got with you?” Logan asked.
“This is Mr. Brent Slocum,” Ballenger replied. “I told you he’d be riding along to make sure everything went all right.”
Brent said nothing for a couple of minutes but continued to stare at Rachael. Finally, he spoke. “Who’s the woman?”
His question caused Cutter and Logan to look at each other, astonished, before Cutter answered. “She’s the baby’s mama. You said bring the baby’s mama, so we brung her.”
Brent looked at Ballenger and said, “That’s not Emma Wise. I don’t know who she is, but she’s sure as hell not Emma Wise. I’ve met my brother’s wife, and this woman is not her.”
“I told them that!” Rachael blurted. “But they wouldn’t believe me.”
There followed a pocket of silence when everyone was stunned speechless, broken by the sudden crying of the baby. “Take care of him,” Ballenger ordered Rachael. She put the coffeepot down and picked up the baby. He turned to Brent. “Are you sure she’s not the baby’s mother? I never saw her up close, but she sure as hell looks like the woman I saw carrying the baby before.”
“I told you I was sure,” Brent replied, then another doubt entered his mind. “She might be that baby’s mother, and if she is, then the baby is not my nephew. And that means my father needs to get the money back that’s already been paid for this farce.”
“Now, hold on, Brent,” Ballenger said, “we’ll get this straightened out.”
Realizing their payday was in jeopardy, Logan and Cutter immediately got their hackles up. “I don’t know what you two are tryin’ to pull here,” Cutter charged. “We took the baby that was in the tent Ballenger pointed out, and we took the woman that came outta the tent with him.” He pointed his finger at Ballenger. “You said you’d been watchin’ that camp and there weren’t but one baby there, so that’s the right baby. Maybe she ain’t the mama, but he’s the baby you’re supposed to pay us to get.”
“He’s right about the baby,” Ballenger said. “There was only one baby there, so he’s gotta be the right one.”
“I don’t know,” Brent responded. “Maybe after you left, these two jaspers picked up some easier baby.” He was not convinced, and he felt he was going to have to be before he accepted the infant. In the meantime, he still didn’t know where the woman came from.
The woman in question was still in a fearful haze, wondering what would become of her and the baby. Out of fear for her safety, she backed slowly away from the fire as they continued to argue. It struck her that no one seemed to notice her movements, intent as they were upon resolving the mix-up. She continued to back up, slowly easing away from the firelight. Still no one noticed that she was gradually fading into the darkness, so she continued to back away, praying that the baby would not give her exit away by crying. She was convinced that, no matter how the argument turned out, it was not going to go well for her. Determined not to stay there to find out, she decided she would not have another chance to run. It was a desperate decision, but to stay was ultimately to die. Of
that she was convinced, so she continued to back away from the camp until she was suddenly stopped by an arm around her waist and a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. “Don’t make a sound. It’s me, Perley.”
She almost collapsed, her emotions overpowering her, but he kept her from falling. “Hang on, Rachael, I’m gonna get you somewhere safe. Tom’s waitin’ right behind me. If we’re lucky, we can ride on outta here before they even know you’re gone.” He walked her back to the shell of the old cabin where Tom, Rooster, and the horses waited, and she hurried into the arms of her anxious husband. It was at that moment that young Daniel Seaton Slocum, Jr. decided to tell the world that he was dissatisfied with the way he was being treated. Utilizing the full power of his healthy lungs, he let out a wail like that of a coyote pup.
As if a fire alarm bell had rung, the fireside discussion ceased immediately as the participants realized Rachael and the baby were no longer there. It was Waylon Logan who said the obvious. “She’s gone!” He exclaimed. “She’s run off with the young’un.”
“Oh, hell,” Perley exclaimed. “There goes our luck. Get outta here!” He and Tom helped Rachael up into the saddle, then Tom climbed up behind her.”
“What are you gonna do?” Rooster blurted as he climbed up on his horse.
“Rooster, you lead ’em back the way we came,” Perley said. “I’m gonna see if I can delay ’em enough so you can put some distance behind you.”
“You be careful.” Rooster said. “Don’t do nothin’ foolish.”
“I ain’t gonna charge ’em, if that’s what you mean. You just run, and when the horses get tired, find someplace to protect yourself. I’ll try to find you later. Now, get goin’.”
Bullets Don't Argue Page 23