Eagle Talons (The Iron Horse Chronicles: Book One)

by Robert Lee Murphy

  Will surveyed the land on either side. “Over there.” He pointed along the ridge. “That stand of pines.”

  Will led Jenny along the hillside. They slipped on the loose footing. If it were going to be daylight much longer he’d brush out their tracks, but it’d be dark soon and he didn’t think anyone could track them tonight. He didn’t plan to be here in the morning when their tracks became visible.

  They stepped into a stand of ponderosa pines. Will chose a spot between two large ones. “Wait here,” he said. “I want to take a quick look around to be sure this is a secure place.”

  Jenny sank down on a pile of pine needles and leaned against the trunk of a tree. Will climbed the slope above the trees and looked back down the eastern side of the range from where they’d come, then turned and looked back to where he’d left Jenny. This should do. Anyone coming over the ridge wouldn’t be able to see through into the center of the clump of trees. They should be safe here tonight.

  Now to build a fire. The problem would be to keep smoke from curling up above the pines. That’d give them away.

  He gathered up loose branches as he worked his way back down the ridge. He dropped the firewood beside Jenny, then trimmed the branches with Lone Eagle’s knife, separating the smaller ones from the larger.

  “Jenny, see that lone tree over there? The one that’s been struck by lightning?”

  She nodded.

  “See if you can find dead moss on the trunk and some pine needles on the ground. Those needles should be plenty dry. A handful of each will do. That’ll get the fire started.”

  “I know how to select dry buffalo patties,” she said, “but I’m not sure about dead moss.”

  Will pealed some green moss off the tree next to him. “This stuff. Make sure it’s brown, not green.”

  While Will whittled a stack of kindling, Jenny went to the dead tree. He scraped aside pine needles until be reached bare ground and erected a tiny tepee with the wood. Jenny returned with both hands full—one of dry, brown moss and the other of brittle, pine needles.

  Will fashioned a nest from the moss and cradled the needles in it. “Now comes the hard part,” he said.

  He fished the arrowhead from his pants pocket. “I’m not much good at this. Homer can start a fire with flint and steel with a couple of whacks.” He struck the flint against the back of the knife blade, sending a shower of sparks into the nest he’d fashioned. It smoldered, but by the time he gathered it up, it’d died out. He tried a second time without success.

  “The breeze is blowing it out as fast as you get it started,” Jenny said. “Duncan provided a shield with his body when I tried to light a fire, even though I used lucifer matches.”

  She knelt and spread out her skirt. Will struck the flint against the steel, and sparks dropped into the nest. He gathered up the smoldering pile and held it close between himself and Jenny’s skirt. He blew gently on the nest and almost dropped it when the flame ignited. He shoved it beneath the kindling of the tepee and the whole stack burst into flames.

  “Hey! We did it. Thanks, Jenny.” He slipped the knife into his waistband at the small of his back to keep the blade from stabbing his legs while he knelt to build up the fire.

  Jenny smiled. She backed away from the fire to keep her skirt clear of the flames. “That feels good, Will. But I’m cold. Let’s make it bigger.” She tossed a branch onto the fire. The tepee collapsed and the fire sputtered.

  Will snatched the branch out of the fire and used it to push the kindling back together to get the blaze started again. “Too soon for one that big,” he said.

  “Sorry. We didn’t have that trouble with buffalo chips.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We just need to feed the branches in slowly, from smaller to larger.”

  Typically the afternoon breeze would calm down at sunset, but that hadn’t happened today. A cold westerly wind gusted up the slope. The fire danced wildly. The flames flared up with each gust, then died back with each lull.

  “It’s getting colder, Will. This buckskin dress never has dried. I wish I could hang it by the fire.” Jenny clasped her arms across her chest and held her shoulders. She crouched close to the fire.

  Will took off his wool shirt and handed it to Jenny. “Here, mine’s dry. If you don’t mind seeing me in my undershirt, this’ll keep you warm.”

  Jenny stood and took the shirt. “Thanks. I don’t mind your undershirt. But are you going to be warm enough?”

  “Pooh, I’m fine.”

  Jenny grinned. “Then turn around while I get out of this dress.”

  Will faced away and listened to the rustling of clothing.

  “Finished,” she said.

  Will turned. His mouth dropped open. The shirt only reached her knees.

  “There you go again, looking at my ankles.” She giggled.

  He felt his face flush. “That’s not all I can see.”

  “Why Will Braddock. Even in the firelight I can see you’re blushing.”

  “We’re going to need more wood to keep the fire going all night. I’ll get some.”

  He headed up the slope, picking up branches until he had an armload. When he turned to go back, he saw the flickering of their fire through openings in the stand of pines. He stepped back into the shelter of the trees and froze.

  Paddy O’Hannigan held Jenny—a Bowie knife pressed against her throat.

  CHAPTER 49

  * * *

  Will cradled the armload of wood against his chest. Where had Paddy O’Hannigan come from? How’d he find them? Will gritted his teeth, angry with himself for being careless.

  Jenny looked at Will. Her eyes wide. He could see fear in them.

  “Well now,” Paddy said. “Sure, and I thank ye for building such a nice fire. Made finding ye much easier, don’t ye know.”

  “Let her go.” Will tightened his eyelids, intensifying his glare.

  “And why, pray tell, would I be doing that?” Paddy pulled his arm more tightly around Jenny’s neck.

  She stretched her head up, trying to ease the choking grip. Her hands, which had been along her side, inched up her front toward Paddy’s arm. What was she doing? If she tried to grab Paddy, he’d stab her. Will moved his head slowly from side to side trying to signal her not to move.

  Paddy pricked Jenny’s neck with the tip of the Bowie knife.

  “Ow!” She winced and tried to pull away from the blade.

  “Stand still, lassie.” Blood trickled from where he’d nicked her.

  Jenny’s hands froze beneath the swell of her breasts, her knuckles touching. Will watched her take a shallow breath, then her hands resumed their crawl upward. He could see the eagle talon hanging suspended on its leather thong, just in front of the second button on his shirt that she wore. She was reaching for the talon.

  “Ye’ve been a big problem for me, Will Braddock.” Paddy’s sneer wrinkled the scar on his cheek. “Twice ye kept me from stealing that black horse. Twice.”

  “Well, you finally stole him.”

  Jenny’s fingers touched the talon. She eased it away from the front of the shirt and turned it so the sharp tang pointed up and toward her body.

  “Sure, and ye’re going to pay now.”

  “What are you going to do?” Will moved his eyes up from the talon to look into Jenny’s eyes. They were cold gray.

  “I’m going to slit the lassie’s throat while ye watch, then I’m going to blow yer brains out with my pistol.” Paddy cackled. The Irishman’s harsh laugh revealed broken, rotten teeth.

  “Now!” Will shouted.

  Jenny ripped the talon across Paddy’s hand.

  “Agh!” Paddy screamed and loosened his grip. The hand that held the Bowie knife jerked aside.

  Jenny slipped beneath his grasp and dropped to the ground.

  Will dove across the campfire, throwing the armload of wood at Paddy. The branches hit Paddy in the chest, knocking him back a step. Will tackled him around the waist, driving the skinny
Irishman hard into the ground. Their hats flew off.

  “Humph!” Paddy exhaled sharply from Will’s weight on his chest.

  Paddy’s foul breath caused Will to push backward. He kicked out with his feet and struck something behind him.

  “Ah!” Jenny yelped.

  Her cry distracted him and he looked at her. He’d kicked her where she still lay on the ground.

  “Watch out!” she screamed.

  Paddy lashed at Will with his knife. Will rolled to the side. The knife caught the side of his arm—slashing across the wounded bicep. Wow, that hurt!

  The wiry Irishman jumped to his feet. He crouched, swinging the big knife back and forth before him with one hand. With the other he reached for the revolver. A grin snarled across his mouth. “Now what, Braddock?”

  Will rose to his knees and reached behind him. His hand closed on Lone Eagle’s knife, against the small of his back.

  Paddy cocked the Colt once, then a second time.

  Will threw the knife.

  “Agh!” Paddy doubled over—the blade quivered in his shoulder, above his heart.

  Blam! The pistol fired. The bullet slammed into the ground in front of Will. Dirt flew.

  Will surged to his feet and smashed a fist into Paddy’s face. Will felt the nose crunch under the blow, blood spewing down Paddy’s lips and chin.

  Will kicked up and knocked the revolver from Paddy’s hand. It sailed away into the brush.

  Paddy slashed out with the Bowie knife.

  Will dropped to a knee. The blade swished above his head. His hand landed on one of the branches he’d thrown earlier. He grasped it and jumped back to his feet. He swung out, feeling the wood connect with Paddy’s left arm.

  Paddy grunted and stumbled back. His left arm hung limp beside him, blood soaking his shirt below the imbedded knife.

  Will brandished the limb, keeping it between himself and Paddy.

  Out of the corner of his eye Will saw Jenny scramble into the brush, searching for the revolver.

  Paddy waved his Bowie knife before him. He looked at his bleeding shoulder, stole a glance to the side where Jenny combed through the brush, then faced back toward Will. He exhaled sharply, turned and ran down the slope.

  Will joined Jenny in the tangle of bushes searching for the gun.

  “Here it is,” she said.

  Will double cocked the Navy Colt and pointed it to where Paddy mounted a horse beyond the ring of pine trees. Paddy looked back at Will. “I’ll kill you someday, Braddock!”

  “Not if I kill you first!” Will pulled the trigger. He heard a click, but no explosion. He looked at the revolver. When he’d kicked it out of Paddy’s hand the percussion cap had been knocked off that cylinder. He cocked the gun again, rolling a chamber into firing position that did have a cap. He fired, but the Irishman had ridden out of range.

  Jenny stood beside him. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He turned her cheek to the side to look at her neck. The blood had dried where Paddy had stuck her.

  She placed a hand over his sleeve and pulled her hand away to show him the sticky redness. “We need to stop this bleeding. I seem to be always bandaging you.”

  They both looked down the slope where Paddy had disappeared.

  “Do you think the knife wound will kill him?”

  Will shrugged. “I can only hope.”

  CHAPTER 50

  * * *

  “Halloo the camp!”

  Will jerked awake. Jenny stirred against his shoulder where she’d fallen asleep. Will had promised himself he would stay awake, but he’d dozed off. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A thick fog engulfed their campsite. The fire was a pile of glowing embers.

  “Halloo the camp!”

  Will recognized the voice. “Bullfrog? That you?”

  “Yep. I’m coming in.”

  Will heard the steps of two horses and the creak of leather, but could see nothing through the heavy white cloud cover. The horses stopped and Will heard feet thump the ground when Bullfrog dismounted. Like an apparition, the old mountain man emerged from the mist.

  “How’d you find us? I kept the fire small—didn’t think it could be seen.”

  “Didn’t see it. Smelled it. Smoke smell was held low to the ground by the fog.”

  Bullfrog leaned his rifle against a tree, stooped by the fire, laid some twigs on it, and blew. The fire flared up. Bullfrog turned in his crouch and looked at Jenny. “This the little lady you were so determined to rescue?”

  “This is Jenny McNabb, Bullfrog.”

  “Ma’am.” Bullfrog touched the edge of his old hat.

  “Hello, Mr. Munro,” Jenny said. “Will tells me you’re Lone Eagle’s father.”

  “That I am, ma’am. And call me Bullfrog.” He stood. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Nothing,” Will said.

  “Figured as much. When’s the last time you two ate?”

  “Yesterday,” Will said. “Some pemmican.”

  “I reckon we can do better than that. Help me dump that antelope off the packhorse and we’ll carve us off some steaks.”

  Will eased away from Jenny and stood.

  “Little lady,” Bullfrog said, “while we do some butchering how about you get this fire to blazing?”

  “Certainly,” Jenny said. She stood and look down at her bare legs. She was dressed only in Will’s shirt. “But first I’ve got to get decent. Will hand me that dress. I expect it’s dry by now.”

  Will pulled the buckskin dress off the branch where they’d hung it the night before. “It’s dryer,” he said. “A little moist from the fog. Once the fire is up, the heat should take care of that.”

  They devoured the antelope steaks, which Bullfrog seared in a skillet, and washed them down with strong coffee. While they ate, Will told about their escape from the Cheyenne village and their run-in last night with Paddy O’Hannigan. He also described how Lone Eagle helped them escape and hadn’t given away their hiding place in the beaver lodge.

  “That’s good,” Bullfrog said. “His ma would be right proud of what he done.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without his help,” Will said.

  Bullfrog belched. “ ’Scuse me. Nothing like a good antelope steak.” He stood and kicked dirt onto the fire. “Time to skedaddle. How were you planning on getting to Fort Sanders?”

  “Walk,” Will said.

  “Hmm. This fog will burn off shortly, then you’ll be sitting ducks for any Injuns what’s tracking you. I reckon we best ride. I don’t relish being caught out here in the open if them Cheyenne come snooping ’round.”

  “This isn’t your fight, Bullfrog,” Will said. “You get along fine with the Cheyenne.”

  “Come along now. We’ll leave that antelope carcass by the fire. Mebbe that’ll slow them bucks down if they stop to eat some of it.”

  The fog had thinned enough that Will could see Bullfrog’s horses standing nearby.

  “You two climb up on Ida. Only got the packsaddle on her. Not the most comfortable, but I reckon it won’t be too bad. She’s gentle walking. Don’t need no bridle. She’s been following behind her ma, Minnie, here for years. I’ll load my gear on Minnie with me.”

  Jenny rode in silence behind Will. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his back. When Will turned to look up the trail behind them, she looked too. No sign of followers.

  Suddenly she raised her head and leaned her chin on Will’s shoulder. “Is that Fort Sanders?” she asked. “Where I see that big American flag?”

  “Sure is,” Bullfrog answered. “Reckon we made it all right.”

  “And to think I used to hate that flag,” Jenny said.

  An hour later they passed through the opened gate into Fort Sanders.

  “Papa!” Jenny shouted. She slid off the horse from behind Will and ran to her father.

  “Jenny.” Her father embraced her. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

&nbs
p; “Will saved me, Papa.” She turned to Will, who’d dismounted. She reached a hand out to him, and Will stepped up beside her.

  Jenny’s father extended his good right arm. “Thank you, Will.”

  Will returned the strength of the grip that held his. “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “Bullfrog Charlie helped us get here, Papa.” Jenny smiled at the mountain man who stood nearby with his horses. “Thank you again, Bullfrog.”

  “Glad to be of help.”

  Duncan raced across the parade ground and charged straight into his sister’s outstretched arms. “Jenny! You look like an Indian.”

  Jenny laughed. She wore the buckskin dress and moccasins. She’d rebraided her hair on the ride. Her days of captivity had tanned her face a golden brown.

  “Where’s Elspeth?” Jenny looked around.

  Her father shook his head. “She left yesterday. Went with that saloon keeper, Kavanagh. He promised her a job . . . if you can call it that.”

  “She’s going to work in the Lucky Dollar Saloon?” Will asked.

  Jenny’s father nodded. “Kavanagh came scouting out the next location for Hell on Wheels. He told Elspeth he’d learned she was stranded here and told her she could earn a lot of money working for him.”

  Jenny frowned. “Yeah, doing what? Paddy O’Hannigan had something to do with this, I’ll bet. I asked him to help me escape from the Cheyenne, but he told me he’d only do it if I agreed to go to work at the Lucky Dollar. Oh, Elspeth. You think you’ve found freedom . . . but you’ve just made yourself a slave.”

  “What Kavanagh offered sounded more exciting to her than working for the stagecoach line,” her father said.

  “Stagecoach line?” Jenny asked.

  “Wells Fargo has hired me to manage the Big Laramie home station here,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Duncan piped in. “I’ll be a stock tender and help the stage drivers change horses when they come through. And I’m going to learn Morse code, so I can operate the telegraph.”