Home Before Sundown

by Tinnean

  “Yeah?”

  “Is there an extra shovel?” Sharps asked.

  “No. Get the mules harnessed, would you?”

  “O-okay.” The kid seemed wistful.

  George realized he’d read Sharps’s expression right. Poor kid was riding for a fall.

  Sharps turned to George. “Would you take care of the lady?”

  “Sure.”

  “What will I do without him?” Mrs. Fox cried. “I’m expecting a baby. How can I raise four children all alone?”

  “Try not to worry. We’ll help you.” George took her arm to help her to her wagon.

  “You’ll help us? You’ll help us?” She yanked free and slapped George so hard his head rocked back. “It’s because of you that Albert is dead.”

  George’s cheek throbbed—she’d managed to hit the same spot where Eli had struck him. He seized her wrists and kept her from hitting him again.

  “I understand your distress, Judith, but it wasn’t our fault that Al was shot.”

  She burst into more tears. George drew aside the canvas at the back of the wagon that closed off the interior, then picked her up, carried her into the wagon, and laid her down on a makeshift bed. She curled on her side and continued to weep.

  George went to the rear of the wagon. “Bertie.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Hall?” He stared up at him, wide-eyed. Well, of course. A woman shouldn’t have been able to carry another woman so easily.

  “I’d like you and your sisters to sit with your mama.”

  “Okay.” He scrambled into the wagon, and George stepped down and boosted the little girls up into it.

  He blew out a breath, cupped his sore cheek, then hurried to the wagon he and Bart shared with his sisters and brother.

  If he was going to drive, he had to get out of this outfit. Riding with the bustle had been uncomfortable, but he’d needed the fancy dress to lull the sheriff into a sense of lust and superiority, and he’d succeeded very nicely.

  Charlie climbed in after him and helped undo the buttons down his back. “I won’t wear clothes like this,” she muttered as she put the bustle away.

  “How about a riding habit like Noelle used to wear?”

  “No.”

  “You have to wear clothes,” he told her matter-of-factly as he stepped into a plainer dress, pulled it up over his hips, and got the bodice over his torso and his arms through the sleeves.

  She burst into laughter. “You’re silly, Georgie.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose, turned his back, and pointed, and Charlie giggled and began to button him up.

  “See? If you were wearing your regular clothes, you could do this yourself.”

  “I could, couldn’t I? Just don’t let anyone hear you say that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  George hugged her.

  “Hummingbird?” Bart poked his head into the back of the wagon. “Do you need help doing up those buttons?”

  “No, Charlie did them for me.”

  “Taking away my job, pequeña?”

  “I’ve got to learn—Georgie says. Tell him I don’t have to wear a dress, Bart. He listens to you.”

  “Not right now.”

  But George thought he heard him mutter, “I’m not getting between you!” Bart gave George one of those smiles that turned him into melted ice cream, and he found himself smiling back.

  “Captain Steve wants to say a few words over the grave, and then we’ve got to go.”

  * * * *

  The grave was covered with rocks to keep it safe from wild animals. Steve recited the Twenty-Third Psalm while Mrs. Fox continued to sob and her children looked lost.

  “Drive her wagon, Browne.”

  Sharps sent a forlorn glance his way but didn’t object. He brought Mrs. Fox back to the wagon and helped her in, then boosted the children in after her. He unsaddled his horses, put the saddles in the hammock beneath the wagon, and tied the horses behind. With that done, he didn’t look at Steve again, just climbed on and gathered up the reins.

  George observed the whole thing and felt his heart break for Sharps.

  “Can I ride with you, Bart?” Charlie asked.

  “Sure.” Bart caught her arm and swung her up behind him, and George watched as they rode off to the side.

  “What about me?” Thomas demanded.

  “Aren’t you going to help me drive?” George pretended to be about to cry.

  Yes!”

  “All righty, then.” George lifted Thomas onto the seat, then hoisted up his skirts and followed. He gathered up the reins and released the brake.

  Steve glanced around, although he avoided looking Sharps’s way. He waved his hat in a sweeping circle and sang out, “Wagons forward, roll!”

  George snapped the reins, and the mules headed out.

  Chapter 50

  They pushed the mules as much as they dared through what was left of the afternoon and into the night. They pushed themselves as well, intending to put as much distance between them and Willow Crick and its residents as they could.

  By alternating between a trot, canter, and walk, they covered about twenty-five miles before they had to stop to rest the animals.

  They managed to get a few hours’ sleep, with the men keeping watch in shifts, before they headed out again at first light.

  “We can’t take the chance of starting a fire,” Steve said. “Breakfast will be biscuits and dried fruit washed down with water.”

  So they ate breakfast on the move

  Nooning passed in much the same way. “We should be able to make a fire tonight,” Steve promised. He’d found a stream, and while they rested and watered the mules, George thought of hot coffee and frying up a batch of bacon and cornbread.

  They were still tired when Steve had them heading out again.

  While Bart and Frank rode on either side of the little wagon train, making sure the mules went along at a steady pace, Steve scouted ahead to find the easiest path for the mules to take. Then he returned, told George, and asked Bart or Frank to pass on the information to Sharps. With that done, he headed south in order to make sure no one was following them.

  This time, as he was about to turn Bella to head south again, George called him over.

  “Yeah?” Steve looked as tired as George felt.

  “It’ll be dark soon. The mules need a break.” Truth be told, they all did.

  “There’s a stream about half a mile north of here. We’ll camp there for the night.”

  “Will it be safe?” With only two wagons, they couldn’t circle them.

  “It should be. The stream runs through some hills. We can butt the wagons against them—that’ll keep our backs safe—and corral the mules and horses behind the wagons.”

  “Will you let Sharps know?”

  “No. He’ll follow you.”

  But for how long? George had seen the longing in Sharps’s eyes fade as Steve continued to ignore him. When George remembered their easy comradery in Willow Crick…

  Steve rode off, and George shook his head.

  “Whoa, mules.” He pulled them to a halt and set the brake.

  Bart rode up when he saw George had stopped his team. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Hold the reins for me for a minute, all right? I want to talk to Sharps.”

  “Should I worry?”

  “No, you should know better.” He hoisted up his skirts and climbed down, grinning at Bart’s appreciative whistle.

  George glanced at Bart over his shoulder and fluttered his lashes, then hurried to Mrs. Fox’s wagon.

  “Something wrong, Mrs. Hall?” Sharps asked.

  “We’re heading for a stream Steve says is half a mile away, and we’ll set up camp there for the night.”

  “You didn’t have to come tell me that. I’d have followed your wagon.”

  “I know.” George worried his lower lip. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  Sharps raised an eyebrow.

  “Will you st
ay with us once we reach Hummingbird Valley?” Bart had taken to calling it that, after the nickname he’d given George. And truth be told…George liked it. “You’re more than welcome to, you know.”

  “I don’t reckon so.”

  He sighed. He’d had a feeling Sharps wouldn’t stay, not after the way Steve was treating him. “Does Steve know?”

  “I don’t think it would matter to him. Look, we’d better—”

  Steve came thundering up. Bella’s hide was streaked with sweat. He was always considerate of the mare, and that he’d run her like this now…George felt cold.

  “Why aren’t you moving?” Steve shouted. “Jesus, George, you’ve got Bart. Do you have to make a play for Sharps too?”

  “Are you out of your mind, Steve?”

  “Never mind. We’re about to have company.”

  “Shit.”

  “Mrs. Hall!”

  If things hadn’t been so desperate, George would have laughed at Sharps’s appalled expression. Maybe one day the kid would learn the truth, but until then, he’d have to live with it.

  “How many?” he asked Steve.

  “About a dozen or so.”

  “How soon?” Sharps loosened the thong that fastened the hammer of his revolver.

  “I’d say an hour at most. I don’t think they’re horsemen. They look pretty much like coal miners. Weatherford must have persuaded them it would be worth their while to come after us.”

  “I reckon they’re about to learn otherwise. Where are the girls?” Charlie and Noelle had taken Socks and their bows and arrows to do a little hunting.

  “I’ll find them. Thomas?”

  “He’s in the wagon playing with his toy soldiers.”

  “Okay.” Steve tapped his heels against Bella’s sides, and she broke into a ground-eating canter.

  “What girls?” Bertie Fox poked his head out of the wagon.

  George was surprised when Sharps didn’t repeat the question. Instead, Sharps said, “We’ve got to make a run for it, Bert. Make sure your ma and your sisters are okay.”

  “Okay, Sharps.” Luckily, that seemed to distract Bertie, and he ducked back into the wagon. They could hear him telling his sisters and mother to hold on, they were going on an adventure!

  George could understand why Steve might think Sharps was setting himself up with a ready-made family. In the short time Sharps had been with them, Bertie had come to worship him and followed Sharps everywhere when he could.

  Sharps grinned down at George. “You all call me kid, and I may be young, but I’m not blind. Get going. I’ll head my mules out and pass the word on to Frank. You can tell your husband.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Sharps snapped the reins and whistled, and his mules threw themselves into their harnesses and began to run.

  George hoisted up his skirts once again and raced to their wagon.

  “Trouble?” Bart asked as he caught George around his waist and stole a kiss.

  “More than you can believe.” George stole a kiss himself. “The men from Willow Crick are right behind us.”

  “Son of a bitch. All right, I reckon we’d better gat a move on.” Bart boosted him onto the wagon seat. “Noelle and Charlie?”

  “Steve’s going after them. We have to get to that place he told you about. Damn, I should have borrowed Mrs. Fox’s rifle.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it once we reach the stream.”

  * * * *

  By the time they had the wagons arranged against a hillside and the mules and horses corralled within, they didn’t have much room or much time. Noelle was ready with her bow and arrow, and Charlie had the custom made rifle they’d bought for her from a family that decided not to go west. In spite of her age, she was a good shot.

  Thomas had his slingshot and his bag of marbles.

  Those men were about to find out they’d bitten off a lot more than they could chew.

  Sharps came up to George. “Mrs. Hall, would you mind if I borrowed Salida? I want to do a little reconnaissance. It’s not that I don’t trust Twilight—”

  “It’s just you trust Salida more.”

  Sharps smiled at him. “I worked with her for a year or so. Twilight’ll come around in time, but…”

  “It’s just we don’t have time.” George returned his smile. He had seen the way Salida willingly accepted him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Take her.”

  “Thanks.” He saddled the mare and shortened the stirrups, then paused for a minute. “I’ve noticed you could use an extra rifle.”

  “I was going to ask Mrs. Fox if I could borrow Albert’s—”

  “Don’t bother. It’s in poor condition. If we had time, I’d try to clean it up.” He shrugged.

  “I reckon I’d better borrow Charlie’s bow and arrow.”

  “Take this.” He handed George his rifle and a box of ammunition. “This is a good weapon. My pa made it for me.”

  “Thanks.” George accepted the rifle. It was finely made. “But what will you use?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He reached up and ran his fingers over the canvas case that held the beautiful banjo.

  It really was odd Sharps carried it with him when he didn’t play.

  Sharps tipped his hat, mounted Salida, and rode off.

  * * * *

  They settled in to wait, and it wasn’t long before company arrived.

  The men from Willow Crick sat their horses about a dozen yards from the wagons.

  “All we want is the woman and the kid. Turn ‘em over, and we’ll let you go on your way.” They exchanged glances, grinning at each other, and it was obvious they expected an easy time of it.

  Instead of answering, the quiet of twilight was broken by the sound of five rifles being cocked.

  “Now hold on there a minute. Mr. Weatherford said you’d be reasonable, you’d cooperate.”

  “I reckon you shouldn’t have believed him,” Steve said.

  “Thomas,” George whispered. “Can you hit that varmint?”

  “Yep.” He chose one of the larger glass marbles, placed it in the pocket of his slingshot, and pulled back on the rubber strips. Then he drew in a breath, held it, and released the marble.

  “Ow!” The man clapped a hand to his forehead. “Hey! I’m bleeding.”

  “Good shot, Thomas.” George raised his voice. “Now suppose you gents be on your way?”

  “Why you—”

  The sound of an eerie ululation unlike anything George had ever heard interrupted whatever the man planned to say, and before the men from Willow Crick could wheel their horses to face whoever was coming at them, shots were fired from that direction.

  George began to shoot as well, and he felt his lips stretch in a wild grin when Bart, Frank, Steve, and Charlie joined in. Arrows whizzed by, and the solid thud of marbles hitting their target could be heard.

  It was over in a matter of minutes, and although none of the men were dead, they had all been injured. Most of them had fallen off their horses.

  Steve stepped over the wagon tree, the casual way he held his rifle belying his intent to shoot to kill next time.

  “Mount up and get out of here,” he said. “And tell Weatherford if he comes after anyone in this wagon train again, I’ll personally hunt him down like the dog he is and blow his brains all over hell’s creation. And that goes for you boys, too.”

  “We’re bleeding. You gotta help us.”

  “People keep telling me that.” Sharps rode out of the night and circled the men to face them. “Can’t imagine why they’d think so, but there you go.” He took out a pouch and began rolling a cigarette. “Now, you heard the man. Hightail it out of here.”

  The men who’d fallen off their horses managed to get on their feet and back in the saddle. The ones who hadn’t, didn’t wait for them. In a matter of minutes they were all gone.

  Sharps walked Salida toward George and tipped back his hat. “Thank
you for the loan of Salida, ma’am.”

  “Thanks for the loan of the rifle. It’s a honey.” All the shooting and shouting had George aroused, and he wanted to drag Bart off and have his way with him. He shifted and cleared his throat instead. Afterward, after everyone was asleep, they’d lie together and suck each other until they spilled down each other’s throats. For now, that would have to wait. “I’ve never seen one like it before.”

  “Like I said, Pa made it for me.”

  “Where have you been, Sharps?” Steve demanded. “You weren’t here—”

  “I went for a ride.”

  George wanted to roll his eyes, but he just shook his head. How could two grown men behave like schoolboys without a lick of sense?

  Mrs. Fox moved aside the canvas that covered her wagon and glared at them. “Are you quite finished? You’ve frightened my children almost out of their wits. Shame on you.” A final glare, and she withdrew back into the wagon.

  “You’d better go comfort your woman,” Steve snapped at Sharps.

  “Huh?”

  But Steve just said, “We’ll need to set up a watch roster for tonight in case those yahoos decide to pay us another visit.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.

  Sharps looked at George, confusion and hurt on his face. “What’s he talking about?”

  George didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “He thinks you’re…fond…of Mrs. Fox.”

  “Is he out of his mind?” He coughed. “I’m sorry, that sounds ungentlemanly. But…”

  “I know.” George rested his hand on Sharps’s shoulder. “You’re in love with him.”

  Sharps hunched in on himself, then straightened. “I reckon it doesn’t matter. Excuse me. I’ll just groom Salida before I give her back to you. Let Captain Marriott know I’ll take whatever watch he wants.” He led the mare away.

  “What was that about?” Bart asked. He draped an arm over George’s shoulders.

  “Sharps is in love with Steve.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it? Considering Steve is in love with him?”

  “What? I thought Steve was in love with Mrs. Fox.”

  “Why?”

  “The way he looked when Mrs. Fox cried down Sharps’s front?”