by Maggie James
“Steal it?” he echoed, baffled. Then, “No. They won’t do that.”
“But they’ll rob it? Take everything?”
“Most likely. Then they might set fire to it.” She was on her feet before the last words were out of his mouth.
“Tess, where you going?” he cried. “Don’t you go down there. It’s too dangerous. The Indians could be here any time, and—”
But Tess was not listening as she picked her way as fast as she dared down the rocks and boulders.
Trying not to look at the bodies, she stepped up on a horizontal spoke, then to the top rim of the wheel itself. Grabbing the rails of the luggage rack, she hoisted herself to the top.
Her trunk was beneath Iris’s, which was bigger and heavier, and she had to shove with all her might to get it to one side.
Dear Lord, she was glad she kept her money sewn in her hem and didn’t have to worry about retrieving that, as well. Though it was quite a chore to have to remove it and sew it back in every time she changed clothes, she felt that was the safest place to keep it.
At last she was able to reach her trunk and was about to unfasten it when her blood turned to ice; she heard the faint, distant sound of horses coming her way at full gallop.
The Apaches.
Breath coming in quick, ragged gasps, and every nerve in her body screaming to hurry, her fingers, suddenly stiff and cold, worked frantically at the latch.
With a loud squeak, the lid flew open.
“Tess…get back up here. I hear ’em coming.”
She threw a glance upward, toward the hiding place, willing him to be silent, then continued rummaging in the trunk till she found the white gown.
Rolling it in a ball, she tucked it under her arm and started down, but in her frenzy her foot slipped as she tried to feel for the wheel rim, and she fell to the ground with a painful thud.
She landed on her stomach, and the wind was knocked from her lungs.
She could not breathe.
She could not move.
And, with the side of her face pressed to the ground, panic washed her from head to toe, and she froze as the earth seemed to vibrate beneath the frenzied staccato of the Apache ponies bearing down.
She tried to suck in air, but it was like ice picks stabbing at her lungs.
Her stomach was a boiling, white-hot knot of pain. Slowly, ever so slowly, her fingers began to move, digging into the gravel and dirt.
The wheezing sound she made as she tried desperately to draw air into her starving lungs was like air being blown over the mouth of a cider jug.
Closer.
The ponies were closer.
Ben was yelling again. She could barely hear him and clung to the hope the Apaches would not be able to at all.
With a great, tearing grunt, she was mercifully able to at last draw air and then manage to get to her knees.
They were almost upon her—screaming, howling, like demons might sound calling from the very pits of hell.
Knees wobbling, Tess was finally able to stand, remembering to retrieve the wedding gown and once more tuck it beneath her arm.
One step.
Two.
It hurt terribly, but she shuffled along.
“Tess…oh, God, child…”
Moving as fast as her body would allow, Tess prayed the Indians would not come charging into the clearing and see her…prayed for the strength to make it a bit higher, to the brush, where she could crawl the rest of the way unseen.
And then they were there, just as she dropped beneath the first clawing, tearing branches of the overgrowth. But there was no time to be cautious, to go easy in order to keep from being scratched.
She dove headlong, and felt flesh tearing from her knees as her dress became tangled about her waist in the brambles.
“Here…” Ben called hoarsely, having spotted her from where he craned his neck to look downward. “Here. Come on. Fast.”
On hands and knees, unmindful of her injuries, Tess gave one last thrust to land facedown beside him.
They both fell still.
From below they could hear the angry cries of the Apaches as they discovered their prey had gotten away.
Tess listened to them speaking in a language alien to anything she had ever heard before. “I wish…” she dared whisper, lips moving against the ground, for she was not about to raise her head, “I knew what they were saying.”
Ben whispered back, “I understand most of it. They’re arguing about whether to go after ’em or plunder the coach, take their dead, and go home.”
More debate, fired back and forth between several different voices.
Suddenly, his face screwed in rage, Ben spewed the oath, “Oh, you goddamn savages. I’d kill you with my bare hands if I could…”
Tess looked at him, eyes round.
“They’re scalpin’ Sulley,” he whispered brokenly. Tess squeezed her eyes shut at the image.
Then more yelling, and they could hear the trunks being smashed on the ground.
Tess sought, and found, Ben’s hand and she squeezed as tight as she could, not letting go until the Indians had finished and loaded their dead and left…which seemed like forever.
“It’s over,” Ben said finally, gratefully.
She saw that the instant she let his hand go, he went back to clutching himself about the protruding arrow.
Then, sweeping her with a condemning glare, he demanded to know, “What in hell was so all-fired important that you nearly got yourself killed over?”
She sat up, still sore from her fall, and unrolled the wedding gown to show him. “It was my mother’s. It’s all I have left of her. I’ll probably never wear it, but I’ll treasure it all the same.”
He grunted. “Who says you won’t wear it? You’ll find a husband one day, pretty thing like you.”
“Well, I’m not thinking about that now. I’m not thinking about anything except getting help for you. How long do you think it will take Joe to return with the soldiers?”
“Not before tomorrow at the soonest.” He turned up the bottle for another much-needed drink, then said, “Now tell me about yourself like you were planning to before you remembered that danged gown.”
And she did. When she spoke of Curt, it was in a precise, necessary way. She was not about to confide what they had shared, for that was something she would keep in her heart to treasure…and the rest of it—how he’d taken half her money and abandoned her—that she had locked away to try never to think about.
When she had finished, Ben could only stare at her incredulously.
Tess saw how he was looking at her and cringed inside. She hated to ask, but had to know. “Do you think less of me now?”
At that, he threw back his head and laughed long and loud before declaring, “Think less of you? Why, little lady, I couldn’t think more of you if you were my own flesh and blood. In fact, you might as well be, ’cause you sure got enough of mine on you after all we been through.”
She let her breath out in a relieved rush. “I was hoping you’d understand.”
“I do. And I got something to tell you, too. The truth is, I didn’t pay any mind to what you said about wanting to learn western ways, ’cause I figured you for a giddy little thing who’d scream at a spider.”
Especially if it was big, fat and ugly, she remembered with an annoyed pang. She had obviously grown up since then…and was very proud she had.
“Well, I’m glad you know different,” she said.
“Yes, and after what you did for me—having the grit to stay with me like you did—I reckon I’m going to have to muster some of my own to stand up to Portia.”
Hope was a crawling thing, working its way up Tess’s spine like the spider he thought she’d scream over. “What…what do you mean?” she stammered.
His grin was broad and confident. “I mean, li’l lady, that I am going to stand up to my daughter-in-law, ’cause if you still want me to teach you what I know about ranchin’ and ri
din’ and shootin’, I’ll do it.”
She wanted to hug him but didn’t dare in his condition. Instead, she kissed his cheek and said, “I promise you won’t regret it.”
“No, you won’t,” he laughed. “But I will, ’cause you got a lot to learn, and it won’t be easy.”
Tess knew that was so but was determined to succeed.
And, as she sat there washed with happiness for the first time in too long to remember, there was but one shadow keeping her from total bliss.
Curt Hammond would never know he had been wrong about her.
And oh, how she wished he could.
Chapter Fourteen
The day wore on.
Tess tried to tend Ben’s wound, but there was little she could do. It was not bleeding badly, just oozing, but she had sense enough to know if the arrow did not come out soon and if he did not receive proper treatment, he was going to die.
He was quiet, drifting away now and then. She was not sure whether he was sleeping or lapsing into unconsciousness, but she was grateful he was still. When he moved about, the oozing got worse.
When he was awake, he would sip on the whiskey. She was glad Joe had left it. Without it, the pain would probably have been much worse.
Her own lips became parched, her throat unbearably dry. When she could stand it no longer, she crept down to get water from the creek.
As she stepped from the last rock onto the ground, she gave a little cry and threw her arms over head against the sudden flapping of wings as the startled vultures flew away.
She took one look…and gagged.
The vultures had been tearing at what was left of poor Sulley, as well as the horses.
“Oh, Sulley, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, forcing herself to go to him. It was not right, she thought with anger building, for him to be subjected to such indignity.
And she would not allow it.
The Indians had taken their dead, as well as plundered the stagecoach. They had smashed the trunks on the ground to open them, taken what they wanted, and left the rest to scatter in the breeze.
They would not be back.
But the vultures would. They had landed on overhanging rocks to perch and watch her warily but patiently, waiting for her to go away so they could return to their feast.
“Well, you bastards will have a hard time getting to it,” she muttered as she set about in a frenzy gathering rocks as large as she could carry.
It took a while, but finally Sulley’s body was entirely covered. The vultures might eventually get to him, but they would have to work at it, and she could always hope Joe and the Army would arrive before then.
What if they didn’t?
She shuddered at the thought but knew it was a very real possibility. After all, there was no way of knowing whether Joe and Iris even made it. The Indians might have tracked them down and killed them. Or the horse they were riding might have collapsed in the heat with so much weight on his back. Anything could have happened.
But she had to hope.
And she had to remain strong.
Finding a canteen the Indians had either overlooked or did not want, Tess filled it from the creek.
Her stomach rolled with hunger, but there was no food to be found. The Indians had taken the satchel with hardtack and dried beef that Joe had kept under his seat. But she wasn’t worried about herself. It was Ben who needed to keep up his strength.
Returning to the hiding place, she found him wide awake and waiting to rail at her.
“If I was able, I swear I’d turn you over my knee and burn your bottom, li’l lady. Are you crazy? Wandering off like that? I was fixin’ to try to go look for you.”
She held up the canteen. “We needed water.”
He held up the whiskey bottle. “I got what I need. And what took you so long?” he demanded. “I been awake over an hour, I know.”
She told him about covering Sulley’s body with rocks.
His tone softened. “Well, that was good of you, Tess, but if the buzzards don’t get him, the coyotes will. Let’s just hope Joe gets back with the soldiers real soon.”
Wanting to get their minds on something else, she said, “Tell me about your ranch.”
“Ahh, my ranch.” He smiled. “I only wish if I die here somebody will take me back and bury me there, ’cause it’s probably as close to heaven as I’ll ever get.”
He described how he had moved west with his wife when his son was only a little tyke. When she had died in childbirth a few years later, along with the baby, he had stayed on.
Working hard and acquiring more land through the years, he was rewarded with a successful operation. “Suffered during the war like lots of folks,” he said, “but I managed to survive. So life is good, except for Portia doin’ her best to make everybody around her miserable.
“But don’t you worry,” he assured, “she won’t give you no trouble. I’ll see to it, ’cause you’re going home with me, like I promised, whether she likes it or not. It’s the least I can do after you’ve stuck by like you have.”
She started to assure him once more of her gratitude and intent to work hard, but suddenly he cried, “Your money. I just now thought about it. Did the Indians get it?”
“No,” she was proud to tell him, then explained how she kept it hidden by sewing it in the hem of her dress.
“That’s smart, but the first thing we’ll do when we get to Dallas is put it in a bank where it will be safe.”
“Will it be enough to buy me a good-sized ranch? I had…” she paused, about to tell him she’d had twice that much before Curt had stolen from her, then decided there was no need. Instead, she hastened to amend, “I had hoped to have more, but I don’t.”
“It’ll get you started, but not all the money in the world will matter if you don’t know what you’re doing. Sure, you’re a woman, and there’s a lot you can’t manage on your own, but you can learn what the help you’re paying is supposed to do so they won’t take advantage of you.
“First,” he said with enthusiasm, “we’ll teach you how to ride a horse proper. None of this sidesaddle stuff women are taught. You’d slide right off the first time you tried to rope a calf.”
It all sounded so exciting, and Tess was thrilled Ben admitted to looking forward to it as well. She vowed he would never be sorry he had agreed to help her, and she would treasure each and every thing he taught her.
Darkness began to creep over them. The air was cool, and Tess wished for a blanket so she could cover Ben.
She was so hungry she felt sick to her stomach but was not about to complain. Ben had to be famished as well, and talking about it would only make it worse for both of them.
She sipped the water and eventually slept, only to be abruptly awakened a short while later by a loud snap, followed by a grunt of pain and a string of curses.
She blinked against the stygian world surrounding her and whispered frantically, “Ben, are you all right?”
“I’m better now that I broke this damned arrow off.”
“But you said it might make you bleed more.”
“Well, I had to, because I kept bumping it when I was sleeping, which made it hurt worse and bleed more.”
Tess gingerly groped around and felt the spreading wetness. He had made it bleed even worse. Quickly she tore a strip of cloth from her petticoat to pack against his side. “This might help.”
“Lord, Lord, li’l lady,” he crooned as the whiskey, as well as weakness, began to take him away once more, “I’d have died without you, for sure.”
You may die with me, she thought morosely as she continued to pack the cloth around the base of the arrow, for she knew that if help did not arrive soon, they would both perish.
After a while, she was able to doze off again, this time to wake in terror as mournful screams seemed to reach out for her.
“Oh, God…” She sat up and pressed her back against a rock, dizzily wishing she had a gun, even though she did not know how to us
e one. She could not depend on Ben to rally and protect her. In his stupor, he was useless.
Or so she thought.
“It’s nothing to be scared of,” he said calmly. “Just coyotes, spreading the word about the horse carcasses…and Sulley’s body under all them rocks. Go back to sleep.”
“I’ll never be able to sleep now,” she said in a thin, ragged voice. “And what if they come up here after us?”
His response was matter-of-fact. “I’ll hear them coming and shoot them.”
“But what if you don’t wake up?”
“You have to learn lots of things if you want to survive, Tess, and not falling all the way to sleep in this kind of situation is one of them.”
She wanted to believe him, and maybe if he had not been drinking all day she would have.
After a time, the cries of coyotes stopped. Either they had found their way to the dead horses and the rocks covering Sulley or gone elsewhere. Tess did not want to know, willing daylight to hurry and come. At least then she could see what frightened her and not have to imagine what made the strange night sounds that chilled her to the bone.
She tried to sleep, but, as always, thoughts of Curt crept into her mind, and heart, to haunt and ponder.
Would he have abandoned her if he had not thought her a coward?
Or had he only been interested in the money all along?
Sadly, there was no way of knowing what his motive had actually been…no way she would ever know.
But still there was one thing that needled and burned to the very core of her.
He had not taken all of the money when he so easily could have, and she argued with herself that it had to mean he harbored some concern for her…if only a little.
But the bitter side of her retaliated to ask what difference that made.
He had left her.
It was over.
She would never see him again.
She had to forget.
And if she thought of him at all, it had to be about how much she hated him.
Not how much she cared.
At last she drifted into weary slumber. She awoke to the first faint light of dawn as a sound came to her from far, far away.
A melodic sound.
Bright, brassy, and spirited.