by Cox, Carol
They’re altering brands. She heaved in great gulps of air, trying to calm herself. She had to think, to focus.
If they were going to kill her, they would have done it already. She was safe, at least for the moment.
But they can’t just let me go. I know too much. Her chest tightened with the dull ache of fear.
“I knew things had gone too easy for us,” the first speaker worried aloud. “Just when we’re ready to wrap the operation up, look what happens. Maybe we oughta just pull out with what we’ve already got instead of waiting for tonight.”
“Shut up! One more night means more money than any of us could make in three years of punching cows. I don’t intend to quit before we’ve got all we can handle. Just leave it to me. I’ll deal with her.”
“You ain’t going to kill her, are you?” Footsteps crunched on loose rock, and the voices grew softer.
Hallie strained to hear.
“And get the whole country out after us? Of course I ain’t going to kill her.” He chuckled. “Here’s a thought: Maybe I’ll take her along and send back word we’ve eloped.”
His companions snickered.
A low moan escaped Hallie’s throat. Maybe death wasn’t the worst thing she had to fear.
She had to get away. If she could just reach one of the knots. . . No good. Her fingers had gone numb.
Hallie wriggled and strained against the knots. All she succeeded in doing was make the rope cut more deeply into her wrists. She rolled over to her other side, desperate for relief from the constant pull against her limbs. Her shoulders felt like they were being wrenched from their sockets.
“Let’s get this bunch up the canyon with the rest. Then we’ll call it good until tonight.”
“What about the girl?”
Hallie froze.
“I told you, I’ll take care of her when we get back. She ain’t going nowhere.” The creak of saddle leather was followed by horses snorting and the cowboys yipping as they moved the cows along.
Gritting her teeth against the raw pain in her shoulders, Hallie squirmed with all her might, but the knots held fast. Her desperation mounted. She had to get away. She had to!
Maybe she could find a sharp rock, something she could use to cut through the ropes. If she could only see! Hallie rubbed her face against the ground, trying to pull the blindfold loose.
She felt the vibration under her cheek before she heard the patter of feet running toward her. Determination gave way to despair, and the strength drained from her limbs. She had given it her best, but she had lost. She braced herself for what would come next.
Light fingers brushed against her hands and tugged at the ropes. “Hold still,” a small voice ordered. “I had to make sure they were gone before I came down here. We’ve got to hurry before they come back.”
“Wha— Who—”
“Oh, sorry.” The knots on the kerchief loosened, and the blindfold fell free.
Hallie blinked and squinted at the sun’s glare. “Catherine?”
The young girl squatted beside Hallie, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she concentrated on picking the knots apart. “Roll over a little farther. Maybe I can get at the rope better that way.”
Hallie complied. “What are you—never mind, we’ll sort that out later. Can you get the knots undone?”
“I’m trying. Almost done. . . There!” She sat back on her heels with a look of triumph. “Good thing Dad taught me something about knot tying, huh?”
Hallie brought her hands around in front of her and massaged her tender wrists, wincing at the pins-and-needles sensation when the blood flowed back into her hands. When she regained some command over her fingers, she forced herself to sit up and reached for the rope still holding her ankles. She picked at the knots and pulled the rope free, then flung it aside.
“Where’s your horse?”
Catherine pointed toward the rim of the canyon. “Up on top, next to yours.” She helped Hallie to her feet. “I was out looking for the calf Dad gave me last summer, and I came across a fresh trail. Looked like three or four head being driven this way.”
Hallie attempted a couple of steps on her tottery legs. The pain from her abused muscles nearly drove her to her knees. Catherine put her arm around Hallie’s waist, and she accepted the little girl’s help gratefully. “How are we going to get out of here?”
Catherine pointed up ahead. “There’s a trail over on the other side of those trees. We can climb up to the top that way and get our horses.”
She led Hallie a few more steps and picked up the thread of her story. “Uncle Jacob is always complaining about not finding any fresh sign, so I thought I’d trail these a ways and maybe catch the rustlers. Then I saw you riding over this way and decided I’d catch up to you, instead.”
She pulled at Hallie, urging her up the slope.
“But then I saw the smoke and saw you get down off your horse and start crawling on the ground.” She giggled, then sobered. “I got worried when you rolled off the edge into the canyon, so I thought I’d better come see if you were all right.” A grin flashed across her tanned cheeks. “Good thing I checked, isn’t it?”
They reached the top with Hallie blowing like a winded horse.
“Catherine O’Roarke, I ought to tan your hide, but I’m too happy to see you.” The feeling was starting to come back into her legs. She tried to ignore the sharp ache by reminding herself it would help her keep her balance in the saddle, assuming she could lift her leg high enough to reach the stirrup.
After two unsuccessful attempts, Catherine planted her shoulder against Hallie’s backside and braced herself. “Ready? One, two, three. . .up!”
Hallie flopped into her saddle with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. She clung to the saddle horn for a long moment, trying to control the tremor in her limbs. “Where did you learn that little trick?”
Catherine shrugged. “It just seemed like the thing to do.”
Hallie collected herself. She couldn’t give in to weakness now, not when the rustlers could return at any moment. She gathered her reins. “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”
They ran their horses for half a mile before Hallie felt safe enough to slow down a bit. She looked over at Catherine. “Did you see them?”
“Just their hats and the backs of their shirts. They pulled bandannas over their faces, remember?”
“Oh.” She hadn’t seen much of anything except clods of dirt, two pairs of legs, then blackness when the blindfold was tied around her face. Why had they bothered to cover her eyes if they were already masked?
She checked her surroundings to assess their location, then gave Catherine a sharp glance. “How did you get this far on your own? You must be a good three miles from home. Your parents are going to be frantic.”
Catherine’s face folded into a frown, then brightened. “You’d better come back home with me and tell everybody how I saved you. Then I won’t be in trouble.” She scrunched her forehead. “Well, not as much, anyway.”
Sixteen
Hallie dug her heels into Gypsy’s flanks and cast a worried glance at the late afternoon sky. If she hoped to make it home before dusk, she would have to sprout wings and fly. Bending low over the gray mare’s neck, she urged the horse on to a reckless pace. She didn’t have a moment to lose.
Taking Catherine home had cost her precious time, but she couldn’t in good conscience let the child go back alone. Not when there were ruffians about. Dan and Amy hadn’t been home when they clattered up into the yard, much to Catherine’s relief. Hallie’s, too, if she were being honest. It saved her from having to explain her disheveled appearance and dust-coated clothing.
Hallie left the little girl with Benjamin, with strict instructions that neither of them was to leave the house until their parents returned.
Jacob hadn’t been there, either, and hearing that sent a fresh wave of misery washing over her. With all her heart, she wanted to give him the information that would le
t him make an arrest and put an end to the matter.
Be honest, Hallie. You wanted him to take you in his arms and make what happened back in the canyon seem like a bad dream. Well, yes, there was that, she admitted. But right now her main focus was set on seeing the rustlers apprehended so they could pay for their crime. If she couldn’t let Jacob know, she had to get word to her father.
The canyon where the stolen cattle were hidden lay southeast of the T Bar and northeast from the Broken Box. Hallie angled her horse behind a series of low hills on the west edge of the valley to keep from being seen. The wind rushed by her head, loosening her braid and setting her hair free to flow behind her like a dark ribbon.
Gypsy was laboring now, breathing hard with every step. “Hang on, girl,” Hallie crooned. “It isn’t much farther.” The house and barn loomed up ahead.
Drawing nearer, she could see her father pulling the saddle from his favorite mount. “Pa!” she screamed.
Burke’s mouth rounded in disbelief when Gypsy pounded up beside him. “What’s gotten into you, girl? You know better than to lather a horse like that.”
Hallie sagged over the mare’s neck and struggled for breath. “The rustlers, Pa. I found them. They’ve got the cows penned up in the box canyon up near that old burn. They’re going to move them out tonight.”
Burke gaped as though staring at an apparition. “How do you know that?”
Here came the hard part. He’d be mad enough to shoot the rustlers on sight anyway. If she told him how she’d been manhandled, she didn’t want to think what he might do. “I heard them talking,” she said simply. Please don’t let him ask me how.
“Did you get a good look at them?”
Hallie shook her head. “I couldn’t see them clearly.” That was true enough.
Burke settled the saddle on his horse’s back again and tightened the cinch.
“You’re not going out after them alone, are you?” Worry stretched her voice reed-thin.
“You see anyone around who’s going to help me? I’m going to get my cows back and see some thievin’ coyotes get their just desserts.” He swung into the saddle and checked the rifle in its scabbard.
Sudden panic seized Hallie. Of course he’s going after them himself. What did you expect him to do? “Please, Pa. Don’t do anything foolish.”
“They’re the ones who’ve been the fools, not me.” He kicked his horse into a gallop and rode off, grim determination written in every line of his bearing.
Hallie twisted her fingers through Gypsy’s mane and watched him until the gathering dusk obscured him from view. “Keep him safe, Lord. Don’t let him get hurt. . .or hurt anybody else.”
❧
The sun hung low in the western sky when Jacob arrived at the box canyon. He rode along the rim until he found the spot where the canyon opened out onto the range. Below him he could see the smoldering remains of a fire.
Worry tightened his throat. Was he too late after all?
Faint lowing from deep within the canyon reassured him. They hadn’t left yet. He tied Cap in a thick clump of cedars some distance from the canyon mouth, pulled his rifle from its scabbard, and unhooked his lariat from his saddle horn.
Dragging a huge fallen limb to the canyon’s brink, he stood it on end and propped it up against a tree trunk. He tied a secure knot around the middle and looked for a likely place from which to watch.
Over there, by that low-hanging cedar. He ducked under the drooping branches and braced his back against the rough trunk. With his Winchester propped across his knees and the free end of the rope in one hand, he settled in to wait.
His chosen position put him at the edge of the rim with an unobstructed view of this end of the canyon without putting him in harm’s way. No point in giving them the opportunity to push those cows right over him. There wouldn’t be enough left of him to scrape up and send home. He scooted around to make himself more comfortable, then focused his gaze on the point where they would drive the cattle out around the bend.
For the dozenth time, he hoped he hadn’t made the mistake of the century by not taking anyone into his confidence. It seemed the right thing to do, back when he made the decision without the pressure of this moment on him. In the here and now, though, the odds of one man against a group of unknown size seemed painfully evident.
It would work out all right, he reassured himself. It had to. He went over his plans again. He’d known from the first that what he lacked in strength of numbers he would have to make up for in cleverness.
Knowing that, he’d taken a leaf from one of his favorite Old Testament stories. When the lead cows reached that scrawny cedar in the middle of the canyon, he would yank the rope to send the log crashing down below and create enough noise to convince them they faced an entire posse. If it worked for Gideon against the Midianites, it ought to work here.
If they didn’t stop, he would place a bullet close enough to one of their horses to make it rear. If he could get just one rider on the ground, he could at least work on that one to get the names of the others.
The sun finished its descent behind Granite Mountain and the shadows lengthened. Silence settled over the canyon. Jacob shifted again and stretched his legs. He couldn’t afford to be stiff when it came time to move.
A silver disk inched its way over the top of Mingus Mountain. Jacob watched the glowing circle slide upward until the whole valley lay washed in moonlight. He flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders. Any time now. There was plenty of light for the rustlers’ purpose. . .and for his.
He waited in the stillness, wanting them to come and dreading it at the same time. Numbness threatened his legs and had already defeated his backside. As he sat alone in the dark, doubts beset him again. Should he have asked for help, after all? Was his not doing so motivated by wisdom—or pride?
He heard the click of hoof on stone and felt his heart race. Too late now for second-guessing. A horse whickered. Low voices murmured. Jacob stiffened, all his senses on full alert. He gripped the rope, rose to his feet, and cocked his Winchester.
And waited some more. Jacob fidgeted with the rope end. The sound of many hooves echoed around the bend. Suddenly he saw the moonlight glint off dozens of horns.
This is it. Be with me, Lord. Against the silver-washed canyon floor, he could make out a sizable herd and three mounted riders pushing them forward.
Jacob held back a shout of exultation. He tightened his grip on the rope and waited until the lead cow neared the scraggly cedar.
Closer. . .closer. . .now! Jacob jerked the rope. The limb teetered on the brink of the canyon, then tipped over the edge and tumbled downward, picking up speed and pulling a shower of gravel down with it as it went.
Jacob stepped as close to the rim as he dared and shouldered the Winchester. “Hold it right there! We’ve got you covered. Throw down your guns.”
He watched the three riders freeze, their doubt a palpable thing. Without warning, hooves pounded on the far side of the canyon.
One of the rustlers threw a shot up toward Jacob; another shot toward the opposite wall where the newcomer could be heard.
Who’s over there? He couldn’t take time to wonder. Jacob took aim, ready to snap a shot in front of the nearest horse. He aimed at a point five feet ahead of its front hooves and fired.
A gunshot cracked from the other side of the canyon. Jacob’s leg went out from under him, and he teetered on the edge, then plummeted over the side.
❧
Jacob lay still in the darkness, listening to the sounds of hooves pounding and riders yelling, and tried to get his bearings. The cattle were stampeding. He could hear their frightened bellows and the mad scramble of hooves.
He lay on the canyon floor with a mouthful of dirt and enough bruises to make him sore for a week. And he’d lost his rifle on the way down.
Hoofbeats drummed across the ground and faded into the distance. They’re getting away! Jacob jumped to his feet, but his leg gave way again, this
time with a stabbing pain that made him cry out. He grabbed at his thigh and felt a sticky wetness under his palm.
A lone set of hoofbeats approached, making their way across the uneven ground. Jacob drew back against the canyon wall and scrabbled in the dirt for his rifle.
“Come on out of there, you lowlife. I know I got you; I saw you fall.”
Jacob shifted his weight and let out a groan. He heard a scatter of rocks and the sound of boots pounding across the ground. Moonlight shone on the barrel of a Winchester much like his own, pointed straight at him. Jacob looked up into the triumphant face of Burke Evans.
Seventeen
Clouds scudded across the leaden sky. Jacob pulled his coat tighter around his neck to ward off the blustery wind. He took two halting steps forward and looked down with distaste at the cane in his hand.
“It’s only for a little while,” Dr. Haskins had told him. “Just until those torn muscles heal.” The doctor pulled at the ends of his white mustache. “It’s a good thing that bullet didn’t nick any bones, young man. You’d really be in bad shape then. You have a lot of deep bruising, and you won’t be sitting a saddle anytime soon, but you’re young and healthy. As long as infection doesn’t set in, you’ll be right as rain before long.”
And what is the good doctor’s definition of “before long”? Jacob tried to adopt a jaunty air, as though he carried the cane for show and not because he’d be sure to fall flat on his face without it. He swung his injured leg forward and staggered, putting an end to his attempt at nonchalance.
It had been nearly a week already. Jacob grimaced and forced himself to walk a few more steps. He’d never been laid up more than a day or two at a time before, certainly never faced the prospect of being out of commission for an extended period of time. The thought didn’t set well with him, especially now.
Over on the plaza, people were beginning to gather. Jacob hobbled across the street to join them. He couldn’t bear to miss this day; at the same time, he wished he could be almost anywhere else. The pressure of the bandage made the wound throb. He set his jaw and kept walking. If he could stand the jouncing wagon ride into town the night Burke shot him and the way Doc Haskins ran that rod through the wound to clean out any debris, he could endure this comparatively minor pain.