Mountain Angel

by Patricia McAllister

  Angel smiled. “I didn’t think he’d ever forgive me for stealing his favorite horses right out from under his nose.”

  “Pooh. I think he was proud of you, the old coot. Funny soul, Jack, never quite figured him out.” With a sigh, Clara added unexpectedly, “Asked me to marry him once, you know.”

  “Jack did?” Angel was surprised and then had to laugh. “Oh, Aunt Clara, why didn’t you say yes?”

  “Because he didn’t call me anything but ‘missus’,” she retorted crisply. “What kind of man can’t bring himself to speak a woman’s first name?”

  “A timid one, I think,” Angel said as she drew the hand-knitted afghan snugly around the little woman. “You stay here, Auntie, and rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Clara’s age-spotted hand caught Angel’s once before she left. “Oh, child, do be careful,” she begged. “There’s the little one to think of now.”

  “I know, Aunt Clara,” Angel said and gently pried her fingers free. “That’s the same reason why I must do this now.”

  ANGEL INTENDED TO TAKE the back roads to the mine this time, since it was daylight and she didn’t want to encounter Captain Renault by accident. She headed out with far more confidence than she soon felt, for as she drew near the outskirts of town, she caught a glimpse of a red sleigh headed into Clear Creek, and its heavy-set occupant.

  Craddock. Her lips formed the name, a silent cry of denial, and then Angel blinked and the sleigh was gone. There was no possibility Craddock was here right under her nose, was there? Of course, she was overwrought and nervous over the role she was called upon to play in order to save Holt’s grandfather and the rest of the renegade Arapaho.

  She lied to Renault about the tribe, an uncomfortable if harmless enough action, but now she was going to warn the Indians of the marshal’s arrival. If she was caught, she would be guilty of treason against the government by aiding the fugitives. But these same fugitives were the relatives of her unborn child.

  Her thoughts would drive her wild at this rate, Angel decided, and she cut them off as she turned the wagon and headed south. She was as warmly wrapped as the last time she had traveled, and nothing would keep her from her goal: not fear of Craddock or Renault, or the real possibility she would be caught. Even Clara Maxwell wouldn’t be able to help her then.

  ANGEL THOUGHT SHE HAD slipped away unobserved. She didn’t notice the single horseman hidden in a clump of pines, watching her disappear behind the plume of snow plowed up by the wagon. He nudged his mount forward, and squinted against the winter sunlight, staring after her.

  Neal wondered where his sister-in-law was going in such a hurry. He wondered, too, why she acted so furtive as she left the Maxwell house, and why Jack Miller’s face was pinched with worry as he’d helped her harness the two big draft horses.

  Angel was headed in the opposite direction from Oro. She could only be going up to the mine then. But why?

  Neal didn’t wonder overlong. He kicked his horse into a canter, following the smooth tracks left from the wagon runners, knowing he dared not pass up this chance of discovering more evidence that would finally frame Holt for both treason and murder, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  FOR ONCE, RACHEL WAS entirely immune to her mother’s orders.

  “I’m going to the jail,” she repeated firmly as she finished fastening the frog clasps on the fashionable mauve cape matching her gown. “I have to speak to Holt.”

  “It isn’t proper,” Prudence gasped, her cheeks reddening as she imagined the other church ladies getting wind of her daughter’s activities.

  “Bosh and twaddle,” Rachel snapped in imitation of her vinegary aunt, and stormed down the stairs.

  Prudence trailed after her, puffing with indignation. “If you disobey me again, Rachel Esther, you’d better not darken this doorway again.”

  Rachel paused at the dramatic announcement, then turned to face her mother and said wearily, “Very well, Mama. I’ll go live with Auntie Clara until the wedding.”

  Mrs. Maxwell’s mouth opened and shut like a fish for several moments, and then, abruptly, she whirled and stomped back upstairs, her bombazine skirts crackling with outrage.

  With a sigh, Rachel gathered up her reticule at the door and prepared to leave. She was walking down the front steps when she looked up and saw her mother’s beau coming up the walk.

  “Good morning, Mr. Brindle,” Rachel said coolly. She, for one, disliked the man, though why, she couldn’t say. He wasn’t handsome in the remotest sense of the word, being fat and slovenly, but Rachel wouldn’t have held either against him if she thought he was sincere about winning her mother’s hand.

  “Miss Maxwell,” he returned, giving her a bow as low as his great girth would allow. For the first time Rachel noticed he had a slight lisp, though she was too preoccupied to care.

  “Forgive me for not stopping to visit with you, but I am in a great hurry,” she informed the gentleman. “My mother is inside, and I am sure you have come to call upon her.”

  “Actually,” Brindle said, “I also came to see you, my dear. I wished to convey my best wishes on your engagement, and express my sincere apologies I could not attend your betrothal ball. Gout, you know.” He coughed delicately behind one plump gloved hand.

  “Oh, of course. It’s quite all right, Mr. Brindle.” Rachel was chafing with impatience to be gone. “Do ring at the door and I’m sure Mother will be delighted to see you.”

  “Dear Prudence,” he sighed, deliberately ignoring Rachel’s attempts to politely brush him off. “I fear I am doomed to disappoint her in the end. I have come here to break it off, you see.”

  “Oh.” Rachel didn’t know what else to say.

  “Indeed, I’m afraid I misled the dear lady with my feeble attempts at courtship. I was merely amusing myself, you see, until I could catch the stage back home in the spring.”

  Rachel’s jaw was definitely beginning to ache from her forced smile. “I see. How unfortunate for Mother. Now, if you will excuse me …”

  “Of course, my dear, of course.” He fumbled to execute another bow. “Do proffer my humblest apologies to your friend Angel McCloud, as well, won’t you? She invited me to several gatherings this winter, all of which I was obliged to decline, due to my ah — er — gout.”

  “Yes. Goodbye, Mr. Brindle.” Rachel hurried off before he could delay her any longer. She was halfway to the jail before she realized what had disturbed her most about Brindle’s smooth speech. He had referred to Angel by her maiden name, which he couldn’t have possibly known, unless …

  “Good heavens,” Rachel gasped, and leaned forward to pound the surprised driver on the shoulder. “Drive faster, Tully. It may be a matter of life and death.”

  “CRADDOCK IS HERE?” HOLT’S knuckles went white with tension where his hands clenched the iron bars. “Are you sure?”

  Rachel nodded. “It makes sense, but I never put the facts together before. As Mr. Brindle, he was always careful to avoid any gatherings where he would meet Angel, but everyone thought he was simply eccentric. Now I see he must have used Mother to find out more about Angel, and to track her movements, though to what end I can’t dare say.”

  “I can,” Holt said grimly, remembering Craddock’s aborted attempt to cheat at cards in Denver and win Angel’s lissome body in the bargain. He frowned with frustration and anger as he spun away from the bars and stalked his cell.

  “What are we going to do?” Rachel asked.

  “We?” Holt gave a short laugh. “I’m afraid it’s going to be up to you alone, Rachel, until I can get out of here. The first thing you need to do, of course, is warn Angel.”

  “Thank heavens she’s safe with Aunt Clara.”

  “Yes. Make sure she stays put, at least until I’m out of here,” Holt said. “Tell your aunt not to let Angel out of her sight. Craddock is a dangerous man. I never dreamed his obsession with Angel would go this far.”

  “I’ll ask Neal to watch Craddock’s every
move in town,” Rachel said. “He knows where the man lives, and as a minister he has a perfect excuse to drive around town, checking on people during these hard winter months.”

  Holt nodded, frustrated by his imprisonment and the helplessness he felt, unable to protect the woman he loved. For he discovered something during these long days and nights that had offered nothing but time for introspection.

  He loved Angel with all his heart and soul. He would give anything to make up for the wrongs he had done her. He knew he had hurt her, though she was, in her own way, every bit as proud as he, and would never let her wounded heart reflect back to him in her beautiful eyes.

  Damn. What a fool he was. If they had only stayed in Denver, made a new start. Now he was dragging the woman he loved into a dangerous mire, and she could only suffer for it. At least, he thought, it was some small consolation she was with Clara Maxwell now, where Craddock couldn’t easily get at her.

  “I’ll go to Clear Creek first thing,” Rachel said, then paused to add, “Don’t lose faith, Holt. That marshal coming here was Providence, after all; Perry had to stay your trial until this silly matter of supposed treason is settled to the captain’s satisfaction.”

  “Which could take months,” Holt said wryly. “How long, do you suppose, before they install a fireplace back here?”

  He was shivering even beneath the warm blankets Rachel had brought. She made a mental note to bring more of her father’s clothes, even if Prudence screamed to high heaven. Those things would better serve the living now, Rachel decided, as she bade Holt goodbye and hurried back outside to the waiting sleigh.

  ANGEL DREW THE HORSES to a halt, peering around the clearing uncertainly, searching for any sign of the Indians. The teepee was gone, and the mine shaft appeared deserted as well. Only a number of tracks in the snow, headed north, indicated anyone had ever been there.

  They were gone. She felt dizzy with relief, and carefully dismounted from the wagon to approach the mine and check to be sure no one was left behind. She felt a familiar fear begin to steal over her at the sight of the huge, dark hole yawning into the earth but, shaking herself mentally, she forced her cold feet on.

  “Hello?” Angel called out when she reached the mine itself, and she leaned as close to the entrance as she could without actually going in. A puff of snow plopped down from the roof of the mine at her voice, and she heard the word echoing endlessly into the darkness below.

  The wind sighed, stirring the trees, and gusts of fine snow blew across her face as she turned back to the wagon. Angel she saw a rider break from the trees and instinctively groped for her pistol, only to realize she had left it in the wagon.

  Her knees went weak with relief when she recognized Neal on his dark bay gelding. She waved and called out to him, slogging slowly through the deep snow to meet him.

  When they met up, she noticed the strange way he looked down at her, seeming feverish in the light of the noon sun, and she asked, “Neal? Are you all right?”

  “Is it true?” he blurted. “Are you — with child?”

  Surprised, Angel nodded, wondering why his usually calm voice sounded so high-pitched and thin. “Is that why you followed me up here? To make sure I was safe?”

  He stared at her, his pale blue eyes cold and curiously detached, and then let out a short bark of laughter. “Oh no, Mrs. Murphy. You’ve got it all backward.”

  Something in his chilly laughter frightened her. “Then you must know about …”

  “The Indians? Of course I do,” he said contemptuously. “Holt’s been helping those filthy savages for years, giving heathens weapons so they can kill God-fearing Christians. Do you see what sort of man you married, Angel? What a low-down cur Holt is?”

  She took an inadvertent step backward at the venom in his voice. “I-I didn’t really marry Holt,” she stammered. “There was the mix-up with the proxy wedding —”

  “Yes.” Unexpectedly, Neal smiled down at her, his teeth bared in a crooked grin. “Clever of me, wasn’t it, to arrange a handy marriage in order to get you out here? I must admit you disappointed me at first, Angel. You didn’t seem at all eager to get on with finding the gold up here, and you were much, much too attracted to Holt for my liking.”

  Shocked, Angel stared at him. “Holt is your brother.”

  “Half,” Neal reminded her with a snarl. “His mother was nothing more than Arthur’s squaw, his Indian whore. Arthur shamed Virginia, his true wife before God, flaunting that redskin in her face at every opportunity. Everyone knew he kept his Indian slut hidden away somewhere, but only Mother was clever enough to figure out how to flush out the woman.”

  Alarmed by his raving, Angel took another step away, but Neal saw her retreating and swung down from the saddle.

  “Don’t you understand?” he said, stalking toward her with a twisted plea of sorts behind his words. “It had to be done. Arthur told Mother he was leaving her for that filthy squaw of his. He had claimed Holt as his own. He would have thrown Mother aside and made me the bastard in the end.”

  Angel shook her head and spoke as calmly as she could, trying in vain to reason with Neal as he came closer, a crazed look in his eyes. Kaga had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t truly listened. Now she would pay the terrible price.

  “Neal, why?” she pleaded, throwing him briefly off guard. “Why did you arrange a marriage by proxy and send me a letter supposedly from Holt? What did it gain you?”

  He paused to regard her in amazement “The mine, of course. After Arthur’s death, I went to claim my share and learned he had signed everything over to your father. I tried to contact Royce and found out he, too, had died.

  “But in the process I learned about the debt you inherited — folks tell ministers everything, you know — and I reasoned you’d be looking for a way out pretty soon. The mine was legally all yours, but I gambled you didn’t know that yet or its true worth. The only way I could get you out west was by a trick of that magnitude. Clever of me, wasn’t it?”

  She countered his question with one of her own. “Why involve Holt at all?”

  Neal looked at her with a puzzled shake of his head. “I had to keep him in one place, of course, until I could spring my trap. What better way than to saddle him with an unexpected and unwanted wife?”

  Trying to ignore the painful sting of Neal’s words, Angel probed for more information. “What trap, Neal?”

  Suddenly he was angry. “It wasn’t always easy, you know. I didn’t plan to kill that Valentine woman, but she got in the way.”

  “You killed Lily? For heaven’s sake, why?”

  “It was an accident.” Neal shrugged. “I heard the sheriff was going to ambush Holt up at the mine, and do all the dirty work for me, so you can imagine how relieved I was. Then I saw Lily riding out of town, headed up the trail to warn Holt. I didn’t know he wasn’t up there and neither did she. It was a real shock to come back down after killing her to find out Holt was in Oro the whole time.”

  “You played your part well,” Angel said coldly. “I never would have guessed you had murdered Lily when you were wooing Rachel and caroling along with the rest of us.”

  He preened at her words. “I did what I had to do. Though Holt wasn’t accused of Lily’s murder as I hoped, it was easy enough to dispose of that braggart of a sheriff when he was in his cups. I knew the second charge would stick.”

  “Then what Kaga said was true. You didn’t try to stop your mother from killing poor Istas, either.”

  “Why should I?” Neal said belligerently. “She was just an Indian.”

  “And Lily was a fallen woman, and Red Garrett just a drunk,” Angel said in a fury. “You’ll always find an excuse for whatever you do, won’t you?”

  “I don’t need excuses,” Neal snarled, reaching out and seizing her by the arm. “I need justice. Since nobody will give it to me, I’ll damn well take it for myself.”

  He sounded like a petulant little boy, Angel thought. Neal had never grown up. Whatever
perverted sense of justice his mother’s terrible act had instilled in him, he would never value another human life. His pale eyes glittered as he looked down on her without emotion.

  “I’m truly sorry it had to end this way, Angel,” he rasped as he dragged her toward the open mine shaft. “It would have been so much easier if you’d sold the mine to Brindle and gone back to Missouri as I planned. I gave you every chance in the world.”

  “Please, Neal,” she cried, struggling and trying to brace herself against his chest. “I’m going to have a baby. Holt’s child — your own nephew or niece.”

  “No,” he denied, shaking his head as she struggled against his maddened strength. “It all stops here, now.” He paused to shake her, and as her head snapped painfully back, he cried, “Don’t you understand? I don’t have any choice now.”

  “There is always a choice,” Angel whispered through her tears, but Neal wasn’t listening. He thrust her roughly toward the open mine, directly into the semidarkness of the shaft.

  “I’m sorry, Angel,” he said in a curiously quiet voice. Before she could cry out he pulled a gun from his coat, and the world as she knew it exploded into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  RACHEL MAXWELL BRUSHED PAST the sputtering deputy at the door. “I must see Holt Murphy. Now,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed past the second man, Captain Renault, and entered the prison area.

  Before they could stop her, Rachel ran to Holt's cell and cried, “Angel is gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean?” His gray eyes wild with worry, he demanded, “Craddock?”

  Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t find him or Neal, or anyone else to help me.”

  “What’s going on?” Fabien Renault asked. He had followed Rachel into the corridor after he overheard their urgent exchange.

  Holt turned to the marshal. “My wife is missing. We think she may have been abducted. I need to get out of here now, Captain.”