by Sable Hunter
“Well, I’m not sure how pure…” His observation was cut short by a harsh word from his friend.
“Hush! Not another word against her. Do you hear?”
“Loud and clear. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“I know you didn’t. My outburst was just a visceral reaction.”
“Amelia is a lovely young woman. She is of age, seventeen, I believe.”
“Yes, but she’s been through hell.”
“Have you asked her what she’s been through? Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you think.”
Gentry frowned. “Don’t let the blood running through your veins cloud your judgment.”
Reno didn’t take offense. Instead, he homed in on what he’d noticed before but never mentioned. “There’s more to this than you’re letting on.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were determined to rescue her. In fact, you were obsessed. You didn’t know Amelia; you’d never seen her – yet you couldn’t rest until you did something about it.”
“Any man worth his salt would’ve felt the same.”
“Salt is cheap, Nelson.” Reno knew he was on to something. “You just seemed to empathize more.”
“Enough. I shall speak no more of this today.” Gentry’s voice was adamant. “We have many miles to ride before sunset.”
Reno let it go, but he knew he’d bring it up at another time. Whatever was bothering Gentry was too important to ignore.
* * *
“What are you mixing up?” Myra asked as she observed Journey from the sunroom door. “Down, Dudley,” she cautioned the dachshund who was always hungry for attention.
“A cream for sensitive skin. It’s good for any irritation caused by detergent, food allergies, scratchy clothing – you name it.” Knowing her aunt would want to know the ingredients, she named them off, “Per jar, I combine fifteen drops each of tea tree, lavender, and frankincense, combined with half a cup of coconut oil. Easy as pie.”
“I want a jar.”
Journey grinned. “Sure.” Her aunt wanted a jar of everything. “You’re my best customer.”
“Unpaid customer. I should reimburse you.”
“I’m staying here rent free, I think I can at least keep you in oil products.”
“This is your home, Journey. You don’t have to pay anything to stay here.”
“Well, thank you.” After a few seconds, Journey looked up from her work to see Myra still standing there. “You don’t have to hover. I’m fine.”
“Since Lou went home, I worry. I don’t want you to be lonely.”
“Lou had to go to work sometimes. She’s got a lot going on. In fact, I guess I could go home for a couple of weeks, myself. Reno won’t be returning until the middle of next month…” Journey’s voice faded to a whisper. Since she hadn’t heard from him as he promised, she didn’t know what to think.
“No. I think you should stay here.” Her aunt’s voice rose in volume. “Reno would want you nearby.”
Journey didn’t reply, she couldn’t. She just nodded her head and went back to work.
About an hour later, she taped up the last package for mailing. Her hands shook and her mind was a mess. She felt so helpless. If this were a normal situation, she could reach out. Call. Check on him. Go to him. But this wasn’t a normal situation, far from it.
Frustrated beyond belief, she pulled her laptop near. Hungry for anything to do with Reno or the past, she entered his name in the browser window. Oh, she’d done this before to no avail and the results were no different this time. Branching out, she entered Saul’s name. Nothing. Huck’s. Nothing. Feeling desperate, she accessed one of those ancestry sites and signed up. Once she’d filled out what little information that she could remember off the top of her head – names of parents and grandparents – she got up to ask her aunt for help.
“Aunt Myra!”
“In the kitchen, dear.”
“Do you remember those genealogical files your father left you? I seem to recall you loaned them to Uncle Myles at one time. Do you know where they are?” All of this was said as she entered the kitchen, head bent as she tied her hair into a ponytail.
“I believe I do. If you’ll excuse me, Kota. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course, my dear,” he gave Myra a smile as she left the room.
“I’m sorry.” Journey almost stumbled and had to catch herself on the back of a chair. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“No, problem. It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” Journey felt like she was tongue tied. “How have you been?”
“Fine.” He appeared to be thinking as he studied her face. “I won’t ask how you are; you look pale. Reno would not like you neglecting your health. Have you heard from him?”
Journey realized how close Reno and Kota had become. Still, she wished he didn’t know to ask this question – especially since her answer was so troubling. “No, I haven’t.”
When he didn’t reply, she felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “You know what he promised. Why do you think I haven’t heard from him?”
He shook his head. “I hesitate to say.”
“No visions? No hunches? Something went wrong, didn’t it?”
“Sorry.” Kota shrugged as Myra returned.
“Here you go, sweetie. What are you going to do with all of this stuff?”
“I’m researching our family in one of those ancestry sites.” She clasped the folder to her breast. “Thank you, Aunt Myra. Have a good day, Kota.” With that, Journey made her escape before she embarrassed herself.
…Two hours or so later, Journey was still at the computer. She’d entered all of the data and was awaiting results. What came up as responses to her request was rather disappointing. Most of the names were unfamiliar to her. She was just about to give up when she spotted an entry.
Emory Stanton aka Stanton Black, Author.
“Emory!” Journey couldn’t believe her eyes. “I’d forgotten you were a writer.” At one point, she and Reno had discussed searching for his work – but so much had happened. “The pen name would have thrown me off.”
Excited, she began a search for his work. After several failed attempts, she finally located a reference to a book of short stories. True Tall Tales of Texas. “How interesting.” Immediately, she attempted to track down a copy. The book was long out of print, of course. Journey was just about to give up hope when she found a copy for sale in a mom and pop bookstore in Marshall, Texas. Without hesitation, she got on the phone, called the shop, and gave them her credit card number. The owner promised to put it in the mail to her the next day. “Okay, Emory, we’ll see what you have to say.” While the book might contain no mention of Reno at all, even this tenuous link to the past made Journey hopeful.
* * *
As the stagecoach headed out of Waco, Reno took note of their companions. Both were already in their seats and seemed to be asleep when he and Gentry climbed aboard. One was a young man wearing an ill-fitting suit and the other was a big fellow with his hat pulled low enough on his face to completely obscure his features.
Tightening his grip on the frame of the open window, Reno tried to keep himself from jostling around. He’d forgotten how impossibly rough the stagecoach ride would be. The unpaved road was nothing but deep ruts and deeper holes. A cloud of dust obscured his view and the sun beat down unmercifully, making the crowded coach feel like the inside of an oven. He glanced at Gentry and the other two passengers, wondering how in the hell they could sleep in such conditions. All he could think about was how different this ride would be in Journey’s car.
Gritting his teeth, Reno hung on, his body swaying from side to side. Thinking was almost impossible, but he had nothing else to do. What Gentry said about Ela’s son kept running through his mind. The wisdom Kota inherited from Ela would’ve come through this son. Reno wondered if the man would be willing to help him. When he returned from Georgia w
ith Cole, he would pay the tribe a visit. That thought led to another – and another. Would Governor Pease stop the massacre? Would the tribe even exist upon his return? Surely, it would. If he failed in these attempts, of what use was the miracle of his journey?
The moment his mind formed the idiotic thought, he knew better.
The miracle of his journey was his wife and unborn child.
Even if all his efforts failed, the days he spent with his beloved were worth it all.
Leaning his head on the window frame, he closed his eyes. Just as he did, the stagecoach bounced as one of the wheels fell into another large hole. He couldn’t even sit still, much less sleep.
With more time to think, his mind turned to Cole. He couldn’t wait to see him. He couldn’t wait to tell him what he’d been through. They had so much catching up to do. As his train of thought continued, he hit a mental wall of stone.
Even if all went well and Cole was freed, his time with his brother was limited.
When he returned to Journey, he’d have to leave Cole behind.
“Hell!” he shouted, tearing his hat from his head.
“What is wrong with you?” Gentry asked, as the other occupants of the coach all eyed him with startled suspicion.
“Nothing. Everything. My whole body is sore. Riding this damn stagecoach is worse than being pummeled with rocks as big as my fist.”
“Well, I do apologize for any discomfort, Mr. Black. I know you’ve become spoiled to more comfortable accommodations.”
Hearing the royal sarcastically berate him for his complaints made Reno feel foolish. “Sorry. I’m a little out of sorts.”
“Understandable.” Gentry pulled his hat down over his eyes. “Just try to hold it down, will you?”
Neither of the other men commented. Although, the large man did give Reno a hard look. He was about to try and strike up a conversation when a shout from the driver drew their attention. The next thing they knew, shots were being fired.
“I’ll say, old chap, I think we’re being robbed.” Gentry drew his gun as he attempted to push Reno down and out of danger.
Resisting his friend’s attempt to protect him, Reno pulled his own gun. “Can anyone see anything?”
The younger man ventured to peer out his window. “It’s Injuns. I can see them.” His identification of their attackers seemed to be verified when war whoops could be heard right outside the window. “What are they after? I don’t have anything worth stealing.”
“Railroad payroll,” said the older man, pulling his weapon. “That’s why my partner and I are here. We’re Rangers, he’s riding shotgun and I’m the secret weapon.”
The man had no more than got the words out of his mouth before an arrow zipped through the window and hit him in the chest with a thud. With no more than a gasp, he slumped over dead.
“So much for the secret,” Gentry drawled as he shook his head with regret.
“What are we going to do?” the younger man yelled.
His question was answered when the stagecoach pulled to a stop. Soon, they heard the driver pulling the payroll box from the roof to hand over to the Indians. While Gentry was cocked and primed to shoot anyone who approached the coach, Reno was more inclined to see what was going on outside.
Without saying a word, he eased to the door with Gentry hissing his disapproval. Reno shook his head, needing to confirm his suspicion. With one hand on the handle, he was just about to throw open the door when it was jerked out of his hand. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Reno bristled. He was right. He knew that voice. “Kinsella,” he spat the name like it was poison. Before he could move, the younger passenger was yanked out by his collar. Reno followed voluntarily, slamming the door behind him. He knew Gentry would get the idea and stay quiet – for now.
“Well, take a gander over here, Taylor. If it isn’t the disappearing Injun. How did you do that, redskin?”
Reno didn’t answer, he was too busy gauging his chances. Cutting his glance to the driver’s box, he saw the surprise on the other ranger’s face. He’d expected the attackers to be Indians and discovered they were rednecks. With slightly widened eyes, he met Reno’s gaze. He was probably expecting his partner to come charging out ready to fire. Luckily, the Englishman was still hidden.
“Get their guns and empty their pockets,” the one named Roberts instructed Kinsella as he forced the driver and the ranger from the roof.
As Kinsella moved forward to do his part, Reno wondered why they were going to the trouble of robbing them when there was no doubt the raiders wouldn’t let them live. They had no choice. Their identity was exposed.
With slow movements, Reno pulled the small bag of gold from his pocket. The bulk of his money was in his bag in the rear boot. He assumed Taylor already had it pulled off and loaded on his horse.
Kinsella jerked the gold from his hand. “Now, give me your gun!”
Reno did as he was asked, still saying nothing. He was biding his time, knowing Gentry would act when the time was right. And when he did, Reno would be ready.
“What else you got?” Roberts poked him in the chest with the barrel of his gun.
“Nothing.”
Roberts saw his watch chain. “Give me that watch. It’s gold, ain’t it?”
“No.”
“No, it ain’t gold?”
“No, you can’t have it.”
Suddenly, Roberts raised his gun to point it between Reno’s eyes.
“Wait.” Kinsella came forward. “I want to ask him something before you shoot him. It’s been bothering me.” Getting right in his face, he stared into Reno’s eyes. “You were there – and then you weren’t. Was that some type of medicine man magic? Like that old squaw we killed a few days later was supposed to have?” He snarled a coarse laugh. “Her magic didn’t save her and this time your magic won’t save you.”
Fury flashed over Reno like a wildfire. The bastard was talking about Ela. With a true Indian war whoop, he pulled his knife from the hidden sheaf on his inner thigh and threw it at Kinsella. The blade buried itself deep in the man’s throat and blood bubbled out from the hole like a fountain. With glazed eyes, he fell to the ground.
Hearing Reno’s battle cry, Gentry burst forth from the coach, gun blasting. He took Roberts out before the man knew what was happening. The Ranger reacted equally fast, winging Taylor.
Once the dust settled, they found the other passenger in a dead faint on the ground. While the driver revived him with a splash of water from his canteen, the surviving Ranger came up to Reno and Gentry. “Wasn’t that something? Showed their true colors, bold as brass.”
“They didn’t intend to leave survivors,” Reno remarked dryly. “When you make your report, Ranger, I’d like a chance to add something.”
“What’s that?” he asked with true curiosity.
“These men have been committing atrocities like this all over the territory. Raiding, burning, and killing people while disguised as Indians. All for the express purpose of starting a war. My boss and I visited Governor Pease a few days ago to give him some names to investigate. These three men were on that list. What we survived today substantiates our story. I would appreciate it if you passed word of this matter to the people who need to hear. We must stop this war before it gets started.
“After witnessing this, I agree. Consider it done.” The Ranger handcuffed Taylor and put him on board the stagecoach. Meanwhile, the driver and Gentry transferred the three dead bodies to the roof. Once they were on their way, Reno gazed out the window with a slight smile on his lips. “That was for you, Ela. That was for you.”
* * *
“Will there be a second date?” Journey couldn’t help but grin at her friend’s enthusiastic response to her outing with Samuel Blackhawk.
“Oh, hell yeah. We’ve already made plans. The man is a living doll. I hit the jackpot with this one.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Journey was completely sincere. “You’re ama
zing. You deserve someone who will appreciate you.”
“Why, thank you, Jo. What’s up with you? Did Reno’s letter show up in the journal?”
Her voice went from cheerful to flat. “No. Not yet.”
“Don’t give up. Okay?”
Journey sighed. “I have faith.”
“So, what are you doing?”
“I’m finally going through the box of Blackhawk family papers to see if there’s anything concerning Reno I haven’t already seen. Apple invited me to a lunch thing Tuesday, and I want to be able to return this stuff. I’ve had it too long already.”
“Have you found anything?”
“Not yet. While I was at my uncle’s funeral, I met this man who told me about a huge flood that took place in 1869. I’m trying to find any mention of it to tell me how King’s Ransom fared.”
“Are you okay? You sound tired. How’s the baby?”
“I’m tired because you ask so many questions.”
“Sorry. I’m just concerned.”
“I know. I’m doing all right and the baby’s fine. I have a checkup next week. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Do you need me to come visit and go with you?”
“You’re always welcome, you know that.” She sat down at the table to rest her feet. “If you can come, that would be great. If you’re busy, Aunt Myra will be glad to go.”
“Okay, let me check my schedule. If I can come, I will.”
“Sounds good, Lou.” They were both silent a few moments, a silence that comes from having gone through so much together. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mrs. Black. Have faith, remember?”
“Yea, I remember. Have faith.”
As she hit end on the phone, something caught Journey’s eye. Standing up, she pulled a yellowed newspaper article from the Austin Daily State Gazette out of a stack. “What’s this?” To her shock and amazement, the headline on the fragile paper read Cowboy Comes Back from the Dead. The date beneath the title was May 21, 1869. With shaking hands, she held the paper to her breast. “He made it. Oh, thank God, he made it.”
