At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  He made a glorious picture. Tall in the saddle. Valiant. Unafraid of the dangers that lurked ahead. A hero on a noble quest.

  A rather romantic notion for a woman who’d packed away dreams of handsome knights long ago in favor of the reality of a career in medicine. It seemed she hadn’t done quite as good a packing job as she’d thought, however, for all the quantifiable scientific evidence coursing through her at the moment pointed to one undeniable conclusion. She was falling in love with Matthew Hanger.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  Matt hunkered behind a rock at the rim of a canyon wall and lifted a pair of field glasses to his eyes. He counted twelve men in the outlaw camp below. Fifteen horses in the remuda, meaning there could be other men in the area not in his line of sight. The surplus mounts might be pack animals, but Matt preferred to plan for the worst possible odds instead of blindly hoping for the best.

  It had taken nearly two hours of scouting this morning to locate the camp. The ransom exchange was supposed to take place at noon by a large dead oak known as the Hanging Tree two miles west of Uvalde. A rather grim landmark, but one the locals knew well.

  Wallace had uncovered the location of the infamous tree with nothing more than a roguish smile and a listening ear. After dark fell the night before, he’d snuck into town, infiltrated the largest of the five saloons on the main thoroughfare, and worked his charm on one of the ladies employed there. Not only did he discover the location of the tree, but he gathered intelligence on a new gang holed up somewhere outside of town. A gang whose members drank hard and treated their paid companions with a rough hand. Wallace offered a sympathetic ear to one such companion and learned that her Friday night customer had bragged during their last encounter about coming into some money soon. He’d be able to afford a high-class strumpet for his next pleasuring and would no longer have to put up with her inferior attentions. Still carrying a grudge over that indignity, the woman had told Wallace everything she could about the man—mean eyes, pockmarked face, and a bright blue neckerchief riddled with tobacco stains tied about his neck.

  Rather like the fellow prowling through the center of camp, talking to a man who carried himself with the bearing of one in command.

  Matt adjusted the focus on his binoculars. It was hard to make out features from this distance, but the man in the blue kerchief had skin that looked different from the man at his side. Less smooth. Textured, almost. Pockmarks could explain the effect. Matt wished Jonah was here. He’d hand off the field glasses and get a second opinion. His sharpshooter had the vision of a hawk. Unlike Matt, whose eyesight had dulled in recent years, losing the sharpness of objects viewed at a distance. But the Horsemen had split up to cover more ground, each heading out from the Hanging Tree in a different direction in an effort to locate the outlaw camp more quickly. Matt took his eyes from the field glasses to pull his watch from inside his jacket and check the time. Ten minutes ’til rendezvous. He needed to gather what information he could, then meet up with his men.

  Stuffing the watch back into his pocket with his right hand, he lifted the binoculars with his left and combed through the camp in search of a prisoner. He didn’t find one.

  Matt frowned. It was hard to know who to rescue if no one was tied up.

  He spotted a man in a hat that matched the description Josephine had given him—black with a band of silver conchos. Could be Charlie. Or it could be a gang member who’d swiped the headgear. The man in the hat sported a scruffy brown beard. Not clean-shaven like Josie had described. But then, a hostage wouldn’t be given access to a razor. It could too easily be turned into a weapon to be used against his captors. Yet this man didn’t look like a hostage. He roamed the camp freely. No restraints. No evidence of torture. He even laughed at something his companion said.

  The back of Matt’s neck prickled. Something was off. Maybe Josie’s father had been right about Charlie not being in any real danger. On the other hand, every man in the camp looked like the type who could shoot a friend in the back if given the right provocation. Especially the leader.

  Matt moved his field glasses until the leader came into focus again. Dressed in unrelieved black with a bearing to match, he snapped at a man by a small wagon. The camp cook, most likely. The gray-haired fellow scurried forward and extended a tin cup. The man in black took it, guzzled a big swallow, then turned and spewed it from his mouth. He lashed out, slapping the cup across the older man’s face with enough force to send the cook reeling backward, cradling his bloodied nose.

  Words were shouted, though Matt couldn’t hear them. He saw the tendons lifting in the leader’s neck, though, and the blood rushing to his face as his mouth moved in exaggerated motions. The old man backed away, his posture bent in on itself. The leader let him escape but pitched the cup at his head, bouncing it off the old man’s skull.

  No one interfered. No one stepped up to help the man who’d been foolish enough not to keep their leader’s coffee warm. Everyone kept their heads down, not wanting to attract any hostile attention upon themselves.

  A sick sensation swirled through Matt’s stomach. Josie had been right to be concerned. These men were violent and didn’t deal well with disappointment. Charlie’s life could easily be forfeit if the ransom went unpaid.

  Matt swung his gaze back to the man in the concho-decorated hat. Charlie? He needed to be sure. He couldn’t risk the Horsemen’s lives for an unverified target. These outlaws were armed to the teeth. Guns. Knives . . .

  Wait.

  Matt’s gaze zeroed in on Charlie’s hip. He wore a gun belt, but the holster was empty. No weapon. The only unarmed man in the entire camp. Matt shoved the field glasses into the leather case hanging from his neck as he backed away from the edge of the canyon wall.

  It wasn’t the best verification he’d ever taken action on, but it would have to do.

  He raced Phineas down the back side of the canyon and around to the abandoned line shack that sat half a mile north of the Hanging Tree. The rest of the Horsemen were already there.

  “Hope you found something, Cap,” Preach said as he came out to meet him. “Jonah found a small group holed up in a ramshackle old barn east of here, but Wallace and I came up empty.”

  Jonah didn’t move from where he leaned against the shack wall, just glanced up and met Matt’s eye. “The gang I found looked more like squatters than outlaws. Five men, two little more than boys. Scrawny. Didn’t look like none of ’em had had a decent meal in weeks. Not much in the way of weapons neither. A couple of old rifles. One revolver. They might be desperate enough to try ransom, but they looked too haggard to carry it off.”

  Matt dismounted and patted Phineas on the rump to let him know he could join the other mounts at the trough by the water pump.

  “I found a dozen men holed up in a shallow box canyon two miles northwest. Pretty sure one of them was the pockmarked fellow Wallace’s lady friend told him about.”

  “Did ya spot Dr. Jo’s brother?” Preach asked.

  “I think so. Found a fellow wearing the hat Josephine described. Right height and build. Same coloring as the doc. But he wasn’t restrained.” Matt nodded at the raised eyebrows around him. “He walked freely about the camp. The only difference between him and the other men was that he wore no weapon. The rest of the crew was armed for Armageddon.”

  “So what’s the plan, Captain?” Not an ounce of doubt shadowed Wallace’s face. “I’d guess we have about an hour before they head to the ransom site. Do we wait for them to make their move and snatch Dr. Burkett’s brother when they leave the canyon, or are you thinking of utilizing a more stealthy technique?”

  Matt blew out a heavy breath, praying he was making the right call. “If these were a bunch of rowdy kids trying to gouge their friend’s father for money, I wouldn’t hesitate to confront them. But from what I’ve seen of this crew, they aren’t the kind to fold in the face of a well-coordinated attack. They’ll rage with a wild and vicious counterattack, not caring how
many of their own go down in the skirmish.”

  Preach let out a low whistle. “That kid got himself in way over his head.”

  “Yes, he did.” And for the first time, Matt worried that he might not be able to keep his promise to the kid’s sister.

  “Goin’ in from the back, then?” Jonah asked.

  Matt nodded. “Best option for avoiding a shootout. Though it might still come to that.” He hunkered down and used his finger to draw a crude representation of the canyon in the sand. “I spotted two sentries. Here and here.” He pointed to either side of the canyon’s entrance. “The horses are in a remuda here.” He made a circle at the rear left side of the drawing. “Preach and I will scale the back wall.” He glanced at his corporal. “It’s only about twenty feet.”

  Preach scoffed. “Child’s play.”

  Matt grinned, then returned to his plan. “Brooks and Wallace will be positioned up top to keep watch and lay down cover fire if needed. I’ll locate the target. Preach will provide the distraction.” Again, he glanced at his second-in-command. “I was thinking a nice, old-fashioned stampede should do the trick.”

  Preach’s eyes danced. “I do love creating chaos.”

  “Once the horses are on the run, Preach will head to the ropes and make the climb. I’ll secure the target and follow. Can’t guarantee Charlie’s climbing skills, so Preach will position himself at the top of the rope and reel the kid in for a quicker ascent. I’ll remain below until the target is secured, then make the climb.”

  Wallace raised a brow. “You really think all three of you can make that climb without being discovered?”

  “Nope.” It would be a nice surprise to prove himself wrong, but Matt harbored no rose-colored illusions. What he did harbor was full confidence in his men. “You and Brooks will lay down cover fire when it becomes necessary and continue until we’re all clear of the canyon. Then we mount up and ride for Chatfield.” He looked at each of his men in turn. “Any questions or concerns? Improvements to offer?”

  “I won’t be able to handle my rifle one-handed, Captain. Not sure how much help I’ll be laying cover fire.” The admission left Wallace looking physically ill. He glared down at his sling. “I’ve never been much of a marksman with my left hand.”

  Matt grabbed Wallace’s good shoulder and squeezed. “I ain’t askin’ you to shoot bull’s-eyes. I just need you to keep those outlaws ducking for cover. A little wildness in your shots will keep them off guard, never knowing where the next bullet will fly. If you barrage them with frequency, Brooks will take care of the accuracy.”

  Jonah tipped his chin to Wallace in a nod that let them all know he’d be watching their backs.

  Preach spoke up next. “You got an alternative plan if the fella you spotted turns out not to be the doc’s brother?”

  It was a good question. One lacking a satisfactory answer. Matt had to shake his head. “Nope. Just a quicker need for an exit.”

  “I suppose we could always stake out the Hangin’ Tree to see who shows up,” Preach said with a shrug. “Try to take them by surprise.”

  “And face three-to-one odds?” Jonah shook his head. “If I had a good sniping position, maybe, but the area around the Hanging Tree is flat with little vegetation. No place to set up a perch and even the odds.”

  “Jonah’s right,” Matt said. “Attacking head-on would be suicide. Stealing their prisoner from behind their backs is the only option with an acceptable level of risk. As much as I want to return Josie’s brother to her, I’m not willing to throw your lives away doin’ it.”

  He’d walk that road alone if it came to that. Matt had sworn to bring her brother back, and he refused to return empty-handed.

  Of course, that meant he might not return at all. But he’d deal with that eventuality when it looked him in the face. Not before.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  They moved silently, each man focused on his task. The horses, including Josie’s extra mount, waited behind a small stand of post oak a hundred yards away. Close enough to reach quickly. Distant enough not to be spotted or heard by those in the box canyon below.

  Matt shrugged the coil of rope he carried off his shoulder and looped it around the base of the boulder he’d hidden behind earlier. After securing it with a bowline knot, he gave it a hard yank to test its sturdiness, then tossed the end of the rope over the rim and quietly fed the length of it over the side. Preach did the same, using a live oak a few feet farther from the rim as his anchor.

  Slipping up to the canyon’s edge on his belly, Matt surveyed the action below through his field glasses. A group of men crouched in a circle near the mouth of the canyon, playing cards. Two others busied themselves checking their weapons. The abused cook banged pots and pans as he packed the chuck wagon. The pockmarked fellow with the blue kerchief had taken over guard duty for one of the sentries. And the lead outlaw stood in the heart of it all, shooting the breeze with none other than Charlie Burkett.

  Crud. This plan would only work if he could cull Charlie from the herd without anyone noticing. Stampeding horses wouldn’t suffice as cover if the lead outlaw stood right beside his prisoner when the ruckus started.

  Matt waved Preach over. “We’re gonna have to wait a bit.” He handed the field glasses to his corporal and pointed toward the heart of the camp. “Charlie needs to be on the fringe before we can make a move. He’s too entrenched with the others right now to risk setting the horses off.”

  Preach propped himself on one elbow and peered through the binoculars. “It ain’t ideal,” he observed as he handed the binoculars back to Matt, “but if we postpone too long, our window’s gonna close. Might be a good idea to position ourselves inside the canyon, keep an eye on things, then strike as soon as an opportunity presents itself.”

  “Agreed.” Matt placed the field glasses back in their case, then slithered away from the canyon’s rim. He rose to his feet and waved Preach to the left while he edged right. “Update Brooks, then make your climb. I’ll do the same with Wallace.”

  Preach offered a two-fingered salute and moved out, keeping his tall frame hunched over to be less visible to anyone below who might glance their way. Matt did the same, winding his way to Wallace’s position a dozen yards away.

  The trumpeter had found a sapling with a v-shaped trunk and propped his rifle barrel in the natural notch, making the weapon more manageable for a one-armed man.

  “Preach and I are headed down, but we’re gonna have to play the timing by ear.” Matt lowered the field glasses case to the ground beside Wallace. “Charlie’s too close to the outlaw leader. We’ll have to wait until he separates himself.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Matt shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

  Wallace grinned. “Don’t you always?”

  Only when the Lord allows. Matt shook his head as he thumped Wallace on his good shoulder and headed back to where his rope waited.

  Matt wanted his men to have full confidence in his ability to lead them, but he wasn’t so foolish as to believe his past successes were due to his own cleverness. His experience in battle had certainly provided wisdom and helped him anticipate an enemy’s actions, but God was the master general. Matt would have no success without the Lord’s leading. Some might call it gut instinct, but the feelings in his core that urged one action over another went deeper than his gut. And he never failed to listen.

  Guide me, O thou great Jehovah. One of his favorite hymns and the prayer on his heart as he hurried back to his post. The mission before him required guidance. Lots of guidance.

  He reached his rope, gave it another test yank, then pulled his old cavalry gloves from his belt and shoved his hands inside. The pale yellow leather snugged against his fingers like an old friend, lending reassurance. They’d seen many a battle, these gloves. Matt tugged them over each wrist and wiggled his fingers to ensure maximum movement.

  Preach came up alongside him. “Jonah said he’d keep a bead
on the man in all black until cover fire becomes a necessity. He can put him down if it comes to that, but he’ll hold off unless one of us is under immediate threat.”

  Matt nodded, hearing the words left unsaid. Their vow not to take a life was sacred to the Horsemen. Only in defense of one of their own would they violate it, and even so, Matt knew Jonah would aim to wound, not to kill. But at this distance, with all the chaos soon to ensue, nothing could be guaranteed. Death was a real possibility.

  “Got a verse for me?” The routine of the question calmed him almost as much as the scripture that came back in answer.

  Preach peered into the canyon below, then turned and straddled the rope hanging a few feet to the left of Matt’s. He grabbed hold and turned his face toward heaven. “‘When thou goest out to battle against thine enemies, and seest horses, and chariots, and a people more than thou, be not afraid of them: for the Lord thy God is with thee.’ Deuteronomy 20:1.”

  Matt closed his eyes for a fraction of a moment and let the words flow over him. He couldn’t imagine a better-fitting verse. Everything except the chariots applied to their situation. And even then, he figured the chuck wagon could substitute. In either case, they were outnumbered and outgunned. Yet they need not be afraid, for God was with them. A man couldn’t find a better anchor for his courage than the Almighty.

  “See ya at the bottom, Cap.”

  Matt’s eyes popped open, and he lifted a hand to salute Preach as his corporal dropped over the side of the canyon. Matt followed suit, gripping the rope in both hands and walking his legs over the side. Hand under hand, he lowered himself. Controlled. Steady. Silent.

  Regular glances over his shoulder confirmed he hadn’t been spotted. By the time his feet met the earth, Matt’s arms burned, but in an invigorating, well-used sort of way. He gave them a little shake, then stepped away from the rope, letting his method of escape camouflage itself against the brown of the canyon wall.