At Love's Command

by Karen Witemeyer

  The fact that gunfire hadn’t erupted when he and Preach crossed the road made a full-on ambush unlikely. Which meant this was an intelligence-gathering mission, not an attack. The outlaws would need high ground with a clear view of the path.

  Matt scoured the nearby treetops. Nothing.

  They wouldn’t be to the south. Such a position would risk exposure, with Burkett approaching from that direction. The west failed to offer a clear view to the creek. So that left north and east. East provided the most protection, with the creek serving as a buffer. North offered high ground with a small rise about a quarter mile away. A man would have to have field glasses to see anything from that distance, though.

  Matt gritted his teeth as he recalled a particular pair of field glasses that had aided in Charlie Burkett’s rescue. A pair Matt had selected himself for their high-quality magnification. A pair now in Taggart’s possession, thanks to his theft of the Horsemen’s gear. Matt scowled at the rise visible through the trees, wishing he’d left the glasses behind at that canyon and encouraged Phineas to trod them underfoot.

  He squinted into the distance, then turned to estimate where the spy’s gaze would likely fall. His view would be somewhat obstructed, but there were enough gaps between the trees to confirm Burkett’s presence. The view would likely confirm his and Preach’s presence too. Though, if they were lucky, whoever watched would only suspect them of being Gringolet hands, not Horsemen.

  “Josephine!” Burkett’s shout brought Matt’s focus back to the blue fabric.

  Josie’s father rode into view, then jumped from his horse’s back. He dashed in and out of Matt’s tree-interrupted sight line until stuttering to a halt.

  “What kind of game is this, Taggart?” Burkett bellowed loudly enough to rattle the leaves above him. “If you want your money, show yourself. And my daughter.”

  The affirmation that the misshapen figure wasn’t Josie poured relief over Matt like the shower of a rushing waterfall and made it easier to hold his position.

  “Taggart!”

  No response answered Burkett’s shout.

  While Burkett called Taggart out, Matt signaled Preach to watch the area on the other side of the creek, then turned his own attention to the north ridge.

  “Coward. Show yourself!”

  There. A flicker of light, like the sun’s reflection off glass. Matt strained to make out details, but the distance was too great. Then a form appeared, like a man straightening from a prone position. Another shape emerged behind him. A horse. One trained to lie down in battle and rise to his feet on command.

  Phineas.

  Matt’s knees tightened around Percival. His gut urged him to set out in pursuit, to reclaim what was his and bring an outlaw to justice. Percival perked his ears, ready to respond, but Matt forced his muscles to uncoil. He leaned forward and patted Percival’s neck.

  “Not this time, boy,” he whispered, “but soon.”

  Very soon.

  Pursuing now would only forfeit their one advantage—Taggart’s ignorance of the Horsemen’s involvement. If there were more men secreted in the area, Matt could play right into their hands.

  The rider on the ridge mounted and, in a blink, disappeared over the far side of the rise. No others surfaced to join him, but it was too late to give chase. Phineas had a quarter-mile lead, widening by the second. Percival’s legs might be younger, but they weren’t fresher. It would be impossible to catch him, especially traveling across country that offered enough hills and trees to conceal the fleeing outlaw’s route.

  Of all the outlaws Matt had encountered in the canyon, he could think of only one who might have the skills to command Phineas with such ease: the wrangler who had been the first to the remuda when Preach started the stampede. He’d handled himself well. No panicking or yelling at the frightened animals, stirring them into a greater frenzy. Just calm, controlled movements. If there had been more men like him in the camp, the rescue operation wouldn’t have worked nearly so well. Such a man could have army experience, enough to understand the capabilities of a cavalry mount. He’d probably watched for Burkett’s approach from atop the hill, then dropped both himself and Phineas into the high grass to remain hidden while observing the goings-on below. And now he was on his way to report to Taggart.

  But that was a good thing. It would inflate Taggart’s confidence. Let him believe all was transpiring according to his plan. That he was in control.

  A motion to Matt’s right drew his attention away from the ridge. Preach was signaling.

  “All clear on the creek side, Cap.”

  Matt tilted his head toward Burkett and started walking Percival that direction. Preach brought his horse alongside. Both men holstered their pistols but kept their rifles at the ready in their laps.

  “There was a man to the north conducting surveillance. Only one, far as I could tell.” The next words tasted of bile as Matt forced them through his tight throat. “Pretty sure he was riding Phin.”

  Preach’s gasped No! summed up Matt’s thoughts pretty well. Disbelief. Outrage. They all had scores to settle, but those would have to wait until Josie was out of harm’s way.

  Matt ducked to avoid a branch as he steered his horse through the trees to reach Burkett. The older man’s head, as well as the revolver in his hand, swiveled to greet him. Matt raised his hands, but recognition quickly dawned in Burkett’s eyes. He lowered the weapon in his right hand and waved the sheet of paper he clutched in his left.

  “She’s not here.”

  Brooks and Wallace must have concluded that the back trail was clear, for they, along with Burkett’s hands, emerged from the trees to take up positions on the path.

  Burkett slashed the paper through the air and pointed an accusing finger at the scarecrow standing at the edge of the path. A scarecrow dressed in Josie’s coat and hat.

  “He’s toying with us,” Burkett ranted. “Playing some kind of shell game.”

  A breeze picked up, and the paper snapped in the wind. Matt eyed it. “I take it the exchange is not going to take place here, after all?”

  “He drew a map to someplace in Sabinal Canyon, south of Utopia. Exchange is to be made tomorrow afternoon at three.”

  No railroad between here and there, so they’d have to take the horses. Which meant they’d arrive with tired stock while Taggart had a supply of fresh mounts.

  “How far you reckon Utopia is from here, Preach?” Matt looked at his corporal as he stood in the stirrup and dismounted.

  The big man shifted in his saddle. “Fifty miles? Maybe more.”

  Matt approached Burkett, who was spitting-mad and couldn’t seem to stop waving the paper in the air. He needed to get Josie’s father focused on working the problem instead of railing at it.

  “What kind of distance can your stock cover in a day? Forty miles?” The best cavalry mounts could do fifty to sixty, but these horses weren’t cavalry mounts yet. They were young. Probably untried.

  Some of the redness faded from Burkett’s face as he examined the animals around him with a practiced eye. “They’d probably give us forty-five. We’ve bred them in the hills, so they’re used to the terrain, but with the thirty miles they traveled yesterday, I don’t want to push them too hard. If a horse comes up lame, we’re not just down a horse, we’re down a man too.”

  “Can I see the note?” Matt asked, stretching out his hand. He had no doubt that Burkett had read it correctly, but a leader didn’t make plans without first verifying facts.

  Burkett shoved it at him with equal parts reluctance and gratitude. “The blackguard even made her write it herself. I recognize her handwriting.”

  Matt took the sheet in hand, his gaze immediately attaching itself to the page. To her words. He hadn’t seen Josie write anything in the short time they’d known each other. Thirsty to know more of her, he drank in her pen strokes on the page.

  He stepped over to Percival and carefully smoothed the page over the saddle, then held the edges down so the
wind wouldn’t catch them. Preach dismounted and came around to look over his shoulder.

  Her penmanship was tidy, free of the loops and flourishes that many females favored. Her letters slanted at a precise angle, close together, like orderly soldiers standing at attention.

  Dear Father,

  I am well. I have not been mistreated by Taggart or his men. The ransom location has been changed. Follow the map on the reverse side of this note to the new location. Mr. Taggart has postponed the exchange until three o’clock tomorrow. I will see you then.

  Your daughter,

  Josephine Burkett

  Matt turned the paper over and glanced at the crude map drawn there, but noticed nothing of interest. Taggart would have drawn the map himself. Josie had written the note. The writing called to him in a way he couldn’t explain. He flipped it back to the front and read the words again, but they left him unsatisfied. There was something else. Something he wasn’t seeing. He studied the lettering a second time, ignoring the words themselves in order to examine the actual ink markings. He squinted, then tilted his head to consider it from a different angle.

  “Brooks. Come look at this.”

  Jonah dismounted and approached. Preach shifted to the side to make room.

  “Is it my imagination,” Matt asked, “or is there a small dot at the top of certain letters?” He pivoted to the left to give his sergeant an unobstructed view.

  Jonah said nothing at first, but then, he wasn’t one to offer an opinion before it was fully formed.

  “See?” Matt pointed to the greeting. “It’s there on the D and E of Dear, but it doesn’t appear again until the crown of the S in mistreated.”

  “What are you talking about, Hanger?” Burkett blustered as he pushed his way into the group. Once he saw what Matt was indicating, he waved his hand in dismissal. “Those are just ink spots. Taggart was probably holding her at gunpoint when he forced her to write that note. Poor girl must have been scared out of her skin. Only makes sense that her penmanship would be jerky instead of smooth.”

  “I’ve seen your daughter operate on a man trying to bleed to death,” Matt countered. “Never once did her hands shake. She was steady as a rock. Josie’s not one to tremble under pressure.”

  Burkett looked Matt in the eye. “My Jo’s strong, yes. Stronger than most men I know. But she’s still a woman at the mercy of a gang of outlaws who could do . . . unspeakable . . .” His eyes grew shiny. He turned his head, coughed, then turned back to level a hard stare at Matt. “She’s never faced this kind of pressure before.”

  The truth he’d been doing his best to avoid stabbed Matt in the chest. His Josie was in a den of vipers, any of which could strike without warning or reason. He clenched his jaw until his molars ground together. He couldn’t dwell on what could happen. He needed his mind for more fruitful pursuits, like deciphering the hunch that had his men analyzing handwriting.

  “She might be staring down the barrel of Taggart’s revolver,” Jonah said, tapping the page with the tip of his finger, “but I don’t think she’s blinkin’.” He twisted his face and offered Matt a half-smile. “I think you’re right, Captain. Those dots are too precise to be accidental. I think the doc left us a message.”

  Beautiful, clever girl!

  “Somebody find a pencil,” Matt ordered. “We have a message to decipher.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  Matt worked his way through the note a third and fourth time, jotting down all the letters that had dots of ink at their crest. Some were easy to identify, like the O and C in o’clock. Others were less obvious. He and Jonah debated the merits of several letters with Preach throwing his opinion into the mix every so often, while the rest of the men paced and waited.

  After narrowing down the suspects, Matt composed two horizontal lists along the bottom of Josie’s note. The first line contained the letters he and Brooks agreed upon, spaced far enough apart to cover the entire width of the paper. Beneath that were the more questionable letters, aligned with the open spaces of the top line in order to preserve the overall order of appearance.

  “Yer wastin’ time, Hanger.” Having apparently reached the limit of his patience, Burkett stomped over to his mount and collected the black gelding’s reins. “We gotta get movin’ if we’re gonna reach the exchange point ahead of schedule. You can play word games if you want, but me and my men are heading out.” He drew abreast of Matt and held out his hand. “Give me the map.”

  Matt’s attention never left the letters. D-E-S-E. Then possibly a T or a G, but neither made much sense with the R-T pairing next on the list of certain letters. If he crossed them out . . .

  His pulse jumped as the letters left began to form a word. D-E-S-E-R—

  “Hanger!” Burkett snapped.

  Matt’s head jerked up.

  “The map.”

  No way was he forfeiting this paper until he figured out Josie’s message. “Ten minutes,” he bargained, praying he’d have it figured out by then. If not, he’d just scratch his line of letters into the dirt and keep working. “Water the horses at the creek. I’ll hand the map over when you return.”

  Burkett scowled. “Fine. Ten minutes.” He withdrew his hand and took hold of Percival’s bridle. “But I’m taking Percy with me.”

  “Good. Wallace can take our other horses.” Matt tipped his head toward Mark, who immediately collected the reins of both his and Jonah’s mounts. “Preach, I’m gonna use your back.”

  As Burkett led Percival away, Matt swiveled toward his corporal, who was already bending to offer the use of his broad back as their new work surface.

  “I think the first word is desert,” Matt murmured to Jonah, though even as he said it, he realized how little sense it made. There were deserts in Texas, but none nearby. They were all out west. This was hill country. Thick vegetation. Ample water. Wildflowers and trees. This was about as non-desert as Texas got. Matt’s throat rumbled with frustration. Maybe Burkett was right. Maybe he was trying too hard to see clues that simply weren’t there.

  “Not desert, Captain,” Jonah said, his finger tracing the next several letters in the list. He paused over an E, then skipped past an L, N, H, and A before tapping a D in the list of possible letters. “Deserted.”

  A new surge of excitement pumped through Matt’s veins. A deserted what? House? Town? Cave? He immediately started scanning the next set of letters. F-A-R. Farm. It had to be. He skipped several letters like Jonah had, then jabbed his finger at the M in Mr. Taggart. The title had been left off the first time the outlaw was mentioned in the note, so Josie must have purposely added it here to provide the needed M.

  Smart girl.

  It took longer to figure out the next part of Josie’s message. The letters didn’t seem to make a real word.

  “Speco or maybe Secoc . . .” Matt tried to sound out the nonsense words. The plodding hoofbeats of horses returning from the creek shot a dose of urgency into his blood. “Nothing fits,” he muttered as his eyes traced the same letters over and over.

  Preach twisted his neck as if attempting to peer at his own back. “Try skippin’ the middle and jump to the end. Maybe you can work it out backwards.”

  Matt glanced at Jonah, who shrugged.

  “Couldn’t hurt,” Jonah said as he turned back to study the note. “We know for sure the last letter is K. It’s probably why she took the time to sign her last name.”

  “We also know there are two E’s next to each other,” Matt added. “There could also be an L or an R.” Eek. Leek. Reek. He glanced at the letters again and pounced on the C. “Creek! Seco Creek!” He grinned like an idiot and squeezed Jonah’s shoulder, wiggling him back and forth as if he were a flag flying in a windstorm. “We found her! Thank God above. We found her.”

  Burkett dropped the reins to his black and charged forward. “You found my Jo?” He looked from one man to the next, but his gaze zeroed in on Matt. “Where is she?”

  “At a deserted farm nea
r Seco Creek.”

  The fire lighting Burkett’s eyes cooled and hardened into coals. “Seco Creek stretches for miles. She could be anywhere.”

  Matt shook his head, the scent of the hunt still fresh in his nostrils. “Not anywhere.” He stepped away from Jonah and clapped a hand on Burkett’s shoulder. “She’s at a deserted farm. A specific place. A place locals will know.”

  “Only if you find the right locals.” Burkett circled his arm to dislodge Matt’s hand. “If we had two or three days, you might find her. But we barely have enough time to get to the exchange point. We can’t afford to go on some wild goose chase.”

  “Not all of us, no.” Matt gestured to his men. “I’ll take the Horsemen. We’ll cut cross-country and ride to Utopia. The town lies between Seco Creek and Sabinal River. Someone is bound to know of an abandoned farm in the area. It makes sense for Taggart to keep her close to the exchange point.”

  “But that will add several miles to your trip,” Burkett warned. “Miles we can’t afford.”

  Matt paced a few steps, frustration mounting. He understood Burkett’s reluctance. This was a risky play. But it was the best play they had.

  He stopped pacing and faced Burkett head-on. “You said it yourself. If we let Taggart call all the shots, there’s a good chance Josie ends up dead. Charlie too. But if we can find their hideout and attack when they’re not expecting it, we’ll be the ones with the advantage.”

  “And my children could still end up dead.” Burkett’s gaze hardened even further. “You go into that camp, guns blazing, and chances are high that my Jo gets caught in the crossfire.”

  Matt didn’t blink. “Retrieving your daughter unharmed is the mission, Burkett. I won’t make a move until her position is secure. You have my word.”

  Josie’s father held his gaze for a long minute, then finally dipped his chin in a small nod. When his face lifted, his eyes had softened, the crack in his anger letting some of his fear leak through. “What if you don’t find them in time?”

  Matt swallowed. It was a possibility. Likely even, as much as he hated to admit it. If they couldn’t find a knowledgeable local, there would be too much ground to cover for them to find the farm on their own.