“But your home was sold.” Cochinay brought up the subject once more, a little later, as they splashed their way through a shallow river and toward a grove of trees. “Before the War started, you said. That musta been hard t’ handle.”
Thomas, ever the proficient lawman, was studying the scenery for any sign of potential problems. Or danger. Be aware. Be always aware. “Well, John came up with the idea. It was John, wasn’t it, Trav?” he diverged to ask.
“Yeah, the Pinkerton Man. Seems like.”
“He saw which way things were goin’, and thought it best for us to get outa the South. By then we’d pretty much scattered, anyway. With Ma gone when John was born, and Pa more recently, didn’t seem much point in holdin’ onto the place. So we all talked it over, came to a mutual decision, and found us a ready buyer. Only logical thing t’ do.”
The guide hid a smile. From what he’d seen of the Yancey family thus far, their watchword could have been “Logic at all costs.” Still, anyone could exhibit worse traits. And these boys had gone out of their way to welcome him as a full-fledged member of the team, despite his own less-than-stellar heritage.
His saddle creaked as Travis shifted position and reached back for the canteen and a drink of reasonably cool water. “You’ve had a few troublin’ wars roundabouts your own self, ain’tcha, Coch?”
“Sure have.” He slapped through the air at a persistent fly, then readjusted his hat with its proud eagle feather. “Lotta bad blood here, too, b’tween the Apache and the white man. And the brown man, for that matter.”
“Got the U.S. Army involved, for quite a while,” Thomas observed.
“Wrongs and insults on both sides, as it turned out. One does somethin’, the other takes offense, the first won’t back down, tempers rise and fists fly and weapons come out, and pretty soon you got a full-scale battle.” Cochinay shook his head at the stupidity and inhumanity of man. He was too young to bear the weight of such awesome knowledge.
“With innocent settlers caught in the crossfire.”
“Always the innocent. That battle with Cochise a few years back—I was just a kid, then, under my mama’s care—lasted too long and caused a lotta damage.”
“Well, if you could ever get that pissant Congress t’ abide by its own treaties…” Disgusted, Travis spat into the dust as they drifted along. “God, what a worthless bunch o’ human bein’s.”
Thomas sent a derisive smile his brother’s way. “Maybe you oughta run for office, Trav. Get some honest blood int’ those accursed offices where ever’body’s bought and sold to the highest bidder.”
“Huh. Catch me even considerin’ that. A Yancey, all decked out on Capitol Hill? Why, Paw would turn over in his grave at the very thought.”
A mocking grin this time. There was nothing Thomas enjoyed more than ragging his twin, especially when it came to politics.
Travis had never heard the name of any politician that he didn’t instantly despise, no matter which affiliation, no matter what cause. They were all, he would declare to anyone who chose to listen, a plague worse than locusts for the average humble citizen; an abomination worse than the Seven Circles of Hell for anyone just trying to scrape up an existence; a nuisance worse than any pustule on the ass of humanity. Travis could rant for hours on the evils perpetuated by officeholders. So much so that his tirades often put him in fair danger of becoming a pustule himself.
Trouble was, most of the time Thomas agreed.
Meanwhile, Cochinay had been following his own line of thought. “Yeah, broken treaties are at the root. But, from the way I see it, everything comes down t’ the power of the federal government.”
“Ridin’ roughshod over ev’ry single person, y’ mean?”
“Well, shoot. Change history how y’ might, Tom, still the white eyes were the ones bargin’ in, for whatever reason they like t’ use. You got all these diff’rent people, livin’ in this country since time began. Their lands get invaded, their lands get stolen, so they go t’ war to try rightin’ those wrongs. And, once the dust settles, they’re the ones boxed up and shipped off to reservations.”
Thomas sent him a sympathetic glance. “Don’t hardly seem fair, does it, son? You run int’ any hard times yourself, for what others mighta been doin’?”
“A few fist fights. Torn clothes. Bloody nose and black eye. Enough that I almost started gettin’ used to it.” Cochinay offered a thin, rather sickly smile. “Seemed the other students at school didn’t take kindly to sharin’ seats with no stupid red savage, ’specially a bastard half-breed like me. So, every time Cochise executed a raid, or Coloradas retaliated for a white-man attack with one of his own, I was the one who paid.”
“Helluva thing,” muttered Travis, “what we do t’ each other.”
Their tracker shrugged, patted the neck of his pretty Appaloosa mare as if to be re-grounded, and reminisced, “It was the safest thing—the smartest thing—for me and my mother to stick close to the Catamount. Easier t’ avoid trouble.”
“What’d your paw have t’ say about all that?”
“Not much. Mostly let me fight my own battles. Reckon he figured I’d grow up stronger that way.”
“Hmmph. If you growed up a’tall.” When necessary, Thomas was nothing if not blunt. “You worried about your sister’s welfare, Coch?”
“My sister.” The warmth of his sudden smile encompassed both eyes and mouth. “Don’t often hear her referred to like that. Yeah, I’m worried. Some, anyway. But I reckon Liz may just be leadin’ that ole outlaw a merry dance. She’s pretty strong and self-sufficient.”
Thomas glanced over, considering. “Is she now?”
“Used t’ takin’ care of herself, well enough. Gentlemen, it’s gettin’ late.” Cochinay squinted off into the distance, where the afternoon sun was giving way to puffy evening clouds of purple and dark blue. “Right here we’ve got shelter and plenty o’ fresh water. What d’you say we make camp for the night?”
IV
The first full day at Win’s cabin—the second of her actual captivity—had Elizabeth waking later than usual, bleary-eyed and confused as to her surroundings. Rough log walls, bare splintered floor, single bed with padding built of some unidentifiable material. Not normal stuffing, anyway. Something that rustled. Corn husks? Odd. How had she come to be here?
Drowsing, realization returned with the sounds outside. No jingling of harness or calling of men’s voices or even the distant lowing of cattle. No. This was a squirrel chittering angrily away about some upset, and the rattle of an empty tin pail.
She yawned, stretched, and managed to make her way off what was apparently considered a mattress. Every muscle ached, every bone felt twice its normal weight. She remembered crying herself to sleep last night, something she hadn’t done since childhood. And now she knew why. This morning she was paying the price for those tears. No mirror, but she could feel tight, shiny skin and puffy eyes. Possibly, even, just the hint of a fever.
Pulling on a pair of heavy wool socks under the hem of her flannel nightgown, she opened the rickety door and emerged into the living area.
“Good mornin’,” her abductor greeted her cheerily.
That he had been up and about for some time was evident, because a fire was exuding light and warmth from both the hearth and the little two-burner stove, and the aroma of bacon being fried wafted through the air. The mouth-watering smell almost physically carried her across the room.
“Uh. Morning.” A pause, a glance around, still only half-awake. “Do you have—uh—?”
“Outside and ’round the corner, honey. Here, you might wanna wear these old galoshes, just t’ get there and back.”
Upon her return, Elizabeth made like a homing bee for the basin of water he had thoughtfully provided. It was even, she discovered, dipping in, nicely heated. There came a flash of speculation: would her father take such care of his captive, had he been inclined to kidnap someone? And then immediately chastised herself for such an irrational idea.
Of course her father would never kidnap anyone!
“You ’bout ready for breakfast?” At her nod, Win handed over a plate already prepared, with several flapjacks added to the strips of bacon. “Syrup’s right there on the table. And here’s a cuppa coffee t’ start your day.” He sat down with her, chatting easily away while she ate, as if they were two old friends simply sharing a meal. “You sleep okay?”
“I did. Tired out, I guess.”
“I guess.” He did not mention the emotional turmoil that both had endured, that might have accounted for his wakefulness and her utter exhaustion. “We got a few days o’ waitin’ ahead of us, girl. ’Fraid there ain’t a whole lot of amusements up here for you.”
“Amusements?” Elizabeth snorted. “What kind of social butterfly do you think I am? You have chores to do, right?”
“Sure. Always chores. Cuttin’ up wood, huntin’ for deer or maybe—”
“Sweeping or washing up?”
“Well, yeah, that would be part o’ the—”
“Books? Do you have any books to read?”
“Why, bless your heart, child, I done got stacks o’ books.” Beaming, Win gave her a broad smile. “You just help yourself, you’ll find ’em in my bedroom.”
Finished and feeling on top of the world with some parts empty and some parts full, Elizabeth pushed back from the table. “You leave this stuff here, Baldy. I’ll get dressed and ready, and then I’ll red up.”
“That’s fine, we can—” A sudden scowl. “Goddammit, my name is Win. Win!”
With a grin, she scurried away. The use of his proper name would, she foresaw, become a bone of contention, and one that she could tease him with for the remainder of their association.
Dressed in her customary heavy woolen trousers and boots and a shirtwaist with every button still attached, face washed, hair brushed and braided, Elizabeth felt more like meeting the day head-on. And a beautiful, sunshiney, new-minted day it was, full of birdsong and dust motes.
With a heart surprisingly light, for someone kidnapped and at the mercy of an incorrigible outlaw, she straightened her bed covers and cleaned up the kitchen. Afterward, a search for Win sent her outside, where she found he had already fed and watered the horses and was now mucking out a corner of the shed.
“Busy, busy,” she commented, clucking her tongue while leaning comfortably on the top rail. “Anything else you need done?”
He paused, with his pitchfork dug into the ground and one foot resting on the pitchfork. “Well, ain’t you just chock full of energy, though?”
“Must be all the fresh mountain air.”
She glanced around at the beautifully scenic area: the alder and birch moving on toward fall, with leaves beginning to change color; the large spring-fed pond and its grassy environs; the snug cabin carefully placed and built; the higher hills and the craggy blue cliffs, farther off.
“Win, how far away exactly is the Catamount from here?”
He grinned, flashing an impish look her way. “You should know, Missy. You rode with me.”
“I did, indeed.” She studied him, the old man who had taken her away by gunpoint and now held her captive—well, not strictly captive—here in his mountain fastness. “But I don’t think it was a straight shot.”
“No? What, then?”
She spoke slowly, puzzling it out. “Roundabout. Very roundabout. Way out of our way, in fact, so that I think this cabin is a lot closer to the ranch than it seems.”
“Good, good. Go on.”
“Almost circular. Because we passed through the same spots more than once, I remember now. Enough to be confusing, for anyone who wanted to follow.”
He beamed like the professor of some student who had just excelled all expectations. “Anyone bein’ that tracker fella. Your half-brother. And whoever he brings along with him. Likely a lawman your father hired.”
Elizabeth stared. “You knew?”
“Y’ think I was born yesterday, girl? O’course I knew. I also knew you were leavin’ signs.”
“Oh, Win.” Feeling suddenly like a traitor of the highest magnitude, she sighed. “Only at first. But then—well, as time went on, and I realized you weren’t going to harm me, I—well…no more.”
“I knew that, too, Miss Drayton,” he said gruffly. “Got t’ where we sorta connected.”
“Yes. We did.” Her admission sounded almost shy.
“So. Anything else y’ need t’ ask?”
“Uh-huh. Do you happen to have any sewing supplies up here? I’ve got to mend my favorite shirtwaist.”
Later that afternoon, once Elizabeth had put together a pot of vegetable soup and even tried her hand at a dried-apple pie, they dragged the twig chairs out to the small open porch and sat together. There they could enjoy the play of sunlight and shadows across the glade and a family of frisky squirrels chasing each other through the treetops.
“Mother Nature, all the way around you,” murmured Elizabeth, yawning. “How long have you lived up here, Win?”
He leaned back, stretched his legs out, and crossed one ankle over the other. “Well, now, lemme think. Shoot, child, reckon it’s been a number of years. Lost track o’ time.”
“Aren’t you worried that someone might stumble upon you, and haul you back to serve time?”
“Yeah, there’s always that chance.” Win pulled out a pipe, tamped it full of tobacco, and struck a match. Soon the fragrance of cherry wood filled the air.
“Mmmm. I like that. Well, you’re bringing the law straight to your door, by kidnapping me and demanding a ransom. How will you be able to stay on here once they know where you are?”
He cast a slow, contemplative glance around. A poignant glance, filled with sadness and regret. “Well, now, I reckon I’ll just have to pack up and light out for somewheres else,” he said quietly. Another plume of exhaled smoke accompanied the words.
“Oh, Baldy.” Her deep blue eyes reflected his own sorrow at having to abandon this snug little enclave. “Isn’t there another way out of this mess?”
“Why, Miss Drayton,” he said, so surprised he forgot to berate her for the name, “ain’t nothin’ you got t’ do about it. It’s all a mess of my own makin’.”
“Maybe so. But I feel—I don’t know, a little bit responsible. Everything that happened twenty years ago, that drew you in…I guess it all started with my father, didn’t it? When he cheated at cards, and stole the pot?”
Sucking on his pipe, Win stared out at the greenery beyond, at all that lay in the woods past seeing. Walnut and oak, Douglas fir and spruce; black bear and mountain lion, antelope and deer; jaybird and warbler, great horned owl and red-tailed hawk. A multitude of living, breathing beings, united this piece to that in a natural balance.
“Reckon it did,” he agreed finally. “Funny, ain’t it, how such a small, thoughtless act can work its way down through years o’ heartache?”
“Tell me.” She leaned forward, elbows planted firmly on thighs and chin planted firmly in palms. “Tell me about her. About my mother. Dad never speaks of her, and I know so little. I’ve always wondered what she was like. How she spoke. Her personality. Her temperament.”
“Amelia,” he repeated in a distant voice. Homely as he was, his features lightened and softened with the mention of his long-lost love. “She was a stunner. God. Pretty as a pearl on a sandy beach. Looked like a lady, acted like a lady. But when she got tickled, Amelia had a belly laugh that just invited you t’ join in.”
Fascinated, Elizabeth watched as he relived the days of young manhood, when life was fair and offered promise, simply because a lively girl centered in his dreams.
From late afternoon into early twilight the pleasant hours passed by: he reminiscing with the ache in his voice that lay always in his heart, she listening, rapt and attentive.
When it was over, when full darkness began to steal in, the old outlaw felt as wrung out as a rawhide rope flung over a fence post. He had talked himself hoarse. “Time t’ head inside,�
�� he suggested at last, almost reluctantly.
“Thank you, Baldy,” whispered Elizabeth. And before he could move, she had wrapped her strong young arms around his sagging shoulders to envelope him in a hug.
V
Flatland and desert sand merged into greenish-brown foothills rough as sandpaper as the rescue party broke camp next morning and headed higher. Their direction continued west. Late yesterday afternoon, in a glade of trees and underbrush, Cochinay had discovered a bright blue thread wrapped around several leaves. Since then, nothing.
“Might’s well be travelin’ in circles,” said Travis, unimpressed.
“You can’t track what ain’t there,” pointed out their guide.
“He knows that, Coch.” Thomas did his best to smooth over ruffled feelings. “No criticism aimed at you, just feelin’ frustrated. My brother figured t’ have this case solved by now and be back visitin’ his Chico whorehouse.”
“And what’s wrong with that, I’d like t’ know? Snugglin’ up with some nekkid buxom barmaid beats roughin’ it in the wilds all t’ hell.”
An unsympathetic cluck of the tongue. “Awww, you feelin’ outa sorts this mawnin’? Didn’t sleep well atoppa your saddle?”
“I’ve slept better,” grumped Travis. He was leaning forward, as his Colorado Ranger Horse, Freckles, clopped steadily along, with one forearm resting on the pommel and his posture the loose, easy carriage that absorbed every gait. “Some damned gremlin kept on a-movin’ rocks under my blanket. Soon’s I’d wake up and hike one out from under my rump, another’n would take its place.”
“Spare me your sob story. I had a few rocks o’ my own t’ deal with. So, Coch, whatdya think—did that girl stop leavin’ us clues for some reason?”
“Maybe.” Cochinay seemed more puzzled than concerned. “A few marks of passin’, here and there, that coulda just as well been left by wild animals, or someone else ridin’ through. Nothin’ that tells me it’s Liz, anyway.”
They happened along another nice little shady spot in time for the mid-day meal. Sycamore and colored sumac marked the edge of a fresh-water spring, trickling down into a clear pool where humans and horses could quench their thirst. No need for a dry camp, here. Food and hot coffee, cleanup, and a brief rest, in that order.
A Western Romance: Thomas Yancey Taking the High Road (Book 4) (Taking the High Road series) Page 4
