Thank God Emilio had the presence of mind to grab rifles on the way out and he tossed Billy one. “Shoot!” Together, backs to each other, they fired their weapons at the invaders.
Boldly, the Indians raced around the boys, cutting them off from the house. If only Lucas hadn’t ridden off for his camp, Billy thought, lamenting the absence of a third gun. Arrows flew through the air like streaking meteors. Emilio howled as one hit his foot. Caught in the open, surrounded, Billy knew they were going to die if they didn’t make it to cover.
The water trough appeared through the swirling tornado of Indians and horses. Closer than the house, they had to make a run for it. He hesitated for a split second, though. The girls were in the house … and Little Billy. Another arrow zinged past him, making the decision for him.
“The trough,” Billy yelled, cocking the Winchester. “I’ll cover you.” As the words left his mouth, he heard the whoosh of another arrow, felt it strike deep in his thigh. He looked down, marveling over the lack of pain.
In front of him, Emilio hobbled frantically toward the trough, shooting at the circling, flashing targets. An Indian leveled his weapon on them. Acting on instinct, Billy fired first, the shot hit the barrel of the other gun. The bullet made an odd zing sound as it ricocheted off. Startled by his rider’s strange jerk on the reins, the Indian’s horse reared. Billy took advantage of the moment to lunge for the trough.
The next few minutes were a nightmare of rifle shots, war cries, and choking dust. Then, like ghost warriors, the renegades suddenly faded into the night and disappeared.
He and Emilio fired a few more shots but the Indians were gone. In the tomb-like silence, he and Emilio waited, needing to be sure they weren’t coming back. The stillness of the night was suffocating.
Billy raised his head. The porch lamp still glowed and he could see dead bodies, two dead Indians to be precise, littering Sarah’s front yard. Emilio stood up and limped quickly toward Sarah’s.
A throbbing in Billy’s leg drew his hand down, but he didn’t look. He felt the shaft of the arrow protruding from his leg and flinched. He explored further and discovered the tip, fiendishly sharp, poking out the back of his leg. Sucking in a breath, he clawed his way to his feet, only to stagger drunkenly. White-hot pain shot from his thigh to his brain. Sweat popped out on his forehead and he held on to the trough, trying to get a handle on things.
“They’re gone.”
Billy whirled at the sound of Emilio’s voice. Fear burned in his belly and his throat dried up. “Hannah? Little Billy?”
“Little Billy and Sarah hid in a secret place under the floor … but …” Emilio shook his hair back and crammed his hat on. His tan shirt was smeared with blood around his left shoulder. “One-Who-Cries took the girls.”
~~~
Fifty-One
Livid, McIntyre threw his hat across Beckwith’s office. “I have never seen such a bunch of chicken-hearted, yellow-bellied cowards!” He wanted to strangle someone, namely, the men in Defiance. How could they be so gutless? He and the marshal had covered both ends of town separately, knocking on every door and tent pole. They hadn’t found one volunteer for a posse. One-who-Cries had them scared spitless.
As far as McIntyre was concerned, there would be hell to pay for these cowards when this was over.
“They don’t have a dog in this fight,” Beckwith said evenly, rising from his desk. He strode to the door, plucked his hat off the hook near the entrance, and sighed. “I’m a little tired myself, but let’s go get those girls. We can rest when they’re safe.”
McIntyre appreciated Beckwith’s undying devotion to his job, but they stood a far better chance of recovering the girls in one piece if they had help. “Somehow, we’ve got to force them to help, Marshal. We have no idea where the Army troops are or where that posse from Gunnison is. We’re on our own.”
Beckwith’s eyes narrowed. “McIntyre, the men in this town are some of the laziest, greediest, and most shiftless—”
He cocked his head to one side as if listening. After an instant, McIntyre heard it, too, horses coming at a gallop. They hurried outside and in the silver-gray of dawn met Billy and Emilio riding in from the west end of town. McIntyre stepped down into the street, and grabbed a hold of their horses as they reined in.
“One-Who-Cries attacked us at Sarah’s,” Billy told them, his voice raspy, as if talking was a huge effort. “They’ve got Hannah, Mollie, and Naomi.”
The relief and vindication that surged through McIntyre nearly dropped him to his knees and lifted his hope at the same time. “Thank You, God,” he whispered. The simple prayer carried more weight than he could have ever imagined. He knew, without a doubt, God heard it. He cleared the tightness from his throat. “How long ago?”
“They hit us right at dark,” Emilio said, his somber tone acknowledging the substantial lead.
Their blood-stained clothes and bandages told the rest of the story. “Kill any of ’em?” the marshal asked.
“Si. Two,” Emilio exchanged a disappointed look with Billy, “but we think that could still leave six or eight.”
Ian, Wade, and–to McIntyre’s displeasure–Matthew rode up beside the boys, the deputy leading two horses. Their grim expressions melted to confusion when they saw the boys. “All right,” Beckwith said, marching toward one of the fresh mounts behind Wade. “You two git on over to Doc’s—”
“No.” Billy shook his head defiantly. “We’re going.”
His determination stopped the marshal cold. The law man studied the bloody strip of cotton wrapped around Billy’s leg, working his jaw as he thought. “All right, go to the livery and get fresh horses.” Beckwith switched his gaze to Ian. “Why don’t you go tell your new wife her sisters are alive? I expect that’s news she could use.” He swung into the saddle. “When you’re done, gather up Billy and Emilio and meet us at Silas’s farm, and be quick about it. We won’t wait long.”
Ian jerked his horse away from the group. “Ye willna be waiting on me.” He spurred the horse and headed toward his cabin.
McIntyre climbed up on the other fresh horse and met Matthew’s wary gaze. He really didn’t want the big ape along, but they needed all the help they could get.
As if reading his mind, which McIntyre knew wasn’t hard, Matthew shoved out his hand. “I know I’m a double-dealing four-flusher, but I do care about Naomi. I’ll do what it takes to get her back.”
What it takes to get her back? He suspected Matthew was talking about more than fighting Indians, but he shook the man’s hand anyway. “Fine.”
Beckwith took off down the street, and the posse launched after him. Now that McIntyre knew for sure Naomi was with One-Who-Cries, his relief didn’t mean much. The blistering hate he bore for the savage melted into a suffocating fear. The Indian was short-tempered and most likely wouldn’t take to a feisty white woman like her. That was putting it mildly. McIntyre’s stomach constricted at the reality of this nightmare.
One wrong move, one smart remark, and the Indian might well cut out her tongue.
~~~
The first thing Naomi became aware of was a gentle rocking motion, and then the strong odor of horse. She opened her eyes and frowned. Dirt. Pebbles. Why was the ground where the sky should be? And were those her hands tied with rope?
Disoriented, panic seized her and she tried to wiggle to a sitting position. Something slapped down firmly on her bottom with a good sting and she swung her head to the right. A leg, a leather-covered leg, with a moccasin on the foot, trailed down the side of the horse. A sense of foreboding clenched her stomach.
“Naomi … Naomi, are you all right?”
Hannah’s voice came from somewhere behind her, or more accurately, on the other side of this horse. She tried again to wiggle around to see something but the Indian on the horse slapped her again, harder. That was going to get old. “I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “What happened? Where’s Little Billy?”
“I think he’s
fine. Sarah hid with him in a secret place underneath the living room.”
Oh, thank You, God.
Relieved about that at least, she tried to assess the situation. “Mollie? Is Mollie here?”
“Here … and praying.”
“Your God will not save you.” The deep, vaguely bored voice came from the Indian practically sitting on top of Naomi.
She turned and twisted enough to manage a skewed view of him. A young man with a large nose and beady, angry eyes stared down at her. Wearing a buckskin shirt draped in several bear claw necklaces, he sneered at her as a single feather in his hair danced in the breeze.
Huffing, she went back to her original position, which, now that she was awake, made every part of her ache. Her head, her shoulders, her hands …
She wiggled and rolled her wrists for a few minutes, testing the knots. Gruffly, an arm slid under her stomach and before she could even gasp, the Indian had her sitting astride in the saddle. The sudden change in position sent the blood draining from her head and he had to hook his arm around her again to keep her from her toppling out of the saddle.
Naomi bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the dizzy feeling to subside. When she felt more like herself, she looked around. They rode along a wide trail heavily forested on both sides with aspens. On her right, Hannah shared the saddle with another brave, a handsome young man so lean and muscular he could have been strung together with rawhide. And to Naomi’s left, Mollie rode with an Indian who verged on paunchy and wore a scar down his right cheek that started above his eyebrow and finished below his jaw.
Naomi twisted and saw four other riders trailing the group. She gasped when she realized one of them bore a captive as well. A young girl, all of about fourteen or fifteen, rode with them. She was pretty and petite with hair the color of fresh cinnamon. Dirt stained her face and her long, bountiful hair hung in tangled knots and rats’ nests. Her once blue-checked dress was a filthy, tattered gray now and fear filled her wide brown eyes. Naomi had to turn away and shut hers again to gain a moment of calm. These men were cowards to attack defenseless women. She longed for the real men she knew.
“Hannah, what about Billy and Emilio?” she asked, moving from thoughts of Charles to the boys.
Though the question was directed at Hannah, the Indian behind her answered. “We didn’t take the time to kill them. They were fortunate we were in a hurry. If we had taken you in Defiance, they would be dead.” Relief warred with her mounting animosity. At least if he left the boys alive, they’d go for help. As if to purposely dash her hopes he added, “They won’t be riding anywhere for a while.”
Naomi sagged against him, realized she was touching him and jerked away as if she’d leaned on a hot stove. He laughed, a low chilling sound. “I do not want you, white woman. I want her.” He motioned to Hannah. “I saw her riding one day, on a black and white pony. Her hair shined in the sun like gold.” He nudged his horse closer to Hannah’s, so their legs touched. “Black Elk was supposed to bring you to me.” He reached out and stroked Hannah’s loose, messy braid, which hung down the front of her shoulder. “But things worked out better this way.”
Before she could jerk away, he groped her. Hannah gasped and all the Indians laughed at her outrage. Reacting to the offense, Naomi brought her head back against One-Who-Cries’ nose as hard as she could. She heard the bone crunch and he roared in pain. Howling, he grabbed Naomi’s braid and used it like a rope to snatch her from the saddle, slamming her to the ground.
The horses whinnied and pranced about with fear. Hannah and Mollie screamed, their cries echoing down the desolate trail.
~~~
Fifty-Two
Naomi broke the fall with her shoulder, the impact jarring her teeth in her head. The Indian leaped down off the horse and sat on her, using the full weight of his body to press her to the ground. Horses dancing nervously about them, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, squeezing the fragile bones to the point of breaking. Amidst the raucous laughter of his braves, he used his free hand to wipe blood trickling steadily from his nose down Naomi’s left cheek. Grimacing, she rolled her head back and forth trying to avoid his touch. He wiped again, and this time dragged his bloodied hand across the front of her pink calico, lingering on her bosom.
She stopped rolling and looked up at him, surprised by the hate boiling up within her. If she had so much as a butter knife, she would surely use it to carve out his heart. She saw hate in his eyes, too, but a more ancient kind and it chilled her. He carried a dark, malevolent evil in his soul that she’d never come face-to-face with before, and fear gripped Naomi’s very soul. This man was capable of unspeakable acts.
Oh, God, please protect us. Please send Charles.
“My name is One-Who-Cries,” he hissed, drawing nose to nose with her. Blood dripped on to her lips and she had to fight the urge to vomit. “You are alive because you are worth three rifles, but if you do that again,” he pulled a knife from somewhere and pressed it to her throat, “you will watch me hang one of them,” he inclined his head slightly toward the girls, “and I will gut her like a deer.”
Naomi knew without a doubt that he was capable. As he jerked her off the ground by her braid, a Scripture leaped to mind. Holding her hair so he wouldn’t rip it from the nape of her neck, she began whispering, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” One-Who-Cries stopped dragging her toward his horse and turned on her. “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God, in Him I will trust.” As his eyes narrowed, a peace settled over Naomi. She spoke louder, for Mollie and Hannah to hear. “Surely He shall deliver me from the snare of the fowler and from the noisome pestilence.” She couldn’t help the contempt that colored the last word.
With stunning force, One-Who-Cries backhanded Naomi. The force of the slap almost lifted her off her feet. Pain rocketed through the bones in her face. She cried out and staggered, but stayed on her feet. The coppery taste of warm blood filled her mouth. Understanding the little tyrant’s game, she met his steely gaze with her own, though the stinging slap and her fear had rattled her.
She’d break before she ever bowed to someone like this.
The darkness within him lightened to unveiled admiration and he smiled. “Perhaps I have picked the wrong woman.”
No, you’ve picked three wrong women. This time, she had enough sense to keep her mouth shut. Holding Naomi’s hands, One-Who-Cries retook his seat on the horse then dragged her up into the saddle with him. Mollie and Hannah had watched all this unfold with horror-stricken expressions. For their sakes, Naomi tried to purge herself of her anger. She couldn’t think clearly if all she wanted to do was rip out this man’s heart. Continuing to pray, she spit out blood as the group trotted through a formation of huge rocks.
Gaining some peace and focus after a while, she decided to ask the savage some questions. “You said your name like I should know it.”
“Know it? Maybe not. Fear it?” He moved his lips to her ear, “yes.”
Quite the pompous peacock, but maybe that ego was a weakness. Wincing from the pain still throbbing in her left cheek, she asked, “Why did you attack us?”
“I trade you for guns.”
“Where? Where will you trade us for guns?” If they managed to get away, this could be helpful information for getting their bearings.
“Cochetopa Pass. You whites call it Redemption Pass.”
“The person you’re trading us to, what will he do with us?”
She felt his chest puff up behind her, as if he was quite gratified by the answer. “He will take you all to brothels in Mexico.”
~~~
Fifty-Three
Billy hugged his son one last time and savored the moment. Refusing to think of the danger that might lie ahead, he handed the child back to Sarah. “The next time you see me, Little Man, I’ll have Mama with me.” He ruffled his son’s hair then quickly tu
rned away before his boy, Sarah, or Rebecca could see his tears.
Ian had brought Rebecca with him, thinking she might be of some help to Sarah. Since the hotel was smoldering ashes, she had insisted she could do more good here than in town. Sarah could handle herself and a baby. Rebecca, owl-eyed and frightened looking, her hair a dark, tangled mess, was the one who needed the company. She needed her sisters. Clearing his throat, Billy remounted and trotted up to where the others waited.
He needed Hannah. And he would get her out of the clutches of that crazy Indian.
One reason was right in front of him. Emilio had his sore foot propped on the horse’s neck while he studied the ground with grim determination. He had done this before with amazing skill, according to McIntyre. Seven horses running across a pasture left a trail a blind man could follow. But up in the mountains, when the renegades tried to lose the posse by following a stream or crossing over rocky ground, Emilio would sniff them out. In part because he was clearly gifted, but mainly because he was in love with Hannah, too.
Still wearing torn and bloodied clothes, Billy glanced down at his bandaged leg. It ached ferociously. He assumed Emilio didn’t feel much better. But those Indians had picked the wrong girls to kidnap. Billy reckoned he and Emilio would ride through Hell covered in kerosene to get them back. Judging by the hard expression on McIntyre’s face, so would he.
They rode hard for two hours before Emilio raised his hand and pulled them to a stop near a stream. He dismounted and limped along the water’s edge for several minutes, first downstream then he crossed the water and went back up. The group dismounted and let their horses drink while he continued his hunt.
Ten minutes later and a hundred feet upstream, Emilio knelt and plucked something from the stream’s edge. Billy watched closely as his friend examined the item. When Emilio hurried back to the group, Billy mounted his horse.
Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 31
