Night Hawk

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Okay. Let me get Charlie and we’ll ride with you as far as the school.”

  Ian’s heart was pounding. He hurried into the house to get his gun belt and on the way, he prayed.

  Maggie was trying not to let her fear best her so she could think. She also needed to find out why she was being taken. “Did Henny pay you to get rid of me?”

  Ketchum was riding beside her and they were heading south. “She did, but I don’t work for her.”

  “Draper’s in jail.”

  “Which is where he should be, but I’m not working for him, either.”

  “Then who?”

  “An old friend of yours named Langley.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. He must want you bad. Paid me a thousand dollars to find you and bring you back. Promised me a thousand more once he gets his hands on you.”

  “I thought Sheriff Wells had him in jail.”

  “Wells met with an accident, so to speak. Town gave him a real nice funeral.”

  Maggie was speechless. Here Ian had been thinking Ketchum showing up in Wyoming had been tied to revenge against him, but in reality the killer had been after her.

  “Tried to get you the day I came to the house but you were ready for me.”

  I have to get away from this madman!

  “I like my women feisty, maybe I’ll get me a taste of what you’ve been giving the Preacher man before I turn you over.”

  She shuddered with revulsion. “When Ian finds us, and he will, you’re going to pray for death.”

  The disfigured face smiled.

  “How’d you find me?” Maggie wanted him to keep talking.

  “Wasn’t hard. Preacher man casts a big shadow. All I had to do was ask a few of the railroad agents if they’d seen you two. The sheriff in Abilene was particularly helpful.”

  “Granger.”

  “Yep.”

  She frantically searched her mind for what she might have in her saddlebag to aid her escape because she had no weapons. There was a primer, what was left of her lunch, a few quill pens. She paused on that. Quills weren’t nearly as effective as a rifle might have been but . . . “So where are we going?”

  “Denver, then we’ll take the train east to Kansas.”

  Maggie prayed she’d be free long before then. For the moment she only had herself to count on because she wasn’t sure if Ian or anyone else knew she was missing.

  Ian did. The hoofprints left in the dusty road were a bit covered by the wheels of Jeffers’s wagon but Ian could tell by what was left that Lightning and Maggie had been there. Lightning’s tracks were distinctive because being the prickly mare that she was, she’d only wear a special type of shoe, and that was what Ian was looking at. “They’re heading south.”

  He and Charlie and Harp followed the tracks for about an hour.

  Charlie said, “He doesn’t know the area as well as he might, so he’s keeping to the road.”

  Just as he said that, the prints of the two horses headed into the trees and disappeared. Ian cursed and looked around. They still had no idea who she was with but they assumed it to be the person who’d back shot Henny.

  Harp said, “We’ll find her. Let’s just keep going.”

  As he rode, Ian let the fury he felt override his fear because if he didn’t he’d not be clearheaded enough to keep on the trail. The parts of him that loved her more than his life wanted to go galloping off at full speed screaming her name, but that would only alert whoever had taken her to his presence behind them, and he wanted to come up on the person as silently as the angel of death. A verse from Lamentations rose up from inside: And on the day of the anger of the Lord no one escaped or survived.

  As dusk rose, Maggie was certain Ian knew she was missing because she could feel his presence somewhere behind them. She needed to slow down the man riding beside her. “I need to relieve myself.”

  “Soon as I find us a place to hole up for the night.”

  “I can’t wait.” She could tell by the way he was looking around that he wasn’t certain as to where they were. Maggie didn’t know, either, but Ian probably knew the area as well as he knew how much she loved him, so she kept her hopes high.

  They rode for a short while longer and into a small cove surrounded by towering aspens. “We’ll spend the night here.”

  “May I go now?”

  “Yeah but not too far. Get back quick or I put a bullet in your mare’s head.”

  Maggie dismounted and grabbed her saddlebag.

  “Leave that here.”

  “I’m bleeding from my monthly. I need to make a change.”

  She could see him studying her in the descending gloom. She waited.

  “Go on, but remember, make it quick.”

  “I will.”

  Maggie knew he wouldn’t allow her to go far so she didn’t. But once she was out of sight, she opened her bag and felt around inside until she found her two quill pens. She placed one in each pocket, took care of her needs, and headed back. She wasn’t on her monthly. In fact, she hadn’t had one since right after arriving at Night Hawk. She thought she might be carrying a child, but hadn’t said anything to Ian as of yet because she’d wanted to be sure.

  Maggie returned and threw the bag back over the saddle horn. She patted Lightning with sadness and affection. “He’ll find us, don’t worry.”

  “Move away and take a seat over there.”

  “Can I remove her saddle? She’s had a long day.”

  “I’ll do it. Sit over there.“

  She sat on a felled trunk. “How do you know Langley?”

  “Met him through a friend of a friend.”

  He unsaddled Lightning. As he set the saddle on the ground, the mare reared high on her back legs, while he scrambled to get out of the way, Lightning galloped off into the dark. He drew his gun and fired. Maggie’s heart leapt into her throat but when she didn’t hear any equine cries of pain to indicate the bullets had found their mark, she relaxed and smiled. Too bad the mare hadn’t kicked his brains out, but Lightning was free and undoubtedly headed home. Now Ketchum would have to make her walk or take her up on his mount. Maggie was fine with either choice because both would slow them down.

  What she wasn’t fine with was him stalking over to her and striking her with the back of his hand so forcefully her head rocked. She grabbed her throbbing cheek.

  “Bitch, if you weren’t worth so much alive I’d kill you right now.”

  The blow left her seeing stars, and hurt much more than the last time she’d been struck by Carson Epps. He grabbed the front of her shirt and snatched her to her feet. In that same motion she swiftly drew the quills from her pockets and shoved one metal-tipped quill deep into his throat and the other into his eye.

  His scream pierced the night and he stumbled back. Maggie had no time to gloat over her handiwork, she was too busy running.

  The three men heard the scream and looked in that direction. Ian offered up a deadly smile. “I think my Maggie just struck back, boys. Come on.”

  But before they could ride off and investigate, they heard her calling Ian’s name.

  He hollered back, “We’re here. Keep calling!”

  A few minutes later, Lightning came crashing through the trees, making their mounts rear in fright.

  Charlie cursed while trying to keep from being thrown. “Where the hell’s your rider!” he snapped at the prima donna mare.

  Gunfire peppered the night. Ian slapped Lightning’s flank. “Home!”

  The mare streaked off.

  Charlie grumbled, “Useless!”

  And the three riders set out.

  They found Maggie a few minutes later. Ian grabbed her up and was so happy to see her his tears melted into hers. “Thank God, you’re safe. You’re not hurt?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I’m so happy to see you.”

  He knew his tight hug was probably hurting her but he couldn’t help himself. “Who’s back there?”

  “Ketchum. H
e shot Henny! Langley sent him after me.”

  Ian stared. “Okay. Charlie. Harp. Take her home.”

  Now that he had her back it was time for him to teach Ketchum the error of his ways. Neither man balked.

  Maggie said, “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding him. He’s probably blind from the quill I stabbed in his eye.”

  Charlie took Maggie up behind him and they rode north. Ian, more in love than ever with his fiery, take-no-prisoners wife, set out to hunt human prey for what he hoped would be the last time. Putting a lit match to a fallen tree branch, he used it as a torch to light the way.

  Maggie was correct. Ketchum wasn’t hard to find. He was sitting in a cove of trees on the ground. His coughing gave his position away.

  Ketchum jumped to his feet and wiped the blood from his eye.

  “Evening,” Ian said easily, and dismounted. “How’s the eye?”

  Ketchum squinted and raised his gun.

  Ian shot him in the leg. Ketchum fell to the ground.

  “This isn’t going to be you draw, I shoot back, you die. That’s way too simple a way to kill you for what you tried to do.”

  Ketchum attempted to beg through his pain. “Look, Preacher man, I didn’t hurt her.” He wiped at the blood again.

  “But you hurt me,” Ian said quietly. “You took my wife. Your brother took my Tilda. Do you not remember what happened to him?”

  Ketchum coughed and spit blood. Ian could now see that he was also bleeding from somewhere near his throat. He silently cheered his wife for her spunk. “She said she got you in the eye. Did she get you in the throat as well?”

  “Go to hell!”

  “I probably will but you’ll be there, too.”

  By the light of the torch he walked closer to Ketchum so he could see the man better. “You’re bleeding pretty badly. Probably hurts a lot I’ll bet. Eyes are real sensitive. Soft flesh doesn’t stand up well to being pierced. You may as well toss your gun away. I counted how many shots your gun fired and you don’t have any left.”

  Ian set about building a fire. “I suppose you can keep it. Won’t make a difference.”

  Once the fire was going he placed his torch inside and hunkered down next to the shot and bleeding man who had tried to steal his wife. Ian pulled his handcuffs from his pocket.

  “You taking me in?”

  Ian smiled grimly at the hope he heard in Ketchum’s voice. “Nope. Going to cuff you to a tree. Even leaving you the key.”

  Ketchum wiped away the blood that continued to pool in his eye.

  “So stand up and let’s get this done so I can go home and maybe you can, too.”

  Ketchum stood as best he could. “Always knew you were a fair man. Always knew that.”

  Ian didn’t reply.

  Ketchum dragged his hurt leg to the trees. Ian searched the branches, saw one at just the height he’d been looking for, and cuffed Ketchum’s arm to it. It was about a foot above his head.

  Ketchum had to stand on his toes. “You’re still leaving me the key, right?”

  “Said I would. Just didn’t say where.” Ian tossed the key into the fire.

  Ketchum began to twist and pull. “You bastard!”

  The branch was sturdy. There was no way Ketchum could free himself the way his arm was extended, not without pulling it from the socket. He tried to lash out at Ian with the fist of his free hand, but the hunting knife Ian now held made him still instantly. The tip of the razor-sharp blade glinted wickedly in the firelight.

  Ian said, “I’m sure you don’t know this, but I’m part Scottish and we can be as savage and bloodthirsty as any race of people on the earth, especially when it comes to family.”

  He scored the blade quickly down Ketchum’s disfigured cheek and when the man screamed and tried to cover the wound, Ian calmly scored the back of his hand. He screamed again. By then Ketchum’s eyes were filled with blood and absolute fear.

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky and someone will ride by and cut you down because bears can smell blood from an incredible distance away, and this area is filled with them. If you’re alive in the morning, you’ll be arrested for Henny’s murder.”

  Ian walked away.

  “No!”

  Ian mounted Smoke. “Good-bye, Mr. Ketchum.”

  “No, you bastard! Come back here!”

  As Ketchum cursed and screamed and tried to free himself from the branch of a hundred-year-old tree, Ian rode home.

  Epilogue

  February 25, 1890

  Maggie gave birth to their first child in the middle of the night. Georgie and Little Dove were with her during the long labor while outside the bedroom the baby had been conceived in, Ian and Charlie paced the hallway worriedly.

  Little Dove stepped out and said to Ian, “You can come in now if you want. Charlie, Maggie wants to see her husband first, then she said you’re welcome to come in after.”

  Ian drew in a breath. They’d been waiting over fourteen hours for the child to make its appearance and now that it had he felt so light-headed he could barely put one foot in front of the other. He made it in, however, and Maggie’s tired smile pierced him so completely he wiped at the water filling his eyes. Georgie and Little Dove tiptoed out quietly and left the new parents alone.

  “Come and see your daughter, Ian.”

  He walked over to the bed, and the child wrapped up and sleeping peacefully after causing so much commotion made him light-headed again. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered. She had a head full of jet black hair and a little rosebud mouth. He stroked the tiny cheek. “Have you named her?”

  “No, I wanted to talk with you about it first.”

  Ian leaned down and kissed his wife and the mother of their child. “I love you. Thank you for her.”

  She smiled weakly. “I love you, too. If it’s okay, I thought we’d name her after our mothers.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  She looked down at the sleeping beauty in her arms. “She’ll be Colleen Morning Star Vance.”

  “Her name’s as beautiful as both she and her mother.”

  “I don’t feel particularly beautiful right now.”

  “You’re always beautiful to me.”

  “Who knew such a lovely child would be the result of me making love to a one-armed man?”

  Ian laughed and stroked her damp brow. Ian’s life was now complete.

  Maggie’s was complete as well.

  And because of that they knew their future would be as bright and as special as their love.

  Author Note

  Dear Readers,

  After more than ten years of letters, e-mails, and personal pleas from readers at book signings, I’ve finally written the Preacher’s story. He made his initial appearance in my 1999 Avon release The Taming of Jessi Rose. Many readers were intrigued by this gun-toting, Bible-quoting bounty hunter, and it increased with the small but vital role his character played in 2005’s Something Like Love. I hope Night Hawk has been worth the wait.

  Maggie’s character grew out of a chance meeting at a book signing in Omaha, Nebraska, in 2010. A young woman introduced herself as Maggie Sherman and proceeded to humble me with her thanks for my work and her words of how much the books meant to her as a woman of mixed blood. Her mother’s side of the family are members of the Kaw tribe. Maggie’s grandfather, Joseph Mehojah, was the last pure-blood member of the Kaw Nation, and tribal president when he passed away on Easter Sunday in 2000 at age eighty-two. Maggie’s African-American roots are from her father.

  To be honest, I’d never heard of the Kaw tribe, but after working on Night Hawk, I now know about the Wind People and so do my readers. My deepest thanks to Maggie and her family for their help with my research. Without them the fictional Maggie would never have come to life, nor would I have learned that Charles Curtis, a member of the Kaw tribe, served as vice president to Herbert Hoover from 1929 to 1933.

  Although Charlie’s crazy story about the skin of Big Nose George
Parrot being turned into a medical bag and a pair of shoes after his death by Dr. John Osborne may sound like a tall tale, this really did occur. Dr. Osborne went on to become the first Democratic governor of Wyoming and reportedly wore the shoes at his inaugural ball. Later, he became assistant secretary of state during President Woodrow Wilson’s administration. Currently, the shoes, along with Big Nose’s death mask and skull, are on display at the Carbon County Museum in Rawlins, Wyoming. Truth is stranger than fiction, folks!

  The Chinese Exclusion Act was something else I knew nothing about until I began the research for this story. Sometimes we gain a greater respect for people when we know their history, so I hope the hard road the government forced the Chinese to walk was as much an eye-opener for my readers as it was for me.

  Charlie’s chronicling of Jim Beckworth is another true story. Beckworth was a mountain man in every sense of the word. Not only was he a Crow chief, but Beckworth Pass in Colorado is named after him. The next time your kids or grandkids have to do a report on the early days of the American West or for Black History month, Jim Beckworth is your man. Susie King Taylor, who paved the way for African-American nurses, is also worthy of further research.

  Here are some of the resources I used to bring Night Hawk to life:

  Taylor, Quintard, and Shirley Ann Wilson Moore, eds. African American Women Confront the West, 1600–2000. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2003.

  Unrau, William E. The Kansa Indians: A History of the Wind People, 1673–1873. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1986.

  In closing, I’d like to thank my readers for their tremendous support. I’d not have this amazing career without you.

  Until next time,

  B.

  About the Author

  BEVERLY JENKINS has received numerous awards, including three Waldenbooks Best Sellers Awards, two Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times magazine, and a Golden Pen Award from the Black Writer’s Guild. In 1999, Ms. Jenkins was voted one of the Top Fifty Favorite African-American writers of the twentieth century by AABLC, the nation’s largest online African-American book club. To read more about Beverly visit her website at www.beverlyjenkins.net.