His eyes looked pained, as though someone had punched him. He got up from his seat.
“Mr. Tucker?”
“I’m goin’ out to stand outside by the railing,” he grumbled. He opened the door of the car, and the train’s clatter was momentarily much louder. The door closed. She stared at it for a moment, then put down her knitting and went to the door herself. She opened it hesitantly. The clattering wheels and rush of air startled and frightened her. It was so noisy he didn’t even realize she’d stepped out behind him. Tucker stood with his back to her, leaning on the railing. She glanced through the window of the door making sure she could see her carpetbag. She swallowed for courage, turning up to look at Moss Tucker again.
“Mr. Tucker?” she spoke up. He turned in surprise and quickly reached out and took her arm.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said with concern. “It’s dangerous.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tucker, if—if I offended you,” she told him, grasping the railing. He kept hold of her arm. Her eyes again held that innocent and charmingly childish fear. “I didn’t mean to infer that you yourself were an outlaw, Mr. Tucker.”
The curls about her face blew every which way as the air rushed past them.
“What if I was?” he asked low. Their eyes held for a very long time, without a word spoken.
“I told you once that whatever lies in your past is not my affair, Mr. Tucker. I know all I need to know about you. I trust you, Mr. Tucker. Please don’t get angry and leave the train. I—I’d be very much afraid without you along, Mr. Tucker.”
A tear slipped unwantedly down her cheek. He reached out and brushed it away with his fingers, and the gentleness of his big, rough hands surprised her. She didn’t know why she stood there and let him touch her, and she didn’t care. She only knew she did not want him to leave.
“Ma’am, there’s not a thing you could do or say that would keep me from finishin’ out this trip with you,” he told her. Their eyes continued to hold. He put both hands to her face now, holding it gently between his palms. She felt a strength flow through her at his touch. “I want you to promise me something,” he told her.
“What is it, Mr. Tucker?”
“If it ever happens somebody finds that cross and they want it, you let them have it without no fuss.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t—”
“You do it!” he said firmly. “Promise me! I know how violent men can get when it comes to somethin’ like that. If the Lord intends for the cross to get where it’s going, He’ll find another way to get it there. He’d not expect a little thing like you to risk her life for it. Please promise me, Miss Boone.”
She studied him another moment. How wonderful was his touch to her face, how comforting to feel his strength.
“All right, Mr. Tucker. I promise.”
He smiled lightly and nodded.
“Good. I don’t reckon we’d run into any trouble like that, but just in case. I don’t want you worryin’ about it, though, understand?”
“I won’t worry, Mr. Tucker. Not with you along.”
He smiled more now and shook his head.
“You’re something, Miss Boone. And you’re danged lucky you picked the right person to trust. There’s so much you don’t know. So much.”
“As long as you know, Mr. Tucker, then it doesn’t matter. I’ll trust anything you say. And I’ll see that you’re well rewarded when we get to California.”
The only reward he wanted was her. How he wanted to hold her right now! To feel her body against his, to taste the sweet, soft mouth and to look upon her naked body lying beneath him and welcoming him inside her.
“I don’t need no reward, ma’am,” he replied. “You, uh, best get back inside now. The air out here is cool, but it’s dry. Your skin is used to the dampness of the East.” He held her arm until she went back through the door. He turned and looked out over the Nebraska flatlands, his heart and mind full of her. Why? Why should he have these feelings for the small, quiet woman-child who was practically a nun? Was he crazy? Was it only because she represented everything he always wanted but could never have, a way of life he’d never known? Or was it just her sweetness, her dependence, her innocence?
He leaned on the railing, wondering to himself what she would think of him if she knew everything. And what would she think or say if he told her about his little girl—his daughter—mothered by a prostitute, the child who now waited for him out in California? He wondered what his little girl looked like. The mother was dead. He’d not seen the woman since he’d been arrested more than three years ago in Sacramento. And he’d never seen his daughter.
He felt the burden of two heavy responsibilities. He was falling in love with a woman he could never have. And he was on his way to California to see about the welfare of a tiny daughter he’d never seen. He would have to find a home for her, for a man like Moss Tucker had no business trying to raise an innocent little girl by himself. He sighed and pulled a tiny flask of whiskey from his inner vest pocket. He uncorked it and took a long swig. And he felt his life was suddenly being directed by someone else. It gave him the chills. His little girl needed him, but she’d need a mother. He’d met a beautiful woman who’d make a wonderful mother. He looked up at a passing cloud.
“No. It couldn’t be,” he said aloud. Then he laughed out loud. He’d had too many disappointments in life to bother thinking it could ever be good to him now. He’d get Miss Amanda Boone to California, and he’d find a home for his daughter, and he would ride out of both their lives, and that was that. Moses Tucker needed no one but himself, and nothing but his whiskey and his gun.
Chapter Six
“You sure Sol’s on that train?” Rand Barker asked one of his men.
“Course I’m sure. Hell, the only reason he joined the army was for somethin’ like this. Sol’s been in charge of the telegraph, knows everything that’s goin’ on. Soon as we hit the train, he’ll join up with us.”
Barker spit saliva from his chewing tobacco as he and his men rode south from the Hole-in-the-Wall toward Bear River City. He scratched at his stubble of a beard.
“Soon as this is over, I’m headin’ south and lettin’ one of them señoritas give me a bath.”
“Yeah. They can work wonders with soapy hands,” one of the others commented. They all laughed.
“You figure there’ll be any women on that train, Rand?” another asked.
“Could be. But I ain’t sure I want to drag no woman along.”
“You wouldn’t have to. I’d take care of her for you,” the man replied. “Real good care.”
Barker whirled his horse around and faced the man who had made the remark. The others halted their horses.
“You listen to me, Duke Sage!” Barker growled. “I’m the boss of this outfit. If we take a woman, I’ll make the decision. And she’ll ride with me. If I decide we can all have a turn at her, I get her first. But if she’s fresh, ain’t nobody touchin’ her. Some of them Mexican ranchers will pay plenty for a young white girl. But they don’t want no used one. And I don’t want to hear no more of your own ideas!” Barker rested a hand on his side arm. “Ain’t no way a deal like this can work unless there’s only one boss, Sage. You’ve been talkin’ about your own ideas all this way, so let’s get things settled right now. You want to be boss, you draw on me, ’cause there ain’t no other way it can be!”
Sage swallowed. No one in his right mind drew a gun on Rand Barker and expected to live. And Barker had a high opinion of himself. He didn’t like anyone moving in on his territory. He liked being in command, and his fast gun and quick, almost crazy temper kept him in command.
Sage backed up his horse. “It was just a suggestion, Rand,” he said, smiling nervously. “I just figured if we could get a woman out of this—”
“That depends on what we find when we get there! The important thing is the money! We’ll stop over in Bear River City soon. There’s plenty of whores there. And once we get the money,
we can head for Mexico, and you can buy all the hot mamas you want. So don’t you go grabbin’ no woman without my authority!”
“Sure, Rand. Whatever you say.”
Rand pulled his horse up next to Sage. In the blink of an eye his gun was out and rested against Sage’s throat. Sage gasped and his eyes widened.
“You remember that it’s been a while since I killed a man, Sage. I need to kill! So you mind your business and remember who’s boss, or I could just think of an excuse to blow your head off!”
“I’m sorry, Rand! You—you know how I am about women. I see a pretty one and I just—I gotta get under her skirts, that’s all. I just had women on my mind.”
Rand slowly put his gun back. “You’ve always got women on your mind. But when the day of that robbery comes, you’d best have that and only that on your mind so you don’t mess somethin’ up, understand?”
“I do, Rand. I won’t cause no problems.”
Rand Barker turned to look at the others. “That goes for all of you! I know you’re all good at what you do, but there’s not one of you can take me. So we’ll do this my way, or anybody who objects can draw on me right now if he has a mind to.”
“We’re all behind you, Rand,” one of them spoke up. They all stared at each other a moment.
“Let’s get movin’,” Rand growled. He nudged the sides of his horse and rode on ahead.
There were eight all together, all surly, unkempt men with one goal in mind: the soldiers’ payroll and perhaps a woman captive to sell farther south in Mexico—or to have their own fun with. But that would be Rand’s decision.
They made their way through the grand Wyoming country, eight men oblivious to the thrilling beauty that surrounded them. They rounded the side of a mesa, their horses picking their way along a rocky, narrow pathway. This was outlaw country: rocks, canyons, and vast hidden valleys that few people knew about or could find. They passed through a particularly narrow opening at the foot of the mesa, so narrow they had to go through one at a time.
First there was Rand Barker himself, forty-five, and their leader. Barker was tall, dark, and would be handsome if he shaved and bathed. But Barker cared little for personal hygiene. His only care was money—easy money—and he got it through any means he could find, mostly by using his gun. He was very good with his gun. He had killed many men with it.
Next came Wade Gillette, fifty-five and graying. His face was leathered from many years of living under the stars. It was hard to say just where Wade got onto the wrong track, but he’d been on it since a teenager. The outlaw life was the only life he’d known. Perhaps it started back when his father beat him and forced him to steal to keep food on the table.
Clyde Monroe followed Gillette. Clyde was forty, and some thought him a little touched in the head. Clyde enjoyed torture, and he laughed too much, especially when he saw someone in pain. Clyde was a small man, but stronger than he looked.
Next came Duke Sage, whose lust for women ran a close second to his lust for money. Duke was already wanted for several rapes, and the thought of finding a nice, innocent young girl on the train brought an ache to his groin. He was forty-five, overweight, and downright ugly. So Duke seldom found a willing woman. And when he couldn’t find one, he simply took one, willing or not.
The horses in the lead half-stumbled down a steep embankment, as those behind continued to pass through the narrow opening. The man called Booner followed Duke Sage. Booner was the only name the others knew him by, and he volunteered no information as to his rightful name. And no one asked. Booner didn’t like people asking questions. He was a tall, bearded man, about thirty-five, and quiet. Too quiet. Rand Barker didn’t care where the buckskin-clad Booner came from or what his real name was. Booner could handle a gun, and he was deadly with a knife. He was a good man to have along.
Henry Derrick followed Booner, and close behind was Manley Higgins. Both Derrick and Higgins were hill boys from Tennessee. They had no education whatsoever, and were dull-witted young men who didn’t think of much beyond where their next meal might come from. So they followed along behind Rand Barker, letting Barker do their thinking for them. As for women, both Derrick and Higgins were like animals around them, and even the whores wouldn’t usually give them any business.
Last to come through was Dean Taylor. Only twenty, he was a greenhorn fresh from St. Louis out to prove his “manood” by learning to use a gun. Dean liked the power he felt with a gun in his hand. And he looked up to men like Rand Barker, men who stepped out and merely took what they wanted without asking questions. Someday, Dean thought to himself, he would be a leader like Rand. People would listen when he spoke, or he’d blow their guts out.
There was a ninth member of the group, who was already on the train: a soldier by the name of Sollit Weber, a blond man about twenty-five. Sol had one of those innocent, boyish faces that made old ladies want to give him cookies. But there was nothing innocent nor boyish about him. Sol would turn around and slit the throat of a nice old lady if he thought she had any money he could rob. Sol liked money more than anything—almost as much as Rand Barker liked money. He liked the power money brought him. And he enjoyed fooling people with his fresh smile and dancing blue eyes. And at the moment, while his friends were making their way south through canyons and over rivers, Sol was riding the Union Pacific, eager for the moment when Rand Barker and his gang would join him. He would enjoy the surprise on everyone’s faces.
Sol had already decided the first man to disarm was the tall, dark stranger who wore a six-gun and sat up at the other end of the passenger car Sol rode. He’d learned the man’s name was Moses Tucker, and Moses Tucker looked like a man who knew how to use his gun. But Sol was always thinking, always planning. Moses Tucker seemed awfully interested in the woman he was riding with. Perhaps the woman would give Sol the edge he needed when the time came. She was young and seemed easily frightened. And Sol was certain that Moses Tucker would not want anything to happen to that young woman.
The train rumbled and puffed its way west. Rand Barker and his gang rode south to meet it. And Raincloud and his war party came down in a southwesterly direction. Soon, all of them would gather at the same place, the white men to rob the payroll, the Indians to take the guns.
Chapter Seven
“Mr. Tucker, look!” Amanda exclaimed, with the excitement of a child. “Are they buffalo?”
Moss leaned to look out the window with her. He chuckled over her enthusiasm and innocent excitement.
“Yeah. Them are buffalo,” he told her. How easy it would be to simply turn and kiss her cheek. But that might destroy her trust in him.
“They’re beautiful!” she said in a near whisper. “They’re magnificent! And so—so big! I never dreamed they’d be that large!”
The train slowed down as it approached a rambling herd of buffalo, and as it came closer, Amanda could see buffalo all the way to the horizon.
“Why, there must be hundreds and hundreds!” she said, her eyes glued to the window. Moss laughed lightly.
“I expect so,” he replied. Just then a shot went off, and Amanda jumped. A large bull not far away slumped to the ground. Cheers went up from the adjoining car, as well as from men in their own car. Windows were opened and more shots were fired. Amanda watched in disbelief, and Moss Tucker’s heart went out to her. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched more of the beasts fall, while the train slowly rumbled through the herd and men took pot shots for the sport of it. Some of the animals didn’t even appear to be dead when they fell, only wounded.
“No!” Amanda whispered. She swallowed and turned to Moss. “Why are they doing that?” She wiped at her eyes.
Moss frowned. “Because they’re more like animals than the ones they’re shootin’,” he replied coldly. “They come out from the East in their fancy suits and kill a couple of helpless animals and go back and call themselves great hunters who have conquered the West.”
More shots went off. Amanda rose. “Someone sh
ould stop them!” she whimpered.
“Ma’am, there ain’t nothin’ you can do. Just sit down and don’t look.”
She sat down, but only for a moment. Their eyes held, but Moss looked blurry to her through her tears. She suddenly jumped up again and walked two seats back to a wealthy-looking man who was firing a fancy rifle out the window.
“Got him!” the man shouted with glee.
“Please don’t shoot any more of them,” Amanda spoke up behind him, amazed at her own boldness. “They’re—they’re helpless out there.”
The man turned and looked her up and down.
“Lady, why don’t you go back and sit down? What’s a few buffalo?”
“They’re magnificent animals!” she retorted. “And—and the Indians need them for food and shelter.”
“The Indians!” the man laughed. “They ain’t even worth as much as the buffalo!” All the men laughed, and Amanda reddened.
“And you’re worth less than either!” she snapped. “You come out here and take easy shots from the safety of the train and call yourself a man! You’re a fool and a coward!”
The man rose, looking daggers at her.
“Ma’am, it’s too bad we aren’t alone. If we were, I’d show you just how much of a man I am!”
By then Moss was up and standing beside her.
“Why don’t you show me?” he asked, taking Amanda’s arm. “It’s easy to be brave in front of a woman, mister. How about in front of a man? How about in front of all of us? Why don’t you just stop this train and go out there and walk among them buffalo like the Indians do?”
Some of the others snickered, and the man paled. Sollit Weber, the soldier soon-to-turn outlaw, watched from the other end of the car with interest. Yes. Moses Tucker was totally enamored with the young woman who was now raising a fuss over shooting buffalo. And the young woman abhorred violence. Sol Weber knew exactly what he needed to know to control Moses Tucker when the time came.
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