“There’s no time for that.” Moss turned and opened his own bag, taking out some buckskin pants. He sat down on the bed and pulled them on. “I have a knife and sheath with my things here, but I’ll need a six-gun and bullets. And I’ll need a rifle.”
“Three buildings down to the right, Mr. Tucker. There’s a blacksmith who sells arms. He can supply you.”
“Maybe you could give me some extra bandages so I can change my dressin’ a couple of times,” Moss told him. He looked down at his gauze-wrapped midsection. “Did they get anything vital?”
“The bullet went through your side, Mr. Tucker. It left quite a hole, and if it had been aimed better, you’d not be here. But apparently the bullet was deflected by a struggle or something. It nicked one rib bone and tore through flesh, but nothing vital was hit.”
“How long have I been here?” Moss asked, standing up. He squinted as a pain shot through his head.
“Nearly two days, Mr. Tucker.”
“Two days!” Moss exclaimed. “Oh, my God! My God!”
“I can give you some laudanum for the pain, sir. But you must use it carefully. It’s a drug, and with a fractured skull, too much could knock you out rather than just dull the pain.”
“Fine! Fine!” Moss grumbled, taking out a long sleeved, heavy cotton undershirt and slipping it on. He hurried now, not heeding the pain. His search for Amanda had been delayed much too long already. He slipped on a buckskin shirt over the undershirt and quickly laced up the neck. The doctor watched a moment, as Moses Tucker was slowly transformed into a burly, menacing-looking mountain man. Moss strapped on a wide, leather belt, from which hung a large knife. Even in its sheath, the knife looked deadly. Moss sat down on the bed and began pulling on knee-high, deerskin, moccasinlike boots.
“I’ll get the gauze and laudanum,” the doctor told him. “I’ll also give you a couple extra blankets. If you find her, she’ll need them. It’s getting quite cold out there now, Mr. Tucker.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and they removed your saddle and other gear from the train. It’s downstairs. The train officials said the Union Pacific will give you a free ride the rest of the way to California on the next train, or they’ll pay for a horse, if you choose to get one and go on by horseback. Or if, of course, you wish to go out in search of Miss Boone. They suspected you would want to do that. You, uh, should be able to find a good horse at the blacksmith’s also.”
“Good. Good.”
The doctor walked over and took the rest of Moss’s clothes from the dresser, and Moss stood up and threw them into his bag.
“Look, doc, I need to travel light. I’d like to leave my bag here—and Miss Boone’s. I’ll just take out a couple of things she might need and pack them into my own saddlebags.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have my nurse gather together some supplies: coffee and such, maybe some beef jerky and some flour.”
Moss turned to the man, perspiring now from pain and weakness.
“I can’t thank you enough, doc. You’re bein’ awful good about all this.”
“I don’t like what has happened, Mr. Tucker. It’s time some civilization came to the West and men like Rand Barker be put out of business.” The doctor looked him up and down. “You say you rode with him?”
“Yes, sir, I did. But that was a long time ago. Men can change, Doc.”
“I’m sure some men can. But I doubt that a man like Rand Barker ever will.”
“I agree with you there.” Moss wiped his brow and sat down on the bed for a moment.
“Mr. Tucker, you must ride easy and drink lots and lots of water. Promise me you’ll do that.”
“I will,” Moss said weakly.
“And I insist you eat a good meal before you leave. It’s important, Mr. Tucker. You’ve not had a regular meal in two or three days now.”
Moss thought back. He’d not eaten in Salt Wells because he’d been wrapped up in giving the gift to Amanda—the jewelry box. It had not been in her bag. It must have been left behind, perhaps now on its way to California without her. The thought of the little box lying unclaimed under a seat—and its owner now in the hands of outlaws—gripped his insides. She had been delicate and lovely, like the jewelry case. He’d bought it because it seemed a perfect gift for a fragile young woman, its flowers delicate and innocent, like Amanda. Innocent. Innocent and untouched. He remembered how she’d thought the cow being hit by the train was violent. He remembered how she’d cried when the passengers shot at the buffalo. And now she had seen the worst of violence, and would herself probably be the brunt of violence. Rand Barker and his men could be brutal. They were men of cold steel, men without hearts or feelings. How well he knew them. And how close he had come to being just like them! He’d lost his appetite back at Salt Wells because a man had recognized him and blurted out that Moss himself had been an outlaw. He remembered how scared he’d been that she’d detest him for it. But she hadn’t. She’d looked at him with forgiving eyes, eyes he was sure were full of love. And she’d kept the little jewelry case.
Now the case was gone. The crucifix was gone. And Amanda was gone. He was glad the doctor had left the room for a while, because Moss Tucker could not hide his tears of anger and frustration and worry. Never had he felt like this about someone, not even the woman he once thought he loved in California. He loved Amanda much more than that. Amanda was extraordinary—full of love and kindness. He had to find her and help her. And once he did, he had to convince her to marry him. But perhaps she would hate him by then. For he had failed her. Never had Moss Tucker let a man get the better of him the way Sollit Weber had. He’d failed the most important person in his life, and Rand Barker would die for it, as would the fresh-faced Sollit Weber and the rest of them. They’d all die!
“God, you gotta help me,” he prayed. Moss Tucker had never uttered a prayer in his life. “You gotta help me find her!”
Moss mounted the reddish-colored gelding. The horse was a big thoroughbred, broad-chested and strong—perfect for a big man like Moses Tucker. He rode the horse around in a circle, getting the feel of him, talking to him gently.
“Okay, Red, you and me have some ridin’ to do,” Moss said to the animal, stopping the horse and patting its neck. “You’ve got to go easy so I don’t fall off, boy.”
The horse snorted and twitched his ears and Moss smiled.
“I think him and me will get along just fine,” Moss told the blacksmith.
“He’s a good one, Mr. Tucker,” the man replied. “You take a stallion and do a little cuttin’, and you take all the feistiness out of him. Makes him real obedient. You can count on that animal, Mr. Tucker.”
“I’ll need to.” Moss adjusted his new Winchester in its holder, then rested a hand on the mahogany barrel of his Peacemaker .45. The side arm had a cutaway trigger guard, which eliminated the guard getting in the way of the trigger. Only men well experienced with firearms used such a gun, as a trigger with no guard was extremely dangerous. But it would give Moss an edge when the time came—the split second more he’d need if he had to face Rand Barker. But he’d faced the man before. How he wished now that he’d killed the man then instead of just wounding him. Next to being careless in his judgment of Sollit Weber, not killing Rand Barker had been the greatest mistake Moss Tucker had ever made. Now he’d kill them both and enjoy it. And he’d definitely kill Duke Sage. If Duke Sage raped Amanda, Moss had already decided he’d hang the man by his feet and castrate him while still alive.
“You’ve got some good weapons there, Mr. Tucker, and plenty of ammunition,” the blacksmith told him.
“That’s for sure,” Moss replied, “thanks to the Union Pacific and the doctor. I’m obliged for your help in picking out the horse and weapons and all.”
Moss adjusted his old leather hat and pulled his wolfskin coat closer around his neck. It was cold in this southwestern portion of Wyoming Territory now. He’d be riding south into Utah, but it wouldn’t get any warmer. It was mid-Octob
er, and the skies over the mountains were gray with snow. It would not be long before snow would also come to the valleys. He thought about poor Amanda, wondering if she was warm enough.
“You sure you don’t want some men to ride with you?” the blacksmith asked him.
“I can do this better alone,” Moss replied. “I know how Barker thinks. I’ll find him. He’ll take the woman to Mexico. He’s probably at Brown’s Park right now, takin’ a rest.”
“Well, you take it easy, Mr. Tucker. Remember you’ve been wounded and all.”
Moss grunted with pain as he turned his horse.
“It’s not likely I’ll forget that,” he replied. He nodded to the blacksmith. “I’ll be comin’ back through here with Amanda Boone in a few days,” he said confidently.
“I have a feelin’ you will, mister,” the blacksmith replied with a smile. Moss rode out. The blacksmith watched for a few minutes, as did the doctor and his nurse and wife. Moss Tucker was a big man who seemed to know exactly what he was about. If anyone could find Amanda Boone, Moss Tucker would.
Chapter Twelve
Amanda shivered, numb now from fear and cold and pain. She had spent the last two nights sleeping in a bedroll with the repulsive Rand Barker, who kept her close and often fondled her. She had given up fighting him, for it only brought painful slaps. Her jaw hurt so badly she could barely speak, and her nose had bled several times.
She now had only one hope: that Moss Tucker had not died and that he would come after her. In the meantime, she could only pray that Rand Barker would stick to his idea that she must remain a virgin until they got her to Mexico. That at least gave her a little more time until the inevitable. Perhaps she would be rescued before then. She tried not to think of what it would be like to be forcefully violated by a man.
Amanda never dreamed that there could be men like Rand Barker and his gang. They joked about the crucifix and even discussed poking out the stones to divide them up. But Barker had decided they’d get more money for the cross intact, and said that once they sold it he’d split up the profit.
Amanda was forced to do their cooking and cleaning. And through it all she suffered filthy remarks about what they’d like to do with her, along with pawing hands. She didn’t have to wonder any more what men looked like. A few of these men had made sure she knew. She felt the softness leaving her—the love leaving her. If God intended to show her the wicked side of life, He could not have done a better job than through Rand Barker and his men. She tried to understand them, to pray for them. But it was impossible. She hated them. She feared them. And she wished Moss Tucker would come and kill them all. She wanted to be sorry for her feelings, but she could not. And she’d already decided that if one or more of these men forced her into an act of intercourse with them, she would promptly kill herself. To lie down and be humiliated in such a way would be more than she could bear, and the fear of the pain and ugliness of such an act so overwhelmed her at times that she thought she would faint. She hurt everywhere and had blisters on her thighs and bottom from riding the horse. She had never ridden horseback before, let alone the many miles they had covered.
Amanda knew that her hatred for Barker and the others was not just because of what they were doing with her, but more because they’d left Moss Tucker for dead. Moss had tried to help, and he was probably dead now because of it. She wasn’t sure she could go on without him, even if she managed to escape from the Barker gang. She hadn’t fully realized until Moss was shot that she loved the man. She tried to analyze the reasons why God had allowed all of this to happen, but she could come up with no answers. She wondered if the sisters in New York had heard about the robbery and her kidnaping, and she wondered what Father Mitchel was thinking. But most of all she wondered about Moss. It was a strange feeling, knowing she loved him. Yet after the way Barker and his men had treated her, she was more certain than ever that she could never willingly give herself to a man. If she should be rescued, and Moss should live, she wondered just what would happen then. She would be in love with a man she could not give herself to. And would Moss be any different than these men if she were his wife and he had the right to take her? Surely he would, but she had no guarantee. Not any more. Men were cruel and brutal. And hadn’t Moss Tucker ridden with these very men?
“Hell, little girl, you took up with a man just like us,” Barker had told her. “Old Moss used to ride with us. He’s been in and out of prison two or three times. His ma was a whore and whores is the only kind of women he’s ever been interested in, except for one rich gal out in California once. She gave him the shaft and married her a lawyer and left Moss holdin’ the bag.” He laughed about it. “That hurt Moss right good. He took to drinkin’ and gamblin’ and shootin’ and robbin’ with the rest of us.” Barker had looked her over. “What did he see in a straight-laced thing like you, anyway?”
Amanda had looked away and not answered, wondering the same thing to herself.
“My guess is ole Moss was just lookin’ for a way to get under them skirts of yours. Once he got a piece of you, he’d have rode off and left you. Moss is a roamer and an outlaw, lady. He wouldn’t have done you no good.”
She thought about that as Barker now led his horse down an escarpment toward Brown’s Park, where he’d told her they’d rest. She shivered again, and Barker put his arms tighter around her. She tried to ignore the now familiar pawing of his hands and concentrate on Moss. She could not believe Moss would behave as Barker said he would. She could not forget the look of pain and love in his eyes when he’d given her the jewelry box and then worried she might not want to keep it. She remembered the sorrow in his voice when he’d told her he was a bastard, and when he’d talked about being jilted in California, and the fear of rejection in his eyes when he talked about having been an outlaw. She remembered his gentle words shortly before the robbery, about how some women are special and a man could only think of them as special. And there was the kiss. The beautiful kiss followed by his apology. But there had been a warm promise in the kiss. Had it all been a lie? Had he been leading her on like Barker said? Perhaps she would never know.
Amanda’s biggest fear was that Barker would leave her unprotected around Duke Sage. Sage had said the filthiest things of any of the men. He had pawed her the most. And his eyes were on her night and day. Only the threats from Rand Barker kept the men away from her; Amanda had that much to be thankful for. But she could not be sure how long it would last.
Chapter Thirteen
Barker guided his horse down the side of a flat-topped mesa, rocks scattering in front of him. The ever present scent of sage was in the air, and the grand view of the Green River below would have been spectacular and breath-taking under different circumstances. From this vantage point the river wandered for miles, and the horizon looked days away. But Amanda did not notice. The last days of horror had broken her delicate mind and nature, and now all feeling seemed to be gone from her. She was numb with shame. And she was sick from exposure. She had no clothes left. They had been torn from her amid jokes and laughter, and even though she had not been raped, the humiliation of the ordeal and hands touching places sacred to her had broken her mind and spirit. She had two woolen blankets now to cover her, and Barker had put a buffalo robe over those, but it was too late. She knew the pneumonia would return—and she didn’t care. She hoped she would die. And she wondered if God would ever accept her now in Heaven. She felt sinful and dirty.
The nine men made their way down to the river. Amanda saw other men there, camped farther down the river. She was sure it was only more outlaws, and she wondered if Rand Barker intended to barter for her with the other men. Barker dismounted and helped her down. The man seemed to be worried now. Did he regret exposing her to the cold? Now she was sick. If she died, he’d not get his money’s worth out of her.
“You don’t have to do nothin’ this time,” he told her. “You lay down. You get any sicker and I’ll turn the men loose on you, ’cause you ain’t gonna be no
good to us no other way.”
He unrolled some blankets and Amanda laid down. She closed her eyes and the others pitched tents and made camp. She tried desperately to pray, but her faith had left her. She simply lay and shivered. A while later, Barker himself came over and offered her some stew. He helped her sit up, then began feeding her.
“There’s some other men here,” he told her quietly. “If any of them come over here and see you, you act real nice. Don’t you go lettin’ on you don’t like it here, understand? You do, and you’ll be feelin’ Rand Barker rammin’ into you later, you can bet on it. And after that you’ll take on eight others. So you do like I say, lady, or suffer the consequences.”
She ate part of the stew and said nothing. She wondered why he had said that. If the other men were also outlaws, why should it matter that they thought she was unhappy? Would they actually care that she was being abused? After all, they were men like Rand Barker. Or were they? Perhaps they were more like Moss. It was confusing to think a man could rob and kill, yet be a gentleman around a lady, as Moss had been to her. So then, it was like Moss had told her. There are men who do wrong but who are really not bad at heart. And then there were men like Rand Barker and those who rode with him.
The night darkened, and Amanda lay shaking beneath her blankets, while Barker and his men sat around the campfire counting money and discussing the crucifix. Clyde Monroe found things to laugh about, as usual. Amanda had begun to dread his laugh. She’d heard it the most when the man was allowed to pinch her and bring pain. Pain seemed to please the man greatly. Now every time he laughed her stomach lurched.
The one called Booner just sat quietly, a cold, hard man without feeling. Sollit Weber had constantly reminded her not to trust people who smiled too much, and also told her that Moss Tucker wasn’t much of a man since he’d let her slip right out from under his fingers.
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