Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  “That way.” Wise Sister pointed to the most forbidding stretch of mountains Logan had ever seen.

  A shiver went through his gut as he looked at those soaring, white-capped peaks and the dense woods on ground so broken he couldn’t imaging walking through it, let alone riding a horse. He’d never even hiked that direction.

  He jerked his head at Sally to go ahead. Rebellion flickered across her face, and he knew she wanted to bring up the rear. He thought of her exposed back with gunfire possibly coming after her. “Go. Now!”

  She tugged on her reins and followed Wise Sister. Logan followed, and before they’d left the grounds around the cabin, Wise Sister had them moving into that forbidding wilderness at a full gallop.

  They passed into a thicket of trees with a trail Logan couldn’t see even as he rode on it, and then Wise Sister pulled her horse to a stop and dismounted. Sally followed, so Logan did the same, not sure what their next move was.

  Slipping silently up to the thicket, Wise Sister dropped to her knees. Logan knelt beside her on her right and Sally was on his right.

  We’re like wild game, hiding in the weeds from hunters.

  He heard Sally whisper, “God, have mercy.”

  Logan leaned forward as two men emerged into the clearing around the cabins, riding hard. Wise Sister made a guttural noise of contempt. Sally shifted on her knees and swung her rifle off her back.

  Logan had known her long enough to fight back the impulse to block the gun as she pointed it. Sally was tough, but she wouldn’t shoot those men from cover, even if they were, as Logan suspected, the men who had killed her friends.

  The men—one skinny with a potbelly and a twitchy manner that reminded Logan of a ferret, and the other a stocky man with massive shoulders and arms, wearing a coonskin cap, carrying a rifle on his saddle, and wearing two pistols and two ammunition belts slung bandolier style across his chest—pulled their horses to a stop in front of his painting.

  Only then did Logan realize what an unexpected sight it must be for these two, who looked trail-wise and rugged and dangerous, to come upon two paintings, standing side-by-side on an easel, in the middle of nowhere. Logan had a sudden, world-tilting vision of just how odd he was with the life he led.

  The broad-chested man swung to the ground and walked up to the painting Logan had just created this morning—the elk fighting, the swirl of color, his knife and his new love for the strange Impressionist style he’d learned over the winter. The man pulled his pistol and aimed it at the picture.

  “No!” Logan lurched up.

  They’d finally found what they were looking for and now no one was around.

  Fergus itched to hurt someone. His eyes went to the freakish picture standing out here in the middle of nowhere. He was drawn to it just because he couldn’t make out nothin’ in it but two elk fighting. It was slopped on the paper like a baby had smeared paint on the wall. For some reason, he could feel the killing fury of the elk and it became his own.

  Pulling his Colt six-shooter out, he emptied his gun into the stupid picture.

  Gunfire brought Luther’s head up. He sprang to his feet from where he crouched beside the tracks they’d found this morning. He was running for his horse before the first volley died away.

  Buff swung up on horseback with an agility that defied his sixty hard years. They were galloping flat out before the gunfire died away.

  “Straight that way.” Buff guided his horse toward what looked like a jumble of rocks, spilled down from an endless, broken mountain. Trees grew out from what looked like impassable stone walls.

  They’d ridden by this area before, but even with careful studying Luther had never seriously considered there was a way up the mountain here. This morning it was simple because the men they trailed had left sign easy enough to follow. Their horses picked their way and it was a treacherous ride, but the horses moved on, obviously following a clear route. About halfway up the steep, stony cut, Luther smelled smoke. They could go no faster. Panic rode Luther’s shoulders as he thought of those bullets cutting into his sweet Sally.

  “Luth!” Buff was coming behind Luther.

  The hissed shout pulled Luther’s attention from his fretting. He looked back at Buff, who pointed. One of those signs they’d been finding. A stack of stones whose main meaning was simply that they’d been stacked in a deliberate way. The Shoshone woman had left it for them, hoping they’d come up and see it but not directing them because she’d known that to direct Luther and Buff up this trail was to direct the men hunting Sally.

  But those men had beaten them to the trail, and now Sally might be dead.

  A hand slapped over Logan’s mouth before the word had a chance to gain volume. Someone landed hard on him, carrying him backward onto the dank forest floor.

  Gunfire rolled on up by the cabin. He was so desperate to stop the men from destroying his work, Logan wasn’t fully aware of just what was going on for a few seconds.

  “Shut up and lay still!” The words hissed at him like a Rocky Mountain rattler he’d sketched last August.

  He focused and realized Sally was lying flat on top of him. Her hand was flat on his mouth, all her weight pinning him to the ground. Except her weight was negligible. That’s when he realized Wise Sister was sitting on his legs and glaring at him around Sally’s shoulder.

  He quit fighting. The gunfire ended.

  Sally leaned close. “Do I have to tie you up? Because I will.”

  “What was that?” Fergus turned to the far side of this little level spot, the only flat place for miles in a world that went up, down, and sidewise.

  Tulsa looked at the place Fergus was staring at. They hadn’t stayed alive in the wild all these years without trusting their eyes and ears and noses.

  Nothing moved. No further sound.

  “See if you can find anything in the small cabin, money or an idea who these people are.” Fergus pointed to a small strip of leather lying on the ground in front of the bigger cabin. “Looks like Shoshone beadwork on that strap.”

  “Must be who took that cowpoke away from the cliff that first day.” Tulsa strode toward the smaller cabin. “Brung him all the way back up in here. Makes no sense.”

  The whole thing made no sense and it grated on Fergus bad. They’d spent a long time in this country, which seemed bent on killin’ anyone who passed through. And all over a witness to murder who should’a died that first day. Gut shot and the cowpoke rode away.

  It made Fergus want to unload his gun into something else. “Get whatever’s worth gettin’ out of that cabin then burn it.”

  “Sorry.” Logan’s word was muted.

  Sally got the idea, but she still didn’t trust him, since he’d just proved himself to be a lunatic. She lifted her hand an inch.

  When he remained silent, she caught a handful of hair and yanked it until his neck arched back. “Use your head.” She did her best to burn him to death with her eyes. “You need to save yourself, so if they wreck your pictures you can paint more of them.”

  Logan nodded again.

  It went against the grain to stop hurting the lunkhead, but Sally released his hair. Suddenly she became aware of the strength and weight and vitality of him and climbed off quickly, none too careful where she whacked him with the ten pounds of plaster on her leg.

  Wise Sister eased to his other side with a glowering look of warning.

  “We stay hidden.” Sally reached down, grabbed Logan by the shirt front, and nearly lifted him back to his knees.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.” He acted contrite, but she still didn’t trust him. The man didn’t seem to have a lick of common sense.

  “If you go running out there, I’m going to have to open fire on those men. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I don’t want to start now.” Though she spoke at a whisper, considering murderers were up the hill a few yards, she saw the impact. Good. It was almost as good as if she’d hit him with her fists.

  Logan might cause her to kill an
d maybe die. For him. Because of him. To save him.

  She saw him thinking it through and knew when he was done because shame washed over his face. Nodding, he leaned forward, hesitated, then looked.

  The skinny man came out of the cabin with the painting of Sally in his hands. She felt tainted, as if the filthy man was touching her rather than a portrait.

  Sally reached over and clamped one hand on Logan’s arm. His muscled forearm clenched but he didn’t shake her off.

  The two men looked at the picture and laughed in a way that made Sally’s stomach lurch. Skinny held the portrait, about two-by-two feet in size, in both hands, staring at it. Then he tromped on the elk painting, laying shot to pieces, flat on the ground, and heaved the portrait over the side of the cliff.

  Logan’s hand rested on top of Sally’s but he didn’t make a sound.

  Skinny came back to the elks, talking as he moved. Sally heard the low rumble of their voices but couldn’t make out any words. Skinny laughed, raised a boot, and kicked the bullet-riddled elk painting over the cliff, too.

  The bigger man went into Logan’s cabin. Sally thought of that huge painting in there, Blazing Land. He loved that picture so much Sally’s grip on his arm tightened, just in case he lost control. Maybe they’d had their fun and they’d ride on.

  She heard the first crackle of fire. A puff of smoke came out of Logan’s cabin.

  Wise Sister’s hand slapped on Logan’s mouth. Sally looked but saw he had control of himself now. He shook his head and gave Wise Sister an impatient look. She arched a brow doubtfully but lifted her hand.

  “All I’ve got to do,” Logan whispered, “is picture Sally and you bleeding to death. That’s enough to keep me here.”

  Wise Sister nodded, her stoic expression showing a hint of approval. If Wise Sister was satisfied, that went a long way toward reassuring Sally.

  Grimly squaring his shoulders, Logan turned back to face the destruction. All his work, all his paints, all his canvas and pencils and sketchbooks. The summer was over for him. He’d go home empty-handed.

  A soft sound drew her attention to Wise Sister, watching the men do their damage. The skinny man walked into Wise Sister’s cabin. Unlike Logan, who had a home and family back East and money in the bank, that cabin contained Wise Sister’s whole world. She had a lot more to lose than Logan did. Moments later Skinny emerged, carrying a cloth bag loaded down. Smoke began billowing out behind him.

  All of Wise Sister’s precious things. All her art made with six children in mind.

  “Smoke signals,” Sally whispered. “It’ll bring Luther.”

  Logan turned to her. “So, I lose a summer’s work. Wise Sister loses everything, but you get rescued. You’re a lucky woman, Sally McClellen.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about my friends rescuing me. I was thinking of Luther and Buff fighting at our side. They’re tough men. They’ll help us. If these are the men who killed the colonel, then they’re evil. We’ll be a lot safer once Luther and Buff are here.”

  A shout from Skinny drew their attention. He pointed at the ground and his finger swept along a line that led straight to where they crouched in the undergrowth.

  “He’s found our trail.” Sally grabbed for her rifle.

  Eighteen

  Luther didn’t stop, nor even slow. The climb was steep and relentless. Their horses’ hooves rang hollow on small stones that rolled and slipped.

  Luther had lived in the mountains for years back when he’d been a trapper and a good friend of Clay McClellen’s father. He’d watched Clay grow up and had a hand in teaching him how to live with the land. He’d felt like an uncle, and after Clay’s pa had died, Luther had left the mountains to live in Texas near Clay and his family. He’d taken on the role of grandfather to his girls and now a great-grandpa to Mandy’s young’uns. Though they were not blood relations, he was family and he’d fight for his family to the end.

  The smell of smoke grew stronger as they neared the top of this precipitous climb. When they were within a few steps of the top, gunshots rang out again. It took every ounce of Luther’s considerable self-control not to spur his mount. It would only abuse his horse because they were going as fast as they could.

  They topped the cliff. Luther saw smoke and flames billowing up from two cabins. Nothing else moved. He slapped his horse hard on the rump and bent low over the saddle, mindful of that gunfire he’d heard. The ground was better here, a plateau that appeared to plunge down another mountain on the far side of the cabin. They were in front of the cabin in minutes. He threw himself off the horse, ground-hitching it as it shied back from the flames. An inferno ate at the log structure. Luther saw Buff rushing toward the smaller of the two cabins.

  Could Sally be inside? Could she have been shot and left to burn? Could she, if she was in there, possibly be alive?

  Bending low, Luther charged the door, ducking through the completely consumed frame.

  Sally centered her rifle on her back then grabbed her crutches. She rushed toward her tethered horse. She felt strong hands on her waist as Logan hoisted her up on the horse before she could scramble up there herself. She’d’ve managed, but he sped things up some.

  She jammed her crutches over the pommel of the saddle as Wise Sister took the lead. Sally kicked her horse into motion. Wise Sister headed down the wash of a dry spring.

  Logan swung up on horseback just as a shot cracked the air. Wise Sister spurred her roan gelding and Sally moved fast behind her, glancing back to see Logan kick his horse. Over the thunder of their hoofbeats, Sally heard a bullet slam into the trunk of a tree only a few feet from them. Another bullet followed, then a third.

  Sally leaned low on her horse until she almost hugged the back of her black mustang. She glanced back and saw Logan imitate her actions just as a bullet whined over his head. It passed over him and slammed into a tree, in such a perfect line it would have killed him if he’d been sitting upright.

  The men must be able to see movement in the trees, though the forest was heavy. A few heart-pounding seconds followed as bullets rained on them. Sally’s mustang moved deeper into the woods, the trail dropping sharply. The gunfire stopped, but galloping hooves sounded from behind.

  Wise Sister raised her hand. At first Sally thought Wise Sister was stopping. Did she mean to stand and fight? Sally couldn’t imagine pulling the trigger at another human being, killing a man. Then she imagined that bullet hitting Logan and thought maybe she could do it. She put her hand back to check, and of course her rifle was there, firmly in place across her shoulders as always.

  Instead of turning to fight, Wise Sister slowed to a fast walk. Still, they continued at a reckless pace. This trail could trip a horse and break a rider’s neck.

  Sally stayed low, the trail nothing but the path of a dry waterway. Trees stretched their limbs out. Overhead were the branches of older lodgepole pines. Younger trees were thick all through the forest and they slapped at the horses. Sally looked behind her and saw Logan straighten for a second, take a swat from the needled branches, and then bend low again. He was trainable at least.

  The horses seemed to understand what those bullets meant and kept rushing. Sally looked alongside her mare’s neck to see where Wise Sister was going. She led them with the precision of a forest creature. The slope was downward, long and treacherous, and the dry spring bed was uneven and full of rocks.

  They rode on, the silence broken by the harsh breathing of terrified horses and the racket of hooves on the rocky ground. Long minutes passed and they kept slowing. Sally could only follow Wise Sister and match her speed.

  As they reached the bottom of the slope, Wise Sister veered off onto a patch of scattered rock. They now rode almost straight north along the side of the slope. They moved on until the rocks underfoot became bigger and impossible to traverse.

  Wise Sister turned again, returning to a more westward path. They reached a solid stone ledge. A sheer cliff rose on their right, solid, impenetrable woo
dlands on their left. Sally knew this was no piece of luck. Wise Sister was very carefully choosing her way.

  Her already huge respect for her Shoshone friend bloomed even bigger. Wise Sister had known exactly where they were going. She’d known this land long before anyone had had a thought of closing Yellowstone to private ownership or opening up Montana for settlement. Either that or she’d been practicing, preparing for trouble. Smart lady.

  They approached a massive, sheer stone wall straight ahead, and Sally pulled up when Wise Sister did, waiting for the next move, loving the cunning old woman.

  Logan had expected better of Wise Sister. She’d led them to a dead end, with murderers on their trail.

  Wise Sister raised her hand again. Sally stopped and Logan followed suit. The Shoshone woman swung down off her horse with such agility, Logan’s jaw went slack. She rarely sat a horse, or rather he’d never noticed.

  It occurred to Logan that for a man obsessed with the world around him, he wasn’t very observant, at least not when it came to people. He knew more about the habits of the bull elk that lived near his cabin than he did about his housekeeper.

  Coming up beside Sally, Wise Sister spoke in a quiet voice. Logan had to lean forward in time to hear her say, “That trail.” She pointed to what looked like an impassable wall of trees downhill of the rock. “I go.” Wise Sister looked in the direction they’d come. “We lose them at the dry spring. Your people will come, Sally girl. They follow the coyotes, and the coyotes will go on downhill. I get your friends.”

  “If the coyotes don’t find us first.” Sally looked back the way they’d come, searching the trail as if, by staring hard enough, she could see all the way to those men and fight them.

  “I’ll go.” Logan knew out of three people, one elderly, one wearing a cast, and one able-bodied man, He was least equipped for trouble. But it grated not to protect his women.

  Sally and Wise Sister looked away from their back trail to him, as if they’d forgotten he was even along. They wore matching expressions that clearly suppressed smiles. It ripped at his pride.