Walks Alone

by Sandi Rog

  Anna scrubbed the floor harder, erasing the Denver sign she’d drawn on the wood. She scrubbed more vigorously until her hands became raw, so raw she could scrub no more. Tears welled in her eyes and she pounded the floor with her rag, and then she wept.

  By the end of the week she’d lost track of how many times she’d cleaned the windows. They were more fun and actually made the game easier when she talked to each pane, pretending she stood at the ticket counter. But that never seemed to ease her tortured mind.

  The stage was gone, and White Eagle still hadn’t come.

  ~*~

  One day Jack stayed home, and Anna had a feeling he stayed to keep her company. He told her story after story and seemed to be at a loss for something to do. To fight off the autumn chill, and to have something to keep her busy, Anna offered to clean the bear rug. The exertion would keep her warm, despite the light snowfall from the night before. So she carried it outside and slung it over a strong tree branch, while Jack kept himself busy piling a stack of wood next to the house.

  Anna beat the rug. “Where did White Eagle, I mean, Jean-Marc go? Why can’t you tell me?”

  “That kind of information just ain’t appropriate for a decent young lady like yourself,” Jack said, giving his typical answer.

  “But every time you say that, it makes me more curious.”

  “You need to save all them questions for Jean-Marc.”

  Anna beat the rug harder. “For a man with so many stories, you sure know how to keep secrets.”

  “Well, let me tell you about the time I uncovered a secret treasure well-hidden in these mountains for a good number of years—”

  Anna glared at Jack and then gave the rug a solid whack.

  A couple nights later, Anna found herself kneeling behind a tree, vomiting. When she finished, she wiped her mouth and held her churning stomach. He’d left her. She knew it. He was never coming back.

  “Where are you?” she cried into the darkness. She leaned on the tree, her fingers pressing against the rough bark. It brought to mind White Eagle’s words, when he said her voice rustled in the leaves, that her laughter lifted their branches. She peeled away a piece of the bark. Were those just pretty words? Pretty words like her uncle used to whisper to his woman of the week? Tears flooded her eyes.

  Her quiet cries carried on the night air and over to Jack where Anna noticed him waiting for her on the porch. He stood, chewing on his toothpick, watching her as she’d wept quietly into her hands. Finally, he shook his head and threw down the toothpick. Ashamed of her tears, Anna dried her eyes as he turned to go inside.

  The next day, Jack dropped Anna off in town again. When she came to the shops the sign to Denver City was up again, and it seemed to shout like a trumpet from down the street. It was much brighter, the white letters that much bolder. She ignored White Eagle’s order that she wait for him—as if he’d come—and took a deliberate step toward the sign. Then she took another, and another, until she found herself at the counter.

  A man behind wire-rimmed spectacles glanced up. “May I help you, ma’am?”

  “One ticket to Denver City, please,” she heard herself say. She’d practiced this while cleaning the windows so many times that the words came easily.

  Back at the cabin, she stashed the ticket under her pillow, as if that would change the fact that she’d actually bought it. She paced the room, squeezing her hands together until her knuckles turned white.

  In the morning she would finally be on her way home.

  What had she done? Had she lost her mind? But where was White Eagle? She stared at the pillow; it was as though she could see right through it to what lay beneath.

  Well, now that she’d spent the money, she may as well go through with it.

  During supper she would convince Jack to let her go to town the following morning alone. Once in town she would leave a note at the post office for Jack, explaining her absence. Then she’d leave his horse at the livery stable and send White Eagle and Mountain Jack word as soon as she was settled in Denver. If White Eagle still wanted her, he could come for her. If he no longer loved her, this could be her way of setting him free.

  Setting him free. Yes. He’d be free, but she’d be enslaved forever.

  The plan was ready. Finally, her long awaited dream would be realized. If only she could feel happier about accomplishing it.

  That evening, Anna set out supper, wondering how she could casually broach the subject of Jack taking her to town without arousing suspicion. By the way Jack watched her as she set his plate and cup on the table, she had an uneasy feeling he could see right through to her guilt. Would he try to stop her? She wrung her hands together and turned to collect the food from the stove. Despite her worries, her step felt light. She was going to Denver City, even if Jack knew what she was up to. But one thing bothered her. She’d have to go alone. The last time she made a journey alone, she was kidnapped by Indians. She set her plate on the table. What more could possibly happen to her when the worst already had?

  Jack ran his hand over his beard as she joined him at the table. He shifted in his seat.

  Anna scooted up her chair, its legs scraping against the wooden floor in the silent cabin. Now. Now was the time to ask him. She opened her mouth to speak.

  “Seven weeks,” Jack said, tucking his napkin into his shirt and shaking his head. “Seven weeks and no word is just too da—gosh darn long.” He cleared his throat. “So what do you say me and you take us a trip to Denver City? Maybe find out where that good-for-nothin’ husband of yours is.”

  Stunned into silence, Anna gaped at Jack. “I—” He’d take her? He’d actually take her? Why didn’t she think to ask him? He’d take her! He wouldn’t try to stop her. He would escort her to Denver City. The place her father always spoke about. Home. She put trembling fingers over her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. What could she say? She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him about the ticket, to thank him, to . . . but nothing came out. All she could do was cry. She buried her head in her apron and wept.

  Jack shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. “Umm, well, we don’t have to go if you don’t want—”

  “No!” Anna’s desperate gaze met his. “I mean, yes!” Anna’s stomach swirled. “Yes! Let’s do!” She leaned closer. “Please, I want to go.”

  Jack watched her, confusion clouding his eyes. “Why do women have to cry?” he mumbled to himself, scratching his head. “Why can’t they just be happy and that be the end of it?” He sighed and dropped his gaze to the table. He then remembered his food and dug in.

  Anna laughed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anna felt like a caged bird set free all over again as the stagecoach rumbled down the road. She gripped the window ledge to keep from falling off the thinly cushioned seat. Riding in a stagecoach was a lot less pleasant than riding White Eagle’s horse. Especially in his arms. She shook the thoughts from her mind and glanced down at the ring he had given her.

  She wondered if he’d gone on to Denver without her and if that was why Jack had suggested they go. Or maybe he could see the imprints she left of “Denver City” still in the windows? Perhaps she and Jack should have waited, though the fact that she’d likely be in Denver City in just two more hours thrilled her. They had already stopped for lunch, and just clearing the hills, they neared some trees. She glanced at Jack next to her. He grinned in return.

  The coach jerked and jarred her backside. She smiled at the other passengers sitting across the small seat. One man dressed in a top hat and a black frock coat said he was a banker. The man next to him, his assistant, wore less extravagant attire. Even they gripped the window ledges to keep their balance.

  She took a deep breath and glanced out the window as the trees grew dense. She smoothed her skirt, a deeper green than the first dress she had made back in New York. She also bought herself a new hat with green ribbons and plumes, and this time with a brim large enough to protect her from the sun.

&nbs
p; Her money pouch was well-hidden under her dress, and she’d spent several hours re-sewing her mother’s jewels into her bodice. She hadn’t bothered buying any other dresses. Thankfully this one fit as well as it did, even though it didn’t hug her waist as snug as she liked. More dresses would have been too cumbersome with traveling, and she planned on making some when she arrived in Denver.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Did I tell you all the story about them there bear cubs—”

  “Yes! Twice now,” the banker’s assistant said.

  “Sun sure is bright,” the banker said, peering out the window. “Looks like it’s going to be a mild winter.”

  “How much longer to Denver?” the assistant asked, grumbling.

  “I’d say about two hours. Two long hours,” Jack said, eyeing the assistant with obvious contempt beneath his bushy brows.

  Anna stifled a chuckle.

  “Last time I was on this run, my ears were ringing from gunshots.” By the way Jack’s eyes narrowed at the man across from him, Anna had a feeling he was trying to put some fear into him. “Lost my closest friend that day.” Sadness reflected from Jack’s gaze as he looked out the window. “He wanted to find his son. Had ourselves an Indian scout to help, but it was all a waste.”

  Anna had heard enough of Jack’s stories to know this one was different. By the way his eyes searched out the window, she had a feeling he was looking for something, or someone.

  Jack began his story, but rather than sitting on the seat as an outsider listening in on his latest tale, Anna found herself being pulled in, pulled in as if Jack had taken her hand and forced her down a path of danger and peril. He tugged her along like an ocean’s wave, back and forth, until finally, he sucked her in to the depths of the dark story of his friend and partner’s death, Franck Charvet, and how he’d been shot on this very road. Murdered by thieves.

  The carriage jerked, bringing Anna out of the seat and out of the horrible story. She came back down with a thud just as gunshots and shouts exploded outside. Men, with faces half-covered, fired revolvers in the air and raced furiously on all sides of the stage.

  “Not again!” Jack said with an incredible whine. “Every time I set foot in this bla—worthless carriage those da—” Jack glanced at Anna. “For cryin’ in the bucket, I don’t even get the pleasure of a good cuss word!”

  Jack rose from his seat, pulling out his revolver. He motioned Anna to the floor.

  “Get down and don’t get up till I say.”

  Anna sank to the floor with the banker and his assistant, shocked at the change in Jack. He went from being a gentle old man to a fierce cowboy who knew what he was about. From the dangerous look in his eyes, she could see how he might have killed that puma with his bare hands.

  Shots fired again outside.

  Would their fate have the same dreadful conclusion as Jack’s story? She had been kidnapped by Indians and was now about to be robbed. Unbelievable. Would she ever get to Denver City?

  She watched as Jack braced himself against the seat, ready to fire. He poked his head out the window.

  Anna’s gaze darted to each passenger. They looked as frightened as she felt. The coach came to a sudden stop, and she skidded along the narrow floor, crashing into the couch.

  Jack ducked in from the window and put his revolver back in its holster. He bent to help Anna up. “You all right?”

  Anna nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. From the window, she saw the driver hit the ground and roll away in the dirt.

  “Get out of the coach!” a bandit shouted, swinging open the door.

  Bile rose in her throat. Her arms and legs trembled as she climbed out with Jack’s help. Terror coursed through her veins for the second time since her journey had begun. Would these men kidnap her too? Or did a worse fate await her?

  The bandits were dressed like cowboys. They wore wide-brimmed hats, leather chaps, and boots with spurs. But what made her shudder were their guns pointing at her, Jack, and the other passengers.

  “Toss that pistol over here, old-timer,” one of the bandits said. “Nice and calm-like.”

  “It ain’t no pistol.” Jack raised his hands and then eased his revolver out of its holster with two fingers and slid the gun in the bandit’s direction.

  “Whooooeeee!” another bandit shouted. “Look what we have here.” He urged his horse next to Anna.

  Her mind seethed with rage. She’d nearly made it home and these brutes had stopped her. But her anger was tempered by fear as White Eagle’s last words flashed through her mind. He’d deliberately frightened her in that small room, but she’d still been safe. And now, she couldn’t help but wonder if his words might be prophetic as well. She closed her eyes, wishing desperately that she and Jack had stayed at his place.

  Two other members of the gang came into view. Their horses danced and pawed the ground. There were three bandits in all, while a fourth stood on top of the coach throwing down luggage.

  One of the men dismounted and strode up to her, spurs jangling. She stepped back. Even White Eagle, when he kidnapped her, hadn’t looked as cold and calculating as this man. He spit tobacco juice at her feet. Half of it dripped from his red bandanna. He tipped the brim of his hat up on his forehead, and from the crease of dirt covering his brow, it looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. He seized her arm and yanked her against him.

  “Nice and soft.” He snarled. “You’re a pretty little thing. Let’s say you and me get acquainted.” He jerked her by the arm and dragged her away from the group.

  Anna looked to Jack for help, but he didn’t move. “Anna, girl! Just scream nice and loud! You do that, Anna!” Jack shouted as he glanced to the top of the carriage.

  “Shut up, old man, or I’ll shoot your mouth right off your already sawed-up face,” one of the other bandits said, then laughed and looked to the top of the coach. “Johnny, you get all them bags?”

  Anna’s heart went to her throat as the bandit dragged her around to the other side of the carriage. She tripped over his boot and tried to regain her balance. He yanked her up, still holding her arm in a vise-like grip. After he shoved his revolver into its holster, he grabbed both her arms and violently pushed her in the direction he intended.

  She fell on all fours but climbed quickly to her feet and ran.

  He seized her around the waist.

  “Don’t be difficult. I might have to hurt you,” he whispered hotly against her cheek and laughed as he shoved her on the ground.

  She slid on her stomach, tasting dirt.

  He rolled her over, pinned her arms above her head, and dropped on top of her, crushing her. “Don’t worry, pretty thing. I’ll be gentle,” he said, breathless.

  “Stop!” She screamed, but it came out as a stifled cry. “Please! Don’t!” She pushed against him, but he was too strong.

  The man pulled up her skirt. “Whoa! What’s this?”

  She felt him tugging on her money pouch.

  Lord, help me!

  Without warning, his weight lifted from her. Another man tossed him over the road like a sack of potatoes.

  “This one’s mine!” the man said. Legs braced apart in black chaps, boots, and shiny spurs, the man quick-drew his revolver and aimed it at the man who’d just attacked her.

  “What’s going on?” another one of the bandits shouted, lumbering from around the coach and unhitching the horses.

  Anna pushed up onto her elbows and tried to crawl away backwards, but her feet tangled in her skirt. Now there were three of them. What was she to do?

  “Johnny’s trying to take my woman!”

  “She’s mine,” Johnny said, his tone low as he cocked his gun. A black bandanna covered his face, and a hat similar to the other bandits shadowed his eyes. Dark hair pulled into a ponytail dangled over his broad shoulders and black vest.

  “Aaahhh, Billy. Let him have her, this being his first big heist and all.”

  Red-faced Billy climbed to his feet and stormed to the other side
of the stagecoach, slapping his hat angrily against his leg.

  “Don’t take too long,” the other said with a grin, then spit and turned to unhitch the rest of the horses.

  Anna continued to inch backwards.

  The one called Johnny turned and glared down at her, his eyes like shards of glass ready to pierce her through. Before she could back away any farther, he dropped on top of her, held her down with one arm, while the other moved under her skirt. She screamed and tried to push him off.

  Then the familiar blue-green of his eyes snagged her attention. “White Eagle?” she said, breathless.

  He forced his hand over her mouth. “Quiet,” he said in a deep growl. “You should be at Mountain Jack’s. What are you doing here?” he asked between clenched teeth. It was a question not meant to be answered, the anger in his eyes evident. His weight pressed her into the rocks and dirt as she felt him tug on her money belt then cut it away. “This ought to keep you out of trouble.”

  She pushed against him, shocked that he was actually going to rob her. “You’re nothing but a thief,” she said, stunned and still processing the fact in her mind. “What are you doing with these men?” How’d he go from a band of raiding Indians to a band of thieving cowboys?

  He pulled her to her feet and yanked her to him. “What’d you do? Convince Jack to take you to that city?” He practically threw her from him and turned to leave.

  Anger and hurt nearly broke through in wails. “Aren’t you forgetting someting?” she shouted at his back. Her nose burned as she held her tears at bay.

  He turned to face her, eyes narrowed under his black hat.

  She threw her wedding ring at him. It hit him in the chest and dropped to the ground. When he knelt down to pick it up, she noticed her carpetbag strewn all over the road behind him, her parents’ pictures lying broken in the road.

  Her anger boiled over. This man was nothing but a thorn in her side. And to think, they were married. Tears welled in her eyes and she wanted to scream with rage. Instead, she kicked the dirt as he rose to stand.