Where Leads the Heart

by Colleen Coble

  Rooster galloped out of a stand of trees, his cap gone and spiky red hair standing straight on end. “What’s wrong with you, gal? Don’t you got no sense at all?” He slid down off his horse and pulled her to her feet. “Git on that horse now!” He shoved her up into the saddle. “There’s prob’ly more of them sneakin’ varmints around. We gotta git to the fort.” He slapped her horse’s rump, and they started down the bluff.

  Isaac and Amelia, with the rest of the soldiers, met them at the bottom. Isaac’s face was tight with anger. But before he could say anything, they heard a whoop behind them and turned to see a group of Indians charging toward them. “Get going!” Isaac fell back and began firing at the Indians to give Rooster time to get the girls to the safety of the fort.

  Amelia and Sarah kicked their horses into a mad dash for the fort as Mrs. DuBois screamed and moved faster than Sarah had ever seen. Jessica kicked her horse into a gallop, her face calm, and the rest of the soldiers brought up the rear. Once Sarah heard a bullet whistle by her head as she clung to the horse’s back. Then her horse stumbled and she catapulted into a thorny bush. Her skin was pierced in a dozen places, and she lay there too stunned to even move.

  A young brave galloped up, brandishing a knife. Before she could even think to scream, he cut her loose from the thorn bush and hauled her up in front of him. Sarah tried to struggle away, but her head was throbbing from the fall, and soon darkness descended.

  §

  Rand cried out and thrashed as the cooling night awoke him, shivering as the chill breeze swept over him. He vaguely remembered a dark face swimming before his eyes off and on. Someone forcing water down his parched throat. He tried to move and found his hands and feet were unbound. He looked to his right and saw that Ranger was tied to a tree nearby. Rand sat up slowly, his head spinning. Beside him lay a skin plump with water. He took it and drank greedily, then wiped his mouth. A buffalo robe covered the lower half of his body. Puzzled, he looked around. Who had cut him free? He frowned and tried to concentrate on the dark face at the edge of his memory, but nothing more would come.

  Where were Ben and Labe? He looked around slowly as his head continued to clear. The sun lay low in the sky. Only an hour or so of daylight was left. He swallowed another swig of water and shook his head to clear it, then stood to his feet. He swayed, then staggered toward his horse. A pile of soft buckskin lay at Ranger’s feet. He stooped and picked up a pair of leather breeches and calico shirt. Grimacing with pain. He pulled them on over his scorched skin. They were a little loose, which helped some, but they still chafed against his throbbing skin.

  Some jerky was strung over the pommel of his saddle and his mouth watered when he saw it. He stuffed some in his mouth as he leaned his head against Ranger’s flank. Fortified with food and water, he forced himself to swing up into the saddle. He swayed weakly and caught at the pommel to steady himself. He had to make it. Sarah depended on it. He suddenly remembered what Ben had said about Jessica. What did Ben mean about Jessica’s scheme? How could she be involved with a man like Croftner?

  He urged Ranger to a trot and clung tightly to avoid slipping out of the saddle. Within an hour he was in familiar territory. Maybe he could make Fort Laramie before it was fully dark, he thought. But his horse was exhausted, and he was forced to walk. He was still weak from his ordeal, and he had to stop often to catch his breath. He stopped for the night about five miles southwest of the fort on a bluff. Barely conscious, he crawled into his bedroll and was soon fast asleep.

  The next morning he awoke ravenous. His sunburn still throbbed, but he was stronger. His store of food was all gone, and his ammunition was low. But he was almost there, so he took his rifle and made his way down to the river. It wasn’t long before he’d shot a jackrabbit. It was tough and stringy as he ate it hot from the spit, but it would do. At least it would give him the strength he needed to get home.

  He saddled up Ranger and swung up into the saddle. In spite of the deceptive distances, he knew he’d be home soon. The fort drew nearer very quickly. Now he could make out the individual buildings. There was the commissary and the stable. The barracks and the hospital. Was he too late? He urged Ranger into a gallop.

  Rand arrived about eight o’clock. There seemed to be an uncommon amount of activity going on as dozens of soldiers jostled one another in their hurry to catch a mount and saddle up. He heard Rooster, his voice shrill with emotion, calling for a fresh horse.

  His heart pounding, Rand spotted Jacob and Isaac saddling horses beside the post headquarters. He kicked his mount into a canter and pulled up beside them. “What’s going on?”

  Jacob’s voice was grim. “Indians got Sarah.”

  The clipped words hit Rand like a blow. Not Sarah! He felt lightheaded with shock. “When?” And he’d been worried about Ben and Jessica’s plan!

  “This morning. We’re just back for fresh horses and supplies. You coming?”

  “Let me get a fresh mount.” Outwardly he was calm, but inwardly he was churning with a cauldron of emotion. Anger, guilt, love. He realized in a blinding instant what a fool he’d been. He and Sarah had something precious, and he had treated it as something of inconsequence. And now it might be too late. He shuddered at the thought of what Sarah had perhaps already endured.

  He followed Isaac and Jacob out of the fort as they caught up with Rooster on his way to pick up the trail.

  Just before dusk they found a spot where a large group of horses had trampled the ground. “Some of these prints belong to white men,” Rand said, kneeling in the dust. “Look here, Isaac. Shod horse prints and boot heels.”

  “Looks like two, maybe three, men,” Isaac said with a frown.

  Rooster came up behind them. “Sure am glad to see you, boy. You look bad, though. Yer skin’s blistered and peeling. What’s happened to you? How’d you git away from them redskins?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Rand said. Finding Sarah was more important.

  Rooster nodded. “What’d ya find, boys?” he asked kneeling beside them.

  “What do you make of this, Rooster?” Rand gestured to the telltale marks. “What would white men be doing with a pack of Indians?”

  Rooster studied the ground for a moment without replying. “Don’t look too good, young fellers. Don’t look too good at all.” He stood up and scratched his red hair. “Injuns and white men. Renegades, most likely.” His brown eyes were compassionate as he turned to Rand. “Looks like maybe they got Sarah.”

  Rand shuddered. He felt as though his whole body turned suddenly to ice. Jacob clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope yet, Rand. We’ll find her. White men move slower than Indians. We have a better chance of catching them now.”

  Rand nodded, but inside himself he knew Sarah was lost to him. And it was all his fault she was out there with depraved men in the wilderness far from her family and all she loved.

  He felt almost mad with worry and grief as Rooster found the trail, and the detachment followed it up into the Laramie Mountains. The landscape grew more barren as loose rock over a bed of sand made travel more and more treacherous. As they rode, Rand told Rooster and Jacob about his ordeal and what Ben had said.

  By the time it was too dark to follow the trail any longer, they were near the peak of the mountain. The night air was already cold, and a crisp tang to the air mingled with the scent of sage and the smoke from the fire as Rand unloaded his supplies and prepared to bed down near Jacob and Isaac.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Rooster said, taking his rifle out of its sling on his horse and walking over to a large boulder thrusting up through the thin soil.

  Rand lay down on the hard ground and stared up at the sky, vaguely aware of the crackling fire to his right as he gazed at the bright panorama of stars above his head. The fire pushed back the blackness of the night, but nothing could push away the blackness in his soul as he thought about what Sarah might be going through right now. The plaintive howl of a pack of coyot
es somewhere in the valley below him somehow added to his anguish. He prayed fervently for Sarah’s safety, but he was so consumed with guilt, he couldn’t keep his thoughts together. The fire died to embers before he finally slept.

  §

  When Sarah awoke she found herself on a pallet on a hard, dirt-packed floor. She sat up slowly and looked around the tiny, one-room cabin. A rank odor rose from the grimy blanket over her, and she pushed it off with a shudder of disgust as she rose to get a better look at her surroundings.

  Her head throbbed and the room spun around as she took a step toward the small, oilskin-covered windows. She paused until her head cleared, then moved gingerly toward the door. She raised the latch and tugged at the door, but it refused to budge no matter how hard she pulled. She leaned her throbbing head against it and burst into tears.

  What am I going to do? Those savages could be back any minute, she thought wildly. She could still see the painted face of the Indian who grabbed her. But why wasn’t she at an Indian camp? And whose old cabin was this anyway?

  But there were no answers to her questions, so she pushed away the tears and looked around for another avenue of escape. Her body ached in a hundred places from her contact with the thorn bush, and she limped as she picked through the debris on the dirt floor.

  She found a small stool among the litter of papers, old tin cans, and rags and dragged it under the window. Standing on the stool, she pulled the torn oilcloth away from the window and tried to pull herself through.

  But the tiny opening was much too small for even Sarah’s slim shoulders, and the stool collapsed under her weight, one leg rolling useless across the floor, as she fell to the ground. She gave in to helpless tears again. What am I going to do, Lord? she prayed. She was hungry and thirsty and scared. Judging by the light, it was close to noon, so she must have been unconscious nearly twenty-four hours. It was no wonder her mouth was like cotton, she thought when she finally calmed down.

  She sat there until the sun no longer shone through the east window, feeling more and more abandoned. What if she was left there to die with no food or water? Panic at the thought overwhelmed her, and she ran to the door and pounded on it. She heard the sound of horses, then the click of a lock being pulled back on the other side of the door.

  Trembling, she rose to her feet and faced the door, so frightened she felt faint. Help me, Lord, she prayed as the door swung open.

  The sudden flood of sunlight into the dark cabin blinded her momentarily, then she blinked in surprise as she recognized the two figures framed in the doorway.

  “Be—Ben?” she croaked through her parched throat.

  “You don’t look too good, love.” Ben grinned as he saw her torn and stained dress; her hair, tangled and matted, hung down her back and dirt smudged her frightened face.

  Although she would rather anyone else rescue her, Ben was a welcome surprise from the savages she’d expected. She had opened her mouth to thank him when she noticed how unsurprised he seemed to see her.

  “Been awake long?” he asked.

  “You knew I was here?” Her voice was halting and incredulous.

  “Of course.” He kicked some refuse away from the door. “Shut the door, Labe.” He reached out and touched a lock of her hair, and she flinched away. His lips tightened as he dropped his hand. “The Indians were eager for the guns I offered for the ‘soldier girl with hair like the sun.’ But I must give credit where credit’s due. Jessica came up with the idea.”

  Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. Ben and Jessica had arranged for her kidnapping? But why? Her lips quivered as she forced back tears of weakness. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  “Aren’t you interested in why you’re here?” The cruel light in Ben’s eyes grew as he saw how her green eyes dilated with terror. “Well, let me tell you what I have planned. Remember that marriage we were supposed to have? You should have been my wife by now. Well, I aim to put that to rights.” He pulled her to him and wrapped a hand in her hair.

  A moan escaped Sarah’s tight lips as he pulled her hair even tighter. “Too bad about your beloved Rand,” he sneered.

  A shudder shook Sarah’s frame, and she closed her eyes. “Wha—what do you mean?”

  “Just that your precious Rand is dead by now.” He smiled unpleasantly.

  Rand dead? She wouldn’t believe it. After all, she’d believed Ben before—and look what had happened. She opened her eyes and stared into Ben’s face. How had she ever considered marrying him?

  The silence grew heavy as Ben stared back at her. Labe’s nervous shuffle broke the silence. Sarah turned her eyes toward him. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, Labe, help me.”

  Labe’s eyes darted from his brother’s set face to Sarah’s white one. “Come on, Ben. Let’s take her back. She won’t say nothin’, will you, Sarah?”

  “No. No, of course not.” Sarah wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “Just take me back to the fort, and I’ll say you rescued me from the Indians. You’ll be heroes.”

  Ben’s lip curled in disgust. “You must take me for a fool!” He let go of Sarah’s hair and shoved her off her feet, then spun toward Labe. “Get out!” He pushed his brother toward the door.

  “Help me, Jesus,” Sarah said under her breath. While Ben’s back was turned, her hand groped along the dirty floor; her seeking fingers closed around the broken stool leg. As Ben bent over her, his hand gripping her shoulder, she twisted around and with one last desperate effort, she smashed the stool leg against his head. He slumped against her without a sound.

  Scrambling to her feet, she rushed to the door and pulled it open. She blinked as she surveyed her surroundings. The tiny cabin was in a small clearing surrounded by heavy forest. A meadow filled with wild flowers was in front of the door, and a narrow, barely discernible path ran through the middle of the meadow. She caught a glimpse of Labe’s head over near a stand of aspen.

  Watching to make sure Labe didn’t see her, she stumbled along the path, casting furtive glances behind her to make sure neither Labe nor Ben was following her. The path narrowed further, then disappeared at the bank of a small stream. Sarah sank to her knees and drank.

  Birds twittered from the budding branches above her head, but that was the only sound as she followed the stream into the forest. The stream soon joined a larger river, and Sarah hurried along the bank. She wondered how long it would be before Ben regained consciousness. He would pursue her, she knew; she had to get as far away as she could.

  §

  Labe had fallen asleep leaning against an aspen tree, but he woke with a jump when Ben staggered out of the cabin. “Where is she?” Ben looked around wildly.

  “Who?” Labe peered past Ben into the dark cabin, expecting to see Sarah inside.

  “Who do you think?” Ben held his aching head and tried to think. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

  Labe finally grasped that Sarah had escaped—and that Ben was blaming him. “Honest, Ben, I didn’t see nothin’.” He backed away from his brother’s furious face and stared slack-jawed as Ben stumbled toward the horses. “What are you doin’? I thought we was going to hole up here for a few days.”

  “Plans have changed.” Ben tightened the cinch on his mare’s belly. “Thanks to you, I’ve got to track Miss Sarah down.”

  “Can’t we just leave her be?”

  Ben wiped away a bit of blood from his face. “She’s not getting off after what she did to me.” He swung into the saddle and waited impatiently while Labe followed suit. Ben’s face was hard with anger. No one got in Ben Croftner’s way without paying for it.

  §

  When the sun told her it was midafternoon, Sarah stopped beside the river. Her head was light from lack of food, and she had to rest for a moment. She sank down to rest on a large rock and looked around, trying to think. She had to find something to eat, she realized, or she’d never make it. Wearily, she forced herself to her feet again and began sea
rching the bushes, grateful for the forest lore Rand had taught her when they were growing up. After several minutes, she found some berries she knew were edible, despite their bitter taste, and she crammed handfuls into her mouth, grimacing at the flavor. Using her fingernails, she dug the roots of another edible plant out of the ground. She washed the soil off in the river and then crunched them down.

  A little clearer headed, she stared along the riverbank again. She would make it, she told herself. God was with her, no matter where she was. With His help, she would find her way back to her family.

  But by the next morning, she was no longer so certain. The mosquitoes had swarmed around her all night, a living haze of biting misery. She was weak now from hunger and fatigue, and the night’s noises had driven her nearly mad with fear. Coyotes had howled, their voices closer than she had ever heard them, and once a large animal had snuffled right next to her, causing her to freeze, too terrified to move for several long minutes.

  Now, as the sun rose in the sky, her steps were slow and dragging. She rounded a curve in the river, forcing herself forward, and then stood still.

  She was face to face with a band of ten or so Sioux braves. Their faces were painted and one young brave had a livid scar across his cheek. The blood drained from her face, and then darkness claimed her.

  fifteen

  The men rode silently through the woods, hardly looking at each other for fear they’d see the foreboding in one another’s eyes. Jacob reined his horse in suddenly and dismounted. He bent over and picked something off the ground.

  “What is it?” Rand’s voice was hoarse. He held out his hand and Jacob dropped a brooch into it.

  They’d both seen it many times. The delicate filigree rose customarily adorned the bodice of Sarah’s dress. Rand had given it to her for her birthday the year he left for the war. He stared at the dainty pin, and his face turned hard as he fought to control the pain that surged through him. “At least we know we’re on the right trail,” he managed to say at last. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace of pain. “Everyone always said Rooster could follow a wood tick on solid rock.” He picked up the reins, gripped by a renewed sense of urgency. “Let’s get going.”