by B C Yancey
Staring after her brother in surprise, Kitty tugged on Lillian's skirt and whispered, "He sounded like Papa.”
Chapter twenty-four
Lillian took the small carpetbag from Kitty's struggling grasp and hurried down the stairs, smiling at Kitty as they exited the house and rushed down the porch steps.
When Paul wasn't waiting by the wagon, Lillian called out, "Paul?" She placed the bag into the wagon bed and bent to help Kitty climb up as best as she could. Once Kitty was safely on the bench, Lillian raised her voice and called again, "Paul, we're ready."
Kitty's terrified whisper of "Mama" brought Lillian's worst fears to life.
Spinning around, she found Walker with one arm around Paul's neck, and in his other hand a gun pressed to Paul's head, "I curse the day I ever took you from that train, Lily."
He forced Paul to take a step forward, "This has been the worst night of my life...and you and your little brats are to blame." He sniffled and cocked the gun.
"No!" Lillian shouted and stepped forward. Her heart clenched in dread when she caught the deranged light in Walker's eyes. Taking a deep breath, she took slow and measured steps toward them and held out her hands in surrender, "Let him go, Walker; it's me you have an issue with."
He curled his lips in disgust. "You killed her," he accused, glaring at Lillian. "As surely as if you were the one to pull the trigger, you killed her." Turning the gun on her, he threw Paul away from him and shouted, "You KILLED HER."
Lillian caught Paul's gaze and mouthed 'Freddie,' nodding to the wagon.
Paul nodded and climbed up into the wagon, casting a fearful look over his shoulder as he grabbed the reins and slapped the mules into motion.
Walker's fingers gouged into the flesh of Lillian's neck as he yanked her toward him, "So, now I've gotta kill you." He pressed the barrel to her temple and directed her toward the barn, "I'm gonna enjoy this, I'm gonna take my time with ya, draw out yer pain—make you beg for me to end ya."
With Walker focused on Lillian, he completely forgot about the children, that is until he heard the creak of the wagon as Paul raced down the drive.
Walker aimed and fired five shots at Paul and Kitty. Lillian screamed and tried to knock the gun from his hand, making his aim go wild and miss his targets.
Shouting his fury, he swung the butt of his gun toward her head, but she stomped down on his foot and lunged away from him.
Dashing to the house, Lillian flung the door closed behind her and struggled to set the bolt with shaking hands. Striving to remain calm, she ran to the front door to do the same and screamed in surprise when Walker threw his body against it the door so hard it shuddered.
She backed away; her eyes fixed on the door as he tried twice more to knock it down with his weight.
Banging on the door, he ordered, "Open the door, Lillian."
Lillian whimpered, stumbling in her haste to search the parlor for the revolver. Terror gripped her mind and made it impossible to remember where she had last placed it, no matter how desperately she tried.
She ran to the kitchen and choked back a scream as Walker continued slamming his body against the front door, yelling profanities with each failed attempt. How much longer it would hold against him?
"OPEN THE DOOR, LILLIAN," he shrieked.
Running up to her room, she searched for the gun under her pillow, the mattress and then pulled off the covers, whimpering when a splintering crash downstairs announced Walker had finally gained access to the house.
"LILLIAN," he roared as he crossed the parlor and began searching for her downstairs.
She ran to the dresser and pulled the top drawer open, throwing the clothing about her in desperation. Slamming the drawer shut, she threw open the next and cried out in dismay when she couldn't find the revolver anywhere.
Frantically, she glanced around the room. Where else could it be? Suddenly, Walker's footsteps were on the stairs. What was she going to do? How was she going to escape?
He slowly rolled the cartridge chamber as he reloaded the gun; the metallic clink, clink, clink terrifying her more than his shouting moments earlier.
If she was going to survive this night, she had to do something he wouldn't expect her to do. Paul needed time to get to Freddie. How much had passed since they had left? Was it long enough to save her?
Taking a deep, panicked breath, Lillian grabbed up her skirts and ran through the door, slamming into Walker and knocking him off balance.
He tried latching onto her, but she tore away from his clawing hands, ripping the sleeve of her blouse. In her haste, she slid down the last few stairs and twisted her ankle.
Gritting her teeth, she scurried out of the house through the broken door and tripped down the porch when her skirt tangled on the broken door jam.
Walker stumbled down the stairs after her, snarling when she tripped down the porch steps. Running as fast as he could, he leaped for her and grunted when they crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.
Lillian screamed as the impact forced her shoulder into the hard earth and caused lights to dance before her eyes. Gasping for breath, she struggled beneath his weight and cried out when he yanked her head up by her braid.
Cursing, he dragged her kicking and screaming into the dark barn, and panted from exertion, "I'm tired of this game of yers." He threw her body into an empty stall and advanced on her, shoving his gun back into the holster at his hip.
He bent and picked up a discarded bandana partially hidden in the straw near his foot. "I wasn't gonna do this! I was only gonna kill ya after a bit of torture. But, with all the pain you've caused me today, I've gotta have me a little pleasure first."
Lillian scrambled backward to the corner, bracing her body against the rough wood as she stood and tried to put weight on her sprained ankle.
Walker lashed out with his foot, knocking her feet out from under her. He then lunged when she tried once more to get away. Climbing on top of her, he straddled her hips and grasped her neck to hold her still beneath him.
When she bucked beneath him and almost knocked him off, he slammed a fist into her cheek, "Yer not getting away this time."
Stars exploded as the force of the blow immediately blackened her left eye.
Taking both her hands into his free hand and holding them above her head, he panted, "I'm done tryin' to be nice."
Her scream of agony echoed throughout the barn when dislocated shoulder protested the rough action and popped back into place. She became dizzy and began to dry heave as wave after wave of pain assailed her.
In weak desperation, she slammed a knee up between his legs and cursed her skirts when they hampered the movement. Bile filled her mouth when he wrenched her arm again and tied the discarded scrap of cloth he had found in the stall around her wrists.
Lillian gasped and choked; vomit spewed down the side of her bodice and into the straw covering the floor. Sneering in disgust, Walker slapped her and stood, winded from struggling with her. He kicked her before exiting the stall and returned a few short moments later with a length of rope in his grip.
Rolling to her side, Lillian gasped for breath and lowered her arms, bawling when Walker hauled them back over her head again.
He smiled and tied one end of the rope around her wrists and threaded the remaining length through a metal loop at the end of the stall then secured the knot with a yank.
She lay in the dirty straw; her arms stretched cruelly above her as deep, mournful sobs wracked her body. Her vision wavered, and bile rose once more from the pain.
Walker pinched her chin and turned her face to the side, "You try to spew that filth on me again, and I won't hold myself responsible for what happens to ya!" After she finished throwing up, he withdrew his knife from the sheath at his thigh and cut her skirt and petticoats; ripping them to her waist.
"NO," She screamed. This couldn't be happening. How was she going to stop him? Where was Freddie?
Fighting through the pain engulfing her, Lillian lashe
d out with her legs and grunted when her boot heel connected solidly with his inner thigh, narrowly missing his groin. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, but Walker grabbed her ankles and yanked hard, jerking her arms taut.
His maniacal laughter filled the air when she screamed in pain. "Do ya realize that everything that happens to you tonight is yer fault?"
Kicking her feet apart, he knelt between her sprawled legs and began unbuttoning his fly as his lips curled in an evil sneer, "Scream as loud as ya want...no one's comin' to yer rescue."
Time had run out. Freddie would be too late to save her.
Chapter twenty-five
Sawyer worried he would never make it in time—how could he; he'd been gone almost a month now and had traveled nearly two hundred miles in that time covering a grueling distance daily that had him apologizing to Jethro every step of the way.
Each stop made his stomach clench in dread. But, if he were to push any further, his favorite mount would most certainly be dead before ever reaching home. And a dead horse would mean he truly would never make it in time, no matter how hard he tried to get there.
'What if it's already too late?' His mind whispered in tortured agony. It could be he was. From what Lillian had told him, Walker was not a man to wait around when something threatened what he wanted or if he believed he was entitled to it. It made no difference if what he wanted didn't belong to him.
There was no way to judge what extent the man would go to to obtain it or to seek revenge against anyone he'd believed had disrespected or wronged him.
Nothing would stop him from seeking out Lillian and exacting his revenge; nothing except a bullet through the brain, Sawyer thought with a growl.
Ever since Lillian had told him of what had occurred, he'd had several dreams where he'd been able to exact his vengeance against the man who had abused Lillian in the worst ways, and knowing that Walker still lived made Sawyer's hands itch to be wrapped around the man's throat, squeezing the very breath out of him.
Not having to deal with the sluggish pace the cattle had dictated on the way out, the pace he set quickly ate up the miles. The only trouble Sawyer ran into, which had brought forth every cuss word he'd ever heard of and a few he'd invented himself, had come a week ago when he'd run into a little Indian trouble.
After exchanging fire through a good portion of a day, they retreated when his rifle proved superior to their combined firepower. The little band of had trailed him for over forty miles since then, until finally they'd turned back and disappeared over a bluff.
Knowing they were at last gone was a welcome relief, but they'd cost him almost an extra week's worth of travel since he'd diverted his route, bringing him closer to a settlement, just in case they decided to try anything.
Covered in filth, Sawyer knew he stunk worse than a two-week-old dead fish rolled in cow dung, but he'd worry about that after making sure his family was safe.
Jethro was understandably tired, but he seemed to sense the desperateness of their ride back home. Sawyer slowed him to a walk even though fear gripped his heart as the sun dipped lower in the sky, ready to slip behind the mountains within the next hour.
They were so close, and yet he didn't dare push harder. Just a little longer and they'd be there, he kept repeating to himself, knowing there was a real possibility he would be too late.
Paul raced the wagon to Freddie and Charlie's house; thankful Pa had spent the time to teach him how to drive the team even though his fingers were sweaty and ached from gripping the lines so tightly.
Kitty was unusually quiet and sat holding onto the buckboard seat, staring straight ahead, as their destination rose into view.
It seemed to take an eternity for him to haul the team to a stop and scramble down to the ground. He didn't even realize he'd been yelling at the top of his lungs with Kitty's voice echoing his pleas for help until Freddie came running out the door with his shirt untucked and rifle in hand.
Freddie rushed to meet Paul, grabbed him by the shoulder, and asked in alarm, "What's wrong, Paul?"
Paul and Kitty both started crying and pulling at him, urging Freddie toward their wagon. The majority of their words were lost in the chaos of their shouted ramblings.
Tucking his rifle under the seat, Freddie vaulted up into the wagon, "Get inside, now!" He released the brake, quickly snapping the lines to get the team moving and ordered, "Stay with Aunt Charlie. I'll take care of your Mama."
In all the jumbled words they'd thrown around, the only ones Freddie had heard with any clarity were 'bad man,' 'mama,' and 'gun'...none of which left him with a warm and happy feeling.
Slapping the lines against the rumps of the mules, he yelled for the team to pick up their pace and drove the team at breakneck speed down the road. When the wagon careened around a corner, it nearly tipped over and made his heart pound even harder.
Pulling on the reins, Freddie struggled to keep control of the vehicle and shouted, "WHOA."
Five minutes later, he almost ran over a lone rider in front of him. The weary-looking mount galloped down the road, heading in the same direction as Freddie himself.
When the horse sidestepped to avoid the collision, Sawyer glanced behind him and scowled. It only took a second to recognize the wagon and team and the man driving them like a maniac down the road. His eyes widened in amazement as he shouted, "FREDDIE?"
"SAWYER," Freddie hollered in excitement, "WHAT IN TARNATION ARE YOU DOIN BACK HERE?"
"WHAT ARE YOU DOIN OUT THIS LATE?" Sawyer yelled at the same time.
However, it didn't take a genius to know by the look on Freddie's face what he was doing racing his wagon team at this time of night in the direction of home. By the sick curling of fear in his gut, he knew that Walker had found Lillian.
Freddie's face hardened as he shouted, "PAUL AND KITTY JUST SHOWED UP IN THE WAGON, SPOUTIN ABOUT A BAD MAN AND THEIR MAMA."
Rage filled him. Walker was a dead man, and Sawyer was the one that would kill him. Of that, he had no doubt, and he would take pleasure in bringing him death.
With a feral gleam in his eyes, Sawyer motioned Freddie forward. They both knew at once what must be done to get them there with all possible speed.
Freddie shouted and pulled the team ahead as Sawyer maneuvered Jethro to the side of the wagon and placed his rifle inside the bed before withdrawing his feet from the stirrups and releasing the reins.
Grabbing the sides of the wagon bed, Sawyer hoisted himself up and over into the wagon while Jethro kept his steady pace until Sawyer was at last free of the saddle.
It was unbelievable! Freddie couldn't hold back a triumphant smile when every movement of the stunt they used to practice when they were younger, actually came in handy at such a pivotal moment.
Sawyer's own heart soared as he caught his gaze and made his way to the bench seat, picking up his rifle as he climbed over and sat next to Freddie.
Glancing back at Jethro, Sawyer watched his exhausted and valiant mount slow to a tired walk, while the wagon continued at a frenzied pace toward Lillian.
Charlie opened her tired eyes and smiled at the two tear-stained faces hovering near the foot of her bed. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she could see they needed comforting, and she was more than willing to give it, even in her weakened state.
"Come here," she murmured, motioning them over and patting Freddie's empty side of the bed.
Eagerly they both rushed over and climbed up onto the mattress. Kitty nestled between her and Paul and rested her head on Charlie's chest.
Ignoring the wave of nausea that hit her, she turned on her side to lay an arm over their waists and smiled, "Snuggle with me." She brushed at the tears on their cheeks, "Everything is going to be just fine, my dears, I know it will be."
Burying her face against Charlie's chest, Kitty whispered, "But, the bad man has Mama."
Charlie caught and held Paul's gaze, "And your Mama has Freddie with his rifle."
A slow smile bent Paul's lips in understan
ding. The only thing meaner and better than Pa with a rifle was Freddie. He'd witnessed both men in action back when his old Pa was still alive, shortly after his Ma had died.
He hadn't known what to do now that the only person who loved him and Kitty had died. Their father no longer had anyone stopping him from murdering them.
Most days, their father was so deep in the grip of the liquor he imbibed, that he flew into a rage when Kitty cried in hunger, begging for another scrap of food. Paul had grabbed Kitty up, trying to calm her down before something terrible happened. Taking up his shotgun, Gabe fired near them and threatened to kill them if she didn't stop crying.
Fear had struck Paul's heart because had his father not been as drunk as he was, they'd be dead now. Not knowing what else to do, Paul escaped, with a terrified two-year-old Kitty, to their little room and quickly locked the door. Fully aware, if their father wanted to, he could either tear or shoot it down.
Once he locked the door, Paul h immediately pried up the loose floorboards, squeezing his thin frame through the opening before motioning for Kitty to crawl to him. Free of the house, he ran as fast as his spindly legs could carry them, straight over to Mr. Weston's house.
He knocked on the door so hard he was sure his bloody knuckles would break. At last, Charlie answered with a pleasant smile on her face, "Afternoon, Paul. What brings-"
"Is Mr. Weston here?" he interrupted, his voice dripping with panic.
The smile fell from Charlie's lips, "What's your Pa done? You two aren't hurt, are you?"
Paul's lips trembled, and tears fell from his eyes as he admitted, "Kitty was only crying because she was hungry, but Pa took his shotgun-"
She didn't need to hear any more. "Why, that no-good, rotten-" Charlie fumed.
Clamping her mouth shut, she took Paul and Kitty to the kitchen, setting a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk on the table in front of them as she said, "You two stay right here; Sawyer will know what to do."
