by Merry Farmer
“Emma?” Katie called after her as she passed.
Emma didn’t wait. She rushed out beyond the circle of light on the north side of the camp. She kept running as she rounded a corner to the darker, much quieter west side and kept moving to get as far away from the people and the noise, from Russ and Dean, as possible. At last she broke into a long, mournful wail.
“Emma?” Katie jogged up behind her, taking Emma straight into her arms without hesitation. “Great Jehosephat, what’s wrong?”
Emma crumpled in her friend’s arms, burying her face against Katie’s shoulder. “It’s all gone so horribly wrong.”
“Surely things can’t be as bad as all that?” Katie cooed, brushing the hair back from Emma’s face. “Is it the men?”
Emma used all the strength she had to stand straight and nod. “Mother wants me to make a match with Dr. Sandifer because if I don’t love him I can’t be hurt if anything happens to him the way Alice was hurt when Harry died,” she blurted out the whole story in one soggy gasp. “I love Dean, but he’s angry with me because I do everything my mother tells me to do.”
Katie huffed. “Men. They don’t know what’s best for them.” Emma blinked. Something about Katie’s expression was too guilty to be simple. Katie shrugged and said, “Aiden thinks he can tell me who I love, thinks he can sneak up and kiss me when I’m not expecting it and I’ll….” Her words faded off and her eyes took on a distant look.
The contrast between her friend’s words and the desire in her eyes was enough to make Emma smile. But only for a moment. She was weak and near tears again in a flash.
“How do I tell him, Katie?” she pleaded. “How can I make Dean see that I do love him, but I also love and respect my mother? He has to understand that her concern and her fears won’t last forever. Why can’t he just be patient?”
Katie’s focus returned to the conversation. “I have never once known a man to be patient. It’s not part of who they are. But they learn. They have to learn in time. And it’s our job to teach them.” Katie shifted, holding Emma at arm’s length, determination shining in her face. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You and I will go back to that dance and spend the whole night dancing with no one but each other. Not your Dean, not Aiden, and definitely not Sandifer’s Special Serum.”
A giggle escaped from Emma before she could stop it.
“We’ll show them that in the end, they don’t matter as much as a good strong friendship. In fact, we’ll—”
Her words were cut short by a blood-curdling whoop. It was followed by a second, just as loud and furious. With the cries came the thunder of hooves. Emma gasped and turned to find two Indians in full paint galloping out of the darkness toward them.
“Indians!” Katie shouted, her fear mixed with equal parts wonder and excitement. “Indians!”
Her delight vanished as the two braves continued to ride straight for them without slowing. Emma’s blood froze in her veins as their whooping cries grew louder, closer. Run, she told herself, run! But fear kept her pinned to her spot.
“Oh no!” Katie screamed. “No!”
There wasn’t time to say or do anything else. The braves reached them, slowing only enough to lean out of their saddles and grab for them. Emma was terrified, completely helpless. She did nothing, didn’t even put up a fight, as one of the braves scooped her under her arms and hoisted her up and across his saddle. She landed face-down, her stomach pressed against the horse’s shoulders.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Katie lifted up onto the other brave’s horse in a similar manner. Katie screamed and flailed and fought. The brave had his hands full securing her and his horse too. In the end he hit her across the head with something. Katie went limp. Her brave kicked his horse into a run.
Emma’s brave followed suit, and the horse under her lurched into a full run. Without care for how she sounded or how it would look, Emma screamed louder than she had ever screamed in her life.
Chapter Fourteen
The screams were loud enough to cut through the music. So were the war cries. Dean broke away from the woman who had been failing in her attempts to show him how to dance as Aiden stopped playing. Aiden let his fiddle drop to his side as he darted off the dais. He only made it a few feet before one of the militiamen sprinted around the corner from the west side of the fort.
“Injuns!” he shouted. “Injuns. Two of ’em. They made off with two women.”
Dean’s heart plummeted to his feet. Emma had run off around that corner with Katie, not three minutes ago.
“Is it an attack?” someone asked over the murmurs that followed.
“An attack?” another took up the idea.
It spun out of control. Within seconds, the mass of people on the dance floor began to scream and panic, scurrying this way and that.
“Emma!” Mrs. Sutton shouted, charging through the crowd, looking for her daughter. She reached Russ and grabbed his arm. “Where is Emma?”
“I don’t know,” Russ answered, as confused as the rest of them.
Dean cut through the crowd to her. “Emma and Katie went off around the side of the fort together,” he said. “The militiaman thinks that two Indians made off with two women.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Sutton screamed then dissolved into hysterical tears.
“That was Katie’s shout,” Aiden said, rushing to join the group. “I’d know it anywhere.”
“Then the other must have been Emma.”
Through his towering fear, the urge to take action rose in Dean’s chest. The rest of the men around them stared fearfully off into the darkness or gathered the women toward the center of the dance floor where they could be protected. Some already had weapons in their hands. Dean found the commander of the fort standing atop the musician’s dais, shouting orders to his men and to civilians alike.
“Get these people inside the fort,” he commanded. “Saddle the horses. Be on the look-out for more of them.”
“Sir!” Dean darted toward him, Aiden, Russ, and Mrs. Sutton following. “Lieutenant Barnes. We need to ride after the Indians that took the women.”
“They took Katie Boyle and Emma Sutton,” Aiden added.
Lt. Barnes spared them half a look as he gestured for his militiamen to get moving. “Did you see them taken?”
“No, but one of your scouts did,” Dean answered.
“Which one?”
Dean huffed out an impatient breath. Every second they wasted enabled Emma’s abductor to get farther away. The night was already dark. Even the full moon wouldn’t be enough to search by if they waited too long.
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “He was tall and blond, young.”
Lt. Barnes nodded. “Somebody find Pike and bring him here.”
“Yes, sir,” a voice echoed from the side of the dance floor.
“There isn’t time for this,” Aiden echoed Dean’s thoughts. “Where’s a horse? We need to go after them now.”
“I advise you to wait until a posse can be formed,” Lt. Barnes said, shaking his head as though they were debating going berry-picking.
“We can’t wait.” This time, Dean spoke to Aiden. “Do you have a horse?”
“No,” Aiden answered. “Do you?”
“No.” Dean twisted to face the lieutenant again. “Can we borrow horses from the fort to go after them?”
Lt. Barnes sighed, searching the chaos that had erupted on his turf warily. Even that was a waste of time, as far as Dean was concerned. “Fine,” Lt. Barnes said at last. “You can take whatever you need. Let my quartermaster know, though.”
“Good.” Dean touched Aiden’s arm as he started off to the side. “Get whatever horse you can find fastest.”
“Right.” Aiden darted to the side to stow the fiddle and bow that he still held in their case. He closed the case and looped it over his shoulder by its long strap.
Dean turned to Russ. “We need as many men as possible to give chase and get Emma back.”
; Russ balked, turning pale. “What are you suggesting?”
“That you come with us.” As he talked, he pressed on through the mass of people, who were now being herded around the fort to the front gate.
“I’m not going with you,” Russ said as though Dean had offended him.
It was too much. Still walking, Dean asked, “Are you as big a coward as I think you are, then? Do you care so little for Emma that you would let her be carried off into the wild without lifting a finger?” He directed his last question at Mrs. Sutton.
Poor Mrs. Sutton’s face was tear-stained a mask of fear. She clung to Russ’s arm, but Dean wasn’t sure she realized where she was, let alone who she had latched onto. Her eyes were huge and glassy in the night. His heart went out to her, but only so far.
“There’s two horses right around this way,” Aiden called to him from closer to the fort’s palisade.
“Come with us.” Dean addressed Russ one last time. “Come help rescue her.”
Russ began his reply by babbling wordlessly for several seconds before saying, “There are only two horses. I couldn’t possibly go. Besides, Mrs. Sutton here needs protection. All the women of the wagon train need protection. They’re depending on me. I must do my duty, sir.” With each new excuse, he puffed himself up more, and looked more like an overgrown peacock.
“Do what you must,” Dean muttered in disgust.
He broke away from them and rushed across the thinning crowd to where Aiden stood holding the horses. In the darkness, with nothing but flickering lanterns and the full moon to light him, the fiddle case strapped to Aiden’s back made him look like some mythical creature with two heads. Dean’s mouth twitched into a half-grin as he took the reins of one of the horses and mounted. As long as the Indians thought he had two heads and feared him for it, the fiddle could be an advantage.
“Did the scout say which direction they rode off in?” Aiden asked once he was mounted.
They urged their horses around to the far side of the fort where the girls had been. Dean shook his head. “They didn’t, but it must have been this way.”
“‘This way’ isn’t very reassuring,” Aiden said.
They kicked their horses into a run, shooting off into the night. Dean’s gut roiled with uncertainty and the very real fear that it may be impossible to find two Indians who knew the territory in the dark. There weren’t as many trees here as there had been where he’d grown up, but they were in the mountains and the terrain was uncertain. His horse must have sensed that its rider didn’t know where he was going. It hesitated at his commands, but ran fast with sure feet over the dips and hills beyond the fort. If it weren’t for the bright, full moon, they would have been lost in more ways than one.
They had only been riding for ten minutes when Aiden gave a strangled shout at his side. “Look.” He pointed ahead through the darkness.
There, a long way away in front of them and over to the left, Dean saw the clear outline of two Indian braves on horseback with wide bundles in front of them. One of the bundles struggled as the Indian handled her.
“It’s them,” he shouted, and leaned low over the neck of his horse to run faster.
Aiden followed, and in a flash the two of them were tearing off across the distance that separated them from their targets. The Indians had stopped for some reason. As Dean and Aiden grew closer, Dean could make out details of the women each one had. The one who struggled, kicking and flailing, had bright golden hair that shone in the moonlight—Emma. Katie lay limp over the front of her brave’s horse.
“Katie!” Aiden shouted, fury in his voice.
His cry alerted the braves that they were being chased. They suddenly sat straighter in their saddles. The one who had Katie shot off to the right, rounding the crest of a small hill and disappearing on the other side. Aiden cried out in fury and galloped after him.
Emma screamed as the brave who had her pushed his horse to run in the opposite direction. He tore off along the line of a valley, slipping just out of sight. Dean gave chase, riding like he’d never ridden before. In seconds, Aiden disappeared over the crest of the hill, leaving him alone to pursue Emma and her abductor.
In the darkness, the landscape seemed even more foreign. As desperately as Dean wanted to let his horse run full speed, fast enough to catch the brave, he had to be cautious. One false move, one missed step by his horse, and he could be thrown, which would put him behind or worse. He kept low to his horse’s neck, studying the path in front of him in the bright moonlight. All the while, the Indian tore on, inching farther and farther away.
It was only a matter of time before Dean lost sight of the Indian altogether.
Emma stopped screaming when her throat was so sore it seemed to be on fire and her lungs had no more breath in them. When the braves paused, the one who had taken her wrestled her into a sitting position in front of him. For a moment she thought riding astride would be far better than being slung across the horse’s shoulders like a sack. Then she realized that with her riding properly, the horse could move much faster. Under the circumstances, that was dreadful.
The brave was silent as they galloped over one hill after another. They dodged around bushes and stands of trees, across narrow streams and past boulders. Even though her breath had run out, Emma tried to struggle. She twisted this way and that, desperate to look over her shoulder to see if Dean was still following. He had to be. He loved her. He wouldn’t let her be taken like this.
The brave shouted something at her in a language she didn’t understand and squeezed her tighter. She fought against him for a moment, until the movement of the horse and their speed as they ran threw her off-balance. She tipped to the side so sharply that she screamed again, in spite of her sore throat. The brave caught her and pushed her to sit upright.
After that, Emma was still. She clung to the horse’s mane. It wore only a simple bridle and nothing as complicated as the saddles that the horses in the wagon train had worn. The brave rode well, though. So well that when he pulled the horse to stop—after what seemed like hours—he managed to dismount in one fluid motion.
Emma leaned to the side to dismount herself. The brave stopped her with a shout and a hand to her arm. He pushed her back to the center of the horse, continuing to talk at her in a stern voice. She didn’t understand a word, but she could tell his tone was an order. She wasn’t to leave the horse.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t twist to look behind her, searching for Dean. Evidently, the brave was looking for him as well as he held his horse’s bridle in a strong grip. He flicked his head this way and that, tension pouring off of him as he scanned the horizon.
Where are you, Dean? Emma called out to him with her heart. Help me. Find me.
But the night was silent. The only sound was the wind in the trees near them and the trickle of the stream they had been riding beside. The full moon was bright enough to make out a good portion of the landscape, but every way Emma turned, there was nothing but the silhouettes of nature and dark shadows to match. Somewhere in the distance, a wildcat called, shrill and frightening. Emma hugged herself, willing Dean to appear over one of the hills behind her.
The brave stood and watched for several long minutes. Slowly, his tension lessened, and he returned to the horse.
“Let me go,” Emma pleaded with him, shrinking away as he grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane in front of her. “I’m of no use to you.”
The brave planted his other hand on the horse’s back behind her and mounted with a strength that made Emma’s blood run cold. He was bigger than her, stronger than her. Whatever he wanted to do to her, he had the power to do. She had heard far too many stories of the uprisings of Indians in the West during the last few years. Fear left her shaking.
“Please,” she begged him again. “Please let me go.”
The brave didn’t answer. He barely looked at her. He nudged his horse to walk, crossing through the stream and up a slight bank on the other side. Then, with one
sharp, “Ha!” he tapped the horse to run.
There was nothing Emma could do but hold on and weep as they galloped on across the night landscape. She couldn’t stop her imagination from painting pictures of what might happen to her next, each more gruesome than the last. She drooped as she sat, praying that Dean was still behind them somewhere.
She wasn’t sure how long they had been riding or if she had fallen asleep when the tang of a campfire scented the air. The subtle change snapped her to attention. She hadn’t been aware of the brave slowing the horse to a walk. Ahead, she could just make out the flickering orange light of a fire. It wasn’t big, but it was more than just moonlight. They had come to something, reached some sort of destination. She listened for voices, but silence prevailed.
They rode into a thick stand of trees, dappled by moonlight, and suddenly came across a single tipi. The darkness and foliage camouflaged it, as big as it was. In front, a small campfire was burning. An old man sat before it, murmuring to himself in a way that sounded almost like a song.
When the brave pulled the horse to a stop and dismounted, the old man stopped his song and glanced up at him. He said something in a low, tired voice. The brave answered him with rough, curt tones. He swung around to reach for Emma, dragging her off the horse whether she was ready or not.
When her feet hit the ground, she stumbled, falling to her knees. The brave didn’t stoop to help her up. Instead he took the horse by its bridle and walked it away. Emma was left staring across the campfire at the old man.
He stared right back at her, his face a mask of wrinkles, his eyes wide with shock. He said something to her that sounded like a question.
“Please,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “Please take me home. I want to go back to my mother, to Dean. Please let me go.”
The old man said something else, his shock melting into a troubled frown. More than anything, Emma wished she could understand what he was saying.
“I don’t understand you,” she wept. “Don’t you speak any English?”
