With nimble fingers, she unhooked the mochila and lifted it onto Cyclops. The big horse snorted but stood still.
“We’re going for the doctor.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “And we’ll make sure Conn’s packet is delivered.”
“What’s taking so long?” Stewart appeared in the doorway to the cabin.
“I put Patch in the lean-to.”
“Good thinking.”
“I’m going to Fort Laramie.”
“No.” He reached toward her.
She vaulted into the saddle, reining Cyclops away from him. “I have to.”
Stewart looked into the cabin and then back at her. He nodded. “Let me pray over you and Cyclops first.”
Stunned by the request, she said nothing while he grabbed the black horse’s bridle and murmured a prayer she only half heard. He was wasting time they didn’t have. God didn’t care about the Fagans. And yet, a tiny part inside of her whispered, Amen.
When he released Cyclops, she turned the horse and drummed her heels against his side.
“You can’t run him the whole way! You’ll kill him.” Stewart’s shout followed them down the road.
Stewart watched the black horse until he blended into the distance. Maybe it was best she’d left. Bergman wouldn’t be far behind Conn. The boy couldn’t have ridden very fast with that bullet in his side. A groan from the cabin shook him out of his thoughts.
Conn groaned again as Stewart stepped inside.
“Water.”
Stewart grabbed a cup and dipped water into it from the bucket beside the stove. He knelt beside Conn and lifted him just enough so the boy could drink. After two gulps, he took the cup away.
“More.”
“Not now. I’ll give you more in a bit.” Too much water too soon could come back up. That wouldn’t do the bullet wound any good.
“Alannah?”
“She’s on her way to Fort Laramie.”
“Good.” Conn went limp against his arm.
Stewart eased him down and pressed his neck, then drew in a ragged breath when the heartbeat pulsed against his fingers. The rope ladder dangled at the foot of the bed. There was no way Stewart could carry the boy up there without reopening the wound. With as much blood as Conn had shed already, something like that could kill him.
The root cellar? Lanny had hidden down there for a whole night. But what if the boy groaned at the wrong time? No. If Bergman searched the cabin and didn’t find Conn, he’d ride for Fort Laramie.
Toward Lanny.
A break in the trees lining the riverbank made a good watering place. Alannah should have grabbed a canteen before leaving the cabin. Pa would have skinned her for forgetting that. But the river was never far from the trail, and Cyclops needed water as much as she did. The dust graying his hide had to be clogging his throat as much as it did hers.
Her feet hit the hard ground and pain jolted her stiff muscles. Rubbing the back of her legs, she let Cyclops drink his fill. The angle of the sun said they’d been going for more than an hour. When the horse lifted his dripping muzzle, she tied him to a scrubby tree with a patch of dried grass under it. While he cropped the meager offering, she bathed her face and neck in the stream and drank enough of the cool water to clear her throat. Then she sat back on her heels.
Had Hugh reached Horseshoe Station yet?
A shudder shook her in spite of the warm sun beating against her back. Stewart had stood up to Hugh not once, but twice. Stewart didn’t know the man, hadn’t heard of the vengeful things he’d done in Kentucky, but he had seen the work of Hugh’s fist against her face. Any man who would do that…
Alannah forced herself to rest for another ten minutes. She would do Conn no good if she ran her horse into the ground before reaching Fort Laramie.
She untied the reins and leaped into the saddle. Cyclops found his stride before she got her right foot into the stirrup. He knew his business.
Smoke sketched a lazy feather of white against the darkening sky. That must be Cottonwood Station. Cyclops picked up his pace. Riders generally charged into the stations, and the horses knew their reward of grain and grooming awaited. But Alannah wasn’t a Pony rider. She slowed Cyclops to a walk. The big horse danced sideways and pulled on the bit. It took all her strength to keep control. Finally, he dropped his head and obeyed.
“Good boy.” She stroked his damp neck. “We have to be careful.”
The buildings were shaped differently than Horseshoe. The corrals looked the same, but there were more horses in them. Too many. Could the Bergmans’ horses be down there? She needed to stay out of sight. To her right ran a shallow ravine, pockmarked with rock outcroppings and a scattering of trees. It probably filled with water in the spring but was dry now. She eased Cyclops down into it. Alannah slipped from the saddle and led the tall horse. She was thankful for dusk’s arrival to cover their movements.
A dog barked. She cupped her hand over Cyclops’s nose. He nuzzled her palm but didn’t answer the dog with a nicker. Another bark, more faint. The animal had moved away from them. Tension oozed from her shoulders like snow melting off a sun-warmed roof.
They continued along the ravine until it leveled out. Darkness had spread, and she could see a faint light in the station’s window when she mounted her horse. Turning Cyclops toward Fort Laramie, she let him pick his own pace, a ground-eating trot. Galloping in the dark was foolish, even for the Pony Express horses that knew the route well.
They continued as night’s inky blackness enveloped them. Cyclops slowed to a walk. Alannah’s head bobbed forward. She jerked it back. She stretched as much as she could in the saddle, forcing movement through her weary muscles. She tried to peer through the gloom but could see only a few feet ahead. On her own, she’d be lost.
She patted the black horse’s neck. “You’re my only hope.”
Cyclops’s bit jingled in the night’s stillness.
With the moon and stars hidden behind thick clouds, she lost all track of time. Lulled by the horse’s motion, her head slipped forward again.
The horse jerked his head up, his neck smacking into Alannah’s forehead.
She gasped and grabbed the saddle to catch her balance.
The big gelding sucked in a deep breath and loosed a nicker, his sides quivering beneath her legs. Another nicker answered. He picked up his pace.
Star Ranch must be straight ahead, the last Pony Express station before Fort Laramie. The stationmaster might recognize Cyclops. She didn’t dare stop and risk being accused of stealing the horse.
Darkness was both friend and foe. She couldn’t see well enough to risk going around the station. If she got off the road, she might not find it again. At least a black horse was difficult to see at night.
Cyclops jigged in a circle, anxious to reach the station. Alannah had her hands full slowing him to a steady walk. If they could walk on past, maybe nobody would hear them and come looking. The big horse wasn’t happy. He pulled on the bit and half reared as the buildings came into sight.
Not a flicker of light shone from the windows. Not a dog barked. Alannah would have let out a sigh of relief, but her hands were full trying to keep Cyclops on the road. The gelding fought her in front of the cabin. He stamped and snorted.
“Who’s out there?” Hinges squeaked. Feet thumped against wood.
Fear sluiced through Alannah’s veins. She yanked the right rein with all her might, cranking the horse’s head away from the cabin. Light sprang forth as someone lit a lantern. She flattened herself atop Cyclops’s neck and smacked his rump with the ends of the reins.
Heat seeped through the cloth Stewart used to mop sweat from Conn’s face. Fever. He didn’t know much about doctoring, but fever was never good.
Stewart walked to the window and stared into the darkness. Zeus lay snoozing by the door. The shotgun hung above it, the Sharps rifle stood in the corner, and his Colt Dragoon pistol lay on the table. All three were loaded.
A crash sent his heart to his to
es and back. The wall of the cabin rattled. Patch was kicking up a fuss about being left in the lean-to. He might as well turn the horse into a corral. The night would hide him well enough. He grabbed the pistol and tucked it behind his belt.
Zeus followed him outside. He untied Patch and led him around to the corral. Dampness lingered in the darkness; the scent of skunk drifted through the night air.
“Here, Zeus.”
The dog ambled over and sat by his side. Stewart combed his fingers through the dog’s fur.
Lord, watch over the girl tonight. Keep her safe. Bring the doctor back as quickly as possible and keep Conn alive until he gets here.
Doc Rawlings wasn’t just a good doctor. He was also a crack shot. He might come in handy for both reasons.
Lights pierced the darkness ahead. Relief surged life into Alannah’s stiffened muscles. It had to be the fort. Cyclops, who had slowed to a walk for the past half hour, picked his feet up a little quicker. His ears pitched forward. It had to be Fort Laramie. The horse lumbered into a weary canter. She let him go, eager to arrive and find the doctor.
Then the horse dropped from under her as the ground rushed up to meet her. Alannah hit on her shoulder and flopped onto her back, pain screaming down her right hip and leg. Cyclops, down on his knees, heaved himself back to his feet, one hind leg held aloft. He limped toward the fort.
“Come back here.” The croak that left her throat wouldn’t have summoned anyone, much less an exhausted, hungry horse twice denied his grain and rest.
The lights from the fort blurred in her vision. Distance was hard to gauge in the dark, but it had to be a half mile away.
Alannah pushed herself onto her stomach. Her left shoulder burned like fire. Her leg resisted her efforts to draw it up. Forehead on the ground, the taste of Wyoming’s dust on her tongue, the fury she’d carried with her since her mother’s death dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs. Tears dripped from the end of her nose. She bunched her fists together under her chest and cried out to God.
“Why don’t You love me?” Another sob shook her battered frame. “Ma always said You loved us, but You don’t.” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her dirty shirt. Reduced to a soggy, broken mess, she called out to a God she’d sworn never to talk to again. She squeezed her eyes shut. A God she believed in, in spite of everything. In spite of not wanting to. A God who could save Conn’s life.
“Please. Save my brother.”
A warm whuff of air tousled her shorn locks. She lifted her head. A velvety black nose pressed close to hers.
“Cyclops, you came back.” Wonder filled her. Awe. Nothing but an answer to her prayer could have brought the black horse back. “Thank You, God.”
With strength that didn’t come from herself, Alannah climbed to her feet. Her right leg almost buckled, but she grabbed the saddle. She straightened her leg. Not broken, just jarred in the fall. Moving her left arm, however, was out of the question.
“Hold still, boy.” She took another deep breath and grasped the saddle horn with her right hand. She wedged her left foot into the stirrup and hauled herself into the saddle. Cyclops stood like an oak tree, rooted to the spot.
She lifted the reins, and the horse moved out at a walk, his gate uneven as he favored a back leg.
“I’m sorry to add my weight to your injury.” She stroked his sweaty neck. “But it’s for Conn.”
The gelding stepped into an uneven trot that shot pain into Alannah’s shoulder with each step, but she didn’t slow him down.
A guard stopped her at the entrance to the fort’s parade ground. “Halt.”
“I’ve come from Horseshoe Station. There’s been a shooting. We need the doctor. Now.” Alannah slid from the saddle, and darkness closed over her.
Chapter Nine
She’s comin’ ’round.”
An unfamiliar voice with its underlying urgency corresponded with the restlessness of Alannah’s spirit. Her body begged to return to the depths of sleep, but her mind rebelled. There was something she must—
“Conn.”
“What did she say?” A new voice rang with authority.
Softness cushioned her. A bed. She tried to rise up on her elbows, but white-hot agony tore through her left shoulder. A blurry and bearded face hovered above her.
“Easy, missy.” Firm hands pushed her back to the mattress. “I jus’ put that shoulder back in place. Don’t be foulin’ all me hard work now.”
Irish colored the bearded man’s speech.
“Doctor,” she said.
“Who do ya think?”
Alannah rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “Horseshoe Station needs a doctor. My brother…Pony rider…shot.”
“When?” The voice with authority again.
She blinked.
A clean-shaven man in uniform stepped beside the doctor. His blue eyes pinned her to the bed.
She coughed to clear her throat. The doctor eased her up and held a cup of water to her lips. She gulped three swallows and then shook her head.
“Yesterday. The bullet is still in him. He needs a doctor.”
“I’ll need yer wagon and a six-horse hitch,” the doctor said.
The officer nodded to the bearded man. “I haven’t a man to spare to drive you. Can you handle six?”
The doctor pushed to his feet. “Sure, and I was drivin’ six before ya could pull on yer own boots.”
“Hitch the bays. Be quick about it.” The officer barked over his shoulder to someone behind him. Boots thumped across the wooden floor in response. The officer turned back to her.
“You came in with the Pony Express packet. There was valuable information in it. We owe you a debt. You can stay here until your shoulder heals.”
“No.” This time Alannah struggled to a sitting position, ignoring the stars that swirled in her vision. “I must return. He might already be there.”
“Who?” the officer and the doctor asked as one.
“Hugh Bergman. He shot Conn.” She rubbed her forehead again, trying to clear her thoughts.
The officer pivoted to the doctor. “You could be riding into danger, and I can’t spare you a single man.”
“Spare me a rifle then, and I’ll take care of the rest. But you, missy, stay put.” The doctor pointed at the floor.
“No. I’ll follow on my own if I must.”
“I’ve not an extra man to assign as babysitter either, I’m afraid.” The officer shook his head.
“Ah, that red hair is no joke. She’d be doin’ it.”
Within half an hour, Doc Rawlings assisted Alannah onto the high-seated buckboard. They’d exchanged introductions as he stuffed a carpetbag full of things he might need. The officer’s rifle lay tucked on a blanket beneath the seat.
“Let’s go.” Doc cracked the reins as the sun broke free of the eastern horizon.
Six horses in daylight, under the guidance of someone who knew where he was going, made short work of the miles she and Cyclops had traversed in the dark. They thundered past Star Ranch while still in the cool of the morning.
“We’ll water ’em at Cottonwood. No sense slowin’ down till we must.”
The doctor’s lilting Irish intrigued her. “You’re from Ireland?”
“Sure and I am.”
“And you…” She fumbled for a way to ask what was on her heart.
“And I what?”
“You’re a doctor here. A respected man.”
“Aye, that I am.”
“My pa was Irish. People said…” How could she voice the hurt embedded in her soul from the words of others?
“Ah, and he took it on the chin, did he now?” The doctor’s hazel eyes glimmered with understanding. “I’ve seen it happen, so I have. But being useful makes up for a lot of things, including the ignorance of others. With so many doctors serving in the war, it’s grateful they are to have me around Fort Laramie. This is a country where ya can make yer own way if yer useful. Don’t forget that.”
God,
please. You brought me through last night. Let me be useful in helping Conn.
Zeus stood, and Stewart shot to his feet. The big dog stretched and yawned before turning around and collapsing with a sigh by the door.
Stewart ground his teeth. If he got any more jumpy, he’d wind up on the roof.
He rinsed out a cloth and exchanged it for the one on Conn’s forehead that had warmed with his fever. The boy hadn’t stirred in the last two hours. If the doctor didn’t come, Stewart would have to try and dig that bullet out. The boy would die if he didn’t and maybe if he did.
He grabbed the pistol off the table and again shoved it behind his belt at the center of his back. He needed to saddle a horse for the morning rider.
Zeus rose and followed him outside. The sun was still a couple hours shy of noon, but the day was heating up. Dust puffed along the road to the east.
Stewart walked a few strides from the cabin. There was too much dust for a single rider, and whoever was coming was moving fast. Conn had been shot west of Horseshoe. Bergman should arrive from that direction, but so much time had passed. The man may have circled around.
Stewart jogged back to the cabin, made sure that Conn hadn’t moved, and then grabbed his rifle. He checked the gun’s load before stepping outside. As ready as he could be, he watched the dust cloud approach. Then the jingle of harness and rattle of wheels lifted his spirit.
Help had arrived.
Alannah released a rushed breath when Stewart came into view. He stood before the cabin door, both hands on the rifle held across his body. He wouldn’t be standing guard unless Conn was still alive. They’d made it in time.
Doc hauled back on the reins, and six lathered horses slowed to a stop.
Alannah launched herself from the buckboard seat before the wheels finished their last turn. She hit the ground, her sore leg buckling beneath her. Stewart grabbed the back of her oversized shirt and stopped her headlong tumble to the dirt.
“Whoa there.” His hands shifted to her shoulders.
The Pony Express Romance Collection Page 56
