Untamed Journey

by Eden Carson

  “After the robbers left and the Marshals came, there were passengers running around everywhere. Screaming, fainting, and complaining, every last one. Most that had horses came back right quick and demanded I turn them over. When I was taking one of the last mounts to the dandy that owned him, I seen this woman come out of the livestock car, with your Paint behind her. Now, I didn’t see you, but remembered you got on the train together, so I didn’t think she was stealing or nothing. Honest.”

  “You’re sure it was the same woman?” Smith asked.

  “I’m sure. Folks don’t much notice me, but I notice them. Have to remember whose horse is whose, or I’ll lose my job. She was with you when you gave the horse over to the conductor. I figured she was your wife or somethin’ and wasn’t stealing. You can’t say different.”

  “I won’t say nothin’ so long as you tell me where she took my horse,” Smith promised.

  “I’m getting there,” the kid insisted. “She saddled up the horse, took some grain and water, and took off after Marshal Jackson. He’d just left to track the robbers that got away.”

  “You’re telling me a U.S. Marshal took her with him?” The doubt in Smith’s voice was clear.

  “Yes sir,” the kid nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey bribe. “And I ain’t lying. But they didn’t leave together. She just took off after him. I saw her talking to him and his partner first. And then she came back for the horse and left, maybe ten minutes behind.”

  Smith mulled over the information, confused by Ruth’s actions. No woman in her right mind would cry rape on the way to a new husband. And even so, why go to the Marshal when she could have just finished Smith off in the chaos of the robbery? That’s what he would have done.

  “Where were they headed?” Smith asked.

  “Due north. Folks said they were tracking the robbers. So I can’t tell you where they ended up.”

  “Then how are you going to earn the rest of this bottle?” Smith asked, holding the whiskey just out of reach.

  “I’m getting there. Like I said, I know that Marshal. He has family working for the railroad, so I figured he was helping out his kin. His name’s Jackson. He has a ranch near the Army Post at Fort Lyon. If he caught them robbers, that’s where he would have taken them to wait for the circuit judge. If your lady friend was with him, then that must be where she went too.”

  Smith was so relieved to have a lead on Masterson’s missing wife that he handed the kid his whiskey with a genuine smile and abandoned his plan to beat the youngster. “Get me some food and water – enough to get me to Fort Lyon.”

  “My pleasure, Mister,” the skinny kid ambled off toward the supply room, whiskey and pistol in hand.

  Chapter 50

  Ruth jumped at the chance to accompany Sue on her trip to Fort Lyon. Not only was she fascinated with Sue’s new business, and anxious to learn all she could from the enterprising woman, but it would also give her a little breathing room from Jackson’s unapologetic seduction. She couldn’t think straight when he walked into the room. And since she was living in his home, he had every opportunity to charm her on a daily basis.

  Ruth placed the last of her borrowed clothes into her leather satchel, wondering how she’d ever manage to earn money to buy food for herself, much less new clothing. A few days on the trail with Sue’s ever-practical view on life should give Ruth a chance to clear her head and come up with a plan. Her life had been in upheaval from the moment her dear aunt signed Ruth’s future away to a stranger.

  This time, Ruth intended to plot her own course. Whether or not the irresistible Jackson would be part of that future was not clear. She hoped a few days with her own thoughts might gain her some perspective.

  Ruth heard Sue calling her name from the front of the house. She rushed over to the window and called down, “I’ll be right there.”

  She hurried over to the bed and pulled out her pistol, which she had kept loaded at all times since her fatal encounter with Jasper Smith. This was one habit she would never break, she thought, no matter what the future held in store.

  She pushed thoughts of Smith out of her mind with a pure force of will she’d learned during the War. She’d watched more than one neighbor slowly starve to death, clinging to a way of life that would never come again. Ruth had learned that the inability to act and move forward could kill you just as surely as a Yankee bullet. It just took longer, and was no doubt a great deal more painful.

  She carefully un-wrapped the last few coins she had and promised herself it would be enough to start fresh. She set her borrowed leather hat at a jaunty angle and gave herself the gift of only looking forward from that moment on. She grabbed the small satchel off the bed and left the room with a smile on her face.

  As she raced down the stairs, Ruth ran straight into Jackson, all smiles himself. “Allow me.” Jackson took her small bag and offered his arm.

  “I don’t have time for any lengthy goodbyes, Jackson. Sue’s waiting for me,” Ruth insisted.

  “Then we’ll have to dispense with my usual seductive wit and get right to the goodbye part.”

  Before she could respond, Jackson tugged on her arm with just enough force to pull her off balance and straight into his arms for a kiss.

  Ruth felt the force of Jackson’s heat along the entire length of her body as he slowly ran his hands down her backside, tugging her curves more tightly into his embrace. His thick hair curled into her hands with a life of its own, while she languished in the scent of man and soap.

  Jackson pulled her closer, wanting the feel of her softness against him one last time before she left. He took her lips gently now, barely touching their smooth surface with his rougher skin. “Miss me, Ruth.”

  She opened her eyes at his words and gazed deeply, wondering if aligning herself with yet another male were the right choice.

  “I’ll think about it,” she responded, more to her own thoughts than Jackson’s words.

  His black eyes slanted at the less than passionate statement, and he decided he’d better persuade his future wife with more relentless skill. “You’ll think about it?” Jackson questioned, with a gleam in his eye. It was that glint which made Ruth start squirming for her release—she could hear Sue’s footsteps approaching, and didn’t want to get caught alone with him.

  “Sue’s coming. You have to put me down, Jackson.”

  “Sue can wait,” he retorted, as he pulled her retreating figure back into his arms.

  Ruth half-laughingly ended up with her back to Jackson’s muscled chest as she protested, “You’ll shock Sue.”

  “I might embarrass you, but Sue’s been married twice over. She won’t be shocked by my seduction, or by your enjoyment of it.”

  Before Ruth could think of a suitable response, she felt Jackson’s hands envelop her breasts in warmth and all thought fled. He cupped both fully from underneath, stroking lightly across the surface of her wool dress, until he captured both quickly hardening nipples at their base. He gently clasped each nipple between two fingers, sliding from the base to the tips. She could feel each stroke in the pit of her stomach, and reflexively leaned into Jackson’s caress, suddenly not caring who saw them.

  He pushed her lush hair slowly off her neck, exposing it to his mouth as he placed light kisses along the nape. He settled his mouth more forcefully at the apex of her collarbone and clasped that surprisingly sensitive flesh in his teeth. The light scraping over her bare skin instantly brought a rush of wet to Ruth’s heated thighs, and a groan from deep in her throat.

  Jackson smiled wickedly. He stepped away from Ruth just as Sue entered the house.

  “We’re wasting daylight, you two. The time to cuddle is at night, when there’s no work to be done.”

  Sue’s matter-of-fact acceptance of Ruth and Jackson’s obvious activities did nothing to lessen Ruth’s embarrassment.

  Jackson laughed in masculine pride as Ruth’s blush increased, even though Sue had turned and walked back out to pull the wagon ar
ound. He placed one last quick, hard kiss on Ruth’s reddened lips. “Don’t forget to think about me, even if just a little.”

  His glowing eyes told Ruth a token protest would be laughable. They both knew she’d do nothing but think about Jackson the entire wagon ride.

  Chapter 51

  “So have you decided to marry that man, or are you still trying him on for size?” Sue asked, barely five minutes into their seven hour journey.

  “Why, I just –”. Ruth was at a complete loss for words, not sure of one single thing about her present or future at this point.

  “You’re just what, girl?” Sue prompted. “You’re just waiting? For what – a handsome prince to come rescue you from making a decision? Or guidance from the Almighty in your dreams? It’s not going to happen. You can survive out here, more than likely, just letting others toss you this way and that, or you can choose your own path, and truly live. That’s the only real dream the West offers – the promise to choose. Don’t waste it.”

  “But what if I make the wrong choice – again?” Ruth didn’t realize she’d spoken her thoughts out loud until Sue pulled up on the reins to stop the wagon.

  “Ruth, I can only promise you this. No matter what choice you make, you’re only determining the beginning. You don’t know what life’s going to bring you ten minutes from now, much less ten years. You might pick a poor man who strikes it rich. You might pick a rich man who loses everything to drink. You need to first determine your own path. Find a way to feed and clothe you and yours. There is no quicker path to a life of misery than facing no choice but a bad husband, or a life of prostitution.”

  Sue shook the reins and started down the road once again before continuing. “Once you have your own power to survive, you can focus on living. All you can do is choose an honest man and a strong one. There’s not much in the way of rules out here, which can be really good or especially bad, particularly for a woman. It gives us choices we couldn’t have dreamed of back home. But with this independence comes the responsibility of choosing. You can’t count on anyone else for your happiness, nor blame them for your misery.”

  “Would you choose Jackson for your own daughter?” Ruth asked with equal candor.

  “I’d expect my daughter to make her own choices, but if asked, I’d surely recommend him,” Sue replied. “He’s strong and he won’t cheat on you. If you have that as your foundation, you’ve at least got a fighting chance.”

  “You’ve known Jackson all his life, so I can see how you’d be able to recommend him to me. But how do you know I’d be good for him?” Ruth inquired, with guilt niggling at her conscience.

  Sue clucked at the horses as they headed up a particularly steep part of the trail. “It’s true I haven’t known you long, but I’ve lived many years and have learned how to judge a person’s character in short order. You work hard and never hesitate to lend a hand. You had the gumption to follow your dreams out here and keep on going, even after being held up on a train. You helped Jackson save some of those passengers, make no mistake about it. That gang is pure evil, killing for the sake of killing. That means you’ve got the strength to match Jackson’s. You’re fair and kind. You didn’t judge Catherine poorly when many so-called ladies would have. As for honesty, I see shadows in your eyes, but no meanness.”

  Ruth glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact.

  “I know you’ve got a past. Maybe one you’re not proud of and feel a need to hide. And that’s your right. The same could be said of everyone here, including me – including Jackson. He did some things in the War he’s never spoken about since. Not once to me, to his brother, or to Old Mike. It doesn’t make him a liar or a cheat to have done bad things. All men are capable of doing bad things when the world’s gone to hell. Women, too. Just don’t let that guilt poison your future. If you can grab one, don’t hesitate. Life’s too short. And Jackson won’t wait forever.”

  Chapter 52

  “We’ve been waiting going on forever for someone to show up. I think the Widow Thornton was telling tales just to get a look at you in your long underwear, old man.” Emmett didn’t bother muffling his laugh, figuring they had been misled.

  “Patience, boy, patience,” Mike cautioned. “Your brother has gone to the Widow Thornton before, and she hasn’t let us down yet. She might be a bit touched in the head when I’m in the room, but her information is rock solid.”

  “Old man, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were just a bit flattered by your ability to distract our zealous queen from her mission.”

  The smallest grin showed through the gap in the old man’s front teeth, courtesy of a jealous husband some twenty years before. “A body never gets too old to appreciate a bit of genuine flattery.”

  Emmett started to reply when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He signaled Mike to immediate silence and both grew perfectly still, allowing only eye movement to scan their surroundings.

  Mike tapped Emmett on the hand when he spotted the approaching riders.

  There were three armed men, riding single file. They were approaching at a slow pace from the southwest.

  Emmett quickly absorbed the fact that two of the riders were armed with repeating rifles, and the third carried a six shooter. Although the men were well armed, their horses walked sluggishly, with heads bowed and unsteady feet. The fools had stopped to buy more ammunition and fix a bent shoe, but failed to properly rest their horses.

  Emmett recognized the immediate advantage, as he and Mike had re-mounted fresh horses at the insistence of the blacksmith. Sven had not wanted his efforts to go in vain, so had loaned them the mounts at no charge.

  The extra speed had allowed them to take a chance and ride ahead of the tracks they’d followed from the blacksmith’s place. There were only two likely locations for the outlaws to hole up and wait for the rest of their men. The first was too close to the main trail to be a good bet. It was an abandoned railroad stop that many settlers used as a rest stop to water and feed stock as they took their wagons west.

  The only alternative was a dugout that sat at the edge of Indian Territory. Its location kept it unused most nights. Only the occasional lost traveler, surprised by bad weather, would stay over until better conditions allowed them to head in the other direction.

  He and Mike had bet on it being a worthwhile risk for men being pursued by the law. They had gone to ground for the past six hours, waiting to see if they’d guessed right.

  Mike had chosen their location. It placed any rider heading from the main trail to the dugout along a course that edged a steep ravine, too sandy to safely travel on horseback.

  The three riders took the direct route as expected, placing them with their backs to the ravine and directly in Mike and Emmett’s line of sight.

  Emmett looked to Mike for the go ahead. When he got the nod, he yelled out the required warning. “Stop where you are. This is the Marshal Service and we’re taking you into custody.”

  The Mexican was the quickest to react. He slid off his horse, using the animal for cover as his two companions opened fire. The two end riders stayed mounted while they fired off several rounds with their repeating rifles.

  Mike took careful aim and plucked the closest man from his saddle with one shot. Five wild shots in rapid succession were still misses, and no match for one carefully placed bullet from his trusted musket.

  The horse of Bear Standish froze when Mike’s kill shot whizzed by and outright panicked when his foolish rider dug in his spurs. The horse bolted and quickly lost his footing in the sandy clay along the ravine’s edge. Horse and rider tumbled over, crashing straight into the Mexican, who was on foot, firing off shots from his pistol over the back of his horse.

  Emmett mounted his well-trained horse in one leap and charged the flailing mass of horseflesh and outlaws. He closed the gap in three quick strides and had both men dead in their tracks with his shotgun cocked and ready. “Don’t move, or you’ll join your friend over there,”
he warned.

  Mike ran up from the left side, closing off any possible escape route save a hundred-foot drop onto jagged rocks.

  “Weapons on the ground, or we’ll gut shoot you here and leave you to rot for the winter,” Mike warned as he closed the distance to the men.

  Bear dropped his rifle immediately, having seen first-hand the effects of gangrene. His great strength had earned him a spot for most of the War carting wounded men to the nearest field hospital where ninety percent would lie in the muggy heat while their wounds festered in the mud. He had an irrational fear of gangrene. To this day, he’d break out in a cold sweat at the smell of rotten meat.

  The Mexican remained on the ground, already unarmed when Bear’s horse ran him down. “You fool! We could have taken them.”

  “Don’t want to die slowly. You heard them.”

  “They will not shoot you in cold blood,” the Mexican scoffed. “They cannot. Not with those tin stars pinned to their chests. Besides, you are already bleeding.”

  Bear looked himself over and saw a slow trickle of blood leaking down his left boot. He quickly sat down and pulled off his boot to assess the damage.

  Mike rounded up their guns. He unloaded them and packed them into his saddlebags.

  “That wound looks pretty bad, Bear,” Emmett remarked, as he slowly rolled himself a smoke. “We should get you to a doctor, quick, before it starts to putrefy.”

  Bear couldn’t hide the beads of sweat that started to trickle down from the brim of his hat.

  “You keep your mouth shut, you hear me Bear?” the Mexican hissed. “That is just a scratch. You will be fine. They have to take us over to the Fort and they have doctors there that can fix you up.”

  Mike accepted Emmett’s offer of a cigarette, shaking his head. “No sir. I know for a fact the Doc’s doing the circuit. Snow’s comin’ soon and he always makes a last round of the farms that’ll get packed in for the duration. I expect by now he’s a good three days ride from the Fort.”