****
Smith returned from the dry goods store with some britches, a chambray shirt, men’s underdrawers and a pair of brogans. “I got boy’s sizes that looked about right. If something don’t fit we can trade it for another. Sorry about the drawers. I didn’t…I mean, I couldn’t…” He flushed and turned away. “I’ll leave ye be to change.”
The thought of his big, blackened hands fumbling around through women’s unmentionables made her laugh. That she could still do so filled her with hope.
What he called britches fit good over the drawers, but the shirt was too tight over the corset, and gaped open between the buttons.
“You sure look funny.” Tyra tugged down the hem of the shirt, but there was no improvement. “Why don’t you take off that hateful corset? I haven’t worn one since we got here,” she bragged. “I’ll unlace it if you want.”
“Well, I suppose so.”
“It sure feels good to be free of the thing.”
“You don’t think it’s wicked?”
Tyra cupped her small breasts with both hands. “Well, it may be. Reckon that’s why it feels so good to be free of the nasty thing?” She flicked a nipple with one thumb and grinned.
“Tyra Duncan, shame on you.”
The child only giggled.
“What you two up to in there?” Smith said from where he waited with his back turned.
“Just finishing up,” Wilda told him, and unbuttoned her shirt.
“Hooray for you.” Tyra danced up and down.
Together they removed the corset and she re-buttoned the shirt. Her nipples stood out against the fabric. She cupped her breasts, regarded the results for a moment. Maybe she ought to bind them. Though not overly large, they did fill the front of the shirt rather well.
Running both palms down over her chest, she shivered and thought of Calder. His hands, his mouth, his body, touching her, kissing her, making love to her. She had to find him, set him free so they could be together. Forever.
Tyra, who stood behind her, said, “Ready?” and she jumped.
Smith said he thought it best to wait till dark to ride into Hays. That meant staying in Victoria until evening.
So nothing would look out of sorts, he kept the blacksmith shop open until dusk fell and street fires were lit. Wilda and Tyra remained out of sight. He’d brought each a bowl of stew at mid-afternoon, and that evening came into the back carrying two steaming plates piled high with food. Easily enough for the three of them.
“Told ’em I had lots of work to do and wanted to bring supper over here for me and my helper, and I was blamed hungry so they’d better give me plenty.”
Together, they ate the savory offering of beans thick with bits of ham, cornbread, fried potatoes and a chunk of apple cobbler fragrant with cinnamon.
She was beginning to like most of the food in this strange country, but couldn’t quite understand the attraction of cornbread. She gave hers to Smith. “It’s not exactly pease pudding,” she told him with a laugh.
“Thank God,” Smith rumbled, and polished off the offering. “Ye about ready?” He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants. He’d removed the leather apron earlier and donned a shirt he called linsey-woolsey.
She liked the feel of hers better. Not quite so coarse.
“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “But, yes, I’m ready. We have to get him out of there, Smith. I don’t want him to hang, and especially not because of me.”
He placed the empty plates near the anvil and rose. “I’ll saddle the horses and bring ’em round back. No sense in making a public exit for these flap-mouths to talk about later when the sheriff’s men come looking.”
“Did anyone come today searching for us?”
“Not to me, they didn’t. But you never know if they did or didn’t. No one said anything over to Betty Lou’s, so probably not.”
“Oh, goodness, what if Prescott is dead? What if I-I killed him?”
Smith stopped and stared at her. “You think you might’ve?”
“I don’t know. I-I vomited on him, and he—”
The smithy roared. “You upchucked on him? I don’t think that’s a killing action, child.”
“But he fell. He was drunk and he fell, and when I left he was laying there on the floor, not moving or moaning or anything.”
“Passed out, most likely. That’s the way of drunks. He may not even remember any of what went on.”
“That would be wonderful. Do you think maybe they haven’t missed me yet?”
“That could very well be. But it’s still best if we leave out the back way. Sneak off like thieves in the night. I’m packing up my stuff on an extra horse. I sure hope Calder’s mount is handy when we get there. Time will tell.”
“You sound like you’re looking forward to this.”
“I am, little lady. I am indeed. I ain’t done nothing so exciting since I fought at Manassas, and that was a pure agitating experience that set my old heart to pounding. I want to feel that once more before I check out. A fella can get to where he likes such as that. Now, don’t you worry none. This is gonna go smooth as glass. I guarantee it.”
He went to get the horses and she waited, not sure at all that she believed his guarantee. Anything could happen to get them all in a lot of trouble. Still, she would not back down, would do her part to see Calder set free. It was entirely her fault he was in jail, and she intended to make that right somehow.
Chapter Eighteen
After dismounting beneath a grove of trees, Smith handed Wilda the reins. “You two wait here with the horses. We don’t come back by dawn, you hightail it out of here. Understand? No need you getting caught up in this. That boy’d be purely put out if I led you into trouble.”
“I want to help. It’s my fault he’s there.”
“I can care for the horses,” Tyra said. “That way she can go with you.”
He stared at both of them, shaking his head. “No sense arguing, little lady. She ain’t going with me and that’s that. I grew up with sisters and I know how fractious you can get, but I ain’t having none of it. I get one of you hurt and Josh, uh, whoever he is, will have my head. And who could blame him. Now, you two stay here and hold the horses. Can’t have them roaming around or maybe causing trouble. Anyone comes along the trail, you sit tight and keep these animals quiet.”
“I don’t understand why we don’t ride in and take the horses, break him out and ride off.”
Smith raised his shoulders and sighed. Squinted at Wilda. “If we can’t get out without being seen, we’re dead. We go hoorahing out of that place we’ll be run down and shot. Gotta get clean away so’s they don’t know till we’ve put a lot of miles behind us. We’ll be out on foot, gal. You keep watch and you stay where I’ve put you, the both of you. You got that?”
The sound of the shotgun pulled from its leather scabbard punctuated his words. She probably ought to stop arguing before he decided to shoot her and be done with it. Before she could nod in acquiescence, he was gone, leaving her in the blanket wool darkness to deal with Tyra, four nervous horses and her fear.
Enclosed in a shadowy world beneath the grove of trees, she clung to Tyra’s hand and listened to Smith’s footfalls until she could hear nothing but the wind. The horses, as if they too were frightened of what might dwell in the unknown night, crowded around her. Velvety noses rubbed at her arms and they made soft sounds down in their throats. As anxious perhaps, as she was.
The lights of Hays City glowed against the dark horizon. Surely aware of his fate, Calder waited there. Did he pray for rescue or had he fallen into despair? She could scarcely wait to see him, touch him, feel his arms around her. It didn’t matter where they would go or what they would do. Not as long as he was safe.
She shifted and leaned against the soothing warmth of one of the animals. Her thighs and buttocks ached. Riding turned out to be more difficult than she had imagined. Calder made it look so easy, but all she could do was bounce around in the saddle.
She’d imagined riding wildly into Hays City, guns firing. They’d lock the frightened hostages in a cell while Calder mounted up and they all rode out of town shooting and shouting. Too bad that wasn’t quite the way Smith had it planned.
So here she was, taking care of the horses like he said.
The dappled mare he had given her, he called Jeb. She was a sweet little animal, a silvery gray with spots the color of rich earth along her shoulders and rump. When she put her nose against the back of Wilda’s neck and nibbled with soft lips, she instantly fell in love with her. Forgave her the ride from Victoria. If she ever had time, maybe Calder would teach her how to sit in the saddle without bouncing up and down like a ball.
“It’s awfully dark,” Tyra whispered, interrupting her reverie.
“Yes, but nothing will bother us out here. We must relax and be ready for them. I can hardly wait to get out of this country. Maybe we’ll go west to California.”
Tyra remained silent for a spell, then tentatively said, “If you do, where will I go?”
The fear in the child’s voice touched a chord. “Why, with us, of course. What did you think?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure about going so far from Fairhaven and Rowena.”
Another silence, then Tyra whispered, “You know, I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind.”
“Why in the world would you want to do that?”
“Well, I have my own horse, Seth is teaching me to ride and to take care of the animals. He says I have the touch, that I could be an animal doctor, what they call a veterinarian.”
Wilda patted Jeb’s neck, leaned against the warm strength of her. “Well, that’s wonderful, but you’d still be under the control of Lord Prescott. He would never allow such a thing.”
“Only until I’m eighteen.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Seth says after I’m eighteen I can do as I wish in this country. Do you think that’s true?”
“Perhaps it is, but that doesn’t mean Prescott would allow you to leave Fairhaven.”
“Well, he couldn’t stop me. I’d like to go back.”
Shivering at the thought of leaving Tyra at the mercy of the crazed, drunken Lord Prescott, she only murmured a reply. “We’ll see, Tyra. We’ll see.”
****
A clattering noise, which at first he thought to be a dream, awoke Calder in the dark of night. Someone was outside. Pushing his cheek from the stinking mattress, he listened with a faint hope that it was real.
“Hsst, boy,” he heard. A small pebble landed on the floor of the tiny cell in which he lay alone.
Mouth so dry his tongue would hardly move, he glanced toward the desk where the deputy would be on guard. The soldiers built fires alongside the street after dark, and in the glow of the flickering light sat an empty chair. With their only prisoner securely padlocked in a cage, the sheriff obviously saw no need for a night guard. Who would dare pull an escape with Fort Hays and its soldiers barely a mile south?
“Dammit, boy, answer me.” A harsh whisper from outside.
Who the hell could that be? He rose and peered through the narrow hole cut in the thick logs of the jailhouse. “Who is it?”
“Me, Smith. Who’d you expect? One of them lazy louts you call your gang?”
There wasn’t time to ask the questions that ran roughshod through him. They’d keep till later. “You gotta get me out, they’re gonna hang me.”
“You got a guard?”
“Hell, if I did we’d be done for already, all this yapping.”
Smith grunted, said no more.
Calder waited for what would happen next, his heart beating like a thundering stampede. After a few minutes, the front door squeaked open and a shadow slipped through. Had to be Smith, that bumbling deputy would’ve swaggered in making all the noise in the world.
As it was, his rescuer tripped over something, or knocked something off the desk, and Calder held his breath through the racket. If someone ventured by on the boardwalk their goose’d be cooked.
“Where’s the blamed key?”
“Probably took it with him. You’re a blacksmith, open the lock.”
Smith approached, Calder heard more than saw him.
“Hmm.”
“What? Damn, I’d like to get gone from here.”
“Wagon rims.”
“What?”
“They’ve built the cell outta old iron wagon rims. No keyhole, it’s got a padlock. That makes it simpler, but it’ll make noise.”
“I don’t care. Get me out of here. Having visions of dangling from a rope ain’t my idea of fun.”
Smith grunted again, hit the padlock with something that made one hell of a clatter. Hit it again. “Okay, come on, fore someone hears us.”
Calder scrambled from the cell. “Have to be plumb deaf not to have already.”
“Come on, boy, or I’m a leaving you.” Smith was gone, darting quickly out the door.
Calder hesitated, spotted his holster and weapon hanging on a hook behind the sheriff’s desk, and grabbed it before following the older man through the door. He eased it shut and hugged the wall beside Smith. Together they moved around the building and out back into the shadows where the fires couldn’t betray them.
Smith put his lips to Calder’s ear. “Have any notion where your horse is at?”
“The livery yonder.” He gestured, fastened his belt and tied down the .44.
“Can we get in the back way?”
Calder paused to think about the layout. “I think so.”
Smith stood there a minute, listening. “Aw, hell, it ain’t worth the trouble. I’ve got four animals with me. That’ll have to do us.”
“I ain’t leaving Gabe. You go on.” Calder took a step, turned. “Four animals? What for?”
“Too long a story for now. But three of ’em is taken.”
“Damnation,” Calder whispered. What the hell? Had the boys left Smith to come into town while they hunkered like cowards away from harm?
“Will you get your butt to moving?”
“I’m gonna get Gabe. I can’t leave him.”
“I understand, boy. Well, let’s git to it.”
Calder led the way and together they slipped along the back of one building and then another until they came to the crude corral built out back of the livery stable. Three horses stood together in the far corner and one whickered in greeting, followed by another and another.
“Damn,” Smith muttered. “One of them yours?”
Calder slipped between the rails and approached the animals. They moved about nervously. He laid a hand on a tall rangy roan, slipped between the other two. None of them Gabe. Hunching low to make less shadow, he hurried to the gaping back door and darted inside. Smith must’ve waited outside.
It was too dark to see much. The front doors were closed so no light from the fires filtered in. After a moment, he could make out the stalls and moved from one to the next.
He’d reached the one closest to the front door with no luck finding Gabe when the sound of hoof beats and a man’s voice froze him in place.
“Hold up, there, son.” Silence, then boots thudded on the boardwalk and a fist hammered on the door.
Heart thudding, Calder rolled under the stall door and hunkered in one corner.
“Dammit, I rode all day and half the night. Can’t someone let me in here?”
Hell, the man would wake the dead. He had to do something. A louder pounding, and Calder rolled out, stood, dusted himself off and swung open the door.
“Sorry, I was out back,” he told the man. “Bring him on in here. It’s two bits a night, another for grain.”
“Well, goddamn, wouldn’t want to rob a fella, would you?”
Calder held his breath. “Leave him here or don’t. Up to you.” He made as if to close the door.
“Aw, hell. That’s okay.” He went to untie his horse and led him into the darkness of the stable. “Charges like that,
looks like you could afford coal oil,” he grumbled, digging in his pocket to come up with four bits.
Calder took the reins and the coins.
“Put him in a stall, I don’t want him outside, he likes to jump fences.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Name’s Bill Gamble. I’ll be over to the hotel.”
Teeth gritted, Calder wished the guy would leave before someone came along. Someone who knew the livery man, or worse, the sheriff himself.
“Well, reckon I’ll be going.” Gamble stomped off.
Puffing out a sigh, Calder closed and barred the door, led the horse into a stall and slipped its saddle and bridle off.
“No sense you having to put up with this rig all night, is there, old boy?”
The horse nuzzled his neck with velvety lips.
“Sorry about the grain, but there’s hay. Gotta git going.”
Damn, what was up with him? Talking to a horse when he ought to be running for his life?
As he stepped from the stall, he heard a familiar whicker.
“Is that you, Gabe?”
The gelding snorted and Calder swung open the stall door on the far side. Too dark to hunt for his saddle, he’d just have to take the first one he laid hands on. Several were rowed up along a bar at the back of the stable, and he hurriedly strapped one onto Gabe’s back.
“Smith?” he whispered outside the back door.
“Here.”
He led Gabe and followed the man off into the darkness.
Smith gestured toward a grove of trees, a mere shadow against the night sky. “Blamed if it ain’t dark as the hubs of hell out here. Come on, let’s move. Make for them trees.”
Calder followed the older man’s lead, crouching low and darting this way and that into the night.
They might’ve made it to the clump of trees if it hadn’t been for the damn dogs. Several of the beasts came out of nowhere barking and growling like they’d treed themselves a panther.
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