Strong Convictions: An Emmett Strong Western (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 1)

by GP Hutchinson

“I doubt it,” Seth said. “But I’ll take precautions anyway.”

  The two point riders drew up just in front of Seth.

  “Whatcha want us to do?” Charlie asked.

  Seth pulled the brim of his hat a little lower over his eyes. “Ride up there and tell ’em to leave this road to us. Tell ’em they’re gonna have to cut over cross-country to the Washoe City road.”

  “And if they won’t?” Zeke asked.

  “In that case, just ride on back and let me know.” Seth scoffed. “If I have to deal with ’em myself, they’ll wish they’d simply listened to you.” He flicked his gloved hand toward the rise. “Now go on.”

  Charlie and Zeke nodded and spurred their horses back up the road.

  “Water?” Ettie asked.

  “No, I’m not thirsty,” Seth said.

  “I meant for the China girls. As long as we’re stopped.”

  Seth’s saddle creaked as he shifted around and looked back. “Might as well.”

  Ettie walked her horse to the back of the first wagon, lifted the canvas canopy flap, and peered in. Seth watched her pull the stopper from her own canteen and hold it out. A pair of bound hands took it.

  “Don’t let ’em drink too much,” he said. “Don’t wanna be stoppin’ thirty minutes from now to let ’em piss.”

  When he turned back toward the rise, what he saw made him purse his lips and shake his head. Charlie and Zeke were roaring back at a full gallop.

  Fifty yards out, Charlie started yelling, “It’s them! It’s that damn Texas law dog!”

  Bits of turf flew up as Charlie skidded his horse to a stop. “They got a damn Chinaman with ’em, too,” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “How’d they know?”

  Seth squinted. “Shut up, Charlie. This is Nevada. There’re Chinamen all over the place up here. Havin’ a Chinaman with ’em don’t mean anything.”

  “But it’s still them,” Charlie whined.

  “Yeah,” Seth said, “Well, it’s nice to have ’em all in one place out here in the middle of nowhere so we can finish ’em off and be rid of ’em once and for all.”

  He pulled the Winchester from his saddle boot and chambered a round. Throwing a glance over his shoulder he yelled, “Cole, Lewis, you two keep them scatterguns ready. We should be able to take care of everything up there on that ridge. But if any of ’em break through and make it down here, let fly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cole called back from the driver’s seat of the front wagon.

  Seth waved his arm. “The rest of you, come with me.”

  “You sure that point rider was Charlie Blaylock?” Juanito asked, frowning.

  “Didn’t you recognize the hat?” Emmett asked. “From that day down in Austin?”

  Juanito shook his head and opened his mouth to answer when Emmett cut in again.

  “That’s right. He was gone by the time you and Sikes got out to the street. But that’s him. Besides, why else would those two turn tail and run away like that when all we’re doing is sitting saddle up here?”

  “We may not need to see Cromarty after all,” Sikes said. “It could all come down to what happens right here, right now.”

  “That it could…depending on who’s down there with him.”

  “Seth in particular?”

  Emmett nodded.

  Yong leaned forward, straining to see. “I had almost lost faith in fortune.”

  “What’s the plan, Strong?” Sikes said.

  Emmett watched what was now going on down near the wagons. They were obviously scrambling to make up their minds just as he was.

  “The odds may be better here than they’ll be in Reno,” Juanito said. “You want to try to take Charlie?”

  Just then Emmett noted all six horsemen gigging their mounts at full tilt up the rise.

  “This high ground is to our advantage,” he said. “Sikes, let’s get you on that buffalo gun again.”

  Sikes was already swinging out of the saddle and unsheathing the heavy rifle.

  “Yong, you take the horses down the back slope a little ways, OK?” Emmett glanced at him as he dismounted. “You’ve got that Colt I gave you this morning. Use it if they come at you. You’ve gotta pull back the hammer with your thumb. Then just point and squeeze.”

  The Chinaman patted his holster.

  Before Emmett could turn around, the buffalo rifle thundered. He yanked his head toward Sikes.

  “Had a shot, and I had to take it.”

  “Criminy, Sikes! You’ve gotta let ’em get in range.”

  The Englishman was reloading. “He was in range. I winged him.”

  Emmett peered downhill. He spotted Charlie Blaylock. The murderer was clutching his arm, and his horse had dropped out of the charge.

  The other five opened fire at Emmett and his compadres. All of their shots were coming in low, kicking up dirt on the front face of the hill.

  Yong Xu urged their horses down from the crest. Emmett and Juanito were now prone beside Sikes. A split second before Emmett pulled the trigger of his Winchester, all six riders below looked back toward the wagons. The roll of a shotgun blast carried up the hill.

  “Looks like one of the Chinese girls!” Sikes said.

  Emmett spotted her. Dark hair, Chinese-style clothing. Running away from the lead wagon toward a broad parcel of ground covered by scrubby mesquite.

  Yong Xu came running. “Is it Li-Li?” he yelled, his voice nearly breaking.

  “Can’t tell from this far away,” Emmett said. His heart pounded at the possibility.

  When the wagon driver fired a second blast into the air, Charlie Blaylock and his companions wheeled their horses and split up. Four made their way toward the wagons. Two rode for the tract of mesquite.

  “What now?” Sikes asked.

  Yong Xu didn’t wait for an answer. He spun and dashed for his horse.

  “Yong,” Emmett hollered. “You can’t go down there by yourself.”

  But the man wasn’t listening. He mounted and urged his horse up the ridge.

  “Yong!” Emmett tried in vain to snag the horse’s bridle as it passed.

  The Chinaman picked up speed and raced away toward the runaway girl.

  “Blazes!” Emmett muttered. “Sikes, you and Juanito stay here. Do what you can to keep those murdering kidnappers pinned down.”

  Emmett sprinted to his horse.

  “Sure you don’t want us to come along?” Juanito yelled.

  “Just keep an eye on those wagons.” Emmett pushed his pinto hard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Li Xu felt the window frame pressing into her back as Lucian McIntosh stepped into the small bedroom. Ping clung to her arm as though Li were somehow capable of deterring the huge, dark man, whatever his intent.

  She didn’t like his eyes. They revealed no hint of shame as he leered unapologetically.

  Her mind spun, searching frantically for something she might say to make him go away. But what could she say to a man like him…in his own house?

  Ping’s fingers dug in.

  McIntosh closed to within arm’s reach, still letting his gaze roam and pause all over her. His cheeks were flushed. His arms hung loosely at his sides.

  She thought about the hairpin. The only weapon she had. She might never survive the aftermath of stabbing him with it, but—

  “Four or five days, hmm?” he said. He tilted his head.

  At first his question made no sense to her. Then she recalled the ploy—the ploy and then the fact that her real monthly troubles had in truth started yesterday morning.

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.” Her words came out with no voice behind them. “Five days, usually.”

  Ping had not been so…fortunate. For her, it was still a ruse.

  McIntosh now stood so close that she felt his
scent might suffocate her. He smelled of cigar—an aroma she ordinarily found surprisingly pleasant. But on him, along with the sickly sweet fragrance of some no-doubt expensive lotion, the odor was repulsive.

  He reached out one of his oversized hands and suspended his fingers over her breast. She recoiled, but there was no room left for further retreat.

  She was conscious of Ping’s anxious breathing—and of her own racing heart and shallow inhalation as well.

  Gulping, she worked her fingers, ready to go for the hairpin if he forced himself on her in earnest.

  “You’re a pretty one,” he said in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. A small upturn tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  His fingertips only barely brushed her as he smoothly lifted his hand and rested it on her shoulder.

  Turning her face away, she closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing. The hairpin.

  “I’ve got time,” he chuckled. “You belong to me now…for as long as I care to keep you.”

  A tear ran down her cheek. I refuse to cry, she said to herself. I refuse to give that power to this man.

  Once she sensed him backing away, she opened her eyes.

  From a couple of feet away now, he glanced at Ping. “You’re a handsome one, too. A real daisy.”

  Li feared Ping wouldn’t make it through this without fainting—or without lashing out in wild panic. Her friend’s breathing was still jagged.

  “What’s your name, little one?” the heavy man asked Ping, at last lifting his palm from Li’s shoulder.

  Ping began to wheeze and pressed herself against Li, trying for all she was worth to squeeze in behind her.

  Li drew a breath and said, “Her name is Ping. And my name is Li.”

  “Ping and Li.” He gave another deep, soft chuckle.

  Giving their names—had it been the right thing to do? It didn’t matter, she decided. There was no sense in angering this dangerous man.

  He nodded, eyed them both again, then turned for the door.

  Li hoped with every fiber of her being that he was leaving them now. She knew what she would do if he closed the door and stayed. Even if it led to her death, she knew what she would do.

  Ping still clung to her.

  And McIntosh left, locking the heavy, white door behind him.

  McIntosh trudged down the hallway. At the top of the stairs, he met Sarah Mae. He clutched the housekeeper’s bicep and murmured into her ear, “Find Margaret. Have her start those China girls on laudanum today.”

  When he drew back, Sarah Mae gave a devilish smile. “Only too happy to, Mr. McIntosh,” she said.

  He returned the grin and swatted her on the rump as he passed by.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Leaving the little-used trail to Reno, Emmett raced down the slope in pursuit of Yong. His friend was already halfway to the chaparral the runaway Chinese girl had disappeared into. And he was beginning to draw fire from the suspected kidnappers, most of whom were now gathered around the two wagons.

  “Get to the bush, Yong!” Emmett murmured.

  His mind was in three places—with Yong, with the girl in the thicket, and with the rest of the abducted girls. All were in grave danger. And for all of them, the difference between danger and death was paper-thin.

  Emmett figured the front wagon was the one carrying the other Chinese girls. The wagoner had hopped down and run to the rear where he now stood, aiming his scattergun at the canopy flap.

  Meanwhile, two of the kidnappers galloped into the chaparral, obviously intent on retrieving the girl who had gotten away.

  Could Li Xu be the one in the thicket? Or was she staring down the barrel of that shotgun at the back of the covered wagon?

  Somebody would die here today. Emmett knew it, and his chest tightened.

  Reining his horse to the right, he made for the scrub. Bullets whizzed by. He cringed and scrunched down in the saddle until he reached the thicket. Once there he slowed his mount to little more than a walk and peered hard into the foliage.

  Motion not far ahead caught his attention. It was the young Chinese woman. Emmett’s heart skipped a beat. But it wasn’t Li Xu.

  The young woman was running toward an arroyo that sliced through a clearing in the chaparral, breathing hard, her pace slowing.

  Then Yong Xu came into view between him and the girl. When Yong called out to her in Chinese, her expression lit up, and she altered her course.

  A shot rang out. It kicked up dirt mere feet from the front hoof of Yong Xu’s mount, causing the horse to leap skittishly. Unable to control the animal, Yong was thrown hard to the ground.

  Emmett slid his Winchester back into its boot and drew his Colt. He thumbed back the hammer and scanned the brush as he nudged his horse closer to the arroyo.

  He had advanced only a few steps when he had to halt abruptly. One of the kidnappers—a dandy dressed overly fine for chasing and shooting in country like this—emerged from behind a dense cluster of mesquites. Oblivious to Emmett, he raised his pistol and took aim at either Yong or the girl. From that angle Emmett couldn’t tell which.

  Emmett whipped his Colt up and squeezed the trigger.

  Before the Victorio Sanchez incident that ended Gabriela’s life, this would’ve been a potshot. The dandy would already be lying in the dust. As it happened, though, the bullet merely sent the hombre’s hat flying.

  He spun—Emmett had clearly caught him off guard—and returned fire.

  Dammit! Emmett couldn’t believe he’d missed at such short range. And the comeback shot had zinged by far too close.

  Yong Xu was now half crawling, half stumbling toward the cover of the arroyo. The Chinese girl on the other side was nearly there herself.

  Emmett let another round fly to keep the dandy distracted.

  The kidnapper flinched but ignored Emmett. He pointed his revolver the other direction and fired again. As though a bare-knuckle boxer had gut-punched her, the young Chinese woman stopping cold in her tracks. She stared straight ahead, her mouth agape. Then she crumpled to the ground—only a couple steps shy of the gully.

  No! Rage gripped Emmett.

  Another shot sounded from Emmett’s left but from beyond the dandy. There was the second kidnapper.

  The dandy fired again. Yong Xu cried out and tumbled into the arroyo. Emmett picked up a patch of dark red on his Chinese friend’s shoulder as he fell forward.

  What he’d give for a shotgun right now. The dandy wheeled his horse toward him. Emmett emptied his Peacemaker in that direction, sending his enemy in search of cover.

  He slid off his horse, grabbed the Winchester once again, and raced for the gully—for Yong Xu and the fallen girl. A bullet danced at his feet just before he leapt into the gap.

  Slamming hard into the far wall of the arroyo, he winced in pain made worse by his inability to keep his footing on the loose shale. But midair he had glimpsed the second shooter. If only he could scramble to the rim of the arroyo fast enough, he’d have a good angle of fire on that one.

  He clambered back up and pressed the rifle stock to his shoulder. There he was, not quite obscured by the mesquite. Emmett snapped off a quick shot. The second abductor’s horse nickered in pain and went down.

  This wasn’t going well.

  Though he wished he could check on the girl and Yong Xu, Emmett held his place. It was a good one—a small jag in the lip of the arroyo that gave him good cover. And he could just make out both the dandy and the other kidnapper through the dense lace of mesquite.

  The second outlaw was on the move toward his accomplice, stealing through the brush from where his horse had collapsed.

  Emmett was now more careful with his aim. He squeezed the trigger once again.

  A high-pitched cry came back—not a man’s scream. Perhaps another of the Chinese girls had fled into the chap
arral, and he’d just inadvertently shot her. His heart thumped with fear. His mouth went dry. No. There had definitely been a second shooter. Somebody on horseback until just a moment ago.

  For the next little while, only the occasional shot came from the kidnappers. Meanwhile, in the distance he could hear the report of the Sharps buffalo gun from time to time. Sikes was still at work holding down the rest of the band of abductors. Other rifles answered off to the west. He doubted that anybody except maybe Sikes was having much success out there.

  Momentarily taking his gaze off the tangle of brush, he stole a glance at Yong. His friend lay on his back on the floor of the arroyo, eyes closed, mouth open.

  Hoofbeats drew his gaze back out into the chaparral. It was the sound of a single horse, trotting away from him. Then all went quiet.

  Emmett waited. Heat radiating from the floor and rugged walls of the gully sent sweat running down his back in rivulets.

  Finally convinced that the kidnappers had retreated to their wagons, he climbed out of the arroyo and ran to the collapsed Chinese girl. First relief, then shame swept over him. Even if this wasn’t Li Xu, surely this sweet girl was just as dear to lots of folks in Chinatown. Kneeling beside her lifeless body, he closed her eyes, squeezed her soft hand, and cursed the dandy who shot her.

  He raised his eyes to the clump of brush he’d fired into only a short while ago—the one the feminine scream had come from. Scouting left and right, he stole his way there. Several yards from the collapsed horse, he found spatters of blood in the dirt—and clear evidence that the person he had shot had crawled toward the dandy. Certainly none of the Chinese girls would’ve done that.

  Back in the arroyo, Yong Xu moaned.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Seth Blaylock blinked into the declining sun, trying to decide how risky it would be to make a dash across the hundred yards of open ground between himself and the wagons. Ettie’s weight rested against him. His shirt felt wet where her shoulder met his chest. After one last wary glimpse at the rise to his left, he spurred his horse into a hard gallop until he drew up behind the cover of the wagons.