When the horse stopped, a pair of big hands grabbed her around the waist and set her down on her bare feet. Razor-sharp, blistering hot gravel dug into her flesh. She made a mental note and figured this slope faced south and west.
The ropes at her ankles were untied. She got shoved forward and realized they were going uphill. She stumbled and fell several times, landing on her knees. Each time, her captor yanked her up by the ropes tied to her wrists.
He didn’t say a word, not one word, not a cuss word or a grunt, no sound. She thought it strange, and it made her suspect she knew her tormentor—she’d know his voice if he spoke.
There were other sounds. She wasn’t the only one on this march. Others were ahead of her. She recognized the sound of boots on gravel and the huffing and puffing of belabored breathing as they traveled up the steep slope. She also heard a whimper, and a squawk of protest but no one spoke.
The air turned cool, and the dampness of the sack on her sweaty forehead filled her nose with moldy fumes. The ground beneath her feet became wet, icy cold, and the gravel turned to slick slime. She slipped, her feet coming out from under her, and fell backward this time. She landed on her butt, not forward to her knees, and she sensed they were going downhill now. She was yanked to her feet, and she managed a dozen steps before being pushed down, landing hard on her backside.
Winded and struggling to catch her breath, she felt the ropes being tied back around her ankles, and she kicked at her captor, rolling her torso. Someone sat on her and pinned her down, holding her shoulders as they removed the smelly, musty sack from her head as well as the wad of fabric from her mouth. She would’ve yelled, but she couldn’t find the spit. She coughed and choked on the rush of cool air she’d sucked down her throat. She wheezed and snorted, her eyes watering and her throat clutching up.
Before she could find enough saliva to form a proper string of swear words, she heard retreating steps. Left in total, absolute darkness, she couldn’t see where her captors had made their exit. She couldn’t see anything. For a few brief seconds, she panicked, thinking she’d gone blind, the darkness was so deep.
All around her were the echoing sounds of water drip, drip, dripping in a steady, irritating rhythm. Her hands were tied behind her back, and Birdie wiggled her fingers and turned her wrists, searching for a wall behind her. Dirt, wet dirt, and stone…could be they were in a cave or maybe a mine. There were lots of old, abandoned mineshafts, none of them safe, and most of them inhabited by bats. Then she heard a whimper, and a spark of hope jumpstarted her heart. “Jo, Jo is that you?”
“Birdie? Thank God, I thought I was alone. Where are we?”
“Jo? I don’t know. I think a mine or a cave. Keep talking. I can’t see you. Can you see anything? My hands are tied. My ankles are tied, too, but I think I can scoot over to you. Keep talking. I don’t know if I can find you.”
“Birdie, no, don’t. Don’t move. You don’t know what’s on the ground. Or even if there is ground. If this is a mine, it could have a shaft that goes straight down. We’ve both seen the insides of these old mines. They aren’t safe. You could get hurt, Birdie, and I couldn’t do anything to help you.”
“I’m already hurt, bruised and dirty. It’s for dang sure I’m not going to sit here, do nothing, and wait to see what our kidnappers have planned for us.”
“All right, okay, then I’ll scoot toward you too. They tied my ankles up again. They didn’t do a very good job of tying my wrists back at the creek. I can wiggle my fingers and turn my wrists.”
“Good. My guy really knew how to tie a knot. My fingers are going to sleep. When we find each other, turn your back to me. You try to work my ropes, and I’ll try to work yours. Jesus, it’s dark in here. I thought I’d gone blind.”
Her knuckles dug into the ground behind her. Birdie bounced on her bottom with her legs stretched out in front of her and began her journey across the slimy floor. She encountered sharp rocks and wads of something sticky, maybe guano from bats, but she told herself it was just mud.
She could hear Jo getting closer—hear her huffing and puffing. She needed to hear Jo’s voice, hear her own voice. The darkness had Birdie in a panic. They’d been dumped in a cave. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. But she had to think, had to believe they could make it out of here. All that kept her from going over the edge into hysteria was the sound of another human being. Jo, the sound of Jo’s voice.
Finally, her feet kicked Jo in the hip. Jo yelped. “God, you scared me. I hope we’re the only animals in here. This has to be a mine, Birdie.”
They maneuvered around until they were back to back. Jo’s ropes at her wrist were loose, much looser than her own. After much fumbling and fussing, Jo got Birdie’s ropes undone, at least undone enough so Birdie could wiggle her wrists out of the coils. The feat accomplished, in no time they themselves free of their bonds.
They sat on their knees facing each other, hugging each other, savoring the warmth of another human body, hearing the sounds of a human breathing and talking, holding on to each other to save their sanity. In the pitch black. Jo asked the big question. “Okay, now what do we do? Do you think they’re still out there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who they are. Did you see their faces at all? Did you hear them say anything?”
“I was bent over a bush when they, or maybe just a he…one, I don’t know, grabbed me from behind. Next thing I knew I had a rag stuffed in my mouth, my hands and feet tied up and I had a smelly sack over my head. I had a full bucket of berries too. I planned on making a cobbler with those berries. You know, Van and Gabe are probably out looking for us right now.”
“Yeah, I suppose they are. And I suppose our captors know it too. So, if we put ourselves in their place, I wouldn’t stick around here for fear of being followed. I’d set up a false trail and come back in the morning to check on my prisoners. Two helpless females, they probably figure we’ll be good and scared, cold and hungry, by morning.”
“I’m scared and hungry right now,” Jo said.
Who? Birdie wanted to know who? And why would anyone want to kidnap them? Whoever their captors were, they knew the country, knew the mines and caves, knew them well. She’d know who the captors were if she could’ve seen their cowardly faces or heard their voices. Whoever they were, they knew when and where to capture them. Shoot, they’d been followed. They’d been waiting for the chance to pick them off and haul them away. This was planned. But why? To what possible purpose?
Birdie swallowed down her fear and anger. She would stay calm and focused for Jo’s sake. She had to stay strong. “Yeah, I’m hungry and thirsty too. It’s cold in here, wherever here is.”
What to do? She had to think. Staying still wasn’t an option, staying still and waiting meant falling asleep and death. The rescue might never come. Sure Gabe and Van were probably out scouring the countryside for them. But they’d have no way of knowing who took them, or why and in what direction. No, they only had themselves to rely on if they meant to survive, and Birdie meant to survive.
“Hang on to my skirt,” she said to Jo, “I’m going to try to stand up. I’m dizzy from riding with my head dangling down off the side of a horse for hours. And now, not able to see my hands in front of my face, I feel off balance. Can you stand up? You’re taller than I am.”
“I think I can.” With Jo’s hand in Birdie’s, they rose to their feet very slowly and carefully. “You realize, of course, if we find an opening, we don’t know if it will lead us out or farther in,” Jo said.
“Yes, I thought of that. On the other hand, if there’s only one opening, we could find our way out of here quite easily. This hole has to have walls. Let’s feel our way around.”
“Wait, Birdie. How are we going to know where we started?”
Turning halfway, Birdie found Jo and put her arms around her. “I love you, Petra Josephine Buxton, I love your mind. We’ll mark our starting point.”
Birdie giggled. Leave it to Jo to ask t
he hard question. Playing blind man's bluff in this old mine or cave could very well bring death. Unable to see a darn thing even with her eyes wide open had Birdie petrified to move, to even lift a foot.
“I hear a steady drip, though I couldn’t tell you where it’s coming from…it all around us,” Jo said.
Her mind searched, aching to think of something useful. Inspiration arrived in a flash. “My petticoat, we could use it, hang it on the wall, if there is a wall. Snag it on something. I would use my hair ribbon, but I suppose it’s long gone, and besides, the bigger the swatch of cloth the better. We might skip over it if it’s too small a marker. My petticoat ripped when I fell. I heard it. Then it got tangled up in my feet. I left my shoes and stockings beside the creek. I’m barefoot.”
Shredding her petticoat wasn’t easy. Something about the total darkness had Birdie fumbling and shaky. It helped to have Jo beside her to lean on. “Keep your hand on my shoulder, Jo. I’m going to turn around and see if I can feel a wall.” She giggled again. “Get it, Jo, I cracked a joke. I’m going to see if I can feel.”
Jo’s fingers dug into her upper arm. “I’m not laughing, Birdie. Maybe we should think about this a minute. We had to climb uphill to get here.”
Birdie reached out and struck solid. “I found a wall I think.” Feeling her way along, her fingers searched for something to snag the fabric from her petticoat. So far, all she could feel was wet, slick slime. “I agree, we climbed uphill to get in here. I also think we walked downhill for a few paces once the cooler air hit us, and it smelled different.”
Clinging to Birdie’s waist, Jo agreed. “Yes, yes, it did feel a lot cooler. Cold actually.” Jo’s voice echoed in the darkness. “Okay, let’s say we climbed up to this cave or mine or whatever, and when we entered, we went down for a ways.”
Birdie interrupted her reasoning to say, her hands wet with muck, “Not too far though. It didn’t take long for our captors to get out of here.”
Jo gripped her waist, and her fingers dug in and pulled her to a halt. “Well, that’s good then. All we have to do is find the opening, and if it goes up, that’s the way out.”
“Good thinking, Miss Buxton. All right, if we go down, then it’s the wrong way. But I don’t think we should split up. We stick together.”
“Yes, I agree. All right, I’m ready.”
Birdie turned her attention back to her task. “Yes, well so am I, but I can’t get this petticoat to hang on anything. You’d think there’d be a rock or something.”
Chapter Sixteen
“We have to stop, Gabe. It’s getting too dark to see. What little trail we’ve found, we can’t see now. And Gypsy’s getting tired, she’s slowed way down.”
“She’s slowed down because we’re getting close. Hear her blowing? She’s picking up scent.”
Gabe couldn’t stop, he had to believe in Gypsy. It was a long shot, but he couldn’t stop believing. Birdie and Jo, my God, they were out here somewhere. He had to find them…had to. He’d been such a fool, denying his love for Birdie. He loved Birdie, loved her more than he loved his own life. He’d lay down and die for her. And Jo, sweet, gentle Jo. God, who in the hell would want to kidnap them and why? Why? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.
“Gypsy is not a bird dog,” Van said. “I don’t care what you say. A horse won’t track.”
“They do it all the time. They find their way back to the barn, find their way across miles and miles of country to get back where they belong. And they know their people. She took Birdie’s scent from her boots and stockings. I tell you we’re close. Birdie and Jo are around here somewhere.”
“I can’t see a damn thing. The moon won’t be up for another hour or so. And I’m not going to break my neck, or lame my horse traveling in the dark. We need to get down off the side of this bluff, head back down into the trees and make camp, start fresh in the morning.”
“Just a little farther, Van. You’re making Gypsy nervous. You’re sending her your nervous energy. Horses are sensitive creatures.”
Gypsy stopped cold. She bobbed her handsome head up and down several times and blew from her nose, and then pawed the scree with her right front hoof. Gabe dismounted and nearly fell on his butt trying to maintain his balance on the side of the hill of scree. “Okay, looks like we’re here.”
Brave words, words Gabe prayed were true. If the girls weren’t here, then he’d have to face Van and his father and confess he’d never heard of a horse following scent, but it sounded reasonable. Damn it. It was all the hope he had.
“Here? Where the hell is here?” Van climbed down out of the saddle and took his mount by the reins.
“I don’t know, exactly. The moon will be up soon. That’ll help. It’s been a while, but I don’t think we’re too far from the hot spring, Van. We headed south and west. About how long would you say it’s been since we left the aspen grove?”
Van dug his pocket watch out of his vest pocket held it up in front of his face and squinted at it. He shook his head and put the watch back in his shirt pocket. “I can’t tell. We left around three-thirty or four. Must be about eight or eight-thirty now, the sun’s down, twilight left.”
Gabe moved up beside him. “Yeah, that’s about what I figured. What’s out here? Are there any caves or mines out here we’ve explored?”
Van dropped his chin to his chest. When he picked up his head, he said, “Dooly’s. Dooly’s old shaft, it’s out this way. But it’s been closed up for years. We explored it, remember? I nearly broke my neck in there. It’s steep as the dickens. The shaft goes straight down. Dooly was an idiot to try to mine that hole. I don’t think he ever saw more than a teaspoon of color.”
“Christ…Dooly’s old mine. That’s where we are, Van. It’s up there, up against the side of this slope. The opening, if I remember right, is on the northwest side, about two-thirds of the way up. If Gypsy’s right and I’m sure she is, Birdie and Jo are here, Van. And if you’re right, then they’re in the old mine shaft and in a lot of danger. We have to find the opening. We can’t wait for the moon. Get your rope and start hollering. Start hollering real loud.”
»»•««
The slimy grit on the floor of the mine caked the bottoms of Birdie’s feet. Toes cold, knees trembling, Birdie eased inch by inch to the left with Jo clinging to her skirt. Deceptively, the floor curved up, and hope gave Birdie the courage to pick up her foot and take an actual step. Her foot found no purchase. She teetered. Jo grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Birdie’s other foot slid out from under her, and she fell down on her side. She caught Jo by the wrist. Jo squealed and tugged with all her might but to no avail. Birdie started to slide over the edge into nothingness.
Jo screamed.
Jo, Jo, I’m sliding…Jo….” Ufff.
“Birdie, I’ve got you. Don’t let go of me. Birdie. I’m down on my bottom, Birdie. I’ve dug in my heels behind a rock or something. I’m not going to let go. Can you find your footing? Birdie, answer me.”
She couldn’t breathe. The edge of the hole felt hard, like wood. With her free hand, Birdie tried to take hold of whatever it was. It crumbled beneath her fingers. She clawed at the splintered muck with one hand and found nothing substantial to cling to. “My feet. My toes, there’s nothing. I can’t find anything beneath my feet. Cold. Cold air coming up, blowing up my skirt. Icy cold, Jo. I’m hanging over a hole.” She kicked experimentally and was instantly sorry, slipping another inch or two over the side.
“Stop wiggling, Birdie,” Jo ordered. “Wait, did you hear it? I heard something. I heard someone yelling, I think.”
Her certain death near at hand, Birdie prayed, slobbering, weeping, blubbering to herself, begging God to make her death swift and as painless as possible. The last thing she wanted was to lay at the bottom of this abyss, broken and twisted but alive. No, let death take me upon impact.
Jo said something. Birdie stopped blubbering to herself and to God. “I don’t hear anything. Don’t let go of me, Jo
. Oh, God.
“Oh God, Jo.” She changed her mind. “No, if you start to slip too, you let go of me. Don’t you follow me down this hole. Promise me. Let me go, just let go. Save yourself. Promise me?”
“Shut up, Birdie. I tell you I heard someone yelling my name. Shhh, listen.”
“You hear me screaming, that’s what you hear, Petra Josephine Buxton. And you’ll hear me cursing you all the way to the bottom of this hole if you let go.”
“I’m not going to let go, Birdie. There, hear that? I heard Van. Van is out there. He called my name. And Gabe, Gabe called your name. Scream, Birdie, go ahead and scream all you want.
“Van, Gabe, we’re in here. Birdie’s in trouble. We’re in here!”
Birdie couldn’t hear anyone, but she screamed bloody murder. Oh, how she wanted to hear Gabe’s voice, see his face. And Van, her lovely brother. She would never see him again. Would he miss her? And Gabe? He’d marry Edditha, and they’d drink a toast to her passing and shake their heads in sorrow and live happily ever after. The scenario brought forth more tears and a wail of abject despair.
Jo shifted her foot. Birdie panicked, chided herself and reaffirmed her grip on life, on hope. “Don’t move, Jo.”
Gabe? Gabe’s voice. Birdie heard him. “Gabe?” He’d found her.
His voice sounded close.
“Jo, I have a rope tied around my waist. When I reach out, don’t try to touch me. Don’t let go of Birdie until I get next to you and I can grab her. Talk to me, Jo. Do you understand?”
Gabe. A miracle. Birdie closed her eyes, fingers cramping, her arm and neck and shoulder burning with fatigue, she ordered herself to stay calm, hang on.
“Birdie, you hang on to Jo, you hear me? Birdie, hang on. I’m coming.” He sounded very close.
“Gabe?”
“Birdie, I said don’t let go of Jo. I’m coming. Van’s outside. We’ve got a tagline. We’ll have both of you out of here in no time, don’t let go.”
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