The Heart's Frontier

by Lori Copeland;Virginia Smith

“There we go, boy.” He lifted the rope barrier over the horse’s head, and led him out to the other side. The sight of his white hide circling the perimeter in the night had served to calm a restless herd before, though this one slept soundly enough that Luke doubted his choice of mount would make a difference.

  He swung himself up into the saddle and started his circuit. At the south end of the herd, he met up with McCann, who had swung around to the east. The man nodded and waved a hand in silent greeting, then turned and headed back in the direction he had come. They would pass their two-hour watch repeating the same path, on the lookout for invaders or restless cattle.

  After a few uneventful passes, Luke’s attention was drawn to the southwest. The moon lay veiled in clouds, but the sky painted a lighter picture than the blackness of the earth. Strain though he might, he could not make out the ridge of a hill in the distance, though he knew the land swelled high, like the waves of a restless sea. Beyond that the rest of his herd lay sleeping. As did the marauders who had stolen them.

  Jesse was right. It would be ridiculously easy to surprise the rustlers and take back his cattle. Well, not easy, because there was always the danger they would put up a fight, and whenever a man drew a gun the possibility of injury or even death existed. Pa always used to tell him, “If you draw a gun against a man, you’d better intend to use it.” Luke had drawn his gun many times during his life on the trail, but never with the intention to shoot another man. Even this morning he hadn’t been able to bring himself to aim for the rustlers.

  If I kill them, that makes me no better than they are.

  He glanced beyond the camp, where six fresh graves bore witness to the morning’s violence. The loss of life—even those of the marauders—sickened him to the point of nausea. If he’d pulled the trigger that resulted in one of those deaths, he was certain he’d be in the same shape Charlie had been after shooting that rustler, unable to hold anything in his stomach besides guilt.

  He slapped a hand against Whitey’s neck. “I’m not much of a trail boss, am I, boy? My pa wouldn’t waste a second thought about defending his herd.”

  Or about taking back his charges. Luke looked again in the direction of the rustlers’ camp. The night was so peaceful.

  On impulse, he whistled for McCann’s attention. When the man looked up, Luke swept a hand over the sleeping herd and then pointed at him. He understood the message, that he was to keep an eye on the cattle for a minute, and nodded.

  Luke turned Whitey southwest with a gentle tug on the reins and galloped off. He wouldn’t be gone long, just long enough for one last look at those stolen cattle.

  Emma lay awake on her pallet beneath the wagon, watching Luke’s white horse pace around this side of the sleeping cows. Beside her, Rebecca’s quiet breath was nearly drowned out by Maummi’s robust snores. Though she’d been tired when she left the campfire to find her bedroll, Emma’s sleep had been fitful. When Vic roused Luke to take the watch, she had woken as well. Now sleep eluded her the way wild jackrabbits avoided the snares in Papa’s vegetable garden.

  A single question revolved in her mind. Why couldn’t Luke become Amish? Since the thought had occurred to her, she could think of nothing else. It was the perfect solution. He could move to Apple Grove and go through the baptism classes with her. They could be baptized at the same service in the fall. And then…

  A tickle in her belly accompanied a myriad of tantalizing thoughts. Luke working alongside Papa on the farm. A wedding. Eventually, Papa would move into the dawdi haus, leaving her and Luke to live in the home where she’d been raised. And soon after, babies to cuddle and teach to love the Plain life, as she had been taught.

  Beautiful images crowded her mind and drove the last possibility of sleep away. She raised up on her pallet and scooted out from beneath the wagon, careful not to wake Rebecca or Maummi. Perhaps a breath of night air and a view of the stars overhead would calm her enough to sleep.

  When she stood, her gaze was drawn inevitably to Luke. Would he do that? Would he give up his cowboy life and embrace the life of a farmer?

  Surely he would at least consider the possibility. That is, if he felt the same attraction, and she was pretty sure he did. She’d felt the weight of the looks he fixed on her, the way he leaped to her aid this afternoon when she fell from her horse. A blush threatened, hidden in the dark night. Not her finest moment, to be sure, but he had responded with chivalry and concern. Surely he cared for her as she had come to care for him. But what if the idea of living a Plain life had not occurred to him?

  There was one way to find out. Emma snatched her kapp off the wagon and twisted her hair up as she crept quietly away from her sleeping family. She headed into the darkness, intending to make a wide arc around the herd and come up on Luke’s other side. The cows were sleeping, so they probably wouldn’t be startled, but she didn’t particularly want McCann or anyone else who happened to be awake to witness her approaching Luke.

  With a guilty glance in the direction where Papa’s bedroll lay, she walked with quiet caution. His earlier question proved that he trusted her to make her own decision about the man she would marry. Amish parents were usually not privy to the romantic interests of their children. Often they were not informed of the intent to marry until a few weeks before the wedding. Of course, in a district as small as Apple Grove there were few secrets. Everyone knew of the attraction between Katie Beachy and Samuel Miller. As Papa was aware of the attraction between her and Luke.

  And Papa liked Luke, she could tell. Wouldn’t he be thrilled to have Luke as a son-in-law, an Amish son-in-law?

  When Emma was far enough from camp that her footsteps could not be overheard, she blew out a pent-up breath. A cluster of trees formed the perfect barrier where she could stand and not be easily overseen by anyone who happened to awaken and look around. Luke’s sentry path had reached the rear of the herd, a couple of hundred yards away. He would turn and head back this way, and she would be waiting for him. A nervous tickle erupted in her stomach. What would she say? She had no more than a few minutes to plan her speech.

  But as she watched his hands rose to cup his mouth. A low whistle rode to her ears on the cool night air. He gestured, and then in another moment he turned and galloped away. Emma straightened and stepped away from the tree trunk, watching as the white hide of his horse diminished in the distance. Where was he going?

  Something fell over her head and brushed her arms. She started to raise her hands to slap away whatever had fallen on her, but in the next instant she was jerked off her feet. She hit the ground with a thud that knocked the breath from her lungs. Stars exploded in the night, and it took a moment to realize they were not in the sky but inside her head.

  When her vision cleared, she looked up into the face of a man on horseback, towering over her. He held a rope in his hand, the lariat at the other end pulled tight around her arms and across her chest.

  A low, dreadfully familiar voice whispered in the night. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

  The man’s lips parted in an unpleasant smile, revealing a set of rotted black teeth.

  NINETEEN

  Luke slid out of the saddle and draped Whitey’s reins loosely around the gnarled stump of a scrub bush. Ahead of him lay the uneven ridge of land that sheltered the rustlers’ stolen herd. To his right the ridge ended in a narrow flat pass. Moving with caution, he started up the hill.

  What am I doing here? I can’t recover the cattle by myself.

  But that wasn’t his purpose, and he knew it. No, he was here to give himself a mental beating. Three hundred of his cattle, his responsibility, lay right on the other side of that ridge, and he couldn’t get them. No…not couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  What if the Switzers’ presence is an excuse? Would I give the order to go after them if I didn’t have the responsibility of protecting Emma and her family?

  A Bible story his grandma used to tell replayed itself in his memory. He could see her sitting near the hearth, r
ocking in her chair the same way Mrs. Switzer did.

  “The Lord understood raising livestock, He did,” she told her audience of three little boys. “He knew that every sheep matters. He said if there were a hunnert sheep but only one got lost, the shepherd ought to go find it. And that’s why he comes after you time and agin, no matter how often you go off.”

  She’d looked right at Luke when she said that. Being the oldest and most adventurous of the brothers, he’d had his hind end warmed more than once for wandering off without permission.

  He shook off the memory. The point, of course, was about the Lord pursuing His children. But the story was based on a premise, that the shepherd of a flock valued each and every sheep enough to go after them when they were lost. And what was the difference between sheep and cattle? Especially cattle that belonged to someone else, cattle he’d been give charge of.

  The fact was, Luke wasn’t sure he would go after those rustled cattle even if the Switzers weren’t around. The shoot-out this morning had shaken him badly. He wasn’t afraid of dying, but he didn’t intend to lose another one of his men.

  I really am a lousy trail boss. Pa would go after what he wanted no matter who was standing in his way, no matter the risk.

  The realization lay heavy on him as he dropped to his belly and crawled the rest of the way up the hill to get a final look at the proof of his failure, his stolen cattle.

  Like the herd a few miles behind him, this one rested peacefully. They huddled close together in the center of the bowl, from this vantage point like a solid rug of multicolored cowhide. It was impossible to count them by starlight, but judging by the size of the area they occupied, there were upwards of seven hundred head. He glanced toward the camp. A fire burned bright, which meant the men had posted a guard, but they weren’t circling the herd on horseback. Instead, they were probably counting on the ridge to form a natural corral which the cattle would not cross in the dark.

  Luke considered creeping down the hill to get a closer look at the nearest steers. No doubt the Triple Bar brand could still be identified because the thieves hadn’t had time to slice it off and rebrand them, but he’d love to know if a fake brand appeared on the hides of the others.

  A movement east of the camp halted him. A horse galloped through the narrow break in the ridge. The sound of hooves pounding the ground echoed around the bowl and stirred the men who sat near the campfire. Luke counted three figures as they climbed to their feet and greeted the rider. So, the fourth rustler had finally returned to his desperado partners.

  The ever-present Kansas wind blew wispy clouds across the night sky. A break in the coverage revealed a half moon, and white light painted the dark landscape with luminescence as the fourth man’s horse came to a stop. He dismounted and then dragged something off of the saddle. He tossed his burden to the ground, where it rolled away.

  As Luke watched, the dark shape moved, stood upright, and then crouched on the ground.

  It was a person.

  Luke froze, his eyes fixed on that dark, huddled figure. Moonlight shone clearly off a white kapp. Blood drained from his brain, and the world spun in an eerie, sickening dance. An Amish head covering. And the darkness in which the figure was swathed was an Amish dress.

  Emma. That person was Emma.

  And she was in the hands of murderous cattle rustlers.

  TWENTY

  For one agonizing moment, Luke was paralyzed with indecision.

  What should I do?

  He lay flat on the hillside, his head peeking up over the ridge, and watched the distant scene with increasing horror. The newcomer talked to his partners, his arms gesturing. And then he threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed around the bowl and stirred up fear in Luke’s gut. Though he could not see her face, Emma’s figure on the ground seemed to draw more tightly into itself. Her posture indicated her terror.

  The sight decided him. If he left, galloped back to camp to rouse the men and return with greater numbers, he would be leaving Emma alone in the hands of ruthless, vicious men. There was no telling what they would do to her before he returned. Correction. He had a couple of very good guesses about what they would do. Possibilities formed in his mind like bullets striking a target. Acid roiled in his stomach. No. He couldn’t leave her with them, not even for a moment.

  Moving as cautiously as possible while his insides screamed at him to hurry, he crept backward down the hill. When he was sure his silhouette could not be spotted, he rose and sprinted toward Whitey. He grabbed his rifle, a Winchester Model 1873, and checked to be sure the magazine was full of cartridges. Twelve shots. Plus his six-shooter in his holster. Surely that would be enough to take care of four mangy kidnappers.

  A thought struck him in the instant before he leaped into the saddle. He’d answered his question of a moment before. No, he wasn’t willing to risk killing another human being for a herd of cattle, but he would blow those rustlers’ heads off before he’d let them harm Emma.

  At the back of his mind, a nagging worry pounded its way to the front. What could he, a lone cowboy, do against four murdering thieves? If he went charging into their camp, no doubt he’d have the element of surprise, but it wouldn’t last long. He’d probably get himself killed and Emma along with him. He needed a plan.

  Lord, I’m fresh out of ideas. Help me. No. Help Emma!

  The silent plea rose as he pointed Whitey in the direction of the pass into the bowl and dug in his heels. Surely the Lord wouldn’t leave this one special sheep all alone with no one to rescue her but a cowboy who couldn’t even manage to get his herd to the railhead intact.

  The last jagged ridge loomed ahead on his left when he spotted movement off to his right. Four horses charged across the plain in his direction. A wave of relief hit him so hard he almost lost his seat. The riders were coming from the direction of his camp. In fact, he could make out a few identifying details. Jonas’s round straw hat glowed in the cold white moonlight as though he’d set it afire.

  Taking in their location at a glance, Luke judged they were not in sight of the rustlers’ camp, but if they kept galloping ahead at that pace, they would round the shelter of the ridge in a matter of minutes. He jerked Whitey’s reins and raced across the plain to cut them off.

  “My Emma,” Jonas shouted as soon as he neared. “Where is my Emma?”

  “Shhh.” Luke held up a hand as he closed the final few yards. “Keep your voice down or you’ll give us away.” His gaze slid from Jonas to Griff. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

  “Jonas roused us,” he answered in a voice lower than a whisper. “Said he woke up in time to see a horse galloping away. Thought there were two people on it, but it was too far to tell for sure. Then he got up to check on the women and realized Emma was missing.”

  “I don’t know what woke you,” Luke told Jonas, “but I thank God for whatever it was.”

  The Amish man’s response was quietly certain. “The source, I know.”

  Luke didn’t have any trouble believing the Lord capable of kicking a man awake at the right time. After all, if He could arrange to have a man tossed out of a saloon in time to lend aid to a stranded Amish family, why not?

  “Gather close.” The men urged their horses together. Luke looked them each in the eye. Griff, the seasoned cowboy. Charlie, who had shot his first man just this morning. Morris, the quiet flank rider. And Jonas, the man who wore his faith as openly as he wore his bushy beard and funny hat.

  Lord, keep them all safe. And help us get Emma out of there unharmed.

  “Here’s what we’re dealing with. The herd is bedded down, and the rustlers haven’t mounted a watch. They are holding Emma in their camp near the entrance to the bowl.”

  Charlie’s gaze fixed on the ridge. “Could we stampede the herd? Come in from behind and run the cattle right over the top of them?”

  “Not a bad idea,” Griff said. “We spread out and charge in from al
l directions.”

  Luke shook his head. “I watched the herd for a few minutes, and I didn’t see a single one stir. In the time it takes to wake them enough to get to their feet and stampede, Emma might be in real trouble.”

  Jonas’s expression was no longer impassive. His lips were set in a grim line, and tension had stiffened his back until he sat like a petrified log in the saddle. Fear for his daughter glinted in his dark eyes.

  Luke knew how he felt.

  “Surprise is a good thought, though.” He nodded at Charlie. “The way things are situated, there’s only one option. We have to catch them off guard so they don’t have an opportunity to use her as cover.”

  Morris saw where he was going. “Either we charge in and hope to surprise them, or we sneak up on them.”

  Though Luke would much rather end the situation without bloodshed, if he had to go charging into the camp firing his rifle, he’d do it in a second. As long as he could be sure of Emma’s safety.

  He closed his eyes, picturing the camp. “Without even a chuck wagon to hide behind, sneaking up on them is going to be hard. On the other hand, I did see some good-sized rocks on some of those hillsides. We might get close enough on foot to take them by surprise.” He glanced upward to search the sky, hoping to spot a large cloud in the path of the moon to give them some cover. He found a few, but would they offer enough protection? “I think charging them might be the best solution.”

  Jonas shook his head. “You Englisch. Always barging in with a fight. Always deceiving. ‘Deception is a strong pepper that burns the speaker’s tongue, not the listener’s.’ Honesty and openness are the best approach in all things.”

  Charlie reared back in the saddle to give him a shocked look. “Are you suggesting we march in there and tell them we’ve come to get your daughter and would they please hand her over without a fuss?”

  Jonas nodded, his expression solemn. “That I will do.”