Finally, as the sun began to set behind them, they sat and ate the supper they’d all fixed together. It made Becky feel like she had a family, again. Years in the orphanage, then the loneliness of drifting from town to town with Dr. Snodgrass, never making any friends or doing any of the things girls like to do, became a vague memory as she enjoyed the company around the fire.
It was full dark when the sheriff stood and stretched, the seams of his shirt straining in the light from the fire. “Well, ladies, we have an early start in the morning, according to our wagon master. I suggest you all retire shortly. I know I will.”
His words seemed to bring everyone to life after the peaceful silence that had stolen over the group. The women climbed to their feet, shaking out their skirts and looking weary. The sheriff doused the fire then tipped his hat. “Good night.”
“I think the sheriff is sweet on you.” Miranda smirked as they made their way to the wagon.
“No, I don’t think so. He’s just being nice. He’s that type of person.”
Miss Nellie grinned also. “I don’t know about that, Becky. It seemed to me he spent a lot of time looking in your direction tonight. Couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you.”
“Well, I was sitting right across from him. He had no choice but to look at me.” Why did she feel the need to dismiss their words? Of course, someone as well put together and smart and brave as Sheriff Jensen would never have an interest in her. She was nobody.
Miss Nellie wrapped her arm around Becky’s shoulders. “Remember, you’re looking for a husband. Don’t be too quick to reject any man who takes an interest in you.” She stood back, placing her hands on her shoulders and eyed her. “Unless you have a problem with his skin color? We’re all the same underneath, you know.”
Becky shook her head. “No. That never occurred to me. I’m sure some people would object, but I learned a long time ago to judge a man by what he does, not what he looks like.”
“Very true,” Miss Nellie said, turning them so they walked to the back of the wagon. “And that sheriff is looking mighty fine to me.” She squeezed Becky’s shoulders and winked.
“Sounds like you have your eye on him, yourself.” She wasn’t sure why, but it bothered her to think Miss Nellie, with all her experience with men, might be interested in the sheriff.
“Lordy, no, child. No man as fine as Sheriff Jensen would take a serious interest in a dried up old whore like me.”
Becky drew in a sharp breath. “Don’t say that. You are a lovely woman. Kind and thoughtful. Any man would be proud to have you.”
Miss Nellie’s arm fell from Becky’s shoulders, and she offered her a soft, sad smile. “Thank you, Becky. You’re pretty special, yourself.”
***
The blast of a bugle woke Mace from a sound sleep. He groaned and rolled over on the blanket he’d thrown on the ground where he had stretched out under the prisoners’ wagon for his night’s sleep. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he’d had more sleep, but instead, he’s spent too much time last night lying awake, staring at the worn boards of the wagon floor overhead, thinking about Miss Becky, and telling himself he had no right to think about her.
He crawled out from under the wagon and splashed water on his face from the barrel attached to the side. Once he’d readied himself for the day, he wandered over to the stockade. The prisoners were all awake and waiting for him.
“Well, lookee here, it’s the big black sheriff come to take us back to Santa Fe.” The oldest of the outlaws grinned and then spit at Mace’s foot.
Since he missed his boots, Mace ignored him and unlocked the jail cell door. “Let’s go.” He gave a shove to the first man.
“Watch out, Sheriff. Maybe you’ll be the one hanging from a tree. Was you playing slap and tickle with the cute little white girl who rode your horse with you yesterday?” He winked. “I’ll bet she gave you one fine ride.”
Not one to pummel a man in handcuffs, Mace stuck his foot out as the man reached the top of the stairs. With his hands tied and leg-shackled, he tumbled down, smacking his face on the bottom step. A definite crunch had the men wincing.
“You broke my nose, you no-good ni—”
The other men turned to Mace, who, despite his anger, kept his body loose and his face blank. He’d heard worse over the years, and while not immune to it, the word no longer held sway over him. He was not what people called him but what he had accomplished.
He gestured to the other two men. “Keep moving.” When he reached the bottom step, he hauled the prisoner up by his arms. “Sorry about your nose.” He grinned. “But you look a lot better.”
The man’s nose had obviously been broken, and blood seeped from the injury over his mustache and dripped off his chin. Mace shoved him forward and placed his hand on his gun. “I don’t want any accidents here. Say, if one of you got shot because I was distracted. That would be a sorry mess. I’d have to fill out reports. Takes a lot of time.”
No one said anything else as they made their way across the fort’s field where soldiers starting their day. The line of wagons was about one-quarter mile from the fort wall. Mace had secured the spot right behind the ladies, so he would be able to keep an eye on them.
Once they reached their wagon, Mace opened the iron-bar door on the back of the wagon. “Get in.”
The three prisoners climbed in the best they could with their hands tied. Once they settled in, Mace locked the door. He leaned against the wagon. “I want no trouble from any of you on this trip. I ain’t never killed a prisoner in my custody.” He looked at the man with the broken nose. “Yet.”
He found Miss Becky and her travel companions at the animal pen, looking frustrated. “Need help, Miss Nellie?”
She brushed the loose hair from her forehead. “Yes. we can’t get these goldarned mules to budge again.” She hitched her hands on her hips. “How do you do it?”
“Easy, Miss Nellie. Very easy.” He grabbed the animals’ halters and tugged. Far more gently than they had been doing it. “You see, ladies,” he continued to talk as he walked the animals over to their wagon. “Everything in life would be easier if we all just stop tugging at each other.”
The women followed him as meekly as the donkeys. “Miss Becky, hitch this one up while I do the other one.”
The girl grabbed the halter and started to pull.
“No. Easy, Miss Becky. Easy.” She flushed and loosened her hold, and the animal moved forward. She smiled at him, turning his stomach to mush. She had the sweetest smile he had ever seen. He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around her and make sure she was safe.
After what she’d told him she’d been through in her short life, she needed someone to do just that. But then again, wasn’t that the very reason she was headed to Santa Fe? To find a husband.
Once the animals had been hitched and the wagon prepared for the day’s travel, he blessed Miss Nellie when she offered him a cup of coffee. That, plus leftover ham from the night before, was just what he needed to get him started for the day.
He ambled back to the prisoners’ wagon. “Hey, Sheriff, we gonna get breakfast?”
“Nope.” Mace kept walking. “I’ll let each one of you out one at a time when we stop at noon. You’ll get to cook something for yourself then.”
“You mean we have to cook with our hands tied up?” The youngest of the prisoners had the nerve to look shocked.
“Yep. Unless you want to starve.”
After he had rounded the gang up outside of Dodge City, he considered the various ways of returning them. Horseback, the train, or the wagon train. By far, the least dangerous way to travel had been with the wagon train.
After gulping the strong, black brew, he climbed up on the wagon seat and grabbed the reins. Slowly, the wagons began to move forward. The vehicle rocked as the wheels rolled over the muddy ground. What troubled him this morning was the weather. April was not the best month of the year to be traveling in this section of the country.
/> Hopefully, they would have a run of good luck and not have to face a storm.
Chapter Four
The travelers were only about a week away from Santa Fe, most of the trip having been everything from uneventful to downright boring. The sheriff stopped by their wagon each evening and spent time with them, drinking coffee and telling tales of his adventures. Many times Becky guessed he made up some of the stories just to keep the ladies entertained.
She’d spent most of her time just staring at him. He was easy to look at, and his deep voice always soothed her. During the long, hot days when she would worry and fret about having to marry up with a stranger once they arrived in Santa Fe, she would remember Sheriff Jensen and the comfort of his presence.
It was too bad he couldn’t be her husband. Truth be known, she didn’t know why not. Although he seemed to look at her more than the other ladies, she always got the feeling he was holding himself back from her. That, in some way, she frightened him, which was silly since he was such a strong man and she was but a mere slip of a woman.
This morning, she cast a nervous glance at the sky as the sun emerged past the horizon. The clouds kept the entire area swamped in twilight darkness. Strong gusts of wind whipped canvas covers and ladies’ dresses.
Earlier, Mr. Drover had spoken with the group. “I think this will be a rough day for us travelers. I don’t much like the look of the sky, and for those of you who don’t know, this section of the country is known for tornadoes. So, keep close together and your eye on the sky.”
Becky chose to walk alongside the wagon with Miranda on the other side and Miss Nellie driving. So far on the trip, they had rotated positions so the same person wasn’t left with sore arms at the end of every day from pulling on the reins.
They’d seen quite a bit of Sheriff Jensen since his wagon was behind theirs. He’d been very helpful, and she had often wondered over the past days how they would have gotten along without his help. He even cooked better than they did. She shook her head. It seemed there was nothing the man couldn’t do.
No sooner had they commenced the afternoon drive when a storm started; small hail soon grew to the size of crabapples. Word had come down the line to halt the wagons and tighten the canvas covers in preparation for the storm. The three of them climbed into the wagon, their dresses soaked, bonnets drooping with water.
They pulled on the cords to make sure the canvas was tight, as lightning and thunder crashed around them. They huddled on the floor in the middle of the wagon, clinging to each other.
“Oh, no.” Miss Nellie looked at the bit of sky that showed out the back of the wagon.
“What?” Becky grabbed Miranda’s hand.
Before she could answer, Sheriff Jensen stuck his head into the opening, water running down his face. “Get out. Now.”
“Why?” Becky’s teeth chattered as she climbed to her feet.
“Tornado. Move it, ladies.”
They scrambled to the back of the wagon, and his strong arms lifted each one down. “Head to that ditch over there.” He gestured with his head to where a number of people raced away. With the wind blowing so hard, they could barely walk. Sheriff Jensen had his arms wrapped around her and Miranda, with Miss Nellie in front of them.
“Get down, and cover your heads. I’ll be right back.” He turned and headed back toward the prisoners’ wagon as Becky and the other two women hunkered down in the ditch.
Miss Nellie gripped their hands. “Hold on, girls. This might be quite a ride.”
“Have you ever been in a tornado before, Miss Nellie?” Miranda’s voice shook as she looked wide-eyed at their chaperone.
“Once. Not an experience I want to repeat.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “If either one of you are the praying type, here’s your chance.”
Becky closed her eyes and prayed as the wind gusted around them, branches and leaves flying in the air.
***
Mace fought the wind buffeting his body to the get to the prisoners’ wagon. He stuck the key into the lock and pulled opened the door. The wind blew water into his face, the sting of hail hitting him like tiny daggers. “Tornado coming. I don’t care if you live or die, but it’s my Christian duty to give you a chance.”
“You gonna untie our hands and feet?” the oldest man asked as he awkwardly climbed out of the wagon.
“Not a chance, and don’t think about running.” He could barely hear his own voice over the howling of the wind and the crash of thunder “I’ll shoot you and leave your body for the animals to feast on.”
“Like we could run with these things on our legs,” one of them shouted.
Mace shrugged. “Your problem, not mine.” He sprinted back to where he’d left the women. The noise of the wind had grown much stronger, roaring like a train passing right overhead. He dove into the ditch, covering the women with his body and wrapping his hands around his head as the cracking of tree branches sounded and pieces of wagons flew overhead. The rain continued to pound down on them, and they all jumped when lightning struck a nearby tree.
“Are y’all breathing all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” Miss Becky’s shaky voice could barely be heard.
After only a few minutes which seemed like hours, the noise stopped, the wind eased, and the rain turned to a soft drizzle. Mace climbed off the women and helped them up. The much lighter rain worked to wash the mud from their clothes. Mace wiped the water off his face and looked around.
Several of the wagons had been torn apart, but both the ladies’ wagon and the prisoners’ had been spared. The other travelers crawled out of the ditch and surveyed the damage. The sound of crying filled the air from some of the women and children in the group.
Easton made his way down the line, asking about injuries. Apparently, there were only a few minor bumps and bruises among the travelers, he told them, but three wagons had been busted up. As they all helped gather up the belongings that had been thrown about, the rain slowed even more and eventually stopped, giving way to sunshine, common after a severe storm.
Mace left the women to inspect their wagon and walked to where the three prisoners lay tangled up together in another ditch. He stood, feet apart, his hands on his hips. “So, the tornado didn’t kill you. A pity as it would have saved me the trouble of hauling your sorry asses to Santa Fe. Y’all look like a mass of squirming snakes.”
“Yeah, well, Big Time Sheriff, just get us the hell out of here,” one of the prisoners shouted, glaring at him over another prisoner’s shoulder.
“All in good time. I have things to do right now.” He walked away, whistling, knowing they weren’t going anywhere all knotted up like that.
***
Becky stumbled her way over to their wagon. She’d never been in a tornado before, although she certainly knew about them. They had been very fortunate that their wagon was still in one piece. Not so for everyone else.
“I’m thinking we should get out of these wet dresses, but we first need to help those whose wagons have been destroyed. We’ll only get muddy picking up belongings anyway.” Miss Nellie held her hands out to the side, looking down at herself.
“I agree.” Becky smoothed the hair back from her face. “We should help.”
The next few hours passed with gathering belongings and finding their rightful owners. Sheriff Jensen popped into her view a few times as he helped the other men put the fractured wagons back together.
Weary from the work, Becky spotted a fallen tree near the ditch and wandered over to take a short break. Once she sat, a voice next to her said, “Hey, lady, help us out of the ditch.”
She jumped at the sound and looked down to see the three prisoners lying in a heap. “What are you still doing there?”
The oldest man twisted his neck to look at her. “The sheriff put us in here, but I think he forgot about us. Can you help us out?” He offered a smile, a few stained teeth left in his mouth.
“You mean help you out of the ditch?” She had alway
s thought of herself as strong but lifting three men was a bit beyond her strength. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“Just reach down and pull my younger brother here up.”
Becky looked around, trying to find Sheriff Jensen in the crowd. He was nowhere to be seen. She worried her lower lip, feeling sorry for the men lying the mud but unsure if she should help them out.
“I can go find the sheriff and remind him you are still in the ditch.”
“No!” The oldest man said. “We don’t want to stop the sheriff from helping the needy people.” He offered a grin that was more frightening than most people’s scowls. “Just pull Bobby up.” He used his chin to gesture to the younger man.
“Our hands are tied. What trouble can we cause? Just help us out of this ditch, and we’ll sit quietly on that log and wait for the sheriff.”
They really did look uncomfortable. She supposed just helping them out of the ditch would not cause problems. As he said, their hands were tied. “All right. I’ll help one, but you’ll have to get the other two out. I can’t lift all three of you.”
She reached in and grabbed the top man by his arms. “You’ll have to use your feet to help push yourself up. You’re too heavy for me to pull you all the way out of the ditch.”
The man grunted, and with him pushing and her pulling, he climbed out. “Thanks, lady. I appreciate it.” He turned and said, “But my hands are still tied so I can’t help my brothers out.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t lift them. They’re much bigger.”
“Maybe you should untie my hands.” He hurried on when she backed away. “Just for a minute or two so I can get them out, and then you can re-tie them.”
They must have truly thought she was an idiot. She didn’t mind helping them out of the ditch for comfort’s sake, but she certainly had no intention of untying them. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If you can’t get them out with your hands being tied, then they will just have to stay there.”
Prisoners of Love: Becky Page 4
