Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  He shot her a pointed look. "She didn’t."

  Pale and trembling, Joe lurched to a nearby post and clung to it. "Any ideas, son? We need to know where to start looking."

  A high-pitched ringing shrilled in Tiller’s ears. He rubbed his forehead. "Give me a minute to think."

  Joe glanced between them. "Did John Coffee have any enemies?"

  Besides you? Tiller shook his head, panic climbing his throat. "She never mentioned anyone."

  "A drifter?" Joe persisted. He gripped Miss Vee’s shoulders. "Think, Viola. Who might have taken her?"

  She licked her lips. "We get all kinds at the inn. Just a few weeks ago, we had a right rowdy bunch. They made trouble, and I ran them off." Her wide eyes flashed with fear. "Maybe they came back to take revenge."

  Tiller glanced at Joe. "There was another band of rough-looking strangers after that." He pointed toward the house. "The men who brought Otis."

  "That’s right," Miss Vee said, snapping her fingers. "We realized once they’d gone they could’ve been the very ones who robbed poor Otis and left him for dead."

  Remembering his ruthless gang, the real culprits, Tiller shuddered and cast her a doubtful look. "I never held with that idea. Believe me, the animals that hurt Otis wouldn’t have turned right around and helped him." A picture came to mind of the strange man on the far bank snapping a jaunty salute. "Let’s face it, folks. This is still the Natchez Trace. The Devil’s Backbone. There’s never been anything but greed and mischief along this road." Tiller swept past them to saddle his horse. "Are you going with me Joe? We’ve got to hurry."

  Spinning, Joe grabbed his tack and carried it inside the other stall.

  Miss Vee paced and wrung her hands until they led the horses out. "Where will you go?" Her voice shook. "You don’t know where to look."

  Tiller swung onto the gelding and gathered the reins. "Pray, Miss Vee. Pray that God will give me a taste of what He gives Otis before it’s too late."

  She clutched his leg and handed him her lamp. "I’ll pray. And I’ll ask Otis, as well. I promise."

  He lifted his chin at Sheki. "Take care of him for Mariah, would you?"

  Tears in her eyes, she nodded.

  Side by side, Tiller and Joe barreled from the barn in a flurry of hooves and dust. By lantern light, they combed every trail and stand of brush in a ten-mile sweep around the inn, searching until Tiller’s eyes burned from the strain.

  Joe dismounted twice. Once to study a clutch of broken twigs near the house and now to crouch and stare at the print of a boot heel in a low spot off the road. "No Indian has her. This man is a clumsy fool."

  Tiller squatted beside him with the lamp. "I suppose there isn’t one clumsy Indian in Mississippi?"

  Joe shrugged. "Among the Chickasaw, maybe."

  Tiller watched to see if he was joking. He didn’t smile. "If he’s such a fool, why don’t we know which way to ride next?"

  Joe stood, his hands on his hips. "Because it’s dark and we’re tired." He lifted one shoulder. "Because I’m not the Choctaw I used to be." He sounded close to tears.

  Glancing up from the dim circle of light, Tiller sighed. "I’m no Choctaw, but I think I know which way to ride." He stood and pointed toward the horses. "We’ve got to get these animals to the barn before they drop from under us." Holding up the lamp, he shook it. "Besides, we’re almost out of oil." Passing Joe, he gripped his sagging shoulder. "Maybe you should take them home and get some rest. If you know where I can find oil and a fresh horse—"

  Joe shoved his hand away. "A woman needs rest. I won’t stop until I find Mariah." He sniffed. "We ride back together. You can take Sheki. I’ll find myself another horse."

  Tiller gazed at him with new respect. "All right then."

  A bobbing lantern swept toward them in the pitch darkness as they reined off the Trace into the yard. Miss Vee ran toward them shouting Tiller’s name, her shrill voice echoing off the trees.

  His heart dared to hope. He laid his heels into the gelding’s side and galloped to meet her. "Did she come back?"

  Panting, she held her side and gasped for breath. "No. But I know who took her."

  Tiller leaped to the ground and gripped her shoulders. "Who?"

  "I’ve been thinking for hours, and it came to me just now. I was about to saddle Sheki and go after her myself."

  Joe reached them, jumping to the ground. "You know something, Viola?"

  Losing patience, Tiller shook her. "Where is she, Miss Vee?"

  Her eyes glowed like an angry cat’s. "I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner. Gabriel Tabor’s got her."

  Shock fired through Tiller. Loose-lipped, potbellied Gabe who couldn’t keep his hands or his dirty thoughts to himself?

  Joe pushed between them. "Julian Tabor’s son? Why would Gabe take Mariah?"

  "To get revenge." Miss Vee started to cry. "To ruin her if he can. Mariah’s all he’s ever wanted, and she spurned him."

  Gathering his reins, Tiller smoothed his horse’s neck. "Hang on for just a while longer, can you boy?" He slid his boot into the stirrup and threw his leg over then reached for Miss Vee’s lantern. "How do I get there?"

  "I know the way," Joe said, pulling his horse around. "We’ll go as the crow flies. Follow me." He swung into the saddle, shouted a command in Choctaw, and thundered toward the Pearl.

  They picked their way over the nearest crossing. At the Tabor’s fence line, Tiller kicked an opening in the leaning pickets. "What if we’re wrong, Joe?" he asked, guiding the horses through.

  Joe glanced up. "We’ll owe this man a new fence."

  Mounting up, they skirted a pecan grove then sailed over rows of young cotton in a field that seemed to stretch on forever, until the shadowy outline of a stately plantation house rose in the distance. Despite the late hour, lights burned in most of the tall windows.

  Joe glanced at him. "Something’s stirring, that’s for sure."

  Tiller nodded grimly. "It’s about to get a whole lot worse."

  They rode up to the porch and slid to the ground. Tiller strode up the steps with Joe at his heels. Together they pounded with their fists, showing no regard for the hands on the clock and no mercy for the rattling door frame.

  A shouting voice ordered them to keep their trousers on, and then the door jerked open. "What’s the meaning of this infernal hullabaloo?"

  Could the scowling little sprout be Julian Tabor? Tiller had braced for big Gabe or a slightly older version, so the tiny, stoop-shouldered gentleman caught him off guard. Thin and frail, a high wind would carry him off without the weight of his full, gray beard to hold him down. If the man was Gabe’s father, Mrs. Tabor hailed from sturdy stock.

  Leaning closer, he squinted. "Joe Brashears, is that you? How dare you beat on my door at this hour?"

  "Julian, we’re looking for Gabe," Joe said through clenched teeth.

  Mr. Tabor stood up straighter. "Well, that makes two of us."

  Joe narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean my boy’s not here."

  Tiller edged closer and peered over his shoulder into the house. "You need to let us in, mister. We’re bound to find him."

  His hollow eyes flinched, fixing Tiller with a murderous gaze. "I told you my son ain’t home. You hard of hearing?"

  Joe cleared his throat. "Gabe took Mariah, Julian. He ran off with her."

  Interest flickered on his face. "Ran off? You mean to get hitched?"

  Tiller shook his head. "No hearts and flowers, sir. He slipped inside the barn and carried her out against her will."

  The old man winced. "That’s the craziest talk I ever heard. Gabe wouldn’t hurt Mariah." His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. "You boys have the wrong man."

  Joe glanced at Tiller and heaved a sigh. "I guess it’s time to ride for the sheriff in Canton. A posse will ferret him out."

  Mr. Tabor’s hands shot up. "Now Joe, there’s no call to bring in the law. We sweep our own doorsteps out her
e."

  Joe clenched his fists and leaned threateningly. "Then start sweeping."

  Backing away from the door, Mr. Tabor motioned them in.

  The moment Tiller crossed the threshold, his anxious gaze flitted over the high-ceilinged entry and the fancy parlor off the hall, searching for any sign of Mariah.

  "You’re wasting your time looking, boy. She hasn’t been here." He swallowed hard. "And neither has Gabe." Sadness dulled his eyes. "He’s been missing all night, and I’m worried sick. It ain’t like him not to come home."

  Tiller nodded at Joe over Mr. Tabor’s head. "Do you have any idea where he might’ve taken her?"

  The old man’s hand shot up. "I never said he did." Breathing hard, he leaned one hand on his hip, kneading his shaggy brows with two fingers of the other. "Let’s say for argument’s sake that Gabe’s your culprit. My boy wouldn’t pluck a hair from Mariah’s head. He’s quite fond of her."

  A knot rose in Tiller’s throat. "A little too fond of her, isn’t he, Mr. Tabor? Surely you’re not blind to your own son’s heart."

  "The boy’s right," Joe said. "There’s more than one way to harm a decent woman."

  Mr. Tabor glanced away.

  Joe shifted in front of his face. "You know something, don’t you, Julian? I can see it in your eyes." Clutching his arms, Joe gave him a shake. "Come on, man! This is Mariah at stake. The same little girl who groomed your horses, played in your cornfield, brought soup to your sickbed."

  Mr. Tabor groaned and spun toward the parlor. "Come this way."

  They followed him inside the well-appointed room, every nerve in Tiller’s body yearning for the chase. "We don’t have much time, sir."

  He stopped in front of the mantelpiece. "This won’t take long." Rummaging in an ornately carved box, he turned with a folded paper in his hands. "This is the map to a little cabin I own up near Cypress Swamp."

  Tiller lifted his brows at Joe.

  "Ten miles from here," he said.

  Mr. Tabor leaned against the mantel and crossed his arms over the paper. "If I know my son, Gabe’s headed one of two places." He cleared his throat. "If he plans to do right by Mariah, they’re bound for Canton and a justice of the peace." He paused. "But if his mind’s gone twisted, he’s taking her to this cabin."

  Tiller watched his weathered face. "Make the call, Mr. Tabor."

  Gripping the back of a chair for support, the man seemed to age ten years. His chin slumped to his chest, and he held out the map. "Please don’t hurt him, Joe."

  Joe’s fingers lingered on his hand. "I’ll do my best to prevent it."

  Mr. Tabor’s agony over his son echoed Tiller’s dread for Mariah. He touched his sleeve. "Thank you, sir."

  One glance at Joe and they bolted for the door.

  Mr. Tabor’s voice stopped them at the threshold. "Keep a sharp eye. Gabe’s bound to be armed, and he won’t give her up without a fight."

  Outside on the steps, Joe caught Tiller’s sleeve. "It’s time to bring in some help."

  "From where?"

  "The same place we’ll find fresh horses. Follow me."

  Riding hard, Tiller chased him across the river again. Instead of turning left toward the inn, Joe angled right and rode along the sandy bank for about two miles. Cutting into the woods, they rode another half mile before wending past chicken coops and pigsties then up to a rickety back porch.

  Joe gave a sharp whistle, holding the lantern close to his face.

  A light came on in the house, and a squinting Tobias Jones appeared at the door. "Halito, Joe Brashears! A long time has passed since we’ve seen you."

  "We need your help," Joe said simply. He dismounted and ambled to join Tobias on the porch. In the flickering glow, they continued their conversation in the language they shared.

  Tiller caught Mariah’s name, and then Gabe’s name paired with a foul curse. Sometime during Joe’s rant, Christopher and Justin tumbled outside pulling on trousers and shirts. They crowded behind their pa with menacing dark scowls.

  Without a word, Tobias lifted his arm. Chris vaulted the rail to his left and disappeared into the shadowy pine. Justin squeezed between them and tore across the junk-cluttered yard to the barn.

  Tiller waited while Joe and Tobias plotted quietly in the haunting rhythm of the Choctaw. He didn’t understand the words, but their stern, serene faces gave him confidence in the plan.

  Justin reappeared, leading two paint ponies from the barn. Tiller pulled the saddle from the gelding and threw it on the closest horse while Justin fixed Joe’s saddle to the other. Before Tiller had tightened the cinch, Chris marched out of the woods by torchlight with a cluster of Indian braves.

  At least thirty men converged like an army set for battle. Concern tightened some of the faces, anger twisted others, reminding Tiller that these were Mariah’s people.

  A chill shot along his spine. Would Joe be able to honor his promise to let no harm come to Gabriel Tabor?

  THIRTY-ONE

  Aballet of tiny green fireflies danced between Mariah and the quaint little cabin. Clusters of glowing mushrooms, their snow-white tops bathed in moonlight, dotted the rustic yard. In the distance, a low-lying mist hung over the swamp, weaving in and out between fat cypress trunks. Her ears rang with the deep-throated croak of bullfrogs and the frenzied shrill of crickets.

  In other circumstances, the scene would be a magical dream. Astride a horse, wedged against Gabe’s big belly with her wrists bound and his foul breath in her ear, it was a ghastly nightmare.

  Gabe climbed out of the saddle and lifted her down beside him.

  Shuddering, she shrank away from his beefy hands. "Touch me like that again, and I’ll kill you quicker than a dry horse sniffs out water."

  Gabe braced his hands on his knees and laughed like a fiend. "I can’t help it, Mariah. You’re like a sickness to me. A fever in my blood. I cotton to you like a child to a sweet."

  She raised her chin. "You’re hardly a child, Gabe, except in your mind. You should be ashamed of yourself. Bringing me here against my will is the meanest, mangiest thing you’ve ever done."

  Fury flashed in his eyes. "Hush, gal. Don’t talk to me about mean after the hateful thing you done." He shoved her shoulder. "Get on up to the cabin."

  She held her ground. "Untie me first. I can’t see a thing." She softened her voice. "You don’t want me to trip and hurt myself, do you?"

  He turned her, fumbled with the ropes, then stilled. "Wait a minute. You’ll run."

  Mariah crossed her fingers. "I won’t. I promise." Not until the first chance I get.

  Mumbling, Gabe seemed to mull it over then spun her around. "I won’t do it. But don’t worry, I’ve got you." Linking his arm through hers, he herded her for the door. She stumbled a few times on the way, but his grip was a cruel vise that held her upright.

  Their booted feet thundered on the loose boards of the porch, the echo bouncing off the sagging overhang and resounding in her head. Gabe released her while he fumbled for the knob then shoved the door open in front of them. Before he pushed her over the threshold, he groped along a shelf on the inside wall and pulled down a lantern. Striking a long match, he lit the wick then nudged her in the back with his elbow.

  The charm of the cabin ended past the front wall. The moldy odor of dampness reached her first, followed by the stench of unwashed chamber pots and dirty laundry. Mariah turned her face to her shoulder and gagged.

  When she recovered enough to speak, she turned watery eyes to Gabe. "Please untie me. I can’t stand being bound another second."

  Watching her, Gabe fumbled for a long brass key hidden over the door frame. Hanging the lamp from a hook, he inserted the key in the door and turned the lock. Hurrying across the room, he lit another lantern in the center of a small round dining table.

  More light was both a blessing and a curse. The dimness made the musty cabin gloomy, but the light revealed the filth and diminished her hope of escape. The tiny cabin had a single door with a wind
ow to one side. Watermarked curtains over the sink offered hope of another exit. The rest of the walls were solid cypress logs, set together like interlocking fists to hold her inside.

  "Now then. I suppose I could unknot your rope." He gave her a long, searching look. "As long as you promise to behave."

  Mariah nodded fiercely. "I promise."

  "If you go she-cat on me, I’ll tie you up again, only tighter. You won’t get loose no matter how much you squawk." He shook his finger in her face. "I swear on my ma’s grave."

  She lowered her lashes. "I’ll behave myself." As long as you do the same.

  The bulging knot in his throat rose and fell. "First, let me tell you how it’s got to be." His hands moved to rest on his broad hips. "I’ll hunt up some food in that pantry yonder"—he jutted his chin toward a door in the corner—"whilst you clean up a little in the kitchen. There ain’t been no female around here in a spell, so it lacks a woman’s touch."

  Mariah glanced over her shoulder at the appalling mess. "Yes, I can do that." Anything to keep his mind off her.

  "I’ll build a cozy fire, and you can make us a nice little supper." He ducked his head, the shy gesture almost human. "I heard how good you cook."

  She forced a smile. "I’ll do my best."

  His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. "You set the table real nice, and we’ll eat together like a happy married couple."

  Her stomach jerked. "Th–that sounds nice."

  "Once our bellies are full and the fire burns down to embers, we’ll be ready for a little nap." His head made a slow, deliberate turn toward the small rumpled cot in the corner. "How’s all that sound?"

  Straining against her bonds, Mariah swallowed a scream. She longed to rail at him. Pummel the lurid grin from his drooling mouth. Show him the difference between a she-cat and a she-devil.

  Instead, she forced her muscles to relax, her breathing to ease. Pushing Gabe to action would be a huge mistake. She would stay calm and bide her time. Mariah had two important things on her side—her mind and body were quicker than the dimwitted oaf who held her captive.

  Gabe slipped around behind her. The rope tightened at first then released in a rush of warmth spreading to her tingling fingertips. She almost cried in relief.