by Holly Hughes
“Good for them,” Ma declared.
“He was plenty sore,” the drover went on. “I still remember him yelling after us as the sheriff led him away in handcuffs, ‘I’ll make the Overland Express pay for this! You can’t ruin Chet Ambrose like this! I’ll get my revenge!’”
Annie felt a chill creep up her spine.
She faced the drover with steady eyes and a pounding heart. “If this Chet Ambrose is the same Chet Ambrose you knew …”
Mrs. Dawson put an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “But if he hates the Overland Express so much, why would he work for it?”
“He said he wanted revenge,” the drover said. “What better way to get revenge than by working from inside the company?”
As the drover walked off to treat his sick mule, Ma took Annie by the arm. “How can you be so sure Ambrose poisoned Magpie?”
Words bubbled out as Annie told her mother about the faked arrow wound, the boot print, the snagged green wool, and the blood-crusted pocketknife. As she was talking, Davy came running from the barn, waving the McGuffey’s Reader. He proudly showed Ma his sketch of the boot print as Annie finished telling the story.
Ma sighed unhappily. “Your father did mention to me this morning that there was a wound on Magpie’s flanks—just before the … accident. Oh, I wish he were here to help sort this out!”
Annie cast a worried look at the station house. “I know. But I’ve already sorted it out, Ma. Don’t you see? Ambrose faked the arrow wound so we’d blame Magpie’s poisoning on Indians. He figured it would stir up the old trouble between the Overland Express and the Indians. That’s his revenge!”
“Now that I think on it,” Ma slowly recalled, “Ambrose was awful quick to blame Redbird for meddling with the horse this morning. Shooting off that gun and all, like he wanted to draw attention—”
Just then, the sound of crashing underbrush and pounding footsteps came from the pine scrub. Annie turned toward the noise, muscles tensed.
Billy burst from the trees and leaped across the yard, weaving through the clutter of freight wagons. “Annie, where’s Redbird?” he yelled.
“In the station house,” Annie called.
“Quick, fetch her out here!” He gasped for breath. “Magpie’s getting worse!”
CHAPTER 13
NO TIME TO LOSE
Curious drovers clustered around Billy, and Jeremiah came striding from the barn. Redbird darted out of the station house. “Billy? What’s wrong?” Her slender dark face was taut with worry.
Billy fought to catch his breath. “For a while Magpie seemed to be calming down. But then suddenly she started to tremble and sweat, and she was fighting to breathe. She was trying to lie down—I had to keep pulling her back up. I came here quick as I could.”
“Sounds like the beginnings of colic,” Redbird said, frowning with concern.
Annie felt her stomach tighten like a fist. She knew colic could be deadly. All her excitement about solving the mystery turned sour. What good did it do to know how Magpie had been poisoned, if the poison still killed her?
Redbird laid a hand on Mrs. Dawson’s shoulder. “If it’s colic, I think I can help her. But you need me here, too, don’t you?”
Ma sighed. “You said yourself there ain’t much to do now ’cept wait for James to wake. You go on and help that pony. I’ll stay by my husband.”
Redbird turned and ran back toward the station house. “I’ll get my medicine pouch!” she called over her shoulder.
Annie tugged miserably on Billy’s elbow. “Well, at least we know what’s wrong with her—belladonna poisoning. It seems the stagecoach guard took some from Pa’s remedy cabinet and gave her a whopping big dose.”
Jeremiah looked startled, and Billy whistled in surprise. “I thought you said he was a company spy,” Billy said.
“Well, Pa got it wrong. He ain’t a spy, he’s just crazy. He did it for revenge on the Overland.”
“Then who knows what sort of trouble he’s been stirring up along the route?” Jeremiah put in.
Annie clenched her fists. “And just think what he could be up to next. We ought to stop him before he hurts any more horses.”
“Or people,” Jeremiah added, his voice thick with anger. “If he hadn’t messed around with Magpie, your pa wouldn’t have got hurt.” Annie felt warmed by Jeremiah’s loyalty to her father.
“And to think that he was going to report Pa to the Overland bosses,” Annie said, her temper rising. “He said he’d get Pa fired!”
“He still might, when he gets to the end of the line,” Ma said. There was a sharp line of worry between her eyebrows.
“If he gets to the end of the line,” Billy said. “But he won’t, not if I have anything to do with it. Annie’s right. We’ve got to stop him!”
Just then, Redbird came running out of the station house. “I’ve got my pouch. Ready to go with me, Annie?”
Billy caught Annie by the arm. “But I need you to ride the trail east with me, to catch Ambrose!”
Annie stood uncertainly between Billy and Redbird. Her feelings seemed all jumbled inside. The only thing her mind could see was Magpie, staggering in the gully, shuddering with pain.
“You’re the fastest rider at the station, Billy,” she began in a faltering voice. “Shoot, you’re one of the fastest riders in the whole Pony Express. If anyone can catch up to the coach and stop Ambrose, it’s you. Why do you need me?”
“Because you’re the one who found the proof,” Billy insisted. “Nate Slocum won’t be inclined to accuse his guard of such a crime. I reckon you can explain things better than I can.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ve kinda got a reputation as a tale-teller, remember? Slocum might disbelieve me.”
Ma blew out a sigh. “Billy’s right, Annie,” she said. “Slocum will need a powerful lot of convincing. Ambrose has been filling his ear with all sorts of bad words about your pa and Red Buttes. He’ll believe the two of you better than just one. Besides, you’re a good rider—you won’t slow Billy down much. The coach can’t have gone too far. It’s only been a couple of hours.”
Tears sprang to Annie’s eyes. “But I can’t go so far from the station with Pa sick,” she protested. “Going down into the scrub is one thing, but riding miles away to the east—”
Mrs. Dawson took her daughter squarely by both shoulders. “I’m here for Pa,” she said. “So is Redbird. The best thing you can do for him, Annie, is to clear his name and save his job. Now you saddle up and get going.”
Annie made her decision in a split second. “All right.” And suddenly, her spirits leaped at the thought of the ride she was about to take.
“Good luck, Annie,” Redbird said. “I’ll do everything I can for Magpie, I promise. Mrs. Dawson, keep dabbing Mr. Dawson’s head with water to hold the swelling down. I’ll be back soon!” She turned, plunged into the scrub, and was quickly gone from sight.
Jeremiah clapped Billy on the shoulder. “Stormy’s in the barn, ready and rested. You can saddle him up. I’ll saddle Surefoot for you, Annie. You’re used to riding him, ain’t you?” He threw Annie a look that told her he knew exactly what she’d been up to last night.
Annie hesitated. “But what about regulations?” she asked her mother. “I know we ain’t supposed to use those horses for personal affairs.”
Ma put her hands on her hips. “If this ain’t official Pony Express business, what is? My stars, Annie, get a move on!”
Annie crouched tightly in Surefoot’s saddle, feeling the wind sting her face. Her long pale braids bounced on her back as the horse galloped flat out. As if making up for yesterday’s clouds and rain, the sun beat down hard as the trail swung eastward out of the pine scrub. Ahead of her rode Billy, astride the palomino named Stormy.
“I don’t know this leg of the trail,” Billy shouted above the thunder of hoofbeats. “I always go the other direction, west towards Devil’s Gate. Is it flat most of the way?”
“Nearly all the way to the Platte Bridge Stat
ion,” Annie called back, remembering the few trips she’d taken along this river road. “But there’s lots of rocky parts.”
To their left, the red buttes thrust up out of the barren plain, miles in the distance. To their right, the rain-swollen North Platte churned furiously. The water foamed white as it rushed over a spill of rocks and a ruined beaver dam.
“They ain’t even gone three hours, right?” Billy yelled over his shoulder. “We should catch them before the next relay station.”
“Depends on how fast Slocum was driving,” Annie answered. “Remember, he was making up for lost time.”
An hour later, they galloped into the relay station. Unlike Red Buttes, which was a home station, this smaller station was little more than a ramshackle shed, with a single station hand tending a few ponies. He popped out of his tiny cabin, surprised to see Billy and Annie galloping toward him. “We don’t need to change horses,” Billy explained, reining in Stormy briefly. “Did the stagecoach just come through here?”
“About ten minutes ago,” the station hand reckoned. “What’s doing?”
“Got to catch ’em—can’t explain!” Billy whipped his black hat off his head and waved good-bye with it. He dug his heels into Stormy’s sides and bolted down the trail. Annie waved her arm to the baffled station hand and urged Surefoot after Stormy.
Thundering up a small, rocky rise, Annie spotted the stagecoach, far in the distance. She pointed it out to Billy with a triumphant thrust of her arm. “There they are!”
Puzzled, Billy reined Stormy to a halt. “But why are they stopping? It looks like they’re trying to ford the river.”
Annie pulled up Surefoot beside him. “That’s odd. Stagecoaches ’most always cross the river at the new toll bridge, just a little ways east of here.”
Billy frowned. “Maybe Ambrose is afraid of being stopped at the toll bridge,” he suggested. “Maybe he talked Slocum into fording here instead.”
Annie studied the scene. Beside them, the North Platte surged past with a huge, deep rumble. She shook her head. “Generally this stretch of the river is wide and kind of lazy. But with all that rain last night, today it looks almost like flood season. It’d be plumb foolish to cross here today.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t reckon Slocum’s in cahoots with Ambrose, do you?”
“I doubt it,” Billy replied. “But I guess we’ll find out soon!”
As they charged down the rocky slope, Annie peered ahead to see that the male passengers had all climbed out of the stagecoach. Most of them were putting their shoulders to the back of the coach, preparing to help trundle it across the rushing river.
Then she saw sunlight glint on blond hair a few yards from the coach. It looked like Goldilocks had gone off to one side and was wading across on his own. She felt a stab of misgiving. What was that fellow up to?
From the corner of her eye, she saw Billy dig his heels into Stormy’s sides. Stormy flung himself down the slope in a final burst of speed. Surefoot lunged forward too, but he couldn’t match Stormy’s long-legged gallop. Annie watched Billy draw away from her as he raced toward the stagecoach.
Galloping on, she saw the men clustered around the coach turn around in surprise to watch Billy’s headlong approach. Nate Slocum, pulling on the horses’ heads, stopped and stood waist-deep in the water.
Annie could pick out Chet Ambrose’s broad back in his green coat. He crouched suddenly as Billy neared, as if he hoped to find somewhere to hide midstream. As she watched, he abruptly dropped the wheel rim he’d been holding. The coach lurched dangerously to one side.
Her heart in her throat, Annie urged Surefoot on. A desperate cry reached her ears. It was the woman passenger, screaming from inside the tipping coach. Annie saw the woman’s son stick his head out the side window in panic.
Goldilocks whirled around, splashing his way back to the coach. He grabbed the sinking fourth wheel—just in time. Annie felt a surge of relief as the four men passengers, struggling, righted the heavy coach. Annie was close enough now to hear them calling directions to one another.
Then she glimpsed Chet Ambrose, thrashing his way downriver from the coach to deeper waters. Throwing his arms forward, he dove. For a moment, he disappeared under the surface. Then she spied his dark head, glistening wet like an otter, popping up several yards farther on.
CHAPTER 14
BROUGHT TO JUSTICE
Billy turned Stormy’s head and rode downstream along the bank, following the swimming Ambrose. Piles of boulders crowded close to the river’s edge. Stormy could barely pick his footing along the narrow strip of land. Meanwhile, the swift current was sweeping Chet Ambrose out of sight.
Urging Surefoot along the trail toward the fording stagecoach, Annie clutched anxiously at the saddle horn. It was so hard to watch and not be able to help.
Suddenly she saw Billy reach up and grab a low-hanging branch of a twisted cottonwood tree that grew crazily out of the jumbled rocks. Annie gasped. Hoisting himself out of the saddle, Billy swung over the river in one lithe motion—and dropped into the roiling water.
Annie and Surefoot swerved past the ford and hurried down the riverbank to fetch Stormy. She caught the winded palomino’s trailing reins, then turned to scan the river as she fought to catch her own breath.
A hundred yards downstream, in the middle of the boiling current, she spied Chester Ambrose’s dark head. One green arm waved wildly in the air.
And then, just upstream, Annie saw Billy swimming hard toward Ambrose.
She heard the stagecoach passengers shouting behind her as they watched the two swimmers. Annie twisted the reins tight in her hands, willing Billy to swim safely. She saw him latch one arm around a boulder a few yards out from the bank. Then he carefully extended his other arm toward the battered guard.
Ambrose, mouth open in terror, clutched at Billy’s outstretched hand. His handclasp held for a moment, then broke off. Ambrose’s dark head disappeared underwater.
Then Annie saw Billy plunge under, too. She felt an icy jolt of fear. Did Billy dive under—or did some powerful current suck him down?
Despair choked Annie’s throat. Someone as brave and cocky and full of life as Billy couldn’t die—he just couldn’t! Without thinking, she dropped Stormy’s reins and slapped Surefoot on the flanks. The little roan sprang forward and began to scramble along the riverbank, hooves striking on the rocks.
Holding tightly to the saddle horn, Annie kept her eyes pinned on the swollen current. The nimble horse brought her closer and closer. A moment later, she saw one head alone bob to the surface.
A dark head.
“No!” Annie cried into Surefoot’s reddish mane. “Ambrose should be the one to drown—not Billy!”
Then she spied a second head, pressed against the big man’s shoulder. It was Billy, pulling Ambrose to safety!
Surefoot scraped to a halt on the boulder-strewn riverbank. Annie slid out of the saddle before the horse had even stopped. Looking around frantically, she spotted a dead tree limb, probably torn from a nearby trunk by last night’s storm. She hoped it was long enough to reach from the shore to the men struggling in the river. She grabbed it with both hands and dragged it to the water’s edge.
Now she could see Billy’s desperate face midstream, struggling just to stay above the surface. His blue eyes pleaded for help.
Annie stepped onto a flat boulder in the water, dragging the branch after her. She worked the far end of it into the rushing river. The fierce current seized the limb and whirled it into the middle of the river. Annie spun around, fighting to hold on. The rough bark tore at her palms.
Annie stumbled as the current pulled the tree forward. She slipped off the boulder but kept her balance, splashing into ankle-deep water.
The tip of the branch swung near Billy and Ambrose. With a huge effort, Billy heaved up one arm and grabbed the branch. Annie clung on fiercely, but the weight of the two swimmers dragged the bough down, and it began to slip out of her hands.
Then i
t held fast. “Now pull.” She heard Nate Slocum’s voice behind her. Annie pulled on the branch with all her might. Just behind her, she was aware of Slocum and some of the passengers straining to help her. Together, they hauled in the big limb, hand over hand, like a giant wooden fishing line. They towed Billy and Ambrose to the shallow waters by the bank. The four men passengers waded in to grab Billy and the guard and haul them to shore.
Ambrose looked half-dead. His beard, hair, and clothes streaming wet, he collapsed on the shore and gasped for breath. Billy spluttered and coughed up water. His body began to shake uncontrollably.
The woman passenger hurried up, her skirts soaked from wading out of the stranded coach. In her arms she held a couple of buffalo robes from the stagecoach. “Keep them warm,” she insisted. “With the strain and the wet and the cold, they could get pneumonia.”
Both survivors were swaddled quickly in the buffalo robes. Nate Slocum took Ambrose by the shoulders. “What possessed you to swim off like that?” he demanded.
Ambrose’s eyes grew wild with fear.
“He was just trying to get away—the outlaw,” Annie said bitterly.
“Outlaw?” Slocum stiffened. “An employee of the Overland Express?” His eyes narrowed at Annie.
“I’ve got proof.” Annie dug her hand deep in her pocket. “Do you know this knife, Mr. Slocum?” She pulled out the folding pocketknife.
“Why, yes,” Slocum replied. “It belongs to Chet here. Where’d you find it?”
“In our barn.” Annie paused. “And remember that pony that went mad last night? This knife was lying just outside her stall, at the back end of the barn. But Mr. Ambrose had no call to be there last night. The coach horses he was unhitching were stabled at the front.”
Slocum folded his arms, still looking skeptical. Flipping out the knife blade, Annie pressed on. “The knife’s got blood and horse hairs on it—black and white horse hairs. And that pony now has a slash on her flanks.”
