Untethered

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Remember, she mouthed. We don’t know him.

  Every girl nodded slightly—ever so slightly—and then returned her attention to the approaching rider.

  “What’s he doin’?” one of the men asked.

  “Looks like he wants to talk,” Heck answered.

  “Should I shoot him, boss?”

  Cricket clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from crying out, No! She knew she mustn’t make a sound; she mustn’t do anything to endanger their would-be rescuer.

  Thankfully, Heck answered for her. “No. Let’s see what he wants. It ain’t just any man who would have the guts to ride up on us all alone like he’s doin’.” Heck paused a moment and then added, “Still…all you boys keep your aim on this stranger…just in case he ain’t as harmless as he looks.”

  Cricket watched as Mr. Thibodaux rode into the camp. Her heart leapt when he reined in his horse and tossed the makeshift truce flag to the ground.

  Heathro smiled and greeted, “Hello there, boys.”

  “And who might you be, stranger?” Heck asked.

  Heathro smiled, causing butterflies to take flight in Cricket’s stomach.

  “I’m Baptiste Thibodaux,” he answered. “And if I’m right, you boys are on your way to meet up with my cousin.”

  Heck’s eyes narrowed. “That would depend on who your cousin is, boy.”

  Heathro smiled again, the sun glinting on his gold tooth. “That would be Jacques Cheval. You mighta heard of him…especially considerin’ that you’re travelin’ on this way…” Heathro glanced to the abducted girls and added, “And with such lovely companions.”

  Heck inhaled a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. Cricket held hers. No doubt Heck was trying to decide whether Heathro’s story held any water.

  “So,” Heck began, “you ride into our camp here…alone…claimin’ to be Jacques Cheval’s cousin…and you’re expectin’ us to believe you. Is that it?”

  Heathro leaned back in his saddle, his smile fading to a triumphant grin. “If you boys want Jacques to buy these girls when you get to New Orleans—and he does pay the highest prices for sweet, unspoiled things like these—then you best not ride into the city without me.”

  “Why’s that?” Patterson asked.

  Heathro’s smile faded altogether then. “’Cause Jacques’s boys will gun you down before you can blink,” he answered.

  Heck’s posture straightened with indignation, but Heathro continued, “Did you all hear about that mess last year? A group of ambitious boys like yourselves tried to get to New Orleans with some white flesh to sell without one of Jacques’s men with them. Did you hear how that ended?”

  “I heared the Texas Rangers killed ’em,” one outlaw offered.

  “Naw,” Patterson disagreed. “That ain’t what happened. It was only one Ranger that showed up…and the way I heard it, he ended up at the bottom of a canyon with a bunch of dead girls.”

  “Yeah,” the other outlaw agreed. “And then the Texas Rangers came in and killed the bunch.”

  “Only it wasn’t the Texas Rangers that killed those poor boys,” Heathro told them. He shrugged, smiled, and said, “Well…maybe they was dressed up like Texas Rangers, but it was us…Jacques’s boys. Jacques don’t like nobody bringin’ girls into New Orleans without his say-so. Them other boys…they didn’t listen to us when we tried politely explainin’ how Jacques does things. They were determined to march into New Orleans and find Jacques for themselves.” Heathro paused, his grin returning. “But Jacques says New Orleans was already marched on once by them damn Yankees. He ain’t gonna be marched on again by anybody. So if you boys are lookin’ to get to New Orleans and make yourselves rich men off sellin’ these girls here, then you’ll wanna let me help you out a mite.”

  “You got any proof you’re with Jacques Cheval?” Heck asked.

  Heathro chuckled. “Do you think I’d be fool enough to ride in here all by my lonesome to talk to you boys if I didn’t?”

  “Then let’s see it,” Heck challenged.

  Cricket watched as Heathro dismounted and began digging in his saddlebag.

  “Now,” he began as he withdrew a small satchel, “I’m authorized to give you a little bonus money, if you agree to sell these girls to Jacques when you get to New Orleans.” Heathro opened the satchel and withdrew what looked like several social calling cards. He offered one to Heck, then Patterson, and then gave several to one of the other men and nodded an indication that he should distribute them to the others.

  “Jacques Cheval owns and oversees the finest brothels in New Orleans. They cater to the richest cliental,” Heathro said. “If you agree to sell these women to Jacques Cheval, I’m authorized to hand you one hundred dollars per sale, right here, right now, before we even come close to crossin’ into Louisiana.”

  Heck chuckled. “Jacques Cheval…businessman…Veux Carre, New Orleans,” he read aloud. Looking to Heath, he asked, “So you’re tellin’ me that if I agree to sell these girls to Jacques Cheval, you’re gonna give me a hundred dollars right here and now?”

  Heathro glanced to the girls, his lips moving as he counted them. “That’d be six hundred dollars. One hundred dollars per head,” he corrected. “But that’s only if you allow me to help you deliver them safely to Jacques Cheval, and only Jacques Cheval. And if you take the agreement and the money and then try to do Jacques wrong…” Heathro shrugged. “Well, I’ll just say it simple. You’re all dead men.”

  Patterson laughed. “We’re all dead men?” He looked around to some of the other outlaws and then smiled at Heathro and said, “You’re the one that was dumb enough to ride in here all alone with a saddlebag full of money.” Patterson leveled his pistol at Heath.

  “Careful, boy,” Heath threatened calmly. “I rode in here all alone, but Jacques don’t send anybody out to do business by himself.” Heathro raised an arm. “I bring my arm down in one position, and the others start home to tell Jacques that we’ve struck a deal and new girls are on the way. I bring my arm down another way…well, let’s just say that same bunch of Texas Ranger–type fellows will take care of business for Jacques the way they did last year when that other bunch decided to try and refuse Jacques Cheval’s generous offer.”

  Instantly the outlaws were unsettled. They began looking around as if expecting to find guns at their backs already.

  “So what’ll it be, boss?” Heathro asked Heck. “You want six hundred dollars in your pocket now…another two thousand in your pocket when we reach New Orleans? Or do you want to die like a duck in the desert here and now?”

  Heck studied the social calling card Heathro had handed him—looked him up and down a moment. “You tellin’ me that Jacques Cheval himself is gonna pay me that much for these girls?”

  “Yep. If they get to him entirely unspoiled, that is,” Heathro said. “Of course, that’s why he always has me travel along.”

  “Why you?” Heck asked.

  “Because I have a way of inspirin’, shall we say, cooperation from the female sex when I have a mind to,” Heathro answered.

  Heck chuckled and rubbed his dirty beard with his thumb and forefinger as he studied Heathro from head to toe. “Why? ’Cause you’re so pretty and all?”

  Heathro shrugged. “Maybe,” he answered. “But it’s more of somethin’ else. I’ll share that with you if you agree to Jacques’s proposal.” Heathro Thibodaux’s arm was still raised, and he added, “But my arm is gettin’ a mite fatigued here, boss. I’m gonna bring it down. So which way will it be? Do we have an agreement? Or do you want the rest of Jacques’s boys to ride on in?”

  Heck seemed thoughtful. “Two thousand and six hundred dollars,” he sighed. “That’s more than I thought we’d get for these mousy little females.” He nodded and then offered a hand to Heathro. “You have yourself a deal, Mr. Thibodaux.”

  Heathro smiled, waved his arm as if waving off a regiment of soldiers, and then struck hands with Heck. “You’ve made a wise choice, boss. And Mr. Cheval t
hanks you for offerin’ him such a fine and, no doubt, lucrative investment.”

  Heck nodded, turned to his men, and hollered, “Lower your guns, boys. Mr. Thibodaux here has made us a dolly of a deal.”

  Heathro handed Heck a wad of paper money, returned the small satchel to his saddlebag, and said, “All right then. Let’s get started.”

  “You mean break camp?” Patterson asked.

  “Well, yes…but only after we’ve started,” Heathro answered.

  “Started what?” Heck asked.

  Heathro’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at the girls. Cricket found herself blushing under his piercing gaze, knowing she must look like a wet rat the cat dragged in—wishing she looked as fresh and perky as she did on Sunday mornings before church.

  “Which one’s the leader, do you think, boss?” Heathro asked.

  “You can call me Heck,” Heck began, “and what do you mean exactly?”

  Heathro walked to where the girls stood, Heck and Patterson close at his heels.

  “There’s always a leader,” Heathro mumbled as he looked Marie up and down. He took hold of her chin and seemed to study her eyes. Marie belligerently pulled her face from his grasp, however, and Heathro chuckled, “Perfect! This one has a little spunk in her. That’s just perfect.”

  Cricket understood that Heathro was not only telling Heck that Marie was a good specimen for his purposes but also letting the other girls know that Marie’s reaction to him was just what it needed to be.

  He moved to Ann. “Hmmm,” Heathro mumbled. “Blue eyes and gold hair. She’ll bring a nice price in New Orleans.”

  “How about I let you see if you can tell who their leader is, Thibodaux?” Heck offered.

  Heathro smiled. “Oh, why not give me somethin’ a bit more challengin’?” he said. Unexpectedly reaching out and taking hold of Cricket’s arm, he laughed, “This one. This one right here. I knew it the moment I saw her. Here’s the leader of your pack, Heck. Am I right?”

  Heck smiled, nodded, and laughed with amusement. “You bet that’s her!” he exclaimed. “This one’s been a pain in my hind end since we took her. Sassy-mouthed too.”

  “Well, then she’s the one I start with,” Heathro said.

  Patterson frowned. “What do you mean? I thought Jacques Cheval wanted these girls unspoiled.”

  “Oh, she’ll still be undamaged when I’m finished with her,” Heathro chuckled. “Just a whole lot more cooperative, that’s all.”

  “Don’t you touch me!” Cricket growled, wrenching her arm free of Heathro’s grasp.

  “You see what I mean?” Heck laughed. “She’s a pain in the hind end, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Not for long,” Heathro said. Quickly maneuvering Cricket so her back was against his chest, his hand clutching her throat, he drew a long knife from his belt and held it to her tummy. “She just needs to understand a few things, that’s all.”

  Marie, Ann, Vilma, and the others began to weep, and Patterson shushed them.

  “What’re you gonna do with her?” Heck asked.

  “Oh, nothin’. Just have a little talk, that’s all,” Heathro said. “And when we get back, she’ll be less of a pain in your behind, Heck. I promise you that. Just give me a few minutes with her.”

  Cricket struggled and cried, “No! No! Don’t let him take me!” as Heathro began to force her toward a large outcropping of boulders.

  “Now we don’t need no audience, men,” Heathro called over his shoulder. “And keep these other girls quiet.”

  “You think we oughta trust him, boss?” Cricket heard Patterson ask.

  “Look here, Patterson,” Heck responded. “The man has proof he’s with Jacques Cheval, and he put more money in my hands than I ever seen all at once. So I think…”

  Heck’s words drifted off as Heathro roughly pushed her behind one large boulder.

  “Cry out,” he instructed. “One more time.”

  Cricket did as she was told—heard the outlaws chuckling—her friends sobbing inconsolably.

  Heathro puffed a relieved breath. “So far, so good,” he said. “But this is gonna be rough, Miss Cranford.”

  Cricket nodded and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

  “We’re gonna have to muss you up a bit, girl,” he said. He looked her over for a moment. “Here,” he said, rubbing his hands over her hair to muss it—not that it wasn’t already as wild as a tumbleweed. “Now, scratch me here,” he instructed pointing to one cheek. “And you need to make sure you draw blood, all right?”

  “I-I can’t do that!” she exclaimed in a whisper.

  She began to cry once more as he took hold of her shoulders, stared into her face with an expression of fierce determination, and said, “You have got to do as I ask, girl!” He took her hand in his, rather brutally squeezing her fingers together as he raised it to the back of his neck. Then he forced her fingernails to pierce his flesh, next drawing her fingers down so that she scratched him.

  Instinctively Cricket cried out in horror as she saw the blood on his neck—the tiny bits of his flesh and blood under her fingernails.

  Heathro seemed entirely unaffected, however. “Let’s see now,” he mumbled, frowning as he again studied her. “Let’s make this look believable.”

  Cricket could only stare at her bloody fingernails and fingertips. Therefore, it wasn’t until she heard the tearing of the fabric of the front of her shirtwaist that her attention snapped back to Heathro.

  “What are you doin’?” she exclaimed, mortified that her neck and left collarbone were now exposed.

  “Makin’ this look convincin’,” he answered. “I told you that already.”

  He tore her shirtwaist again, exposing her left shoulder as well. Cricket looked down—thought she appeared like she’d been attacked by a mountain lion.

  Then Heathro grasped her hands and put them at his chest. “Now tear my shirt. Tear it like you would tear it if you were defendin’ yourself from me.”

  But Cricket shook her head. It was too surreal—too awful! Surely she wasn’t hidden behind a bunch of rocks with Heathro Thibodaux instructing her on how to appear as if she’d been assaulted.

  “I-I can’t,” she stammered.

  She gasped as Heathro firmly took hold of her chin, forcing her to make eye contact with him.

  “Listen to me, Magnolia,” he growled. “If you do not help me, we are all dead. Do you hear me? You, me, all the other girls…your friends. I will not let these men kill you girls…and I will not let them get you to New Orleans! Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” Cricket managed.

  “Then help me, Magnolia,” he pleaded. “Do as I say…no matter what. All right?”

  Cricket nodded.

  “Now,” he began again, “if I’m comin’ at you…defend yourself.”

  Roughly he grabbed her around the waist—tried to pull her to him. Every instinct Cricket had begged her to allow him to embrace her. But she understood what Heathro Thibodaux intended to do: he intended to make it appear as if he’d broken the spirit of the girls’ leader in order to make her and the rest of the girls more cooperative.

  “I’m comin’ at you, girl,” he told her. “What’re you gonna do about it? Are you gonna let me have my way with you? Or are you gonna fight me off and try to—”

  Cricket struggled—tugged at Heathro’s shirt to try and escape him. When she heard the familiar sound of tearing clothing, she stopped. She looked up to find him grinning at her.

  “There you go, darlin’,” he said as he released her and inspected his torn sleeve and the missing buttons from the front of his shirt—the result of their struggle. “Now,” he said, studying her again. “Bite your lips like this.”

  Cricket watched, frowning as Heathro bit his lower lip and then his other. “It’ll make your lips swell a bit, honey,” he explained.

  She did as she was told, and he nodded with approval.

  “Okay…one last little thing here,” he said quietly. “N
ow hold still.”

  Cricket watched as Heathro rubbed his chin with his thumb and fingers. “Should work,” he mumbled more to himself than to her.

  Again she was rendered breathless with astonishment as Heathro Thibodaux bent, rubbing his whiskery jaw over her exposed shoulder, her neck, and then her cheeks. It was a chaffing, uncomfortable feeling—but for some reason rendered Cricket covered with goose bumps. Over and over Heathro chaffed the tender flesh of her neck and cheeks with his rough whiskers.

  “Bite your lips some more,” he told her as he mussed her hair again—swept over her skin with his face one more time.

  He held her back from him, nodded, and winked. “Good enough, I suppose. For a start.” Pulling her away from the rocks, he forced her hands behind her and began pushing her toward the camp. “If you’ve got any left in you, now would be a good time for some more tears, sugar.”

  Oh, there were plenty of tears left in Cricket—plenty! As she stumbled back to camp terrified, hopeful, tired, elated, despairing, and tantalized all at the same, she collapsed in a heap near the other girls when she reached them.

  “She looks like hell!” Patterson angrily exclaimed. Looking to Heck, he added, “What’s he gonna do? Beat ’em all to submission?”

  “Nope,” Heathro answered. “Only this one…and I ain’t gonna beat her.”

  Lowering his voice so that the girls couldn’t hear him, he nodded to Heck to gather the men. Once they all stood close enough to hear, he began, “She’s their leader. We get her restrained a bit, get her thinkin’ that I’m gonna cut her a deal with Jacques if she helps us get the others there…well, it makes our trip a whole lot easier, boys.”

  Heck glanced around Heath to Cricket. “She does look like hell though. What’s she gonna look like when we get there?”

  Heath smiled and chuckled a bit. “Cooperative, my boys. Cooperative and fresh and pretty as a June bride.”

  “How you gonna do that when you’re beatin’ on her?” Patterson asked.