It had to be Peterson, Dan decided, though the man was hidden in the shadows. Captain snorted and pulled against his halter chain. The man shoved Anne out past the horse, and Dan saw him clearly at last. Peterson held Anne before him with his right arm, and in his left hand, held to the side of Anne’s slender neck, was a long-barreled pistol. Her lovely face was a stark white, and her dark eyes loomed huge and pleading.
Peterson turned sideways and aimed squarely at him. “Snap it up.”
“Let her go,” Dan said.
Peterson laughed.
“Please.” Dan held the man’s malevolent glare. “I’ll do whatever you say. Just keep Miss Stone out of this.”
“That’s rich,” Mudge said as he patted Dan’s coat. He found his revolver right away and removed it. “Gimme your wrists. Put ’em behind you.” As soon as Dan complied, Mudge began wrapping them with some type of cord or light rope.
“She has nothing to do with this,” Dan said, never looking away from Peterson’s stare.
“She has more to do with it than you do.” His lips curled and the mustache twitched as he spoke. “Somehow I don’t think her uncle would run as quickly to rescue you as he would his darling little niece.”
Dan thought for a moment his heart had just plain stopped, but it kicked and raced on, faster now. Peterson would use Anne as bait—he should have foreseen that. And where did that leave him? Most likely shot and dumped in the river.
“Where is Stone?” Peterson asked.
Dan eyed him in silence.
Peterson tightened his hold on Anne and ran the muzzle of the pistol up to her ear. “Tell me where he is.”
Dan tried to swallow the boulder in his throat. He won’t kill Anne, he told himself. He needs her to get David in here. But he didn’t dare trust that instinct completely.
“We left him in his room,” Anne said.
Dan wanted to applaud her. He gave Peterson a grim nod. “He won’t come down until we give him the signal.”
“And what’s the signal, dear friends?”
Anne stared at Dan, panic in her dark eyes. Silently she pled with him, and Dan read the message as clearly as if she had it painted on her forehead. Don’t betray my uncle. If one of us has to die, let it be me, not the earl of Stoneford.
“We’re to take the horses out front,” Dan said, amazed at how steady his voice sounded.
“Watching from his window, I suppose,” Peterson said. “When he sees the horses out by the hitching rail, he’ll come down.”
Dan said nothing. It was as good an assumption as any—and it would get them out of the stable at least. David should be well away from the hotel by now, but maybe if they got outside, they could attract the attention of Mr. Reed or the desk clerk—even one of the other guests.
“No, that’s not right,” Mudge said.
Dan could have kicked himself. Mudge had heard the whole plan. Or had he? If he knew they were meeting David at the junction, why hadn’t he told Peterson?
“They were talking about meeting someplace.”
Peterson scowled. “Tie his feet, too.”
“Sit down, Mr. Adams,” Mudge said.
Dan sat on the dirt floor, and Mudge found a short piece of rope. He looped it around Dan’s ankles, but the rope went over his boot tops, so it didn’t feel too tight. His hands, however, had been bound in an uncomfortable position, and he was beginning to lose feeling in the fingers of his left hand.
“Are you fond of that young man?” Peterson asked in a dangerous voice, so low Dan barely heard the words.
Anne choked out a yes.
“I assumed as much. I’m sure you’d hate to see him suffer.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Only a chance to talk to your uncle in private.”
Anne grimaced but said nothing.
“Now, Mudge is going to take a couple of these horses out in front of the hotel,” Peterson continued. “When your uncle comes down and sees him, Mudge will tell him there’s a little holdup and some of the gear needed to be repacked. And Mr. Stone will come out here where I can talk to him. And you—you just be ready to greet him as though everything is going forward, you understand?”
“N–no,” Anne said.
Peterson sighed. “And I thought you were an intelligent young woman.”
“Anne, don’t listen to him,” Dan said.
Peterson turned his head and glared at him. “Gag him.”
“Yes, sir.” Mudge looked around stupidly and patted his pockets. A moment later he knelt and stretched a sweaty-smelling bandanna across Dan’s mouth.
“Open.”
“You want to kill me? I won’t be able to breathe.”
“Not sure it matters,” Mudge said.
Aghast at his apathy, Dan said, “How could you—”
Mudge slid the cloth between his teeth and pulled it tighter.
Dan gave up and tried to keep from retching while his captor secured the knot. When Mudge had finished, he shoved Dan down on his side.
“Drag him into that last stall,” Peterson called.
As Mudge took hold of his boots and jerked him over the dirt floor, Dan caught sight of his revolver, lying against the divider between two empty stalls.
He could only be thankful that the last stall on this side was used as a tool room. A feed bin and a couple of barrels stood on the straw-strewn floor. Saddles, harness, and small tools hung on nails, and a shovel, a pitchfork, and a dung fork leaned against the outside wall. He couldn’t see Anne or Peterson from the position Mudge left him in. The pungent earth and musty straw smells mingled with the scent of the filthy rag in his mouth and heady whiffs of manure and leather.
“Take those two,” he heard Peterson say, and a moment later, hooves clumped on the dirt floor. The big front door was rolled open, and a wave of colder air swept through the stable. Horses shuffled, and the door moved again on its metal rollers; then the barn fell still.
What was Peterson doing now? Did he still hold Ann against him, with the pistol touching her head? Dan was consumed with anger and the need to see them, to know Anne was all right. Another question ate at him. Had Mudge picked up his gun, or did it still lie there in the straw a few feet away?
They waited without talking for what seemed eternity.
The drizzle let up, but that was small comfort to David. What was taking them so long? He’d expected them to be along by now. He pulled out his watch, but there wasn’t enough light to read it. He shoved it back in his pocket and patted the Colt revolver in his coat pocket.
“Come on, Anne. Where are you?”
He ought to have gone with them. This slinking in the shadows didn’t suit him. Even as he considered jogging down the street to the hotel, he remembered the night he was shot. Sometimes clinging to the shadows was best.
His new resolve to wait patiently lasted all of two minutes. Something was wrong. It had to be! He tiptoed out of the alley and huddled behind the steps to the feed store, peering down the street. He couldn’t tell exactly where the hotel lay, but he suspected the highest roofline he could make out belonged to it. Maybe it was time to take a risk.
Hauling in a deep breath, he rose and scrambled around the steps, trying to run stealthily. He was getting a bit old for this sort of thing. Hurrying past two more closed businesses, he flattened himself against a jutting front porch. Only one more building between him and the Miner’s Hotel. Lamps gleamed in several of its first- and second-story windows. The third floor, where he’d stayed, was dark.
Leisurely hoofbeats clopped on packed earth. Were they leaving the stable yard at last? David squinted into the darkness and made out two horses. They passed through a square of lamplight cast from a window casement. The first horse had a rider; the second bore an empty saddle. David waited. The rider didn’t look quite right for Dan. And where had Anne gotten to?
The rider stopped near the hitching rail and gazed upward, toward the hotel’s top-floor windows. What was he loo
king at? David followed the fellow’s line of sight upward, but the rooms on the third story were still dark.
It hit him suddenly, as though a steer had kicked him. The man was watching his window. Dan wouldn’t do that. Dan knew he was waiting at the junction—or should be. David’s hand crept toward his revolver, though why he wasn’t sure.
Who was that man? It couldn’t be Peterson. This one slouched in the saddle. Peterson might be a rogue, but sloppy he was not. Impeccably dressed, well groomed, and superior in posture, from all David had learned about him. Quite the gentleman, until one got to know him better.
The rider slid to the ground and walked quietly up the hotel’s front steps. Something about him made David tense. It was Mudge, the kitchen lad. Why was he out front with two horses? Something had gone awry.
David drew his revolver and slipped from his hiding place to the edge of the hotel’s porch. All was quiet. He bent low and slunk over to the horses. Captain whickered softly.
“Hello, old man.” David ran a hand along the bay gelding’s flank. “What’s going on, eh?”
Hitched to the saddle by a long lead rope was Anne’s horse, but Anne was nowhere to be found. And what about Adams and his paint horse? David eyed the closed door to the hotel lobby. Had they gone back inside? One thing seemed likely—Adams’s horse and the pack mule were still in the stable out back. David tiptoed to the corner of the building and peeked around it. Light from a lantern shone through a narrow opening at the stable door.
“Sit there.” Peterson gestured with his pistol toward a keg near the door of the stable.
Anne walked toward it slowly. The big, rolling door was nearly shut. She couldn’t possibly open it and get out before he would catch her—assuming he would scruple to shoot at her. Not knowing what else she could do, she went to the keg, sat down, and arranged the skirts of her riding habit.
“Do I need to tie you up?” Peterson asked.
She frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, will you try to escape if I don’t?”
“Of course.”
He sighed and looked about for rope. She almost laughed at the ease with which she’d distracted him. Unfortunately, his search took him between her and the door.
“This will do. Hold out your hands.” He came closer, carrying a short length of manila rope.
She raised her hands in front of her. He didn’t force her to put them behind her, so she didn’t protest. He pulled the rope tight enough that she winced and tied the knot a couple of inches above her wrists. She wouldn’t be able to reach the short ends. Now she’d be helpless if Uncle David needed her.
Peterson planned to kill him—she had no doubt about that. And what would become of her and Dan afterward? Surely he wouldn’t just turn them loose to testify against him. Maybe he didn’t want to kill them all here in the barn. It would be easier to dispose of them if he took them all away from the hotel.
Would he really kill three people to ensure that David never claimed the peerage?
She shivered.
Peterson stood near the crack in the door, not two feet from her, peering out toward the hotel. She gazed along the length of the stable. Star was still tied in the center alley, where Mudge had tied him up before he left, and the pack mule remained in his stall. The butt of Dan’s rifle stuck up out of the scabbard. If she could reach it…but would that do any good? She seemed to recall that the gun wouldn’t fire until a cap was applied to the action or some such thing. She should have paid more attention when her father hosted shooting parties.
She’d heard nothing from Dan since Mudge had dragged him out of sight. Was he all right? Maybe Mudge had bludgeoned him before he left.
She swiveled her head and eyed Peterson again. He was still looking out the doorway. She measured the distance to the horse with her eye. How long would it take her to run the five or six yards?
“Don’t even think about it,” Peterson said drily.
She swallowed hard. The beast couldn’t really read her mind, but he’d like her to think that. He probably thought she was considering braining him with something. But what? Nothing small and solid enough was within reach.
Again she gazed longingly at Star. The pinto snuffled and strained against his lead rope. He couldn’t quite reach the straw on the floor.
Between the horse’s feet, Anne glimpsed the sheen of lantern light on metal.
David kept to the back wall of the hotel as much as he could, tiptoeing around a pile of firewood and a two-wheeled cart. The stable loomed ten yards away, and the soft lantern light still spilled out the crack at the front door. Someone was in there, probably Adams and Anne, but he had to be sure. He crouched over and ran to a haystack near the barn. For a full minute, he stood still, waiting for his breathing to slow and listening. All he heard from within was a horse’s occasional stamp.
The clouds overhead parted, letting the moon peek through for a few seconds. He took a good look around the yard, then hustled toward the rear of the stable. He’d just spotted a back door when the clouds drifted over the moon again. If only it wasn’t locked.
The thumb latch clicked, and David froze. Even a sound that small might carry to his enemy. He tried pushing, with no success, and pulled instead. The door moved reluctantly toward him. An odd sound caught his attention—a pulley? He realized the door had a weight attached, so that when a person let go, the weight would fall and the door would close itself. No curious horses would accidentally get out the back door.
He held it open about three inches and peered inside. The glow from the lantern at the front of the stable barely reached back here. Was he looking into a back room or tool shed? Another few seconds of scrutiny told him he was looking into an end stall used as a feed room. David listened but again heard nothing out of the ordinary—which in itself was odd. Shouldn’t Anne and Adams be talking as they prepared to leave? Shouldn’t he hear them moving the gear or leading out the mule and Adams’s horse?
He moved the door outward a couple more inches. It creaked softly, and the rope on the pulley moved. He held his breath. Nothing else seemed to change.
Slowly, he eased the door open a bit more, until the gap was wide enough for him to squeeze through. With agonizing slowness, he let it come back to the frame with the thumb latch depressed. He kept the fingers of his other hand against the jamb at the risk of smashing them, to be sure there was no sudden thunk when the door moved into place. He let go of the thumb latch and exhaled.
For a long moment he stood in silence, letting his eyes adjust and trying to determine what was around him and how best to proceed. The glow came from ahead and to his left, where it seemed a wall stuck out, shielding him from view of anyone in the stable. He stepped forward gingerly, feeling for obstacles on the floor with his feet. When he reached the edge of the divider wall, he eased forward and took a quick look, then dodged back.
Midway down the barn aisle, Dan Adams’s horse was tethered, saddled, and ready to go. So why hadn’t Dan left yet? David had received a hazy impression of a man standing by the door at the front of the barn, with his back turned to the stable. He pulled in a breath and held it, then looked around the wall again.
The man’s build was too slight for Adams, and he wore a neat, town-gent’s suit. Peterson. The scoundrel moved his head, and David swiftly drew back behind the board wall. Where was Anne? Had the blackguard hurt her?
A soft noise reached him from immediately on the other side of the flimsy wall. There must be a horse in the stall behind it.
David bent his knees and searched for a crack through which he could spy on Peterson, but the only one he found didn’t give him a view of the far reaches of the building. He was mulling whether or not to risk peeking around the edge again when he heard the man say, “Stand up.” Cautiously he peered around the divider.
Peterson moved to the right of the big door and returned a moment later, holding Anne by one arm. Her hands were bound in front of her. Peterson spoke to
her, but David couldn’t make out the words.
Behind him he heard a soft grunt—or more like a muffled groan. He turned and squinted into the inkiness of the stall. A barrel, the long handle of a tool, a dark bundle on the floor. He went over and felt the dark lump cautiously. A boot. A leg. A man.
“Adams?” he whispered.
Another soft grunt. David patted along the figure gently until he reached the man’s head. A gag was tied in his mouth. He helped the poor fellow sit up and fumbled in the darkness until the cloth fell away.
“He’s got Anne,” Adams croaked out in a whisper.
“I saw,” David replied. “What should we do?”
“Untie me. Do you have your gun?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me,” Adams said. “If you go out there, he’ll kill you.”
“Oh, and he’ll welcome you like a long-lost chum.”
Adams sighed. “What, then?”
David fingered the knots in the twine that held Adams and gave up. He pulled out his pocketknife. “Hold still.” A moment later he’d sliced through the twine. Adams’s hands fell to the floor with a quiet thump. They both stopped breathing.
After a moment’s silence, David whispered near his ear, “We need to hurry. I saw Mudge going into the hotel.” He pressed the pocketknife into Adams’s hand.
“He was going in?” Adams began to saw at the cord around his ankles. “We told him you would meet us out front if we took the horses out there.”
“Mudge must have got tired of waiting for me.”
“All right, I’ll go out the way you came in and see if I can keep Mudge away. You wait here and see if you can get the drop on Peterson.”
David couldn’t think of a better plan. “Has he hurt Anne?”
“No, she’s the bait.”
Adams crept on all fours to the board wall and peeked around it. He rose to a crouch and ducked toward the back door. David wished he’d warned him about the weight and the noisy door, but it was too late. He winced and waited, pointing his revolver toward the opening of the stall.
Adams had apparently paid attention when he heard David enter; he opened the door slowly and almost silently. When he’d disappeared through it and let it come gently back into place, David let out his breath.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 62
