The handkerchief episode surprised him mildly. Millie was determined not to delay them all. Her attitude reminded him of the Charlotte he’d liked so well in Scottsburg—before she started hounding him to take her out walking every evening and led him into chaos. She seemed a modest, somewhat self-effacing, and, yes, charming lady. Of course, he knew too well now that she was not what she seemed.
Because of Charlotte, David had become much more cautious where women were concerned. He’d left England a bit spoiled for romance by a crush on his older brother Richard’s wife. Elizabeth Stone would never, ever so much as hint at impropriety, but David adored her. His niece, Anne, didn’t know—she was only an infant then, and David would never admit to anyone how much he’d admired Anne’s mother. But his wanderlust, combined with the pain of knowing he would never be able to openly love Elizabeth, had driven him from Stoneford and England. That and the fact that he’d had no responsibilities to live up to. Richard inherited the earldom, and there was John between them in age. David was certain he’d never inherit the title, and so he was free to follow adventure wherever it led him.
That turned out to be America. He’d recovered from his heartache after a while and had become enamored of a young woman in Independence, but that had gone nowhere. He’d moved to Oregon, undergoing a few flirtations over the years, but had never come close to thinking he’d found the right woman.
Charlotte had interested him far more than the wide-eyed girls on the wagon trail or the jaded women in the western towns. Quite striking, she was, with that rich red hair and those startling green eyes—rare coloring, and she wore it well.
He realized with a start that he was staring at her. He closed his eyes again. Best not to look at the woman. She was lovely on the outside, but her heart would drag a man to destruction.
A sudden bang outside the coach brought him upright.
“What was that?” Mrs. Caudle screeched, clutching her husband’s arm.
Before Mr. Caudle could answer, two more pops and a blast from directly over David’s head confirmed what he already knew. Those were gunshots, and they were under attack.
CHAPTER 5
Get down,” David called to the ladies, reaching inside his coat for his pistol. The two other men on his side of the stage also produced weapons, but Mr. Caudle, it seemed, was not so well prepared.
Millie gazed at him, her green eyes huge in her white face.
“I advise you ladies to sit on the floor. You too, Mr. Caudle, if you’ve no pistol.” David moved to the middle seat and maneuvered to see out the window and forward, but only trees met his view.
Another shot fired from above him. He hoped the shotgun rider’s aim was true.
The coach continued to roll, and the driver’s whip cracked several times.
“Up, there, boys! Go!” The driver’s yells seemed ineffective because a moment later the coach stopped so suddenly that David was thrown forward onto his previous seat. Mr. Caudle catapulted to the floor, where his wife and Millie had taken hasty refuge.
David could imagine only two things that would stop the coach so suddenly without any noise of breakage—one of the horses must have fallen in harness, or the outlaws had felled a tree across the road and they’d plowed into it. An unearthly shriek came from one of the team, and he pitied the poor animals.
“Hands in the air!”
“All right, all right,” the driver said grumpily.
“Throw down the box.”
A moment later a thud evidenced the driver’s compliance.
“You got mail sacks?” the gruff voice demanded.
“Nope, nary a one.”
“Awright, git down. Both of you.”
In an odd way, this conversation bolstered David. It meant both the driver and his shotgun messenger were still alive.
A shadow fell over the passengers, and the door flew open.
“Don’t shoot, fellas,” the driver cried.
The masked robber held him around the neck, a pistol aimed at his temple. “Come on out, folks.”
David hesitated and eased his pistol into his coat pocket.
“Throw yer guns out.” The outlaw was bigger than the driver and easily kept him under control. “Come on, gents. I know some of you have revolvers. Let’s see ’em.”
The other two passengers, who were nearer the door, tossed their guns out the window. David wondered if he was foolish not to follow their lead.
“Only two?” The robber asked.
A second outlaw scooped up the revolvers and tossed them forward of the coach, then came to the doorway.
“Well now, what have we here? Ladies!”
Mrs. Caudle raised her head and held out a beseeching hand. “Oh please! Don’t hurt us. I’ll give you my pearl necklace.”
“That’s right nice of you, ma’am.”
David eyed the second robber carefully. That voice seemed somehow familiar. He wore a cloth tied over his face, but his straw-colored hair showed beneath a battered felt hat. His blocky build and dull gray eyes were all David needed to identify his former farmhand, Sam Hastings.
“Everybody out,” the man said, standing back. “And no funny business. Ladies first.”
Millie rose shakily, looking decidedly ill.
Mrs. Caudle almost tumbled out, talking the whole while. “You mustn’t hurt anyone. I’m sure we’ll all cooperate. Just take what you want and be on your way.”
“Hush, you!” The robber prodded her with the barrel of his rifle, and she squealed and jumped aside.
Millie held up her skirt, exposing a shapely ankle, and followed Mrs. Caudle outside.
The outlaw gave a little gasp as she poked her head out the door.
“Mil—er, watch your step, ma’am.”
David held back and climbed down last. He pulled his hat low over his eyes, but there was no way he wouldn’t be recognized. Of course, the man he feared would know him had never been the brightest penny in the cashbox.
The passengers lined up, with David at the end nearest the stagecoach. One man trained his gun on them while the stockier robber collected the valuables. He began with the Caudles, relieving the lady of her necklace, her earbobs, and a handful of coins from her purse. Mr. Caudle contributed a watch, his wallet, and two cigars. David resigned himself to giving up his watch—he’d bought it during his storekeeping days at wholesale, so he wasn’t overly attached to it—and rejoiced that he wasn’t wearing the onyx cuff links. If they didn’t search him, perhaps he’d keep those and a reserve of bills tucked into a tiny pocket Anne had sewn inside his boot top.
He had no intention of opening fire. It wasn’t worth the risk with two women present and several unarmed men. Besides, now that he was out of the stage, he realized there were at least five outlaws, maybe six. As he’d feared, one of the team’s horses was down—a big, brown wheeler. The other five stood uneasily in harness, shifting and snuffling. If the robbers left with their loot, the driver and shotgun rider would have to cut the traces and reconfigure the rest of the team.
Two of the outlaws had climbed to the roof of the coach and were going through the luggage. A fifth gang member was packing the contents of the treasure box into a sack for easier transport.
A shot—too loud and too close—spun David around. Mr. Caudle apparently wasn’t unarmed after all. He’d brought out a small pistol and let the man with the rifle have it.
The one holding the bag of the passengers’ belongings stood uncertainly for a moment. That was Sam for you, always a half-second behind. The thought flashed through David’s mind as he whipped his own revolver from his pocket.
By the time he had the gun out, Sam had moved, and quickly. He fired in Mr. Caudle’s direction and jumped behind the stagecoach. Mrs. Caudle screamed as her husband went down.
David whirled and let off a shot at the robber drawing a bead on him from the top of the stage. The man jumped back and dropped his revolver over the edge of the roof. David didn’t think he’d hit him, unless
in the hand, but he swooped on the brigand’s revolver and backed toward the woods with a gun in each hand.
“Run! All of you take cover,” he said without looking around at the others.
The passengers scattered, and he heard branches breaking and brush rustling as they obeyed—all but Mrs. Caudle, who sank to her knees beside her husband’s inert body, still screaming. The stage driver snatched up her husband’s pistol and joined David in keeping up a stream of fire toward the robbers while the other passengers retreated, and the shotgun rider managed to grab the rifle dropped by the outlaw Mr. Caudle had shot. The three of them backed into the woods, keeping up their fire.
“How much ammo you got?” the driver yelled to David from his refuge behind a big fir tree.
David patted his vest pocket. “Six more rounds and whatever’s left in this gun I picked up.” He fumbled to reload his own.
“I think this is empty,” the shotgun rider said hefting the muzzle-loading rifle he’d picked up. He’d fired its single shot during their retreat. “Wish I coulda got one of them revolvers they took. Jay?”
The driver peered at them from behind his tree and waved Mr. Caudle’s revolver. “I fired two shots. Don’t know how many are in this thing.”
The road agents seemed to be conferring. David hoped they weren’t cooking up a plan.
“Here. I think there’s a couple of rounds left in there.” He passed the outlaw’s gun he’d confiscated to the shotgun rider. The three of them might have a dozen rounds. If used well, that might be enough.
He turned and squinted into the dim woods behind them. Millie was peeking from between a couple of smaller trees, her wide-brimmed hat easy to see. David waved them back, hoping she’d read his signal to get farther into the forest.
A sudden thought chilled him. Had she signaled the robbers by letting her handkerchief fly out the window? Maybe she had a gun in that bag with his Bible.
Millie knew she ought to forge farther into the woods, but she couldn’t tear herself away. Did David know that was her brother out there?
Mrs. Caudle’s screams tapered off into wrenching sobs. All else was quiet, except for the snorting of the horses and occasional shrieks from the felled wheeler. Millie glanced at the other two male passengers, who huddled behind trees. She edged out from her cover and flitted up to where she could hear David and the other men talking.
“Think they’ll leave now?” the shotgun rider asked David.
“I don’t know. If Caudle hadn’t brought that pistol out, they’d no doubt have left us alone.”
The driver dashed between the trees to where they stood. “I have another gun in the driver’s boot. I wonder if they’re still up there by the coach. Maybe we could get it.”
“Is there anything I could do?” Millie asked.
The three men turned their rather disdainful gazes on her.
“You’d best get back with the others, ma’am,” the driver said.
“Hey,” a man shouted from up near the stagecoach, “You done shot Lucky.”
The shotgun rider let out a grim chuckle and said softly, “Not so lucky today, was he?”
“You can’t git away with that,” the robber yelled.
“Sounds like they want more trouble,” the driver said.
“We don’t have the ammunition to hold them off for long,” David said calmly.
Millie gulped. “Listen, they probably wouldn’t shoot me. I could go out there and try to calm Mrs. Caudle down. Maybe I could pick up one of the passengers’ pistols. Or cause a diversion so that one of you could get them.”
“Too dangerous,” the driver said.
“I wouldn’t hide behind no woman’s skirts, anyhow,” the shotgun rider muttered.
David turned his head and trained his eyes on her—glacial blue in shadow of the trees. “They wouldn’t shoot you because one of them’s your brother. Isn’t that so, Mrs. Evans?”
“What?” The driver stared at Millie.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t.
“Yes. It was Sam who held the bag.”
David nodded. “As I thought. Did you signal them to attack?”
“What? No!”
David looked at the other two men. “She lost a handkerchief out the window just minutes before the road agents stopped the stage.”
The driver and the shotgun rider stared at her, and their gazes weren’t kindly.
“I didn’t know,” she cried, but their faces held patent disbelief. “You must believe me. I left The Dalles to get away from my brother. I refused to—” She shook her head. What did it matter? Now that David had spoken against her, they would never believe her.
David seethed inside as Millie shuddered and wilted. Did she expect him to protect her in this nefarious game? Sam Hastings had impersonated him once and tried to claim David’s belongings. Did he know about the estate in England? Maybe he and Millie had come up with this plan to finally get rid of David and go claim his wealth and position.
“Millie!” Sam stayed hidden, but his voice came loud and clear. “Come on, Millie. You come with us.”
Millie raised her chin. “No! Go away!”
“Come on, Mil!”
“I told you, no!”
David edged over to another tree, wondering where the other robbers were. Why should they hang around now, other than to attempt to get Millie to join them? Was she really a confederate of theirs?
He caught his breath. Through the trees, he’d spotted a saddled horse. At least one of the road agents had left his mount unattended.
He was about to move toward it when Millie cried, “David! Look out!”
Rather than turn toward her, he swung toward the flicker of movement he’d caught from the corner of his eye and fired two rapid shots. The outlaw went crashing through the brush toward the horses.
Behind him, more gunfire erupted. David hoped the unarmed folks were keeping low, but he didn’t have time to look. He stumbled toward the road, conscious of the three meager shots he had left. When he came to the tree line, he looked up the road, forward of the stagecoach, where the harnessed horses plunged, neighed, and kicked at each other in their frenzy to escape. Sam was helping an outlaw mount his horse. So, Caudle hadn’t killed Lucky after all. The big man lay low over his horse’s neck and headed away from the altercation. Three more horsemen appeared out of the woods to the side. David raised his revolver but doubted he could make the shot from this distance. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to fire at Sam when Millie stood nearby.
The driver ran up beside David and let off a shot, then his revolver clicked as Sam Hastings swayed, clutched his chest, and fell to the dusty road.
The driver swore. “At least I got one of ’em.”
The other outlaws were out of range now, galloping away eastward, leaving Sam behind, lying in the dirt as a cloud of dust swirled in the air and the stagecoach team thrashed and screamed.
Before David could catch his breath, Millie dashed past him, holding up bunches of her skirt and gasping for breath. She ran to the outlaw lying in the road and knelt beside him.
“Sam! You big old oaf! Why did you do this, Sam?”
David tucked his pistol inside his coat and walked heavily toward her. He patted his pockets for his handkerchief and found it crumpled beneath the cuff link box.
Millie had torn off the cloth that had masked her brother’s face. Sam’s eyes were shut tight, and his mouth twisted as he pressed both hands to his chest. Blood oozed between his fingers, and his labored breathing set David’s teeth on edge. He knelt in the dirt across from Millie. She tossed him a glance. David could see that the wound was beyond what little help a handkerchief could offer, and he tucked it back in his pocket to keep it clean. Millie would need one later.
An odd feeling seized David, as though he was watching this tableau from outside the frame. Millie had saved his life back there when she’d warned him. Offering a clean handkerchief seemed poor recompense.
>
“Sam, I’m so sorry,” she choked. “Hold on now. We’ll take you to a doctor.”
Sam coughed, and blood splatted from the corner of his mouth. “I’m past doctorin’, Millie. You get Old Blue, huh? Take care of him.”
“Old Blue?” Millie looked around in distraction.
“Is he there?” Sam asked.
“Yes, I see him.” The roan had run a little way after the band of outlaws but had stopped and was nervously snatching mouthfuls of grass at the edge of the road, keeping an eye on the activity near the coach.
Sam pulled in a shuddering breath. “He’s a…good hoss.”
“Yes.” Millie sounded as though she were the one strangling.
The driver went to his team, but after he and the shotgun rider had somewhat calmed them, he came over and stood gazing down at Sam. “Is that the one? Her brother?”
“Yes.” David stood and brushed off his knees. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”
The driver inhaled deeply through his nose. “Caudle’s dead, but the fella he shot got away. Hal and I will see about getting the team set to go. We need to get these passengers to the swing station. It’s about five miles. As soon as I pass the stage to another driver, I’ll come back with some men and all the horses we can harness to once, and we’ll drag ol’ Star off the road.” He nodded to the downed coach horse.
David nodded. “If it will help you, that blue roan the outlaw was riding can pull in harness.”
“You sure?” The driver eyed him with speculation.
“Yes.” David didn’t bother to explain that Old Blue had belonged to him, once upon a more-trusting time.
Millie burst into tears and flung herself on Sam’s body. David guessed her brother had breathed his last. He stood in confusion. He ought to offer his comfort or at least some show of sympathy, but how could he? Her brother was an outlaw and had brought him nothing but trouble. So far as he could see, she was in on the robbery plot. The best thing he could do would be to distance himself from her.
“Best let her have a few minutes,” he said to the driver. “Let’s see about the harness.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 68
