Tears sprang to Joey’s eyes. He sniffed loudly and cried out, “I can’t, Miss Kate. I’m scared to. He’ll hurt my sister. And all of us. I just know he will.”
Desperation ate at Kate. “No he won’t, Joey. He just wants me.”
Tears spilled over and ran down Joey’s cheeks. “Well, he can’t have you. My Uncle Cole loves you and went plumb crazy when you were carried off yesterday. And so did we. See, me and Willy and Lydia, we love you, too. And I ain’t letting no bad man cart you away again.”
Kate’s heart had never felt warmer … or colder. The children loved her. And were about to get themselves killed because they did. Her worst nightmare come to life. Kate’s pride in Joey’s bravery warred with her urge to shake the stubbornness out of him. How long would the men behind her remain patient? she wondered. After all, as she’d already told Joey, the only one Edgar Talmidge needed was her. Kate felt certain time was slipping away from her. She feared the men would simply sidestep behind her and—
Two shots rang out.
They came whizzing by Kate … from behind her. The bullets missed her, but she screamed and stumbled, falling forward to the hard ground. Immediately, she struggled to regain her feet, clawing at the grass and dirt, crying out and fighting her long skirt, which became tangled around her legs. She feared another bullet would end her life at any moment. But she feared more what the first two bullets had already done.
Because at the top of the hill, she’d seen Kitty take off and had seen the rifle go flying—as if it had been torn from Joey’s hands. At the same moment both boys had yelped as if with pain and had fallen down the other side of the hill.
Chapter Eighteen
Poised at the starting line, in the front ranks of the would-be settlers, Cole intently watched the mounted cavalry officer off to his right. Slowly and deliberately, the uniformed man raised his six-shooter into the air. Excitement shot through Cole, even as he licked at his dry lips and tightly held the reins to his prancing roan. In only seconds, at the stroke of noon, the army officer—like so many others ranged up and down the various borders edging the Unassigned Lands—would fire his gun and signal the beginning of the land run.
Coursing through Cole was the same anticipation that rippled through the surrounding throng of folks. Excitement was a living thing that settled a quiet hush over them all and held them frozen in a moment in time and history. Every muscle in his body tensed as he hunched over his roan’s neck and thereby got his weight off the animal’s hind quarters, the better to allow the horse a sudden burst of speed.
A grim smile came to Cole’s lips. This roan was used to racing. More than once, Cole had put him up against the horses of men who’d thought they had a winner. Every time the roan had beaten all comers. Every time. Cole had no reason to believe this time would be any different. The roan was rested and ready to go.
Under him, the nervous horse pranced in place, fighting the bit, his muscles quivering with anticipation. A sudden jostle from another rider who crowded in too close to them had the roan snorting and whinnying, his head raised and his teeth bared. Instantly working the reins to circle his horse, Cole shouted to the other rider to mind his animal and then, with his own mount again steadied, he freed a hand to stroke the long-legged roan’s neck. Into the horse’s ear he crooned, “Easy, now. Easy. Don’t let him worry you. Save it for the race. Save it for getting that parcel of land for Kate.”
As if Cole’s words had been the signal, the army officer fired his gun. The land run had officially begun.
A hushed and frozen second followed the hollow, booming sound. And then, all up and down the miles-long line, echoing reports of other cavalrymen’s shots could be heard. In that moment, everything was forgotten—the hardships, the despair, the worries—as all hell broke loose. Cole, along with every man, woman, and child—whether atop a horse, in a wagon, or on foot—broke free of the starting line and surged forward with whoops and prayers, and plenty of hope … for a chance at a plot of free land and a new start in life.
Cole was at the forefront of the massive surge, which he felt resembled more an ancient army charging out to meet an enemy than it did the impossibly crowded horse race that it actually was. He let out the reins, gave the roan his head, and leaned over the animal’s neck. Lifting his weight out of the saddle, with the roan’s long and coarse mane whipping his face and neck, Cole centered his weight in the stirrups and held the reins taut.
Time seemed to stand still. It was the eeriest thing to Cole, this dulled quiet all around him. He’d heard about this from his father, who’d fought for the North in the Civil War. The noise of battle, he’d said, seemed to occur only at the edges of the action. But in the thick of the fighting, all was quiet and slow and drawn out almost painfully. This race was no different, Cole now realized. He felt certain that just by flying along so fast, he and all the other riders had slowed their passage through time … a gauzy moment that blurred the edges of reality.
Then as suddenly as it had descended, the quiet and the blurred slowness lifted, leaving a bright and startling quickness in its place. Cole now heard every whooping cry raised and became aware of every rider around him urging his own mount onward. It seemed to Cole the very ground rolled with a thunder all its own under the roan’s flying hooves. The horse’s stretched-out gallop ate up the prairie ground and carried them across the open land. Exhilaration ripped through Cole. His heart pounded in time with each thundering hoofbeat.
Suddenly he became aware of something else—and quickly glanced over his shoulder. Son of a bitch! The roan was pulling ahead of the pack. The big-hearted horse was leaving the crowd behind. And then, in the next second, Cole let out a whoop of his own for they were the frontrunners. He glanced again at those behind him … and saw wagons rolling through the raised dust, saw teams struggling over the very hills and low-lying rills that the roan had easily cleared. Some behind Cole made it, some floundered and their dream died. Other men and women yelled encouragement to their mounts.
But up front, ahead of them all, it was a clear and glorious day. A stab of pure joy grabbed Cole and had him grinning and cheering the roan on. Nothing could stop him now. Nothing but time and miles lay between him and the hundred and sixty acres that Kate wanted. Nothing. It had all come down to this—a horse race that wasn’t even a challenge for his roan.
Then, seeing where they were and recognizing the landmarks—from hours of studying his brother-in-law’s map—Cole tugged on the reins and guided his horse to the left. In that direction lay the staked-out soon-to-be city of Guthrie. But more importantly to Cole, Kate’s land was there, too, just shy of the city and to the north. Suddenly Cole realized he’d never been more proud of himself than he was at this moment. This was a good thing he was doing, and it had nothing to do with killing. It had to do with new life. Just like Kate’s baby was a new life.
And here he’d stepped in and accepted the challenge, as well as the responsibility for her and for Charlotte’s children. He was doing this for all of them. And it felt good. It felt right. As he slowed his roan some, feeling now he could save the animal’s stamina for the distance yet to go, Cole began to wonder if he could, after all, leave this place. He’d always said he would, but Kate and the kids and this land were starting to feel like home to him. The settling of this Oklahoma Country was something he wanted to remain a part of. It was that simple. And that hard.
Because as Kate had told him earlier this morning, making this land run was all she’d ever asked him to do. She hadn’t asked him to stay on afterward. He could. The land would also be registered in his name. He knew that. Just as he knew that he wouldn’t stay if Kate didn’t want him to. He wasn’t someone to force himself on a woman. He’d told her he loved her. He’d told her twice. And she’d said nothing in return. He wasn’t surprised. She’d been through hell at the hands of Edgar Talmidge … and now carried the man’s child. The last thing a woman would want after that experience, Cole expected, was another man.
So that all meant only one thing: after getting Kate’s land for her, and after building her home, he’d be leaving … just like he’d said all along.
* * *
To Kate, the feel of the mule’s bare back was hot, bony, sweaty, and itchy-hairy. Its rambling, bone-jarring gait was a trial to withstand, especially for a body as raw and hurting as hers was today. But still, she was grateful for the animal. And for Willy. Unscathed except for some scratches earned while evasively rolling down the hill a few minutes ago, he sat perched in front of her and handled the reins as Kate held on desperately to his narrow waist and tried her best not to fall off or to drop Cole’s rifle, their only weapon.
Kitty plodded along on their right. And to their left, atop one of the other mules, sat Joey, who reined in his mount and fussed at his five-year-old brother. “Are you sure you saw which way they went, Willy? ’Cause I didn’t see ’em, and you fell down that hill just like me and Kitty did when them bastards shot at us.”
Startled by Joey’s cussing but figuring this was no time—with Lydia’s life in the balance—for a lesson in etiquette, Kate kept silent and held on to Willy as he sawed back on the reins of their mount. When he got the long-eared animal stopped, he turned enough to face Kate and his brother. “I seen ’em, Joey. I did. That man flung Lydia atop his horse like she was a sack of flour and then the two of them men took off this way.”
The little boy, a black-haired miniature of his Uncle Cole, pointed in the direction they were already headed. Kate exhaled sharply. West. They have Lydia and they’re headed west. “All right,” she told the boys, “you two hold on a minute and let me think. Just sit here and be quiet for me.”
When they minded her and fell silent, Kate attempted to divine Mr. Talmidge’s reasoning. Why hadn’t he, back at the hill, simply stayed put and allowed Kate to trade herself for the little girl? Certainly he knew he couldn’t go back East with Lydia and claim her as his child. No one would believe him. So why—? Then it struck Kate … Edgar Talmidge took off because he hadn’t known where Cole was. The awful man had meant to quickly snatch Kate and get away. But it hadn’t worked. He hadn’t expected resistance.
In light of that, Kate thought she could now see his plan. It was pretty smart of him, too. And awful for her and the boys. Because the mule she rode with Willy was now standing on the very border of the land run. Of course, it stood abandoned except for them. Only churned-up earth and grass attested to the tumultuous traffic that had passed over it about fifteen or twenty minutes ago. But already littering the way west were a few broken or overturned wagons, their precious cargoes littering the prairie. Here and there soldiers worked to help right the vehicles.
Weary and sore, and feeling she now knew the odds against them, Kate slumped behind Willy. Talmidge meant to catch up to the tail end of the throng of settlers and lose himself among the multitude of folks swarming willy-nilly all over the prairie. Because once he was lost to them, he had surprise again on his side. Plus, in the sweet and innocent person of Lydia, he had his bargaining chip: Kate for Lydia. He could afford to bide his time and wait for the right moment. Because he already knew that Kate loved the child and would exchange herself for the girl.
The horrible truth, then, for Kate, was if she didn’t locate Talmidge and Hedges before they lost themselves on the prairie, then the odds of finding the little girl at all were very slim, indeed. After all, the men had those two sleek, fast-looking black horses that yesterday had pulled the landau. And here she was atop an ornery mule, accompanied by two little boys who were very lucky to be alive. No one had to tell her that they were still breathing only because the men probably hadn’t intended to shoot the children, just scare them. Which they’d surely done.
They’d scared Kate, too. She recalled now her heart pounding in her throat, how she’d forgotten her own belly pain and the danger to herself as she’d bounded over the hill, only to see the boys sprawled on the hillside, staring wide-eyed up at her. She had panicked and skittered down the hill to grab them up and frantically check them for wounds, which they’d rushed to assure her they didn’t have. Then she’d just as quickly grabbed up Cole’s rifle from the ground where Joey had dropped it and had whipped around, thinking to kill at least one of those evil men who preyed on women and children. She’d decided it would be Hedges, since he wasn’t holding Lydia.
With the boys, she’d crawled to the crest of the hill and had seen Hedges a good distance from Mr. Talmidge. With the boys showing her how, she’d sighted on the man and had fired … and had missed terribly. But it had been enough to spur the men into firing back. Kate and the boys had ducked back behind the hill again. When they’d risked another look, they’d seen the men bolting onto their horses and using Lydia as a shield. It now occurred to Kate that by firing at them, she’d really left them no choice but to do exactly what they had done … take Lydia and run.
As guilty as she felt about that, Kate knew all wasn’t yet lost. Because their taking the little girl would probably prove to be the worst mistake either of them had ever made. Yes, they thought to use Lydia as a means of drawing Kate out. And that had worked … she was already on their trail and prepared immediately, should they find the men, to give herself over to them in exchange for the child. Wisely, she hadn’t told the boys that. No sense worrying them with such an outcome now. Kate figured she worried enough for all three of them, especially over what Edgar Talmidge would do to her when he realized that she no longer—
No. Kate shut off her thought. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Because what Edgar Talmidge and that awful Hedges didn’t know was the little girl was the niece of hired killer and expert tracker Cole Youngblood. Wait until he found out about this—
“That’s it!” Kate said excitedly, drawing the boys’ attention her way. “We’ve been foolish about this. We don’t stand a chance of finding those men and your sister—I know it, and you know it. But your uncle can. He can do this. I think we should find him and tell him what happened. Then I can stay at the land and protect the claim … with this rifle and you boys helping me. And Cole can go hunt for Lydia.”
Joey’s eyes lit up. “That’s powerful good thinking, Miss Kate. Let’s go.” He started to dig his heels into his mule’s sides, but then he slumped and faced Kate again. “You do know where this land of yours is, don’t you?”
That was a fair question, Kate decided. She didn’t suppose she blamed him for being doubtful of her skills. After all, so far he’d had to help teach her how to cook, shoot a rifle, drive a wagon, and ride a mule. “I have a pretty good idea. I’ve seen it on a map your father had. It’s a little bit north of what’s going to be the town of Guthrie, which isn’t too far inside the border of the run. I figure we can ask some of these soldiers out here to direct us—”
“And tell ’em about Lydia and those men,” Willy piped up. “They can look out for ’em, too.”
That was just plain inspired. Kate tousled the boy’s hair and hugged him to her. “Willy, you are so smart. That is exactly what we’ll do. Let’s go.”
As they rode off, heading for a knot of soldiers up ahead of them who were helping a family pick up their spilled belongings, Kate considered Willy’s suggestion. For one thing, it would take a heap of convincing to get these or any soldiers to hunt after a man of Mr. Talmidge’s reputation and wealth. And for another, she herself was guilty of murder and was reluctant to tell the soldiers—the only law out here—the reason for Talmidge’s actions.
Kate kept silent and held on to Willy for dear life. She only hoped Lydia was doing the same, clinging to dear life wherever she was. Kate also hoped they’d reach Cole in only a few hours and that he would indeed be on the land she already thought of as hers. Because if he wasn’t … what then? Despite what she’d told Joey, she wasn’t sure she would recognize the specific plot of land Cole meant to stake. What a piece of land looked like on a map was one thing. What it looked like firsthand was another.
But if he wasn’
t there, and since they hadn’t really discussed where else he should sink their stake if that plot of land was taken, she’d have no idea where else to look for him. Or for Lydia. And with her body already protesting, with crampy pains still riddling her abdomen, she would have no strength left to try again … if she even made it as far as her land and Cole without first simply dropping off the mule and dying by the wayside. After all, she’d lost a goodly amount of blood this morning when she’d miscarried her baby.
* * *
With folks thundering by all around him, with every one of them holding a flagged stake and intending to plant it in a good piece of soil, Cole clutched his own numbered stake in his hand and vaulted off his tired roan. Exhausted but triumphant, he sank to one knee, the better to jam the numbered piece of wood into the damp spongy ground. With one mighty swing of his arm, Cole brought the stake down … and instantly owned a hundred and sixty acres of land just north of the Guthrie Station.
As he was supposed to do, he pulled up the government’s white-flagged stake and immediately secured it in his saddlebag. This was the prize everyone sought. Because only these white-flagged stakes, with surveyor’s marks on them designating the boundaries of an exact piece of property, would be accepted to legally register any claim next to a man’s or a woman’s name in the land office’s books. So, only then, only when the all-important stake was firmly in his possession, did Cole exhale in relief—and call it a miracle that this claim hadn’t already been poached ahead of time.
Because a number of the claims he’d seen had been staked out as early as last night by dishonest folks who’d come in sooner than they’d been supposed to. They were pretty brazen about it, too, having already set up armed camps in places that Cole had been the first legitimate rider to pass by. Seeing the way of it, Cole had quickly decided that should such a squatter be camped on this land, he would deal with him accordingly. But that hadn’t happened. So to Cole’s way of thinking, the squatters were the government’s problem. Not his.
Prairie Song Page 32
