Emmy giggled, her lilting laugh out of place in the murky setting.
Cuddy crossed his hands over the saddle horn. “Since you asked, I’ll tell you my thoughts. Free of charge.”
She twisted to see him better. “All right. I never could pass up a bargain.”
A flush crept up from his collar, visible even in the meager light. “I was wondering...” His gaze flickered to her face then down. “Well ... I heard you praying back there.”
It was her turn to blush. “Yes, I was.”
As if determined to finish something he’d started, he met her eyes. “Do you actually think someone heard you?”
At first, the strain in his voice made her think he was mocking her. After searching his face, she realized he desperately needed to know. “Yes, I do. In fact, I’m convinced.”
He narrowed his eyes. “How?”
Cuddy’s question brought the past flooding back, the emptiness Emmy had felt before the day she’d whispered a tortured prayer, asking herself the same question: Did someone hear?
The evidence that God Himself heard came later in startling bits and pieces. First, the calm that settled over her soul like a comforting quilt after that prayer, blocking out the darkness and filling the empty places. Where once her eyes in the mirror had darted, guilty and ashamed, now they gazed back at her, clear and unflinching, in a way they’d never done before. The day she awoke knowing God was there, so present she felt compelled to bid Him good morning, she knew her life had forever changed.
She related these proofs and more to Cuddy as they rode.
He listened quietly, thoughtfully chewing the inside of his cheek. When she finished, he whistled softly. “When we first met I said you weren’t the sort of girl I expected to say such things.”
She nodded, remembering.
“I was wrong.”
His attempt to compliment her warmed her heart. “Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say so.” She paused. “But Cuddy, I don’t want you harboring the wrong idea. There is no particular ‘sort’ of person that prays to God.” She smiled. “He takes all comers.”
He clutched his chest and pretended to wince with pain. “Except someone like me.”
She gave her head a vigorous shake. “Especially someone like you.”
Cuddy threw back his head and laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the saddle.
Emmy watched him, amazed and a little frightened. “Stop it! Why are you howling? You’ll attract a pack of coyotes.”
Holding his middle, he pointed. “Didn’t you hear yourself? You just confirmed that I’m a special case. I always thought I was such a mess that God would go out of his way to snag a trophy like me for His belt.” He roared again. “Now you’ve confirmed it.”
She fought a smile. “Oh, shush.”
He wiped his eyes, controlling his snickers with effort. Gazing warmly at her, he smiled. “Seriously, I appreciate your honesty, and I think I’d like to know more.”
She let her jaw drop dramatically then winked. “Why, Cuddy Rawson, I believe you’re sincere. What do you want to know?”
His head jerked around and he held up his hand. “Shh! Wait a second.” He leaned forward in the saddle and stared. “Unless my eyes are deceiving me, I see a campfire up ahead.”
Emmy whirled to look and her heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Cuddy. Could it possibly be them?”
His teeth flashed in the dimness. “There’s only one way to find out.” He tapped his horse with his heels. “Let’s ride.”
***
The wind howled around the wagon, flapping the tarps tied over the crates and threatening to lift Magda’s hat right off her head. She clung to it with her free hand while the brim battered her forehead. With her other hand, she held a cloth over Willem’s mouth to try to keep out the swirling dust.
In one way, the coming rain would be a relief. Magda planned to open her mouth and turn her face to the sky. She’d never been thirstier in her life. It amazed her that Bertha, already parched when they discovered the empty canteens, hadn’t asked for a drop to cool her tongue.
“It’s coming a right rowdy blow,” Bertha shouted.
Magda looked behind her. “You don’t say? What are we going to do when it starts to rain?”
“I suppose we’ll get mighty wet.” Bertha seemed a fount of pointless information. She tipped her head and stared at the sky. “It’s the lightning that’s got me worried. Getting worse, too.”
Her words struck fear in Magda. She hadn’t even considered the lightning. “We need to find shelter, Bert.”
“I know it’s dark out, but have you forgot what this country looks like? There ain’t no shelter. This here is wide-open plain.” She cackled. “I suppose we could crawl under the wagon.”
Tired of bawling back and forth like a cow and her weaning calf, Magda got up on all fours. “Have you forgot about Willem? What do you propose we do, drag him off this rig by his heels?”
It seemed foolish to her to ride along pretending there wasn’t a monster chasing them. They needed to come up with a plan for weathering the storm. Before she could holler for Bert to pull over, Bertha hauled on the reins so hard Magda slammed forward and bumped her head. Falling on her bottom, she rubbed the swelling on her forehead. “For pity’s sake! What’d you do that for?”
Bertha scrambled over the front seat, knelt on the rear, and leaned over the wooden slats.
Magda scooted closer and peered up at her. “What’s wrong? You cracked my head and joggled Willem something fierce.”
She slapped her hand over Magda’s mouth. “Keep your voice down and listen.” Letting go slowly, she pulled Magda’s face to the left and angled it down the road. “What do you see?”
Magda gasped. “A light.”
“Is it a light? Or a campfire?”
“What difference does it make? Either way, it means people. Help for Willem.” Excitement welling inside, Magda shoved her toward the front. “What are you waiting for? Get up there and drive.”
Bertha slumped on the seat. “Not so fast. Suppose it’s bandits ... or worse, Indians?”
“There are no more war parties in South Texas.”
“How do you know?”
Magda was fairly sure of what she knew, just not positive. “We have to take the chance, don’t we? We have no choice.”
Thunder rolled from one side of the endless, dark sky to the other, followed by countless jagged streaks in the heavens. They both jumped at a louder crash that spiked a bolt of white light to the ground.
Magda shrank nearer to Willem. “How close was that? It’s hard to tell out here.”
“Too close,” Bertha said, a quaver in her voice.
“What are we going to do, Bert?”
“I have a plan, but you won’t like it.”
Magda’s stomach lurched. “If it gets Willem out of this weather, I’m game.”
“That part’s a gamble.” A flash lit Bertha’s profile as she stared up the road. “I have to get close enough to see who that is over yonder.”
“How? They’re sure to hear us. They’ll likely even see us in this lightning if they haven’t already.”
Bertha’s head turned. “Not if I go by myself. I can slip up on them.”
“And leave me here alone?” She shivered. “With the storm and the coyotes? Not to mention the goat suckers?” She clutched Bertha’s sleeve. “No. Come up with another plan.”
Bertha pulled free. “There is no other plan. You want to find help for Willem, don’t you?”
A sob threatened Magda’s throat. “You know I do.”
“All right, then. We either head for that light and we’re safe, or we skirt around it and we’re safe.” Her voice slowly faded as she spoke. “The only way to choose the right path is for me to go look.”
Fear clawed Magda’s chest. She grasped the seatback and peered into the darkness. “Bertha Maye! Where did you go? You’re already on the ground, aren’t you?”
Bertha popped
up at the side rail. “Keep your trap shut. They’ll hear you.”
“Please don’t go.”
“Stay here and be quiet.” It was the second time Bertha had issued the order to stay, ridiculous considering Magda would be loath to leave the wagon if Gabriel appeared and blew his horn.
She didn’t hear Bertha leave, but she knew the minute she was alone. A solid wall of darkness enveloped her, thick enough to slap her in the face each time a bolt of lightning waned.
She felt for the comforting warmth of Willem’s chest, still faithfully rising and falling. Odd how he could be so lifeless yet at the same time full of life. Despite his helplessness, his nearness made her feel safe—until a rustling sound in the nearby brush tossed her heart at her throat.
The horses seemed suddenly restless, and she imagined them bolting in fear of whatever crouched in the bushes. Had Bertha set the brake? If so, would the rig topple, dragging them to their deaths?
Maybe the bandits up the road had already seen them. Perhaps they’d acted first and sent a murdering thief to slip up on them with a patch on his eye and a knife between his teeth. He would’ve already slit Bertha’s throat and left her for dead. Now he shimmied through the tall grass, coming for her.
“It’s them!” Bertha hissed at her side.
Magda screamed as thunder pealed overhead.
In the silence that followed, she felt downright silly. And mad. “What did you do that for?”
Standing at the rail, Bertha let out her breath in a rush. “I was about to ask you the same fool question. You’d better hope that thunder drowned out your caterwauling, or we’re in big trouble.”
Magda leaned over Willem. “Why? Who is it?”
“None other than our peeping Tom, nasty Wayne, and his brother, Carl.”
“No!”
“I’m afraid so.” She sniffed. “Here’s the worst part, Magda. Benito and Juan are with them.”
Magda gripped the rail. “Oh, Bertha. I can’t believe it. They seemed so nice.”
Bertha patted her hand. “They are nice. You were right about them all along. They’re sitting back to back near the fire, trussed up in heavy rope. John’s cattle are grazing in a nearby field.”
Magda shot a worried glance down the road toward the campfire. “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing we can do for Benito and Juan just now. We’re no match for those men. Besides, we’ve got to think of Willem.” She sighed. “Looks like we’re going around.”
CHAPTER 36
Diego sailed along the road to El Indio, Faron’s impressive strength, beauty, and speed churning beneath him. He allowed the horse to run for as long as he dared before pulling him up. Faron’s swiftness and willingness had bought Diego a lot of time. He had the feeling the horse would cheerfully dash to his death if Diego required it of him.
Dismal, unwelcome thoughts simmered in Diego’s head. In his zeal to save Faron, he’d never allowed himself to accept what Mrs. Rawson considered obvious. Had Faron thrown John Rawson? Trampled him to death? Was Mrs. Rawson a widow who deserved her vengeance? The possibility left Diego’s insides roiling worse than the imminent storm.
A faint light flickered up ahead. Diego stood in the stirrups and tried to focus his eyes on the fiery blur. He first thought lightning had started a brush fire in the distance but soon realized it must be a campfire. His heartbeat quickened. It made no sense for Cuddy to pull off and camp halfway to El Indio, unless he sought shelter from the rain, or unless...
The other possibility shot warmth through his body. Could Mr. Rawson and Emmy’s family have set up camp along the roadside?
Diego tapped Faron’s sides to spur him to a trot. They didn’t get far before a noisy commotion commenced behind him to the right. Faron sprang off his haunches, dancing away from the noise, but Diego held the edgy horse steady.
Something big trundled in a wide swath somewhere in the brush, angling toward the road.
Diego strained to see, but the shroud of darkness blotted out everything beyond a few feet. Deciding curiosity could be dangerous, he waited, his ears straining for more information.
A high-pitched caterwaul pierced the night, tensing every muscle in his body. “We’ve done it, Magda! We found the road.”
“Halleluiah! I knew you could do it, Bert.”
Grinning from east to west, Diego slapped his leg then leaned forward to whisper into the horse’s twitching ears. “Well, what do you know, Faron? We didn’t need to find them. They found us.”
Filled with relief so fierce his chest was sure to burst, Diego spurred the horse and lit out after them. “Mr. Rawson! Sir! Wait up.” They were nearly on top of the wagon when Faron swung to the side. Diego reined him in and circled back. “You folks can’t imagine what a hullabaloo you’ve caused on the ranch.” He chuckled. “Sir, your wife may be ready to see you hanged.”
He squinted, trying to find Mr. Rawson’s face, listening to hear his booming laughter.
A plump face materialized from the side of the wagon. “Diego!” Mrs. Dane cried. “Is it really you? We’re so grateful to see you.”
“We’ve had a terrible time of it, son,” Mrs. Bloom added, her voice thick with unshed tears.
Fear tickled the edges of Diego’s mind. He could see two shadowy figures in the wagon now. Two figures. Two voices.
“Mr. Rawson?”
“That’s what we’re trying to tell you,” Mrs. Bloom said gently. “Willem is lying in back, and he’s hurt real bad. As for John Rawson ... he lit out on Faron two days ago to fetch a doctor for Willem and we haven’t seen him since.”
Diego’s heart sank and he fought back tears. He’d cling to hope until there was proof, but the grisly facts were lining up against Mr. Rawson.
He pictured the man’s poor wife holding a pistol on Faron, the hem of her dressing gown soiled by the barn floor, her hair an untidy mess. Shuddering at the feel of the horse under him, he dismounted and climbed aboard the rig. “What happened to your husband, Mrs. Dane?”
She sniffed loudly. “He fell. Landed on a broke-off tree limb that punctured the back of his head.” Her voice broke. “It knocked him unconscious and he never woke up.” A loud peal of thunder made Mrs. Dane jump and cry out.
Mrs. Bloom took up the story. “We waited at the camp all night for John and the doctor. When he didn’t show, we figured we’d best head out and find help.”
Diego’s head reeled. “You two have been wandering alone, trying to make your way from Eagle Pass?”
“Not Eagle Pass. Willem got hurt along the river near El Indio.”
“But you were coming from the direction of Eagle Pass.”
“I reckon it looked that way to you.” She felt for his head and turned it to look behind them. “Actually, we’d just driven around that.”
The campsite.
He laughed. “You didn’t have much to fear. I think I know who that is.”
Bertha snorted. “We know exactly who it is, young feller. You may not fear them, but we sure do.”
Diego narrowed his eyes. “But that’s Cuddy and Emmy, isn’t it?”
Fumbling in the darkness, Mrs. Dane scrambled to her feet. “What did you say? Why would you think that’s my daughter?”
He turned from one to the other, trying to see enough of their faces to read them. “Because they were ahead of me, traveling this same road.”
Their simultaneous gasps sent a chill down Diego’s back. He stared toward the distant fire that once seemed cheerful and promising but now cast an ominous glow. “Maybe one of you had better tell me what’s going on.”
***
Her eyes swollen from crying, Emmy strained against the rope that bound her hands. She glanced at Cuddy lying across from her and shuddered at his battered, bloody face. His incoherent babbling stirred fear in Emmy. She whispered his name, begging him to look at her, to say he was all right, but he didn’t answer.
The cruel men had ambushed them as soon as they’d ridden into camp
, pulling Cuddy shouting and kicking from his horse and hitting him over the head. Once Cuddy hit the ground, the beating continued, leaving him in a huddle, dazed and moaning. They’d tied him up and slammed him against a wagon wheel, leaving him for dead, and lashed Emmy to a musty-smelling trunk.
She glanced toward the fire. The wind whipped the flames in a crazy dance, and the occasional fat raindrop landed with a sizzle. Her gaze lifted to the two bronze-skinned men in front of the blaze. Their demeanor struck Emmy as peculiar, not because they were bound together, captives of the same evil men, but that they seemed to accept it with dignity and grace. One of them raised his head then tilted it, flashing Emmy a sympathetic smile.
The younger of the wicked men paced between the two sets of prisoners. “This is getting scary now, Wayne,” he ranted. “I didn’t say much when you hauled that cook and drover with us even after I asked you not to.” He ran his hands through his hair. “And, yes, I can see how we might need them to get the cattle clear to Cotulla.” He whirled and pointed at Emmy. “But this right here will get us hanged.”
The man he called Wayne, the same one who’d kicked Cuddy when he was on the ground, sat on a stained bucket cleaning his fingernails with a hunting knife. “Little brother, you worry too much.” He spread his hands to take in their surroundings. “Do you see anyone around here for miles who might care?”
His vulgar laughter echoed through the camp. “That’s the beauty of the wide-open spaces. The possibilities are wide open, too.”
The worried one named Carl bent over at the waist, his arms out to his sides like a flustered goose. “We don’t need them! Why bring extra heat on our heads?”
Wayne fixed a thoughtful gaze on Cuddy. “Unfortunately for him, I agree with you.” The look he turned on Emmy held a greedy glint. “But that pretty little thing right there?” He sneered. “I reckon I could find a use for her.”
Emmy cringed and dropped her gaze, stiffening her spine. He wouldn’t see her cry.
Ferocious, howling gusts announced the storm’s arrival. Carl came to life, chasing after flying clothing and tumbling boxes while Wayne laughed like a lunatic, nearly upsetting his bucket.
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