Still, they were only delaying the inevitable. As much noise as they were making, they couldn’t possibly shake the Comanches.
An idea took root. An act of desperation that might save the women. It would probably cost him his own life but he was on in years, and didn’t have long to live, anyway.
Ebidiah would sacrifice himself for the ladies. He owed them that, for bringing this ordeal down on their heads. But he must do it without them catching on. He began to slow—not much, but enough that Philomena and her girls pulled further ahead. None of them noticed.
Dropping even further behind, Ebidiah deliberately made a lot of noise, brushing against limbs and pounding his feet harder to drown out the sounds the women made. He must trick the Comanches into thinking that he and the ladies were still together.
A branch barred his way and he broke it with a swing of the Sharps. The loud crack was like a shot.
And he slowed even more.
Behind him, so did the Comanches.
Grinning at how he was fooling them, Ebidiah changed direction. Instead of north he ran to the west, continuing to make as much racket as he could. Tilting his good ear, his grin widened when it became apparent the Comanches were following him and not the ladies.
Ebidiah gamely sped on. Once he went far enough that the women should be safe, he would turn and make his stand.
“Come and get me, you red devils.”
Chapter 51
Philomena Burnett’s lungs were burning and every muscle in her legs hurt. She had run for a considerable distance and didn’t know how much farther she could go. She glanced back, saw to her dismay that Ebidiah Troutman was no longer behind them, and stopped. Doubling over, she gasped for breath as quietly as she could.
Her girls stopped, too.
“What’s wrong, Ma?” Mandy said.
“Are you all in?” Estelle asked.
Her sides were hurting and it was an effort to breathe, but Philomena pointed and got out, “Eb . . .”
Mandy looked, and understood. “Where’s Mr. Troutman? If the Comanches got him, wouldn’t we have heard?”
“Maybe he got confused in the dark and ran a different way than us,” Estelle said.
The truth hit Philomena like a kick to the gut. “No, not confused,” she gasped. “On purpose.”
“Ma?” Mandy said.
“He drew them away from us,” Philomena guessed, “to give us a chance to get away.”
“But that would put him in more danger, wouldn’t it?” Estelle said.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Estelle looked back the way they’d come. “Why would he do that for us? We’re not his family or anything.”
“Why do you think, daughter?” Philomena said. “He’s sacrificing himself for us. Your father was right about him. Ebidiah Troutman is as noble as they come.”
“You wouldn’t know it to look at him.”
“Yes, well.” Sucking in air, Philomena straightened. “We can’t let him give his life in vain. We have to get out of here.”
“And go where?” Mandy said.
“Where else? To your father.”
“It will take days on foot,” Mandy said, “and the Comanches are swarming over the countryside.”
Estelle cupped a hand to her ear. “I don’t hear a thing.”
“Maybe we’ve gotten away,” Philomena said. It seemed too good to be true, but the woods were perfectly still.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Mandy said. “I wouldn’t count on anything. Mrs. Kurst and Mrs. Weaver are both dead, and who knows how many more? We need to keep moving, and not toward Comanche Creek.”
“How’s that?” Philomena said.
“Ma, it’s too far. Town is closer. We stand a better chance of making it there. Once we do, they’ll send men to warn Pa and the others.”
“Wouldn’t the Comanches expect that?” Estelle said. “Won’t they have warriors between here and town to stop us?”
“I can’t say how Indians think,” Mandy said. “I only know it’s a mistake for us to go find Pa. As much as I want to, I fear it would get us killed.”
Estelle turned. “Ma, what do you say? Do we head for town or not?”
Philomena both hated and liked the idea. She’d be abandoning the man she loved. But once in town, her girls would be safe. And if none of the menfolk would ride to warn Owen and the others, she’d go herself, and leave the girls with friends.
“Ma?” Estelle said once more.
“I’m thinking.” Philomena stared into the distance, her heart sinking in her chest. Oh, Owen, she thought. His cattle venture had put them in the direst peril of their lives. As much as she would rather be at his side, she had their daughters to think of. Owen would want her to keep them safe above all else.
Just then Blue growled low in his chest. He was looking back, his spine and legs rigid with tension.
“They must still be after us,” Estelle whispered in dismay.
“Hush that dog,” Philomena commanded.
Years ago, Owen had taught her that to tell direction at night, all she needed was to find the Big Dipper. The Dipper always pointed at the North Star. She peered up through the trees, said, “Follow me,” and headed east.
“It’s town, then?” Mandy whispered.
“It is,” Philomena said.
Crouching, she led them through a belt of cedar. She tried not to make noise but it was hopeless. There were too many leaves and twigs on the ground. The brush snagged her dress. She did the best she could, and presently they came to a plain. Beyond, barely visible in the black, were more hills.
Wearily kneeling, Philomena announced, “We’ll rest here a minute.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Mandy said.
“I need to.”
“Blue’s hair is up,” Estelle whispered. “He hears them, I think.”
Philomena debated whether to cross the plain or go around. Out in the open, they’d be exposed. But straight across was shorter. And if she remembered right, about a mile past those hills they would come to the rutted excuse for a road that they used when they took the buckboard into town.
“How much longer, Ma?” Mandy anxiously asked. “I’m ready to go now if you are.”
Grunting, Philomena stood. “Stay low.” She heeded her own advice, parting the high grass with her shotgun. Her dress swished much too loudly.
“God, I hate this,” Mandy whispered.
“Don’t blaspheme, daughter. It’s not respectful.” If there was one thing Philomena had taught her daughters, it was to never take the Lord’s name in vain. That included treating “God” as if it were just like any other word.
They were well out on the plain, about halfway by Philomena’s estimation, when Estelle whispered in alarm.
“Ma! I think they’re right behind us!”
Philomena stopped and flattened. “On the ground, both of you. Estelle, keep your hand on Blue’s muzzle. Don’t let him growl if you can help it.”
Her girls were quick to comply.
Rising on her elbows, Philomena craned her neck as high as she could. At first she thought Estelle was imagining things. Then movement caught her eye. Someone was coming toward them.
“Stay down,” Philomena hissed in warning, and hugged the earth. If she could, she would have dug down into it. She dreaded hearing a war cry, dreaded iron hands would seize them, or tomahawks and knives descend.
Footfalls fell loudly.
“Ma?” Mandy whispered, a strange note to her voice.
“Quiet,” Philomena said, amazed her oldest would be so careless.
“Ma, you have to look.”
Philomena raised her head.
Out of the dark plodded a longhorn. An old cow, by the looks of her, more skin and bone than anything. One of her horns was br
oken. She paid them no mind whatsoever, but walked right on by.
Philomena knew a godsend when she saw one. Pushing to her feet, she said, “Come on. We’ll follow her.” The cow was headed in the right direction. And should the Comanches come after them, they would drop flat, and maybe, just maybe, the Comanches would think it was the cow they’d heard.
A body could only hope.
Chapter 52
Ebidiah Troutman was at the limit of his endurance. His chest was a bellows, his legs quaked and shook. His blood was roaring in his ears, and he was close to collapsing.
Even so, Ebidiah smiled. He’d given the Comanches a run for their bloodlust. Several times he would have sworn they were about to overtake him but somehow he’d slipped away. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d changed direction. He didn’t even know if he was going north, south, east, or west.
They were still after him, though. Comanches didn’t give up easily. They wanted him dead and they’d have him dead if they had to chase him clear to sunrise.
“Won’t be long now,” Ebidiah said under his breath. He veered past some scrub, tripped over a root or a rock, and pitched to a knee. Exhausted, he would have collapsed then and there except that somewhere to his rear a coyote that wasn’t a coyote yipped.
They knew where he was, Ebidiah reckoned, or they had a good idea, and they were converging for the kill. He tried to stand and couldn’t. He tried to raise his Sharps but his arms were leaden.
He was all in.
Ebidiah never thought he’d see the day when he’d give up. But he had nothing left in him, nothing at all. With a low groan, he let his body fall forward and closed his eyes as his cheek struck the ground. Great relief washed over him. He didn’t have to run anymore. He would lie there and rest, and when they found him, that would be that. He was too weak to lift a finger to defend himself. Let them do as they would.
Ebidiah had never been so tired. He wanted to sleep. To drift off and not feel the pain and fatigue. But even though his body had given out, his senses still worked. He heard stealthy movement and furtive whispers.
The Comanches were close.
Any moment, Ebidiah expected an outcry and the terrible sensation of an arrow or a lance piercing him. He would try not to scream, try not to beg for mercy. He had his dignity, if nothing else, and he would die as he had lived: on his own terms.
The suspense ate at his nerves. The Comanches were taking their sweet time finishing him off. He wondered if it was deliberate, if they were toying with him as cats might play with a mouse.
Something crunched, lightly, very near.
Ebidiah opened his eyes. Through a gap in the brush he glimpsed a dark form about ten feet off.
The warrior went by without seeing him.
If he wasn’t so exhausted, Ebidiah would have laughed. The next Comanche would spot him, he was sure.
Another figure appeared, but like the first, it glided past without spotting him.
Ebidiah didn’t know what to make of it. He was lying in plain sight. Or was it that his buckskins blended so well into the undergrowth? Rolling onto his back, he looked for others. There were none. There had been the two and that was it.
Providence again, Ebidiah thought. The Almighty was looking out for him.
He didn’t know how else to account for having lasted so long.
Ebidiah closed his eyes again. He might as well rest while he could. He thought of Philomena and the girls and was glad they had gotten away. He’d done that much, at least. It didn’t make up for Wilda Weaver and Ariel Kurst, but it was something.
The hills were quiet. It had a calming effect. He felt himself drifting off and fought it. He should stay awake and watch out for the Comanches. But his body wouldn’t be denied.
Ebidiah blinked, and gave a start. He’d fallen asleep. Not for a few minutes, either. The position of the stars told him he’d been out for an hour or more.
The rest had done him good. He had enough strength to slowly sit up and take stock of his surroundings.
Bathed in the pale glow of starlight, the cedars were undisturbed. There wasn’t a single Comanche anywhere.
Ebidiah refused to believe he had eluded them. They must be nearby, waiting for him to give himself away.
He’d outfox the devils. Lying back down, he made himself comfortable. He’d stay there until daylight. Once the sun was up, he stood a better chance of eluding the warriors.
He lay listening for he knew not how long. Finally he succumbed, and slept the sleep of the dead, a slumber so deep, it would have taken a lance through the chest to awaken him.
Awareness came abruptly. One instant he was out to the world, the next he blinked at a brightening sky. In a little while dawn would break and he could get his bearings. He cautiously rose onto an elbow.
He saw no one.
Ebidiah waited until a golden arch crowned the world before he pushed to his feet and gazed about in wonderment. He had done the impossible. He had gotten away.
He shuffled a few steps, his body protesting. He was sore all over, and his shoulder throbbed.
The smart thing was to head for town. Ebidiah headed for the Burnett homestead. He wouldn’t go anywhere without Sarabell. The horse he didn’t care about, but he couldn’t do without his mule. She was more than an animal. She was his lone companion.
It might get him killed, but he didn’t care.
“I’m coming, old girl,” Ebidiah said, and started off.
Chapter 53
Owen Burnett never tired of the sight. Over twenty-five hundred longhorns. Two thousand five hundred and sixty-three head, to be exact. As he sat his saddle surveying the bovine fruits of their long weeks of labor, he whistled in appreciation. “We did it, by heaven.”
Beside him, astride his own mount, Gareth Kurst nodded. “We drive them all to Kansas, that’s over one hundred thousand dollars.”
Owen whistled again.
It was early morning, and the sun was bright. Everyone had only been up a short while.
“Jasper leaves in a bit for home,” Gareth mentioned. “When he gets back, you head right out. Take your boy if you want. My brood and me will watch the herd. As soon as you get back, we’ll start the drive.”
“Hold on,” Owen said. “What about Ariel?”
“What about her?”
“Don’t you want to take a few days to visit her? It will be months before you see her again.”
“So?”
“She’s your wife.”
“So?” Gareth said again.
Owen turned back to the longhorns. He spied the Ghost moving among them like a sultan among his harem. The huge bull was magnificent. Owen considered it a shame that they would sell him for his meat.
“I like that you don’t pry, Burnett,” Gareth said.
“Oh?” Owen said, with little interest. He had worked with the man for almost two months now, and knew as little about him as he did at the start.
“I mean that,” Gareth said. “Some would want to know why I don’t think more highly of my missus. You do. Admit it.”
Owen shrugged. “You don’t have to answer to me.”
“A man never has to answer to anyone,” Gareth said. “But I’ll tell you, anyway. It might help you.” He leaned on his saddle horn. “You recollect me telling you a man has to rule his own roost?”
“I seem to remember something about that, yes.”
“There’s more to it than who wears the britches. It’s a matter of not letting our feelings get the better of us. I’ve seen too many men go around with a nag on their backs because they think they have to be softhearted to get along. That’s not how it should be. A wife should be like a hound dog, seen but not heard unless the husband wants her to be.”
Owen couldn’t keep silent. “What about love, Gareth? Where does that enter into
things?”
“There’s no such thing.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Owen said flatly. “I know for a fact you love your boys and your girl. Don’t deny it.”
“I care for them, sure,” Gareth said. “And I’ve taught them that a family should always stick together. A family that does is strong. A family that doesn’t is weak, and a weak family doesn’t last long in a world where folks are killed for the money in their pokes.” He stopped and gave an odd sort of grin, then said, “As for my missus, I care for her, some. I’ll admit that much. But not in the way you care for yours. Your so-called love is a chain that shackles you to her.”
“I almost believe you’re serious.”
“No almost about it.” Gareth raised his reins.
“Hold on,” Owen said. “If you feel that way about your own family, how do you feel about friends?”
“They serve their purpose.”
“That’s all?”
“What else is there?” Gareth rejoined. “Take us. I partnered with you to round up a herd to take to Kansas. Would you say we’re friends?”
“I would like to think we are, yes.”
“We’re friendly, yes,” Gareth said, “because it suits us to be. We couldn’t do the roundup if we didn’t get along.”
“That’s all you see it as?”
“A money proposition.” Gareth nodded. “Don’t let it hurt your feelings. I don’t treat you any different than I do that weak sister Jasper.” He reined around. “I need to go talk to my boys.” A tap of his spurs, and he was gone.
Owen sat watching Kurst ride off. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t know Luke had come up until Luke said his name. “What was that, son?”
“What were you and Mr. Kurst jawing about? You looked so serious.”
“You know how you’ve been saying for a while now that we shouldn’t trust the Kursts?”
Luke frowned. “You’re not going to scold me about that again, are you? You wouldn’t trust them either if you’d heard some of the things Harland has said.”
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