“No notes,” he blurted out. “Let’s go.”
Annika tried to persuade him. “Are you sure? It won’t take long, I promise, I’ll just—”
“No note. Hurry up.” He didn’t want to pull his gun and frighten her; after all, he was supposed to be her rescuer, and if he intended to collect three times the reward money, it wouldn’t do to frighten her more than they already had. Still, he fingered his holster just to let her know he wasn’t a man she should rile.
Annika packed the journal next, then inkwell and pen, and her comb, and brush. She tried to keep one eye on the man as she packed. She turned to Baby Buttons, wishing she hadn’t been so hasty in getting the child dressed for the day. Every minute she could stall would give Buck that much more time to return, if he was planning to come home before dark.
But Buttons was already dressed in her black dress, her shoes and socks on her feet, her hair neatly combed. Annika picked up one of her old gowns and tossed it in the bag. “Get your dolly,” she whispered to Baby, who shook her head and would not budge with the stranger in the room.
Annika found the doll and the flannel rag that was its blanket and slipped it in the satchel. Please find us, Buck. Please find us fast.
“Let’s go,” Virge barked, unhappy with the way the girl kept stalling, the way she kept watching the door. “That’s all you need.”
“What about food? There’s plenty in the smokehouse.”
Virge started to tell her to mind her own business, then yelled out to Cliff, “Raid the smokehouse. The girl says there’s meat to be had.” He hoped new provisions would make the ever hungry Denton happy.
“Now, come on,” he prodded.
“Buttons!” Baby cried out. The button can lay in the middle of her bed and she pointed to it.
“Shut the kid up,” Virge warned.
Annika looked from Baby to the man who was standing so nervously in the doorway. If Baby proved to be too much trouble, perhaps her would-be rescuers would think twice about taking them.
“No buttons,” Annika said harshly. She picked up the tin and set it in the center of the table as a silent message for Buck. Surely he would realize she would never intentionally leave the buttons behind, not after the fuss she’d put up to keep them. He would see the tin and know she didn’t leave of her own free will.
Baby Buttons whined as Annika made her put on her coat. She slipped on her own, remembered the hours it had taken Buck to fashion it for her, then lifted the child onto her hip. She picked up her satchel and paused long enough to look around the room again. If only there were time to leave Buck some other sign.
Virge grabbed her arm and pulled her outside. Denton was holding a mule, waiting for Virge to help Annika mount up. The three of them argued over who would hold Baby until Annika was settled. Finally they opted to put her on the ground.
Once Annika was on the mule and her satchel was tied on behind her, Virge made Cliff lift the child up to her. Baby howled and clung to Annika, softly sobbing out her fear of the three strange men. It was all Annika could do not to cry herself, but she hadn’t fallen apart when Buck abducted her and she didn’t intend to now.
She held Baby close and then set the child astride in front of her. Wrapping her arms about Buttons, Annika clung to the mule’s mane with all her strength.
“Hold on, Baby,” she whispered in the little girl’s ear. “Buck will find us as soon as he can.”
“Not... Baby,” the child sobbed. “Buttons.”
As the three men prodded the mule up the hill ahead of them, Annika looked for some sign of Buck in the trees, wondering at the twist of fate that caused her to hope that the man who had kidnapped her two months before would come to her rescue now. She turned around, hoping for one last look at the cabin, but the fat man whipped her mule and it lunged forward, forcing her to pay close attention to the steep trail.
18
“FORT Sanders is on the other side of Cheyenne Pass. Maybe they can send out a search party’ from there.” Zach Elliot stood shoulder to shoulder with Kase Storm, squinting down at Holt’s New Map of Wyoming spread across his desk.
Kase looked at the minute, concentric lines that represented the peaks of the Laramie Mountains. “There are over two hundred miles of mountains up there, Zach. Passes, valleys, and hollows. Annika could be in any one of them.” With his hands planted on either side of the map, Kase leaned down, arms spread wide and studied the spiderweb lines and carefully lettered words.
“What else did you hear in Cheyenne?” Abruptly Kase turned his back on the map and Zach and walked to the window of the jail where he stared out at the muddied streets of Busted Heel. One of the first signs of spring was the mud that came with the thaw.
“Talk is, everyone’s wantin’ to collect the ten thousand you offered. The sheriff there says there’s been a run on supplies with this warm weather that’s set in. Everyone’s bettin’ on when the passes’ll be clear and who’ll be the first in and out to collect the reward.”
Kase lifted his tall-crowned hat, smoothed his hair back, and settled his hat back in place. “Damn, but I wish I could ride in and get her myself, but with the baby due at the end of the month, there’s no way I can leave Rose.” He turned to Zach, “Not after what’s happened to her before.”
“Hell, I know that, boy, an’ I don’t blame you. ‘Sides, half the state’s out beatin’ the hills for your sister. She’ll be home soon enough.”
“I just hate to think what she might be going through in the hands of that man.”
“Put yourself in his place.” Tired of staring at the map, Zach pulled out the rolling desk chair and sat down, then worked a hunk of chewing tobacco out of a muslin bag he extracted from his pocket. “The man probably just made an honest mistake and is living to regret it right now. What if he brings her back hisself?”
Kase turned on Zach with fury in his eyes. “She tried to tell him she wasn’t the woman he was expecting and he took her anyway. Rode off with her at knife point, for God’s sake. Besides, there’s more you don’t know.”
“More?”
Miserable with worry, Kase walked to the far wall and leaned against it. He crossed his ankles and stared at the tips of his shining black boots. “Leonard Wilson, the rancher whose land borders mine, read about what happened and came over to tell me he’d heard of this Buck Scott a few years back. It seems his wife is an acquaintance of an old Scotch woman named MacGuire who lives out by Indian Springs near the Nebraska border.”
“I know there’s a story here someplace.” Zach grunted as he worked the chaw in his mouth.
Kase glowered. “About three years ago, Buck Scott looked her up and asked her to take in his sister and care for her. Scott still pays for care and room and board.”
“Sounds like a decent sort to me.”
“He took his sister to live under Mary MacGuire’s care because she’d lost her mind.”
“The MacGuire woman?”
Pushing away from the wall, Kase walked to the desk and stared hard at Zach. “Buck Scott’s sister is insane. Out of her mind. Crazy.”
“That don’t mean he is.”
“No, it doesn’t, but it seems this Mrs. MacGuire claims Scott’s sister went crazy when she witnessed her husband’s murder.”
Zach’s face showed true concern for the first time. “You ain’t gonna tell me this Buck Scott did it?”
Kase shook his head. “Worse. It seems old man Scott was crazy as a loon, too. They used to keep him tied up, but he got loose one day and killed the girl’s husband. Then he tried to skin the man.”
“Shee-it!” Zach’s eye was as wide as the holes in his underwear. “Always knew a buffalo man was lower ‘n a snake.”
“I couldn’t have put it any better,” Kase said. “Buck Scott came home and caught his old man in the process and shot him. I guess his sister was never the same.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“It seems there was another sister, too. A younger o
ne. My neighbor didn’t know much about her, except that she was supposed to be a little, well... vacant.”
“I’m afraid to ask what happened to her.”
Kase shrugged. “They didn’t know, but it seems she died sometime back, just after the murder.”
Zach aimed to spit into the trash can beside the desk, missed, and shook his head. “And Annika’s been up there with Scott for two months now? No tellin’ what she’s had to put up with.” He looked up quickly, concern etched on his face. “Your Rosie don’t know all this, does she?”
“No, thank God. I talked to Wilson out in the barn.” Kase ran his hand over the lower half of his face and then rubbed his chin. “If I don’t hear something soon, I may just go insane myself.”
Hitching up his pants, Zach stood and walked around the desk. With a hand on Kase’s shoulder, he looked up at the taller man and said, “Don’t worry, son. Annemeke’s made of strong stuff. Runs in the family. Mark my words, she’ll be fine. Has to be, ‘cause I got money on it.”
THE afternoon sun had slipped behind the mountaintop, casting the hillside in blue gray light. Buck paused and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, his bloody hand clutching his skinning knife. A half-dressed deer lay on the ground at his feet, but he ignored it as he paused to take in the sight of the sunset reflected on the mountains on the opposite side of the valley. The remaining snow was stained with a light roseate glow, the pines stood out vibrant green against it. The sunset translated itself into reds and pinks across a sky that stretched from one side of the valley to the other. He wished Annika was here to see the display.
Anxious to get down the mountain before dark, Buck decided to take the hide and the antlers from the buck and leave the carcass to the wolves. He wiped his knife off on the ground and sheathed it, then began folding the scraped hide. Tomorrow he’d stretch it and begin working it into the fine piece he knew would bring him good money in Cheyenne.
He heard his horse nicker and paused, immediately alert to any danger that might be at hand. He left the hide where it lay and started toward the big bay.
“Easy, boy, what’s the matter? You hear something you don’t like?” Buck scanned the woods behind the horse for any sign of a predator. “Probably just a wolf anxious for us to leave.”
He took two more steps toward the terrified animal that was pulling at the reins Buck had loosely tied to a tree. With its eyes rolling in fear, the horse pulled free before Buck could reach it. He watched the animal bolt down the hillside.
“Damn!” He cursed under his breath. It would be a long walk back.
He turned back to collect the hide and found himself face-to-face with two hundred pounds of mountain lion. The big cat was hunched over the deer carcass, its mighty paws with claws extended tearing into the deer. Broad nosed, its thick winter coat still more white than any other color, the feline let out a warning growl as it ripped off a mouthful of bloody meat.
Buck eyed the animal’s rich pelt and knew he had to have it, then realized his rifle was propped against a tree not six feet from the mountain lion. As the wary animal watched, Buck tried to inch his way sideways toward the gun.
“You’re a fool, Buck Scott,” he whispered to himself as he crept toward the gun. But he figured since the animal had more than enough to eat, he just might not mind a man getting a little closer.
The beast snarled again and Buck stopped. Pretending to draw back, Buck slipped his knife from his sheath. Darkness crept up the hillside and scattered itself beneath the trees and into the deep gullies. The temperature was dropping. A wolf howled somewhere behind him. Buck looked up at the sky and figured the odds were against him. He’d wait out the lion’s meal, collect his gun, and then slip down the mountain before he was forced to spend the night out in the cold.
He hunkered down with his back to a rock to wait, certain that once the big cat ate its fill it would leave. He kept his knife in his hand.
The wolf howl in the forest intensified. The cat snarled, louder this time, the sound piercing the air around Buck. The big animal began to pace back and forth, its tail moving from side to side as it watched the forest for the wolves that menaced its meal.
The heavy animal pawed about in a wider circle. Buck watched the powerful muscles bunch beneath the skin. The lion stopped, sniffed the air, and started to turn back to the deer carcass. Suddenly it paused, as if it remembered the man crouched nearby. The wolf howled again and before Buck could brace himself, the mountain lion marshalled its speed and strength and sprang, flying through the air toward him.
Buck’s knife flashed. He stood to try to deflect the assault. Agonizing fire ripped down his thigh as the big cat sank its claws into his left leg. Buck thrust his arm across his face, aiming to hit the animal in the throat.
They went down together, hundreds of pounds of man and animal as the cat pinned Buck to the ground.
It was so close he could feel the animal’s hot breath and smell the fetid scent of blood. Its slanted yellow-gold eyes were only inches away from Buck’s face.
The cat tried to sink its teeth into Buck’s forearm but he kept moving, dragging his flesh out of the animal’s grip. Finally, he lashed out in a final effort to save himself and felt a spurt of hot blood across his face as he buried his knife up to the hilt in the lion’s neck.
Gasping for breath, he jerked with all his strength, pulling the knife across the mountain lion’s throat.
The big cat collapsed on top of him, nearly crushing him with its weight.
Buck tried to drag himself out from beneath the mountain lion but found his strength had suddenly evaporated. His heart was still pounding from the rush of the moment, his breath jagged. A slow, burning ache had settled into his thigh. He felt the damp flow of blood even though his legs were still trapped beneath the heavy cat.
He tried to sit up, heaved with what little strength he had left, and managed to get the lion off him enough to where he could pull himself out from beneath it.
Even in the gathering dusk he could see that his pant leg was stained with his own blood. His sleeves were tattered, but the wounds beneath them didn’t seem to be as deep as the one on his leg.
Another howl broke the stillness in the clearing, the only other sound that was louder than his ragged breathing. He pulled himself across the uneven ground until he reached his rifle, then worked his way up to a sitting position against a tree. He looked at the ragged edge of his flesh beneath the torn fabric of his pants and whispered to himself, “Damn you, Buck Scott. Night’s comin’ on and you’re sittin’ here in the dark bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”
The wolves howled in tandem as he shook his head to clear it, then checked to be sure his gun was loaded. Let them come, he thought. Let them try.
He spotted a patch of snow beneath the tree that had escaped the early spring sun and grabbed handfuls to pack along his wound to try to halt the flow of blood that was beginning to pool beneath him. He wondered if the wolves were about to take their revenge.
ANNIKA knew that for as long as she lived she would never forget the trip down the mountain to Cheyenne. The bone-jarring ride on the back of the mule was only exacerbated by the fact that she had to cling to Buttons and worry about the child falling beneath the horses’ hooves. They had camped overnight in the woods and were treated to a cold meal—elk again—because Virge wouldn’t let the others light a fire.
She knew her so-called rescuers by name and had nick-named them all—Virge Clemmens, toothless; Cliff Wiley, the beanpole; and Denton Matthews, the barrel—and wondered why they hadn’t killed one another by now. The three argued incessantly, so much so that by the time they reached Cheyenne after two days on the trail, she wanted to scream with frustration.
It was dusk when they reached the outskirts of town. She dared to let herself feel hope and relief, knowing that soon they’d be turning her over to the authorities and Kase would be notified. By tonight she would be with her brother and his wife, sleeping in a clean bed, look
ing forward to Buck’s arrival at the ranch. She had hoped he would have found them before they reached Cheyenne and had taken every opportunity to delay the ride out of the mountains. When Baby cried, Annika did nothing to appease her, hoping the men would slow down or at the very least that Buck would hear them if he were searching nearby.
Once, when she had talked the men into letting her go into the woods alone to relieve herself, she managed to loosen one of the cinches as she passed by their mounts.
As it turned out, the loosened saddle had been Denton’s, and although the delay was slight, her satisfaction had been great when his saddle shifted and the big man fell off and began rolling down hill. Virge Clemmens had gotten as much of a laugh out of it as Annika, except he did not have to keep his silence. His obvious glee only worsened the animosity between the two men.
By the time they reined in outside a ramshackle house on the outskirts of Cheyenne, Annika knew three things for certain: Denton hated Virgil, Virgil hated Denton, and Cliff was scared.
They dismounted and Virge tied the mule’s lead rope to a hitching rail behind the house. He reached up for Baby. Before Annika let go of the child she asked, “What are we doing here? Why aren’t you turning us over to the police?”
She watched in dismay as Cliff and Denton ignored her and walked into the shabby house.
Virge took Baby from her. “You don’t need to be askin’ any questions, little lady. Just get on down from there and do as I say and you’ll be all right.”
By the time her feet hit the ground, she knew she was shaking from more than exhaustion. What were they up to? What about the reward? Virge handed Baby over to her and stepped aside to follow them across the wooden porch to the back door. The nearest house was two lots away and looked to be in the same condition. When she stepped over the threshold, a musty smell assailed her. The inside of the house was as dismal as the outside with its peeling paint, crooked shutters, and tattered curtains at the windows. Sparsely furnished with the bare necessities, it was cold and dark inside, and it appeared the men were content to keep the place that way.
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