The Cowboy's Honor

by Lacy Williams

  Panic was doing her no good. She couldn't jump from the horse. She didn't know where they were going or how to figure it out.

  Her hands ached where they had been bound in front of her. She focused on that pain. Focused on changing it.

  If she could free her wrists… She didn’t know what she would do when they stopped. She knew that his horse couldn’t keep up this pace for long. Not with two passengers. Wherever Tolliver was taking her, it must be close.

  She wouldn't have much time. But if she could loosen the rope around her wrists, maybe she could somehow engineer an escape.

  18

  The barn was lost.

  Even as he raced toward Bear Creek, Seb couldn't get the image of fire crawling up the wall and toward the roof out of his head. He would never forget that one last look as he and Davy and Edgar rode toward town.

  Only minutes after they’d gone, the first fat raindrops had begun to fall. Maybe the house would be saved yet.

  He didn't know if riding to town was the right choice, but he couldn't go after Tolliver alone. Not if he had a chance of bringing back Emma alive.

  He could only hope that they would find help. Even if everyone in town had been poisoned against him, surely some would ride out when they learned that Emma was in danger. Emma had never harmed anyone. She was pure and sweet, everything that he wasn't.

  He rode through town like a crazy person, causing a pair of horses harnessed to a wagon outside the mercantile to rear in their traces. He didn't care. Someone called out to him. He didn't hear.

  He pulled up outside the sheriff’s office, swung himself out of the saddle, and ran up the steps.

  He burst through the door, surprising the sheriff and a tall man standing near his desk.

  “Sheriff, I need your help.” He realized who was standing there. “Levi. You’re here.”

  The last time he’d seen the US Marshal had been back in Colorado. After Daniel had introduced them, Levi had immediately whisked him away to the safe house.

  The sheriff's expression was clear of the suspicion he’d showed last week when Jonas and Seb had visited him.

  "I got your telegraph, son. Heard you were having some trouble."

  Seb felt tears rise to his eyes, but he didn't feel any humiliation. Emma was the only thing that mattered now. “Tolliver set fire to my pa’s land. The barn was going up in flames when I left."

  The sheriff came halfway around his desk. "We can start rounding up some folks to help."

  Seb shook his head. "It's worse. Emma Morris is missing. She's blind. She wouldn't have wandered off, not with the fire raging. Tolliver took her."

  The Marshal looked grave. He knew what Tolliver was capable of. "You got any idea where he took her to?"

  Seb shook his head. "I didn't have time to search for tracks, not with my family fighting the fire. I need help." And now, the rain would likely wash any tracks away.

  He swallowed hard. He’d been too afraid to ask for help in Denver. Too ashamed and sure that he could get himself out of the mess he’d made for himself. But he needed help now. "I've got to find her. Please, can you help?"

  * * *

  Emma was terrified.

  But at least she was off that horse.

  Tolliver had roughly thrown her from the horse. She’d landed badly on her bound wrists, still tied in front of her. They hurt, but she could move them, could use them if she could get them free. He’d then dragged her inside what she’d determined might be an old shack. Once she’d heard the door latch and his footsteps fade, she’d stood on shaky legs and paced the perimeter with her hands outstretched in front of her. The space was tiny. Smaller than her bedroom. It smelled of mildew and animals. Her feet splashed in shallow puddles and rain dripped on her head.

  Tolliver hadn't spoken one word to her, just left. She tried the door for good measure, but it was latched from outside.

  She was soaked through, cold and miserable.

  By the time they’d arrived, she’d almost had her wrists free. Now, she worked the ropes again. Her wrists protested with each movement, but she kept at it until the ropes loosened and fell away. Blood rushed to her abused hands, tingling and stinging as she flexed them.

  He hadn’t checked the ropes when he’d thrown her in this small room. Did he think her helpless because of her blindness? Maybe.

  What was he planning to do with her? Would he come back soon?

  She didn’t have her walking stick, but she used her feet to test the floor before each step. She made her way to the door, and while she recoiled from the feel of spiderwebs and dust, she forced herself to feel around its edge. Was there a way to unlatch it from inside?

  No.

  But the land beneath the shack had shifted, and there was a sizable crack between the door and its frame. If she could find something thin and long, she could perhaps raise the bar on the outside that blocked her exit.

  Even if she could get out, she had no idea where she was. What if she was in the middle of an open field? What if he was out there watching her?

  She knew Seb would try to find her. Edgar too. She wanted to be alive when they did. And to help them out, if at all possible.

  Was there a way she could help them find her? If she could build a fire, smoke could be seen for miles around. But if Tolliver hadn't left the property, he’d come back and hurt her worse than the few blows he'd already landed. She didn't even know if she could find anything to help her start a fire. And she didn’t want to suffocate herself if she couldn’t get out.

  As she’d methodically worked her way around the shack minutes ago, she’d tripped on two empty wash buckets and stumbled over a pile of oddly-shaped wood and metal in one corner.

  Was there any chance there would be something useful?

  She was tentative and careful as she sorted through the pile. She wasn’t worried about splinters, but a sharp edge could cut her hand.

  She found a metal pick that she tucked into the pocket of her skirt. Maybe it would do to jimmy the bar on the door open.

  There were no lucky finds like flint and tinder.

  She did discover a part of what might've been a rake or shovel handle that she could use as a walking stick.

  At the bottom of the pile was a worn and holey piece of canvas.

  She wrapped it around her shoulders, hoping to stay a little dry.

  Thunder cracked, and the sound of rain on the roof grew louder, more constant.

  She was losing hope.

  In this deluge, whatever tracks Tolliver’s horse had made would be erased. Seb would have no idea where to look for her. And visibility would be terrible if he did catch sight of this old shack.

  She could only hope that the rain stopped the fire at the Whites’ property.

  If Seb wouldn’t be able to find her, it would be up to her to escape.

  It took her several tries with the pick to jimmy the latch and get the door open. Her hands were slick with sweat, her fingers shaking from the cold. Once the latch was out of the way, she only let the door open a crack. Only far enough that the latch wouldn’t fall back into place and trap her again.

  She sat for a moment with her back against the wall, listening to the rain and trying to pray.

  Where was Tolliver? Was he out in the rain? Or was there a house or another structure—a barn?—nearby? Should she make a run for it?

  Her brain wanted to kick her back to the times she’d been stuck in bed after her blindness.

  That hopelessness, the realization that everything had changed and there was nothing she could do to fix it.

  Back then, Daniel had saved her. He’d convinced her she still had a life worth living.

  But there was no Daniel here. No Seb. No one but herself.

  She was the one who’d gotten out of the bed at her brother’s urging.

  She’d had to find the strength to figure out how to take care of herself, to learn to cook without being able to see what she was doing, to make a new life for herself,
new friends for herself, in Denver.

  She could fight her way out of here.

  She strained her ears to listen. Was Tolliver close?

  All she could hear was the rain and occasional claps of thunder.

  When she could bear it no longer, she opened the door and slipped through.

  She didn’t know what the landscape around the shack looked like. But she decided that, since the door was on this side of the shack, she wanted to be on the other side.

  With her walking stick, she carefully felt her way around the building, quickly ducked past the corner. She ran into a fence. Three rails, like a… corral!

  A soft whicker from nearby had her slipping through the fence. Approaching a strange horse was a risk. She didn't know the animal, and she couldn’t see it.

  But she had to go. She might only have one chance to escape.

  She felt a presence nearby and froze. She remained perfectly still. Extended one arm, hand outstretched.

  There was a huff. And then a soft nose brushed into her palm.

  19

  The torrential rains had washed away any tracks Tolliver might’ve left.

  Seb was desperate to take action.

  It killed him to think about Emma, alone in Tolliver’s clutches. Was she all right? Was she frightened? Hurt?

  The only bright side about delaying was that the sheriff had managed to round up a posse of ten while Marshal Levi and Seb’s brothers had done more questioning in town.

  Sam Castlerock—the banker and Penny’s brother—had recalled Tolliver riding north out of town several times.

  It was the barest of hints. Tolliver could be anywhere. Holed up in a cave. Living in a long-abandoned dugout, camouflaged on the prairie. Even holed up in the woods somewhere. But it was a place to start.

  They couldn’t delay anymore. They were wasting time that Emma might not have.

  "Our best guess is north,” Marshal Levi said.

  His words jarred something loose in Seb’s brain.

  Cora Beth’s homestead was north of town. She’d seen a stranger around. And her instincts had told her that whoever was watching her place was dangerous.

  What if it had been Tolliver?

  When Seb had helped her get to the train station, he hadn’t had an inkling of what was coming. He hadn’t thought to ask her for a description of the man who was stalking her.

  Was it a coincidence? Or divine providence?

  Seb quickly explained his theory to Levi and the sheriff. It was as good a guess as they could make. With the posse following, they rode out toward Cora Beth’s house as fast as they could push their horses.

  Her place was a pretty meadow in a valley. The higher vantage point made it easy to see the house from far away. The rain had stopped. They were a quarter-mile from the homestead when Seb caught sight of the empty corral.

  His heart plummeted.

  If Tolliver was there, he would need a place to keep his horse. And there was no horse in sight.

  He’d been sustained by wild hope, thinking that, after all these hours, they’d find Tolliver and Emma. But now, that hope had proved futile. Tolliver could’ve taken her anywhere.

  He was ready to ride on—he didn’t know where to—but the sheriff wanted to knock on the door of the empty house just to be sure.

  Seb was wheeling his horse, intending to urge his brothers to join him in continuing the search, when the first shot rang out from inside the house.

  He reined in, his eyes scanning to see what had happened.

  The sheriff had dismounted not far from the house. He was still standing but had been spun around, blood spurting from a spot in his shoulder that bloomed red. His horse spooked and bolted. The man staggered toward the house. Another shot rang out and hit the ground a few feet beyond the sheriff. Lucky miss.

  The posse and Seb's brothers scattered, spurring their horses to get out of the line of fire.

  Another shot rang out but didn’t hit anyone.

  Seb glanced back to check on the sheriff, who now stood with his back pressed against the house, one hand on the wound at his shoulder. He was still on his feet, though blood stained his shirt and dripped down his arm.

  It had to be Tolliver. If he was alone in the house, they could surround him. He couldn't take them all out, no matter if he had dozens of bullets.

  "Emma!" Seb shouted. "Emma?"

  There was no answer.

  Tolliver was no sharpshooter. He kept missing. As long as he kept moving, Seb was reasonably sure he wouldn't be hit.

  Where was Tolliver’s horse? Where was Emma? Was she inside? Seb nudged his horse into a run and headed for the ramshackle shack near the corral. Edgar followed, pulling a pistol from his hip.

  From the front of the house, the sheriff’s voice called out, “If you walk out now with your hands up, we won't shoot."

  A shot fired. Another.

  Guess Tolliver didn’t want to surrender.

  Both Seb and Edgar rode up to the shack, dismounting before the horses stopped, and when Edgar slapped his mount’s rump, Seb did the same. Better that the animals were out of range if Tolliver started shooting in their direction.

  “Emma?” Seb called out.

  There was no answer. The door was ajar. When Seb opened it, he saw the small room was empty.

  There were muddy tracks on the floor. A jumble of tools and pieces of wood were scattered in the back corner.

  It was shadowed, but there was enough light for him to see that there was something scratched in the floor in the dirt. It was messy, like a child had scrawled the word. It was smudged slightly from raindrops that must've leaked through the roof.

  He got closer, crouched down, and touched the scrawl.

  It was his name.

  Emma had been there.

  He exited the building to find that his brother had crossed the yard and sidled up to the back window of the house. He had his rifle trained on something inside.

  Another shout came from the front of the house.

  Tolliver had been warned to come out. He hadn’t.

  “Take the shot,” Seb called softly to his brother.

  Edgar let loose a bullet from his rifle. Glass shattered. The recoil knocked him back from the window.

  Edgar shouted, “I don't know if he's down for good."

  Other men—Seb’s brothers and the posse-had come close and now swarmed the door. There were shouts from inside, and then silence.

  Seb darted across the yard to the house. He burst through the back door.

  Tolliver lay on the floor, gutshot.

  He wasn't going to survive that. Seb felt the tiniest twinge of guilt for the relief that flowed. But where was Emma?

  Levi shook his head.

  “She isn’t here," Edgar said.

  “She was,” Seb said. "She wrote my name.” He moved to stand over Tolliver. “Where is she?”

  The man only stared at him, silent.

  "Where is she?” Seb leaned down to look into his eyes. “Tell me.”

  “He's not going to tell you,” Levi said. “He knows it’ll hurt you worse for him to stay silent."

  Tolliver coughed, and blood flecked his lips. His breathing was shallow and rattled in his chest.

  Seb desperately glanced around at the faces of the men who stood inside.

  “There was no horse in the corral,” he said. “What if Emma escaped and took off?"

  Edgar shrugged.

  The sheriff looked skeptical. "She's blind."

  "Doesn't mean she's not resourceful.” Emma could’ve done it.

  “But where would she go?” Levi asked. His expression was grave.

  It was nearly dark, and with the rain that had fallen, it could be dangerous.

  Seb felt a helpless panic overtaking him. "I don't know."

  He’d ridden to her rescue, but was he too late?

  * * *

  Emma had gotten herself into trouble for sure.

  Based on the sounds of crickets chir
ping and the occasional call of a whip-poor-will, night had fallen. The only other sound was the horse’s footsteps as they plodded along.

  The animal had been both bridled and saddled when Emma’d found him. She’d seen it as an answer to her prayers. She couldn’t have ridden bareback. The stirrups had been too long, but that didn’t matter.

  She’d escaped.

  She didn't know whether Tolliver was following her. She didn't know whether he had another horse or if he would be on foot. All she knew was the further away she got, the better off she was. If she could by some chance stumble on a neighbor’s house, she would be safe.

  She was managing at a slow pace until the horse balked. She knew that if she dismounted, she wouldn't be able to get back on. She’d used the corral’s fence to mount the first time. Out here, she’d be stuck.

  She didn't have any way of knowing what was in front of her. Should she try and turn to head another direction? That seemed dangerous too. What if she ended up heading back the way she’d come?

  She urged the horse forward, praying that she wasn’t heading into something dangerous. She felt the horse’s body move. Tilt forward. She almost lost her balance. They must've reached a ravine or a steep hillside

  She held onto the pommel, but each slow downward step jarred her.

  And then the horse lurched, and the movement was so unexpected that she lost her balance completely. Unable to right herself, she tumbled to the side. She tried to grab onto the saddle, but the animal was slick from the rain.

  She landed hard on her shoulder, losing her breath in the fall.

  She heard the horse take several steps away as she tried to catch her breath.

  Her fingers dug into the muddy hillside, not as steep as what she feared but still terrifying to navigate. Her walking stick had fallen away, and she scrambled on the ground, trying to locate it.

  It was no use.

  Her hands were scratched from the rocks and tough vegetation. She couldn’t find her stick, and if she stood up and walked, she might stumble on this rocky hillside. She couldn’t reach the horse.

  The same desperation and hopelessness that she’d fought off earlier threatened to overwhelm her again.