Betrothed to the Bandit

Chapter Two

Lydia Shaw dozed in the stagecoach as the horses pulled the passengers over the pebbled dirt road. It had been a relatively easy journey from New York to Nevada. Half of her journey had been by train, and she’d been fortunate enough to have a sleeping cabin above her seat. The stagecoach she currently occupied boasted newfangled reaches, which meant the traveling movement occurred in a swinging fashion as opposed to jostling up and down. The driver, Barnaby, was good at his job. He knew when to slow the horses over difficult terrain and when to drive them harder to make up for lost time. He was sympathetic to her headache affliction, which would sometimes cause her great pain for hours, and had provided darkening curtains for the windows during one particularly bad episode. He’d also proven generous, having procured an apple pie for all the passengers at one of their stops using his own money.

The journey west had been more pleasant than expected. Still, she was relieved to be nearing the end of it. She and the other passengers had run out of topics of conversation, and a man named John who’d been traveling with them since Bells made her nervous. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but there was something rotten about him. His hair was oily and his eyes shifty. He clutched a hard-shelled suitcase to his person nearly the entire journey, acting like he was transporting something of great importance. Once when he’d set the luggage down for a moment to take something from his pocket, another passenger moved it a few inches with his foot, and John had snatched it back up, quick as a fox.

In a way, Lydia understood how protective he was of his belongings. She looked down at the small carpetbag in her lap. In it was all she owned in the world, and she wouldn’t want to lose it either. Born to privilege and wealth, she had lost everything in a matter of years. She’d been na?ve to trust that the man she married wouldn’t steal from her. It turned out that had been his entire goal all along. He’d known she was heir to a fortune. He’d spotted the gold silverware, the priceless antiques, and the expensive oil paintings in her parents’ Georgian mansion. He’d noticed that her parents were sickly and would soon leave it all to their only child.

The same day Lydia discovered her inheritance gone, she discovered him gone as well. It was a hard lesson to learn at twenty-two years of age, especially since she had no living relatives, no one to help her battle it out in court, if it could ever get that far. Her husband had disappeared to start a new life for himself somewhere far away, and the sheriff had told her to give up looking for him. In the unlikely event that she found him, being able to prove what he had done would be all but impossible.

So Lydia resolved to move on. After finding an advertisement in the paper for a mail-order bride, she’d responded out of curiosity. She’d told the man named Dean Hunter that she was interested in starting a new life in the west and, during their correspondence, she’d gradually told the truth about her predicament. He’d responded with compassion, told her thieves were cunning and it wasn’t her fault. He’d sent her his picture, and she was pleased by his likeness. He’d described his occupation as a miner who had invented a way to prevent mines from collapsing. In reading his letters, she’d grown to admire him for his humility, honesty, and good work ethic. Dean seemed the exact opposite of her husband, who she couldn’t recall working a day in his life, and so she’d allowed herself to trust him. She’d decided to forget the betrayal and hurt and to escape the wagging tongues in her New York circle.

Now her journey to Dean Hunter was almost over. She couldn’t have been more excited.

The sudden sound of gunshots nearby interrupted her thoughts. She held her hands over her ears, but not before she heard the woman across from her called Mary Dunlap shout, “Mercy me, that’s close!”

They’d heard gunshots before on the trip, but always from a distance. The sharp cracks continued to get louder, and Lydia felt the first thread of alarm. An explosion sounded and the coach jolted then tilted hard to left.

“We’re hit!” John exclaimed.

Whinnying horses came to a haphazard halt, along with the coach. “Oh, my god, we nearly crashed over,” Mary’s husband Matthew said.

Terror struck Lydia’s heart then, and her mouth went dry. She clutched tight to the handles of her carpetbag. “Are we being held up?” she asked Matthew in a hoarse whisper.

He nodded and put a finger over his lips. The group of passengers exchanged worried looks as they listened to the words being exchanged outside.

“Do what I say and no one gets hurt.” The stranger’s voice was deep and threatening.

Barnaby responded, his voice shaky, “I don’t want any trouble. There’s nothing to gain here. My passengers have little in the way of wealth. Why don’t you ride off now and let us go in peace?”

“That’s not going to happen,” the robber said. “You all in the coach, come out! And bring your luggage with you.”

Mary’s eyes were wide with fear, and Lydia reckoned she looked the same. She’d heard stories of how lawless and dangerous it was in the west. Dean himself had written to her that every man wore a gun and often fended for himself in the absence of law nearby, but he couldn’t have conveyed how terrified coming across such reckless lawlessness would make her feel.

John swung open the coach doors before anyone could stop him. “We must do whatever the bandit says. We have to come out of the coach and bring our luggage with us so we don’t get hurt,” he told them, echoing the exact words used by the bandit.

As he stepped out, the rest of them followed, first Mary and Matthew, then finally Lydia. She held her carpetbag at her side.

“Try not to look at him,” Matthew whispered to her. “Less likely to kill you that way.”

Lydia kept her gaze on the legs of the bandit’s horse until he dismounted. She stared at his black boots for a moment before she hazarded a peek at his face. He stood in front of them—large, menacing, dressed in black from head to toe. Though a bandana covered half of his face, the look in his eyes conveyed his evil intentions. She quickly looked down, hoping he hadn’t noticed she’d stolen a glance.

His boots stomped closer to them. “Give me your bags,” he growled.

A sob escaped Mary as she and Matthew handed him their carpetbags. They’d been traveling with Lydia since her stop in Colorado, intent on making a new life out in California with what little that they had.

The robber tossed their bags carelessly on the dirt next to his horse. Lydia’s heart skipped a beat when he stood in front of her, expectantly holding out his hand. In his other hand he pointed a revolver straight for her middle. His hands were dirty, black like his eyes.

Anger surged through her, strong as fear. She’d already endured having her money stolen by her crook of an ex-husband, and now she was to suffer relinquishing the very last of her belongings. When she didn’t lift her arm to give him the bag, he reached down to wrench it from her hand. She clung on to it, angry enough to put up a small fight, though she knew it was in vain.

“Let go of your bag, young lady,” the robber ordered, his voice gravelly and deep. Though he sounded calm, there was a dangerous edge to his tone.

Helpless rage surged through her as she released her grip from the bag. She looked up at his face and into his dark eyes. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’re stealing bags from people who came a great distance to settle in the west. This is all we have in the world.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up and he took a step back, looking shocked and off-kilter—perhaps stunned by her foolishness in telling him off.

His behavior inspired Lydia to berate him further. “Have you ever done an honest day’s work in your life, or have you always stolen from those who work to earn their belongings? You sicken me.” She cringed, hardly believing her recklessness in confronting the most dangerous-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. She half expected him to knock her to the ground.

Instead, he took another step back, his eyes fastened on her. If Lydia didn’t know better, she would think he looked scared.

John suddenly stepped up between them. “Now, now, let’s not make a fuss!” he exclaimed, still clutching his luggage to his chest. “Our belongings aren’t worth our lives.”

“That’s right,” the robber said, seeming to shake out of whatever trance he was in. He waved his gun around. “Don’t move an inch while I tie up this luggage to the horse. Don’t make me shoot you.”

He proceeded to fasten the carpetbags to his horse, an awkward endeavor, since he made sure to point the weapon on them between his every movement. John faced the other three passengers with one arm up, appearing like he was trying to protect the bandit from them instead of the other way around. It took a long time for the bandit to tie his loot to the horse.

Lydia exchanged glances with Mary and Matthew. She wondered if they thought the same as she—that this robber was spectacularly inept at robbing. No one spoke, however, because even a bad robber with a gun was deadly.

As the bandit climbed onto his horse, he said, “Thank you for your cooperation.” He galloped his horse away, out of their sight.

“Everyone alright?” Barnaby asked, stepping down from his driver’s seat. He looked at them with concern. “I’m awful sorry about this. I wish a guard had traveled with us. I have a rifle under the seat, but I had no time to grab it because I was busy pulling the horses to a halt.”

“We’re fine bodily,” Lydia answered for the group. “But everything we own is gone.”

“I’ll report it to the marshal as soon as we arrive in Elkio. He’ll send a posse out to recover your belongings.” But Barnaby didn’t sound confident. “Give me a hand, would you, Matthew? I must repair this wheel. Luckily it’s only broke in one place.”

It wasn’t long before they were back in the coach heading for Elkio. Lydia noticed John still had his suitcase with him. This bothered her. If she were the bandit and could pick only one person to rob on the coach, she would pick John. He appeared wealthy with his coifed mustache, linen shirt and tie.

“Why didn’t the bandit steal your luggage?” Matthew asked, echoing what was on Lydia’s mind.

John shifted in his seat and held the suitcase impossibly closer to his person. “Who knows? You know how bandits are.”

“No, we don’t,” Lydia said. “It makes no sense that you weren’t robbed. Of all of us, you appear the wealthiest.”

“Maybe he could tell this suitcase would have been too heavy to transport,” John said in a defensive voice. “The carpetbags tie to the horse easier.” He turned slightly away from them and looked out the window, indicating that he was done talking.

Lydia let out a disgusted sigh and looked down at her empty hands in her lap. Mary cried quietly, while her husband attempted to comfort her. Lydia felt like crying too. No one would be meeting her in Elkio, since her fiancé wasn’t expecting her until the next day. She’d taken an earlier coach because there was a free spot and this coach was known to be more comfortable with its newfangled reaches. She desperately wished she’d taken the coach set to arrive tomorrow. Now she had nothing of her old life, not to mention no change of clothing, no hairbrush, and no money, not even enough to pay for boarding for one night.

It was a disappointing end to her long journey. When the coach stopped in Elkio, she said farewell to Mary and Matthew, who were traveling on to Sacramento. John exited with her but did not attempt a friendly goodbye before he scurried off, still clutching his suitcase to his chest. Lydia suspected that he was aware of her feelings about him. She hadn’t done much to hide them.

Barnaby stepped down from his seat and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry about what happened out there. Will you be all right?” His question was spoken so genuinely that Lydia nearly teared up.

Instead, she squared her shoulders. “I’ll be fine, thank you. My fiancé will meet me tomorrow.”

“Well, let me buy you a meal for tonight,” he said, releasing her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed her a dollar. “That should at least fill your belly.”

Lydia smiled and took the bill from him. “You’re terribly kind, Barnaby.”

“Maybe I’m kind, but I’m also a failure at protecting my passengers. I’m off to report the theft to the marshal. I’ll give him your name in case your bag is recovered.” With a tip of his hat, he took off down the sidewalk.

And then she was alone. She looked around, telling herself firmly that she only had to get through one night, and then her fiancé would take care of her. She set out walking along the road, pulling her shawl around her tightly. It was a sunny but cold day. Many people were out and about. Everyone who passed her, whether man or woman, said hello in a friendly manner.

While she ate dinner at the only restaurant in town and gazed out the window upon the townsfolk passing by, a sense of peace came over her. Though small, the town seemed to be bustling and safe. She hoped her fiancé was as honest and kind as he seemed in his letters. If so, she would have a good life here. She wanted a peaceful existence. She wanted a man who would put in a hard day’s work and reap the benefits of his labor, and she wanted to do the same. She didn’t expect wealth or an extravagant lifestyle. She’d had enough of that growing up. But relative comfort and good company were paramount.

Most of all, she desperately hoped she wasn’t making another terrible mistake in her pursuit of love and happiness.