Chapter 17
Owen ate stew for the tenth meal in a row, if he was counting right, and he might not be.
He’d triple-checked the Duncans’ tied wrists and legs, then checked them again.
Delaney and Boone had gone to sleep on the far side of the fire. Roz and Jesse were over there too, with Delaney near her brother, who needed to be beside her for the sake of propriety. Being proper in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains struck Owen as a strange business.
They’d separated the Duncans and let Marley sleep for as long as possible. He was going to be all right, but even after all these days, his leg was still causing him pain, and pain wore on a man. Marley needed sleep.
Owen had second watch. He passed Morgan, they exchanged a few quiet words, then he’d gone on out while Morgan had rolled up in his blanket to spend another night on the hard, cold ground.
Owen didn’t sit down. He didn’t trust himself to stay awake. Instead, he wandered, checked in all directions from the camp, also checking the horses, remembering how they’d taken the horses from the Duncans. He didn’t want anyone to return the favor.
Everything seemed to be peaceful for the night when he heard a twig snap in a way that only meant one thing. Someone was out there. And they’d gotten too close.
He fired once, straight up in the air, then vanished into the forest. Morgan would be awake and moving. Marley too, though he was considerably slowed down these days.
He hoped Delaney took to cover and stayed there.
Boone would help. What about Roz and little Jesse?
They were all a tough bunch. And what about Clive and Sly?
To them, that shot would mean rescue was at hand.
They’d be doing whatever they could to help themselves, which made them even more dangerous.
Before the gunshot was fully fired, he’d gone to ground, crawling on his belly as silent as a slithering snake, or he sure tried to be. His gunshot would warn the scum as surely as it had his fellow travelers. They knew they were being hunted even as they were doing the hunting.
He slipped along toward where he’d heard the twig snap, knowing they’d be moving. He assumed there’d be two of them, but assumptions could get a man killed.
Owen finally reached the spot where he’d heard someone but found no one there. Not a surprise. Then he set out to hunt down the two vermin in the darkest hour of the night, with no idea where either of them was.
Delaney rushed for the Duncans, Clive and Sly, and had them gagged as quick as a striking rattler. It sped her up that Boone had Clive done before she could take care of him. Boone got to him in time to cut off a holler for help.
They knew what that single gunshot meant as well as anyone.
Boone stashed Sly behind a massive oak tree that had sheltered them as they slept. Delaney threw her back into it and dragged Clive behind another tree. No sense letting the two of them near each other. Gagged and tied up or not, they couldn’t be trusted for a second.
Soon Roz was next to her and helping out. Clive, wide awake, struggled against their grip. Delaney lashed him tight to a smaller tree behind the big oak.
Jesse went to his mother’s side and handed Roz’s rifle to her.
Boone came rushing back. “Split up and lie low.” Boone had to know he was wasting his breath.
If the need for silence wasn’t so acute, Delaney would’ve told him so.
Instead, with a quick scan that told her Owen, Morgan, and Marley were all gone, she strode behind a copse of aspen and set out to find and capture two men, single-handedly if she had to.
And while she was at it, she had to remember that there were a whole lot of her friends slipping around in the woods too, including her brother. In the pitch-dark, she wasn’t going to be able to start shooting unless she was absolutely sure who she was aiming at.
Grizzly hadn’t let up, and they’d ridden long into the night.
In the dark of the night, Hester saw Grizzly slow up, then stop.
It’d felt as if they were keeping up with the trail as well as everyone else.
The Duncans, most likely, and her children’s traveling party were following what was close to being a trail.
Whoever was leading this parade had to know where they were going because all day they’d wound around, avoiding canyons and rivers, cliffs that plunged deep, and rock walls that went straight up.
Hester guessed it was someone from the high mountain meadow who’d joined up with them. This was more her territory than anyone’s. She felt sure it was a woman, regardless of the manly clothes. Just because she never went to town didn’t mean she didn’t know where one was.
Neither Grizzly nor Hester knew which way to go.
Then a rifle fired into the night.
Way too close.
Grizzly took off on foot, Hester right behind him. It was too close to the gunfire to ride.
Grizzly didn’t bother giving her orders. He knew better. She glanced at him, and a split second later, he vanished. She ran for the noise, thinking there were few things more stupid than running toward gunfire.
But her children were out there. No power on earth could stop her.
Owen couldn’t think of much that was stupider than crawling straight for a rustling noise in thick brush in the pitch-black night.
Oh, wait, he could think of something. Knowing there were sneaking, wily outlaws in the dark around your camp and not moving out, tracking them down.
So he eased forward, trying his best to use every trick he’d ever learned about staying quiet. He tried his best to open his senses wide—listening, smelling, touching, and even though it seemed futile, seeing.
He didn’t know what was up there. He was certain it was human, but he couldn’t shake off the fear that he was rushing straight into the arms of a grizzly. The image of him crawling straight into the arms of a hungry bear kept slapping at him.
And yet he didn’t slow down.
Then he heard it again. It was human, no doubt about it. But one of them? Two? Six? And were they the type to just start shooting? He thought of how Clive had ended up shot when the gang tried to break him free. They hadn’t proved to be the careful type.
He froze when another noise coming from a different direction caught his attention. Would he have to fight two men at once? And where out here in this black pit of night was Morgan?
Waiting so as not to earn anyone’s attention, and afraid he already had, he listened hard in two directions. He thought he heard yet another sound, this one coming from behind him.
Owen inched forward just as a hand clamped over his mouth.
Morgan dove into the woods, moving without thinking. He did just exactly as he needed to do without considering where to go and how quiet he had to be. All that came with instinct as natural as drawing his next breath.
They were being followed, they knew that. And no doubt the Duncans had gained on them, mainly thanks to Sly, Clive, and Stella’s escape attempts, although it wasn’t really an attempt in Stella’s case. The woman had indeed escaped. He hoped Tex had her corralled somewhere.
Even as these thoughts rushed through his head, he never stopped moving. Staying low, hoping these sidewinders didn’t just open fire, he listened and eased ahead as silent as the grave. This was his gift, his best skill, moving silently in the wild.
He’d once snuck up on a nervous, well-armed woman with two guard dogs. No one he wanted to arrest, but someone he didn’t mind impressing. Then, when her alert gaze turned away from him, he’d just stood up. He had his Marshal’s badge raised where she could see it before she could open fire.
She was a tough, savvy woman, and she’d been impressed.
He snuck in a moment of pride, then went back to paying strict attention to the hunt.
He heard someone ahead. He was almost certain it was one of the Duncans. Owen had been off to the east side of their camp. He’d left the rest sleeping. Owen’s shot would have them moving by now, but he should be ahead of them. That made anyone out here a Duncan.
Morgan would never open fire, not with folks, good and bad, spread all over these woods. But he might just whack someone over the head and then be sorry later if he’d given the wrong person a headache.
Inching forward, he realized the person he hunted was heading toward the camp. The varmint would crawl right past him in another few seconds.
He had eyes as sharp as a razor. Despite the dark night, with thick clouds covering the moon and stars, trees overhead, he didn’t close his eyes as some folks did when they couldn’t see anyway. Rather, he kept them riveted on whoever was coming, hoping for one tiny clue that’d tell him who it was.
Soon the person was even with him, and he smelled the varmint and was sure.
Without a sound, Morgan brought his gun butt down with a wicked chop that landed square on his head.
He’d judged the man’s position just right.
The man slumped to the ground, the only sound being the dull thud of his body hitting the dirt. He lay facedown and didn’t move.
Morgan turned the man over and searched him. He had a heavy beard, so no one from their group. Morgan found a gun, a knife in the coyote’s boot, another in a sheath under his shirt. Stripping him of all the weapons, he used the man’s belt to bind his hands behind his back.
Ready for trouble as always, he yanked a length of rope from his waist. He carried six with him, one to tie up each Duncan’s hands and feet, and a spare for a surprise outlaw. He tied the man’s feet together, used his kerchief to gag him, then moved on.
Three more to go. If he had to capture all three himself, he would.
Delaney moved fast while fighting to keep silent. She’d been pulled into a game of hide-and-seek, except in this case the stakes were life-and-death.
She’d played the game in the woods with Boone most of her life, and she’d won as often as not. Always pretending they were being chased by rebels or outlaws or sometimes a mountain lion. Whatever struck their fancy.
It would rile Boone when she’d snuck up on him and yank his hair before he knew she was anywhere nearby.
Suddenly, listening for any slight sound that didn’t fit, she heard someone.
She was as good as blind and so depended on hearing alone.
Of course, the sound could be coming from someone in her own group.
She eased closer to where she’d heard the rustling.
Then the clouds parted overhead, and for just a few seconds, she saw . . .
“Ma?” The word came out as a breath, not audible a foot away.
And her ma was closer than that. She turned her head and smiled. Then she put her finger to her lips and pointed, and the moon went dark again.
Delaney didn’t think she’d’ve squealed and hugged her ma under the circumstances, but she was so thrilled to see her, it’d been tempting.
Delaney couldn’t hear a single noise. Even the natural sounds of the woods at night were gone.
Not a chirping bug. Not an owl. Not even the near silence of a hopping rabbit.
That silence in the woods was even stronger proof that someone was out there.
But Delaney had been distracted by seeing Ma, and Ma had been paying attention to something else.
Delaney, silent as a ghost, slipped around to line up beside her ma, who had her gun out. Delaney did the same.
They inched forward slowly, listening. Ma apparently had heard something, and there was no one in the world Delaney trusted more.
A few she trusted as much, but none more.
Thinking of the few, she knew if Ma was here, that meant Pa was, too.
No, he hadn’t brought the entire cavalry company from his fort, but still, her heart lifted, for she felt as if the cavalry had arrived.
Then finally there was the least little shift in the brush right in front of them, and Delaney knew someone was there.
But who was it? Did Ma know it wasn’t Pa? Did she know it wasn’t Boone or Owen or anyone else she hadn’t oughta be attacking?
There wasn’t time to tell her that now.
Owen felt himself being frisked, and then when whoever had him found the Marshal’s star, the search abruptly stopped. Very quietly he heard, “Ralph Bridger. I’m here to find my kids.”
Then the weight was gone, his mouth was free, and Owen was glad to have the help. He was also humbled that he’d been so neatly caught.
He reached for the man’s hand, trusting this stranger when he probably hadn’t oughta. Owen tugged Pa Bridger forward and pointed in the direction of the man he’d heard, the man he’d been hunting.
Whoever it was, it was a bad guy. He hoped.
He thought of Morgan, who’d talked of how skilled Delaney was. He wondered if he’d have time to learn whatever Pa Bridger might share with him. Delaney had to have learned those skills from somewhere.
Then Owen saw whoever it was had edged right past him, and he struck. Hard, sudden, ruthless, the gun butt came down on the man’s head.
The man howled, alerting the whole woods to trouble.
Owen quick slapped his hand over the man’s mouth and bashed him in the head again, finally putting him into a deep sleep.
But it was too late.