Chapter 3
It was hot in Texas. So much hotter than it usually was in Indiana in early May.
Clary was perspiring quite freely, despite her attempts to hide it.
It was one of the few things she could really recall her mother saying before she died.
“Women don’t sweat, they perspire, and they don’t do that either.
” It had never really made sense, although as she drove the stagecoach in the hot sun with her hat firmly pinned to her head, Clary was beginning to think she had an inkling of what her mother meant.
Thomas rode beside her.
He was surprisingly tall. She hadn’t expected that, but didn’t mind at all. He was also handsome and had a good sense of humor. He’d laughed with them when his foot got stuck in his stirrup, and she’d found his embarrassed blush to be endearing.
In fact, he was exactly as his letters had portrayed him to be, only with soulful eyes and a mop of unruly hair. And was he trying to grow a beard, or had he just been too busy to shave for a few days? The more she looked at the ragged whiskers on his face, the more she found she didn’t mind them.
“I guess Texas is really different from Indiana,” Thomas said, drawing Clary from her reverie.
“It’s certainly hotter,” Clary agreed. Looking around at the scrubby, tufty grasses, cacti and straggly thorn trees, she added, “It’s also drier.”
“Yes, it takes some getting used to,” Thomas admitted. “It does rain here, and most days are quite humid. You’ll get used to it in time.”
“How long did it take you?” Clary asked.
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m a native. I was born in Texas.”
“Oh, that’s right. You went away to school,” Clary said, recalling his words from a letter.
Thomas nodded. “Yeah. I took months to adjust to the East Coast, and then when I came back here, it took me months to get used to it again. Funny how that happens.”
“Sure is,” Clary agreed.
They rode on in silence for a while.
Thomas sat well on his horse with an easy manner that made her wonder if he’d been riding a long time in spite of his little mishap when dismounting in San Antonio. Clary herself had been raised in the saddle.
“So, how was the journey here?” Thomas asked.
They were heading down the packed dirt road away from San Antonio, and the wind was picking up, which was a blessing.
“It was mostly pretty dull,” Clary said. “We played a lot of cards and some chess. Then, as we entered Texas, there was a thunderstorm and one of the coaches slipped the rope tying it in place on the flatbed. Eve and I went out to tie it back down.”
Thomas raised his brows in surprise. “You went out on the flatbed in a thunderstorm?”
Clary nodded. “The two baggage handlers who spotted the problem went to call us, and they offered to go out, but we needed them to hold the ropes.”
Seeing the look on his face, she explained how she and Evelyn had managed to tie the stagecoach back in place.
“My goodness,” Thomas said. “That was very brave.”
“That was crazy,” Ben said. He was riding on the other side of the coach. “You could have died.”
“Yes, we were determined not to though,” Clary said, smiling at him. “I said a little prayer or six.”
Ben chuckled. “I’ll bet.”
There was a boom, and something stung Clary’s cheek. She raised her hand to it, and her fingers came away with blood. She looked around as she pulled one of her guns from its holster.
“Bandits!” Ben yelled, and his gun was soon firing beside her.
Thomas also pulled his guns and returned fire. “Head for the end of the trees!” he yelled at her. “Just keep going; don’t stop.”
They were heading into a section of road where there were trees on both sides. The bandits had been waiting for them, mostly concealed by the trees.
She egged the horses on, firing her gun into the forest on either side without bothering about accuracy. At the speed she was going, there was no way she could aim. All she could do was hopefully deter them from shooting her or her horses.
She flicked the reins, but the horses needed little encouragement. They didn’t want to hang around in a place that smelled like gunfire and was loud with the booming of rifles and pistols. They picked up their pace, galloping for all they were worth.
Clary kept firing to the left and the right. Did she hit any of the bandits? She had no idea, and it didn’t seem to matter. She could see the end of the row of trees. It was coming up fast. In a breath or two, she would be out of reach.
Cracking sounds filled the air, and suddenly two stout trees toppled forward onto the road in front of the horses, blocking the road ahead.
There was no way over them. Clary’s every nerve fired, and she hauled back on the reins and then, spotting an opening to the right, steered the horses that way, hoping for the best, a prayer on her lips.
It wasn’t a road. It was a lumpy, bumpy section of the forest, and she was going far too fast.
“Please let the axle hold; please let the wheels stay on,” she prayed as she held on, steering the horses around the trees. If they could just get back on the road …
Behind her, a cacophony of gunfire sounded. She had no idea who was firing or who was winning. She couldn’t even turn around to see anything because all of her attention was focused on trying to steer the horses away from utter disaster.
Things rattled and creaked around her. Clary hoped her father wasn’t watching from heaven because he would scold her for her treatment of the coaches. She just hoped that all the love and care she had put into them would pay off and they would hold together as she tried to outrun the bandits.
Where is Evelyn? Where is Thomas? Are they okay?
Clary’s mind tried to spin out of control, but she wouldn’t let it as she and the horses raced over the uneven ground, trying to dodge out of the way of trees that seemed to spring up out of nowhere.
The sound of bullets hitting the wooden frame of the stagecoach rang in Clary’s ears. Oh good Lord, they’re behind me! They’re going to catch me.
Suddenly, her father’s voice was in her mind.
“Really, Clary? Since when do you think it’s all over before it’s well and truly over?”
He was right. She couldn’t think like that. Saying it was over and giving up before time was not the way she’d been raised. Not at all. She was Clary Wilson, daughter to Emit Wilson, and she didn’t know the meaning of the words hopeless or give up.
Tying off the reins on the driver’s seat railing, Clary turned around. There were men on horseback behind her. None of them were her new friends. Where were Thomas and the others? She could only hope that they were safe.
For now, she had to secure her own safety before seeing what could be done for them.
She pulled her pistols from their holsters and aimed.
It was a lot like trying to shoot at a target while riding a bucking bull.
Both of which she had tried many times when growing up. Both of which she had failed at.
Oh well, if ever there was a time to get good at it, it was right then. She pulled the trigger of one pistol and then the other.
Bam! Bam! The first shot went wide and hit a tree; the other, however, hit the front rider in the side of the head. He fell backward out of his saddle, and his body was trampled by the other two horses coming up behind.
That was a lucky shot. Clary would bet that she would never be able to replicate it.
Another round of bullets thudded into the coach as she ducked down in the seat, lying across it.
Quickly, she dug out the box of extra shells she kept under the seat.
She cast an eye at where the horses were going and made a slight correction.
She seemed to have steered them too far to the side in trying to find a way through the trees.
The trees were coming to an end, thankfully.
Soon they were riding out under the hot Texan sun once more.
To her left and ahead of her, Clary could see the road.
And on it, she could see Evelyn’s coach, still barreling along at a crazy speed.
Good thing the coaches were mostly empty.
Their horses couldn’t run like this with full loads.
With fully loaded weapons, Clary turned back to her pursuers, who were now coming up on either side of her. Fine. She’d wait.
She extended her arms, and as the two men rode up beside her, Clary pulled her triggers.
She hit both men in the chest. Well, they were so close she suspected that even someone who had never fired a gun before would have been able to make the shot. Blood blossomed on their shirts as they sagged and slumped over their horses’ necks, dead.
Forgive me, Lord, for these men and the others I’ve shot today. I don’t think I had much choice.
More gunshots rang out, but it was clear that the bandits were losing this battle. Clary steered her coach to pull in behind Evelyn’s on the road. As she approached, she shot the two bandits riding behind her sister, and they too slumped and fell to the ground.
“Hey, sis!” Evelyn cried from her driver’s seat. “And there I thought this neck of the woods would be dull!” She had that crazy gleam in her eye that worried Clary so much.
“Don’t get cocky!” Clary cried.
The battle was over though, and she began to slow the horses. They were foam-flecked and breathing hard. They would have to find some water soon and let them have a rest.
Evelyn pulled to a halt on the grass verge, and Clary did the same. She turned in her seat and waited to see a sign of Thomas. Was he okay? Had he made it through the battle?
“You okay?” Evelyn asked her.
“Fine. You?”
“All good. That man of yours is something else. He stayed behind to make sure that they left us alone.”
“What? He’s still in there?” Clary wasn’t impressed; she was horrified. She slid down from her seat and, with her guns in hand, began to run back toward where the fighting had taken place.
Just then Ben came galloping out of the trees. His horse was breathing hard and so was he, but he wore a huge grin on his face. “We sure showed them!”