Chapter Thirteen
Deborah’s heartbeat hammered faster than the horse’s hooves as she raced toward town.
Once she’d been far enough away from Nolan, she urged the horse into a faster speed.
Her mind spun from situations that Nolan could get himself into with being that close to the outlaws, and she said a silent prayer that he would be kept safe.
The full moon helped light her way, but she still didn’t see anything that looked like a town was close by. Had Nolan read the map wrong? Or maybe it was the map itself that was wrong.
Tears burned her eyes, but she kept pushing the horse in the direction Nolan told her to go. She had no idea how long she’d been riding, but it seemed too long. She wanted to find someone to help them.
Using the sleeve of her dress, she wiped the moisture out of her eyes and pushed the horse faster... and prayed harder. The tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe, which, of course, made her panic escalate that much more.
Lord, please help me!
She wiped the tears out of her eyes again, and this time, outlines of several buildings slowly came into view. She cried out with relief and silently sent a quick prayer of gratitude for the Lord’s help.
She had no idea what time it was, but it appeared that most of the buildings were closed for the night. She slowed her horse, studying each building and each house, praying to find the sheriff’s office, but so far, nothing even resembled that.
As she passed a smaller building, a small light in the window caught her gaze, and she quickly pulled the horse to a stop. A wooden sign above the door read: Doctor Healy.
She dashed up the steps and to the door. She rapped hard on the door. Footsteps creaked on the floor from inside, growing closer. Seconds later, the door opened. A middle-aged man wearing spectacles held a lantern. She squinted from the sudden brightness.
“Please, I beg you,” she said in a rush, “I need your help. I’m not from here, and I don’t know where the sheriff’s office is. My husband needs your help. Do you know where I can find the sheriff?”
The man’s gaze swept over her, and she grew impatient as he assessed her dirty clothes and her unkempt hair. “Please, doctor.” She grasped his forearm. “A former U.S. Marshal, Nolan Avery, has found the Farrington Gang, and he needs assistance immediately.”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “The Farrington Gang, you say?”
“Yes.” She pointed toward the west. “They are camped not too far from town. Two, maybe three miles. I can take you there, but we must hurry.”
The doctor moved away from the door, motioning for her to enter. She stepped inside and realized this wasn’t the doctor’s office, but the sheriff’s office. At the far side of the room stood two barred cells.
She gasped. “Are you the sheriff?”
“And the doctor.” He set the lantern on a small table that resembled a desk. “This is a small town, so I do both.”
He shrugged into his overcoat before grasping two rifles and two pistols. “Doctor Healy... um, Sheriff, can you round up a few more men? There are five outlaws, and they all have weapons. My husband doesn’t have his pistol.”
The sheriff’s forehead creased. “No weapon?”
She flipped her hand in the air. “Long story, I’ll try to tell you while we ride.”
He handed her one of the rifles. “Can you shoot?”
“No,” she said softly. “I’ve never used one before.”
The man shrugged and pushed the rifle toward her. “Point the end of the gun toward the bad guy. Keep your aim steady and pull the trigger.” He nodded sharply. “There. Now you know how.”
She hiccupped a laugh. Was this man serious?
Hesitantly, she took the rifle from him. He finished rushing around the room, grabbing things and stuffing them in his pockets.
“Um, sir? You didn’t answer my question. Should we find more men to help us?”
“Yes. I’d planned on doing that. However, I want you to ride back toward their campfire and find your husband, and if you can, give him the rifle.” He paused as he stared at the pistol still in his hand. He shoved that toward Deborah. “There, now each of you will have a weapon.”
“Uh... thank you.”
“Go.” He swished his hands toward her. “And pray that your husband hasn’t done anything foolish.”
As she rushed out of the door, her mind returned to Nolan. Foolish? Nolan wouldn’t do anything foolish at all. He was a thinker. She’d noticed that about him in the few days she’d known him. He never acted irrationally. He was patient and calculated the situation before doing anything.
Then again, he jumped off the train to rescue her. That was acting out of character for him. She could only hope he stayed hidden as he’d promised.
Once she was able to fit the rifle on the saddle, she jumped on the back of the horse and took off. Would she remember where they were? Well, she just needed to follow her path and hope she remembered the landscape along the way.
Saying another prayer for guidance, she urged the horse into a run.
For some reason, it didn’t seem to take as long this time, and soon she spotted the campfire ahead in the distance.
She slowed her horse until reaching the spot where Nolan had first tied up the animal.
As she dismounted, she reached for the rifle, but through the night air, she heard a man shouting.
She held her breath and listened harder. It was several men shouting... followed by loud groans.
She grabbed the rifle and pistol and ran toward the sound, not caring that her footsteps weren’t light this time. Nobody would be able to hear her over their angry voices anyway.
When she reached the large tree that Nolan had used to hide behind, she stopped. He wasn’t there. She didn’t need to ask where he was. Now she knew what the men were shouting about... and what man was groaning in pain.
Her hands shook as she peeked around the tree toward the campfire. She couldn’t see Nolan, but the other men were standing around something on the ground, and they were all looking downward.
“I don’t believe you,” one man shouted and kicked the object lying on the ground, which was followed by Nolan’s moan.
She clenched her teeth and tightened her grip on the rifle.
“Please,” Nolan’s voice painfully pleaded, “you must believe me. I was thrown from the train, and I was just following the tracks to find the station. When I saw your fire, I came over in hopes that you would share some food with me.”
“Yeah, well... you thought wrong,” another man yelled.
“You don’t believe him, do you?” Another man’s voice came out high-pitched as he slugged the man standing next to him. “If he fell off the train, he’d be dirtier, and his face and hands would be all scratched up.”
“Levi is right,” another man said. “And I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m tired of playing this game. I say we slit his throat right now.”
As the gang’s shouts of acclamation filled the air, despair washed over Deborah.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she leaned her forehead against the tree.
Tears stung her eyes as hopelessness grew inside of her.
The outlaws would not believe Nolan, and they were correct.
Nolan didn’t look as ragged as he had when they’d first fallen off the train.
The outlaws were criminals, but that didn’t mean they were stupid.
In fact, most criminals were very intelligent, especially those who could hide from the law.
She had no idea how long it would take the sheriff to gather some men together, and by the sounds of the outlaws’ temperaments, Nolan was running out of time. Deborah had to do something now!
Not knowing much about a rifle, she might only wound one man once she fired the weapon. And then the outlaws would capture her, too... if they didn’t kill her first. So, what use could she be to Nolan right now?
Suddenly, a thought came into her mind. The outlaws wouldn’t suspect a woman to know anything... They wouldn’t know that she was headstrong and that she’d do anything to protect her husband.
Seconds later, an idea popped into Deborah’s head, and she snapped herself upright.
Hope blossomed inside her chest. Finally, there might be a chance that she’d be able to help Nolan.
She might not be able to use the rifle or the pistol that the sheriff had given her, but she was certainly going to use her intelligence.
* * * *
Pain throbbed through Nolan’s entire body.
The beating he’d taken from the Farrington Gang made jumping from a moving train seem pleasant by comparison.
Every rib ached. One eye had swollen nearly shut.
Dried blood crusted along his jaw, and each breath reminded him of a dozen boots finding their mark.
The worst part wasn't the pain. It was knowing Deborah was somewhere out there alone. He was relieved to know that she would return with the sheriff.
Across the campfire, Butch sharpened a knife while the others lounged nearby, watching Nolan with varying degrees of suspicion. Not all of them were Farrington men.
The two men sitting closest to the fire weren't interested in robbery, gambling, or outlaw business. They had barely spoken to the others since Nolan’s capture, and when they did, the camp grew quiet because they weren't taking orders from Farrington.
They were taking orders from someone else. Someone far more dangerous.
The Sapphire widow.
Nolan wouldn’t have known that, but he overheard the woman’s name a few times. How could the widow have that many men on her payroll? Then again, they knew Deborah had come to Montana, and now they knew Deborah and Nolan were heading to Bloomington.
Nolan shifted against the ropes, cutting into his wrists. One of the men noticed—a narrow-faced fellow called Simmons. The same name Deborah had spoken with fear in her voice. The one she’d identified as one of the widow’s trusted operatives. The man from the bank... so how did the man escape?
Simmons crouched before Nolan. “Let’s try this again.”
Nolan said nothing.
Simmons smiled coldly. “Where’s Miss Prescott?”
“I don’t know.” The lie earned him a fist to the stomach. Pain exploded through him. He doubled over as much as the ropes allowed.
Simmons grabbed his hair and jerked his head back. “Give me the papers, Avery.”
Nolan stared at him. “What papers?”
Another punch. Another burst of agony.
Across the fire, Butch shifted uneasily. Even he seemed uncomfortable with the interrogation now.
“You’re not a gambler.” Simmons lowered his voice.
Nolan remained silent, wondering where this would lead.
“You’re not a drifter.”
Silence.
“You’re not even particularly good at lying. I know Miss Prescott has the papers. I was the one who left that note on her windowsill.”
Nolan managed a weak grin. Finally, they found the culprit. “You seem upset about that.”
The punch in the face split his lip. Blood filled his mouth.
Simmons rose to his feet with an irritated curse. “We know Deborah Prescott still has the documents.”
Nolan’s pulse hammered. He fought to keep every trace of reaction from his face because that was the first useful piece of information he’d heard all night. The widow’s people didn’t have the papers yet. And thankfully, they didn’t know where Deborah had hidden them.
Good. Let them keep guessing.
Simmons paced once before turning back. “The widow has spent too much of her time looking for those records.”
Nolan knew it had taken Deborah three days on the train to come to Montana. He had known her for two more days. Five days were a waste of the widow’s time? Then again, the woman criminal had a large business, and her fingers were in everything.
The widow wasn’t merely trying to recover stolen property. She was desperate. And desperate people were dangerous.
Simmons stopped directly in front of him. “Tell us where the girl is.”
Nolan lifted his head. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. The pain was becoming difficult to separate himself from his thoughts.
But one thing remained perfectly clear. If these men found Deborah, she wouldn’t survive the night.
“You’ll have to find her yourself.” His voice came out rough. “You can kill me all you want, but I’m not telling you any more.”
The smile vanished from Simmons’ face. “That can be arranged.”
A twig snapped somewhere beyond the trees. Suddenly, the camp grew silent. Every head turned toward the darkness beyond the trees.
Butch stood. “Did you hear that?”
Nolan held his breath. A horse. Someone was approaching.