Chapter 28 #2
Jonas looked toward the inn yard.
Several townspeople had gathered there, among them Fergus Dalrymple. Horace Beckett stood near the road with his heavy butcher's apron still tied around his waist, and two other men Jonas recognized from the night of the blizzard spoke in low voices beside him.
“What happened?” Fergus asked as Jonas approached.
“Silas Mercer took Martha.”
A murmur passed through the group.
One of the men frowned. “You know that for certain?”
“Percy saw it happen himself.”
That silenced them.
Jonas looked at the faces around him. He could see questions forming already. Silas had spent weeks planting rumors. If Martha's past came out now, some of those rumors would acquire enough truth to make everything else harder to separate.
There was no time for any of that.
“Whatever you've heard about Martha,” Jonas said, “whatever Silas has been saying, none of it changes what happened today. He struck a twelve-year-old boy, tied him up, threatened him, and carried Martha out of her own inn unconscious.”
Horace's expression darkened. “That bastard tied up Percy?”
“Yes.”
“Where'd he take her?”
“North, toward the woods.”
Fergus stepped forward immediately. “I'm coming.”
Jonas nodded.
“So am I,” Horace said.
Jonas glanced at the butcher.
Horace scowled. “Don't look at me like that. Woman owes me money, doesn't mean I want her hauled into the woods by some lunatic.”
Under different circumstances, Jonas might have smiled.
Another man near the porch cleared his throat. “She gave my family a room during that blizzard. Wouldn't take a cent from me after.”
“Mine too,” someone behind him said.
Jonas looked around.
This was not forgiveness. Most of them did not yet know what Martha had done, and Jonas would not stand in the road and turn her years of work into payment against crimes they had not heard about.
But neither would he pretend the woman they knew did not matter.
“She helped every one of you when that storm came through,” Jonas said. “She didn't ask who could pay. She didn't ask who liked her. Right now, she needs help. That's all I'm asking you to decide.”
Fergus was already checking the load in his rifle. “Seems decided to me.”
A few men nodded.
Eliza disappeared into the inn and returned moments later wearing her coat and carrying a revolver.
Reuben stared at it. “Where'd you get that?”
“My father’s a gunsmith.”
“I know, but—”
“And he taught me to shoot.”
Reuben's mouth closed.
Even now, Jonas caught the flicker of something between them.
“No,” he said.
Eliza turned on him. “What do you mean, no?”
“We don't know how many men are with Silas.”
“Which is why you need someone who can shoot.”
“Eliza—”
“Martha is my family.” Her voice remained low, but her grip tightened around the revolver. “I'm not asking your permission.”
Reuben looked at Jonas.
Jonas exhaled through his nose. “Stay behind us until we know what we're walking into.”
Eliza nodded once.
That was the most agreement he was likely to get.
Jonas crossed the yard toward the place Percy had described. Near the back of the inn, the ground had been churned by weeks of traffic, but Tobias dismounted and crouched before Jonas reached it.
“Here.”
Jonas joined him.
Tobias pointed to a deep hoofprint near the edge of the yard. “Horse stood here awhile. See how deep the rear prints are?”
Jonas nodded.
“Weight shifted.” Tobias moved several feet and indicated another mark. “Second horse came through here. Then both headed north.”
Reuben leaned over from his saddle. “Could be anybody.”
Tobias shook his head. “Not this.”
He pointed to a partial shoe print.
“I recognize this one. Silas’s horse has a shoe with a worn outside edge.” He pointed to the way the line was firmer in the inside, and how it faded. “See that? That’s his horse.”
Jonas felt a brief pulse of grim satisfaction and pride at his brother’s prowess.
“Okay.”
They moved out.
The larger group followed at a distance, but Jonas kept Tobias beside him as they reached the first stand of trees. The ground beneath the pines held more moisture, preserving tracks that would have vanished on the harder road.
Tobias studied them without speaking.
Jonas had taught both his brothers to read a trail, but Tobias was the one who’d always possessed the patience for it. Reuben saw movement first; Tobias saw what movement left behind.
“Two horses here,” Tobias said. “And one was carrying more weight.”
“Martha.”
“Likely.”
Tobias touched a broken fern near the trail. “They're not moving fast.”
“Why?”
“Ground's bad, and whoever's leading doesn't want the second horse falling.”
Jonas looked ahead into the trees.
Silas needed Martha alive, it seemed. If he wanted her dead, he could have killed her anywhere out in the woods.
That was something.
He did not yet know whether it was enough to comfort him.
The trail led deeper into the woods and then angled west. Old snow remained beneath the thickest branches, dirt and pine needles scattered across its surface. Once, Jonas found a long scrape beside a hoofprint, as though a boot had dragged.
He stopped.
Tobias saw it too.
“These could be hers.”
Jonas crouched and touched the mark.
If Martha had regained consciousness, she would have fought back.
The thought made his chest tighten with something close to pride.
Reuben brought his horse alongside them. “How far ahead?”
“Hard to know.”
Jonas looked at the light. They had perhaps two hours before dusk began making the trail difficult.
“We keep moving.”
They left the horses when the woods became too dense.
Jonas instructed two of the townsmen to remain with them. The others spread behind him in a loose line, quieter now that the urgency had become something tangible. Rifles were held ready rather than slung over shoulders. Eliza walked near Reuben, her revolver tucked close to her side.
No one spoke unless necessary.
The woods swallowed the sounds of town completely.
Jonas moved through the trees with Tobias several paces to his right. The air smelled of wet bark and old snow. Branches scraped against his coat, and once a clump of melting snow dropped from above and struck his shoulder.
The trail grew harder, foliage narrowing around them so that they had to duck beneath branches and dodge obstacles. Tracking became harder as it became clear that Silas had left the more obvious path.
Tobias raised one hand.
Everyone stopped.
He crouched near a patch of mud and studied it.
“What?” Jonas whispered.
“More horses.”
Jonas moved closer.
Tobias pointed.
At least four separate sets of prints crossed the softer earth.
“Silas wasn't alone.”
Reuben muttered something under his breath.
Jonas's hand tightened around his rifle.
The Voss Gang.
He did not know it for certain, but the thought came immediately. Who else would Silas have called in to back him up?
Silas had not merely dragged Martha into the woods in a burst of anger. He had brought her into a prepared trap.
Tobias looked ahead. “The tracks converge that way.”
Jonas followed his gaze.
They continued on foot.
Minutes later, smoke appeared between the trees.
Jonas stopped so abruptly Fergus nearly walked into him.
A thin gray line rose beyond a low ridge.
He gestured for everyone to crouch.
They moved forward more carefully now, using the trees and uneven ground for cover. Jonas's heartbeat seemed impossibly loud in the stillness. Each step brought the smell of smoke more clearly, along with another odor he recognized.
Horses.
Tobias touched Jonas's arm and pointed left.
Three animals were tied among the trees.
A fourth stood farther back.
Men's voices carried faintly beyond them.
Jonas lowered himself behind a fallen log and eased forward until he could see over it.
A rough clearing opened below.
There was a shack at its center.