Chapter Twenty-nine
Meagan had no idea who had taken her, or why they had taken her, and she was on the edge of panic, fighting hard to maintain control. Because she was lying in the bottom of the wagon, and because it was dark, her vision was limited, but she did get a glance of the school just as they were leaving town so she knew they were going south. Because she couldn’t see the ground, she had no way of gauging how fast they were going, though it felt as if they were doing at least five miles an hour. She tried to estimate how long she had been in the wagon, so she could guess where they might be.
She would have to stay alert, and try to escape if she saw any opportunity to do so. And if she couldn’t escape, she needed do something—anything—that might improve her situation.
Her hands were tied in front, rather than behind her, and this did give her some range of motion. Her first thought was that she would try to slide off the back of the buckboard, but she put that idea aside when she realized that her feet were tied to the side of the carriage. If she tried to jump off, she would be dragged.
She began to feel around inside the buckboard, then felt a small glimmer of hope, when she found a little bag of nails. Using the point of one of the nails, she tried to untie her wrists, but the rope was too high up on her wrists, and she couldn’t get to it. She thought about trying to use the nail to untie her feet, but that wasn’t successful either.
Then she got an idea.
Using the point of the nail, she managed to cut out a small piece of cloth from her dress. Then, pushing the nail through that small piece of cloth, she dropped it over the side of the buckboard, hoping, praying that the men who were riding alongside wouldn’t see it in the dark.
Evidently, they did not see it for no one said anything to her. Approximately ten minutes later she threw out another little flag. The average person might miss such small markers, but she had every confidence that Duff would come looking for her, and an equal amount of confidence that he would not only see the little markers, but know what they were.
“I don’t have any idea what happened to her,” Schumacher said.
“You were hanging around just outside the emporium,” Marshal Ferrell challenged.
“I was not hanging around outside the emporium.”
“Don’t lie to me, Schumacher. You were seen there!” Marshal Ferrell said, angrily.
“Marshal, her shop is right next to Fiddler’s Green. I had been in there most of the night, you can ask anyone. I’d been drinkin’ a lot, and there was a lot of tobacco smoke inside. I was gettin’ a headache so I come out for a breath of fresh air. That’s all.”
“Throw him in a cell, Willie,” Marshal Ferrell said.
“What? You can’t do that.”
“Just watch me do it,” Marshal Ferrell said. “When you are ready to talk, let me know.”
“Talk about what? I tell you, I don’t have anything to talk about!” Schumacher said.
“Come on,” Deputy Pierce said. “You used to work here, you know where it is.”
“This ain’t right, Willie,” Schumacher said. “I tell you, I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
Emile Taylor was asleep in his cell when Deputy Pierce brought Schumacher back to put him in the adjacent cell.
“Here,” Emile said. “What’s all the noise about? A man can’t even sleep peaceable in his own jail cell around here.”
“You know the way it works, Schumacher. Go all the way to the back of the cell and don’t turn around until you hear the cell door shut.”
“You’re makin’ a mistake, Willie,” Schumacher said.
“I’m just the deputy, Francis,” Deputy Pierce said, softening it somewhat by using Schumacher’s first name. “I have to do what the marshal says. You know that.”
“Well, the marshal is making a mistake.”
“Francis, my old friend,” Emile said coming over to stick his hand through the bars to shake Schumacher’s hand. “What are you doing in here?”
“Somebody took Miss Parker, and the marshal thinks I had something to do with it,” Schumacher replied.
“Did you?”
“No! I had nothing to do with it!”
“Who is Miss Parker, anyway?”
“She owns the dress shop.”
“Some old biddy, is she?”
“She ain’t old, and she ain’t a biddy. She’s a young, pretty woman. Duff MacCallister is some sweet on her, they say.”
“MacCallister?” Emile laughed. “She’s MacCallister’s woman?”
“That’s what folks say, and I got no reason not to believe it.”
“I’ll be damn,” Emile said. “Then more ’n likely you did have something to do with it, only you just don’t know it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it looks like Johnny ain’t forgot about me.”
Duff rode directly to his ranch from Bordeaux, arriving at about two o’clock in the morning. Going to bed, he slept until about seven, then he walked out to the cowboy’s cook shack to have his breakfast.
“What do you want for breakfast, Boss?” his cook asked. Red Kirby was still called Red, though his hair had turned white long ago.
“Maybe a biscuit and a cup of coffee, though I would rather have tea if you have any.”
“I can make you a cup of tea in just a moment. Would you like a piece of ham with your biscuit?”
“No, but some butter and marmalade would be fine.”
When Duff sat down, Elmer, carrying his oversized cup of coffee, came over to join him.
“I see you got out of Bordeaux alive.”
“Yes, no thanks to Reid.”
“Reid? You mean Simon Reid is in Bordeaux? Damn, I never run across him while I was there.”
“Aye, he was there, and he gave me away to Cline. ’Twould appear that there is a one-thousand-dollar bounty on my head.”
“Obviously Reid didn’t collect. Did you kill the son of a bitch?”
“Nae. At least, I do nae think so. The saloon was on fire when I left. I assume Reid and the others got out.”
Elmer laughed out loud and slapped his hand down on the table. “I’ll be damn! You burned the saloon down?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll bet that was some sight to see. I just wish I had been there with you,” Elmer said, still laughing.
“I must confess, Elmer, m’ friend, there were a few moments there where I wished you had been with me as well.”
Red Kirby brought the biscuit and tea, and Duff and Elmer continued their conversation.
“I did learn a few thing while I was there,” Duff said. “Johnny and his brigands have left Bordeaux. And they have hidden out the money they took from the bank, which means if we could find it, we could take it back to the bank and greatly reduce the losses suffered by the people in town.”
“That would sure ease a lot of burdens,” Elmer said.
“Aye, that it would,” Duff said, taking the last swallow of his tea. “I’d best get into town and tell the marshal what I’ve learned.”
Duff didn’t have to go to town, because even before he finished his breakfast, Marshal Ferrell came riding up to the ranch.
“Marshal, what are you doing out here?” Duff asked, as Ferrell dismounted. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks,” the marshal said. “I came to see Elmer. Actually, it was to see you, but I thought you might still be in Bordeaux.”
“You look troubled.”
Marshal Ferrell took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair before he replied.
“They’ve got Meagan, Duff.”
“What? Who has? And what do you mean by ‘they’ve got’?”
“I assume it’s Johnny Taylor. Cindy Boyce said some men came in the middle of the night and took her. I expect it has something to do with Emile Taylor being in jail, but we won’t know until we hear from them.”
“I do nae intend to wait to hear from anyone,” Duff said. “I’m going to find Meagan.”
“Duff, there’s no need to be goin’ off half-cocked here,” Marshal Ferrell said. “We don’t have the slightest idea where they went. Where would you even start?”
“Where was she taken from?” Elmer asked. “Do we know that?”
“Yes, that’s the strange part of it. According to Cindy Boyce, Meagan was taken from her room.”
“Whose room?”
“Cindy’s room,” Marshal Ferrell clarified. “Meagan had gone to Miss Boyce’s room to look at a picture of a dress Miss Boyce wanted her to make.”
“Then that’s where we will start,” Elmer said.
“Elmer, I’ll nae be askin’ you to get involved,” Duff said.
“I’m already involved,” Elmer said. “Duff, there is only one thing in the world I can do better than you, and that’s track somebody. If you want to find Meagan, you don’t have no choice. You have to let me come with you.”
Duff smiled at his friend.
“I will be very glad to have you come along with me,” he said.
It was daylight by the time the wagon reached the Chugwater Range. Meagan knew where she was now, because she recognized Chimney Rock.
They passed through an opening into a draw that was cut back into the long, flat slabs of rocks that made up the Chugwater Range. Meagan saw two guards who wanted to be seen and a couple who didn’t want to be seen. The pass was long and narrow, with steep walls on either side. At one point, the canyon had been filled in from either side, creating a choke point so narrow that the buckboard was barely able to squeeze through. If Marshal Ferrell raised a posse to come after her, no matter how many there were, they could be held up here by no more than three or four well-armed men. One man might be able to get through, though it would take a very special man to try.
A man like Duff MacCallister.
“Get out of the wagon, girly,” one of the men said.
Meagan tried to answer, but because of the gag, she could only make a squeaking noise.
“Take the gag out of her mouth. You might as well untie her feet and hands too. She ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Megan felt a sense of gratitude that the gag was removed and that she was being untied.
“Thanks,” she said, as she rubbed her wrists. They were raw from the ropes that had been tied tightly.
“Like I said, you ain’t goin’ nowhere.” The man who spoke was relatively short, with dark hair and a deformed ear. Then, as she looked more closely at it, she realized that the ear wasn’t just deformed; part of it was missing. She’d heard tell of a man who fit this description.
“You are Johnny Taylor,” she said.
“So, you know who I am,” Johnny said.
“What do you want with me?” Meagan asked.
One of the other men rubbed himself suggestively. “Girly, there’s a lot I want with you.”
“That’ll be enough,” Johnny said. “For our purposes now, we have to keep her alive, unhurt and . . . unsullied, as it were.”
At first Meagan thought that Johnny was protecting her through some sense of honor, but his next statement shattered that illusion.
“After we get what we want from her, she will be fair game,” he said.
“What do you want with me?” Meagan repeated.
“You are Meagan Parker, aren’t you?” Johnny asked.
“I am.”
“You are Duff MacCallister’s . . . friend?” He set the word friend away from the rest of the sentence, giving it a suggestive meaning.
“We are friends,” Meagan replied, without rising to the bait.
“Good. Because what I want is for Duff MacCallister to come after you.”
“Believe me, you don’t really want that,” Meagan said.
“Oh, but I do, my dear. I really do.”