32

The stars glimmered like diamonds scattered on velvet in the pale light of the half-moon. Michael pulled back on Buddy’s reins as Sheriff Davis slowed the group to a walk and called out. “Hello, the station.”

The door to the main building of Hawkins Station opened. Lantern light washed the ground in a small semicircle. “Who’s there?” an older man’s gravelly voice called from the shadow behind the lantern.

“Hello, Nate. It’s Caleb Davis from Riverbend. I’ve got a posse with me. We’ve come lookin’ for Sam Carstairs.”

The men formed a line with the sheriff in the middle. Nate lifted the lantern high and walked toward them. “Been expectin’ y’all. C’mon inside and get somethin’ to eat. Maggie’s got a pot of stew on. Don’t expect you’ll be able to start yer search till mornin’. I’ll get my Mexican boys to help me with your horses. You men go in and rest.”

Old Thomas spoke up. “If I could borrow a lantern, I would like to take a look around tonight. It will help me focus in the morning.”

Nate squinted at him. “Speaks right good for an Indian,” he said to the sheriff.

“Yep, government educated him at some fancy school back East, so he’s a lot smarter than most of us too. Sure would appreciate you sharing your lantern.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff. Anything for you. ’Specially if it’ll help get Mr. Sam back.”

Old Thomas dismounted. As he took the lantern from Nate, he muttered some words in a language Michael didn’t recognize.

“What’d he say?” Nate asked.

The sheriff shrugged. “Ain’t got any idea. Don’t speak Creek.”

“He said he sure appreciated all your help, sir,” Malachi said, dismounting to join Old Thomas.

Michael caught the smirk on the sheriff’s face as he turned to the others. “The rest of you men dismount and leave your horses with Nate here. Get some food and rest. Tomorrow the work really starts.”

Michael lagged at the rear of the group, not sure where he fit in. The sheriff treated him with respect. Vernon Phelps was friendly, Bill Barkston barely civil. He sensed the others were withholding judgment until they saw how he handled himself.

Vernon Phelps stopped at the door. “You coming in to get something to eat?”

Whiffs of the stew floated out the door. Venison and vegetables. Michael’s stomach rumbled, but he said, “I think I’ll stay out here for a few minutes. Enjoy the night air.”

Barkston shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Vernon and Barkston walked inside.

The door closed, leaving Michael in near darkness. The road they’d come in on shone as a pale strip lighting the way back to Rachel and safety. Was I right to come?

Malachi and Old Thomas moved into view, breaking Michael from his reverie. The Indian held the lantern at arm’s length in front of him, and he and Malachi bent over and examined the ground. What can they see in this light?

About a hundred yards from the station, they turned to the right. Every once in a while, one or the other of them would bend to inspect something on the ground. Sometimes they would look at each other and shake their heads or shrug and continue walking. After making a complete circle around the station, they went out another hundred yards and completed another circle.

The station door creaked. Nate came out and stood next to Michael. “Food’s hot, and there’s plenty of it. You should go get you some.” Nate poked a toothpick into his mouth and sucked his teeth.

“Thank you. I will in a few minutes. Want to let my legs stretch after being in the saddle.” Michael kept his voice flat. He couldn’t think of how to discourage the old man from talking.

Nate squinted one eye. “You a stranger here? I don’t recall seeing you around.”

“Got into town Saturday.”

Nate spat tobacco juice. “Five days ago? What made you hook up with this bunch?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Michael hesitated. The need for caution spiked in his mind. The old man was probably just trying to be friendly, but there was no sense in everyone knowing Ben’s business. “Seemed like my civic duty.”

Caleb Davis came out and leaned against a post that supported the roof overhang. Nate spat on the ground. “Stranger here sure don’t talk much.”

The sheriff shrugged as he rolled a cigarette. “I expect when he’s got somethin’ to say, he’ll let you know.”

Nate made a guttural noise of complaint and went back inside. The sheriff struck a match and cupped the flame in his hands to the end of his cigarette. “Don’t pay Nate no mind.” The cigarette bobbed in his mouth, and he squinted one eye against the smoke. “He’s just a harmless old gossip.”

The two stood in companionable silence while Davis smoked. Then the sheriff stood away from the post. “Looks like our wanderin’ minstrels are comin’ home.”

Old Thomas and Malachi walked back toward the station buildings, their heads close together, Malachi’s hands and arms gesturing. Sheriff Davis flicked the remains of his cigarette into the night. “Didya find anything?”

Malachi spat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Nary a clue, Sheriff. Some critter tracks and a stray hoofprint or two. Don’t amount to nothin’.”

“I think we will find that they rode the coach road for a good ways before branching off from it,” Old Thomas added. “That will make it more difficult for us to pick up their trail.”

Davis nodded. “I expect so. ’Course, we got no way of knowin’ if they went south toward Riverbend or north or took the road goin’ east or west.”

“I think they went south.” Michael inclined his head in the direction they’d ridden from.

The sheriff arched an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Something I feel in my spirit. I’ve been praying and asking the Lord for some guidance about which way we should go. I get a strong stirring that they headed toward Riverbend.”

The sheriff looked at Old Thomas and Malachi. Malachi shrugged and spat again. Old Thomas eyed his friend with disgust. “I do not know what is worse: when you drink or when you chew tobacco. I am grateful you do not do both at the same time.” He turned back to Davis. “Sheriff, we are going to have to pick a direction because they did not leave us anything to start with here. South is as good a direction as any.”

The sheriff nodded. “Makes sense in a way. If they’re gonna make demands, it’d be best to do it closer to Sam’s home. We’ll start at sunup and spread out on both sides of the road, try to find where they may have turned off. I’ll go in and tell the others.”

Old Thomas and Malachi followed him inside.

Michael lingered, gazing up at the star-filled sky. Thoughts of Rachel flooded into his mind. The sparkle in her eyes, her smile that dipped to one side, the warmth and softness of her hand in his. The sweet memory of her last, tender words to him.

He missed her. He’d known her only a few days, yet he longed to be with her. Loneliness pierced him; his heart ached as if someone squeezed it in a fist. He’d last felt this alone the first few nights after he’d run away from home, knowing he would never see Ma or Ellie again.

What would the next days bring? If Sam Carstairs had really been kidnapped, there could be violence ahead.

Images sped through his mind, uncontrollable. His father bleeding, his overalls dark with blood. His fists striking other men, the satisfaction of it, the pain he’d caused bending them to his will.

For three years that monster had been caged. It almost escaped Saturday night. Could he control it now?

He looked down at his hands.

He prayed.