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Fred's ears perked up. He stood still and listened. He could have sworn he heard a woman's cry. He cocked his head to the side and waited, but it was gone.
He could have bludgeoned Randall for showing up when he did. He'd chased Wilma off just when he'd thought he was getting somewhere with her. The poor woman had looked bedraggled, yet she was still the most alluring creature he'd ever set eyes on. And quite a fast runner. A smile playing on his lips. He had hated to watch her run from him, yet her form had looked most enticing the faster she moved.
"What are you smirking at?" Abel demanded, his voice tight. He wasn't happy with how the day had gone.
"I wasn't smirking," Fred told him. "I was thinking."
Abel grunted.
"I think we should stick together," Paul said, his face sour and his eyes bloodshot. "Strength in numbers."
"Right," Randall agreed. "Numbers. Four of us is better than three." He swallowed the last of his whiskey and threw the bottle into the trees.
Fred swallowed the groan rising in his throat. These fools would get them all caught if he didn't get rid of them. They were too disorderly. Too reckless. Fred knew there was a chance he might land in jail one day soon, but he couldn't let that happen until he knew his mother would be safe. She'd never given up on him all his life, and he refused to give up on her now.
Once he was married, he would know that she'd be cared for no matter what. His new wife might not like it, but a marriage of convenience was all he was after. She would live with his mother and care for her while he handled his business. The woman he planned to marry had no money and little choice but to go along with his plans. He hoped she wouldn't think him a devil for leaving her alone with his mother as he planned to, but she would grow used to the idea.
He'd already snuck back into town some time ago and gotten the letters she'd sent to his mother's house, so he knew when and where to meet her. And Reverend Doyle was one of the few people in Helena who didn't think him a murderer. Fred had confessed all of his crimes to the reverend long ago, and they had a good relationship. He would marry them without a problem. He would just have to be careful getting her from the station. A disguise would help. A few more days were all he needed.
"Think it through," Fred said. "We're all wanted but who is Judge Foster gunning for? Whose throat does he want to see stretched out on that rope?"
They all looked blankly at him.
"Mine," Fred said, shaking his head.
"Right," Paul said, "because you killed his wife."
Fred's teeth gritted together. "I did not."
"That's what a guilty man would say." Abel grinned at him. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his satchel and drank a quarter of it. "You're right," he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Let's go."
He rose from the rock he was sitting on and headed for his horse. Paul and Randall looked at each other, uncertain whether Abel was joking.
"I said let's go," Abel repeated.
Paul and Randall jumped up and ran to their horses.
Fred thanked God for small favors. With them gone, he could take another look for Wilma. Maybe she hadn't gone too far.
"We'll catch up with you in a week or so," Abel said, "when we know more about the next coach coming through. I don't want any more of these types we've been getting lately. You know how much that woman had in her coin purse? One bit." He spat, disgusted.
Fred felt his collar heat. One bit was all the money in the world that Wilma had, and he had helped to take it from her.
"Not to mention all the trouble we had." Abel’s face was red, as if Judge Foster and the others had insulted him by firing their guns and making their escape. "No, next time we go for something big or we don't go."
"I might move camp by then." Fred didn't care whether he saw these men again or not. He needed money but would rather go back to stealing cattle than robbing stagecoaches. The last fortnight since he'd started in on this venture had left him with a bad taste in his mouth and restless nights around the fire.
"We'll find you," Abel said and spat again. His eyes locked on Fred. "These woods ain't that big. There's nowhere much to hide." One side of his mouth curled up. Fred didn't know what the man was thinking, but he knew a threat when he heard one. Once you were in Abel's gang, there was no getting out without his say so.
Abel turned and headed away, and the others followed him. Paul shot him a fleeting glance and smiled widely, waving goodbye.
Fred wiped his brow when they were gone. "Good riddance," he muttered and took hold of Bessie. He stroked her neck and told her to stay here while he went in search of Wilma.
"Wilma?" he called out. He had the nagging feeling that she hadn't gone far.
"I'm alone!" he yelled, hoping that knowledge might entice her out of wherever she was hiding. He walked west a bit before retreating in the opposite direction. Twice he thought he heard something, only to have it disappear in the wind.
He walked in a giant circle around his campsite, looking for some sign of her. He didn't know why he was bothering, only that he couldn't shake her image from his mind. She had looked lost and frightened, yet there had been a fire inside her that he found intoxicating.
Night was falling. The sun was going down, the moon was coming up. He could see its hazy form just behind a pink and orange cloud. He was about to give up when he decided to try the spot where he'd last seen her. Maybe she had stuck even closer than he'd thought.
"Wilma? I have food," he called, pulling the bag of jerky from his pocket. He held it up in the air in case she could see him. He wanted her to know he wasn't lying. She could trust him.
A clear, crisp voice rang out from no more than ten feet away.
"F-Fred?"
He stopped and looked around, searching for her. "Wilma?"
"Fred!" A loud wail carried through the air. Fred's heart stuttered.
Something's wrong.
"Wilma!" he shouted as he ran through the trees. He swatted the branches away as they scraped at his skin.
"F-Fred! Help me!"
He ran faster, his pulse racing. "Wilma, where are you?" His foot slipped on the edge of something, and he almost lost his balance. He looked down and saw an eight-foot hole. Some idiot trapper's hole? He didn't think trappers dug them this deep, unless the animal he was hunting was unusually large.
At the bottom of the hole sat Wilma. He could just make out her tear-stained face in the fading sunset. She looked up at him, her eyes two round, pleading diamonds shining brightly back at him.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll have you out of there in no time."
"I-I'm scared," she said and heard how much it pained her to admit it. "My ankle is hurt. I think it might be broken."
He sucked in a great gulp of air and let it out through his teeth. A broken ankle was bad to have when you were this far from town.
"Don't you worry, I know just what to do," he said, trying to reassure her. "I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?" she cried, her eyes wild. She tried to stand and fell back down. "Don't leave me!"
"I'm not leaving you. I promise. I just need some rope."
"You swear you'll come back?" she asked, desperation in her voice.
"I swear on the life of my mother, I will not leave you. Ever."
She settled down enough for him to run back to camp. He took Bessie back with him. The rope would be just long enough to reach. He hoped.
"Still there?" Fred asked, making a joke. She didn't laugh. "Right, well, I'm gonna throw this rope down to you. I want you to take it and wrap it around your body. Just tie it tight as you can and hold onto it."
"I don't know if I can," Wilma said. "I'm so tired. I haven't eaten anything all day."
Her voice sounded weak. Something tickled the back of his neck. Fear. His mother had sounded weak like that when she'd lain in the sickbed. Fred pushed that image aside and rolled his shoulders back.
"Wilma Honeybee!" he barked down at her. Her head snapped up toward him, her blue eyes wide and swimming in the last remnants of light. "You listen to me. I am going to throw you this rope. You take it and tie it around your waist. Don't argue with me, just do it."
Wilma nodded.
"Good," he said and threw her the rope. "Now tie it tight, then tie it again. Two knots, understand?"
"Yes," she said, soft as a feather.
"Now reach up above you and hold on tight. Got it?"
She nodded but said nothing. He couldn't see her anymore. They had lost the light. The moon wasn't bright enough to shine into the depths of the hole. Fred took a deep breath and dug his boot heels into the dirt, then he pulled. He felt her weight lift almost at once. She made a small coughing noise but didn't cry out.
He tugged on the rope again and felt her start to come up. His hands worked methodically, moving slowly but surely over the rope, until finally her head came into view. He didn't drop the rope, which would have meant dropping her back into darkness. He bade Bessie forward and tied the rope to her for extra leverage, and while still holding onto it himself, he dropped to his knees and reached for her hand.
She took it with a soft cry that sounded more like music than a sob, and he pulled her up the rest of the way.
She could hardly stand. He was careful to keep her weight on him and not her foot. Her bottom lip quivered. Fred longed to kiss away her fears. Instead, he settled for wrapping his arms around her. She shook against him, crying. Her hands rubbed the back of his neck, making his body tingle lightly all over. Something deep inside him began to pulse.
He pulled away, searching her face for some sign that she was all right. He needed to hear her say it, to know that she was not as badly hurt as he'd feared.
"Wilma..."
"Thank you," she breathed and collapsed in his arms.
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