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"Fred?" Abel said, squinting toward him. His hair was a mess. It looked as though he had not shaved in weeks. It was the way Abel always looked. "Where'd you come from?"
Abel had turned just enough to face him. The Indian woman stood staring. She stood tensely by, watching each of them. Fred had no idea whether she could understand them. He wished he could communicate something to her. Some small sign that he was there to help her, not hurt her, but he could not risk such a thing. Even if he'd been able to, she would probably not have understood.
"I was heading back toward Helena," he said. "I heard your voices. Thought I'd see how that stagecoach went. The one with the rich man."
Paul let out a low whistle, which sounded garbled coming from his toothless mouth. "Went just fine. Turned out to be an oil man traveling with his wife. They were eager to give up their money."
The men all laughed. They enjoyed talking about the crimes they'd committed, the things they'd gotten away with. Abel had been doing this longer than any of them. His usual route was the Montana Territory, but he'd been known to head into the Dakotas from time to time. He liked to brag that he'd robbed a train once, but Fred suspected that was hogwash. Stagecoaches were plenty enough for him to handle, let alone an entire train. That sort of thing took skill, something Abel was sadly lacking.
"Yeah," Randall said, slapping his knee like he was telling a joke, "we shot the woman when she tried to get away, but some townspeople showed up and we had to go."
Fred's face froze. "You shot a woman?" he asked, his voice gruff. "Was she killed?"
Paul and Randall looked puzzled. "Well Abel's the one who shot her," Paul said. "So, I reckon she was dead enough when we left her. Abel never misses, do you?" He looked over at Abel. The black in his eyes deepened, like two pits in a desert.
Abel narrowed his eyes at him. "She was a half-breed. I saw the Indian in her eyes."
Fred forced his temper not to rise any further than it already had. This was a delicate situation.
Fred's eyes shifted toward the Indian woman. "What's going on with her?" he asked, casually walking toward her, as if he was inspecting her. He wanted to see if she'd been hurt. He tried to make it look as if he was eyeing her seductively, though, hoping they would not catch on. He couldn't' see any marks on her, though that meant very little.
"Caught her down by the river," Paul said. "She was a washing herself when we come along." He snickered.
"I bet that was a sight," Fred said, pretending to laugh with them.
"Sure was," Randall said. "You ever seen the body of an Indian woman? They're pretty as pie. That dark golden skin and such. Too bad they're all animals."
Abel was still watching him.
"So, you got a good look at her?" Fred asked, trying to act as though he were enjoying himself.
"Yeah, she threw on her clothes and started making some sort of animal calls, but we got her away before any of her friends could come and help her."
"I think I might have run into her friends," Fred told them. "Yesterday. A few miles back. Got me with an arrow." He lifted his arm and rolled up his sleeve to show them the bandage Carrie had made for him. She had cut his sleeve open with his knife the day before so that she might get to his wound whenever she wanted. He'd told her it was unnecessary, but she'd batted her long, black lashes at him and he'd gone soft.
The sight of his wound seemed to calm Abel. He grinned at Fred. "Sorry 'bout that," Abel said, spitting at the ground. "Didn't know you were still around here. Might've tried to find you and warn you if we'd known. Thought you was back in Helena seein' to your mom and that bride of yours that was comin' over."
Fred nodded. He was searching them without their knowing it. His eyes moved from Paul to Abel to Randall, checking their weapons. Paul's gun wasn't even holstered. He had laid it on the ground near the fire they'd built, along with some jerky. He was probably getting ready to go wash, or else he was just stupid. It was hard to say.
Randall's gun was on him, but he seemed only slightly aware of it. The gun sat askew in his holster, on the verge of falling out. Fred kept waiting for him to notice it, but it didn't seem he was going to. He walked around the campsite scratching his head and twiddling his thumbs.
Abel was the only one who seemed aware of his gun. He was dangerously aware of it, though. Almost twitchy. His hand moved sporadically to his side, as if checking to make sure his piece hadn't gone anywhere. He tapped it with his index finger, then brushed his thumb pad over it like it was a woman.
"I got a little sidetracked," Fred said. He felt Abel's eyes on him. He turned toward the Indian woman and tried to give her a comforting smile. She merely stared back at him, her expression blank. "Found that woman who ran off on us from Judge Foster's coach."
That got Abel's attention. He dropped his hand from his gun and grinned. "Is that right?"
Fred hoped that Carrie had enough sense to keep quiet. Showing herself now would be the worst possible thing she could do.
"Yeah. She was wandering around, alone and hungry. I helped her out in exchange for a little something from her." He winked at the men and they all busted up laughing. Abel included.
"She was right pretty, as I recall," Abel said. "Skinny, though. Could use a little meat on her."
"Oh, I'd like me a piece of that honey," Randall said. "What'd you do with her?"
Abel looked at him expectantly. Fred hadn't thought that far ahead. He was making it all up as he went along. "Still got her. She's back at my camp."
Randall let out a loud guffaw.
"Tell you what," Fred said, slipping his hand around the Indian woman's waist and ushering her forward. "Let's take this here Indian woman back to my site and have us a little party." He laughed. Randall laughed. Paul laughed. The only one not laughing was Abel.
"Where do you think you're goin'?" Abel said, gritting his teeth together. Fred was halfway to the bushes with her when he stopped and turned back.
"My campsite, like I said. Come on. Gather up your things and I'll meet you down there. It's no more than a mile or so."
He turned back around and kept walking, the Indian woman slightly ahead of him now. He felt her muscles twitching beneath the thin fabric of her dress. She was jumpy, but she was hiding it well.
"Stop right there," Abel said, cocking his gun back. Fred heard it click and stopped moving. He took his hands from around the Indian woman's waist and turned to Abel, smiling.
"What's the problem?" Fred asked. "I thought you'd be interested in a little fun."
"Yeah, but I know you. And you ain't the type."
Fred laughed. He bent over, slapping his hand on his knee, laughing as loudly as he could until Paul and Randall joined in with him.
"What's so funny?" Abel said.
Fred just shook his head. He clamped one hand over his mouth, his face going red. He could hardly breathe. He just kept laughing. He tried to talk but couldn't get the words out. Finally, he just pointed over Abel's shoulder, behind his back. Abel cocked his head to the side and turned around.
Fred stopped laughing. "Run," he whispered to the Indian, no idea if she could understand him. She seemed to take his meaning, though, and seized her chance to go. Her legs moved quickly over the ground in her moccasins. Fred pulled his gun from his holster and fired.
The bullet sailed past Abel's ear, missing him completely. Fred cursed his bad luck. If he got through this, he would practice his shooting until he could hit anyone square between the eyes from a hundred paces away.
Fred didn't waste his time. He aimed and pulled the trigger again, firing a fraction faster than Abel, who was just getting his gun trained on him. Paul pushed Abel out of the way and they fell to the ground, Abel cursing Paul for tripping him up.
Randall fired at Fred, almost hitting his leg. Fred prayed that Carrie and the Indian had gotten out of there. They could take Bessie and still get away. Fred didn't think he was going to make it out of this.
Paul had gotten his gun now, and Abel was standing. Three against one were bad odds. He fired at each man. Each man fired at him. Paul only had one bullet in his gun, though. So, when he fired and missed, he had to stop and reload. Randall was just a bad shot. It was Abel who was going to get him. Fred backed up toward the bushes where he'd left Carrie and saw that she was gone.
He sighed with relief and took three quick steps backward. He was afraid to turn his back to Abel for fear of getting shot, so he just kept walking backward. It was working fairly well until his foot caught in a snake hole. He fell to the ground and scrambled to get back up, but Abel had already descended on him.
Abel hovered over him, the predator that he was. His gun was out and ready, aimed square between Fred's eyes.
"I always knew you was yellow-bellied," Abel said and spat on the ground. "I just didn't know you was an Indian lover, too. Never would have let you in with me these last few weeks if I'd a known that."
Fred's mind ran through one excuse after another, but he could think of nothing to get him out of this. His biggest regret was that he would never get to kiss Carrie again. Never tell her how much he loved her. Never make her his wife.
Please, God. Just keep her safe.
Fred closed his eyes as a gunshot sounded.
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