| |
Justin’s eyes adjusted to the scraps of light from the few stars and quarter of a moon that shown briefly now and again as waves of clouds moved across the night sky.
He headed for the goat pen knowing he needed to skirt the house by a wide margin so Aunt Sara wouldn’t see what he planned, or Scamp spot him from the rooftop, and so he could come around eventually on the far side of the men camped out there. It meant a long hike in the dark, but one he was committed to now.
He picked his steps with care, barely able to make out the difference between a rock and a cactus. He doubted if it mattered if he sent a stone skittering, but he knew of a lot of things he didn’t want to step in out here.
As soon as he could he slipped to the outside of the fence and looked around in the dark, seeking to get his bearings. He would have to go out a ways before looping around to come in from behind the camped men. He started walking.
A bird fluttered abruptly ahead of him, flying almost into his face, and he froze in his steps, waited for his heart to stop pounding like a galloping horse. Then he heard something, or thought he did. He stayed still.
Suddenly he heard braying fill the air. Boxo. He burst into a run, got to the fence, and ran along the outside of the goat enclosure. The goats would usually come to him but, this time they had moved to the far right of the pen, while the braying of the jenny came from the left side up ahead.
He knew Scamp or the others couldn’t leave their posts to come see what was making the commotion. So he ran faster until he could make out Boxo lashing out with her hind hooves at something hanging on the barbed-wire fence.
As he got closer he could see a man caught on the fence with one leg hanging over into the pen. Two men stood behind the stuck one and were pulling at him, seeking to get him free.
Justin stopped, he hoped in time the men didn’t see him. Thick hands grabbed him from behind and threw him to the ground like a calf roped at branding time.
The man held him down while tying his wrists together. Another man bent close and tied a handkerchief across Justin’s mouth so he couldn’t yell out a warning. Only then did it occur to him he should have screamed a warning as loud as he could the moment he spotted them.
The two men wrestling him jerked him to his feet in time for him to see the other men get the man stuck on the fence free. They hurried him back away from the fence and Boxo quieted down, paced back and forth on the inside of the fence, eager for another round.
Justin tried to jerk free, but the hands holding him pinched like claws, and one of the men cuffed him on the side of the head. The other two men were helping the man who’d been stuck on the fence limp toward them.
“You okay, Hank?” one of the men said.
“Dern thing woulda killed me if you hadn’t gotten me clear. Whoever woulda put a thing like that in there?”
“You want to keep going?”
“No. You fellas are gonna have to carry me to my horse. We’re going back to the camp. At least we got the kid here. That’s something. I’m hurtin’ too bad to do much right now. Just help me to my horse, fellas.”
Their horses were tied up a short ways ahead. One man mounted his and another threw Justin across in front of the man, his stomach landing on the saddlehorn and just about knocking every bit of wind out of him.
The rest of the trip back to their camp seemed a jostling blur through the dark to Justin. Gagged, bounced around, gouged in the belly by the saddlehorn all the way, and then tossed to the hard ground like a sack of flour. From there he was dragged reluctantly to a campfire. His eyes swept the men around the fire, but stopped when he spotted Button. She sat on the ground almost out of the light from the fire, her back rested against someone’s saddle. He fixed on her eyes. She glared at him, incredulous that he could be stupid enough to get caught when he should be back defending the house. Her wrists and ankles were tied with leather thongs like his.
The men holding him tossed him down beside her. One removed the handkerchief that they’d used to gag him. He ran his tongue around inside his mouth while wondering what use the handkerchief would be to the ranch hand who shoved it back in his pocket.
They were too busy carrying the one they’d call Hank to put him down on the other side of Button to pay much attention to Justin. He watched them bring sticks and make a rough splint for Hank’s leg. The knee on that leg was swollen to twice its size. Boxo had kicked him pretty good there for a spell. No wonder he’d lost the mood to go on with the attack on the back side of the house. From his grimaces and moans Justin figured the man was in quite a lot of pain, but he couldn’t feel the least bit sorry for him.
With Hank so close to them, and the other men hovering around tending to him, Justin found it difficult to talk to Button. That was aside from her not looking like she wanted to talk. They sat in silence for a good while, her looking away for the most part, except for an occasional angry glare. He wished he was big enough to rattle that Francis like a maraca. But right now he had far bigger problems, perhaps not for long. These men looked full of purpose and when morning broke it didn’t look good for those still in the house, not good at all.
Justin counted five men around this campfire, including Hank, and he could see other campfires. He couldn’t tell for sure how big this party was. His hopes sank lower the more he thought about it.
The men finished up on Hank and propped him up a bare three feet away from Button with his back to his own saddle. He still wore his gun belt. Two of them went away into the dark and the other two busied themselves with putting together a pot of coffee and placing it in the edge of the fire. One of them picked up a bedroll and headed off into the dark, leaving only one by the fire.
A man strolled out of the dark, coming from one of the other campfires and crouched down in front of Hank. “You okay, old son?”
“No. I’m not. Some little jackass was guarding that back pasture.”
“Probably a jenny. One of the fellows said he thought as much. They’ll do that. Kick the snot out of a coyote.”
“Royce, this is no dern joke.”
“You see me laughing? This whole thing is taking too long.”
“Should speed up come dawn,” Hank said.
“Leastwise you can keep an eye on these two, though like as not they’re not going anywhere.” The man called Royce rose from his crouch. His gun hung low on his hip the way Justin knew gunslingers wore theirs. He was about as much a cow hand as Justin was.
Though he’d hoped the man would go back into the dark, Royce went over to the fire and told the man there, “Coffee smells mighty fine. I’ll fetch my cup.”
The man by the fire nodded. Royce walked off and was soon out of sight in the dark.
Justin had been hoping for a bare moment alone with Button so he could speak. That didn’t look likely.
At least with things settling in, some men going to their bedrolls and only the one by the fire standing watch, Justin and Button got less attention. They were pretty much ignored, tied up the way they were. Only Hank grumbled in pain near them. He seemed focused on his leg and cussing every donkey, ass, or burro that ever lived, and especially jennies.
Justin kept thinking over-and-over, “We’re going to die here. We’re going to die here.” He thought it might show on his face, but in the few times she bothered to look his way he saw only dripping venom in Button’s eyes.
That Royce fellow would be back any moment with his cup to get coffee. Justin had little time. He managed to squirm around until he could get his feet up near Button. He nudged her thigh with his boots. Her head snapped toward him, and if he thought she was glaring before that had only been a practice session for the intensity of her hate now. She practically hissed like a snake. He didn’t have time for this. He nudged her again and nodded toward his boot, urgently.
Her head spun away. He nudged her harder. When she turned back he nodded hard as he could toward his boot. She frowned, but at least looked curious. He nodded harder, keeping the corner of his eye on the man by the fire and coffee pot. When the man glanced their way, Justin stopped. At least Hank couldn’t see Justin’s frantic gesturing. The man turned back away.
Justin kept at it, nudging Button and nodding toward his boot. Finally, her harsh look softened and her eyes started to open wide. He smiled and nodded. It was the most they had ever spoken to each other . . . without saying a word.
Justin mouthed the words: “Be careful.”
She nodded back. Button wiggled closer until her bound hands reached the bottom of his pants. She slid the end of his pant leg up until she could carefully put one hand inside his boot. Glancing around, and waiting until she was sure no one was looking, she slowly drew out Francis’s belt knife. As soon as she had it she drew it close and hid it.
Now, for the very first time, she managed a smile, tentative at first, then growing more genuine. Hope is a powerful thing is a situation like theirs, and he had just given her a tiny ray of it.
Justin tried to look away, so as not to call attention to what she was doing. But he caught glimpses of her sawing away at her wrist bonds, and he knew the moment when they let go. She was careful not to let Hank or the man by the fire see that she could move her hands now.
Cutting the leather thongs that bound her ankles took less time. She was free to run now, if she got the chance. He watched her try to suppress a smile, then her face turned stern. Justin could hear footsteps approaching.
“My left pocket,” he whispered. “Quick.”
She hesitated.
“Now!” He’d almost said it out loud. The man at the fire turned and looked toward them, then went back to tossing in bits of kindling near the coffee pot.
The footsteps were getting closer.
She frowned, her brow furrowing, but she reached with one hand and slid it into his pocket. Frowned harder, then pushed deeper. Her face brightened.
She slid her hand out, clutching the derringer, and got it back into her lap so her hands looked still tied together as Royce walked back into the light of the fire.
He glanced at them, then Hank, who lay leaning back, moaning, with his eyes closed.
“If I had any whisky, Hank, I’d of brought you some,” Royce said. He went to the fire, took a leather glove out of his back pocket and used it to pick up the pot and pour coffee into his metal cup. The man by the fire held up his cup and Royce filled it too. “You want any coffee, Hank?”
“No.” Hank drew the word out until it turned into a half moan.
Button watched them, struggling to keep any emotion from showing on her face: fear, joy, hate, eagerness. Justin thought she was doing a pretty good job of seeming to be still miserable when she’d just gotten two weapons into her hands.
He was still tied, and that worried him some. But it had been important to put the weapons into her hands. He’d thought about that all the way here. He knew her well enough by now to know that if he’d just come intending to rescue her and have her be thankful he could expect that to blow up in his face. But if he gave her the means and power to help herself, and him, then he would be treating Button just as she wanted to be treated. Forget all that stuff Francis had been spouting off about.
Royce was talking with the other man by the fire when his head suddenly spun and fixed on Button. “Hank? You sure you got them kids tied up good?” He’d seen something.
“Like two pigs trussed up to go to market.” Hank didn’t lift his head from where it lay on his saddle. “Boys saw to that.”
Royce frowned, didn’t seem convinced. He turned and started to come in their direction.
Uh, oh. Justin figured this was it. They were going to get nabbed before they had anything like a chance. Then he saw someone emerge from the brush of the far side, barely visible in the dim like from the low crackling fire. He looked closely. The man held up a finger to his lips. Justin recognized Lucas Brent, who he had first seen in a stagecoach ride together, one he’d never forget.
The man at the fire may have seen Justin staring. He spun and started to draw. Lucas had his gun out and had fired before the man could even lift the gun clear. He tumbled forward into the fire, making everything dimmer.
Royce whirled. “I guess you got the drop on me. Would you care to holster that and give me a fair go at it?”
“I don’t know about him, but I’ll take some of that business.” The deep voice came from the left. A man in a black shirt stepped out of the shadows and into what little light still came from what was left of the campfire.
When he turned, Justin could make out Vin Thomas, the Vinegar Kid, who he had known as a priest who wore a gun back on the same stagecoach ride.
“You’d best get on with it,” Vin said to Royce. “The others are coming this way and we’ll have to be getting along before they get here.”
Justin saw movement to his left. Hank had eased his pistol from its holster and was starting to lift it toward Vin Thomas’s back.
Bam. Hank jerked, looked down at his side, then at Button. Bam. She emptied the second barrel of the derringer into him. Hank slumped over onto his side.
In the confusion, Royce must have thought the distraction was as good a break as he was going to get. He drew.
He was fast. Give him that. But he never got a chance to pull the trigger. The shot from Vin’s gun sent Royce tumbling to the ground.
Without a scrap of hesitation, Button reached over and slashed at the leather thong binding Justin’s ankles. He felt the leather give and he could move his legs. He held out his hands and she cut those bindings.
Vin held down a hand and helped Button to her feet, and she reached out a hand for Justin and got him to his feet. “Let’s go,” Vin said.
They took off at a run, Button and Justin staying as close as they could to the backs of the men. A bare thirty yards away from the campfire Lucas untied his horse’s reins from a limb and swung up into the saddle. He reached down an arm and swung Justin up behind him.
Justin hung on and saw Vin on horseback with Button hanging on behind him as they surged past him. Vin’s horse was a stallion Justin had heard was called Black Lightning, one that could go like the wind in a storm.
Lucas gave his horse his heels and it did its level best to keep up. Shots came from behind them in the dark. Justin felt sure he heard one whiz by, close enough to worry him.
Another shot ricocheted off a rock. Then the only sound was of their own horses’ hooves as they galloped off into the night.