Colonel John Leiper of the local militia, at your service.”
Ben shook hands with the man, who looked as rough as Ben did himself from weeks on the hunt, and lean and weathered to boot, about twice Ben’s age. “Good to meet you.”
They sat down, each with a tankard. Ben felt the other man sizing him up, just as he did Leiper. “So, I hear you have a connection with these rascals.”
“My cousin Thomas Langford was their first known victim, last December. I’ve been on their trail most of the time since.”
“Myself as well, these past couple of months.”
“What news of late?”
“What was the last you heard?”
“Well, I came with a party up the Kentucky Trace almost three weeks ago, and it was James Brassel, John Tully, and the two Trisword families on that stretch. Then I heard of a young Negro boy, and a father and son who were clearing land.” Leiper nodded, and Ben went on, “More than a week ago, most of a posse met an ill end, but beyond that, I’ve not been able to sort between fact and rumor.”
Leiper wrapped both hands around his tankard. “I can attest to a few more. About that same time, there was a little girl who’d wandered from her mother and father, out picking berries.” He grimaced. “The description of what they’d done does not bear repeating, but she was—dismembered. Naturally her mother is inconsolable.” He cleared his throat, glanced aside for a moment. “There was also a young man of the area, a Silver May, who with a young neighbor woman, Helen Levi, was taken—she while at her spinning wheel, of all things—and much tormented until he died. Helen survives, although badly beaten.”
“She survives? Truly?”
“Aye. Her family and neighbors keep watch on her, though, day and night. They fear for her soundness of mind.” Leiper shook his head a little. “And yesterday a man was murdered coming back from one of the salt licks. Trowbridge his name was.”
Ben spread one hand flat on the table. “God have mercy. This just gets worse and worse.”
“It does. Things have been mostly quiet for the past week, though old Jim Slover said he’d had a near run-in with two men who just moved into a nearby cabin, up near Red Banks, and who he thought were likely the Harpes. One tried a shot but his gun only snapped, and Slover took off. He got a couple of men up to help him watch the place, but the women weren’t there, and he wasn’t even sure it was the same men, so they gave up and left ‘em alone. Then there was Trowbridge a day or two later, so—foolish it was, to think they’d gone far.” Leiper’s eyes narrowed. “I’m determined to see this out, however long it takes. You’re more than welcome to come stay out at my cabin and ride with me when next the call goes out.”
“I’d be honored,” Ben said.
Not for the first time, but he still meant it.
“Does the post serve this town yet?” he asked.
“Madisonville? I think not. Soon, though.” Leiper shrugged.
Ben suppressed a sigh. He’d not yet been able to send Rachel—or anyone else—a letter.
Lord, have mercy on us indeed. Cover and protect us—and give us clear eyes for the hunt. Let these monsters show their hand soon.
No letters, but that didn’t surprise Rachel. She knew the post only ran to the middle and eastern parts of Kentucky. It barely went to Nashborough at this point.
News, however, traveled like wildfire. How much was truth and how much simply wild tales, one could never tell. She spread the paper across the counter. Once in print, either way, folk believed it like gospel truth.
If even half of it was true …
Merciful Lord in heaven, protect us all. But especially Ben, and any other men who give their time to catch these wicked men.
She shook her head, remembering that wedding two years past. And … protect and preserve Sally, Lord. She so needs You. As do we all. But You know how heavy my heart is for her.
The Leiper family was kind and welcoming, and Ben hadn’t realized until then how much he missed ordinary family life. After supper they spent a quiet evening, during which Ben engaged in several games of checkers with a serious lad who peppered Ben with questions and then pestered his father to let him go along the next time the Harpes reared their ugly heads. Leiper just laughed and told him he’d think upon it.
Housed in the narrow, cramped loft of a cabin that looked much like any other in that part of the country, Ben slept reasonably well, after settling the restlessness of his heart in a time of prayer for Rachel, her family and his, and the entire situation.
Oh, how he missed her. But like Leiper, he would see this through.
A leisurely breakfast followed the next morning, and Leiper and his children, the boy and a pair of twin girls about four or five, engaged in the happy task of showing Ben about the farm.
The sun had climbed high and they’d just returned to the house to dip water from the well when a rider galloped into the yard, clattering to a stop. Leiper and Ben both swung toward him, hands on their guns, but the man only pulled off his hat and swept a forearm over his sweating brow.
“Moses Stegall,” Leiper greeted him. “What’s the trouble, man?”
The big man shook his head, gaze casting wildly about. Both he and his horse panted, and Ben motioned to the boy to dip another pail of water for both.
“My house—burned this morning, with my wife and babe inside. And Bill Love too, who was spendin’ the night.”
“Dear God,” Leiper murmured.
“Silas McBee and William Grissom was there before me, and told me they’d found both Love’s and my wife’s bodies, half burned. My—my wife—she’d been stabbed—three knives, one of ‘em her own butcher knife—still in her—”
Stegall bent, nearly double in the saddle, but accepted the dipper Ben passed him and drank noisily. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve again, he nodded his thanks and hauled in another deep breath. “I know it’s the Harpes. I just know it. I ran into them yesterday on my way down t’ the salt licks—don’t ask me why I didn’t let anyone know, I’m sure enough sorry now—and Big said I owed him a dollar. So I told ‘im to go ask my wife.”
He leaned one forearm on the saddlebow and sat there, hunched, for a moment.
“Do you be organizing a posse?” Leiper asked, with deadly quietness.
“I do.” Stegall’s gaze went to him and then Ben, in desperation. “McBee and Grissom are also in. Will you come?”
“We’ll both come,” Leiper said. “Go stable your horse. I have a couple other men I’ll go ask as well.”
Stegall shook his head. “I’ll come along. Can’t rest until I see this done, I reckon.”
Sally was tired of riding. Tired of running. Tired of hiding.
Tired of living.
She didn’t know why they wouldn’t just go and leave her behind.
God, please …
She didn’t even know what to pray anymore.
After a week of hiding out in the woods, where the men were gone more than not, Big and Little hustled them through packing up—how many times this made, she couldn’t say—and led them off south and east.
At least, she thought it was south and east.
The sun glared in her eyes as they wound on a trace so narrow it could hardly be called a path—Big and Little were good at finding such things—so she closed her eyes and tipped her head.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love …
The tune broke from her throat, just the softest hum, but the words would not be denied for long.
“O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothèd then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away …”
“Who’s singin’?” Micajah growled. “Stop it, right now.”
Sally sucked in a breath, her eyes popping open. It was like surfacing from a lovely dream only to find she was trapped in a nightmare.
Wiley cursed. “Worse than the babies crying.”
She couldn’t stop the tears, nor did she want to. Oh sweet Eady …
Lord, am I still Yours? Does Your blood cover even this? Oh Lord … I’m so sorry for wandering away from You. Maybe—maybe if I’d trusted You sooner—none of this would have happened.
A bit of scripture floated through her memory, We know that all things work together for good …
Can You still bring good out of any of this?
It was a solid bunch Ben rode with this time, all swearing to hunt the Harpes and bring them to justice at last, whatever the cost, no turning back.
He owned he was ready for that himself, after nine long months of this.
He and Stegall had made the rounds with Leiper the day before, and they’d collected two other backwoodsmen that Leiper said were their most solid choices for holding firm under fire, should the need be, a Matthew Christian and a Neville Lindsay. They set out from Leiper’s before dawn the next day and made the trip back northwest some fifteen or twenty miles, arriving about midmorning at McBee’s, where another half-dozen men were gathered and introductions made all around. An older man by the name of John Tompkins told how just two evenings before, he’d met a pair of rough-looking but decent-seeming men claiming to be Methodist preachers and had invited them to supper. The bigger man stood and gave what Tompkins swore was a fifteen-minute grace before the meal, and both were as personable and warm as could be throughout. “In fact,” Tompkins said, “when they asked me why I had no meat at supper, I told them I’d run out of gunpowder and so hadn’t shot any deer in some time—and that big one just pulled out his horn and poured me a teacup full of powder, generous as you please.” He shook his head. “Who could have guessed they’d turn out to be such scoundrels, and yet leave me still living and breathing.”
“I’m betting it was them at my house after dark fell and the moon was up,” McBee grumbled. “I heard my dogs make a racket, and looking out, saw them bitin’ and snarlin’ around a pair of men. Figured the men was up to no good, so I didn’t call ‘em off.” He huffed. “I’m guessin’ they went to Stegall’s after that.”
Moses Stegall had recovered somewhat but still looked stricken. “I wish I’d gotten home sooner,” he muttered.
McBee reached over and patted his shoulder. “We’ll catch ‘em, man, I promise.”
The chase did nothing to soothe Stegall though, and Ben couldn’t blame him. A wife and baby freshly dead—they’d hardly stopped long enough to bury his wife’s charred body, and what little they could find that remained of the babe—and the past year and more’s labor in smoking ruin.
And then, just before leaving McBee’s, while they were still in the process of making sure women and children left behind were properly fortified and defended, word came that yet another two men were found slain on the road to the salt lick, by name of Hutchins and Gilmore. It was readily agreed that the search party would use that as a starting point.
Ben kept watch but let the others track, since they knew the country better than he. Some had begun to look familiar—but then the rolling hills interspersed with hidden rills and caves looked much the same mile after mile.
Still, this was the easiest tracking Ben had witnessed yet. They struck the trail just south of the road leading to the salt lick, but it wasn’t long before they nearly lost it again, in what appeared to be the tangle created by a drove of buffalo. Their quarry’s intent remained too obvious, however, and before long they’d picked up the trail again. Interestingly, it appeared that the party of Harpes had split in two, parting and following roughly parallel paths for a mile or two before converging again.
And then—the trail was perfectly clear.
At nightfall, they camped on the western bank of the Pond River, ate a quick supper, then tucked in for whatever sleep could be snatched. Many of the men were snoring in minutes. Ben envied them, as he and others tossed, seeking either a better position or more tranquil thoughts.
Somewhere out there, likely on the other side of the river, were the Harpes. Would tomorrow be the day they finally confronted them?
Ben slept at last, only to be awakened by a short but brisk rain shower sometime after midnight, but that ended quickly and most of them fell back asleep. Dawn found them stirring and saddling up again after the briefest of breakfasts. They forded the river and easily picked up the trail on the other side.
Under the spreading trees, the morning cool lingered even as the sun rose higher. It seemed, though, that the entire country held its breath, waiting, watching—
“Hie there, here’s something,” Leiper called out from his place in the lead.
Two hunting dogs, lying beside the path with their throats cut.
“Those look like the hounds belonging to Hutchins and Gilmore,” Tompkins muttered, and McBee nodded.
“I’d say the Harpes took ‘em along, and then, when it looked like the dogs might give ‘em away by their barking—” The man chewed his lip, shifting his solid frame in the saddle. “Seeing as how the bodies haven’t bloated up in the heat, they haven’t been here long.” He lifted his head and looked around. “We might want to dismount. Send three or four of our best on foot ahead, while the rest bring the horses along, slowly. Stealth is our best weapon here, like Indians.”
Leiper, Stegall, Christian, and Lindsay ran ahead on foot, while Ben, McBee, Grissom, and Tompkins all each took an extra horse. Ben chafed to be left behind with the older men, but owned that he might not be as skilled as the backwoodsmen at being quiet.
They’d only gone another mile or so farther, however, before the four came trotting back and remounted. “There’s nothing this close,” Leiper said, “and we’re too slow on foot anyhow.”
They settled in, riding single file down the trail again, looking this way and that as they wound up and around a rugged hillside.
Movement caught his eye, over on a hillside opposite them, across a narrow hollow. At the same moment, McBee pointed and cried out, “There they are!” and spurred his horse off the trail.
And surely it was. Not two men, but three—all afoot, Micajah holding a horse, while he and Wiley faced the third man. Both Micajah’s and Wiley’s heads came up. Wiley took off on foot, while Micajah leaped on his horse and sped away.
Ben and the others were already in pursuit, behind McBee, crashing through the bushes. The third man turned toward the mounted party then suddenly darted to the side and hid behind a tree, which did not quite cover him. McBee drew his horse to a sliding halt, and taking aim with his gun, which he’d loaded the day before with two balls, fired away—just as Stegall cried out, “Don’t shoot! It’s George Smith, from up the river.”
The smoke from McBee’s gun was still billowing when the man squealed, hit, and came staggering out from behind the tree. “Squire McBee! I’m so sorry—don’t shoot again—”
McBee lowered the gun and swung off his horse. “What are you doing, man? I might have killed you!”
He inspected the man’s wounds—both balls had found their mark, in his right thigh and arm, but neither appeared to be life-threatening. Smith was shaking, half laughing, half sobbing. “I’m sorry. I was ‘most out of my senses, expectin’ to be killed any moment by the Harpes—and then you all rode up and I just couldn’t recover soon enough and treed instead of calling out.”
“Well.” McBee set to reloading his gun. The Harpes were quite out of sight already. “How did you happen upon them?”
“I was just out huntin’ and came upon Little Harpe on foot, gun in one hand and kettle in the other, going for water in the creek there. He commenced to asking me about the settlements, but I could tell by the way he talked loud, he must have wanted someone else to hear—and then Big rode up and dismounted.” He heaved a breath and peered up at McBee. “I’ve never been so glad in my life to have someone show up as y’all. Might you do me the favor of helping me back home?”
McBee peered at the forest around them. “If he was on foot, coming for water, their camp must be close. Let us go on in pursuit, and then we’ll be back. Will you be fine on your own for a little while?”
Smith nodded, and taking himself over again to a tree, sat down heavily. “Aye, I’ll just rest a bit.”
Ben, Leiper, and Stegall were already inspecting the ground for the trail, and the party set off again.
Sally woke in the cool dimness of the little cave they’d found, tucked under a rock overhang in the side of a hill, its opening shielded by yet another stone outcropping. Big and Little were already up and about—Little had taken the kettle for fetching water, and Betsey and Susan were about the work of tending little Joe and Lovey. Both were old enough to sit up now—well, Lovey nearly so—and both grinned widely at their mamas and the world at large as swaddling was changed and such.
Sally’s breasts had finally ceased their aching—but her heart, not.
In short, an early morning like so many others.
A clattering came from outside the cave, and Big ducked inside, expression fierce and breath coming fast. “Get your things—we have to go.”
“What?” Susan burst out. “I thought you said no one would find us here.”
“Just shut up and come, woman!”
He went back out—likely to saddle the horses. Susan and Betsey exchanged a glance and were in motion immediately. Sally grabbed her bundle—she’d not properly unpacked the night before—and followed them out.
Little was there as well, the reins of a saddled horse already in hand.
“—should just kill the babies too and be done with it,” Big growled. “They’ll only slow us down.”
“Nay!” Susan cried, shrill.
Little only grimaced. Big turned upon her, his visage terrible in its fury. “Dinnae ye want to live, woman?”
Susan and Betsey both paled, exchanging another glance. “I—” But she could only shake her head.
A strange calm settled over Sally. “Let me take ‘em. I’ll keep them safe—give them a chance—give y’all a chance at getting away too.”
Big looked murder at her, but unmoved, she tossed her bundle aside and held her arms out to the other women. “Here. Please, let me do this.”
Susan gritted her teeth then handed Lovey off to her. Betsey followed suit, and Sally balanced the two, one on each hip, as the women scrambled to mount.
“We’ll go thataway,” Big said, pointing down the hill, “and you go the other. We’ll meet up—oh, over opposite Cave-in-the-Rock again, I reckon.”
He cast Sally another glance then mounted up again and led the other women off at an angle down the hill, as fast as the horses would allow.
Little stood still, staring at the ground, making no move to mount.
“Wiley.” She spoke his name, but he gave no sign of hearing. “Wiley,” she said again, stepping toward him.
He tossed the reins over the horse’s head, checked the cinch, then froze. Finally he did look at her, his eyes shadowed, pleading and desperate.
They stared at each other until the crackling of leaves and brush carried to them, from somewhere out of sight around the ridge. Wiley threw himself on the horse, and without a single word, galloped away, in a different direction than what Big had directed.
Sally blew out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and shifting the babies on her hips, carried them inside the cave and set them down. “Don’t y’all get yourselves into trouble now. I’ll be back.”
And so she was standing there outside the cave, waiting, when the other men came, more than half a dozen. The lead was a stocky man, not old but not young either, who gazed at her sternly then looked around, as they all did. “Are the Harpes still here?”
She folded her hands into her ragged skirt. “They’ve gone. Big Harpe was just here, mounted each of his women on a good horse, then took off.” She nodded off down the hill. “That way. Little took off as well.”
The man bobbed a nod to her and led away in the direction she’d indicated, the rest of the party following.
“Sally,” a voice said, startling her.
She looked up into the bearded face of a younger man who could be any backwoodsman, except—“Mr. Langford?”
“It’s me, yes,” he said, with a thin smile, barely holding his horse back. “Did they leave you here alone?”
She nodded, her gaze straying to the search party stretching in a rough line across the hillside, picking their way down, then looked back at him. “They left the babies here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
He glanced about then apparently coming to a decision, gave a firm nod of his own and said, “I’ll be back for you, I promise,” and took off after the others.
Feeling weary beyond her years, yet with an eerie lightness, like she was in someone else’s body, Sally grabbed her bundle and trudged back inside the cave. More than half their provisions still lay scattered around. Little Joe sat sucking his fist, grinning at her through the slobber, while Lovey had rolled to her back and tried to grasp her feet through the swaddling.
Dropping her bundle, she took her blue cloak, spread it out over against the wall, and carried the babies to it, one at a time. Then she lay down, and while Joe amused himself with the edge of the cloak, she nursed first Lovey to sleep then shifted to her other side and did the same with Joe. She had little enough milk left, but they seemed satisfied.
She’d nearly drowsed off as well when a clattering of horses’ hooves echoed again from outside. Sally carefully disentangled herself from the sleeping babes, and rising, was refastening her clothing when the man leading the party appeared in the opening, pistol in hand and pointed at her. “Where again did you say they’ve gone? If you’ve deceived me, woman, I’ll shoot you right here and now.”
Mr. Langford was right behind him. “McBee—”
She sighed and brushed off her skirts. “You’d be doing the world—and myself—a favor, I promise you.”
Brushing past them both, she emerged into the sunshine. The rest of the search party pulled their horses out of the way, as if she were also armed and would somehow fell them on the spot. But she ignored them all, and tracing the path where Big and the women had gone, walked a few steps down the hill and lifted her arm to point. “There, that way,” she said, turning back to meet the older man’s gaze.
Only slightly less severe, he glared back then put the pistol away. “Y’all go on—I’ll catch up,” he said to the others, and except for Mr. Langford, they filed away once more, on the corrected path this time.
The man marched over to where the Harpes’ horses were tethered—they’d acquired several by now, some for riding and others as pack animals—and took the one that was still saddled. “Get on. You’ll come with us.”
“But—the babies, in the cave—”
He glanced toward the opening in the rock, shook his head. “Nothing for it. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“McBee,” Mr. Langford said, in a tone of protest.
The older man rounded on him. “Do you want to stay and be nursemaid, or catch the Harpes? I’m not leaving this one behind. We can come back for the infants.”
Chewing his lip, looking furious, Mr. Langford finally nodded. “Come, Sally. I’ll give you a leg up.”
With another sigh, she climbed on, without question. Better to be in their company than another moment with Big—or Little. But—
Lord, protect the little ones! And let us not be away too long.