Noah Chandler awoke in the field where he was attacked. The moon and starry sky provided his only light.
He pieced together his last moments of consciousness and jumped to his feet to look for the two wagons that carried his wife, Sarah and the children. He immediately regretted the decision as his head throbbed in massive pain, causing him to stagger to his knees.
He ran his hands over his body to get his bearings and check for wounds other than his headache. They didn’t take his gun.
He felt his Colt still holstered in place. He crawled on the ground in circles and finally placed his palm on his Winchester.
Did they not look for me?
One final scrounge around the ground kicked up his Stetson—worthless in the dark, but he felt complete while wearing it. He rose and used his rifle as a makeshift cane. The moonlight helped guide him toward the barren road. He had no hope of detecting meaningful tracks in this blackness, but it was obvious the wagons were long gone.
Is my wife dead? My child?
He recalled Sarah’s pleas: “Don’t kill them!”
But was it a plea? Noah ambled in circles in the middle of the road. Sarah sounded more like she was begging for their lives—not her own.
“She knew them,” Noah grumbled to interrupt the cricket chirps. “Why’d they leave me alone? Maybe someone scared them off?”
He continued his pace and welcomed a reddening horizon and approaching daylight. He ran his hand underneath the back of his hat and felt the lump that had formed after he hit the ground. That physical pain devolved into emotional torment when he recalled his wife’s terrified cries.
No way she outran them—not in her condition, not carrying a baby. Good God, where’s my son?
He was certain the attackers were of the same gang that circled him in the grassland days earlier.
Just because Sarah might know them doesn’t mean she controls them. They murdered soldiers. They don’t distinguish between good and evil—they only kill.
The grassy expanse came into Noah’s view and he remembered the two attackers he shot. One would be near the road where he aimlessly paced, but there was no sign of a body. He walked back into the field where he fell, hoping to stumble over a body along the way.
“Wilbur!”
Noah, remembering he tied his horse to a tree, lurched into the woods. He recognized the tree he had lashed Wilbur to and found nothing but horse dung near the trunk.
They took their dead. They took the living. They even took my horse. If they were good and wanted this to end peacefully, they’d have taken them to town and brought help for them and me. They didn’t. Why?
He walked back to the road, thinking about possible locations for safehouses, or good spots to stash hostages. Some of the old codgers in town might know of such places.
Maybe they’re after ransoms now? They know my family’s got money. Maybe I’m the linchpin to this whole mess. Leave me alive so I can facilitate a money drop, or something.
But it didn’t feel right.
Already weakened physically, his mind turned desperate when the enormity of his family’s absence struck him. It was as helpless as he’d ever felt. He had to get back to town. He needed help.
I failed you, Natalie. I failed you, Jake. I couldn’t protect you.
He rubbed away tears and looked up the road when the sounds of wagon wheels replaced the insects. He stumbled toward an approaching two-horse rig. Maybe the driver and his passenger would take him to town. Clearly he was a man in need and they’d take pity on him. He’d pay them whatever money he had stuffed in his pockets. Maybe it was a miracle!
Please, Lord, let it be Harrison and a soldier. Let Harrison tell me where my wife and child are, and that Sarah and Isaac are well.
The rising sun behind the wagon flashed in Noah’s eyes, and he held up his hand to shield the light.
“Whoa, boy,” he heard the driver say as the rig pulled up next to him.
“Please, mister, help me. I can’t find—” Noah looked toward the driver, averting the sunlight enough to identify him.
“Well, shit, look who it is,” the man said.
Noah reached for his Colt as the butt of a shotgun rammed into his face, laying him cold on the ground.
“That felt good.” Lyle handed the shotgun to Franklin, who peeked over Lyle’s shoulder to see Noah sprawled on the road.
“Glad I brought you along, big boy. Hop on out and put that pain-in-the ass in the bed.”
Franklin, as had been his wont of late, didn’t say anything after receiving orders.
“Make sure to take his guns off him, too, Franklin. Wouldn’t want him to wake up and blow off the backs of our heads, now would we?”
“I’d have done it if you hadn’t told me,” he said without emotion as he climbed down and made his way to Chandler. “I ain’t that stupid.”
He handed the weapons to Lyle, who tucked the Colt in his belt and gazed at the Winchester.
“This is nice. Never seen one like this one.” Lyle figured the mechanics and fired a round into the treetops to scatter the birds.
“Day keeps getting better and it’s barely morning.” He admired his new prize.
“We don’t got no rope.” Franklin, with some effort, tossed Noah into the wagon bed and the closed the gate.
“Just keep your eye on him.” Lyle waited for Franklin to sit and clicked the horses to turn around the rig. “If he moves, bang his head against the floor.”
“Fine.” Franklin dare not tell Lyle he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“It won’t take us long to get back to Jenkins’s place,” Lyle continued. “Diggs’ll be happy when he sees what we brung him.”
“You could’ve just killed him back there.”
“The thought crossed my mind, but since we don’t have the freedman’s wife, and this feller was the last one with her, I think we might first want to ask him where she is.”
Franklin thought about it before replying.
“Lyle, he asked you for help.”
“What? You think I was gonna give it to him?”
“No, I mean, he seemed really worried. He said ‘I can’t find’ before you clocked him. He seemed lost.”
“You got all that from him based on a couple of words?”
“No, from the way he looked at you.” The wagon trundled along a few seconds before Franklin capped his thought. “What if he don’t know where the woman’s at?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I saw some branding irons in Toby’s barn yesterday. Start a fire outside when we get back. This boy’ll tell us what he knows—and I’m looking forward to making him.”