Montana Territory - 1881
“WE SHOULD BE THERE WITHIN THE HOUR,” MILES SAID, and there was an unmistakable note of anticipation in his voice. As though he understood his master’s words, Blade nickered and shook his mane. Miles patted his horse’s silver neck, stroking him with the knuckle of a bent thumb. I had grown familiar with the mannerisms of both horse and rider during our journey west from Howardsville; I’d even settled on a name for my sweet little dun mare, and now called her Flickertail.
“Is that a species of moth?” Miles had asked. “Or bird?”
“Not one I’ve ever heard of,” I said. “I just like how it sounds.”
“I’ve never seen anything like these rock formations.” I indicated southward, where a gorgeous T-shaped configuration soared out of the ground. I pictured imaginary roots, like those upholding a tree, sunk deep into the earth, anchoring it for centuries to come. The farther west we traveled the more varied the landscape, rocks stacked atop one another as though a giant playing with its toys had arranged them. The sharp scent of sagebrush hung suspended in the hot, motionless air; small pink flowers with five blossoms, which Miles told me were bitterroot, grew in thick patches along the uneven ground.
“They are quite awe-inspiring,” he agreed, removing his cigar to respond. He smoked all the time; I had grown accustomed to the scent of tobacco. I’d requested a drag last night around the fire, to everyone’s mild shock, and my subsequent coughing fit justified their surprise and gave us all something to laugh about. Miles continued, “That rock, in particular. I’ve always had an urge to camp beneath it, though Grant’s homestead is so near there’s no reason. Yonder,” and he nodded to indicate, “is where Henry Spicer intends to stake his claim. There’s some five hundred acres adjacent to Grant’s land.”
“You haven’t thought of claiming it for yourself?” I was wearing the same clothes I’d left Branch’s claim shanty in – Axton’s trousers, belted with a length of rope, one of my own blouses with the sleeves rolled to elbows, my corset (which I detested with a red-hot passion, but not wearing it was out of the question), and a hat Branch had lent me, with a wide brim which kept my face shaded. I felt at ease as I rode, my blouse unbuttoned to just between my breasts, which might have been one button too far but I was so hot, my skin slick with sweat beneath my clothes; besides, no one out here cared about those kinds of rules.
Miles was also sweating under the glare of the sun, black hair tied at the nape of his neck, his shirt likewise unbuttoned and with sleeves rolled back. “I haven’t yet considered claiming my own land, to be honest.”
“Honesty is good.” I teased him a little, trying to coax a smile. His default expression was often a frown, eyebrows pulled low, even though I knew there was a sense of humor in him. But he was ultimately possessed of a very serious nature.
At last he offered me the half-grin I’d hoped for. He rode with effortless grace; I was no good at guile and therefore acknowledged the fact I was attracted to him. A lot attracted to him. Not that I would breathe this fact to a soul. I had no idea what exactly existed between Miles Rawley and me; I only knew I wanted to be around him. I craved his company and tried not to question it any further, at least for now. And, as he had hoped, I’d grown more familiar with him during our ride; we’d been at one another’s side since dawn.
“I meant, I haven’t thought of settling down in one place in the fashion of my brother,” Miles explained. “If Grant hadn’t been injured four years past, I believe he would not have considered such either. Though, married life suits him well.”
Grant, the oldest Rawley brother, had ridden with Miles, Cole, and Malcolm Carter in what Miles referred to as their ‘outlaw days,’ though he insisted they weren’t truly outlaws, only fancied themselves as such, back then. Grant currently raised cattle and made a good living selling beef to eastern cities. Now that the railroads stretched so far into the Territories, ranching had become a profitable business, according to Miles, and a respectable one. Miles had only related a small fraction of their former adventures, and I felt sure he downplayed much of it, but it seemed he, Grant, Cole, and Malcolm had been involved in no small amount of danger and trouble.
“What will your brother and his wife think of all this? They won’t be upset that you’re arriving with three strangers?” I asked as we rode Blade and Flickertail out of view of the T-shaped rock. Not that anything could be done about it at this point; Grant and Birdie were getting unexpected visitors within the hour, whether they wanted it or not. Around last night’s fire, Miles had explained he would relate the entire story to his brother once we’d settled in, but instructed Patricia to shed her married surname for the time being.
Miles arched his back, stretching. “Grant is a reasonable man, not easily shaken. And dear Birdie will be so pleased we’ve brought her feminine company. Not to imply that she won’t be curious and concerned, both. However, I am certain she will adore you at once.”
“What makes you so certain?” I pestered.
“Just a feeling,” he hedged.
Patricia, Axton, and Cole trailed perhaps a mile behind us; Axton drove the wagon with Patricia sequestered in the back while Cole flanked them, riding Charger. I’d unhitched Flickertail from the wagon in order to ride with Miles this morning.
“There is not a soul back east who cares for me,” Patricia had whispered as we walked across the prairie the night we’d fled the depot. Her voice was tinged with iron as she vowed, “I shall never again return there.”
Miles, Cole, and Axton found the man Patricia had stabbed no more than a mile east of town and within an hour of the attack; he’d presumably fallen from his horse and lay supine in the moonlight. Cause of death was the gashes opened across his lower abdomen. Miles told me later it was one of the worst knife wounds he’d ever beheld. They did not recognize him, speculating before the discovery that it might be Vole, but the dead man was unknown and carried no identifying items.
“Mrs. Yancy is a tougher woman than I would have given her credit,” Miles told me.
I couldn’t agree more; despite her small stature and the delicate way she carried herself, I’d witnessed her determination and strength, in spades. Though I’d inadvertently knocked the knife from the attacker’s hand, it had been Patricia whose quick thinking saved us that night. If she hadn’t grabbed the knife from the floor and applied it to his gut, likely he would have strangled us to death, killing us one way or another. It seemed unreal, my mind having blocked out most of what had occurred. I remembered it the way I would the memory of a bad dream, in disturbing, disjointed images.
“The Yancys will come looking for you,” Cole said the morning after the attack, all of us gathered around Branch’s sunrise cookfire, benign yellow light streaking the horizon; Patricia and I had no intent of venturing from Branch’s property until we managed to formulate a plan. Even a scrap of a plan. The men had returned in the night hours with Patricia’s bloody clothing and both bodies in tow, Mrs. Mason’s and the attacker’s; the dead were now wrapped in blankets and tucked into the wagon, which had been stowed in the barn until we – meaning Miles, I gathered – decided what to do. He was banking on the assumption that no one in town knew what had occurred at the train cars.
“Yancy’s men only just left Howardsville on their scouting mission,” Branch said, whittling a stick as he sat on a hewn log, unable to remain still. “They ain’t gonna be back this way for days.”
“Dredd had naught to do with this,” Patricia said, with certainty. She was exhausted, her lovely face wan and drawn. Plum-colored shadows edged her eyes. A faint breeze lifted the ends of her long, waving hair, which she had not pinned up, and she appeared younger than ever. She whispered, “I shall adhere to the belief that my husband was kept out of any decision made to kill me. He has long been Fallon’s fool, but I am not.”
“He’s a dead man if I see him. If I see any of the goddamn Yancys,” Cole said, with stern conviction not one of us doubted; he sat to Patricia’s right, holding one of her hands between both of his. I saw how Axton gauged the amount of intimacy between Cole and Patricia, obviously longing to be the one who dared to make such promises to her.
Miles sighed and was about to speak, but Patricia broke in, imploring, “You mustn’t say such things.” Her blue eyes shone with sincerity. “Please understand. I have already endangered all of you beyond measure. I shall take my leave from this place this very day.”
“No,” Axton whispered.
Cole brought their linked hands to his lips and kissed Patricia’s knuckles. “You shall not. Not if I have a thing to say about it. The Yancys will have to get through me to get to you.”
At his words I felt something inside me shift and vibrate, as if responding to a distant signal. My teeth went on edge; I resisted the urge to cup my temples and apply pressure.
Branch said somberly, “Then you must get your stories in line, you-all.”
Miles, seated on the opposite side of the breakfast fire, met and held my gaze. He was worried as hell, I could tell even with no words and very little movement from him. But ultimately I agreed with Cole; we couldn’t let Patricia return to people who’d tried to have her killed.
“You have to know we won’t let you leave.” I leaned to curl a hand around her knee.
Patricia opened her eyes; her smile was a weak, pale version of its usual self. “I cannot stay. It is not possible.”
“Dammit!” Cole spoke with increasing fervor. “Didn’t you hear a thing I just said?” She bent her head, lips compressing, and he whispered, “Well, didn’t you?”
Miles asked, “Mrs. Yancy, can you think of any reason your husband’s family would wish you harm? What purpose would it serve them?”
Patricia lifted her face. “I must presume it is my father’s fortune which motivated these actions. Thomas is well aware I am my father’s sole heir and while my dowry was substantial, I alone remain in control of Father’s former estate in Boston and a small but profitable silver mine in the former Colorado Territory. Remove me from the equation and Dredd would have immediate control over both properties and their subsequent incomes. More than enough to launch Thomas’s latest business endeavors, whatever those may currently be.” She concluded grimly, “But he shall not have his wish to be rid of me, not just yet.”
I could almost see Miles’s thoughts galloping like a runaway team. He asked, “Does Mrs. Mason have kin, back east?”
“She does not.”
He paused, looking toward the sky as he considered. At last he returned his serious gaze to the fire, directing it at each of us in turn. “I cannot leave this matter unresolved. If we are in agreement, and if I have your collective trust, then I will officially conclude the following – a man attempted to rob the Yancys’ train car last night, met trouble with Mrs. Mason, struck and killed her, fled the scene, and drunkenly fell on his own knife.”
Cole sat straighter, listening with growing hope. “Yes, that’s the way of it.”
“But what of me?” Patricia watched Miles, recognizing him as the one to determine our fates.
Again I could nearly read his thoughts. Before he could speak I did, addressing Patricia as I said, “You were killed, too. It’s the only way.”
My words sank in, earning an eerie silence.
Miles said, “It was my first thought as well, but I am skeptical of the success of such a plan.”
Branch piped up in immediate agreement. “And right you are! That’s a mountain of risk, young’uns. It’s too dangerous. Think of the stink this’ll raise in town. The young wife kilt while her husband’s men were away? The Yancys won’t stand for it! They’ll bring hell down upon the town.”
“Uncle Branch, it’s what they wanted, don’t you see?” Axton leaned forward earnestly. “Even if they raise any kind of trouble, it won’t last long. It would be all for show.”
I nodded, in agreement. “If we let them believe Patricia is dead then their plan worked, at least in their minds. Eventually, probably sooner than later, they’ll let it go.”
Miles studied Patricia. “You cannot imagine the far-reaching consequences of such a decision. Are you willing to release your claim on everything your former life entailed? Life as you knew it, forever out of reach?”
A fledgling sun ray cleared the eastern horizon and cast Patricia’s forehead in golden gilt, tinting her irises a dazzling, otherworldly blue. I shivered almost violently, connected to her in a way I could not have explained, even if tortured for answers; our fates were linked on a level beyond my comprehension.
“My life has already been irrevocably altered,” she whispered, resting the fingertips of her free hand upon her neck; it was her left and the glittering ring placed there by Dredd Yancy seemed to mock her passionate words. “The life I knew vanished with my father’s death.”
Miles pulled no punches but I recognized the logic of his questions. “What of their desire to receive a body for burial in Chicago? Will they not expect such?”
Cole said sharply, “Miles.”
“But he’s right,” I said. “A funeral would be expected.” My thoughts whirled through possibilities. “What if we left it unconfirmed? What if the conclusion is that Patricia simply disappeared and is presumed dead? There’s no one to say otherwise.”
“Thomas or Fallon shall investigate the matter if my death is unconfirmed,” she said, with a note of real fear. “It’s no use. I must return to Chicago or risk endangering all of you.”
“And let them kill you there?” I cried. “Patricia, no.”
“Out of the question,” Cole agreed.
Miles’s thoughts were leaping ahead; he asked Branch, “Have you the canvas covering for the flatbed?”
“I do, indeed.”
“Had we left before dawn, on horseback we’d arrive at Grant’s homestead by mid-afternoon. With the wagon and the delay, it’ll be after dark.” Miles glanced at the rising sun. “I will spend the day in Howardsville tying up loose ends. Cole, I would that you –”
Axton sat straight and interrupted. “I can do it, Marshal Rawley. I can drive the wagon.”
“I’ll drive the wagon, young fellow,” Cole said decisively. He didn’t speak the words but his tone suggested Axton wasn’t up to the task.
Axton was not to be deterred. “You planned to leave town with the marshal today, everyone in Howardsville knows. Won’t it look strange if you’re suddenly up and gone while he’s still about, investigating a disappearance?”
Branch clamped his lips to keep from outright forbidding Axton to go but his eyes were troubled as he watched his nephew’s face.
“He’s got a point,” Miles said to Cole; as he spoke, he snapped a kindling twig into pieces.
“You trust a boy to protect the women?” Cole demanded, jaws squaring as he faced off with his old friend.
“Axton is no boy,” I said before Miles could reply, irritated by Cole’s attitude; more heat than I’d intended crackled in my voice. “He and I can take turns driving the team while Patricia hides in the back. Isn’t that why you asked about the canvas covering?”
Miles nodded; I couldn’t read the exact expression which had overtaken his features, somewhere between speculation and unease.
“I can do it,” Axton repeated, refusing to look at Cole, who was visibly close to losing his cool. Axton, meanwhile, appeared as calm as a windless morning and I was proud of him, though I wouldn’t embarrass him by admitting it just now.
“Cole, you and I will remain in town today,” Miles said, with growing determination. “Gauge the reaction, get a sense of the response.” He fixed his gaze next on Axton. “Head northwest, follow the trail. I don’t have cause to think you’ll need it but I’ll give you the double-barrel and you keep it in reach. Make camp at dusk on Dry Run Creek. There’s a small valley sheltered from the main trail, you can’t miss it.” His eyes locked on mine. “We’ll find you there by evening.”
“Stay, you-all,” Branch implored, unable to keep quiet. “There ain’t no reason you can’t hide out here.”
“It’s too close to town,” Miles said, low and respectful. “There’s not enough room. Besides, seeking refuge with Grant is temporary, at best.”
“We’ll be all right,” I told Branch, loving him and wishing I was as sure as I sounded. “We’ll be back this way before too long.”
He nodded reluctant acceptance but there was little else to do – we had no choice but to move forward.
Though our plan was tentative at best and uncertainties hovered like iron weights over our heads, I was grateful to leave the threat of the town behind. The wagon was creaky and cumbersome but its slow pace allowed for each detail of the foothills to be imbibed. Sitting on the wagon seat alongside Axton I inhaled the rich scents of masses of blooming wildflowers and tall prairie grasses, their heavy, nodding tassels rustling like dry leaves. Even the bright sunshine seemed to permeate my nostrils with each breath; sunlight possessed a sweet, clean smell, often caught in the folds of the laundry I’d hung out to dry.
The sky was as blue as Patricia’s eyes, laced over with gauzy, fair-weather clouds. But for Ranger and Flickertail, pulling the wagon, and birds and butterflies by the dozens, the three of us had no company but each other. We traveled toward blue-smudged mountain peaks across an enormous circle of undulating land, grasses rippling like waves on yellow-green water. Rock formations jutted from the earth in every direction.
“You all right?” I asked Axton once the prairie had swallowed us from view of the cabin.
My voice seemed intrusive; we traveled the first mile in complete silence, as if to speak would go against Miles’s instructions. How I’d hated to ride away from him; I looked back at the last minute, finding him watching, growing ever smaller as the grinding wheels increased the distance between us. He, Cole, and Branch stood in a grim line near the shanty cabin, Miles and Cole on their mounts while Branch, iron cooking tool in hand, observed as we disappeared. Axton kept the shotgun within reach, as promised, while Patricia, bundled in a quilt, lay hidden in the wagon bed, its canvas covering tied in place over the arch of wooden ribs.
“I am,” Axton said in response, releasing a slow exhale with the words.
He and I sat close enough that I could tuck my hand around his elbow, first making sure this wouldn’t impede his hold on the reins; I craved the warmth and security of another person’s touch. I’d slept no more than twenty minutes last night, disturbing thoughts poking my eyes every time they tried to close. And when I did succeed in dozing off, I dreamed of fleeing from men mounted on black horses, stumbling barefoot over rocky ground to escape, dragging Patricia with me, knowing we had no chance.
“Ruthann?” she whispered from behind us, and Axton and I almost clocked foreheads turning to look at her.
She rolled to her knees. Tears streamed over her cheeks and her voice shook as she repeated my name.
“Come up here with us,” Axton said, somewhere between an order and a plea.
I scooted to make room and she clambered between us on the narrow wooden seat, weeping, hiding her face in both hands. Her hair hung loose, falling over her shoulders in soft disarray; a good scrubbing had not fully removed the bloodstains from her slender fingers. Protectiveness surged and I held her tightly. Axton wrapped his right arm around both of us and Patricia collapsed against his chest. Her shoulders shook as she muffled her sobs behind her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked out, again and again. “I am so very sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Axton murmured. “Not one thing.”
“It’s all right, let it out,” I encouraged. Tears burned my eyes at the sound of her despair. “We’re here, Patricia, we’re not going anywhere. Don’t worry.”
“I am…ever so grateful…” she gasped. “For both of you.”
She finally calmed, sobs subsiding as she swiped at her wet face. She was pale as a snowdrift, violet shadows swelling beneath her eyes; her lips appeared likewise puffy. A strand of hair was caught in the corner of her mouth and my heart ached with sympathy and concern to observe as Axton, with tender movements, tucked it behind her ear. Closer to her than he’d ever been, his pining gaze tracked every detail of her face; he swallowed hard and withdrew his arm, sitting straight and refocusing on the horses.
“You have to know we would never let you go back to them,” I said.
“I am selfish beyond compare,” she whispered, rancor in her tone, gaze fixed on the far horizon. She wrapped both arms around her own midsection, in the manner of someone about to vomit. “You are in harm’s way for helping me and I cannot forgive myself.”
“Patricia. That’s not true.” I reached and shook her knee, for emphasis.
“If harm comes our way, I aim to stop it,” Axton said; his tone vowed, I would do anything for you.
“You need rest,” I said, concerned anew, for both of them. I couldn’t exactly initiate a talk with Axton, especially since the main topic of the conversation was in such close proximity. Infusing my voice with decisiveness, I added, “Come on, I’ll try to sleep, too. Ax, you all right for a while?”
“Course, Ruthie,” he murmured, looking my way.
I held his gaze for a heartbeat and he crinkled his brows, sensing I was trying to communicate something to him, unsure what.
Later, I told him. We’ll talk later.
To my surprise, Patricia and I slept for hours in a row and the day passed uneventfully. Axton pushed on until the sun began its long, melting descent toward the west; I woke before Patricia and cautiously skirted her sleeping form as I rejoined Ax on the wagon seat, squinting against the low, bright glare of afternoon. I’d slept without dreaming and my head was somewhat clearer; by contrast, my mouth tasted like rust and my hair was a mess of tangles. Miles had mentioned a creek by which to set up camp and I intended to bathe no matter how cold the water. The air was pleasantly mild, the sun warm and languid on my face. I leaned around the edge of the wagon to survey the land behind us, longing for a glimpse of Blade cantering our way.
But there was nothing but empty miles.
“You feeling better?” Axton whispered.
“I am. How’s your back? You’ve been hunched over those reins all day.” I briskly applied my thumbs between his shoulder blades and along his nape, and he issued a low, appreciative groan. Keeping my voice at a whisper, I implored, “Ax. I don’t know how to say this…”
I had his full attention and pressed on before losing my courage; it was Axton, for heaven’s sake, with whom I’d discussed many an intimate topic in the past two months. But this was different. Words failed me as I studied his familiar face; the deep green of his eyes shone with traces of gold in the sun. His lips were slightly parted, as if poised to ask me what in the hell I was so worried about saying. Of course he wouldn’t think of interrupting me; it was not his way.
“I’m so proud of you,” I blurted. “I think the way you stood up to Cole this morning was really impressive.”
His brows lifted in two perfect arches of surprised pleasure.
“I like Cole, I really do, but he’s…he’s just…” I faltered, hating the way I was messing up this chance to talk to him about Patricia. What was my exact intent, anyway?
“He’s what, Ruthie?” Ax prompted. His shoulders had squared, as if I was about to relate something truly dreadful.
“He’s cocky,” I whispered in a rush, peeking over my shoulder to ensure Patricia was still sleeping. “And vain. She’s infatuated by him, I can tell…”
As if alerted by the tension in my voice, Patricia stirred and I gritted my teeth. I wanted to tell Axton I thought he was a better man all around – but then again, who was I to make such a determination? I hardly knew Cole; I was using my limited impression of him to make judgments, which was unfair. Besides, Patricia remained a married woman; it was not something she could simply wish away.
Axton continued to study me, his eyes serious and full of questions.
“We’ll talk more tonight,” I promised.
He nodded understanding and then murmured, “There’s the creek, yonder.”