Her Runaway Heart's Safe Harbor, page 28
“Yeah?” He glared at her with suspicion. “You never mentioned any of that when you worked the Redeye. Matter of fact, you never did have no time for me. Just looked down your nose like I was a bug, or somethin’.”
“I’m sorry. That was a terrible mistake, I see that, now. I hope you won’t… well, you won’t hold that against me…”
In another minute, she’d be babbling like any runaway brook, and then she wouldn’t be able to stall him off for all the tea in China. She tried again, though it was hard going. “For instance, how long have you… you know, felt, well, attracted to me?”
“Attracted? Attracted!” With a snort, he began to paw at her bodice. “Yeah, guess you could call it that. Long time. But Garcia, he said no.”
“Garcia. Oh.” Deftly she avoided his big hot hands with the sausage fingers.
“He gives you orders, does he, I, well I suppose you must obey?”
Another snort. “That’s what he thinks. That’s what everybody thinks. But I go my own way. Little does he know, I got my own trail I’m workin’ on, puttin’ aside my own share of money from all our deals. One of these days, I’m gonna skip out on that miserable low-life. And you, well you can come with me!”
As if he were bestowing upon her some signal honor!
She purposely allowed her eyes to widen with apparent admiration. “Oh, would you really do that? I would love to live a life of ease, with a wealthy man and all his… assets. It might have been meant for you… for you to find me. But I don’t know. I mean, how exactly did you find me?”
“I was here on some other business, happened to overhear some perky little blonde gal givin’ you the rub. Spreadin’ word wherever she could about you and that lawman, livin’ in his house and not carin’ nothin’ about gossip. Man, did she go after you. Not friendly, not one bit!” Chortling, he leaned forward, avidly searching for the charms she refused to share.
Blonde gal. Clytie Freeman. So. She was the one to blame for this predicament.
Almyra set her teeth. Well, she had been warned.
Twisting futilely in the man’s grasp, she managed to get out, “How soon? How soon would you be leaving?”
“Dunno. I already got that one feller to blow up a buildin’ in your yokel town. Hadda make everybody scared enough they won’t bother much when the real trouble hits.”
Sounds came from deep within the trees—a loud cawing from several crows, then the sudden thump of a branch falling unexpectedly with a loud crack—startling his horse. The animal lifted his head, sniffed the air, then gave the equivalent of an equine shrug and returned to his lunch.
“You were the one who planned that? Why, how masterly!” She choked over the words. “Certainly everyone has been worried, and upset. But of course you know that the man you hired was hurt, in the blast.”
“So I heard. Too bad for him if he’s so dumb he didn’ move ‘fore the fuse stopped sizzlin’. Gimme a look, will ya?” Pedro growled, back to fumbling with the buttons and collar at her throat. “Let’s see what you got hidden under there.”
Teasingly, though she was feeling absolutely sick at her stomach, she slapped his hand away. “Now, now, soon enough. I want to hear more about all your exploits. I don’t know why, but such manly doings seem to heighten my appetite. Now what’s this about the real trouble you arranged?”
“Gonna kill off the law,” he said with a chuckle, beginning to preen. “Get rid of all them wearin’ badges. See, they’re such straight arrows that Garcia, well, me and Garcia, we figured we’d never get ’em to turn crooked like the others. Anyway, then we put in our own puppet sheriff, take over Jamboree, and we’ll be sittin’ pretty.”
“How ingenious!” Were her coos of acclaim ringing hollow? Apparently not, as he seemed to be swallowing the overdone flattery, hook, line, and sinker.
“Why, you have small towns and their officials falling in a row like dominoes! Marvelous!” Somehow, she conjured up a smile that spoke volumes were it to be read correctly. “I just know you will be fabulously successful, Mr. Mayhew.”
“You betcha, sweetheart.” That came as a low, sensual growl, even as he took hold of a long clump of her hair and bent forward to sniff. “Ah, smells mighty good. What is that stuff?”
Shampoo, she wanted to scream at him; an item with which you are clearly unfamiliar.
“Jasmine,” she purred right back at him. “From here on, I’ll wear it for just for you.”
Never again. Sackcloth and ashes, instead, forevermore.
Tremulous, she reached up to smooth the open collar of his shirt, along with a rim of bare skin. “Now, really, do tell me how Martin Twining entered your plans. Surely, he was simply a little fish in the big pond around which you’ve been swimming.”
“Twining? Huh. Nothin’ much to him. Garcia figured the man would be under his thumb, but Twining found out too much and skipped out. Sure couldn’t have him off blabbin’, could we?”
“Absolutely not. But it does seem that your brother, for claiming to be the leader, made a bad mistake there. Were you forced to—um—do away with this Benedict Arnold?”
“With who?”
“Martin Twining. The one who might betray your cause. Oooh, did you use your gun? Did you bury his poor body off in a swamp somewhere, so it’ll never be found?” Could she act any more like a fatuous simpleton, devoid of the slightest intelligent thought?
He frowned. “Didn’t have to. Garcia told me, I mean, Garcia asked me, to stash him, after me and Cato and a couple of the boys snatched him up outside his boardin’ house. Had to knock him around a mite, and tie him up, just like you, sweet cakes.”
The desperado’s heavy-handed attempt at obsequiousness nearly curdled her stomach.
“I understand.” Lowering her lashes, she pretended a compliance that she would never feel. “Well, I’m trying to plan my future, so I’m curious as to when and where the next travel will be. Does that mean you’ll have to retrieve him at some point?”
“It’s whatever G—whatever I decide. It ain’t too far, though. We stuck him in this deserted line camp Cato found a while back, off land belongin’ to the Lazy L. I can show you later, if you want; the place ain’t far outta our way. All right, enough chatter. Time to get down to business now, time for you to start bein’ real nice to me.”
Almyra inhaled sharply but silently.
She’d gathered what information she could, and it was time to make her move. Now or never.
There, in the middle of the trodden earth that served as a link between towns, she picked up her skirts and fled.
“Hey!” Pedro, taken by surprise, yelled at her retreating form. “Hey, you weren’t s’posed to run. You promised!”
Fool! As if her promise to such a misbegotten piece of humanity would count as anything more than a lie!
With the sound of his boots and his outraged shouts pounding after her in pursuit, she made it to a grove of trees. Nothing to hide behind, of course; nothing even to duck around, for concealment. Casting frantically about, she spied a few fist-sized stones scattered here and there. A weapon, of sorts!
Stooping, she grabbed the nearest to her feet, whipped upright, and hurled without thought.
“Hey!” her abductor, halting dead a short distance away, cried out again. He raised one hand to his stubbly jaw, where a red mark was already forming. “That hurt!”
“It can’t possibly make up for your hitting me, you lout!”
And she hurled another missile, with deadly, if accidental, accuracy.
“Ow!”
A third, and a fourth, heaved hard and fast, and then she was once again fleeing for her life. But Pedro had recovered, and he was speedier in fact than his bumbling manner would indicate. Nor was he hampered by slim little dress slippers and hems that, even bereft of supportive hoops, dragged in the dirt.
With one hand, he latched onto her waist and hauled her flat against his chest like a sodden bag of grain. He was grinning as, twisting her wrist behind her back, he leered as if he had suddenly been given all the time in the world to satisfy his wishes, and he intended to thoroughly enjoy the experience. Now. Right here, off the road and partway into a forest of brush and brambles.
“You’re gonna pay for them rocks,” he snapped. “’Fore Garcia gets his mitts on you. Me, first. And lemme tell you, I’m guessin’ it’ll be well worth every hit I took. Now, c’mere, you hellion, and give me what I want.”
“Scum!” she cried savagely, kicking out at his shins. “I’d rather kiss a scorpion!”
Soft shoes could hardly do any damage against bone, and she ended up only hurting her own toes. But, with gumption somehow come flying back in a rush, she refused to go down without a fight.
“That… can be… arranged,” panted her adversary, struggling with her for control. “Dangit, hold still. This won’t take long. Not long at all.”
“A lot less time than you think, Mayhew,” said a hard, rough voice from the rear, a few yards away. “Which means none. And let’s see you kiss a scorpion.”
Pedro, with a painful grip around Almyra’s wrist, had whipped around at the first words. Shocked to have been caught, jaw agape, he could only stand and stare.
“Cooper!” cried Almyra, in amazement, relief, and joy, and jerked away.
Her kidnapper made one swift grab to regain hold. Unsuccessfully.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” warned the sheriff.
His weapon was trained straight and true, as were the weapons of both men flanking him on either side, Deputies Kyle Smith and Harm Kittredge.
“But I… but you… we were—” stammered Pedro, unable to believe that the captor had just become the captive.
Freed, stumbling under a whole heart full of emotions, Almyra started toward the cadre of staunch, stout lawmen who had somehow managed to track her down. Before she could reach Cooper, however, he held up one hand, palm out, to halt her.
“A minute, Alma,” he told her pleasantly.
Holstering his Smith & Wesson, he stalked toward their prisoner, and said, “Consider this the scorpion’s kiss in return, you no-good half-witted sidewinder!” Then he hauled off with a powerhouse blow to the chin that flattened the man like a steam roller.
Almyra gasped. And then burst into tears.
Immediately he turned to sweep her into his arms, wrapping her up as the warmest quilt, the sturdiest encircling band, the most sheltering haven he could provide. Desperately, she nestled herself into the hollow of his shoulder, holding on for dear life. Had it been possible, she would have welded herself to his frame, to be part of his strength and solicitude forever.
The deputies had quite happily taken charge of the outlaw, hauling him upright and fastening cuffs around both his wrists, and none too gently, either, while he loudly protested at the inhumane treatment. Then the lawmen stood off to the side, shifting from one foot to the other, hemming and hawing, waiting until this tender moment of reunion had reached its peak.
At last, the couple slowly separated. Both were beaming, Cooper with an expression of deep and utter satisfaction, Almyra through a rainbow of drying tears.
Diffidently, she came forward to greet her rescuers. “Gentlemen, to say I am delighted to see you is truly an understatement. And I have so much to tell you. First of all, we must go release Martin Twining from his captivity.”
Chapter 31
It was not the time for retelling personal details, hashing over today’s ordeal, or gushing forth testimonials.
That would come later, after one major part of the job at hand had been successfully concluded.
Now was for taking things one step at a time, with an eye on what must be done.
A few infrequent prods of a deputy’s firearm convinced Pedro to spill more beans as to the exact location of Martin Twining’s imprisonment. No doubt, Cooper held high hopes of dragging forth even more information once the prisoner was stuffed into a cell and treated with all the respect a probable felon deserved.
It is not a feat easily accomplished, to ride while one’s hands are manacled behind one’s back. Pedro was also burdened by the fact that he was in pain, and he was quite vocal about it. One side of his face and part of his throat wore bruises from the impact of Almyra’s desperate but effective stone-hurling expertise; his jaw was strained and turning purple from the force of Cooper’s furious fist. All in all, he was not a happy person.
“Quit your caterwaulin’,” growled Harm. losing patience with the stream of complaints. “I’m about ready to pound lumps in your head myself.”
They were riding at a steady trot, following the directions Pedro had reluctantly spat out, confirmed, and added to by Almyra, who seemed almost beside herself with today’s outcome.
She was perched behind the sheriff, her arms twined around his middle, her cheek resting against his broad back, her garments in complete disarray but going unheeded. She had learned that there were more important things in life to worry about than the position of a woman’s skirts.
“Thank you,” she breathed again and again to the solid form propping her upright. “Thank you, thank you.”
Of course he couldn’t hear her over the occasional group comment and the pounding of the hooves of four horses and the very softness of her words.
But her heart was full enough that she needed to say it, anyway.
Then she heard his murmur, “You’re welcome.”
And his big right hand lifted to cover both of hers, clasped together just above his top trouser button, and remained there for some time.
Almyra smiled. She could have almost fallen asleep, then and there, in that very odd position, simply from the sense of absolute safety and security with which she was enveloped.
Another hour passed by before they reached a turning-off point from road onto open land. No fences in this part of the country, where ranches could consume as few as five hundred acres or as many as fifty thousand.
Cattle wandered where they would, finding pasture and water and fending for themselves until fall roundup. Tiny one-room cabins, some little better than shacks, had been erected at some distance apart as use of shelter for the cowpokes who needed them.
They found the object of their search: Martin Twining.
He was in bad shape, inside that rough, remote hovel, bruised and battered, with what looked like the crease a fired bullet would make, plowing a furrow through his hair. He was hungry and thirsty, short on sleep and long on worry. He was also tethered to a post by one ankle, able to move just so far and no farther.
Feverish, half-delirious from his ordeal, he looked up with bleary eyes and unshaven face from the corner in which he had been lying, huddled up as if from cold and from fearing a return of his captors.
“Sh-Sheriff?”
“Yeah, Marty, it’s me. We’ve come to take you home.”
“Home,” he mumbled. “Dreamed of home, and of seein’ my Rosie again. Figured I’d die here, in this Godforsaken hole…”
He was so weak he could barely stand after Kyle had applied his trusty blade, and a good deal of force, to saw him free, Martin gladly accepted the loan of one sturdy shoulder from each deputy to make it outside and into the healing sunshine. They released him only long enough to procure provisions from their saddlebags; supplies without which no good lawman ever travels.
Shortly, they had him propped up against the trunk of a sycamore, munching on crumbly biscuits and sipping slowly from a canteen while a horrified Almyra did her best to look over his injuries. He took time to rest in the hands of friends before beginning the arduous trek back to Jamboree.
“I’m sorry. That was a terrible mistake, I see that, now. I hope you won’t… well, you won’t hold that against me…”
In another minute, she’d be babbling like any runaway brook, and then she wouldn’t be able to stall him off for all the tea in China. She tried again, though it was hard going. “For instance, how long have you… you know, felt, well, attracted to me?”
“Attracted? Attracted!” With a snort, he began to paw at her bodice. “Yeah, guess you could call it that. Long time. But Garcia, he said no.”
“Garcia. Oh.” Deftly she avoided his big hot hands with the sausage fingers.
“He gives you orders, does he, I, well I suppose you must obey?”
Another snort. “That’s what he thinks. That’s what everybody thinks. But I go my own way. Little does he know, I got my own trail I’m workin’ on, puttin’ aside my own share of money from all our deals. One of these days, I’m gonna skip out on that miserable low-life. And you, well you can come with me!”
As if he were bestowing upon her some signal honor!
She purposely allowed her eyes to widen with apparent admiration. “Oh, would you really do that? I would love to live a life of ease, with a wealthy man and all his… assets. It might have been meant for you… for you to find me. But I don’t know. I mean, how exactly did you find me?”
“I was here on some other business, happened to overhear some perky little blonde gal givin’ you the rub. Spreadin’ word wherever she could about you and that lawman, livin’ in his house and not carin’ nothin’ about gossip. Man, did she go after you. Not friendly, not one bit!” Chortling, he leaned forward, avidly searching for the charms she refused to share.
Blonde gal. Clytie Freeman. So. She was the one to blame for this predicament.
Almyra set her teeth. Well, she had been warned.
Twisting futilely in the man’s grasp, she managed to get out, “How soon? How soon would you be leaving?”
“Dunno. I already got that one feller to blow up a buildin’ in your yokel town. Hadda make everybody scared enough they won’t bother much when the real trouble hits.”
Sounds came from deep within the trees—a loud cawing from several crows, then the sudden thump of a branch falling unexpectedly with a loud crack—startling his horse. The animal lifted his head, sniffed the air, then gave the equivalent of an equine shrug and returned to his lunch.
“You were the one who planned that? Why, how masterly!” She choked over the words. “Certainly everyone has been worried, and upset. But of course you know that the man you hired was hurt, in the blast.”
“So I heard. Too bad for him if he’s so dumb he didn’ move ‘fore the fuse stopped sizzlin’. Gimme a look, will ya?” Pedro growled, back to fumbling with the buttons and collar at her throat. “Let’s see what you got hidden under there.”
Teasingly, though she was feeling absolutely sick at her stomach, she slapped his hand away. “Now, now, soon enough. I want to hear more about all your exploits. I don’t know why, but such manly doings seem to heighten my appetite. Now what’s this about the real trouble you arranged?”
“Gonna kill off the law,” he said with a chuckle, beginning to preen. “Get rid of all them wearin’ badges. See, they’re such straight arrows that Garcia, well, me and Garcia, we figured we’d never get ’em to turn crooked like the others. Anyway, then we put in our own puppet sheriff, take over Jamboree, and we’ll be sittin’ pretty.”
“How ingenious!” Were her coos of acclaim ringing hollow? Apparently not, as he seemed to be swallowing the overdone flattery, hook, line, and sinker.
“Why, you have small towns and their officials falling in a row like dominoes! Marvelous!” Somehow, she conjured up a smile that spoke volumes were it to be read correctly. “I just know you will be fabulously successful, Mr. Mayhew.”
“You betcha, sweetheart.” That came as a low, sensual growl, even as he took hold of a long clump of her hair and bent forward to sniff. “Ah, smells mighty good. What is that stuff?”
Shampoo, she wanted to scream at him; an item with which you are clearly unfamiliar.
“Jasmine,” she purred right back at him. “From here on, I’ll wear it for just for you.”
Never again. Sackcloth and ashes, instead, forevermore.
Tremulous, she reached up to smooth the open collar of his shirt, along with a rim of bare skin. “Now, really, do tell me how Martin Twining entered your plans. Surely, he was simply a little fish in the big pond around which you’ve been swimming.”
“Twining? Huh. Nothin’ much to him. Garcia figured the man would be under his thumb, but Twining found out too much and skipped out. Sure couldn’t have him off blabbin’, could we?”
“Absolutely not. But it does seem that your brother, for claiming to be the leader, made a bad mistake there. Were you forced to—um—do away with this Benedict Arnold?”
“With who?”
“Martin Twining. The one who might betray your cause. Oooh, did you use your gun? Did you bury his poor body off in a swamp somewhere, so it’ll never be found?” Could she act any more like a fatuous simpleton, devoid of the slightest intelligent thought?
He frowned. “Didn’t have to. Garcia told me, I mean, Garcia asked me, to stash him, after me and Cato and a couple of the boys snatched him up outside his boardin’ house. Had to knock him around a mite, and tie him up, just like you, sweet cakes.”
The desperado’s heavy-handed attempt at obsequiousness nearly curdled her stomach.
“I understand.” Lowering her lashes, she pretended a compliance that she would never feel. “Well, I’m trying to plan my future, so I’m curious as to when and where the next travel will be. Does that mean you’ll have to retrieve him at some point?”
“It’s whatever G—whatever I decide. It ain’t too far, though. We stuck him in this deserted line camp Cato found a while back, off land belongin’ to the Lazy L. I can show you later, if you want; the place ain’t far outta our way. All right, enough chatter. Time to get down to business now, time for you to start bein’ real nice to me.”
Almyra inhaled sharply but silently.
She’d gathered what information she could, and it was time to make her move. Now or never.
There, in the middle of the trodden earth that served as a link between towns, she picked up her skirts and fled.
“Hey!” Pedro, taken by surprise, yelled at her retreating form. “Hey, you weren’t s’posed to run. You promised!”
Fool! As if her promise to such a misbegotten piece of humanity would count as anything more than a lie!
With the sound of his boots and his outraged shouts pounding after her in pursuit, she made it to a grove of trees. Nothing to hide behind, of course; nothing even to duck around, for concealment. Casting frantically about, she spied a few fist-sized stones scattered here and there. A weapon, of sorts!
Stooping, she grabbed the nearest to her feet, whipped upright, and hurled without thought.
“Hey!” her abductor, halting dead a short distance away, cried out again. He raised one hand to his stubbly jaw, where a red mark was already forming. “That hurt!”
“It can’t possibly make up for your hitting me, you lout!”
And she hurled another missile, with deadly, if accidental, accuracy.
“Ow!”
A third, and a fourth, heaved hard and fast, and then she was once again fleeing for her life. But Pedro had recovered, and he was speedier in fact than his bumbling manner would indicate. Nor was he hampered by slim little dress slippers and hems that, even bereft of supportive hoops, dragged in the dirt.
With one hand, he latched onto her waist and hauled her flat against his chest like a sodden bag of grain. He was grinning as, twisting her wrist behind her back, he leered as if he had suddenly been given all the time in the world to satisfy his wishes, and he intended to thoroughly enjoy the experience. Now. Right here, off the road and partway into a forest of brush and brambles.
“You’re gonna pay for them rocks,” he snapped. “’Fore Garcia gets his mitts on you. Me, first. And lemme tell you, I’m guessin’ it’ll be well worth every hit I took. Now, c’mere, you hellion, and give me what I want.”
“Scum!” she cried savagely, kicking out at his shins. “I’d rather kiss a scorpion!”
Soft shoes could hardly do any damage against bone, and she ended up only hurting her own toes. But, with gumption somehow come flying back in a rush, she refused to go down without a fight.
“That… can be… arranged,” panted her adversary, struggling with her for control. “Dangit, hold still. This won’t take long. Not long at all.”
“A lot less time than you think, Mayhew,” said a hard, rough voice from the rear, a few yards away. “Which means none. And let’s see you kiss a scorpion.”
Pedro, with a painful grip around Almyra’s wrist, had whipped around at the first words. Shocked to have been caught, jaw agape, he could only stand and stare.
“Cooper!” cried Almyra, in amazement, relief, and joy, and jerked away.
Her kidnapper made one swift grab to regain hold. Unsuccessfully.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” warned the sheriff.
His weapon was trained straight and true, as were the weapons of both men flanking him on either side, Deputies Kyle Smith and Harm Kittredge.
“But I… but you… we were—” stammered Pedro, unable to believe that the captor had just become the captive.
Freed, stumbling under a whole heart full of emotions, Almyra started toward the cadre of staunch, stout lawmen who had somehow managed to track her down. Before she could reach Cooper, however, he held up one hand, palm out, to halt her.
“A minute, Alma,” he told her pleasantly.
Holstering his Smith & Wesson, he stalked toward their prisoner, and said, “Consider this the scorpion’s kiss in return, you no-good half-witted sidewinder!” Then he hauled off with a powerhouse blow to the chin that flattened the man like a steam roller.
Almyra gasped. And then burst into tears.
Immediately he turned to sweep her into his arms, wrapping her up as the warmest quilt, the sturdiest encircling band, the most sheltering haven he could provide. Desperately, she nestled herself into the hollow of his shoulder, holding on for dear life. Had it been possible, she would have welded herself to his frame, to be part of his strength and solicitude forever.
The deputies had quite happily taken charge of the outlaw, hauling him upright and fastening cuffs around both his wrists, and none too gently, either, while he loudly protested at the inhumane treatment. Then the lawmen stood off to the side, shifting from one foot to the other, hemming and hawing, waiting until this tender moment of reunion had reached its peak.
At last, the couple slowly separated. Both were beaming, Cooper with an expression of deep and utter satisfaction, Almyra through a rainbow of drying tears.
Diffidently, she came forward to greet her rescuers. “Gentlemen, to say I am delighted to see you is truly an understatement. And I have so much to tell you. First of all, we must go release Martin Twining from his captivity.”
Chapter 31
It was not the time for retelling personal details, hashing over today’s ordeal, or gushing forth testimonials.
That would come later, after one major part of the job at hand had been successfully concluded.
Now was for taking things one step at a time, with an eye on what must be done.
A few infrequent prods of a deputy’s firearm convinced Pedro to spill more beans as to the exact location of Martin Twining’s imprisonment. No doubt, Cooper held high hopes of dragging forth even more information once the prisoner was stuffed into a cell and treated with all the respect a probable felon deserved.
It is not a feat easily accomplished, to ride while one’s hands are manacled behind one’s back. Pedro was also burdened by the fact that he was in pain, and he was quite vocal about it. One side of his face and part of his throat wore bruises from the impact of Almyra’s desperate but effective stone-hurling expertise; his jaw was strained and turning purple from the force of Cooper’s furious fist. All in all, he was not a happy person.
“Quit your caterwaulin’,” growled Harm. losing patience with the stream of complaints. “I’m about ready to pound lumps in your head myself.”
They were riding at a steady trot, following the directions Pedro had reluctantly spat out, confirmed, and added to by Almyra, who seemed almost beside herself with today’s outcome.
She was perched behind the sheriff, her arms twined around his middle, her cheek resting against his broad back, her garments in complete disarray but going unheeded. She had learned that there were more important things in life to worry about than the position of a woman’s skirts.
“Thank you,” she breathed again and again to the solid form propping her upright. “Thank you, thank you.”
Of course he couldn’t hear her over the occasional group comment and the pounding of the hooves of four horses and the very softness of her words.
But her heart was full enough that she needed to say it, anyway.
Then she heard his murmur, “You’re welcome.”
And his big right hand lifted to cover both of hers, clasped together just above his top trouser button, and remained there for some time.
Almyra smiled. She could have almost fallen asleep, then and there, in that very odd position, simply from the sense of absolute safety and security with which she was enveloped.
Another hour passed by before they reached a turning-off point from road onto open land. No fences in this part of the country, where ranches could consume as few as five hundred acres or as many as fifty thousand.
Cattle wandered where they would, finding pasture and water and fending for themselves until fall roundup. Tiny one-room cabins, some little better than shacks, had been erected at some distance apart as use of shelter for the cowpokes who needed them.
They found the object of their search: Martin Twining.
He was in bad shape, inside that rough, remote hovel, bruised and battered, with what looked like the crease a fired bullet would make, plowing a furrow through his hair. He was hungry and thirsty, short on sleep and long on worry. He was also tethered to a post by one ankle, able to move just so far and no farther.
Feverish, half-delirious from his ordeal, he looked up with bleary eyes and unshaven face from the corner in which he had been lying, huddled up as if from cold and from fearing a return of his captors.
“Sh-Sheriff?”
“Yeah, Marty, it’s me. We’ve come to take you home.”
“Home,” he mumbled. “Dreamed of home, and of seein’ my Rosie again. Figured I’d die here, in this Godforsaken hole…”
He was so weak he could barely stand after Kyle had applied his trusty blade, and a good deal of force, to saw him free, Martin gladly accepted the loan of one sturdy shoulder from each deputy to make it outside and into the healing sunshine. They released him only long enough to procure provisions from their saddlebags; supplies without which no good lawman ever travels.
Shortly, they had him propped up against the trunk of a sycamore, munching on crumbly biscuits and sipping slowly from a canteen while a horrified Almyra did her best to look over his injuries. He took time to rest in the hands of friends before beginning the arduous trek back to Jamboree.
