A Texan's Luck (25 page)

He urged Trooper forward and thought he heard voices, but they circled in the icy wind like carolers on a merry-go-round. The moonless night, thick with fog, hid the ruts of the old woman's cart from his view. If he wasn't careful, he'd accidentally move away from Lacy instead of toward her.

Trooper's head rose, his ears alert. The horse had sensed trouble before Walker many times over the years. Shuffling whispered in the wind, and Walker rode toward the sound.

Voices echoed again, angry and hurried, too distant to make out words. Then he thought he heard a wagon roll away.

He needed to get to Lacy. She must be terrified. But the night twisted sounds.

Footsteps suddenly hurried toward him.

He stilled Trooper with a pat and raised his weapon. Though his heart prayed that Lacy ran toward him, Walker's experience taught him to prepare for the worst.

The steps grew nearer, muffled by the damp ground.

Walker swung down from the saddle and prepared for an attack. As always, Trooper stood the ground behind him. He'd trained the animal to stay put, even if gunfire sounded.

Suddenly, the old woman burst through the fog. By the time he saw her clearly, she stood five feet from him, her shawl flying in the wind, her hair wild around her.

She opened her mouth to scream, then froze as she stared at the rifle pointed at her head.

Walker lowered the gun a few inches, but stayed ready in case something or someone followed her.

"Help!" she cried, her accent so thick he barely understood the word. "Help me. I've been attacked." She flung herself against him, holding on tight as if she thought the devil chased her.

"Lacy?" he tried to push her away. "Where's Lacy? What happened to my wife?"

The old woman pointed into the darkness and spoke in a language he didn't understand. He knew she could speak English—he'd heard her—but she must be frightened too badly to think clearly.

"Show me!" Walker shoved her in the direction she'd just come from. "Take me to Lacy."

She shook her head wildly and refused to budge or let go of his coat. If he planned to advance, he'd do so with her anchored behind him.

Walker grabbed her by the arms. "What happened? Where's Lacy? Show me!" She was of no help, hysterical.

The woman crumpled like a pile of rags.

Walker pulled her to her feet. Her body wasn't nearly as frail as he would have guessed it to be. He swore he felt tight muscles on her arms beneath the shawl. He wanted to shake an answer out of her, but the old woman had passed out cold.

Leaving her crossed his mind. If he carried her back in the direction she'd come from, he might find Lacy, but who knew what else? With the old hag in his arms, he wouldn't be prepared to face trouble. Leaving her seemed cruel; carrying her would be foolish. He did the only thing he could think of. He lifted her onto his horse.

"Easy now, Trooper," he whispered as the woman slumped on the saddle, conscious enough now to hold on to the horse's mane.

Walker took the reins and calmed Trooper. "Easy, boy," he whispered again knowing the animal didn't like anyone but Walker on his back.

They'd gone thirty feet, maybe more, when Walker made out the outline of the cart. He glanced back at the old woman, but she still leaned over the saddle, mumbling something about being robbed by devils.

She wasn't calm enough to answer his questions. Something had frightened her, but doubts gnawed at the back of his mind. Something wasn't right. She'd run fast toward him. Both her arms and legs were muscled, not frail. She mumbled and cried as if she were frightened mindless, but she had the sense to stay on the horse. She was acting!

He tried to lead her closer to the cart, but she mumbled, "No, no," as if too frightened to go farther.

Walker gave up the effort, looped the reins across Trooper's neck, and ran to the cart. He'd worry about the old woman later. "Lacy!" he yelled. "Lacy!"

He tossed several of the bags out of the back but knew he wouldn't find her. He circled the wagon once, rage pounding blood through his veins. Just as he'd feared, she had vanished.

He grabbed the lantern swinging from the bonnet railing over the seat and fumbled for a match in his pocket. A moment before he lit the flame, he thought he heard the slap of leather, like reins being used as a whip. He glanced up in time to see the old woman straighten and kick Trooper into action like a seasoned horseman might.

The highly trained horse bolted into a full run into the night.

Walker turned up the wick and listened, already knowing what would happen.

The old woman must have made it a hundred yards before Trooper balked. He knew the animal well. The horse would buck until he was free of any rider but Walker.

A moment later, he heard her scream and knew she was no longer on the animal's back. He didn't know if she were hurt or dead. He didn't care. Walker knew he'd been tricked, and his trained mind began to organize. The night was far more to his advantage. They couldn't be more than a half mile ahead of him. He'd have Lacy back in a matter of minutes, and anyone involved would pay dearly.

He whistled once, and Trooper galloped toward him.

Lowering the lamp, Walker studied the dirt around the cart, reading the signs as easily as he might a book. He fought the temptation to hurry, knowing that a mistake would cost him time. Two sets of boots, one long and thin the other almost small enough to be a woman's, marked the earth. Between them in spots were prints of Lacy's new boots. She'd been half carried, half dragged across the damp ground, then tossed in the back of a wagon. He knelt, touching the ground with his fingers. No blood. They wanted her alive.

He let out a breath he'd been holding since he'd heard the scream.

After following for ten feet, he reached softer ground and saw the ruts of a wagon that must have been hidden.

The tracks were easy to follow from there, thanks to the recent rain. They traveled over the land for about a mile, then headed onto a rough road wide enough for only one wagon. Walker guessed it must be the same road, only farther south, that the old woman had used before she'd pointed the cart toward the gypsy land. If so, it linked Cedar Point to Fort Elliot and the settlement of Mobeetie. He'd traveled the road a few times as a boy.

Walker twisted the light out and mounted. His eyes grew used to the night. If he planned to catch up with the wagon, he needed to make some time. The road was too well traveled to pick out the signs he'd been following over the land, and there would be few places to turn off. He would take the chance that they were moving straight and fast.

Walker rode for an hour, stopping now and then to listen for the sound of a rig in front of him. Nothing. Years of training served him well. He didn't panic. He knew Lacy's life depended on it. Each time he passed a place in the road where ruts had turned off, he lit the lamp and studied the tracks to make sure they hadn't been made recently.

As time passed, the temperature dropped lower, but Walker hardly noticed. All his energy focused on finding Lacy. He realized on top of all the anger and worry, his arms ached for her. He felt as if he might die if he didn't hold her again.

Walker rode until almost midnight with no sign of the wagon or Lacy. He told himself over and over that she'd been kidnapped and not harmed, for whoever met the old woman had no time to kill, and he'd seen no blood spilled in the dirt. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to capture Lacy. If they'd wanted her dead, they could have shot into the bags of laundry. So, he reasoned, the men who took her were probably not the men who shot up Nell and the buggy.

He also reasoned that whoever the kidnappers were taking her to wanted her alive, at least when she arrived.

The possibility that two groups, one killers, one kidnappers, searched for her bothered him. How did they know Lacy was in the cart? Whoever shot up the buggy thought Lacy was dead. They wouldn't be lying in wait for her. Somehow the two men who'd taken her had not only learned that she was alive but also where she would be.

The memory of something Sheriff Riley said echoed in his thoughts. "If there's a price on her head, there are men around these parts who'll do about anything for money."

And women, he thought. The old woman. She'd left the doctor's office twice to his knowledge. Once out the back way to visit the privy, and again saying she had to buy more soap at the store. Both times she'd been gone long enough to talk to someone, maybe even plan. She'd driven slow, far slower than necessary, Walker remembered. That would have allowed the kidnappers time to get into place.

Walker tried to remember if it had been the old woman or Lacy who had suggested Lacy ride in the cart. Lacy had been the one to tell him, but had it been her idea, or someone else's? He couldn't remember.

She was all right, he reminded himself over and over as he rode. Only, he'd promised to be near. He promised he'd be there if she needed help. He'd let her down. Harm had found her on his watch.

Walker pushed on. It was almost dawn when he finally spotted a wagon on the side of the road in a place where several others had pulled off before to camp and rest. Leaning his head forward as if he were sleeping in the saddle, Walker neared. He saw two men, but no sign of Lacy, and wondered if he'd come upon the wrong wagon. Two men were often needed to haul freight along these roads. One to manage the horses and the other to ride shotgun in case trouble came near.

A thin man squatted, building a roaring fire, while another slept on the ground close by. From the look of their horses they couldn't have been camped long. The one standing seemed nervous, breaking branches and tossing them into a fire already big enough for their needs.

Walker kept the wagon between him and the campfire just in case one of them was observant enough to notice his military saddle. "Mind if I join you?" he asked in what he hope sounded like a sleepy voice. "I've been riding all night." His words frosted the air as he swung from the saddle.

The thin man didn't look like he wanted company. "Ain't got no food!" he yelled.

"Neither do I." Walker walked around the wagon. If these weren't the men, he was wasting his time. If they were, what had they done with Lacy? "But, if you'll share your fire, I've got cigars. I thought I'd smoke one while I stretch my legs."

The thin man fell for Walker's reason for stopping and accepted the cigar eagerly. "I don't usually smoke a cigar like this." He twisted the thin tobacco in his fingers. "What'd you have to pay for this, mister? Two bits?"

"Four." Walker lit a match and offered the man a light. He noticed the stranger was unarmed. If these men were hired kidnappers, they were the worst he'd ever seen. They should have camped off the road, posted a guard, not let anyone near.

While the thin man drew on his cigar, Walker studied the area. No sign of Lacy. Only a short man huddled next to the fire snoring, and a coffin in the bed of the wagon.

"Transporting a body?" Walker pointed his cigar to the wagon.

"No, just the box." The thin man took a long draw and smiled. "This is a mighty fine cigar. You're welcome to warm yourself. I swear it's so cold I felt like I was moving through snow and not air."

"You been here long?" Walker squatted by the fire.

"No, maybe an hour. I was for moving on, but figured Sneed might nod off and fall out of the wagon." The thin man laughed. "It's better to let him sleep a few hours than have to keep stopping to put him back in the wagon. That man can eat more and sleep sounder than any man I ever met."

Walker knew he could ask no more questions without the thin man getting suspicious, so they smoked the cigars in silence. They couldn't be traveling far without provisions, but he had nothing to connect them with Lacy. "Well, thanks for the use of your fire." Walker stepped away. "I'd better be getting on to Fort Elliot." He raised an eyebrow and studied the man. "How much farther is it?"

The thin man shrugged. "Don't know for sure, half a day, I guess, maybe less."

"You're not heading there?"

The man shifted nervously. "No, we're on our way to Mobeetie. It's just beyond the fort."

"I hear it's a rough town."

"Wouldn't know," the man answered. "This is my first time there."

Walker walked away. "Have a good trip." Something wasn't right, but it wasn't all that unusual for a man not to be too friendly in this country.

"You, too," the stranger answered. "And thanks for the cigar."

As Walker moved back toward his horse, he spotted a corner of a quilt hanging out of the coffin. His blood froze. He knew of only one quilt made with the browns and blues of a man's suit.

Walker tightened the cinch on Trooper's saddle and kept his voice conversational. "You wouldn't want to sell that coffin would you?"

"No. We've already got a buyer."

Walker weighed his options. If he opened the coffin too soon, Lacy might get between him and the two men. But he had to get her out. He couldn't stand the thought of her in that box a moment longer than necessary.

He pulled his rifle from the saddle and leveled it on the thin man. "Wake your friend!" Walker ordered. "Or you're a dead man."

The thin man dropped his cigar and lifted shaking hands. He kicked at the body beside the fire. "Wake up!"