Guns of Liberty (16 page)

“Who be you?” Wiley called out above the noise of the singing creek.

“Wait. I know you, from the tavern,” said Dees, narrowing his eyes. He came forward, still suspicious, but less so now that he recognized the man in the gray cloak. “Did Meeks send you? He needn’t have worried. We found out what he wanted to know.”

Wiley urged his own horse onto the bridge, determined to ensure he received his full share of credit. But Dees blocked his progress, claiming the right of first passage for himself.

“You found the farm?” Daniel asked. His muscles tensed, the guns beneath his cloak familiar as old friends.

“I …” Dees began; then, remembering just how nasty and dangerous a disgruntled Mose Wiley could be, he corrected himself. “We tracked through mud and rain. Watched ’em bring the wagon into a barn. There were several women about.”

“We didn’t see any men on the place,” Wiley interjected, striving to be heard. “That’s my kind of farm,” he added with a wink no one could see.

“We’re on our way to tell the major,” Dees continued. “Meeks will want to burn them out. You going with him?”

“No,” Daniel said softly. “And neither are you.”

He waited, allowing his words to sink in and watching both men for their reaction.

Dees, the first to realize what was happening, tensed. His mouth went dry as he chanced a quick glance toward the surrounding woods. “There’s two of us,” he warned. “Stand aside, or we’ll cut you down.”

“What the …?” Wiley muttered from behind, the last to understand the situation.

“Go to the devil!” Dees said, and brought his rifle to bear as Daniel snapped up his pistols and fired. A thunder shattered the night. Deadly orange flame blossomed beneath the pale moon.

Dees was struck in the skull. The impact knocked him from horseback; his rifle discharged harmlessly into the air. His lifeless body landed in the creek and was borne off by the swirling currents.

Daniel’s second shot shattered the stock of Wiley’s rifle and sent it flying from his hands. Wiley panicked and whirled his horse around, but the startled animal reared and pawed the air with its forelegs. Wiley lost his grip and tumbled from the saddle. He landed in the mud, staggered to his feet, and reached for the pistol in his belt as Daniel bore down on him.

Wiley dragged the flintlock free, cocked it just as Daniel cleared the bridge, and dove from horseback. He landed on Wiley, and both men fell heavily in the mud. The gun’s muffled roar sounded. Flaming gunpowder singed the front of Daniel’s shirt as he rolled clear of the Tory.

Daniel grabbed at his belly; for a brief moment he thought he’d been shot. But he felt only mud and the sting of burned flesh.

Wiley lay on his back. His mouth gaped open as he sucked in air. He raised his head, looked down at the front of his shirt. He couldn’t see anything, but his chest felt as if his ribs had been kicked in. His whole upper torso was moist, and numbness was spreading through his limbs.

“You’ve done … me,” he gasped. “By my … own … hand …” His head tilted back, and his eyes grew round and cold as the moon above.

Daniel checked the road north and south. There was no one about. He dragged Wiley’s body into the woods and left him beneath a bramble bush out of sight of the road. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. Daniel’s own mare was waiting down by the creek bank. Daniel joined the animal by the water’s edge. There he reloaded the “Quakers.” And there he clung to the knowledge he’d done what needed to be done. He could not have allowed Dees and Wiley to return and place Sister Hope and the other Daughters of Phoebe in peril.

At last he remounted and guided the mare back onto the road. The other horses had already wandered off into the woods. More than likely they’d return to the village on their own. Two saddled, riderless horses were bound to attract attention, but there was nothing to do for it. Daniel swung his own mount north and rode toward Springtown. There was no turning back, from this night on. For Daniel McQueen, the war had begun.

I
T WAS A TIRED
horse and rider that rode through the deserted streets of Springtown in the gray dawn of a new day. Daniel sure didn’t feel new. He felt about as used as year-old moccasins.

He kept to the back alleys away from the Green and the village center, taking an indirect route that was a few minutes longer but bound to attract less attention. The village had spent itself in celebration and everyone was still asleep in this last moment before dawn. As Daniel made his way to Albright’s place he struggled with the next decision: whether or not to return to his bedroll and pretend to wake with the others in the house. There was always the chance of alerting them prematurely. The reverend might not be a sound sleeper. Better not risk attention. He could clean up in the barn and pretend he had just awakened when the others came down for breakfast. He yawned and worked the kink out of his shoulders. Somehow, today, he was going to have to steal a little time to rest.

Daniel had another problem even more important than sleep. He had taken the first step against Josiah Meeks. But that was only the beginning and the trail ahead was a dangerous one. He was loath to defy Meeks openly. The life of his own father would surely be forfeit by such a course. He was playing for time, hoping to find a way to stop Meeks, confide in Kate Bufkin, rescue Brian Farley McQueen, prevent the murder of George Washington, and keep the cache of weapons hidden by the Daughters of Phoebe from falling into the hands of the Tories.

No problem. A weary grin lit his mud-spattered features. He guided the mare behind a stone house and across the back lot, where a dozen cocks, alerted by his intrusion, strutted around the perimeters of their individual pens and crowed a challenge to this newcomer. Daniel winced at the noise and urged the mare to quicken the pace. He hurried through the yard, rounded another outbuilding, and approached Albright’s house from the rear. The ground underfoot was soft and doughy and the hooves of his mount threw up great clods in its wake.

Daniel rounded the barn and reined to a halt, surprised to find not only Reverend Albright awake but Kate and Martha on the top steps at the back of the house. They weren’t alone.

Two men with rifles stood at the far corner of the parsonage. Another pair stood in the doorway of the Albrights’ barn, the reins of their horses in their hands. Papa Schraner was one of the men by the barn. He appeared momentarily caught off guard by Daniel’s arrival. Daniel heard Kate stifle a gasp and saw her dash back into the parsonage.

Schraner stepped forward, his rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. He was the first to speak.

“Surprised to see you come riding back into town. You’re a bold one, McQueen.”

Daniel glanced toward the men by the parsonage as they cocked their rifles. Something was wrong. He didn’t like it. But the mare he rode was exhausted, so escape was out of the question unless he took a fresh horse. Schraner’s black mare was a fine-looking animal. All Daniel had to do was get past the rifle of its owner …

“Is there some trouble?” Daniel asked.

“Where have you been?” Schraner asked.

“I took a ride,” Daniel offered lamely. “My horse threw me,” he added, aware of his own muddy appearance.

“Rode where?”

“No place special. Why?”

“Henk is dead,” Schraner said. He gestured toward the man next to him. “Samuel here found him, shot twice and left dead in an alley.” He waved a hand toward the weapons tucked in Daniel’s belt. “I would like to see if your guns have been fired recently.”

“No need to check,” Daniel cast a wary glance toward the two men on horseback by the house. They seemed reticent to approach. Maybe they were waiting for a command from Schraner, or perhaps even more help was on the way. “I fired my guns a few hours ago.”

Schraner’s face hardened; muscles tremored along his jaw. Sorrow gave way to fury.

“At what?” he asked.

“Wolves.”

“Haven’t been wolves in these parts for years.”

“These were strays,” Daniel replied. Henk could have been killed by anyone, though Daniel had to admit he was the likely suspect. But whatever his sympathy for Papa Schraner, he didn’t intend to allow the village constable to clap him in irons. Not with so much at stake. And what must Kate think? He looked over at Reverend Albright and Martha, both of whom were more than a little confused by this turn of events. Kate had yet to reappear, Daniel noted with sinking heart.

“You’ll be coming with us,” Schraner said.

Any moment the old man might lose control. Henk had been a Schraner, no matter that the bond was not by blood but in name only. Papa Schraner was determined to see justice done. As far as he was concerned, his son’s murderer sat astride the lathered mare only a few feet away.

“I had nothing to do with Henk’s death, Mr. Schraner,” Daniel replied. “But I’ll not be coming with you.” He waited, unable to make his move, unwilling to endanger a grief-stricken father who was behaving no different than Daniel would were the roles reversed. Yet there was too much at stake to risk waiting for the magistrate while incarcerated in the Springtown jail. Daniel had to be free to handle Meeks in his own way.

But how in the name of heaven was he going to escape this confrontation without … He never completed the thought. Suddenly a large oil lamp came sailing through an open upstairs window and crashed a few yards in front of the riflemen by the corner of the house. The lamp exploded into flames on impact, slivers of glass spattering the area.

The riflemen scurried out of harm’s way while Schraner and Samuel turned on reflex at the exploding lamp.

It was all the distraction Daniel needed. He drove his heels into his spent mare and the animal lunged forward, slammed into Schraner, and knocked him flat on his back. Daniel caught up the reins of the black, vaulted from his saddle, and leaped onto the other animal.

Samuel spun around and charged forward, hoping to drag Daniel from the saddle. A well-placed boot sent the smaller man sprawling. Daniel slapped the black across the rump, and the animal galloped away from the barn.

Daniel touched the brim of his rain-battered hat in a gesture of courtesy to Martha Albright as he galloped past the reverend and his wife.

“I’ll be back!” he shouted.

Rifle fire erupted behind him. He winced and ducked low in the saddle. The deep-chested mare hit its stride. The black was born to run, and once they had cleared the alleys and fenced gardens, Daniel gave the animal freedom to do what it did best.

Houses and barns fell behind, meadowland sped by. The woods ahead offered concealment, but first he’d keep to the road and put as much distance as possible between himself and any pursuers. He was bone weary. His legs were numb. He’d have to find a place to hole up and rest, but not now. He thought of the well-timed lamp falling from the window. It had been Kate. She had to have known why Schraner was there and that Daniel had stolen away during the night. Yet why had she helped him?

“Hell and damnation!” Schraner bellowed as he paced the ground at the foot of the steps. He glared through the back door at the two women seated in the kitchen.

“There’s no cause for such language.” Reverend Albright tried to exert a calming influence over the situation.

“No cause?” Schraner bellowed. “Don’t try me, Preacher!” He glared at the empty yard as if it were to blame for his helplessness. Samuel had been dispatched to round up another horse. The other two men had been sent to hurry along Constable Mueller. Schraner paced the ground in an ever-tightening circle. Suddenly he lunged past Albright and up the steps, where he opened the back door with a bang and stood in the doorway, glaring at Kate.

“If that murderer escapes it will be on your head,” he said. “You are not above the law, Kate Bufkin.”

“I know that as well as I know Daniel McQueen had nothing to do with Henk’s death.” Kate was not about to be cowed by this man, no matter how righteous his anger. She had puzzled well and good over Daniel’s strange absence. She had not been able to explain it to herself. The man had secrets he was not yet able to share, of that she was certain. And when Schraner and the others arrived with news of Henk’s murder and demanding to talk to Daniel, her heart sank and she feared for his life. Yes, his conduct was suspect and disconcerting at best, but not for one minute did she believe him responsible for the killing of Schraner’s foster son.

“How can you sit there and say such nonsense after what has happened?” Schraner blurted out. His whole face turned red as a berry. He looked as if he were about to explode.

“He ran from men already convinced of his guilt.” Kate remained steadfast, her gaze unwavering before the equally resolute farmer.

Yet it was Schraner who at last backed down, unable to break down the young woman’s defiance. The farmer muttered something. Kate thought she heard him say “witch,” but it might have been something even more insulting.

Schraner retreated down the steps, shoving Albright aside. He nearly sent the good reverend sprawling.

Kate heard the sound of approaching horses, then half a dozen riders appeared outside the back door. One of the men led a horse for Schraner, who lost no time in mounting up. Constable Mueller, a thickset, balding man in his mid-thirties, tried to issue a few orders, but Schraner cut him off and rode away, exhorting the men in his wake to come along.

A rumble of departing horses shook the dishes on the kitchen shelf and set them clattering. Then the men were gone, leaving Martha and Kate to sit across from one another in awkward silence.

Martha finally spoke up. “Oh, Kate … why, why?” She reached out and took her cousin’s hand. “My dear, what do you know of your Mr. McQueen?”

“I know I love him,” Kate said.

“Ah …” Martha nodded, and she clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

“Mama … I heard horses,” a little boy’s voice sounded from the front room.

“It’s nothing, dear, go back to bed,” Martha called out. Then she returned her attention to Kate. Her smile was warm, her eyes sympathetic and conciliatory. “My dear, is this ‘love’ worth going against your family, your friends—is it worth endangering everything you’ve worked so hard to build?”