Love's Revenge (Entangled Scandalous) (7 page)

“Yes, yes. Of course.” She turned unsteadily and walked back toward the private car and Andy.

Chapter Eight

“Worth.” The conductor’s voice crackled with urgency.

Stephen drove in the final spike on a new rail, and the impact of the sledgehammer against the solid iron sent searing pain through the rent welts on his back.

“What is it?” He faced the conductor and the small group of men guarding those laying the new rails. One of the men pointed to the top of the nearest rolling knoll about six hundred feet to the north.

He forgot about the pain in his back. A half dozen naked Indians, their bodies painted in yellow clay with stripes of black war paint, sat high and silent atop the ridge. Their powerful ponies pawed the earth anxiously.

“What tribe? Arapahoes?” a tall cowboy asked.

“No,” Stephen said. “Ute. Tabeguache Ute. They’re a long way from home.” Why would Utes be this far east?

“Do you think they was the ones took the rails?” The conductor raised his Winchester.

“Don’t fire,” Stephen ordered. The man lowered his rifle. “Yes, they took the rails,” he continued. “That’s war paint they have on.”

Several of the other men raised rifles.

“Don’t shoot,” he commanded again. “They’re too far from home to enter into a serious skirmish. Besides, they know the government will come after them. I think they’re just trying to make a point.”

“Damn. They made their point with me. Can’t we get the hell out of here?” The lanky cowboy fingered his handgun nervously.

“There are only two more spikes to be driven in and we can pull out. You three stay here to guard the workers.” Stephen indicated the conductor and a couple of grizzled cowboys who looked like they could handle themselves in a fight.

“The Utes may decide to make a pass at the train, but I don’t want anyone firing unless they fire first. Do you hear me? The rest of you, get back on the train. Keep the women and children low and quiet.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair. He wiped his face with a red bandana that hung loosely around his neck. Slowly he reached down to retrieve his black denim shirt. As the other men re-boarded the train, he spoke to the engineer beside him.

“These are Chief Ouray’s people. I doubt they’ll risk the wrath of the Chief by slaughtering a train full of women and children. Still...”

The engineer nodded before he re-boarded the engine. Then the man and his fireman began the task of re-stoking the engine as quickly as possible.

As he pulled his shirt on, he studied the braves on the rise. The Utes, like all the other tribes, had been fighting a losing battle against the incursion of the white men who lusted after the gold and silver in the Colorado territory. From a home that once embraced most of the land from Denver to Salt Lake City and from Santa Fe north to the Green river in Wyoming, the Utes now found themselves the unhappy guests of the government, confined to a fraction of what they had once needed to survive and prosper.

His admiration for the “Nuche,”
the people,
as they called themselves, was as great as he had for any tribe. Obtaining horses by trade or theft almost a hundred years before other local tribes, they were rightly feared. Utes mounted on the backs of their
magic dogs
could swiftly gallop into an enemy camp and carry off goods and captives before the enemy could organize a defense. Over the years, they had bred their horses into the finest specimens in the Americas.

The weeks he had spent in Ouray’s camp recovering from the attack by Zechariah Morse’s henchmen had taught him many things about the Ute. They were a proud people and the young braves placed high value on being great warriors.

They would not leave without a
coup
. He finished buttoning his shirt and picked up his rifle. He would have to give them their
coup
.

…

The terrifying whoops and screams started without warning. Katherine’s heart jumped and she pulled back on the hammer of the Colt, cocking it. She was in the center of the Pullman car with Fiona and Andy on the floor behind her.

Andy had begun to whimper. She released the trigger and, setting the gun on one of the upholstered chairs, faced her son and Fiona.

Katherine warned herself not to lose control. Good sense and calmness were necessary if they were to get through this alive.

“Hush love. Come here, Andy.” She knelt and took the child into her embrace, calming him. “It’s all right darling. We’re just playing a game. That’s all. Aren’t we, Fee?”

“Yes, it’s just a game, Andy.” Fiona’s voice quivered a bit.

Andy smiled. It must have been an exciting game to him.

Outside the war cries began again. High pitched and piercing, they reminded Kate of a wolf pack on the prowl. But a new and more disturbing sound had been added to the uproar—the thundering hooves of horses.

The howls and shrieks grew in intensity. Words screamed in insult hung in the air, building on one another until the fear they instilled was palpable. She didn’t know the meaning of the words, but she knew their intent.

“Fiona, play on the floor with Andy. Play train with him. Make noise, but stay low. Do you understand me?” Katherine’s orders brooked no refusal.

Outside the whoops and screams reverberated, bouncing against the surrounding hills and coming back to double the clatter.

Fiona fumbled with the train, her hands shaking, but she did as Katherine ordered. Katherine picked up the revolver again and made her way to the back of the Pullman car.

Fiona’s
Choo-choo-choos
came out strangled with tears. Her timid attempts paled in comparison to the frightening screams outside. They had grown closer. Much closer. Kate peered out the back door of the car.

Nothing could have prepared her for the barbarians. Thundering down the grass-covered knoll, they moved relentlessly onward toward the train. Naked and feathered. Painted so that they were unrecognizable as human. They resembled the rising of the damned, more spirit or goblin than man.

These creatures shook their rifles and feathered lances high over their heads as they charged. They rose on the haunches of their powerful horses ready to do battle. It was as if man and beast had become one. These were spirits from Hades eager to steal the souls of their enemies. She raised the Colt, prepared to defend Andy to her death.

The screams and curses now filled the small space in the car, suffocating her. They grew closer, much closer. She could see them clearly now. Broad and sturdy of body, much like their fierce horses. Black hair almost to their waists. Their faces contorted with hatred. Their twisted mouths still spewing spiteful epithets. They were circling toward the back, skirting the main body of the train.

She reached out and, with a shaking hand, opened the rear door of the train. She stepped into the open doorway. She held up the Colt. It wavered in her unsteady grasp. She would have to wait until they were closer to be accurate.

They came whooping by with a speed that astounded her. A blur of feathers and hide. All passed her but one man. He hung low under his horse’s neck suspended by a foot in a loop in the horse’s mane. The amazing horsemanship would have won her admiration if he hadn’t held a rifle pointed directly at her. Their eyes met only for a second. But it was enough. Defiance and pride met her own implacable stare. For the briefest of moments, there was a standoff. A recognition. An acknowledgement.

She didn’t fire the Colt and the Indian didn’t fire the rifle. Instead, the brave threw himself back atop his horse and, waving his rifle, circled his men. They drove their lathered horses up the rising hill to the top, and then turned to face the train.

Kate took a step out onto the back platform of the car. The wind caught her hair and loosened several tendrils from its tight chignon. She held her head high. The Colt at her side was cold in her sweaty palm. She shivered in the autumn air but felt herself breathe once more.

The braves made no move to leave. It was quiet. Frighteningly quiet. Andy’s laughter floated out to her. Then Fiona’s
shhhh
to quiet him. Yes, quiet, Andy. They mustn’t know you are here. Where was Stephen now? It was his selfishness that had put them in jeopardy. His demands that saw them now in the wilderness and under attack. Not that it mattered now. She would defend her son with every ounce of strength she had.

The brave whose eyes she met, apparently their leader, reared his horse and yelped. He was joined by the others. It had begun again. She raised the Colt. She would not retreat into the train car. The brave might see that as cowardice. She would meet them on their own terms.

They galloped on. Their whoops were punctuated by words hurled with disdain and anger. This time they did not head for the body of the train but straight toward Katherine. She was horrified and mesmerized as their forms became distinct, their faces human, if contorted. Their fierce screams became a single noise that left her senses numb. As if in a nightmare, they thundered toward her. There was a scalp attached to the leader’s bridle. God help them all.

Her finger was tight on the trigger. She began to press down on the metal. They were almost within range. Scorn and contempt glowed in their eyes. She aimed at the leader. It would be her best chance of stopping them. Only a few more yards.

Suddenly, startlingly, they pulled up their ponies, creating a cloud of dust that hovered around the hooves of the horses.

The train whistled and a great whoosh of steam vented from the engine. Stephen was on the ground below her, his dark hair wet with sweat. He was watching the attackers.

“Do not move, Katherine. Do only as I say.” For a long while there was only the whinny of the startled horses to fill the void created by the standoff. The Indians worked to quiet their restless horses. Several braves circled their ponies, patting their haunches and soothing them. Their leader kneed his pony forward.

Kate lowered her gun without knowing why, only that things had changed dramatically in the scenario, and it had to do with Stephen.

There was recognition on the brave’s face. That and more. Did she see admiration? Could it be?

The leader’s brown face was broad as were the others. His nose was long and angular, but it was his piercing black eyes that captured her attention. They took in everything. She felt his scrutiny and flushed. He studied her as he would a fine horse, his eyes stopping at her fair hair. She shuddered and pictured its white-blondness fastened with the other scalp on his bridle.

As her heart beat out the seconds, neither man spoke. She feared she would scream from the tension, but she took her cue from Stephen, who had not moved since he stopped at the back of the Pullman car.

“No, Fee. Train. Choo. Choo. Choooo.” It was Andy inside. She could hear him laughing. The lead brave cocked his head at the muffled sound. Stephen stiffened.

Dear God
, she prayed,
keep Andy quiet
.

Do something,
she screamed at Stephen inside her head.
He is your son. You must do something or we will all die.

After an eternity, the lead brave raised his rifle high over his head. Katherine held her breath and tightened her grasp on the revolver.

“Piah, brother of Chipeta, who is wife to the great Chief Ouray, greets the Englishman Worth.”

She unclenched her hands and expelled her held breath, but her heart still beat too fast. The brave knew Stephen. But how? She shifted her attention to Stephen. She wanted see his face. His body relaxed as he spoke in turn.

“Worth greets Piah, great warrior and brother of Chipeta, wife of Ouray, great Chief of the
Nuche
.”

She studied the lead brave intently. He must have sensed her perusal, for he turned his head to look at her. “Your woman?” Piah said to Stephen.

“No. My woman is dead. She is sister to my woman, come to take care of my son.”

The Indian looked thoughtful. It was a moment before he spoke. “Show Piah Worth’s son.”

She gasped. “No.” Indians took hostages. Made them slaves.

“Katherine. Do as I say.” Stephen’s voice was deep and insistent. “Get Andy and bring him out.”

“No.”

Piah glared at her and a question rose in his eyes—a question directed at Stephen.

“Kate, you must trust me on this. Do you think I would put Andy in any danger? Bring him and quickly.”

What did she know of heathens? She had no other viable choice. She placed the heavy revolver in her dress pocket and stepped inside the train car. Fiona’s eyes were wide. She had pulled Andy with her behind the settee.

“Give me Andy, Fiona.”

Fiona signed herself with a cross and kissed the boy before handing him over.

For a moment Kate questioned her own sanity. What was she doing? Why was she willing to risk Andy’s life on the say-so of Stephen Worth? Perhaps she and Fiona should simply flee through the train and leave Stephen to fight his own battle with these men. That would be the sensible thing to do.

Did she think he would let harm come to the boy? He had asked. She couldn’t know. How could she possibly know? She knew so little about this man.

But in her heart. In her heart, she knew she trusted him in this. He would not put his son in jeopardy.

Andy was still teary eyed and fretful.

“Do you want to see Indians, my love? Come, Mama will show you the Indians.”

The boy’s eyes lit up and she felt like a traitor. She would kill anyone who threatened the child—anyone. Especially Stephen Worth.

Andy settled down in her arms. He played with the strands of her hair that had escaped with the wind. She kissed his cheek. She would not cry. She would not give the heathens that satisfaction.

When she reached the platform, the silent impasse that had followed her departure was broken. Several of the warriors spoke to each other. One let out a whoop and she jumped. “This is Worth’s son?” Piah demanded.

“Yes, he is my son.”

“He wears Worth’s hair and eyes. It is good. It is good to have a son to ride to battle.” Piah nodded his approval. “He will gain much
coup
and wear his feathers proudly.”

“I hope he will wear them as proudly as Piah does.”