Summer of Promise (33 page)

It was an interesting thought and one that had not occurred to Ethan. “That would explain why we never found her.” He took a bite of meat, chewing thoroughly as the possibilities whirled through his mind. Abigail’s suggestion made sense. The only problem was that the gun-toting woman on yesterday’s coach did not resemble the elderly woman who had been kidnapped.

Though the conversation turned to more pleasant topics, Ethan was unable to dismiss the thought of the robbery from his mind. When the meal was over and he and Jeffrey headed back to the parade ground, he turned to his fellow officer. “I still think someone from the fort is involved. I have no proof, of course, but my instincts tell me there’s a connection.”

“Just because Schiller and Forge were deserters doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know. The problem is, I caught a soldier coming in after tattoo last night. His story sounded plausible, but now I wonder, especially since there were three men this time. What if he was the third?”

Jeffrey pursed his lips, as if considering the question. “Who was he?”

“Dietrich Keller.”

Jeffrey’s face darkened. “You’d better keep an eye on that one. I never did trust him.”

20

S
ally needed exercise, and Abigail needed a chance to think. This morning Charlotte was uncharacteristically out of sorts because Puddles had run away again, and even though Ethan had brought him back before breakfast, Jeffrey had grumbled about the puppy’s behavior, declaring that if Charlotte could not control him, he would have to go. Predictably, Charlotte had burst into tears. Now she was in the backyard, attempting to train the dog and staunchly refusing Abigail’s offers of assistance.

“Jeffrey’s right. He’s my dog, and I’m responsible.” The look in Charlotte’s eyes left no doubt that she was determined to do this alone, and so Abigail had donned her riding habit, as determined as her sister to be useful. At least there would be no disputing who should exercise Sally, for Charlotte could no longer mount a horse.

The dissention between Charlotte and Jeffrey was not the only thing concerning Abigail. The continuing stagecoach robberies haunted her. Perhaps it was because she had come so close to being a victim herself. Perhaps it was because she knew the puzzle plagued Ethan. Abigail wasn’t certain of the cause. All she knew was that she wished she could help Ethan learn who was responsible.

Both of those concerns paled when compared to her worries about Ethan himself. Though he had said nothing, she knew that he still struggled with the idea that God loved him, for his eyes remained filled with pain. Each day Abigail gave him a folded piece of paper with a Bible verse she hoped would comfort him. Each day Ethan accepted it, but he never told her whether he read the verses or whether they helped.

“Going for a ride?” As Abigail passed the BOQ, Ethan called out to her. When she nodded, he descended the two steps from the porch and raised an eyebrow. “Do you have your pistol?”

“Even though we both know I couldn’t hit anything I aimed at, yes, I do.” Abigail touched her pocket. It still felt strange having the weight of the Colt there, but she did not doubt the wisdom of carrying it.

“May I join you?”

Abigail nodded, hoping Ethan didn’t notice that a flush of pleasure colored her cheeks. Mama had insisted that a woman should never be the first to reveal her feelings. “I wasn’t going anyplace special,” she told Ethan. “I just want to exercise Sally.”

“Samson will be glad to get out too.”

When the horses were saddled, instead of heading east toward the bridge, Ethan turned Samson west. “It’s probably silly,” he said as they passed the Rustic, “but I thought that maybe if I retraced the stagecoach’s route, I might learn something.”

It was as Abigail had feared. Ethan was so consumed with thoughts of the robberies that he could think of little else, including the state of his soul.

“I keep thinking about the robberies too,” she admitted. “I wish we knew who the woman was and where she lives.”

Ethan’s eyes scanned the horizon before returning to Abigail. “You sound as if you’re convinced there’s only one, but the passengers’ descriptions are different. One woman had white hair and was elderly. The other was a blonde.”

A month ago Abigail would not have given it a second thought, but that was before she had seen Leah in the dark wig. “It could be one woman with a wig,” she said, telling Ethan about her encounter with Leah. “If I hadn’t heard her voice, I wouldn’t have recognized her.”

“You might be right,” Ethan admitted, “but that doesn’t help us find her. She could be anywhere. Whoever she is, she’s well hidden, just like the outlaws.”

“At least you know who two of them are.”

“And that’s part of the problem.” Ethan frowned. “Deserters usually try to get as far away from a fort as possible. Schiller and Forge seem to be staying close to our garrison. The only reason I can imagine is that their leader is here.”

“At the fort?”

Nodding, Ethan outlined his reasons. “The way I see it, someone from the fort has to be involved, because only someone from the fort would know when guards were scheduled to be on the coaches. I don’t think it was coincidence that the robbery attempts stopped when we put guards on all the stagecoaches.”

Then why had the coach that Oliver was supposed to be guarding been attacked? Surely the person from the fort, if there was such a person, would have informed the outlaws that Oliver was scheduled to be on the coach. It was pure chance that he’d been taken ill. Or was it? Abigail did not like the direction her thoughts were headed. “Did Oliver tell anyone here that he was too ill to travel?”

Ethan nodded. “He sent a telegram that day.”

The timing seemed somehow wrong. “Was it before the stage left Cheyenne?” The woman who had taken part in the robbery had boarded the coach in Cheyenne. It was doubtful she would have ridden it, had a soldier been one of the other passengers.

Though the sky was cloudless, Ethan’s expression turned darker than a thunderhead. “The telegram came later. Oliver claimed he didn’t wake up until afternoon, and when I asked him what had happened, he said he didn’t remember much. According to him, the night before he helped some woman when she started to fall off the boardwalk in front of the hotel, and she was so grateful she insisted on paying for his dinner. She even ordered it for him, to make sure he had a good meal. The next thing he knew, he was so ill he couldn’t stand.”

Another woman, or was it the same one? There were too many coincidences for Abigail’s comfort. “It sounds as if Oliver ate some spoiled food, but I thought it took longer for the symptoms to start.” When Elizabeth had consumed a bad piece of meat, it had been hours before she’d been ill.

A gust of wind threatened to turn Abigail’s hat into a tumbleweed. As she tightened the ribbons, Ethan smiled. “One thing you can be sure of in Wyoming is, if it’s not windy today, it will be tomorrow.” His smile faded. “Oliver’s story could be true. He told me that if he eats mushrooms, he’s violently ill almost immediately. There could have been mushrooms in something the hotel served.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I want to believe it, because Oliver is a friend, and yet . . .” Once again Ethan stared into the distance, as if the horizon held the answer. “It’s possible that the woman he helped was the same one who held up the coach and that she deliberately ordered a dish containing mushrooms, but that assumes a lot of things, the most important of which is that she had to know Oliver can’t tolerate mushrooms.”

And that led back to someone at the fort’s being involved. A stranger in Cheyenne would not have known that.

“I’d like to believe Oliver,” Ethan continued, “because the alternative is that he pretended to be sick so that the bandits could attack the coach. I don’t like that idea at all.”

A man could only go so long without sleep. Eventually the need for rest caught up with him. Ethan yawned widely as he pulled off his boots. He knew he’d reached that stage. Though he was still disturbed by Oliver’s possible complicity in the robberies, he would sleep tonight, even if thunder crashed and hail pounded the roof. Ethan yawned again as he folded his uniform before sliding under the sheets. Seconds later, he was asleep.

At first his slumber was dreamless, but then the sounds intruded, and he dreamt of an animal caught in a trap. A rabbit, a fox, perhaps a pronghorn. The trap was so far away that Ethan could not identify the creature. All he knew was that the creature was in pain. He turned, trying to block out the cries, but they continued, weaker now, yet just as insistent, piercing through the fog of Ethan’s fatigue. It wasn’t a dream! Sleep fled as Ethan bolted out of bed and opened the door. There was Puddles, lying on the threshold. The normally exuberant dog appeared to have collapsed.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Alarm shot through Ethan. The puppy had never looked like this, his eyes dull with pain, his body virtually motionless, and he’d never sounded as if he were in agony. Ethan had heard the dog whimper when he wanted to come inside. He’d heard him yip with excitement and bark with alarm. Never before had he heard such piteous sounds.

“Puddles, what’s wrong?”

As if in response, the dog staggered to his feet, then toppled over, his legs moving uncontrollably, his head tipped backward at an alarming angle. “Puddles!” Ethan knelt beside the puppy, his fear growing when he heard the dog’s labored breathing. Though Ethan knew little about dogs, he knew this one’s condition was serious. Each breath was more tortured than the one before, and with each one, Puddles seemed to weaken further.

“No!” Ethan scooped the convulsing puppy into his arms. He could not—he would not—let Abigail’s dog die. Not caring about his own state of undress, he raced outside, and for the first time, he was thankful that the BOQ was next door to the post surgeon’s quarters. By some miracle, the lights were still on in the doctor’s office. “You’ve got to help me,” he said when the fort’s physician responded to his pounding on the door.

The heavyset man gave Ethan only a passing glance before focusing his attention on the dog in his arms. “I’m not a veterinarian,” he said sternly. Though well regarded for his medical expertise, the doctor was not noted for his friendly manner. “If that’s why you’re here, you’re in the wrong place. I don’t know anything about dogs, and the only reason I’m still awake is that I have two men in the hospital who may not make it through the night. I was on my way to them.”

“Please.” Ethan hated to beg, but there was no alternative. Dr. Pratt was Puddles’s only hope. “There has to be something you can do.”

Though the doctor glared, Ethan thought he saw a hint of curiosity in his gray eyes. “All right. Bring him in.” He ushered Ethan and Puddles into his office.

The doctor gestured toward the bare rectangular table in one corner of the room. While Ethan held Puddles, trying to keep the dog from sliding off the slippery surface during his seizures, Dr. Pratt examined him, peering into his eyes and mouth, running his hands and stethoscope over the puppy’s body.

“It looks like some kind of poison to me,” he said after what seemed like an eternity. “I would have expected him to expel it, but dogs aren’t like humans. They don’t spit out things that taste bad.” He laid a hand on Puddles’s right front leg, trying to still the thrashing. “Whatever it is, it’s interfering with his heart. It’s beating too fast. That might be what’s causing the seizures. I’m not sure.” The doctor took a step away from the table but kept his eyes on the puppy.

“Will anything stop the seizures?” Ethan could hear the difference in Puddles’s breathing. Another few minutes, and he would have no strength left.

Dr. Pratt harrumphed. “I told you I don’t know anything about dogs.”

Puddles wasn’t just a dog. He was Abigail and Charlotte’s treasured pet. Knowing how much the two women doted on him and how devastated they would be if he died, Ethan resolved not to give up without a fight. “If it were a man, what would you do?”