The Lady and the Lawman (26 page)

Once
the fire was blazing, she approached its beckoning warmth, sat down
and stared into the mesmerizing flames.

“
What
the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

What
did it look like?

“
Get
dinner cooked. I’m starved.”

“
Cook?
You want me to make you food? With what?”

“
Those
tins of beans will heat up nicely. Get crackin’.”

She
picked up one of the tins and looked at it, trying to figure out how
it opened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to cook.”

The
man’s mouth dropped open. “Woman, I swear!” He grabbed up the
tins, opened them with his knife and dumped their contents into the
frying pan. “Don’t think you’re gonna get any.” He turned his
head to the side and spit into the flame, sizzling on the burning
embers along with the beans in the pan.

She
watched the man wolf down the heated beans, offering her none. Not
that she had any intention of sharing with the filthy man. Her
stomach was empty, but she was in no mood to eat. Pitch black except
for the orange-red glow from the fire, she laid down on her side and
curled up into a ball, trying to remain as warm as possible, yet
comfortable enough to sleep.

The
man across the fire licked the spoon of gravy. Throwing it into the
cast iron pan, it clanked loudly. He leaned back and reached for the
rope, coming around the campfire to her.

She
tensed as he approached.

“
This
is to keep you from runnin’ off in the night.” He tied it to one
of her already sore wrists. The lead was several feet long, giving
her a few feet of distance. At least her wrists weren’t tied
together again.

He
laid down on his back, tilted his hat over his face and appeared to
have fallen instantly asleep. Lying on her side, her head resting on
one bent arm, she watched his prone form and his even breathing. He
didn’t move a muscle and it appeared her prayers were answered. No
attempts at her person would be made tonight. She exhaled a deep
breath of relief.

How
could she escape being tied to the man in the middle of the night?
She spent several hours contemplating a way to escape, but
unfortunately she needed daylight to see by. Her plan hatched, she
laid waiting for the sun to start its climb.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Grant
rode hard to Ames in hopes of beating the stage, but he was too late.
The only one heading west had already left. The stage manager
however, said no one fitting Maggie’s description took a stage in
the past few days. In fact, no women boarded at all.

If
she wasn’t on the stage, where was she? She could be anywhere
within a twenty mile radius of Cranston, knowing she’d been gone a
whole day.

Unfortunately,
he had to waste precious time returning to the ranch and start over,
as if he were Maggie heading to Ames. Or at least head toward where
she thought Ames was.

Tom
had told Maggie Ames was the next stage stop west and an hour by
horse from Cranston. With his only clue, Grant packed food and water
and guided his horse toward the mountains.

Tom
hadn’t been exactly right with his directions. Ames was about an
hour southwest of Cranston, but if she followed the directions
exactly, she would watch the mountains getting larger as time went by
without coming across anything but open country. Grant did the same.

It
took him three hours to pick up her trail when he stopped to water
his horse. Looking around, he found her canteen lying on its side,
empty. He picked it up and found the inside dry, knowing it had been
at least several hours since she’d been here. Since it was early
yet, it’d probably been yesterday. So now what?

Searching
the rocky area, then the grassy area farther from the water, it was
clear some kind of scuffle took place. Tall grass was bent and
broken. Something metal glinted in the sunlight. He knelt down and
picked up a shell casing. It appeared to be new, no rust. Probably
from the bullet that shot her horse. But what of Maggie? Was she
shot, too? He searched the area and only found one blood trail, and
it led in the direction of the ranch.

There
appeared to be a second set of horse tracks that led further west.
From what he could tell by all the broken grass, Maggie must have
fought the man. Had she stumbled across someone or had she been
followed? Dread filled him. He let his gut guide him and followed the
tracks.

***

The
smell of burning fibers tinged the air, but the man still slept.
Maggie had thrown the middle of the rope, the part that hung slack
between them, into the dying embers. They were still hot enough to
burn through the material and finally, with a tug on the rope near
her wrist, she found herself free.

Slowly,
very slowly, she sat up, then used her hands to stand as quietly as
she could. Looking down at her captor’s sleeping form, she knew it
was now or never. Walking as silently as possible, she approached the
water, hoping to follow it downstream along its bank.

The
morning air was still, the day cool, yet clear and promising to be
warm. The rushing water was a perfect muffle to her footsteps. The
water’s edge, with its rocky terrain, would prevent any kind of
trail. She followed the water for quite some time, pleased to have
been able to get away. She tried to work the knot loose around her
wrist, but without a knife, it was impossible. Dragging several feet
of rope, she held it in her hand to keep from tripping.

The
sound of a racing horse broke her thoughts and solitude. Turning, she
saw her kidnapper approach, fury etched on his face, gun in hand. He
was ready to shoot her, no second chances.

She
broke into a sprint, but her legs were no match for his horse. The
man jumped down from his saddle and chased after her. All at once her
arm was practically ripped from its socket, her wrist probably broken
by the man grabbing the rope and pulling, yanking her hard to the
ground. She landed on the rocky bank, water rushing by her head.

Keeping
his hold on the rope, he wrestled with her until she was pinned
beneath him. “Damn you!” he hissed. Winded, he spit out the wad
of tobacco from his lower lip and wiped his mouth. She looked up at
him and knew she was going to die.

Large
hands grabbed her about the throat and squeezed, getting tighter and
tighter. She couldn’t breathe, no air got past his hands. Her
throat was being crushed by his tight grasp and her eyes felt ready
to pop from her head. She saw stars and the man’s evil face spun.
Thrashing beneath him, she tried to buck him off. Sh
e
clawed at his arms,
trying
to pull them free from her neck.

She
was dying. Losing strength as her body starved for air, she grabbed
at
the
river rocks she was sprawled upon.
She was barely able to focus, and the world got dark.

Her
right hand bumped into a large rock and she grabbed it. Using all the
strength she could muster, she lifted it and swung hard, hitting him
squarely on the side of the head. Her strike was strong enough to
knock him to the ground, his hands instinctively on his temple, not
her neck.

She
brought her own hands to her neck and curled into a ball, sucking in
precious air. After recovering enough to sit up, she looked at her
attacker. Blood poured from the wound to his skull, but he was still
conscious. He looked at her, confusion and anger in his eyes.

She
had to get away, and fast. Coughing, she stumbled to her feet and
tried to run. But her mind couldn’t get her feet to do what she
wanted. She weaved and fell to the ground. She started crawling, then
attempted to stand, finally successful. She stood still for a moment,
then put one foot in front of the other.

Groans
from the man made her look over her shoulder. He too, tried to stand.
He lunged for her, but she was too far away and fell back to the
ground. “You bitch!” He struggled once again and finally made it
to his feet, teetering a bit, trying to get his balance.

She
knew she had to move.
Think
one foot, then the other
.
It was no good. Her brain was so rattled, she couldn’t think
straight. She had to get away or she’d die! The water beside her
rolled and tumbled, sloshing against the rocky ground at her heels.
It moved swiftly, the current strong and fast, so deep, she couldn’t
see the bottom in places.

Looking
between the water and the man who slowly approached, she knew she had
one last choice. Jump or die. Taking a gulp of air, she plunged into
the icy water. Her breath was once again ripped from her body.
Quickly, the current took her and she was rushed downstream. The
man’s shouts were muffled by the gurgling, rushing water. It was
the last she heard before the tumultuous rush knocked her underwater.
She came up sputtering, finally able to get her feet facing down. She
let the water take her, holding her head up above the water level as
best she could.

Coldness
seeped into her very being. She became weaker. She’d escaped the
man and his deadly grasp, but she needed to get out of the water
before she froze to death, or be drowned in the process.

Luckily,
the water began to slow, coming to a quieter part of the creek.
Margaret was able to grasp a branch extending from the shoreline. Her
f
ingers
were too numb to hold onto the decaying wood
and
she slid by, the water taking her where it chose. Teeth chattering,
she tried once again, using all of her remaining strength.

She
kicked as best as she could against the current toward big boulders
jutting from the water. As she was about to collide with the jagged
edges, she put her feet out in front of her and softened the blow to
her body. Crumpling with the strength of the water pushing against
her back, she leaned toward the shore and was able to break free of
the current. Sputtering, she dragged herself up the rocky bed on
hands and knees, and collapsed on the blessed grass. Coughing, she
spit up a large amount of water. Shivering uncontrollably, she curled
up into a ball and hoped she could find a way to warm up. A fire, hot
against her skin. She drifted out of consciousness dreaming of all
things hot.

***

Grant
found the dead man several hours after finding Maggie’s canteen.
The bastard hadn’t been too hard to track. His horse had left a
clear path through the tall grass, which Grant was able to track at a
breakneck pace. As he jumped from his mount, it was obvious the man
was dead. The body was face down, head bobbing on the surface of the
creek. One of his arms extended out into the water and followed the
motions of the raging current.

Squatting
down, he pulled the man back onto the ground and rolled him over.
Water dripped down his face and body. A large cut to the side of his
head was evident, bad enough to have a flap of skin and hair fall
back, exposing bone. The water had cleaned out the wound, but a large
amount of blood stained his shirt. Deep scratches ran down his cheeks
and his shirt was ripped at the shoulder.

In
the man’s left hand he found a piece of fabric, white cotton,
similar to Maggie’s blouse. “Maggie!” He shouted into the air
as he frantically looked for tracks. Where was she? Did she have a
similar fate? He ran his hand through his hair, thinking of the worst
possibilities.

Think!
What would she do? The bastard had been close enough to her that
she’d scratched at his face. She’d ripped his shirt in her fight.
God, had he hurt her? Had he—

Grant
refused to think about it.

Searching
the area, he came up with nothing. He’d found no traces of her
except for the swatch of fabric. Returning to the dead man, he looked
into the water. Had she really done what he was thinking? The water
was ice cold! Would she, could she? There wasn't any other choice he
could see. Finding the man’s horse grazing nearby, he led it to his
then tied the lead to his saddle. Mounting, he spurred his horse into
motion and followed the water downstream.

***

After
a mile, he found her. Curled up on the grass, she was asleep. At
first he thought her dead, but could see her shivering
uncontrollably. Thank the good Lord! Jumping down from his horse, he
rushed to her, pulled her wet form into his arms, squeezing her
against him. She groaned in protest, but was too cold to fight. He
had to warm her, and fast.