Glory (30 page)

“I’ll hurt her worse,” he snarled. “Where’s that gold, Glory?”

Patience and Lily started to sob; Ruth begged him to be merciful.

“Let her go, Amos,” Glory pleaded. “She’s sick. I’ll take you to Poppy’s gold. I have it hidden. We can make good time, just the two of us. We have to go now, before Wyatt and his sons hear the racket and come to investigate.”

“No, Glory!” Ruth pleaded. “You can’t go with him—”

“I’ll take you, Amos,” Glory repeated. “Now! But you have to let Mary stay here.”

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll do away with the lot of ’em.” He thrust Mary backward onto the cot, his left hand closing around Glory’s arm, pinching her tender flesh so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

Whirling, he dragged her to the window and hoisted her to the sill. With a wicked shove he sent her flying through the opening. She landed on the ground with a hard thump, and he chuckled with glee. “If you make a run for it, Miss Glory,” he sang out on a high note, “I’ll bring Miss Mary with me!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Amos,” Glory returned.

He grunted with rage as he climbed through the window and landed on the ground in a heap. Struggling to his feet, he gave Glory a sound slap across her face. “That’s a taste of what you’ll get if you try anything. I mean it. You try to run out on me again, and I’ll come back here and take care of your little friends.”

“I’ll do whatever you say.” Teeth chattering, Glory huddled against the icy wind. Snow had already begun to fall.

Snatching her arm, he ushered her to a stand of aspens, where a horse waited. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and then climbed into the saddle.

“Ow,” she cried as he dragged her up behind him. She struck out at him. “That hurts!”

“Don’t try anything funny, Glory. I mean it. Where did you put that gold?”

“In Denver City. I hid it before we came out here to Wyatt’s.”

“You better not be lying to me,” he snarled as they set off at a trot.

Investigating the ruckus, Wyatt opened the door to the bunkhouse and held his lantern aloft. His nightshirt flapped in the howling wind. “What’s going on out here?”

The women huddled close, sobbing and praying in the center of the room. They shrank back as his spindly frame filled the open doorway. The only sounds were Mary’s wheezing and the gusts of wind banging the door against the side of the building.

“I’m not a patient man!”

Ruth spoke up. “A man came in.”

“What?” Wyatt roared, lifting the lantern higher. His long hair whipped in the wind.

“Through the window there. He took Glory, his niece. He’s a horrible man. I think he means her harm. You could catch them if you leave now. They have about a quarter of an hour’s start. I saw them heading into the woods—you could follow their tracks.”

The other girls gasped.

“No,” Lily exclaimed, “you can’t send him after them.”

Ruth turned to look at her. “It’s the only way we can save Glory. This man is less of a danger to her than Amos. Remember, we’re only worth something to Wyatt if we’re alive. Glory’s uncle will surely do away with her once he gets what he’s after.”

“Oh,” Lily choked, burying her face in her hands to sob.

Wyatt strode to the open window and slammed it shut. “The next one who tries to escape will be shot, you hear me?”

“The dead could hear you,” Jackson said, appearing in the open doorway with Dylan right behind him. Both men had pistols trained on Wyatt.

“Jackson!”
Ruth sprang up to meet him. “Glory knew you would come. She lied to Amos, told him she’d hidden the money in Denver City. She sacrificed herself for Mary and us.”

He strode into the room as Wyatt turned and extended his lantern to get a look at him.

“Are you hurt?” Jackson asked the girls as he moved toward them.

“No,” Ruth said, “only scared.”

“Get your things,” Jackson said evenly. “You’re coming with us.”

“See here—” Wyatt stopped short when Jackson turned to face him.

“I don’t want any trouble, Wyatt.”

Dylan was standing watch at the door. “We’ve got company.”

Outside, a man’s voice filtered above the howling wind. “Daddy? It’s Jeb. You want us to shoot ’em?”

“If these men step outside with the women, shoot ’em all,” Wyatt yelled. He glanced at Jackson and grinned. “No trouble, wagon master. You’re not going anywhere with anybody.”

“Okay, Pa,” came the reply from the darkness outside.

Dylan, standing behind the door with his pistol aimed in the direction of the voices outside, spoke up, “Wyatt, shine your lantern this way. I have something you should see.”

When Wyatt hesitantly complied, Dylan flashed the badge pinned to his jacket. “See this?”

“You the law?” Wyatt took a step back.

“Dylan McCall, U.S. marshall. I’m here to take these women into protective custody until investigators can check the legitimacy of your claim to them.”

“Now hold on,” Wyatt said, backing away now. “Why didn’t you say so? You don’t need to go stirring up a hornet’s nest. We can work something out.”

“Thought you might see it that way. Here’s the deal. You call off your boys, and we leave peaceably. Nobody gets hurt. I can tell investigators how cooperative you were.”

Wyatt grunted, then sighed heavily, took a deep breath, and raised his voice to shout, “Boys, change of plans! Put down your weapons, and let these two men and the women leave.”

“Huh? You sure, Pa?”

“Do as I say,” Wyatt roared.

Dylan motioned to Ruth. “Ladies, line up behind me and stay close. Jackson will follow behind.”

Spreading her arms, Ruth quickly assembled the girls behind her. She stepped behind Dylan and took hold of his shirt. “We’re with you,” she murmured.

“Let’s go.” He stepped through the doorway, pistol held aloft. Quietly the group filed out with Dylan in the lead and Jackson protecting their flank. He grabbed Wyatt’s lantern just before he slammed the door shut.

“What the—” Wyatt roared.

The group made a break for the nearest trees before Wyatt and his boys had a chance to change their minds.

Hurrying deeper into the woods, they could hear the shrill voices of Wyatt’s boys. “Why you lettin’ them take the women, Pa?”

“Because, you
fools
, there’s more where they came from. Besides, more lawmen are on their way. Time we took to higher ground.”

“We coulda shot those men, Pa!”

“If you lazy bums had rolled out of bed and come out here when I first called you,” Wyatt bellowed, “we’d all been inside the bunkhouse, and those boys wouldn’t have gotten the drop on me. But no, you don’t listen to your pa!”

The ruckus faded as the small group scurried through the woods. They paused in an aspen grove, where Jackson bent to check two sets of footprints, one set large and one set small. He glanced up at Dylan. “Looks like this is where Amos left his horse.”

Dylan nodded. “They can’t be far. I’ll go after them.”

“You take the others and get them back to Denver City,” Jackson said. “The wagon and teams are waiting about a mile down the road. I’ll go after Glory, and we’ll meet up by morning.”

“Be careful,” Dylan warned.

“I will. See to the girls’ safety. The storm is about to break, and it’s going to be a bad one.” The two men shook hands and set off in different directions.

Within minutes, Jackson located a set of prints in the snow. Fresh, not over an hour old. As the sprinkle of falling snow grew heavier, Jackson urged his mare into a gallop. It looked like Amos was angling back toward the road. He had to catch him before the snow covered his tracks. Kicking his horse, he rode faster.

Rounding a bend half an hour later, Jackson spotted a light in the distance. He quickly dimmed his own lantern. Amos’s horse was lunging up a hillside, while Amos awkwardly held his lantern aloft. The snow, combined with the awkward weight of Amos and his passenger, made it hard for the animal to keep his balance.

Jackson reined his mare to circle around, hoping to catch Amos by surprise.

When Amos’s horse topped the next rise, Jackson put his heels to his mare, and she shot out of the trees in a blur of snow and wind. The wagon master turned his mare so she’d bump Amos’s horse, and then he reached out and grabbed its bridle. Amos’s lantern flew to the ground and smashed.

“Jump, Glory!” Jackson shouted, but she was already sliding off the animal’s back.

Jackson glanced over his shoulder to be sure she was clear. Amos struck out, hitting him in the jaw. Jackson reeled and dropped his lantern but managed to keep his hold on the bridle. The two horses leapt side by side, brushing between the nearby aspen trees.

The trail narrowed; there was hardly enough room for one animal. Amos’s knee collided with a tree trunk, and he pitched backward, losing his balance and falling heavily to the ground.

Jackson wheeled his horse around and galloped back. Dismounting, he kept an eye on Amos, who by now was raising one hand in the air. “Don’t shoot,” he hollered, bending forward to clutch his knee.

“Look out, Jackson!” Glory cried. “He’s got a knife in his boot!”

Amos sprang, slashing wildly. Jackson instinctively raised his right hand to protect himself. Amos ripped his palm and wrist, tearing open glove and flesh.

Jackson swung his left fist and connected with Amos’s jaw and sent him sprawling. Awkwardly, he drew his pistol out of his holster with his left hand. Amos rolled to his knees and crawled a few feet.

“Stop right there,” Jackson warned, leveling the Colt.

“You won’t get away with this,” Amos snarled. He kept his eyes on the pistol in Jackson’s hand. After a pause, he backed up a few feet and slid down a tree trunk and sat there, glaring.

Glory rushed to Jackson. He awkwardly put his left arm around her, pulling her close to his side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I knew you would come.” She paused. “What about the girls?”

“Dylan has them. They’re on their way to Denver City. We’ll meet them by morning.” He glanced up at the swirling snow. “Round up the horses. The storm is getting worse.”

“You got it.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment in the silence of the falling snow.

“What are you going to do with me?” Amos snarled.

“Well, it comes down to this, Amos.” Jackson leaned over to pick up the knife. His blood stained the mounting snow. “When we leave, we’re taking your horse. I’ll leave him tied about a mile down the road. Then you have a choice to make. You can give up the notion of taking the gold away from Glory, or you can continue to hunt her down and deal with me. In which case, you won’t have a second chance. So you come after Glory again, and there’ll be no mercy. Or you can walk to your horse, mount up, and ride on. You make the choice.”

Amos glared up at him.

Jackson mounted his mare and pulled Glory up behind him. He fixed Amos with a solid stare. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

Looping the reins of Amos’s horse around his saddle horn, Jackson set the horses into motion.

Snow pelted their faces as Jackson galloped the horse back down the trail. Glory knew if the storm kept up, he wouldn’t be able to see the road in another fifteen minutes.

“Will Amos come after us?” she shouted above the whistling wind.

“That’s up to him!”

She knew Jackson had been fair enough to give him a choice; other men likely wouldn’t have.

The wind shifted, and snow flecks turned to cotton-ball-size flakes. They approached an overhanging rock, and Jackson veered off to the side of the trail. Slipping out of the saddle, he tied Amos’s horse to a low bush. He quickly remounted the mare, and they rode on.

“What about your hand?” she called in a worried voice a short time later. “It’s bleeding!” It was a nasty wound. He was losing blood fast, and unless the gash was properly dressed, he could bleed to death. Jackson stopped the horse long enough for Glory to get down and scoop up a handful of snow and press it to his wound.

Blinding snow swirled as the horse and its riders pushed on through the mounting drifts. Conversation was impossible now. Glory clung to Jackson’s waist, trying to summon faith like Ruth’s.