Night Hawk (6 page)

The New Testament had been Tilda's favorite, and as he read a bit each night, he learned why. She'd tried to live her life by the Son's teaching by being charitable and forgiving to everyone she knew. He, on the other hand, found the Old Testament more to his liking. Yahweh gave no quarter, and after tracking down Tilda's killer, Ian spent his years as a bounty hunter doing the same.

He stretched his arms and shoulders in his chair. The few hours of sleep he'd snatched right after midnight had been more than enough. He'd slept confident that he'd hear her if she awakened and made an attempt to sneak away under the cover of darkness.

Looking over at her, he found himself wondering what she'd do if Wells granted her her freedom. She'd given him the impression that she'd been living pretty much hand to mouth since being on her own and finding employment when and where she could. It was not the life a woman should have to lead, no matter who she was, but it wasn't his concern. Once he heard from Wells and everything was cleared up, he'd go his way and she'd go hers.

He read the last few verses of Kings and in spite of his claims of being rested, his lids slid closed and after a few more ticks of the clock on the wall, he was asleep.

Maggie had been feigning sleep, so as soon as his snores reached her ears, she stayed motionless for another minute just to make sure he wasn't pretending as well before she sat up slowly. Silent as a shadow she left the bed. Having lived in a convent, she knew how to move like a whisper. Gathering up the borrowed clothing, her boots, and her pack, she kept one eye on his sleeping form while she covered the short distance to the door. Hands on the latch, she worked it slowly until the door opened. She shot one last look back his way. Noticing no discernible change in his position or measured breathing, she slipped out and gently shut the door. The sisters at the convent would've praised her stealth; Maggie'd only had to be beaten twice to realize that when the nuns said quiet, they meant it.

She assumed the Tanners were early risers like most farm people, but it was still dark, so she hoped they were asleep. Her heart pounding, she crept by their room as silently as she could. The thought of all the food in the Tanners' kitchen drew her there. If she succeeded in her escape, food would be needed. She had no money to leave in payment and felt bad about stealing from them after their many kindnesses. Maybe one day in the future she'd be able to return and make amends, but presently she had no time to chide herself about fractured morals. Getting away from the marshal and finding a place to hide until the law forgot about her was her only concern.

Problem was, she couldn't see a thing in the small kitchen. Although she'd helped Betsy clean up after dinner, this was not Maggie's home and therefore she didn't know what was where in the dark. She sort of knew where the cold box stood, but could she get to it without tripping over something or knocking against something that might be heard and bring attention to herself? She could still taste the succulent chicken Betsy had served for dinner and she knew there'd been a good portion of it stowed away, but decided she'd have to leave without it. Too chancy.

And just as she turned to head out of the door that led from the kitchen to the outdoors, she saw the light of a candle, followed by Betsy's soft voice. “Are you leaving us?”

Startled and guilty, Maggie froze. Taking in a deep breath and knowing the marshal was probably standing behind her as well, she braced herself and turned. “Yes.”

But Betsy was alone. “Then take these and I'll get you some food.” She handed Maggie some folded garments. “They're an old pair of trousers I use in the field, and a man's shirt.”

While the speechless Maggie stared agape, Betsy and her candle moved quickly to the cold box, now visible in the small glow.

“Why are you helping me?”

Betsy responded with a shrug and whispered, “You shouldn't be punished for defending your honor, and the color of your skin shouldn't be a factor, either.”

Maggie knew Betsy was a female crusader, but also knew that many times crusaders like her were only interested in their own personal equality. At that moment Maggie wished she could remain and enjoy the friendship of such a remarkable woman, but that couldn't be, either.

Betsy quickly placed a variety of food items in a tea towel. Tying the edges tight, she passed Maggie the small bundle. “Godspeed.”

Once again Maggie wanted to linger but knew she could not. “Thank you.” She hurried out into the night.

Chapter 6

I
an awakened to a sun-filled room. Head fuzzy with sleep, it took a few seconds for the empty bed to register and when it did, he jumped up and rushed out to the main section of the house. He found Betsy in the kitchen frying bacon. “Where's my prisoner?”

“She isn't in the room?”

Ian hurried outside to the facilities. On the way, he spotted Rand pouring water into the pig's trough. “You seen the Freeman woman?”

Rand stopped. “No. She missing?”

Ian pounded on the door of the facilities. Receiving no response, he gingerly opened the door and found it as empty as the bed had been. He cursed and took a slow survey of the countryside. It'd been just before dawn when he saw her last, which meant she had a good two-hour start on him.
Dammit!
“Any horses missing?”

Rand went to see. Ian hurried to join him. She'd already confessed to having stolen a horse in the past. If she'd ridden off on Smoke, he'd skin her alive.

The stallion was in his stall, however, and so were all of Rand's animals. Ian let out a sigh of relief that only marginally tempered his stormy mood. Seeing the knowing smile on Rand's face didn't help matters.

“Weren't you two in the same room?” Rand asked. “How'd she get by you?”

Ian had no idea.

“Aren't you supposed to be the best in the West?”

The emeralds glared. Rand's grin widened. “Being on foot is going to slow her down, so that should help you out.”

Ian agreed. Unless she'd sprouted wings, he should be able to find her easily enough.

“I'll tell Betsy you'll be taking your breakfast with you. Go ahead and saddle up.” But Rand had one more dig. “Who'd've thought that little girl would outfox the famous Preacher.”

Still chuckling, he exited the barn and left the tight-lipped Ian to his task.

Once Smoke was readied, Ian walked around the property looking for tracks. Luckily for him, either she didn't know how, or had been in too much of a hurry to cover her escape because it took him only a short while to discover her boot print tracks on the edge of Rand's recently plowed fields. She was headed east. The bounty hunter in him wondered, Why east? Had she chosen that direction purposefully or was she just running?

He began the walk back to the Tanners' house. His offer to do a good deed for Sheriff Wells had delayed his trip home and now had him chasing across the countryside after a woman who'd had no business being placed under arrest in the first place, and that didn't help his mood, either.

He was mounted and eager to depart when Betsy came out and handed him some food tied up in a tea towel and a canteen of coffee. “Please, if you find her, don't be too harsh. I'm sure she only did what she thought best.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Rand offered up a parting handshake. “Come back and see us when you can.”

Ian nodded, reined his horse around, and set out east.

M
aggie had no idea how far she'd walked since leaving the Tanners' farm, but it was presently midday and she was pretty sure she'd put a fair amount of distance between herself and the marshal, or at least she hoped so. More than likely he hadn't been happy to wake up and find her gone. With any luck, he'd just forget about her, but she doubted he'd choose that option. He apparently had a reputation for being very skilled at his occupation, and having her disappear the way she had sullied that. In the end, her only option was to keep moving and pray she got away.

She decided she was going to Oberlin, Ohio. Its college had been the nation's first institution of higher learning to offer advanced education to men and women of color. Attending had always been one of her dreams. Her father was a graduate, and although that wouldn't gain her entrance, especially with her being penniless, she was determined to find employment and save up enough money so she could finish her schooling. Afterwards, maybe she'd head to one of the big cities like Detroit or Philadelphia. Both had sizable Black populations established well before the war; surely in such progressive environments she'd be able to fulfill her other dream of being a teacher just like her father. She'd always had an appetite for knowledge, no matter the subject, and her parents fed that need by providing her access to books, newspapers, and broadsides. Her father jokingly called her a funnel because everything he poured into her head went straight in. That memory made her smile, and for a moment she wondered what he'd think of her now, on the run from a United States deputy marshal. Having been a soldier, he'd probably be appalled, but he'd been a realist, too. He'd've understood the rationale behind her flight.

Maggie pushed the thoughts of her past out of her mind and kept walking. She was following what appeared to be a cow path through a large stand of trees. She kept her eyes out for wildlife. A short while ago, she'd had the life scared out of her by a deer darting across the path. Deer were harmless. Bears were not. The weather was warm but the leafy green canopy overhead screened out much of the sun. The trousers were a godsend. In a skirt she would have been snagged by branches and brambles and wasted precious time working herself free. Betsy Tanner's assistance still touched her, and she dearly hoped the woman hadn't gotten into trouble with the marshal for her role.

Up ahead the trees opened into a wide swath of cleared land. Pausing at the edge of the trees, Maggie saw a lone cabin a few hundred feet away. By the fenced-in livestock and freshly plowed fields, she assumed the dwelling to be occupied. She didn't want to expose herself to whoever lived there so she glanced around to make certain no one was about before moving quickly across the open land to the next stand of trees.

By early afternoon, she was tired and hungry and sorely in need of food and a short rest. She also needed to search out a safe place to spend the night, provided the marshal didn't appear and make that unnecessary. Once again she wondered if he was on her trail. Deciding not to think about it, she kept walking.

The woods now skirted a shallow but pristine stream. Ducks and geese were on the surface, and she could hear songbirds offering up their melodies. Before the Europeans, the Wind Clan lived from the Solomon River to the Neosho River encompassing most of what was now called the state of Kansas. She doubted this little piece had changed much since that time even though the Kaws' way of life had been all but obliterated.

The pastoral setting seemed a good place to stop and take her well-earned rest. To make sure she was alone, she peered at the opposite bank and up and downstream. Feeling safe, she sat at the base of a tree and removed the food from her pack. As she bit into the slices of seasoned chicken nestled between two fat pieces of bread she again sang Betsy Tanner's praises. She was far hungrier than she'd initially realized, and it wasn't long before the sandwich was gone, along with a few bites of the cake and some wedges of dried apples.

Her canteen was dry, so after taking another cautious look around she made her way down to the bank to fill it. The water was sweet and cold. Smiling, she dipped her cupped hands into the stream again. In the process of bringing the water to her mouth, her eyes widened at the sight of Marshal Bigelow mounted on his big stallion on the opposite bank. In the moment that her surprised eyes met his, he was already wading the horse into the water. Maggie ran. Bolting up the bank, she grabbed her pack and fled back into the trees. The retrieval cost her a few precious seconds of escape time but she couldn't afford to leave it behind. How had he found her so quickly! Dappled light played over her as she dashed through the maze of trunks and grasses. She prayed he'd have a difficult time riding her down in such close quarters so she ran as dizzying a path as she could manage. Crashing through the carpet of dead leaves and other vegetation, she could hear the sounds of her own breathing and her heart pounded in her chest. The echoes of the galloping hooves behind her were just as loud. She let out an involuntary moan of distress and ran faster.

Next she was off her feet and held tight by an iron arm snaked around her waist. She fought as fiercely as she could, but when you're being carried like a rug curled under someone's arm, you look comical at best.

“You through?” he asked.

She snarled and kicked and twisted some more, but she wasn't going anywhere and they both knew it. The horse kept up the slow pace and Bigelow rode as casually as if he was accustomed to holding irate females clamped against his side all the time.

“Put me down!”

“How'd you get past me?”

“Quite easily, obviously!”

The ghost of a smile curving his lips beneath his shadowy brim only made her madder. “Put me down!” Bobbing along like a length of female bedroll was not endearing him to her in the least.

“Back in Kansas City you cause the biggest street ruckus I've ever seen. Pour commodes on beds to get even, and now you're the first prisoner who's ever escaped me. I'm impressed.”

“Then put me the hell down!”

“Cursing woman, too.” He moved his attention to her face. “Certainly didn't expect all this.”

Flush against his side, she looked up into his unshaven face, intending to give him what for, only to have those exotic eyes steal her breath. The power in them pulsed through her, quickening something inside she'd never experienced. Her heart pounded and her lips parted unconsciously. Then he dropped the reins and with two hands lifted her as effortlessly as if she weighed less than a dozen eggs and set her behind him on the stallion's back. “Hold on.”

Shaken, she complied. She had no name for what had passed between them, but that was fine because it made no sense to explore something connected to a man she'd never see again once they went their separate ways.

Leaving the trees, they rode south. When they reached a road that led west, Maggie sighed softly with resignation. Her escape attempt hadn't borne fruit, but at least she'd tried. Given the opportunity, she'd do it again. If she had her way, he'd eventually get so tired of chasing after her, he'd throw up his hands and say good riddance. Presently, however, that outcome existed only in her imagination. In reality, she was his prisoner once more. “Where are we going?”

“Town called Bradley.”

Ian knew that it would be quicker to go back to Kansas City and use the telegraph there, but he didn't want take the chance of their being seen and have her hauled in by the young deputy and questioned about all the commotion she'd caused yesterday with the Quigley woman's parasol. The owners of the damaged vehicles were probably looking for someone to point the finger at for compensation, and he didn't have time for that. Rand said Bradley was a half-day's ride away. If they didn't run into any problems along the way they'd arrive by evening. He had no idea how large the town might be but hoped they had a telegraph and a place to get a room for the night, otherwise he and Little Miss Escape would have to sleep under the stars.

With the logistics for the next day firmed in his mind, he turned his thoughts to the woman. To be truthful he'd lost her trail about an hour ago and just happened to be at the stream. He'd been about to let Smoke drink and rest up while he decided what to do next when she suddenly appeared on the other side. Admittedly he could have shown himself at that point, but for some reason he held back. Grabbing his spyglass he watched her instead, noting the wariness on her face and that she was wearing blue denim trousers, of all things. When she reached into her pack and pulled out something tied up in a towel that matched the towel Betsy had given him, he wondered if someone in the Rand house had assisted her escape. He'd lowered the glass and mulled that over for a moment. It had been dark when she took flight. Had she hidden the food somewhere ahead of time? But that wasn't likely because she hadn't been out of his sight. She also wouldn't have been able to make her way around a dark kitchen she was unfamiliar with, not without making a racket that would have brought him running. Which meant she'd had an ally, and he'd bet his best hat that ally had been Betsy. “Betsy helped you?”

“Did she say that?”

“No.”

“Then I'm not, either.”

Her spunk reminded him of the wives of his friends Griffin Blake and Neil July. Jessi Rose Blake and Olivia July were both women to be reckoned with, and the small, angry hornet riding behind him seemed cut from similar cloth. “Where'd you get the denims?”

“Had them in my pack.”

He wasn't sure he believed her, but in truth, it didn't much matter. All that mattered was getting the mess she was in straightened out so they could part ways. For reasons he couldn't name, that thought made him frown.

It was early evening when they rode into Bradley, but the sun had yet to set. Maggie saw just a handful of businesses fronting the main street, one of which was a dentist's office that had a large white tooth mounted on a sign above the door. As she and the marshal rode slowly down the middle of the street, the few people on the walks paused to watch them pass by. From the expressions on their faces, they didn't get many visitors wearing all black, or women dressed in denims, but no one commented.

He stopped Smoke in front of the telegraph office. “I'm going to wire Sheriff Wells to see if I can let you go, now that he's got Langley under arrest.”

Why the look of joy spreading across her face seemed to fill his insides with sunshine was something he couldn't explain, either.

“How long do you think it'll be before he wires back?”

“Probably not until the morning.”

“Thank you, Marshal,” she gushed.

“You're welcome.”

Inside, they found a wizened old man whose bald head shone like a billiard ball. “What can I do for you folks?”

“I want to send a telegram.”