Ryder (Prairie Grooms, Book Two) (19 page)

“Your gun too, toss it over here,” her captor ordered.

Ryder’s eyes flashed with anger, but he complied.

“There now, that’s better. Hmmm, looks like somebody got himself a nasty snake bite.”

“Friend of yours?” Ryder asked.

“You could say that. Didn’t do a very good job of it though. Bit the wrong one.”

Ryder narrowed his eyes at the intruder. “What did you say?”

“None of your business boy,” he sneered and turned to the men on his right. “Tie him up!”

They sprang into action. Constance took in their numbers as best she could and realized there had to be at least six of them.  Within moments they had Ryder tied to one of the kitchen chairs, the dead snake at his feet, his knife and gun now in their hands. Constance struggled against the man that held her, but it was no use. His arm was like steel, and she had no doubt he’d use the gun he held to her head if provoked.

“Okay, boys. Let’s
get what we come for, and get out of here.”

“What do you want?” Ryder spat.

“What’s owed us, and I’d say that horse of yours out there will do just fine. In fact, I think I’ll take both of em.”

“No!” Constance cried. “You can’t!  He’s hurt! You can’t leave us without a horse!”

“We can’t help it if he went and got himself bit by a rattler.”

There was a commotion outside, and
the man holding her stepped away from the door so two men could enter. They dragged a struggling Cutty in with them. “Look what we found out in the barn,” one drawled.

Cutty took one look at Ryder, the snake at his feet, and stopped fighting them. “What happened?”

“He’s been bitten!” Constance cried. “He needs help!”

“How long?” Cutty asked, his voice low.

“Not long, but I’m
startin’ to feel kinda poorly,” Ryder told him.

Cutty sneered at the leader holding her, and spit. “No.”  The word was a statement.

The leader laughed. “We’re done here.”

Constance wasn’t sure if he was talking to his men or Cutty, who now had a horrified look on his face as he returned his attention to Ryder. “I’m sorry, boy. So sorry.”

“
Cutty?” Ryder said as he swayed slightly in his chair.

“No, you can’t leave him like this!” Constance said.

“You know you’re a might pretty thing. If I wasn’t in such a hurry to get to my next stop, I’d take you along. But I have a feelin’ you’d be more trouble than you’re worth. Tie her up and put her in the barn,” he told his men, then tossed his head at Ryder.  “We’ll let this one die alone.”

“No!”
Cutty yelled as he was dragged from the cabin. “You cannot do this! I
demand
you release me!”

“What?” Constance breathed. Was she hearing right? Did
Cutty just speak with an English accent? Her musing was cut short when two men grabbed her, lashed her wrists behind her back, and started to drag her from the cabin. “NO! Ryder!” She caught a glimpse of him as she was pulled outside.  His face had gone pale, and she knew the snake’s poison was doing its ugly work. “Ryder!” she cried again, fighting against tears of panic and despair.

Cutty was shoved up onto a horse, his hands lashed to the saddle horn, as the two men assigned the task of securing her in the barn yanked and pulled her along.  She kicked, she screamed, and she let them know she wasn’t going down without a fight.  But there were two of them, and only one of her, and in the end, they picked her up, one on each end, and got her there. 

One of them found some rope and tied her ankles, while the other stood and laughed.  “Isn’t this the one?” he asked.

“Guess so, but Gus ain’t worried about it. He figures he got the job done, even if it was the wrong one!” They both laughed at that as they sat her against a post and lashed her to it. “He’s just happy he got a good horse!”

“M
ake that two!” the other added.

She had no idea what they were talking about and didn’t care. Right now there was only one thing that mattered. “Listen to me, you cannot do this! My husband will die if he’s not tended to immediately!”

“Don’t you talk fancy?” one drawled. “Too bad Gus is leavin’ you behind. I could have myself some of that,” he told her with a leer.

She narr
owed her eyes at him. “How dare you speak to me like that, and you had better hope you
never
see me again. If my husband dies …”

One of them took a step back and shook his head.
“Nothin’ worse than an angry woman. You got guts, missy. But seems to me you’re the one tied up.”

Her bravado surprised even her. “
If he dies, I will hunt you down and …”

“Whoa, wh
at’s this?” he laughed. “You sure are a fiery one!”

“We’d best get out of here before she makes good on her threat,” the other said with a chuckle.  They slapped each other on the back, her anger nothing but a joke to them, and left. 

She listened as Othello screamed and neighed as the bandits tried to catch him. Banjo was gone when they’d brought her into the barn, so they obviously had him already.  She hoped Othello kicked their brains out. 

She struggled against her bonds but it was no use.  Trussed up and helpless, her husband faring no better and left to die, Constance did the only thing she could.  She prayed. Hard.

 
But praying for a miracle didn’t mean she stopped thinking of a way of escape. No, she scanned the barn around her as soon as she was finished, but saw nothing that might be of help. Wasn’t she supposed to have some revelation of how to get out of this? Some miraculous shred of insight that would help with their predicament?  But no, there was nothing that flashed through her mind and she pounded her head against the post in frustration.  Then it hit. Despair, hot and fast, and she began to sob.   

Fifteen

  Constance cried until she was spent
and had no more tears left. She’d twisted her wrists in her bonds over the last hour until they bled, but sat as tightly bound as before. All hope lost, she looked to the high ceiling of the barn, and began to yell. “Why aren’t You doing anything? He’ll die if You don’t do
something
!” Her voice cracked, and her next word was little more than a whisper. “Why?”

“Sugar?”

Her head snapped up. Ryder pushed the barn door open, and staggered in.  “Ryder!”

He stumbled and fell, pushed himself up, and crawled to where she sat. “Hold still, I’ll get ya free.”

He looked terrible, and she knew he had to be in a bad way. “We have to get you to a doctor!”

“Don’t know how, Sugar. We’ll just … have to take care of it … ourselves.”

“How ever did you free yourself?”

He gave her a weak grin. “We only got one chair left, I had to bust up the other one. Guess you’ll
… have to sit on my lap from now on.” He swallowed with effort as he cut her bonds with a small knife from the kitchen.  Once he freed her, he pulled himself up using the post for support, then pulled her up as well.

“What can I do? What do you need?”

“I’m thirsty …”

Her first instinct was to run to the water pump, but she had to get him to the house first.  She put one of his arms around her neck to support him, and led him from the barn. “Tell me what to do, Ryder,” she said firmly. “You are NOT going to die on me!”

“So thirsty …”

His hand was swollen, the wound area worse.
He’d cut it, probably to suck the venom out. But had he been too late? “Ryder, WHAT DO I DO?”

He looked at her. “Get me inside.”

She did, and once there, helped him down on the cot. That done, she ran to the water pitcher, it was empty.  She growled in frustration, ran outside to the pump and filled it. She turned and was about to run back when she heard the distinct sound of horse hooves galloping her way. She spun around and jumped as Othello came racing into the barnyard dragging about twenty feet of rope.  She cried out in joy, any fear she had of the stallion squashed by Ryder’s life hanging in the balance.  “Whoa, boy … whoa …” she said as she got up and slowly circled his prancing form. He stopped and looked at her, breathing hard. Who knew how fast and far he’d run to escape his captors and come home.

A whistle sounded. Ryder stood in the doorway of the cabin. Othello snorted and trotted right to him. Constance sank to her knees. “Thank you …” she whispered to the
Almighty. “Now keep him alive. Please just keep him alive.”

She pushed herself up, g
rabbed the pitcher and giving Othello a wide berth, circled around to Ryder. He’d already taken the rope in hand, and was examining the horse as best he could.
“It’s been cut,” he said, his voice weak as he held up the rope’s end. “Cutty, it had to be Cutty, the ol coot. I hope he’s still alive …” He looked at her. “Ya think ya can saddle him?”

She nodded. He could ask her to jump off a cliff
right now and she’d do it if she knew it would save him.  She ran to the barn to get the saddle, blanket and bridle, and with effort, brought them back.

“You can’t ride in that dress … I’ll bridle him …”

She ran into the cabin and as fast as she could and donned his shirt and buckskins. She then helped him saddle Othello.  Then came the hard part.  “I don’t rightly think I can climb on, Sugar. You’re gonna have to help me.”

She nodded her understanding, and with quite a few grunts on her part, helped push hi
m up onto the horse.  She stared at him when she realized he’d mounted up behind the saddle. “What are you doing?”

“You’re gonna have to handle him. I’m not sure how long I’d be able to. … I’m
feelin’ mighty poorly, Sugar…”

Tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could do it. It was the fact she didn’t know if they had enough time.  She nodded, and without saying a word, mounted Othello in front of him. 

Ryder wrapped his arms around her, took the reins that he’d wrapped around the saddle horn before mounting, and gave them to her.  “Don’t let him have his head. He’ll fight you, but don’t let him do it unless I …”

“Ryder?”

“…unless I say so.”

“Ryder? Do we have enough time?”

“Stop yappin’ Sugar, and we will.”

She nudged
Othello into a walk to make sure Ryder wasn’t going to fall off, then into a cantor.  The horse had come back winded and tired, and she wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep up the pace. But she’d ridden enough in England to know when a horse was overly tired.  Othello was tired, but not to the point of exhaustion. Yet.

“
Okay, let him stretch his … legs, Sugar. It ain’ t gonna hurt him.”

She did, and leaned forward as she’d seen Ryder do.
Othello took off like a shot.

She felt Ryde
r grip her waist, and fall against her, his head on her shoulder. He was weak, dying, and she prayed with all her might they found help in time.  She didn’t know every thing there was to know about a snake bite, but did know it was only a matter of time before the poison worked it’s way through the victim’s body enough to bring death.  Even when they reached help, would Doc Waller or Doc Drake be able to save him?  Would Ryder be too far gone?  How would they stop the poison from spreading?

They rode and rode hard, and after an hour, Othello began to stumble.  “No!” Constance cried. “C’mon, boy! C’mon!” She slowed him down at Ryder’s urging, and let him walk.

“He’s gotta … rest …”

“Ryder, I have to get you to town!”

“We’ll get there … stop.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

She brought the horse to a stop
. They were at the stream with the pretty flowers. “What is it?”

“See that … plant down there?” He said and pointed.

“Yes, but what is it? A weed?”

“Yep, but it’ll help.”

She swung a leg over and slid off the horse. She then picked some of the green leaves of the simple weed. “Now what?”

“Chew some up for me,” he rasped.

Without hesitation, she stuffed the leaves in her mouth and chewed.  He motioned her to climb back on. She did and he held his hand in front of her mouth. “Put it … on the wound, Sugar.”

She did. “What does this do?”

“It’s plantain, the Indians use it for snake bites. Don’t grow much by our place … but it does Clear Creek.”

“Then we’re close?”

“Getting’ there …” He slumped against her.

“Ryder?”

No answer.

“Ryder!”

Still no answer. But she knew he was conscious -- he was still on the horse.  She pulled her shirt out of the buckskin pants, and bit the frayed end. She then tore a strip off, and wrapped it around his hand to keep the plantain against it. That done, she brought his arms around her waist and held them by the wrists with one hand as she took the reins in the other.  From here on out, Ryder was in God’s hands.