Chapter 28

 

            At first, Heath was certain he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t break free from.  He fought the darkness until the sharp pain in his arm caused him to give a cry that sounded oddly muffled.  It was then that he realized his eyes were open.  His lashes flicked against the scratchy wet wool of a blanket that smelled of must and smoke. Heath turned his head and gagged.  Nausea rose, but he fought back the urge to vomit as cold sweat beaded his forehead.  He realized he had a bandana tied around his mouth, and knew that meant that to vomit would result in death.

 

            Maybe that would be better, the man thought, as he felt the rhythm of the wagon. Maybe dying now is gonna be better than dying later.

 

 Rain pelted the wagon and soaked into the blanket.  Heath shivered, and prayed this was a nightmare.  What he wouldn’t give now to be able to scream and wake his family.  What he wouldn’t give now to have Nick shaking his shoulder and asking him if he was all right.  It was funny, in an ironic sort of way, that what Heath wanted now was exactly what he hadn’t wanted just twenty-four hours earlier.  Which meant Heath should have paid heed to that saying his mother was so fond of – be careful what you wish for because it might come true.

 

Heath’s foggy mind wandered.  He was so tired, but not the kind of tired that came with the end of a long day.  Instead, it was the kind of tired he’d felt only a few times in his life.  It was the kind of drug-induced tired that came after surgery, or after you’d been given a dose of laudanum.  Even though you had just woken up, your limbs felt heavy, and your thoughts came slow, and you knew you could sleep again for hours if left undisturbed.  Heath wondered about that feeling now, and how he’d come by it.  He also wondered who was driving the wagon and where he was being taken.

 

It was when she tossed back the blanket that he had the answer to his first question.  The lantern she held allowed him to see her knife.  The polished blade glittered with raindrops.  The point of the knife pricked his chin, and then the blade was slashed downward, and the buttons on his shirt flew off.

 

“Barkley, you should know better than anyone else how I don’t like to play games. Now you lying here playing opossum is a game as far as I’m concerned.  What’s the matter? Do you need me to refresh your memory about what happened to your friend Avery when he tried to fool Orlean?”

 

Heath screamed into the bandana as the knife made three clean slashes across his rib cage.  He tried to thrust his bound fists upward, but he screamed again at the agony radiating through his right arm.

 

The woman laughed as Heath arched against the pain, just like she’d laughed the night she’d gutted Avery as though he was an animal she’d shot on the open range.

 

___________________________________

 

 Douglas threw up into the bowl someone held against his mouth.  He didn’t intend to throw up, or at least he didn’t think so.  He didn’t even feel like he was awake, when all of a sudden his body was shooting from the bed and his stomach was contracting. 

 

The boy sunk back against the fluffiest pillows he’d ever felt.  And the mattress was soft, too.  It was nothing like the hard cot he slept on in the parlor of the two-bedroom home in Stockton that his mother rented.  His sisters shared one bedroom, while his mother and grandmother shared the other.  Douglas and his brother used the parlor as their bedroom, but it sure didn’t seem like Douglas was in the parlor now.  He couldn’t hear noise from other parts of the small house, like his sisters fighting as they got ready for school, or his grandmother as she pulled out pots and pans so she could cook breakfast.

 

“Douglas,” a soft voice called. “Douglas?”

 

The twelve-year-old slowly opened his eyes.  His mother was seated in a chair beside the big bed Douglas had all to himself.  He looked around, taking in the velvet wallpaper, and massive oak furniture, and the huge room, and knew he must be dreaming.   His eyes drifted to his mother.

 

“Ma?”

 

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s Ma.”

 

The woman wiped her son’s face and mouth with a cool cloth, then lifted his head and allowed him a drink of water.  When he was finished drinking, Douglas started to push himself up on his right elbow, only to have a gentle hand urge him back to the bed. 

 

“Whoa there, young man, not so fast.  You need to stay quiet and rest.”

 

“Doctor Merar?”

 

The gray haired man smiled. “That’s right.  Now you let me ask some questions.  What’s your full name?”

 

“My full name?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Douglas Charles Erickson, Junior.”

 

“And how old are you, Douglas Charles Erickson, Junior?”

 

“Twelve.”

 

“Do you know what day it is?”

 

“I…I…” the boy’s eyes flicked around the room again, and that’s when he caught sight of Victoria standing in the doorway.  He shot up in bed again.  “Heath!  Where’s Heath?”

 

“That’s what we’re hoping you can tell us,” Nick said as he entered the room, followed by Jarrod, the attorney general, and Christian Fletcher.

 

“Nick,” Howard Merar scolded. “Douglas needs to rest.”

 

“He can rest just as soon as he tells us what happened.”

 

“Nick, I’m not certain that’s a good idea.  He’s got nasty bump on his head and has just regained consciousness.  Until he’s had something to eat and a restful night of sleep, he may not remember--”

 

“I remember, Doc!  I do.”

 

Despite the headache he had, Douglas pushed himself up on his right elbow.  Ruth Erickson knew fighting her son on this issue would do no good, and likely get him more worked up than he already was.  Therefore, she placed the two pillows behind his shoulder blades and head and urged him to recline against them.  She brought the blankets to his waist, smoothing them into place.

 

Nick walked to the opposite of the bed Douglas’s mother was seated on. He sat on the edge of the mattress, while the other men gathered at the foot of the structure.  Howard Merar threw up his hands in defeat and began putting his medical paraphernalia back in his black bag.

 

As far as Nick was concerned Douglas was a little banged up, but considering he’d been tossed around a buggy and then trapped underneath it, the boy was lucky.  He had a bandage over a cut on the top of his head, and his left arm was in a sling.  The dirt and blood had been washed from his face and hair, and he was dressed in one of Eugene’s old nightshirts. He was pale and tired, but as soon as Nick got the answers he needed then the boy could get all the sleep he wanted.

 

Rain beat against the windows, the sound catching Douglas’s attention. He turned his head and saw that it was dark out, and for the first time seemed to notice the oil lamps that had been lit throughout the room.

 

“How long have I been asleep?”

 

Nick smiled.  “A while.”

 

“Is it still Wednesday?”

 

“Yeah, it is. It’s about eight o’clock on Wednesday night.”

 

The boy looked around again as though he was searching for someone.  When he couldn’t find that person amongst those who had gathered in the room, tears welled in his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, Nick.  I’m sorry.  Don’t be mad at me.”

 

“I’m not mad at you, Douglas.  I just need you to tell me everything you can remember about today.”

 

“Everything?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Douglas’s eyes traveled to Garrett Reece and Jarrod.  “Am I gonna be arrested?”

 

Jarrod smiled. “No, Douglas, you’re not going to be arrested. Just do as Nick said and tell us everything that happened today.”

 

Douglas scrunched his face in thought, and then began.  His story started that morning before school, when he was cleaning John Laramie’s room.  He told of how he’d let Mr. Laramie know that he could deliver messages for him, and the deal they had then made for Douglas to deliver a message to Heath.

 

“I wouldn’t have said nothin’ to Mr. Laramie about me delivering messages for him if I hadn’t heard him give a message to that man on Sunday night.  I wish I’d never listened now. It’s because of me that they have Heath.”

 

“Who’s they?” Nick asked.

 

“Matt Bentell and that woman who was with him.”

 

“How do you know it was Bentell?  Did you see him?”

 

“No, but I heard her call him Matthew, and I recognized his voice on account of seeing him in the general store a few times when he was stayin’ here at your ranch.”

 

Nick glanced over his shoulder at Jarrod and gave him a “See, I told you so,” look. 

 

“What message had you heard Mr. Laramie give on Sunday night?” Garrett asked.

 

“He said, ‘The message I have for Bentell is that I’ll meet him at the designated spot.’”

 

“And who did he say this to?”

 

“I don’t know.  Just some man.  Not anyone I know.”

 

Garrett fingered the note in his pocket.  Things were looking worse all the time for Senator Robert Laramie, and for the memory of John Laramie.

 

“What happened after you left the ranch this afternoon, Douglas?” Nick asked.

 

“Nothing for a while.  I mean, me and Heath just rode along in the back of the buggy with Marshal Wells driving, and the other one…I don’t know his name…he was ridin’ up front, too.  Me and Heath started talking, and I told him Mr. Laramie was the one who sent me to give him the message that Mr. Barkley and the attorney general wanted to see him.  Heath acted kinda surprised, like he thought the message had come from Mr. Barkley or the attorney general in the first place.  I told Heath about the message I had heard Mr. Laramie give that man behind the Stockton House on Sunday night, and that’s when Heath grabbed for the reins and tried to get Marshal Wells to turn the buggy around. But then the gunshots started and…and…” Tears ran down Douglas’s face.  “The marshals? They’re dead, aren’t they?”

 

Nick looked at Ruth, who nodded her permission for him to tell her son the truth.

 

“Yes, Douglas, they are.”

 

The boy wiped at his eyes with his left arm.  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

 

“No, son,” Jarrod said. “It’s not your fault.  The man who deceived a child in order to get his dirty work done is the one who is at fault, not you.”

 

Nick let the boy get a hold on his emotions before he asked his next question.  “What happened after you heard the gunshots?” 

 

“The horses took off and Heath grabbed for the reins. I don’t know if he ever got a hold of them or not, ‘cause he shoved me to the floor and told me to stay down.  The next thing I know the buggy was bouncing all over the place.  I looked up and saw the horses had broken free.  I grabbed for the railing and hung on.  Then we were flipping over and over.  I don’t remember how I got under the buggy, but when I woke up that’s where I was.”

 

“And that’s when you heard Matt Bentell’s voice?”

 

“Yeah.  I was gonna call out for help, but that’s when I heard his voice and I…I got this funny feeling like maybe I should keep quiet, on account of the way Heath acted when I told him about the message that Mr. Laramie had wanted delivered to Bentell.  I…I heard them talking.  I’m pretty sure they tied Heath up and put him in a wagon.”

 

“Did you hear Heath talking?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did you hear other men talking?”

 

“No, just Bentell and a woman.  It was...it was kinda odd, cause she seemed to be the one given him the orders.”

 

Nick’s brow furrowed.  This description didn’t fit Bentell’s mousy wife as far as the man was concerned.

 

“Did he call the woman by name?”

 

“Yeah. It was a funny name…different.  Like New Orleans.”

 

“New Orleans?” Jarrod questioned.

 

“Yeah…only that’s not right.”  Despite his headache, Douglas concentrated hard to remember.  “Orlean!  I think it was Orlean.”

 

Nick looked at the men behind him, all of whom shrugged their shoulders.   He looked beyond them to his mother, who was standing by the door with Doctor Merar.

 

“Mother, did you ever hear Bentell call his wife Orlean?”

 

“No.  I heard him refer to her as Cinda numerous times, but not as Orlean.”

 

Nick returned his attention to Douglas. He patted the boy’s knee as he stood. 

 

“Thank you, Douglas. You’ve been a big help.”  The cowboy looked at the trio of men.  “Well, now we know Bentell and a strange woman have Heath, but what we don’t know is where they’re taking him.  This rain is going to stall all the search parties.  As soon as it’s light, I’m going to ride back out there and see if I can find anything that might tell us what direction they headed in.”

 

No one told Nick what he was already thinking - that it was a long shot any clues would be found now considering the rain, and that quite likely Bentell would kill Heath before help could arrive. 

 

Jarrod was just about to suggest they leave the room so Douglas could have something to eat, and then get the rest the doctor had prescribed, when the boy spoke up.

 

“I heard them say where they were taking Heath.”

 

Nick swiveled. Hope lit his face for the first time since finding out about the ambush.  “Where?”

 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a place they named.  The woman, she said, ‘we’re taking Barkley back to where it began.’”

 

Jarrod, Reece, and Fletcher looked puzzled while they tried to decipher what the boy’s words meant, but Nick immediately concluded, “Strawberry,” as he brushed past the others in the room and flew down the stairs.

 

Jarrod followed his brother. Though he wasn’t certain Nick was correct, it was as good a place as any to start.  He paused to kiss his mother as he passed. 

 

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, or send word somehow if we get delayed.”

 

Victoria nodded. “Just be careful and…and bring Heath…bring him home, Jarrod, no matter what.”

 

“We will,” Jarrod promised, realizing then that his mother didn’t hold out much hope either, that Heath would be found alive.

 

“Can Chris and I be of help, Jarrod?” Garrett asked.

 

Though Jarrod didn’t relish the thought of having to keep Nick and Garrett from wrapping their hands around each other’s throats, he couldn’t tell the man no.  The pain radiating from the attorney general clearly spoke of his regrets over all that had happened, and his upset over discovering that John Laramie hadn’t been the man Garrett thought he was.

 

“Come along,” Jarrod said.  “We have extra rain ponchos in the barn. I’ll have Silas back us some food while we get the horses and bedrolls ready.”

 

The men exited the room as Ruth tried to get her son to relax. 

 

“I’d better go help Silas,” Victoria said.  “I’ll be back up with a tray for you and Douglas in a few minutes.”

 

“No, Mrs. Barkley. That’s not necessary.  I can go down to the kitchen and--”

 

Victoria held up a hand. “No, Ruth, you stay here with your son.”  A sad smile touched the corners of the woman’s mouth.  “Just stay here and count your blessings while tending to your boy.”

 

Victoria invited Howard to the kitchen for supper as well. When Ruth Erickson and her son were alone, the boy took his mother’s hand.

 

“Mrs. Barkley is real worried about Heath, isn’t she, Ma?”

 

“Yes, Douglas, she is.”

 

“I’m real worried about him, too.”

 

Ruth gave her son the most encouraging smile she could muster.  “Don’t you fret any.  Heath had a pretty hard life before he came here and always managed to take care of himself. I’m sure he’ll take care of himself now.”

 

“But, Ma--”

 

The woman urged her child to lie against the pillows and rest.  She needed him to be able to travel to Stockton as soon as possible so she could return to work, and return to helping her mother manage the household. 

 

“Rest, Douglas.  Just relax and rest now.”

 

“But, Ma, you don’t understand.  Heath--”

 

Ruth gently covered his son’s mouth with her hand and ordered him silent with a, “Shhh.”  For Douglas was wrong.  As a mother, she did understand, and for just that reason, her heart ached for Victoria Barkley…and for the missing man Victoria had come to think of as her own child.

 

Chapter 29

 

 

            Matt knew dawn should be breaking, but other than a dark gray morning sky taking the place of the black night sky, it was hard to tell that a new day had begun.  Matt saw a crooked old sign that read, Strawberry, with an arrow pointing straight ahead, but the name of the town meant nothing to him.  He pulled the wagon off of the road and steered the horses toward a slow moving stream shaded by tall trees.

 

            “What are you stopping for?” Orlean questioned.

 

            “Because the horses need to rest and so do we.”

 

            “It’s getting light out.  You can’t stop now.”

 

            “Look, you wouldn’t let me stop last night when I wanted to, so now we pay the price for that.  We need to take a break for at least a couple of hours.”

 

Matt pulled back on the reins and brought the animals to a halt.  When he turned around to look into the wagon’s bed he cringed.  The blanket that had covered Heath Barkley had been removed, as had the man’s shirt.  Heath’s chest and stomach were crisscrossed with knife slashes, his entire torso red with blood.  It was his eyes that haunted Matt the most, however.  Eyes that begged Matt to end this torture, even if ending it meant putting a bullet in Heath’s head.

 

            Matt turned in his seat and looked at Orlean. She smiled as she wiped the blood from her knife onto her skirt.  The wounds she had inflicted upon Heath weren’t life threatening yet, but that would come.  Right now, the pain he had felt was probably akin to the pain of being sliced by a razor blade.  She’d progressively go deeper, just like she had with young Avery, then Clarice would take over and she’d rape Heath, just like young Avery had been raped, and then Orlean would return to finish what she’d started and gut the man, as she’d done to Garrett Reece’s son so many years ago at Carterson.

 

            How did it reach this point? Matt wondered. How can Cinda be so. . .so sick, that these others can do this to a boy. . .and now to a man. 

 

            It had been a secret Matt had lived with all these years – the secret of how Avery Reece had really died.  And the only other person who knew that secret was Heath Barkley.  Now Orlean, and Clarice, and Dack, and Annabelle, were going to see that Barkley paid the price for that knowledge.

 

            Matt jumped off the wagon seat and unhitched the horses.  He led them to the stream and tied their reins around a clump of bushes.  The animals bent their heads; grateful for the long drink they were able to take.  Matt turned back for the wagon. He crossed the distance to it, and unpacked the boxes that held cooking utensils, coffee, and food.  He refused to meet Heath’s eyes as he did so.  The man was still firmly bound, and still had a bandana tied around his mouth.  Matt knew Heath had to be hungry and thirsty, but that was Orlean’s territory.  Matt knew better than to go against her. If she wanted Barkley to be fed, then she’d feed him.  If she wanted him to have a drink of water, then she’d give it to him.  If neither one of those things were in her plans, then Barkley would just have to go without.

 

            Don’t suppose it makes much difference.  If he dies of thirst he’ll be better off than dyin’ from what she has in store for him.

 

            Matt spent the next thirty minutes trying to locate dry wood to start a fire with.  He finally found some brush that had been protected by a stand of trees.  Still, with the cold drizzle that was falling it was a struggle to get a fire going that wasn’t more smoke than it was flames.  He placed the coffee pot on an iron rack he set over the fire, then went to the stream for a bucket of water.  He’d use some of the water for coffee, and some to mix the cornmeal into a dough he could fry.  They had a good supply of beef jerky, so though breakfast wouldn’t be the biscuits, sausage, eggs, and gravy they’d grown accustomed to while living in the logging camp, it would be something to eat.

 

            Orlean wrinkled her nose at Matt’s preparations.  “We ate beef jerky on the road last night.”

 

            “And we’re likely to eat it a lot more of it until we get wherever it is we’re goin.’”

 

            The woman swiveled and stalked to the wagon. “It’s your fault, Barkley!” She screamed as she unsheathed her knife. She slashed it twice across Heath’s left arm, and then laughed as his body jerked at the pain.  “It’s your fault we can’t eat like we’re used to eating, or live like we’re used to living, or get that fancy house your family was going to build us. It’s your fault, do you hear me!”

 

            Orlean jumped in the back of the wagon and straddled Heath’s hips.  She grabbed the crotch of his pants while slashing his chest yet again. She brought her face just inches from his and sneered.

 

“You remember what happened to Avery, don’t you, pretty boy?  You remember every single bit of what happened to Avery.  You thought you were going to tell your story to Garrett Reece, but I had other plans.  You’re not telling your story to anyone, Heath Barkley.  Not to anyone, do you hear me?”

 

            The woman didn’t like the way Heath stared back at her.  If he was afraid, and undoubtedly he was, he was too stubborn to show it.  His stare was cold and full of hatred, and yet there was pity there, too.  It was the pity that infuriated her the most, and caused her to slash his stomach again before dropping her knife and jumping off the wagon.

 

            Matt glanced at Orlean as she approached the fire. “You gonna let him eat or drink?”

 

            “Maybe tonight.”

 

            “Tonight?”

 

            “Yeah.  I’ve got to keep him alive a while yet, but the weaker he is, the better.”

 

            Matt poured coffee into the cup the woman held out to him.  “Keep him alive a while?  Don’t you think that’s dangerous?  It’s bad enough we’re on the run, but having him with us?  You know as well as I do that the Barkleys have every hired man who works for them out looking for Heath by now, not to mention that the sheriff has likely put together a search party.”

 

            “I know. But they’ll never find us where we’re going.”

 

            “Where is that?”

 

            “I told you. Back to where it all began.”

 

            “And just where might that be?”

 

            Orlean smiled. “Carterson, Matthew.  We’re taking Barkley to Carterson, so that when I kill the bastard, we can bury him next to his dear departed friend, Avery.”

 

            Matt’s mouth was agape as he stared at the woman.  Carterson Prison was a good nine hundred miles away in New Mexico…or what would be left of Carterson.  To attempt to travel there while keeping Barkley hidden was suicide, plain and simple. They’d be caught for certain.  What they needed to do was get rid of the wagon and obtain two fast horses, then travel to a large city where they could buy false identification papers, get on a train, and head for Canada.  It was the only place Matt could now fathom they had any hope of living a free life, and a life where no one would ever recognize them again. 

 

            Matt watched Orlean shove an ether soaked sponge over Heath’s nose again as she drank her coffee.  He didn’t know when he was going to tell her they were not going to New Mexico, but it would have to be soon.  When they left this place they had to head north to freedom, not south, to certain death.

 

Chapter 30

 

            Nick had led his brother, Garrett Reece, and Christian Fletcher on their search throughout the night, as Jarrod knew would be the case. They’d ridden hard, following the path to Strawberry that had become a familiar one since Heath had arrived at the Barkley mansion.  Jarrod didn’t hold out much hope that Strawberry was where they’d find Heath, but search parties were covering so many other areas that they weren’t losing any ground by heading in the direction of Heath’s birthplace.

 

            Nick held up well throughout the long night of steady rain, and Christian Fletcher was in pretty good shape, too.  Jarrod would have been a lot more miserable if he didn’t go on cattle drives with his brothers twice a year, and therefore was accustomed to the elements on a limited basis.  Garrett Reece was another story, however.  Jarrod could tell the man was cold, tired, and saddle-sore, but trying gallantly not to show it.  That last part was to Garrett’s benefit, because if there was one thing Nick Barkley had no patience for, it was a man who couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain. Garrett had wanted to come along, so he’d better not voice anything of the contrary to Nick at this point in the journey.  Jarrod had a feeling the attorney general knew that, and would likely topple from the saddle before making a complaint.

 

            Dull gray light shrouded the sky when Nick held up a hand and reined Coco.  The other men brought their horses to a halt as Nick pointed to their left.

 

            “The horses need to rest for a little while. Let’s tether ‘em beside the stream and have some breakfast.”

 

            Though a light drizzle was falling, Nick took off his poncho and draped it over his saddle.  He led Coco to the water, tied him to a bush, and then pulled a cloth sack from a saddlebag. One thing about Silas, when you asked him to pack food, you received the best he had to offer.  Cinnamon rolls that had been leftover from breakfast the previous morning, and biscuits that had been in the oven for last night’s supper, along with sandwiches, cookies, and fresh fruit.   Nick passed the bounty around, then Jarrod and Chris scouted for wood they could use to build a fire while Nick got water for the coffee.

 

            With Jarrod and Chris gone, Garrett and Nick were alone for the first time since they’d met.  Nick refused to make eye contact with the attorney general.  Reece finally broke the heavy silence that had fallen over them.

 

            “Nick, I’m sorry.”

 

            Nick didn’t look up as he dipped the coffee pot into the creek. “Sorry for what?”

 

            “For what’s transpired with Heath.”

 

            “You should be.”

 

            “And I am.”

 

            “That doesn’t change what’s happened.” Nick stood and faced the man. “It doesn’t change the fact that my brother has been kidnapped.  It doesn’t change the fact that when I find Heath, he’ll probably be dead. It doesn’t change that fact that if he is dead, I’ll carry the guilt over that with me to my grave.”

 

            “Guilt?  Why should you feel guilty?”

 

            “Because I had a fight with him yesterday, dammit!  Because I was mad at Heath when he left the ranch and didn’t go with him, when I knew damn good and well that I should have!  Now I’m gonna pay for that Nick Barkley temper I’m so famous for. Or I should say, Heath is gonna be the one who pays for it, if he hasn’t already.”

 

            “Nick, don’t do this to yourself.  No matter what the outcome, don’t do this.”

 

            “Don’t do what?”

 

             “Don’t shoulder guilt that isn’t yours to bear.  I’ve spent eleven years doing that, and it’s only recently…very recently, that I’ve begun to realize I’ve sacrificed my relationship with my family for a son who’s been dead over a decade.  It’s just now I’m realizing that things...people... aren’t always who they seem to be, and that maybe my wife has been correct when she said that I need to let Avery rest in peace.”

 

            Nick didn’t have to ask who Garrett meant when he said people aren’t always who they seem to be. He knew the man was referring to John Laramie.

           

            “But there’s a difference between your situation and mine, Reece.”

 

            “What’s that?”

 

            “You weren’t with Avery when he died. You couldn’t be with him.  I could have gone with Heath yesterday, but I didn’t.” Nick looked to his left when he saw Jarrod and Chris coming back with wood in their arms. He turned to walk toward them, while saying quietly to Reece, “And that makes all the difference in the world.  At least to me it does.”  

 

___________________________________

 

            Matt roused himself from the heavy slumber he’d fall into.  His years in the military had taught him how to set an internal clock and awaken exactly when he wanted to, no matter how tired he was.  He’d allowed himself two hours of sleep.  From the time he’d first pulled the horses off the road, three hours had passed.  He wasn’t overly concerned about anyone traveling on this path.  He hadn’t encountered another soul since the rider the previous afternoon, but still, he was worried about pursuit from behind.  Men on horseback riding all night could easily catch up to them. Therefore, it was time to move on. 

 

            Matt allowed Lucinda to sleep while he broke camp.  He was hoping with some rest, that it would be Lucinda who awoke, and not Orlean.  If Lucinda came back to him, then they could dump Barkley here and head for San Francisco, or farther north to Sacramento.  Either city would allow Matt the access he needed to false papers and then train tickets to the border. 

 

            The man refused to meet Heath’s eyes once again as he loaded the wagon.  He was going to have to kill Barkley before they left him here.  Matt couldn’t risk someone finding him alive, and then Heath getting the chance to tell what had happened at Carterson.  The most humane way to kill a man was by putting a gun to his temple, so that’s what Matt planned to do.

 

            Lucinda woke as Matt poured water over the meager fire.  He watched her, hoping to see signs of his wife.  She’d changed her clothes before going to sleep, meaning the dress Cinda had been wearing had been exchanged for the black dungarees, work shirt, vest, boots, and bandana Orlean always favored. When the woman didn’t exclaim over the odd way she was clothed, and when she hacked and spit just like a man would do, Matt’s heart sunk.  It was still Orlean, and he knew of no way to make her fade to the recesses of Lucinda’s mind until she was good and ready to do so.

 

            Matt dreaded the confrontation that was about to come, but there was no choice.  Now that he knew what Orlean’s plans were, it was past time to put a halt to them.

 

            “We’re not going to New Mexico,” he said in the same gruff tone he’d used with the men under his command during the war.  “It’s too risky.”

 

            The woman pushed herself to her feet and sneered.  “We are too going to New Mexico.”

 

            “No, we’re not.”

 

            “Need I remind you, Matthew, that you don’t give the orders around here?”

 

            “I’m not concerned with orders,” Matt said, as he walked to the wagon with another box of supplies and the tin bucket he’d used to pour water on the fire.  “I’m simply telling you how things are going to transpire.  We need to get to Canada.  We can’t risk staying here in the states and--”

 

            Orlean stomped to the wagon and grabbed the man’s arm. Matt never knew where she came by her strength, because it wasn’t a strength Cinda possessed.  She whirled him around as easily as she would have a child.

 

            “We’re not going to Canada! We’re going to New Mexico.”

 

            “No.”

 

            “Yes!”

 

            “No.”

 

            “I said yes!”

 

            “Well, I said no.”

 

            Heath turned his head to the left and watched the exchange as best he could, while trying to clear the heavy, drug-laden feeling from his brain.  If he was going to attempt an escape, now was the time. However, bound like he was hand and foot made escape impossible unless he could somehow cut the ropes.  His eyes flicked around the wagon bed until he saw something that would help him. Her knife. It was within inches of his left hip. All he had to do was roll over and get a hold of it.  With his hands tied in front of him, he could cut the ropes that bound his ankles together and run.  He didn’t know how far he’d get given the physical state he was in, but based on snatches of conversation Heath had heard on and off throughout the night, he knew exactly where he was. If he got the chance to run, there several abandoned mines nearby where he could hide until the Bentells would give up on looking for him.  Then he could get to Strawberry…and to Hannah.  She could tend to his wounds, and with his guidance, she’d be able to get word back to the ranch in regard to where he was.  The next town north of Strawberry was small, but it did have a telegraph office.  Hannah still had a buggy and a horse. She could take a message to the telegraph office for him and send it to Stockton.  

 

            Heath watched as the argument escalated. Orlean’s shouts grew louder and more frantic. Bentell’s calm, even voice only appeared to infuriate her more.  With the couple focused on one another, Heath made his move.  He rolled to the left and pawed for the knife.  He grimaced and sweat broke out on his forehead as pain shot through his swollen, broken arm, but he didn’t let that stop him.  He grabbed the knife and brought his feet up to his waist.  He struggled to slice through the ropes, for the first time thankful the knife was razor-sharp.  His bound hands and broken arm made his coordination poor, but the sharp blade aided in his efforts.  The wagon rocked back and forth as the Bentells brawled like a couple of cowboys in a saloon.  Heath didn’t care who was getting thrown around.  He just hoped it lasted long enough for him to slip away unnoticed. 

 

            Heath had just freed his feet when he heard the gunshot.  It was so close that he winced in reflex.  He turned his head and saw Orlean standing over Matt’s body, his brains splattered on her clothes.

 

            Heath shot upward, the knife still clutched in his bound hands. He hoped the shock of what she was seeing had caused Lucinda to return.  His hope was dashed when the woman turned on him and gave a blood curdling rebel yell.

 

            “You bastard!” she shrieked, when she saw he’d freed his legs.  “You bastard!”

 

            Heath’s weakened state, combined with his injuries and his bound hands, made fighting the woman off impossible.  Like an enraged mountain lion, she tackled him and threw him off the wagon’s bed.  She pounced on him, wrestling the knife away.  She slashed back and forth, paying no attention as to where the blade landed – his arms, his chest, or his stomach.  He bucked his hips in an attempt to unseat her, but his efforts proved futile.  She was crazy, and that seemed to give her strength no woman could possibly possess. 

 

            Heath wasn’t going to lie there waiting for the knife to slash his throat. Even though he knew he was fighting a losing battle, Heath continued to buck upward while clawing for her wrists with his hands.

 

            Heath’s last thought before he heard the rhythmic pounding that shook the ground beneath him, was that he hoped they spared Victoria Barkley the sight of his mutilated corpse.

 

Chapter 31

 

            Nick’s small search party had broken their camp at quarter to eight that morning.  They’d rested for an hour, then mounted their horses and continued toward Strawberry. The rain had stopped, so the ponchos were folded and put in their saddlebags.  They’d traveled for thirty minutes when a yell Nick hadn’t heard since the war caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

 

            He looked at Jarrod as he plunked his heels into Coco’s side.  “What the hell--”

 

            Jarrod didn’t have a chance to answer before Nick had Coco racing ahead at a full gallop.  He urged Jingo to do the same, and heard Chris’s horse and Garrett’s horse following on Jingo’s heels.

 

            At first Nick wasn’t certain what was frantically engaged in battle that was causing dust to fly.  Then he caught a glimpse of black and thought a panther was attacking someone.  It wasn’t until Coco got closer that Nick saw a man was attacking Heath, slashing him with a knife. 

 

            Nick drew his gun and shot into the air.  When the person’s attention wasn’t drawn from Heath, but instead, the ferocity of the scuffle increased, Nick aimed for the attacker’s right shoulder.  His shot was true, but the person didn’t react to the bullet passing through flesh and bone.  Another rebel yell was given, and the knife was poised above Heath’s heart.  It was on the downward thrust that Nick aimed for the attacker’s chest.  Blood spurted forth from the artery Nick’s bullet had pierced.  The knife remained raised, but wobbled in an unsteady hand.  It was Nick’s next shot through the person’s chest that knocked the attacker off Heath’s body.

 

            Nick reined Coco and jumped down, paying little attention to the men who had arrived behind him.  He ran toward his brother, calling, “Heath!  Heath!”

 

            Heath rolled on his right side; struggling for what little air he could get through the bandana that still covered his mouth.  He felt the bandana being removed, then heard someone gasp as he was rolled onto his back.  Heath looked up into Nick’s eyes.  He’d never seen such a range of emotion expressed by Nick Barkley before – everything from fear, to sympathy, to regret, to rage, though Heath knew this last wasn’t being directed at him. Whether Nick’s rage was for the Bentells, or for Garrett Reece, or just a result of the entire situation, Heath didn’t know, and right now it didn’t matter much.  He thought he’d seen all sides to Nick Barkley since arriving on the ranch, but today Heath was the recipient of a gentle side that he’d previously assumed existed only where Audra and Victoria were concerned, a few select animals that had touched Nick’s heart like his beloved Coco, or the occasional small child who managed to grab Nick’s attention.  For the first time, Heath realized this man who had grown to be his best friend, had a gentle side reserved for brothers as well.

 

            “It’s okay, Heath,” Nick soothed, as he steeled his expression so Heath wouldn’t see how horrified Nick was at the wounds he was viewing.  “You’re gonna be okay, little brother.”

 

            Nick looked up.  Chris was bent over Matt Bentell with his fingers on the pulse points at Bentell’s throat, while Garrett was bent over the man who had been attacking Heath.  By the expression on the attorney general’s face, Nick could tell he was puzzled about something, but that wasn’t the cowboy’s utmost concern at this moment.  His eyes met Jarrod’s as the lawyer crouched down beside his siblings.

 

            “We need something we can tear into bandages, Jarrod, and water and blankets.  He’s  wet and cold from the rain.”

 

            Major Fletcher approached. “I’ll get what we need.” 

 

            Jarrod nodded his thanks as he moved to support Heath’s upper body.  Nick took his pocketknife and cut the rope still binding Heath’s wrists.  Jarrod placed his left hand beneath the arm he could tell was broken, in an effort to hold it in place when the rope came loose.  Despite his brothers’ gentle care, Heath gave a hoarse cry when the rope released its grip on him. 

 

            Nick ran for Coco, grabbing a canteen off the horse’s saddle horn. He rushed back to his brother’s side as Chris Fletcher was instructing Garrett to start a fire and get some water warming.  Nick crouched by his brothers once again and lifted the canteen to Heath’s lips. 

 

            “Here, Heath, take a drink.”

 

            Heath raised his right hand in an effort to hold the canteen, but the hand trembled so badly that Jarrod grasped it in his and said, “Let Nick and I do all the work, brother Heath.  Just relax and let us do all the work.”

 

            The normal quip Jarrod might have received to his words – something along the lines of, “Well, boy howdy, fellas, but that would sure be nice for a change,” wasn’t spoken.  Instead, Heath allowed Nick to help him take a long drink, and then he sunk into Jarrod’s chest again as though holding his head up was too great of an effort.

 

            Despite his fatigue, sore muscles, and the massive cloud of depression that was threatening to engulf him, Garrett Reece rose to the occasion.  He hurried to gather wood and get a fire started, then rummaged through the supplies on the wagon. He put an iron rack and pot over the fire.  He rushed to the stream where the Bentells’ horses were still tied, and filled a tin bucket with water.  He poured the water into the pot and put the pot’s lid on.  He then went back to the wagon and began searching through wooden crates for clean cloths, towels, and then clothing that could be torn into strips for bandages.

 

            Major Fletcher examined Heath while Garrett’s preparations were under way. 

 

            “How is he?” Nick asked, when he couldn’t take Fletcher’s silence any longer.

 

            “The knife wounds aren’t as bad as they look. They aren’t very deep, which means no internal damage has been done.  However, Heath has lost blood and he’s cold.  We need to get him by the fire.”

 

            “Can he make the trip home?” Jarrod asked.

 

            “To the ranch, you mean?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “I’d rather not risk it.  Where’s the nearest town with a doctor?”

 

            “Stockton.”

 

            Chris raised an eyebrow. “Stockton?”

 

            “I’m afraid so.”

 

            “But I saw a sign for a town called Strawberry with an arrow pointing straight ahead.”

 

            Before Jarrod could answer Chris, Heath spoke. “There…there’s nothin’…nothin’ there any…any more.”

 

            “No doctor?”

 

            “No one…no one but Han…Hannah.”

 

            “Hannah?”

 

            “A friend of Heath’s,” was the only explanation Jarrod gave.  “We’re about halfway between Strawberry and Stockton as it is, so if Heath can travel, then we might as well get him back to the ranch.”

 

            Chris looked around.  They were in the middle of nowhere, so staying here beyond the time it took to tend to the injured man’s wounds and stabilizing him for the ride in the wagon, wasn’t going to benefit Heath.  He needed shelter, medical care, food, water, and a warm bed.  If the Barkley ranch was the closest place for him to receive those things, then that’s where they’d have to go.

 

            “Garrett,” Chris hailed.

 

            The attorney general had been hesitant to approach Heath because of what he deemed his own personal failures.  Now he crouched beside Heath in the grouping with the other men.

 

            “Yes?”

 

            “Can you get on your horse and ride for the Barkley ranch?”

 

            “I can.”

 

            “You can make it all the way there?”

 

            “Listen, Major, just because I haven’t spent time in a saddle since the war, doesn’t mean I don’t recall sleeping on the back of a horse, or not getting off of one for three days when Sam Grant got a burr up his behind at Petersburg to make Lee turn tail and run south.  I can make it to anywhere I need go.  Now what do you want me to do?”

 

            Even Nick couldn’t completely hide his admiration of this man he’d thought of as ‘soft’ before this journey started.

 

            “Ride back to the ranch and have them send a wagon with fresh supplies – food, water, bandages, towels, bedding, a mattress, anything that will make Heath’s trip home more comfortable. We’ll start out from here as soon as I have him ready to travel.  When we meet up with that wagon we’ll transfer Heath to it.”

 

            “All right.”

 

            “Make sure someone gets a message to Doctor Merar so he knows what to expect when we get Heath to the ranch.”

 

            Again, Garrett acknowledged, “All right.”  The attorney general laid a hand on Heath’s shoulder.  The blond man looked up at Garrett.

 

            “It was...it was her, wasn’t it?” Heath asked.

 

            Though Nick and Jarrod had no idea what their brother meant, Garrett nodded in acknowledgment that the corpse he’d been bent over was that of Lucinda Bentell.

 

            “Now…now you know…now you know what happened to Av…Avery.”