“He quit hiding his tracks. Movin’ fast. Thinks he’s fooled us, lost us. I’m bettin’ he’s close to his camp. Leave the horse.”
A nod of agreement and Adam tied off his horse, then pulled his rifle from the scabbard on his saddle.
Utah moved slowly and quietly, gun in his holster, rifle strapped on his back. The search was over.
“She’s gone!” Raddo thrashed to his feet.
Deb heard every step as he charged out from the overhang. One man laughed; both were right behind him.
“Love chasin’ down a woman.” Meeks was the lowest of them all in Deb’s judgment. And that made him mighty low.
Deb breathed slowly through her mouth. They’d have to hear her heart beating if listening was how they found her.
“Split up!” Raddo’s shout sent the men running away. While he came directly toward her. Not trying, not for a second, to cover the noise. He was so confident he could find her, he wouldn’t even sneak.
As he drew near, she fought down the urge to break from her scant cover and run. She had watched Trace move through the woods with such assurance, and she realized that was exactly what Raddo wanted—to flush her out. That’s why he was so noisy. He couldn’t find her. She knew it. The place she’d chosen to secrete herself was so tiny, the merest bow in the heart of the tree roots.
If she could just stay still. She filled her mind with prayers for protection and courage, calm and wisdom. She couldn’t fight these men and win. And she couldn’t outrun them. Common sense kept her from considering either.
Raddo drew nearer. He wasn’t walking on the logs; instead he stomped along, hollering, jeering. The path he was on, as far as Deb could tell by listening, was going to take him right past the mouth of this little concave in the tree roots.
Closer—yelling things so vile if she didn’t show herself, that she was tempted to surrender in the hopes of avoiding his fiendish plans.
Closer—a step at a time. She could hear him muttering, trampling along with no more grace than a buffalo. Shouting her name. Shouting his threats.
Closer still. Now he was right in front of her. He stopped. She could have reached out and tugged on his pant leg. Except then she’d have to boil her fingers to get the awful feeling off her hand.
“Have you seen her?” He shouted loud enough to shake snow down out of the trees.
One of his men shouted back. He was too close for too long. He’d see her or hear her or just plain sense that she was close.
Finally, one step, then another, and he walked past. That was no reason to move, but she felt like she should. The other men were in hearing distance, though moving away from her. They’d gone three directions. Surely if she went the fourth . . .
Utah heard a shout far to his right. Too far away to make out the words. Then came a return shout, about the same distance to his left. He turned to Adam and pointed left. Adam nodded quickly, and Utah realized he could see. The pitch-black night had turned to deep gray.
Darkness covered so much. Utah had hoped to get very close in secret. Now they were running out of time.
Adam vanished into the woods one way while Utah started another, then heard a twig snap only feet from him. Utah froze. There wasn’t another sound. He drew his gun, braced himself, and held his breath.
Wolf had barked a few times and growled more. But now he’d gone silent, slowed down, and put his nose to the ground. Trace knew right where he was: a long way from home in a place that had nothing to do with a wagon train.
Maybe the outlaw gang was holding back. Maybe they’d done their scouting and judged when the train would come, and for now they were holed up. But they hadn’t counted on Wolf.
Trace found a heavy copse of trees, dismounted, and tied Black to them. Everything was on foot from now on. He slipped along, fast and silent as a ghost. He’d done plenty of it before.
Wolf waited, then went on, then waited again. No one in this fight had the advantages of a critter like Trace had. Black would’ve been good too, but the horse had no sense about stepping on twigs.
He moved on, his eyes alert in all directions. Keeping Wolf within sight.
Then he heard something, so little, the sound maybe of cloth rubbing on bark. Freezing, he looked around and saw nothing. But something, or someone, was definitely there.
This time she was doing it. She was running. It was time to get away from here.
Deb gathered herself to jump out of the jumble of roots and run the fourth way, the direction none of the men had gone.
And leave footprints with every step.
That stopped her cold.
Grimly afraid she should have gone, she yelled inside her head for being a coward. Yes, her hiding place was good, but she realized that the dark was turning to dawn. And her hiding place was only as good as the dark.
A gunshot fired in the woods. Someone shrieked, but Deb couldn’t tell who. Her guess was Meeks. Another gunshot, this one sounding different from the first, fired over and over. It came from right where she’d heard the cry of what sounded like pain. But Meeks was a foul man. If that had been him crying out, it could have been with animal savagery. Because he’d shot someone.
Briefly she hoped it was one of his own men. Out there in the dark, such a thing could happen.
Though God had guided her to this place of temporary safety, she was rather pessimistic that things would be solved so easily. She braced herself for Raddo to come storming back, right past her. He didn’t come.
Another shout. This one wasn’t Meeks. Was it Dalt? It sounded
