The wagon slowed and then stopped. She tensed, as she heard men talking at a distance, unable to understand what was spoken. Stiffening at the sound of the tarp being tossed aside, the light was brighter, and she braced for someone to touch her. However, she was unable to stifle the shriek as strong arms grasped her around her middle and hauled her out of the wagon.
She collapsed to the ground, as her legs were asleep, and she battled mortification at the chuckling she heard. When her arms and legs were freed from their bindings, she groaned in relief, massaging her hands, as the agony of the blood rushing back caused pin-pricking sensations. Too soon, she was hauled up to her feet again, and she stood with shaking legs. Pulling the hood off her head with her freed hands, she stared around her.
Two men were present with two horses and a pair of mules. “Who are you?” she asked, as she stared at the unknown men. They were of medium height, with muddy brown hair and otherwise unremarkable features.
“Don’t you wish you knew?” said one of the men, as he leered at her. “You’re far prettier than he said you was.” He spat out a brown splat of chewing tobacco and spit, his hands on his belt, as he swaggered a little, as though to show off his virility.
Maggie stared at him in abject disgust but remained quiet. She glanced into the wagon bed, blanching when she saw another body inside, a small pool of blood on the back of the hood. “You must allow me to help her,” she gasped.
“No,” Jacques said, appearing at her side, his hold on her tightening. “She’ll be fine. A blow to the head never hurt a woman.” His feral smile sent a shiver down her spine. “As your chère maman knows very well.”
Maggie froze at the mention of the abuse her mother had suffered at Jacques’s hands.
“Come, enough dawdling,” he muttered, his accent more pronounced with his agitation. He hauled her to the horses and tossed her into a saddle. Once she was on the saddle, he tied her hands to the pommel and took the reins, tying them to his horse’s saddle. The loaded mules were tied to her horse, as though they were in a pack train. He turned to the two men, who had hopped up onto the wagon. “Get going.”
They nodded, and the wagon trundled away. Rather than follow the road, Jacques led her horse out into the open prairie, on a barely perceptible trail. She stared at the sagebrush and the tall grass and knew no one in her family would find her. That soon she would be lost to the wilds of Montana and that she would be completely at Jacques’s mercy. She only wished he had any.
* * *
The large group of O’Rourke men rode to the top of the bluffs and stared up and down the Mullan Road. To the east, they would head to Cow Island and any of the steamboats unable to travel all the way to Fort Benton so late in the season. To the west and south, the road headed to the interior of the Territory and the gold-rich towns.
“Let’s split up,” Ardan said. At Seamus’s quick nod, Seamus, Cormac, and A.J. headed toward Cow Island. Ardan, Declan, and Kevin rode in the direction of Helena and Virginia City. “We’ll find her Dec. Don’t worry,” Ardan murmured, as they began to trot. They didn’t want to ride too hard, as they knew they needed to make it to Twenty-Eight Mile Springs for the hope of fresh horses and a rest. Soon they’d have to slow their horses to a walk.
They each carried a rifle and a pistol, and Ardan was thankful that, although Da didn’t like weapons in the house, he understood it was important to stock and to sell them in his store. Thus, they’d had no trouble procuring guns and ammunition to bring with them.
Kevin was mainly quiet, although he stared around them with an alert attentiveness, as though searching for a stealth attack. He had taken the lead, as he had a gaze as sharp as an eagle’s. As they rounded a turn in the road, he signaled them to halt.
“What is it, Kev?” Ardan whispered.
Kevin looked over his shoulder at them. “A wagon’s not too far ahead of us. Could be nothin’.” He nodded, as they stiffened and tensed at his words. “But it does seem a bit of a coincidence.” He shared a look with his brothers, and they began to ride again, this time at a slightly quicker pace.
As they approached the wagon, they shared glances at the fact the back was covered in burlap. When Kevin shrugged, Declan let out a sigh of frustration, as they had no proof that his wife and his sister were in the back.
“Gentlemen,” Ardan said in a deferential manner, as one man looked over his shoulder at the brothers. Kevin had come up the other side of the wagon, while Declan remained watchful of the wagon bed.
“Whatcha want?” asked one of the men, sitting at the head of the wagon.
“Well, no need to be inhospitable,” Ardan said, “not after I know you enjoyed my wife’s cookin’ so much this mornin’.” Ardan stared hard at the man who held a rifle propped against his hip. “I was hopin’ to talk with you about your cargo.”
“We ain’t got no cargo,” he spat out.
“You don’t?” Ardan asked, as he rubbed at his head, tilting his head back ever-so-subtly. “Now that seems an odd thing to cover the back of your wagon, when you’ve nothin’ inside.”
“Leave off, Irishman,” the other
