Noble Savage Page 25

  And yelled, from the pain of it.

  His face! Gingerly he touched nearly numb fingertips to the skin around his eyes. It was incredibly tender, swollen and wet. With the greatest of care, he touched his eyelids, wiping away sticky matter, biting his lip as he worked eyelashes free of the glue that stuck them together.

  At last he lifted his fingers, peered at them.

  Everything was a blur, although when he wiggled his fingers--oh, so carefully--he could see some of the blur change shape. The darkest, reddest part.

  Something moved at the edge of his vision and he forced his head to turn on a neck that shrieked its protest.

  Black. Something big and black. It came closer, and Luke felt the whisper of those velvet lips again.

  "Laf'ette," he managed. "Goo' boy." He raised the one hand, trembling, and touched the mule's muzzle, taking comfort. He wasn't alone.

  Perhaps he slept then. All he knew was that time seemed to have passed, and he hadn't noticed. When he opened his eye this time, his vision was clearer and he was cold. "Laf'ette," he called.

  A snort answered him from somewhere off to the right. In a moment the mule came into sight. He stood quietly beside Luke, as if waiting for him to get up.

  Luke looked up at the mule, a long way up. He'd seen hills less high.

  Rolling onto his side, he pushed himself half upright. God, but he ached. He must have fallen, somehow, but where? Why?

  No he hadn't fallen. He'd been knocked down. Again and again.

  The Breedloves had beaten him, one of them holding him while the other had at him. Then they changed places. And when he drooped in their grip, they'd let him fall to the ground and taken turns kicking him.

  He wasn't drunk. Not by a damn sight.

  They'd beaten the shit out of him.

  Hard on the heels of that memory, came another. "Katie!"

  Malachi Breedlove had taken Katie.

  Luke looked at the sky, wishing the low clouds weren't so thick. He had no idea what time it was, how long he'd laid here unconscious.

  All he knew was that by now Whitney had Katie. And this time he'd make sure she didn't get away.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Whitney left her alone her after he tied her feet. Katie, exhausted, eventually slept. She woke stiff and cold, in a still-empty room. Her hands were numb, her jaw ached.

  Pale sunlight lay across the windowsill, telling her that it must be close to noon. How long had she been alone? Had Whitney been caught up by the rioters in the street, or was he merely off making arrangements to take her out of Bear River City? Perhaps he head left town for his own safety, leaving her helpless and alone.

  Well, she was helpless, for all of that. Even if she could roll off the bed, she wouldn't be able to get to the door. And thump her bound feet on the floor as she might, she doubted that anyone downstairs would give the sound a second's thought. From what she'd seen so far, folks here in Bear River City minded their own business a little too well.

  Luke, I do need you. Now!

  Had he survived the beating given him by Breedlove's cousins? Was he lying unconscious up at the cemetery, slowly freezing to death? If only I'd listened to him yesterday.

  She watched the narrow beam of sunlight slowly migrate across the windowsill. Her final words to Ellen echoed in her mind. I can take care of myself. I always have. Wasn't there something written somewhere about pride and falls?

  She wriggled again, trying to find a position in which there was no strain on her shoulders. Her hands, bound as they were behind her, made it impossible for her to lie on her back. Lying on her side pulled her shoulders and arms into an even more unnatural position. She had long since gone beyond pins and needles. Now her right shoulder throbbed with steady, unrelenting pain.

  The occasional sounds from downstairs were not what she would have expected at noontime. There was no clatter of dishes in the dining room, no hum of conversation. In fact, she had not heard so much as a single voice since she awoke, easily a half hour ago.

  The sounds from outside were all wrong, too. No rattle of wagon wheels, no clip-clop of passing horses. Just a low-pitched growl, much like the mob last night had made, but farther away.

  Many men, all talking at the tops of their voices. With shots for punctuation.

  What was it Breedlove had said about the newspaper? Something about a Vigilance Committee?

  She'd read about Vigilance Committees. They'd been organized in California, in Montana and Idaho. She'd heard stories of them, how they'd bought law and order to gold rush towns--or corruption and subjugation. It all depended on who organized the Vigilance Committee and why.

  What did the Bear River City Vigilantes want, she wondered.

  Again she moved, still seeking a position to relieve the strain on her shoulders. She told her fingers to wiggle, but the only way she could tell they had was by a slight twitching against the small of her back.

  Was the pain in her arms overwhelming all sensation from her hands, or were they really that numb? And what would happen if they stayed so numb for hours on end?

  Resolutely forcing her thoughts away from her predicament--"It doesn't do any good to think on your troubles, child, for that only makes them seem worse," her mother had told her more than once--she contemplated what she would like to do to Whitney and his henchman.

  Boiling in oil sounded appropriate. Drawing and quartering seemed a little too personal. Maybe burning at the stake. After driving slivers of pitch pine under their fingernails and setting them afire. If all else failed, a plain beating might teach them the error of their ways.

  Oh, God! Luke!

  How badly had the Breedlove brothers hurt him? Was he still alive? Unbidden, a sob forced its way free, then another. Before she knew it, Katie was weeping convulsively, her tears soaking the musty wool blanket upon which she lay.

  If only she had listened to Luke, had stayed in their room as he'd told her to do. Early this morning they would have stolen out of Bear River City, been halfway to Evanston by now.

  The front door of the hotel opened with its usual squeal. Booted feet crossed the wood floor and started up the stairs. At least two pair.

  Stiffening, Katie stared at the door. Waiting.

  * * * *

  There was a pale, wintry sun overhead when Luke stumbled off the rutted trail from Boot Hill and into the shadow of a log cabin. Lafayette clopped beside him, patiently bearing at least half his weight. But Luke had gone as far as he could go for a while.

  Where was Katie? Had Whitney taken her away on the morning train? He'd heard its lonely whistle earlier, had seen the trail of its smoke off in the distance. At the time he'd been maybe halfway down the hill from the cemetery.

  Gingerly he let himself down against the rough log wall, wanting nothing quite so much as to sleep until he stopped hurting. Knowing he must stay awake until he found Katie--or discovered where Whitney had taken her. I'll just rest for a minute.

  Taking care of the Breedlove brothers would come later.

  How long he slumped against the wall of the outlying cabin he didn't know, but it couldn't have been too long. The shadow had narrowed but still hid him, more or less. Lafayette was nowhere in sight, but Luke reckoned it didn't matter. Even with the mule's help, he doubted he could walk another step.

  Damn you, get on your feet!

  As he struggled to his knees, he heard voices from around the corner of the cabin. Unable to do anything but keep trying to stand, Luke clung to the logs and willed his legs to support him.

  "Here now! What's this?" Strong arms encircled him and Luke felt his will give way to weakness. He slumped in the man's hold, let himself be lowered back to the ground.

  "My God!" A second voice said. "Look at him. Who did this to you, lad?"

  Luke peered upwards through eyes that still saw the world in wavery blurs. Two men, both bearded, both dark-clad, loomed over him. "Nev' mind," he managed to say. "Katie. Have to fin' Katie." He grasped the sleeve of
the man who supported his head.

  "Katie? Your wife?"

  "Yeah. No. Wish."

  "She's not your wife but you wish she was?" Gentle hands touched his face, felt his scalp.

  Everywhere they touched he hurt. "Mus' fin' Katie," he said again, tugging at the coat lapel he still held. "Danger. Whitney."

  "Lad, there's danger everywhere today. The first thing we've got to do is get you where you won't be found by one of these vermin who've taken over the town. Can you walk?"

  With the help of both men, Luke got to his feet. But his legs wouldn't support him, so he dangled between them like wet clothes on a line. They took him to a dugout, built into the side of a hill just outside of town.

  The removal of his boots didn't hurt too much. It was when they started easing him out of his coat that Luke almost fainted.

  "I don't like this, Sam. He's one of them."

  "Now Abner, he's in no shape to harm us. Ruffian or not, he's one of God's creatures. Why I wouldn't leave a polecat lay in the street in condition like this. Sides, why would they beat one of their own?"

  "Some of 'em would shoot his own brother in the back if it put money in his pocket."

  Luke wanted to tell the men he wasn't a ruffian, but he couldn't find the words. They were lost in the twisted, spinning whirpool of his mind.

  "This is the fella came in the store yesterday. He looked--and smelled--like he hadn't bathed in a year. And that knife he carried, well it was big enough he didn't need a gun."

  "Well, he ain't got a knife now. Or a gun, either. Here now, young fella, drink this."

  Luke felt his head being lifted, opened his mouth as something was pressed against it. He tasted something warm, sweet. Tea? No, but something like. He sipped, discovering that even his tongue was sore. But the liquid warmed him all the way through, and soothed the lacerated tissues in his mouth.

  He continued to sip, eyes closed, until the cup was removed.

  "Can you open your eyes?"

  Once again they felt glued shut. He rolled his head sideways. After a moment, a damp cloth lightly moved over his eyes, back and forth, until the glue was washed away. Luke looked up at his saviors.

  One was the clerk at the general store. The other was a big fellow with a wild black beard, brushy eyebrows that almost hid his bright blue eyes, and a merry smile. "That's better. No, take it easy. Don't try to sit up."

  "Mus' fin' Katie." How long had he been unconscious?

  "Lad, there'll be no finding anybody for a while. Can't you hear?"

  The roaring he heard wasn't just in his ears, Luke realized. Last night's mob had made a noise like this, only far less loud. It sounded like a herd of longhorns in stampede, and coming right at him. "Wha'sit?" He struggled to get up. If there was a riot, all the more reason why he had to find Katie.

  "It's a war, lad, that's what it is. A battle between the forces of good and evil."

  The storekeeper snorted. "Sam, you just never forget you used to be a preacher, do you?" He bent over Luke and caught his gaze. "What brought you here? Are you one of them?"

  "Them?" The word came out better than any so far. His tongue was finding the shape of language again. "Don' know who--" He told his arms to lift him, but they ignored the command.

  "Are you one of the lawless ones? Because if you are--"

  "Hesh up, Abner. He ain't in no condition to be pestered." The bearded man--Sam?--pulled a scratchy blanket over Luke. "I don't believe I've ever seen so many bruises on a man's body. I'll bet you feel all over like a boil in need of lancing."

  Since that was exactly how Luke felt, he felt no answer was needed. "Tell me what's happening," he said, carefully forcing the words through stiff and swollen lips. "Out there." As he worked his tongue around the words, he found a sharp, rough edge. Probing, he discovered that a front tooth had lost a corner.

  "It's them damned Freemans, inciting anarchy--"

  "Let me tell it, Abner. You get too heated." Sam seated himself on an upended crate beside Luke's pallet. "Long about the time Bear River City was getting started, a couple of brothers--unreconstructed Southerners if I ever saw the like--decided it was going to be an important place someday. They'd been following the rails, publishing their newspaper whenever they could find a place to set up shop. Well, they found themselves an audience hereabouts, and have been here ever since."

  Luke had met more than one Southerner who refused to believe they'd lost the War. Many of them had migrated to Texas and hired on with the cattle drives. "Preach sedition?" he wondered out loud, remembering some of the diatribes he'd half-listened to.

  "You'd better believe they have. Why just a couple of weeks ago they printed an editorial that all but promised President Grant's assassination." He shook his head, obviously disgusted. "Lately the Freemans have been promoting the Vigilance Committee--we've had one for a while, but they never did anything much beyond posting a list of laws that nobody paid mind to."

  "Not till last week," Abner put it. "And it was about time, too." To Luke he said, "We...the Committee hung three men for murder on the eleventh, and there's talk of hanging more."

  "There's been a lot of talk ever since, on both sides. And yesterday's paper only added to it. The editorial named names of saloon owners who've paid for protection from shootists and pointed fingers at the gamblers who are the worse cheaters. " Sam looked worried. "Last night some of the ne'er-do-wells tried to burn the newspaper, but we stopped them before any damage could be done."

  "Only made matters worse," Abner grumbled.

  "I'm afraid he's right," Sam admitted to Luke. "Now the whole town's in an uproar, and decent folks ain't safe on the streets."

  Having come from Kansas, Luke knew all too well the heartbreaking result of lawlessness and mob rule. "Why don't you take charge? Run 'em out of town?" Once more he struggled to sit up, and this time succeeded. The blanket fell away from his chest, reminding him that they'd stripped him down to his longjohns, which were gaping open to his belly. He fumbled with the buttons and managed to get most of them fastened.

  "We'd like to, lad. But there's more of them than there are of us, and they outgun us."

  "Better shots, too," Abner added.

  A thought was trying to make itself felt in Luke's head, but the roaring in his ears and the dizziness brought about by his effort to sit up combined to conceal it for long moments. He relaxed, letting the thought believe he was ignoring it. No different from hunting rabbits.

  At last! "Dynamite," he said. "Would half a dozen boxes of Dynamite change the odds?"

  Both men gaped at him. Finally Sam said, "I should smile! Do you know where we can get some?"

  "I do. But before I tell you, I want your promise you'll help me find Katie."

  "Damn it, man, this is a whole town's fate hanging in the balance," Abner expostulated.

  "And it could be her life," Luke said. "Do we have a deal?"

  "You're sure we can get this Dynamite?" Sam said.

  "I'm sure," Luke said. "It's not more than three miles from here." He reached for his pants, which were lying across the end of the pallet. Each movement was torture, and it took all his willpower not to cuss.

  "I'll get my wagon," Abner said as he went out the door.

  "Katie first," Luke reminded Sam as he slid one stiff and aching arm into the sleeve of his shirt, splotched with his blood and missing half a cuff.

  "You've got yourself a deal, lad. Now. Where did you see her last?"

  * * * *

  The door opened, revealing Whitney and an older, well-dressed man. They walked in, followed by Muldoon, a toothpick in his mouth. The lackey pushed the door closed. Whitney spoke to Katie. "My dear, this is Mr. Freeman, the publisher of the Frontier Index. He has helped me make arrangements for our journey back East."

  "I'm not his wife. Please. You've got to believe me. To help me."

  Freeman shook his head, his expression pitying.

  Whitney sighed deeply. "I regret your meeting Mrs. Whitne
y under these circumstances, Leigh. If you could have known her before she became deranged, you would have found her a charming and gracious lady."

  "I have heard that childbirth often causes a loss of rationality in women. Such a pity." The publisher stepped to the window and looked out. "The crowd seems to be growing, Hamilton. I hope you will excuse me. My brother should not be left to face them alone."

  "Of course. You're certain we can't help you?"

  "Absolutely. I have wired for the Army, and as soon as a troop arrives, these cretins will see the error of their ways. The press must be free!" Freeman sounded to Katie like a hellsfire-and-brimstone preacher avowing his faith.

  Once the publisher had gone, Whitney's whole demeanor changed. "Get her up," he ordered Muldoon. "She'll have to walk, or it will cause comment."

  "She won't get away, Mr. Whitney. I've got my knife." He brandished a long knife with a curved blade. Katie recognized it as a skinning knife. Her pa had several, and they were capable of holding an extremely sharp edge. When Muldoon applied it to the thong that held her feet together, she saw how it sliced easily through the thick leather.

  Hopelessness threatened to overwhelm Katie. She would not dare argue with that knife.

  She stumbled when Muldoon jerked her to her feet. They wanted to flop on the ends of her legs like fish on a line. Unable to help herself, she sagged against Whitney's lackey, her nose twitching at his sour, unwashed odor. Gritting her teeth, she wiggled her toes inside her boots until the tingling lessened.

  "You want her hands to stay tied, Mr. Whitney?"

  "Of course." He hesitated, forehead creased in thought. "No. Untie her hands as well. She won't try to escape." With one pigskin-gloved hand, he lifted Katie's chin and forced her to look at him. "Will you, dear wife?"

  She jerked her head back, but he held her fast.

  "Answer me, Miss Lachlan. You will not attempt to escape, will you?"

  "First chance I get," she said, then gasped as his fingers dug deeply into the soft skin just below her jawbone.

  "I think not." He loosened his grip, slowing drawing his fingers down her throat. "Muldoon, if she disobeys, cut her. Gently. Where it will not show."