sound, one he hadn’t heard for a long time. He had thought the woman fragile. She was about as fragile as a string of barbed wire. Hell, she had exploded into action like a cat with its tail on fire.
He went back to his campfire, where the blackened pot was sending up a plume of steam. A grin still crinkled the corners of his eyes.
CHAPTER
8
I
t seemed to Willa she had just closed her eyes when she felt a hand on her ankle and heard Charlie’s whisper.
“Willa. Wake up.”
“What is it?” She sat up quickly and crawled to the end of the wagon.
“Somebody’s prowlin’ around out there. Buddy keeps looking off toward the creek. Look at his tail. It’s standing straight out.”
“It could be a coon or skunk.”
“I heard a horse whinny a while ago. At first I thought it was ours, but it didn’t come from the right direction.”
“I’ll wake Jo Bell. If it’s those men, I don’t want to get cornered in the wagon. Jo Bell,”—she shook the girl— “Jo Bell, wake up. We need to get out of here and hide.”
“What?”
Willa explained quickly, surprised that for once the girl didn’t argue. They dressed and climbed out of the wagon. Willa felt the comforting weight of the Derringer in her pocket. As they passed the side of the wagon, she lifted the heavy iron skillet from the hook. Holding it close to her side,she and Jo Bell followed Charlie and Buddy into a dense stand of sumac that grew along the bank of the stream.
“Stay here,” Charlie said. “I’m goin’ to the other side of the road.”
“Be careful,” Willa whispered. “Go with Charlie, Buddy.”
“He’d better stay with you.”
“No, he’ll warn you if he hears anything.”
Behind the screen of scrub and brush, Willa strained her ears for a foreign sound. The night was so black she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Her heart was whamming, but it didn’t seem to be pumping enough air into her lungs. She grimaced in self-disgust at the frightened fluttering of her heart and waited while the minutes went slowly by.
Behind her Jo Bell was breathing heavily. Willa hoped and prayed the girl wouldn’t burst into tears and give away their hiding place.
Down the creek an owl hooted and was answered from nearby.
Indians!
Didn’t they use bird calls to signal one another? Frogs croaked nearby, then far, far away a coyote lifted its nose to the sky and howled for a mate. The lonely cry sent a chill shimmering down Willa’s spine. Jo Bell moved so close to her back she could feel the girl’s breath on her neck.
“Why’d Charlie—?”
“Shhh . . .”
Willa’s keen ears had heard a faint sound. She cocked her head to the left and heard it again. With her left arm she swept Jo Bell farther behind her. Her right hand gripped the handle of the iron skillet while her eyes tried to penetrate the darkness around them.
Suddenly, without a sound, a man was beside them. Seeing him and acting was simultaneous. She swung the skillet. The man’s hand went up to ward off the blow.
Ping!
She heard the sound of iron striking metal. Before she could draw abreath she was wrestled to the ground. Rough hands jerked the skillet from her grasp. Then a string of obscenities spewed forth that would have made a bartender blush.
“Damn you! I ought to break your neck,” he hissed.
Break your neck!
The words registered in Willa’s mind.
He was going to kill her!
“Hel . . . lp! Bud . . . dy!” Willa kicked and tried to get her fingers in position to scratch his face.
“Shit! You crazy damn woman!”
“Char . . . lie! Bud . . . dy! Run . . . Jo Bell! Run!”
“Grrr . . .” Suddenly the dog was there. He sprang onto the man’s back. Ferocious growls came from his throat. “Grrr—”
“Call off the goddamn d—” Willa’s fist connected with the man’s mouth. “Shit! Yeeow! Charlie! Son of a bitch!” he cursed. “If the damn dog don’t kill me . . . she will.”
“Mr. Smith?” Charlie grabbed Buddy at the
He went back to his campfire, where the blackened pot was sending up a plume of steam. A grin still crinkled the corners of his eyes.
CHAPTER
8
I
t seemed to Willa she had just closed her eyes when she felt a hand on her ankle and heard Charlie’s whisper.
“Willa. Wake up.”
“What is it?” She sat up quickly and crawled to the end of the wagon.
“Somebody’s prowlin’ around out there. Buddy keeps looking off toward the creek. Look at his tail. It’s standing straight out.”
“It could be a coon or skunk.”
“I heard a horse whinny a while ago. At first I thought it was ours, but it didn’t come from the right direction.”
“I’ll wake Jo Bell. If it’s those men, I don’t want to get cornered in the wagon. Jo Bell,”—she shook the girl— “Jo Bell, wake up. We need to get out of here and hide.”
“What?”
Willa explained quickly, surprised that for once the girl didn’t argue. They dressed and climbed out of the wagon. Willa felt the comforting weight of the Derringer in her pocket. As they passed the side of the wagon, she lifted the heavy iron skillet from the hook. Holding it close to her side,she and Jo Bell followed Charlie and Buddy into a dense stand of sumac that grew along the bank of the stream.
“Stay here,” Charlie said. “I’m goin’ to the other side of the road.”
“Be careful,” Willa whispered. “Go with Charlie, Buddy.”
“He’d better stay with you.”
“No, he’ll warn you if he hears anything.”
Behind the screen of scrub and brush, Willa strained her ears for a foreign sound. The night was so black she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Her heart was whamming, but it didn’t seem to be pumping enough air into her lungs. She grimaced in self-disgust at the frightened fluttering of her heart and waited while the minutes went slowly by.
Behind her Jo Bell was breathing heavily. Willa hoped and prayed the girl wouldn’t burst into tears and give away their hiding place.
Down the creek an owl hooted and was answered from nearby.
Indians!
Didn’t they use bird calls to signal one another? Frogs croaked nearby, then far, far away a coyote lifted its nose to the sky and howled for a mate. The lonely cry sent a chill shimmering down Willa’s spine. Jo Bell moved so close to her back she could feel the girl’s breath on her neck.
“Why’d Charlie—?”
“Shhh . . .”
Willa’s keen ears had heard a faint sound. She cocked her head to the left and heard it again. With her left arm she swept Jo Bell farther behind her. Her right hand gripped the handle of the iron skillet while her eyes tried to penetrate the darkness around them.
Suddenly, without a sound, a man was beside them. Seeing him and acting was simultaneous. She swung the skillet. The man’s hand went up to ward off the blow.
Ping!
She heard the sound of iron striking metal. Before she could draw abreath she was wrestled to the ground. Rough hands jerked the skillet from her grasp. Then a string of obscenities spewed forth that would have made a bartender blush.
“Damn you! I ought to break your neck,” he hissed.
Break your neck!
The words registered in Willa’s mind.
He was going to kill her!
“Hel . . . lp! Bud . . . dy!” Willa kicked and tried to get her fingers in position to scratch his face.
“Shit! You crazy damn woman!”
“Char . . . lie! Bud . . . dy! Run . . . Jo Bell! Run!”
“Grrr . . .” Suddenly the dog was there. He sprang onto the man’s back. Ferocious growls came from his throat. “Grrr—”
“Call off the goddamn d—” Willa’s fist connected with the man’s mouth. “Shit! Yeeow! Charlie! Son of a bitch!” he cursed. “If the damn dog don’t kill me . . . she will.”
“Mr. Smith?” Charlie grabbed Buddy at the
Similar Books
