Authors: Linda Ford
“Wouldn't know. Don't care.” She took a spoonful of beans simply to discourage further conversation, and forced herself not to gag.
She felt Brand's disinterested look and shot him one that should have melted the flesh off his bones. “Where's Dawg?”
Brand tipped his head to the side. Dawg sat there with his head on his paws, his eyes alert. His tail tilted to one side at Sybil speaking his name, and he wriggled an inch closer.
“Stay,” Brand ordered, and Dawg stayed.
Forks and knives clattered on the tin plates. A utensil screeched and Sybil shivered. Fear and anger and disgust raged through her.
When the men finished and handed their plates to the one who had served the food, they shifted their gaze to her. She thought her heart would leap from her chest at the way they studied her.
“Tie her up,” Cyrus ordered one of the men. “Then we'll make plans.”
Sybil bolted to her feet, thought to run away, but she was surrounded by hard-faced men. One reached for her and yanked her arms behind her back with no pity for how much it hurt.
Brand! She sent him a silent plea, begging him to help her.
He crossed his arms and looked away.
“To think I thought we might be friends.” She spat out each bitter word. She was forced to sit with her back to a tree, trussed up hand and foot.
Cyrus laughed. “Brand don't make friends. Why, he don't even like his family much.” He edged up to his brother and gave him an evil grin. He grabbed Brand's arm and dragged him away. The others followed and stood in a tight circle.
She strained to hear what the men said. She could make out only a few words. Enough to know they planned some kind of robbery and that somehow, though she'd done nothing to invite such treatment, she was to be used as a pawn. People hanged for kidnapping. She tried to find pleasure in the idea, but instead quivered so hard her teeth rattled, and she wished for a blanket to warm herself.
Please, God, rescue me.
Chapter Eleven
B
rand squeezed his fists so tight he wondered if his fingers would ever straighten. He ached to break Cyrus's nose. The man did not have a decent bone in his body.
Brand knew he must keep his emotions under control. There was nothing Cyrus liked better than seeing Brand get upset about something. And nothing had upset Brand half as much as seeing Sybil dragged into the campsite hung across a horse. She must have suffered a great deal, riding like that. And knowing Cyrus, Brand had no doubt his brother had been inappropriate. The only consolation was that Sybil seemed unharmed and full of spunk. If not for the seriousness of the situation he might have smiled to see how feisty the serious little Sybil had grown.
Cyrus faced him across the tight circle. “Now, little brother, you can help us out or watch us have a little sport with that gal over there.”
Brand shrugged. “She's just a young lady.” He hoped to convey the impression he didn't care what happened to her. “One of the ranch owner's friends.” Maybe that would give them pause.
Cyrus snorted and the others pressed closer. Pa managed to squirm a little at the idea of abusing a young lady, but their father had never stood up to Cyrus and Brand didn't expect he would start now.
“Little brother, you can't fool us. We seen you with her. I never seen you spending time with anyone before.”
“You don't know a whole lot about what I do. For instance, who did I spend last winter with?” Let Cyrus mull on that for a while as Brand scrambled to think how to get Sybil away unhurt.
“Who cares? That was then. This is now.” Cyrus waited.
So did Brand. Unexpectedly, he thought to ask God for help.
Lord, a good idea would be right handy about now.
But when had God ever sent a way out of his family situation? Suddenly Brand didn't care if he was a Duggan or not.
Lord, help me get Sybil out of this situation.
This prayer mattered more than any he'd ever offered. Would God answer?
“The ranchers will all be after you as soon as they discover Sybil is missing.”
“Sybil is it? Now, ain't that a fine name? What do you think, Pa? You like the idea of a Sybil in the family? Sybil and Cyrus has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?”
Brand's whole body quivered with anger. But he held it in check.
“'Course I know little brother here had his sights on her first, but seems me being the oldest I should get first chance. Right, Pa?”
Pa didn't say anything.
“'Course I might just enjoy her without marrying. After all, marriage ties you down.”
Brand's anger erupted. He sprang forward and landed a good hard blow to his brother's nose before the others restrained him.
Cyrus wiped his nose on his sleeve and laughed. “Knew you cared about her. Now...” his expression hardened “...let's do some negotiatin'.”
Brand had little choice. “What do you want?”
“Show us where the rancher keeps his money.”
Brand did some fast thinking. “It's where you'd least expect it.”
“Yeah? And where would that be?”
“'Fraid I can't tell you, because then I have nothing to bargain with, do I?”
Cyrus snorted. “You ain't got nothin' anyways.”
“Suit yourself.” Brand leaned back on his heels and waited.
Cyrus gave him a look fit to curl the toes of a new pair of boots. The others shifted and made impatient noises.
Pa sighed. “Seems you two better work this out. Cyrus, hear what he has in mind.”
Cyrus grunted, which Brand knew was as much of a yes as he could expect.
“I'll take you where the money is kept on the condition you release Sybil and see her safely home.”
Cyrus shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Brand knew Cyrus's promise meant nothing, but Pa believed in keeping his word to his family.
Brand turned to him. “Pa?”
The old man considered for a moment, looked at Sybil straining at her ropes. “You have my word to release her once we get the money. But you better not be up to any funny business.”
Brand wished he could think of something clever. But he couldn't. All he could hope for was to lead the men away and wait for a blinding bit of insight before they realized he had no idea what he was doing.
Two of the men saddled the horses and brought them forward.
Seeing Brand about to leave, Dawg whined.
“Come.” Brand spoke to the dog and headed toward Sybil.
Cyrus stepped in his way. “What do you think yer gonna do?”
“Leave my dog behind. Last thing we need is him barking and giving away our presence.”
“So tell him to stay.”
“Sometimes Dawg don't listen too good.”
“A bullet between his ears would make him obey.”
“Dawg might alert us if anyone approaches the camp.”
Cyrus considered the idea, the wheels turning with maddening slowness. “Okay. Leave him here.”
“That's what I aim to do. I'll order him to watch Miss Sybil.” Dawg, with his injuries, might not provide much protection for Sybil, but it was the most Brand could offer. He called Dawg to follow him across the clearing to her side.
“Stay,” he said to Dawg, and the animal lay by Sybil.
She gave him a pleading look. “Don't do this.”
“I have to do what I have to do,” he whispered in reply.
Cyrus, who had been busy organizing the men, noticed Brand still at Sybil's side and chortled. “Trying to steal a little kiss?”
Brand straightened, his back to his brother, his eyes clinging to Sybil. “This is goodbye.” He allowed himself a second of enjoying her face. No doubt it would be the last time he saw her. Once Cyrus and the others figured out he didn't know where there was any money, they'd shoot him on the spot. He could only hope and pray Eddie or someone would rescue Sybil before then.
The best he could hope for was to buy her time.
They left Sybil tied to the tree, Dawg at her side and a grizzle-faced man, Jock, to watch her.
“I ain't gonna stay here and be caught by no posse,” he groused.
Cyrus leaped from his horse and grabbed the man's shirt. “You'll be here when we get back or I'll hunt you down and shoot you like a mad dog.”
It wasn't until they'd ridden back to the faint trail along the edge of a hill that Brand knew what he must do. It was the only thing that offered any hope of success. He reined toward Edendale, praying as he had never prayed before, likely as his ma had once prayed for her husband and stepson. He prayed for help from any source. He prayed that no one would be hurt. He prayed fervently that Sybil would be released unhurt.
He didn't know the man who had been left to guard her. Jock. Dirty-looking and dirty-smelling. Brand's jaw clenched at the thought of the man going near Sybil.
“Where are we heading, little brother?” Cyrus demanded. “The ranch is that direction.” He pointed to the left.
“Told you the money wasn't where you'd expect it.”
Cyrus's look dripped warning. “You better not try and fool us.”
“Trust me.”
Pa rode on his other side. “I'm guessing Brand won't do anything stupid, because if he does, that little gal back there is fair game.”
Several of the man laughed in a way that made Brand's fists coil around the reins until his knuckles shone white. He chomped back the bile that burned up his throat. “Pa, remember your promise.”
“Son, I ain't forgetting the promise was in exchange for leading us to the money.”
“I'm doing the best I can.” Unfortunately, his best was not much. He let memories of Sybil fill his mind, giving him determination to do whatever must be done.
Sybil sitting under a tree near the ranch, bent over some book, the sunlight glistening on her golden curls.
Sybil gritting her teeth and holding Dawg while Brand sewed him up.
Sybil telling him stories she'd made up. Would she ever get a chance to get them printed?
Would he succeed in gaining her release?
The trail widened. Dust kicked up from the horses' hooves. In the distance the buildings of Edendale could be seen.
Cyrus grabbed Brand's reins and jerked them to a halt. “What kind of trick is this?”
“No trick. Money is kept in the store.” Not Eddie's, but someone's was there.
Cyrus hung on to the reins as he considered the notion. “What do you think, Pa?”
Pa studied the situation. “Don't much care for riding into a town. Too many places people can hide. Maybe it's a trap.”
Brand wished it could be. “Pa, how was I to plan a trap? I didn't even know you were around. And I have only been in town twice. Once to ride through and once to get some biscuits. A young couple bakes bread and biscuits for the store, so there are always fresh ones on hand.”
Still they didn't move.
Finally Pa sighed. “I keep thinking of that gal back at the camp. We watched Brand with her. Know he's fond of her. My question is would he trick us if he thought she'd suffer for it?”
Brand met his pa's gaze, letting him see the truth. He would risk his own skin before he'd let them hurt Sybil.
Pa nodded. “I don't figure he would. Come on, boys.” He signaled for the others to follow. “But keep your eyes peeled.”
He and Cyrus pressed close to Brand. He'd never be able to get away, call out a warning. Do anything.
He'd never felt so helpless in his life. This would surely end badly. But if Sybil escaped unharmed, he could live with the fact. Or die with it comforting him.
They rode forward slowly, watching for any sign of danger. The town appeared sleepy in the slanting afternoon sun. One horse stood in front of the store. A whirlwind of dust swept down the street. A screen door slapped in the wind. Smoke rose from the chimney of the stopping house behind the store, and the aroma of fresh bread filled the air.
They rode closer. Every nerve in Brand's body twitched. What lay ahead? He felt the same tension in Pa and Cyrus. Their hands lingered on their guns. Would he escape this day without someone being shot?
They rode up to the store and the seven of them lined up in a row, facing the closed door. Through the window, they saw a barrel, some hardware hanging from the ceiling and the counter holding an assortment of jars and tins. But not a sign of life.
“Could be he's in the back room,” Brand said, his neck prickling.
“Let's go see. You can go first.” Cyrus ordered two of the men to stay with the horses, then pressed his gun to Brand's back.
Their boots rang in the silence as they climbed the steps and shoved open the door. Brand paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. Cyrus nudged him with his gun.
“Where's the money?”
Brand didn't know. How was he supposed to, when he was making this up? He'd never ridden a wild horse that filled him with more tension.
“Guess you need to ask the salesclerk.”
Cyrus yelled, “Hello?” sending a jolt of alarm up and down Brand's spine.
A noise came from the door to the living quarters. The handle jiggled. Brand recognized the man who stepped through the door. And it wasn't Macpherson. Why was the man in civilian clothes? Brand's nerves skittered madly. Something was amiss.
“Can I help you?” Constable Allen asked.
“Yeah, mister. You can give us all the money hid here.”
The Mountie lifted his arms. “Sure thing.” He moved toward the counter.
Brand tensed until his bones felt brittle.
“No funny stuff,” Cyrus warned.
“I'm no fool,” the Mountie said, edging closer, his eyes guarded as he took in the scene before him.
Cyrus moved to keep the counter between himself and the officer, his gun steadily aimed at the Mountie's heart.
Brand wondered how the man could be so cool.
Then the Mountie flung himself out of sight behind the counter. “Now,” he called.
Men burst through the doors of the storeroom and the living quarters.
The Mountie came up with a shotgun aimed at the Duggan gang. “Drop your weapons.”
Cyrus and the others fired and raced for the outer door.
Brand dived for the floor.
In a few minutes the shooting was over. Brand sat up, pain burning his side. He pressed his hand to the spot and looked at the blood staining his palm. He'd been shot.
“You are under arrest,” the Mountie said, and Brand got to his feet, his hands out to show he was unarmed.
He looked around. Two men lay on the floor. They'd never rob anyone again. The men who had waited outside were gone. And so were Cyrus and Pa.
“We'll find them,” the Mountie said, and Brand knew it was a vow. The Mounties prided themselves on always getting their man.
* * *
Brand leaned his head against the rough wood, his hands chained to the iron rings anchored in the wall of the livery stable where Constable Allen had taken him after his arrest. He knew he would either be hanged or sentenced to hard labor for the rest of his life.
His only consolation came from having told the Mountie where to find Sybil.
His side ached.
Someone stepped into the barn. “Hello. The Mountie asked me to bring you food.”
Tied hand and foot, Brand could not feed himself. Only the aroma of the meal allowed him to suffer the indignity of being fed by the other man.
“Any news from the Mountie?” Brand asked. His thoughts overflowed with worry about Sybil...worry that was not eased despite his continued prayer.
“I don't expect he'll be back until he catches up with the rest of the gang. Constable Allen is very unwavering in his pursuit of justice.”
Brand didn't continue the conversation, unable to bear the idea that the Mountie neglected Sybil's rescue in favor of chasing after Cyrus and Pa.
God, keep her safe. Please, God, hear my prayer and answer it.
Darkness fell and Brand's spirits nose-dived. Had Sybil been left out there, alone except for old Jock? Afraid? Cold?