Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) (23 page)

“I think he’s our friend. Let me see what he’s trying to tell us.”

Close enough now, she immediately understood. “It’s Fox Dancing’s amulet.” The Indian pointed to the back door. “He wants me to go with him. Maybe she’s hurt and needs help.”

“Charity, if you do, we may lose you forever. You could be held captive or killed. I won’t let you.”

Charity turned. “I have to go. For Luke. And for Fox Dancing. He’s not going to hurt me.”

The Cheyenne brave pointed to her mother, then back at her. “Mother, he wants us both.”

Claire nodded, the need to protect her daughter seeming to have calmed her fears. “You’re right. That young girl needs us. Let me gather my things.”

• • •

Mounted on her palomino mare, and her mother on her bay gelding, they rode silently behind the large, muscular Appaloosa that resembled Fox Dancing’s horse. Charity hadn’t said anything to her mother, but concern had begun building when they’d left Y Knot’s surrounding area. Soon, if they stayed in this direction, they would reach Pine Grove. Had Fox Dancing’s horse fallen again, leaving her seriously hurt near the town? If yes, this young man leading them wouldn’t be able to approach just anyone safely. And because of it, he’d ridden all the way back to their ranch.

When he pulled to a stop, they rode alongside. He put his finger to his lips and leaned in. They were along the outlying streets, hidden back in the foliage. He murmured something, then looked at Claire.

“He’s trying to tell us something,” Charity said to her mother, who still looked nervous.

The Indian said a few more words. Her mother listened, then cut her gaze to Charity. “I’m not sure. I think he’s trying to say ‘jail.’”

Charity quickly pointed to her gun, then traced a star on her chest, where Brandon always pinned his.

The Indian nodded.

“Yes. Sheriff Huxley must have Fox Dancing locked up in a cell.”

She dismounted and handed her reins up to her mother. She crept through the bushes until she could see the street. The sturdy brick jailhouse was alive with light. Two men came out and went up the street in the opposite direction. She hurried back to where the others waited.

“The jail is lit up like the Fourth of July,” she whispered. “They must have Fox Dancing inside.”

After an uncomfortable glance at the Indian, her mother dismounted too. “Why would they take her? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know either, but I’m going to find out. I’ll go down and scout it out. Can you tell him?” She pointed to the brave still astride his horse.

“That’ll be very dangerous, Charity. Men worked up over Indian trouble are not usually thinking straight.”

“I know. That’s why we have to hurry, in case they have bad intent. I didn’t see Sheriff Huxley. I wonder if he’s even there. He came out to the ranch the other day wanting to talk with her.”

Claire looked around. “I should go with you.”

“No, you need to stay here. Just in case things don’t go well. You might have to ride for help. I’m not going to do anything foolish, just see if she’s there. You stay for backup. He’ll not hurt you.”

When they both glanced at the brave, he gave a wan smile, as if he knew what she’d just said.

“Mother, if I’m not back in twenty minutes, go to Stef Hannessy, owner of the Night Owl Mine, and have one of his men ride for the others. If Brandon were here, we wouldn’t have a thing to worry about.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” her mother responded. “Men are strange creatures. When it comes to Indians, or Indian lovers, it doesn’t take much…”

Charity gasped. “You don’t think it will come to that, do you? These are our neighbors and friends. They wouldn’t dare do anything to me.”

“At this point in my life, I don’t put anything past anyone. I wish Flood were here.”

They embraced.

“You be careful, my brave daughter. Come back to me safe and sound.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

W
ith a walnut-sized lump in her throat, Charity slunk along the boardwalk, staying in the shadows and close to the walls, the weight of her six-gun, strapped to her thigh, giving her courage. Thank goodness for guns. How she wished she’d had one that night a few weeks ago in Rio Wells, when she’d been faced with the malevolent bank owner who’d wanted her dead.

Actually, she’d wished she had more than her gun that night, like a skirt or a pair of pants. Running out into a sleeping Rio Wells in only her bloomers when she’d spotted Brandon riding down the road had been a pretty hare-brained thing to do.

At the memory, she almost smiled, but pushed it away when two men came out of the jailhouse, turned on their heel, then hurried off down the street in the opposite direction.

In front of the bakeshop a good block away from the jailhouse, she stopped. Watched and listened. The place, still lit up, seemed deserted. Five minutes passed without anyone around. Where had they all gone? Was Fox Dancing really locked away inside—or was this a mistake? Her brothers wouldn’t hesitate in the slightest. They’d meet whoever, and whatever, straight on. She’d learned to use her firearm right along with them. She wasn’t frightened, at least not much.

Having talked herself into the positive outcome, she walked down the dark street confidently and crossed the threshold. The room was empty. Nervously, she fingered the gun on her hip, then, when no one showed up, she opened the door to the back room and the cells.

Fox Dancing bolted to her feet. She rushed the bars, rattling off several long sentences, none of which Charity could understand. The girl blinked several times, and Charity saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“Luk?”

Charity shook her head. “No. Sorry. Just me and Ma and…” She thought a moment. With her hands, she made the outline of the Indian’s body and then pointed to her. “A really big man.”

Fox Dancing’s gaze cut away and she stared disappointedly at the floor. They both knew they needed Luke, and the other McCutcheons, before things got out of hand.

With no one around, this might be her only opportunity to do something to save Fox Dancing. She reached in her pocket, took out the talisman the Indian brave had given her, and passed it to Fox Dancing through the bars. The girl slipped it over her head.

“Wait here.” Charity shook her head when she realized how that sounded. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried into the main room and went over to Huxley’s desk. She scanned the top, looking for the keys. She needed to hurry. It wouldn’t do to get caught trying to break Fox Dancing out.

Unsuccessful, she opened the top drawer, finding it so stuffed with junk, she was sure the keys couldn’t be there. Same with the next two.

There weren’t any other places in the room that could hold the key ring. A coat rack by the door was loaded with several coats and a slicker. She crossed the room and patted down each garment. When she felt a hard ridge, she pulled the coat aside to find the keys hanging on a hook behind the clothes. A good hiding place—one that had almost fooled her.

Excited, Charity had a difficult time getting the key in the lock. Once in, the clumsy old mechanism didn’t want to turn. Sweat, born of desperation, broke out on her forehead. She gripped the key with both hands and strained, twisting it with all she had. The satisfying clink of the lock giving way met their ears.

She looked up at Fox Dancing and smiled—only to see the girl’s eyes riveted on the door.

“Going somewhere?”

Charity whirled.

A man had a gun trained at her chest. She slowly raised her hands, silently cursing her impulsiveness. She should have gathered the information like she’d planned, and got her tail back to her mother.

The pot-bellied man with the greasy black mustache stepped forward and slipped her gun from her holster. He smelled foul. His small, beady eyes didn’t miss a thing.

“Where’s Sheriff Huxley?” she demanded. “I want to speak with him right away!”

The man sneered, then looked her up and down in the most disgusting way.

“Ain’t here.”

“Well, go find him!”

“Shut up and get in that cell.” He pointed with his gun. “Unless you want me to shoot you right here and now.”

“I’m Charity McCutcheon. You have no right to put me in jail!”

“I got every right, girlie McCutcheon. You was breakin’ my prisoner out. Had the door open. If I hadn’t shown up when I did, you two would be long gone.” His eyes narrowed. “Now
get
your backside inside unless you want that to be your last breath.”

It was true. She’d been caught red-handed. She’d not buffalo her way out of this one.

She stepped inside, next to Fox Dancing, and he slammed the door so hard it hurt her ears. The click, when he turned the lock, felt as if she’d been pushed into a bottomless pit.

What about her mother, alone in the woods with the Indian brave? She’d be frightened when Charity didn’t come back. Would she be able to find Stef Hannessy’s place?

She needed to try something else. “Sir?” she said as politely as she could. He’d just put the key in his pocket and turned to leave. It galled her to have to humble herself for this piece of dung, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

He turned back. “You have a question?” he said in a sweet tone, mocking her own.

“Well, yes. I believe I do. But first, I want to say that I made a horrible mistake in coming in here like I did. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm.”

When he chuckled, she felt her face go hot.
Why, the big, bumbling backside of a…
“I was just wondering why you had Fox Dancing locked up in your cell in the first place. The last time I saw her, she was at my brother’s ranch—you know, my brother,
Luke McCutcheon
from Y Knot?”

An ugly light flared up in the man’s eyes. “Guess
your brother
didn’t know that he was harboring a murdering Indian fugitive. He wouldn’t do a thing like that on purpose, I wouldn’t reckon.” He took two steps toward the door.

She reached out through the bars, feeling helpless. “Wait!”

When he turned back stern-faced, she added softly, in the most delicate voice she could muster, “Please don’t go.”

“I got things to do.”

“Why do you think she killed someone?”

“A bow and quiver was found at the cabin of two men who were murdered in cold blood. She’s the only Injun we’ve got in the area for a while.”

“But Sheriff Huxley told the man I’m going to
marry,
Brandon Crawford, the
sheriff of Y Knot
, that those men killed themselves in a shoot-out.”

She gripped the bars, wanting to shake them.

“How has the story changed so much?” she demanded hotly, forgetting to be sweet. “Just because she’s an Indian and you want to pin it on someone?”

Clearly aggravated with her forwardness, and most likely put off that she wasn’t cowered in the corner crying, he came up to the bars and leered. “I’m through jawing with the likes of
you
!”

He was out the door and getting ready to close it, when she yelled, “When will Sheriff Huxley return? I want to speak with him right now! I have rights!”

“We’ll go wake him up just as soon as we’re finished hanging the murderer, and not a second sooner.” He laughed evilly. “Poor ol’ man needs his rest. Any more questions for me?” Before she could respond, he slammed the door shut.

She could feel Fox Dancing’s gaze riveted to her side. Turning, she shrugged.

“Luk?”

Charity shook her head. “No Luke. Not yet. But we won’t give up hope.”

Men’s voices drew her over to the window. The men she’d seen leaving were riding down the street with several more. One took the rope from his saddle and tossed it over a beam at the saloon. When Fox Dancing started over, Charity took her by the shoulders and turned her around, sitting them together on the small, not-too-nice-smelling cot. Making plans, when you couldn’t communicate, would prove difficult. But what plans could they make? Without a gun, or Brandon knowing where they were, the outcome didn’t bode well.

Somehow, she had to stop these crazy men. And where was Sheriff Huxley anyway?

Chapter Thirty-Four

C
laire McCutcheon sat on a rock and watched the quiet Cheyenne brave, the reins of her horse and Charity’s clutched in her palm. He was a large fellow, although he looked young, surely not yet twenty. Along with a huge knife in a dark leather case tied around his waist, he had a bow and a quiver filled with arrows that she was sure he’d use if Fox Dancing were in mortal danger. But against so many guns, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Perhaps he knew that and it was the reason he hadn’t tried to break Fox Dancing out of the jail.

He’d been perfectly quiet as he squatted next to a tree, watching the jailhouse. He hadn’t even once looked her way. It was apparent he was waiting for Fox Dancing’s white brother to come spring her without incident. Claire prayed that would be possible.

She glanced up at the early morning stars and was transported back in time—to the Cheyenne village where she’d learned so much about herself. Feelings surged through her. Anxiety over her little boys at home, who needed their mother. Worry for Flood, who would be ripped up with fear for her. The guilt she carried around every day, knowing how she felt about Luke’s father after so many months of not being rescued. How it would kill Flood if he knew.

The hoot of an owl brought her back to the hillside overlooking the jailhouse in Pine Grove. At least thirty minutes had passed since Charity had left. She must be in trouble. It would be up to Claire now to get word out, to alert her family to what was happening before it was too late. Resolved to her course of action, she tied the two sets of reins she held to a bush and quietly approached the brave.

He looked around. The darkness kept her from seeing his eyes.

“I must go find help,” she said, searching slowly for the correct Cheyenne words.

He tipped his head.