The Bride's Prerogative (62 page)

CHAPTER 33

T
rudy galloped Crinkles into town, straight to the livery stable. “Griffin!”

The burly blacksmith came to the doorway, scratching his chin through his beard. “Hey, Gert. I mean, Trudy. Wha—”

“You’ve got to help me raise a posse. Men and women who can shoot. Ethan and Hi are out at the Martin ranch, where that no-good Kenton Smith is staying. They’re holding Isabel Fennel for ransom. Ethan told Cyrus we’d raise the town. He wants anyone who can shoot to get out there. Can you help me?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’ll get someone to change the stagecoach team for you. Start spreading the word.”

She slapped Crinkles with the end of her reins and galloped over to the boardinghouse, where she dismounted and ran to the kitchen door. It stood open, and she called out as she ran up the steps, “Mrs. Thistle!”

The stout lady turned toward her, placing a hand over her heart. “You startled me, Miss Dooley. What’s all the fuss?”

“Mr. Fennel asked me to get Mr. Thistle to meet the stagecoach today, in case he can’t be there.”

“Oh? Is he ill?”

Terrence Thistle entered from the dining room, and Trudy quickly gave him Cyrus’s instructions about the stagecoach team and tickets. With his one good arm, Mr. Thistle pulled on a jacket. “I’d better go over to the livery and make sure I can find the right harnesses for the mule team.”

“But isn’t Mr. Bane there?” Mrs. Thistle’s forehead wrinkled like a washboard. “Is something going on?”

“He’s going to help the sheriff. I can’t stay long enough to explain it all, but there’s trouble out at the Martin ranch.”

“Oh, those no-good cowpokes.” Mrs. Thistle shook her head and went back to stirring her bowl of cake batter. “The night your brother came for the doctor, I knew no good would come out of that bunch.”

“I really must go. Thank you both! Oh, and tell Dr. Kincaid if you see him.” Trudy dashed out the door and scooped up Crinkles’s reins. She was close to the Bentons’ house, so she turned her mare down Gold Lane. Apphia was in the front yard, bent over her tiny flower bed.

“Trudy! What brings you out on horseback?” She stood and brushed at the stains on her skirt.

“The sheriff needs help. Is your husband home?”

“Yes. He’s studying.”

“Tell him I’m raising all the men and women I can. Isabel Fennel’s been kidnapped by that awful man who calls himself her uncle. Ethan and Hiram are with Mr. Fennel out at the Martin ranch. Anyone who can help is to bring a weapon and meet them a mile down the road from the ranch house.”

“We’ll both come.” Apphia hurried toward the house and called over her shoulder, “Don’t wait! Go tell the Moores. Augie will get the word out.”

Trudy turned Crinkles and cantered back to Main Street. She stopped at her own house only long enough to run inside and snatch the extra ammunition. Rose jumped up from her chair in the parlor and stared at her.

“Where are you going?”

“The sheriff needs everyone who can shoot out at the Martin ranch.” She ran back out to her horse and stuffed the cartridge boxes into the saddlebag before she mounted. Already, word had spread up the street, and men were saddling their horses. She caught a glimpse of Griffin hurrying out of the feed store with Mr. Walker.

At the Spur & Saddle, she jumped down, threw the ends of the reins over the long hitching rail, and pounded up the steps.

“Augie! Bitsy!”

Bitsy and Goldie were working together in the dining room, setting the tables. They set down the dishes and napkins they held and came toward her. Augie popped out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a linen towel.

“What is it, girl?” Bitsy asked.

“The sheriff needs you. All of you. Anyone who can shoot. Kenton Smith and his men have kidnapped Isabel and are demanding a ransom from her father. Ethan wants anyone who can help to ride out to the Martin ranch.”

Goldie tore off her apron. “I’ll run across the street and tell the Nashes, the Harpers, and anyone at the emporium. Miss Bitsy, bring my pistol, would you? And tell Vashti!”

Before Bitsy could reply, the girl was out the door. “I’ll go down this side of the street and tell Dostie and—”

“I’ve been to the boardinghouse and the Bentons’. Anyone else you can reach …”

Augie grabbed his shotgun from behind the bar they now used as a serving counter. Bitsy ran to the bottom of the ornate staircase and shouted, “Vashti!”

“Yes’m?” came a muffled reply.

“Come down and bring your pistol and Goldie’s. It’s shooting club business.”

Augie turned in the doorway. “You best be letting men into the club, then.”

“The sheriff needs all of us,” Trudy assured him. Augie nodded and went out.

“Wait and ride back with us, Trudy. Do I have time to change into my bloomers?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Right.” Bitsy planted her right foot on the seat of a chair and hiked her skirt up. Strapped to her garter was the tiny pistol she cherished. She drew it and checked the load then slipped it back into its diminutive holster. “That’s good. Gotta get the rifle, too, though.” She disappeared through the kitchen door.

Vashti scurried down the stairs, carrying her revolver and Goldie’s, her long, dark hair floating about her shoulders.

“Do you ladies have horses?” Trudy asked.

“Augie’s is over to the livery,” Vashti said. “Maybe we can get a wagon.” She peered out the front door. “Say, that looks like the Harpers. And Goldie’s with them. We can catch a ride with them.”

“Go,” Trudy said. “Ask them to wait for Bitsy.”

When Bitsy returned carrying the rifle, Trudy told her, “Hurry. Zach Harper’s out there, and his wagon’s nearly full.”

They dashed outside. Down the street, Oscar Runnels and his son, Josiah, came from behind the feed store driving freight wagons. Each was pulled by a team of six sturdy mules.

“You shooting club ladies, pile in,” Oscar yelled. Charles Walker, Pastor Benton, and a couple of other men climbed into the wagons, as well. Libby and Florence ran from the emporium carrying their weapons and hopped onto the back of Josiah’s wagon.

Trudy mounted Crinkles and tore for the livery. Terrence Thistle bustled about, helping men find mounts and bridles. Doc Kincaid and Ted Hire quickly saddled their own horses.

“Just don’t take the stagecoach mules,” Thistle shouted to one of the freighters who ducked between the rails of the corral fence.

Kincaid mounted and rode over to Trudy. “I’m ready. Do you know the way, Miss Dooley?”

“I sure do. Let’s go.”

An hour later, Hiram lay on his stomach, looking over a knoll toward the ranch house. Ethan had given orders to the townspeople as they arrived, and now he ducked low and joined Hiram, sliding in next to him on his belly.

“If all goes well, we’ll have the house surrounded in about fifteen minutes. Can you believe how many folks came?”

“Nope. It’s almost like the day of the picnic.” Hiram glanced over his shoulder. Rose sat on the tailgate of Josiah’s wagon handing out cookies. “What’d she come for, anyhow?”

Ethan shook his head. “The entertainment?”

“I guess so.”

“Maybe she cares about Smith. Kenton, that is.”

“I don’t think so. Trudy told me she said some mean things about him this morning—like how his teeth are all brown and how bad his grammar is.”

“Well, why’d she go out to dinner with him last night?” Hiram shrugged. “Bored?”

Ethan shook his head and slid up to where he could see the ranch house, barn, and corrals. “I guess the next thing is to try to talk to Kenton and demand that he release Isabel.”

“I wondered.”

Ethan sighed. “I’m not very good at this, Hiram.”

“Been praying.”

“Thanks.” Ethan lifted his hat, wiped his brow with his sleeve, and settled it again. “It gives me the shivers to think one of our ladies could get shot. But I think we need numbers to make this fellow back down.”

“He’s been in prison before. Won’t want to go back.”

“That’s the way I look at it. All right, I’ll get Cyrus to go down with me. Maybe Griffin, too. Do you want to go?”

“What good would I do?”

“Some of those cowboys saw you lay Eli Button out. They probably think you’re as tough as nails.”

Hiram barked out a little laugh. “Likely.” He slid back until he could stand without being seen over the mound. “Let’s go.”

He and Ethan rounded up Griffin. The three walked over to where Cyrus stood near his horse. Libby was talking to him, her back to them as they approached.

“We’re all praying, Cyrus. The Lord can get her out of this.”

Cyrus’s face was gray as he looked down at her. “She got involved in that trouble last summer, and I vowed I’d see she had a good life. But … but lately I haven’t been able to get along with her. Somehow we can’t see eye to eye anymore. She started going to the shooting club—”

“No, Cyrus. Don’t blame this on the shooting club. Things have been tense between you and Isabel since Mary died.”

He hung his head. “I suppose you’re right.” He looked up as the others stepped forward. “Sheriff, when are you going to do something? We been here over an hour, just standing around waiting.”

“We’re going down there now,” Ethan said. “You, me, Griffin, and Hiram. I want you to call out to Kenton and see if he’ll parley.”

“What if they shoot at us?”

Ethan scratched his chin. “Think we’d ought to carry a flag?”

“He told me not to bring you.” Cyrus stood tall. “I think I should go down alone.”

“Alone? No, come on, Mr. Fennel. We can’t let you walk into a trap.”

“All right, I’ll take Dooley.”

Hiram gulped.

“You’ll what?” Ethan scowled at him.

“Kenton told me he’ll kill Isabel if I bring in the law. All right, so I go down with a friend instead. I’ll tell him Dooley’s staking me the money.”

Ethan frowned.

“I’ll do it.” Hiram was so startled at his own words that he jumped. He looked at the other three men to see if they’d heard him. Maybe he hadn’t actually said the words aloud.

“Hiram, you must be cautious,” Libby said, and he knew he’d blurted it out, all right.

“I will. We will. Won’t we, Mr. Fennel?”

Cyrus nodded.

“We’ll ask them to let us see Isabel,” Hiram said.

“That’s good.” Ethan looked keenly into his eyes for a moment. “All right. But you’ve got to stall him. Tell him you’re trying to raise the money but you don’t think you can come up with the cash that fast.”

“What’s the point in that?” Cyrus asked.

“Get him talking and ask to see that Isabel’s alive and well. If he’s cooperative, maybe you can get a count of his men and see how their defenses look. Tell him you can’t get the full amount, but maybe you can come up with less. See what he says—if he’s willing to deal or not.”

“And if he’s not?”

Ethan’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. “That’s when you back off, and we show our hand. Forty guns trained on them.”

Cyrus grabbed his hat from his head and threw it on the ground. “I knew I shouldn’t have waited for you. They’ll kill my daughter.”

CHAPTER 34

H
ere’s your white flag.” Trudy placed a long stick in her brother’s hand. Fluttering from the top end was a white petticoat. He didn’t want to know whose.

“Mr. Fennel, there’s one more thing.” Ethan looked around at Hiram, Trudy, and Cyrus. Griff Bane stood a few yards away, checking his saddle. The rest of the townsfolk had dispersed in a large cordon around the ranch. Libby had set up an ammunition station on the back of Josiah’s wagon. Even Rose had stationed herself with the Harper ladies several yards away.

“What do you want?” Cyrus stood by his roan with the reins in his hands.

Ethan dropped his voice. “You said Isabel doesn’t know Kenton is her father. Does Kenton know that she is his daughter?”

“No. So far as he knows, Isabel is mine and Abigail’s.”

Ethan let out his breath. “So he’s not apt to spill the beans to her in there.”

“No. I suppose he could tell her he was married to her mother.” Cyrus’s face twisted, and he looked away, toward the mountains.

Trudy touched his arm. “I’m sorry this is happening, Mr. Fennel. Do you think it would help the situation if Kenton did know that?” She looked at Ethan. “I mean, he might be less likely to hurt Isabel if he knew she was truly his kin.”

“It’s too risky,” Ethan said. “If Isabel learns it from him, she might be overwrought. There’s no telling what she would do.”

Cyrus clenched his fists. “Besides, if Kenton knew, he might try to take Isabel away with him and force her to do things she shouldn’t. That’s what he did with her mother thirty-five years ago. Why would he do any differently now?”

Ethan nodded reluctantly. “All right. We won’t tell him. Just go in to where he can hear you and see if you can get him to release her.”

Griffin walked over, leading his big gray gelding. “I’m going, too.”

Cyrus hesitated then nodded. “All right then. The three of us.”

Ethan looked at him, Hiram, and Griff. “Godspeed.”

Hiram walked to Hoss. His stomach churned, but the docile bay gelding stood still for him while he mounted and shifted the flag to his other hand. He thought about taking his rifle from the scabbard and using it as a flag holder, but he might need his Sharps. And he couldn’t ride in there with it drawn. Kenton might not think that was neighborly. He pried a spot for the end of the flag stick between his right boot and the stirrup.

Cyrus led the way, and Hiram followed, with Griff trotting along behind. The sun neared its zenith, and Hiram’s cotton shirt stuck to his back. The breeze had died down. He could feel perspiration forming on his forehead along the sweatband of his hat.

The ranch house lay quiet, baking in the heat. The walls were built of logs, with only one small window on the front. Beyond the house lay the barn, corral, and the old soddy they used for a bunkhouse. Hiram remembered the Martins who had built the spread—two brothers. One of them had a skinny wife and two young’uns. They must have sold out to Cyrus and moved on five or six years ago. The isolated location was too far away from civilization for most women.

Cyrus’s horse slowed to a walk, and Hoss broke stride as well. Hiram urged him up beside the roan. A magpie flew from under the barn eaves and swooped toward the corral. Griff closed in on Cyrus’s other side, and they continued slowly toward the house, with the petticoat flag hanging limply over Hiram’s head. A glint of metal caught his eye. Someone crouched behind the farm wagon near the corral fence.

He started to speak, but the door to the house opened.

“Don’t come any closer.”

They halted and stared at the door. It stood open only a couple of inches, and Hiram couldn’t tell who had spoken. He saw a flicker of movement at the window to the left of the door frame as well.

“Tell Kenton I want to talk,” Cyrus yelled.

The door opened wider, and Kenton Smith—or John Kenton—stood in the shadowed opening with a rifle in his hands.

“Why are those men with you? I told you to keep your trap shut. This is between you and me.”

“Oh yeah?” Cyrus stood in the stirrups. “Then why have you got all your men guarding the house? Don’t tell me you threw that rock through my office window personally.”

Kenton shifted his gun so that the barrel pointed straight at them. “Have you got my money?”

“Not all of it. I told you—I can’t raise that kind of cash that fast.”

“Then go away until you’ve got it.”

“Even if I had the resources, there’s not that much hard money in Fergus. I’ll have to send to Boise City. It’ll take at least a couple of days.”

“No deal. I’ve been waiting a long time, Fennel. I want my money now.”

Cyrus’s hard gray eyes narrowed. “Let Isabel go, and give me a few days. I promise I’ll get the money.”

“Why should I believe you? I told you not to tell anyone, and you’ve brought two men with you. Next thing I know, the sheriff will ride up.”

“That’s your own fault,” Cyrus shouted. “I wasn’t alone when the rock came through the window. Mighty hard to keep something like that secret when you’ve got folks in the room with you.”

Another man appeared in the doorway behind Kenton, and they spoke in low tones.

“How much you got on you now?” Kenton yelled.

Cyrus hesitated. He looked askance at Hiram. “What do I say?”

“Ask to see Isabel.”

Cyrus leaned over and unhooked a canteen from his saddle. He took his time uncorking it and tipping it up for a drink. Hiram could almost taste the water running down his dry throat, and he looked away. The second man had come out where he could be seen. Eli Button.

Cyrus cleared his throat. “Kenton, I’m not going anywhere until I see my daughter.”

Kenton stared at him, his bushy eyebrows low. “What for?”

“To prove you’ve got her, for starters. And to see that she’s all right.”

Kenton turned his head and spoke to Button. The cowboy lumbered into the house, and they waited in tense silence.

After half a minute, Griffin said, “You think it’s possible they don’t have her?”

“It entered my mind.” Cyrus started to put his canteen back and paused. “You boys want a drink?”

“Thanks. I was wishing I’d brought something.” Griffin took the canteen and tipped it up for a swig. He passed it back to Cyrus, who relayed it to Hiram.

Hiram shook it. Half full. He took a mouthful and handed it back to Cyrus. “Thank you kindly. She wasn’t in your house when we went there, sir. Your men said they hadn’t seen her.”

“Well, you just never know. She could still be over at Libby Adams’s place. I’d hate to be doing this for nothing.”

“No sir, Mrs. Adams came along with the other folks from town,” Griffin pointed out. “She told us Miss Fennel left for home just before she opened the store this morning.”

Near the corral, a cowboy stood up behind the wagon, showing himself openly. He rested a shotgun on the side of the wagon and stared insolently at them. Hiram caught a suggestion of movement again at the window of the house.

Isabel burst through the door of the ranch house in a flurry of gray skirts. Hiram caught his breath. Button held her around the waist with a revolver pointed at her right ear. Hair fluttered about her face in disarray. Her frantic, pale eyes focused on her father, and her mouth opened in a silent plea.

Kenton looked her over and turned toward the horsemen.

“All right, you seen her. How much you got on you?”

The creases at the corners of Cyrus’s eyes deepened as he squinted. “About three dollars.”

“What?” Kenton limped toward them, brandishing the rifle. “You get outta here right now and get me the money. You’re a-wasting time! Be back by sundown, or Miss Isabel is a bye-bye. You get me?”

Hiram’s heart pounded in his throat.

Cyrus’s face went beet red. He stiffened in the saddle, and his horse pawed the ground.

“We’d best be going,” Griffin said softly. “Boss,” yelled the cowboy near the corral. Kenton turned his way. “Yeah?”

“They’s men out there.” The cowboy swept his arm in an arc, indicating the terrain toward the road and on each side.

“You double-crosser!” Kenton swung his rifle toward the horses and let off a charge.