Chapter 16

© Copyright 2008 by Elizabeth Delayne



With her hands tied behind her back she was helpless as the wagon jostled over rocks. Her head battered against the seat board. She cried out, but the sound was blocked by the rough bandana that pressed against her lips, tied tight at the back of her head.

Rachel craned her neck, twisted and tried to make out the driver of the wagon. It was impossible, from her position. She pushed herself, twisted, then rolled as the wagon hit another dip.

The moan left her lips, the tumble left her breathless. It took a moment.

But then she turned and focused on the driver, and this time, she saw his face.

He’d been around town, maybe a handful of times. Never with Mr. Shatler.

She’d never thought ... never would have known that Shatler would be so stoic about robbery.

About murder.

She could still see the wide opened eyes of the engineer who lay flat on his back, staring up, unseeing, at the bright blue sky ... and the red stain of blood from the bullet wound in his chest.

Then she’d turned and she’d seen him...

Shatler.

Those familiar dark eyes watched her over the bandana that hid the rest of his face.

Well, he’d said, isn’t it our lucky day, fellas?

They’d set one of the cars on fire, and when someone drew out a weapon, they used her as their escape.

She hadn’t seen Shatler since he’d dumped her in the back of the wagon.

And noting the directions of the mountains on their right, she knew they were heading south.

Away from Lenox. Away from ... everything.

Please God ... she prayed as chills ran over her skin. Please.

If something happened to her ...

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the side board and pictured James ... and the little boy who meant so much.

* * *

They rode fast, following the trail of disturbed prairie grass.

The group they followed was large. A number of wagons, others on horseback. To rob the train, they’d come prepared.

James had to push the image, the thought of Rachel out of his mind. He could see her sitting on her rocking chair in from of her little house at the edge of town.

Safe and content.

Instead of scared and ... he could only hope—alive.

As they rode, James looked toward there leader, a man the men called the Judge. From what James could put together he was half lawman toting a colt, half territory marshal and judge. He had grey streaks in his hair, lines at the corners of his eyes, and a depth in his eyes.

He’d seen and done things. He had the look of experience.

Of wisdom.

Eyes that now focused forward.

They headed toward the mountains, following the Judge’s intuition, as the hoof beats of their hourse sounded in cadence over the pounding of James’s heart. The sun was dying toward night. They were losing time. Precious minutes passing away.

James could only pray the intuition was right. Guide us, Father ... Lead us not down the right path. Be with Rachel. Protect her. Give her peace.

In the distance their came a cry, the savage call to war. James jerked and Belle left the pack. It took him a moment to bring her back into the pace, but they didn’t slow. The Judge made only a cursory glance in the direction of the yell.

James looked, allowing Belle her lead. He watched the lone native ride toward them at break neck speed. The horse he rode was a wonder, with speed of the wind. The long black hair flowed behind him like a cape.

He rode closer, his dark eyes focused not on them, but on the path before them. When he reached them, he fell in with them, riding with the judge. He pointed with a long bronze arm, pointing first toward the mountains, then toward the south.

The Judge nodded, though nothing had been said.

Some of the other riders watched. A few shouted words of welcome.

But no one stopped.



HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!




Return to Rachel's Lessons Table of Contents