Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

Captain Greenwood shoved the brocade curtain back across the office window and stomped to Garth’s desk. Why did Jeremiah and that girl have to ruin everything? It would’ve been perfect, what with Senator Horan’s new law getting into place. Unwed Jeremiah wouldn’t get his inheritance until he married, and that was supposed to take a couple weeks. By then, the law would’ve gotten into place, stating that if a man couldn’t inherit within a week, the property reverted to the territory for auction. Horan, senator of the territory, would auction it off to his rancher brother next door. The Treasures would have nothing.

Why did that girl have to agree to the wedding? What girl didn’t want a lavish affair? The Treasures could certainly afford it, and neither of them knew about the property going to the territory clause.

Captain Greenwood pulled a clean sheet for paper from the top drawer and dated it. He had to word the letter carefully lest Senator Horan take his head over the blunder.

With his men scattered across the ranch working odd jobs, Jeremiah opened the shed door.

“Got to check supplies,” he called over his shoulder. “Who knows what’s missing. We’ve got to replace what we can.”

The closest worker, a farmer who lived ten miles away, waved two fingers in acknowledgement as he walked by with a bucket. Jeremiah stepped into the atmosphere of musty hay. Dust particles floated in the air. He took the pencil and notebook from his back pocket as he scanned the shelves, checking off his nonexistent list in case anyone walked by. He nudged the door shut as if checking behind it, and lifted a corner of the trapdoor. With no one in sight, he scurried down the ladder, leaving the door open a crack to let sunlight filter down. If anyone looked inside, they might see a bump in the floor, but those were common in outbuildings, constructed fast and not meant to last forever.

Wooden shelves had been made into the dirt walls, covered with supplies, changed as necessary; he spotted the space where two canvas sacks had been taken. A folded paper rested on the floor near the wooden ladder. He stuffed it in his jacket pocket and hurried back up. He shut the trap door, brushing dirt and hay over the wood. Alone, sunlight dancing across him, he unfolded the letter.

Three words stared at him:
Gone to Bromi
. He recognized the sharp, decisive handwriting as his father’s. Why would they do that? Jeremiah scowled. How would the Bromi help? How would they even find them? When the army went out to round up new slaves, it took them weeks to locate a tribe on the plains or in the cliffs. He’d read about it in the newspapers, when the army posted notices for new slaves for sale.

He snorted. Clark. He’d lived with the Bromi. He would know how to find them. Would his family be safe there? Jeremiah had to believe Clark would protect them. Having them there, though, meant Jeremiah wouldn’t be able to find them until they showed up. May rust break all the gears.

What would Jeremiah do if he was a wanted man? A chill crept over his skin. He wouldn’t know the first thing about hiding right.

“Treasure?” a man called from outside.

Jeremiah stepped into the doorway. “What?”

An army man walked toward him, swinging his cap at his side. “Captain wants to see you. He made a list of food stuffs you need to order.” The man grinned, the look lopsided, one of his front teeth missing.

Snorting, Jeremiah tapped his pencil against his notebook. “Jolly good. I’ll add it to mine.”

lark leaned forward to see out the window beyond Amethyst. The bridge the train rested on stretched across the great King River, which ran from north to south across the country.

“They say when our first king landed on our shores,” Garth recited, “that he came west far enough to come here. He claimed this river and everything between here and the eastern sea his own. It was only in the last hundred years we’ve ventured on to find the western sea.”

“And all the other countries in the world,” Zachariah added.

Clark wished he could pull Zachariah aside to find him something new to fixate on other than the army that had abandoned him. Did he feel comfortable with his family? From what Clark understood, Zachariah had always focused on becoming one with the army, a fixture of itself, as though he could become its arm, a defender and participant.

“Will we eat lunch soon?” Amethyst touched her forehead to the window glass. “My stomach won’t stop rumbling.” She glanced at Clark, as though recalling how often he’d gone hungry. “Or whenever. I can wait.” Her cheeks flushed.

“Not many should get on or off here,” Garth said. “Most of the people along here work riverboats, showboats, or shipping. Not many care about going east or west.”

The door at the end of the car creaked open. Clark peered over the seat, and stiffened. Three men dressed in the army blue strode down the car, pausing to study each row. The leader carried a paper with him which he kept scanning.

“Army,” Clark whispered. His hand fell to the pistol at his waist. If he had to, he could shoot them without missing, so long as no one got in the way. They could run, find a way off the train—

Garth rested his hand on Clark’s arm. “Be still. They aren’t here for us. They’re checking to make sure everything is in order.”

“They didn’t do that when I came through,” Amethyst said.

Garth had traveled east and west more times than Clark. He would know. They were still safe—

The army leader halted beside their row. The stranger on the end of the row of six seats looked up from his nap and yawned.

“Peterson?” The army man’s gaze fastened on Garth.

Clark felt his stomach knot. Trouble. He’d been right and Garth had been mistaken. Where was Eric with his myriad warnings? He hadn’t made an appearance since Clark had agreed to Garth’s plan.

Garth paled and his fists clenched over his knees. “Yes?”

“If you and your family will come with us.” The leader stepped back to allow them to pass. Zachariah, on the end beside the stranger, stood with a stiff, numb air. He kept his arms straight at his sides and lifted his knees high, the perfect soldier march. He strode past the leader and headed toward the back, where the other two waited.

“What will we do?” Amethyst dug her fingernails into Clark’s arm.

“Wait and watch,” Clark whispered back. “I’ll find us a way out.” His blood pumped hot and cold, the nerves in his hands tingling. He
would
save them. He had the experience Garth lacked.

“Of course, sir.” Georgette rose with smooth grace. Lifting her ragged skirt, she followed her son with her chin lifted. Stiff like Zachariah, Garth trailed behind, his shoulders slumped. A defeated, saddened man. He’d assumed his plan perfect, but the army had caught them.

It happened. A man learned to fight when it did.

Clark helped Amethyst and guided her in front so he could watch them all. When he’d used the restroom, he’d observed which of the second class cars, where the passengers had their own enclosures, were empty and which were not. The first, in the upcoming car, was empty.

The leader, following behind, shut the door between the two cars.

“My boot. Blast these laces.” Clark scowled, kneeling near the door to that first enclosure. With no one inside, the train attendants hadn’t latched it. He bumped it with his hip and it swung open.

“Get a move,” the leader barked.

“What is this in regards to?” Georgette demanded.

“Keep moving,” the leader said. When the procession began again, Clark shoved his shoulder into the leader’s sternum, knocking him sideways into the enclosure. The man gasped as he hit the back wall near the window. Clark drew his pistol and shot before the leader could recover. The bullet sliced through his skull and blood splattered the paneled wall. The silencer on the end of the silver barrel kept it soft.

“What in the name—” Another of the army men ran down the narrow hall. Clark ducked behind the door, drawing the pistol to his chest. When the man ran inside, Clark kicked the door shut and fired through the man’s skull, in case he wore a protective vest under his clothes.

Eric had been right. He was already a killer.

Clark hopped onto the bench and aimed. The door opened to the last army man. He barreled inside with his gun drawn. Good man. The other two hadn’t even reached for theirs. Clark kicked the pistol aside. Leaping from one bench to the other, he fired in midair. The bullet seared through the man’s forehead and he slumped to his knees, then onto his chest.

Garth darted into the doorway. “What…?” His eyes widened.

Clark lowered the barrel of his gun. “Get in here. Everybody.”

Garth paused, meeting Clark’s gaze, before motioning for the others to hurry. Clark shut the door behind Zachariah, the last inside. Amethyst gaped at the bodies and Georgette pressed one hand over her mouth.

“Someone will hear all that and come,” Zachariah stated.

Clark shook his head. “Too much noise out in the port and this car isn’t full much. We’ll just have to leave before anyone comes through.”

“We can’t walk out the doors,” Georgette said. “There will be other soldiers who know we should be apprehended.”

“We’re lucky.” Clark hopped over the guards to slide the window up as far as it would go. “We’re over the river. We’re going to jump.”