CHARITY'S GOLD RUSH (A Strike It Rich in Montana novel) (40 page)

             
He whistled for Lady
to follow
.
She
darted, nose to the ground, from tree to bush and back to Gabe. He didn’t know if Irish Wolfhounds were hunters or not, but the dog did seem to care a great deal for Charity. He prayed it was enough for the dog to pick up her trail.

             
If it didn’t snow again, maybe they would see footprints soon.
Most lost folks tended to wander in circles.
Without fresh snow falling, any new tracks would remain visible.

             
When he found her, he would tell her he loved her. No more wasting time. No more waiting for the ‘right’ moment to have a serious conversation. He
,
of all people
,
should know that nothing was for certain on the Montana prairie. Not your next day, not your next breath.

             
It hadn’t occurred to him or Maggie that her simple trek to the creek would result in her death. That was one thing these dogs would be good for
—a
lerting the
family
to the whereabouts of snakes. He shuddered.

             
Occasionally, he cupped his mouth and called out
Charity’s
name. His spirits sank each time he didn’t hear a response. Night fell. He
desperately needed to get warm and rest. Just for a moment. He
got a fire started, pulled the dog close, and
then
munched on dry bread.

             
He prayed the children would be all right during the night and into tomorrow. His chance of running across Charity as soon as the sun came out was slim. Nope, looked like he was going to have to work hard to find his woman.

             
His woman. The words sounded wonderful.
When he found her, he would grab her, kiss her hard enough to take her breath away, and declare his love.
He would beg her to stay, promising whatever she desired. There was absolutely no way Charity O’Connell Williams was getting away from him.

             
Sleep tempted him, but if he succumbed the fire would go out and there would be nothing left of him and the dog in the morning but a couple of icicles. He needed to
get back on his feet and continue his search. He kicked snow over the fire until it was out and grabbed his knapsack.

The knapsack he had brought with him contained the bare essentials: a few cups worth of coffee, some dried
meat, and flint for a fire.
Lord, please let
Charity
need the food and drink
. The alternative didn’t bear dwelling on.

32

             
Every joint in Charity’s body ached when she woke. Her front side stayed warm, while he
r
back
felt as though it
wore a thin crust of ice. She struggled to get her bound feet under her without pitching headfirst into the fire.

             
Amos watched her, a smirk on his face. “Sleep well?”

             
“Please at least remove the ropes from my feet. I’m in danger of falling.”

             
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Somehow, you and Gabe managed to escape from the Indians. I’m thinking it was because they untied you for some reason.”

             
The man was smarter than he looked.
“Please. I can’t travel like this.”

             
“True.” He untied the rope from around her ankles, then tied
one
end to a nearby tree. He pulled
a
pistol out of its holster and
advanced toward her. “Please remain still. I wouldn’t want the bullet to go somewhere I didn’t intend.”

             
Charity’s eyes widened, and she withdrew as far as the rope would allow. Amos stuck the barrel of the gun to her leg, and pulled
the trigger.

             
Fire shot across Charity’s thigh, bringing her to her knees.
Tears poured down her face.
“You shot me?”

             
“You won’t be able to run
very well
, but you’ll be able to walk, it’s only a flesh wound.”
He withdrew a knife from its, sheath, lifted her skirt high enough to cut a swatch of her petticoat, then roughly bound her leg with the muslin.
“There. You shouldn’t bleed to death.”

             
He was crazy with hatred. How could he shoot a defenseless woman? “What kind of a man are you?”

             
“One who believes in justice.” He yanked her to her feet, then untied the rope again and retied to his horse’s saddle horn.  He did intend for her to walk
while he rode the horse
.
             

             
“Justice for what?” Charity limped after him
toward his mount
. Agony shot through her leg.

             
“Your husband stole the only woman I’ve ever loved. You live on land that should have been mine.”

             
“Maggie made her choice, Mr. Jenkins. You should accept that fact.”

             
He yanked the rope hard enough to bring her again to her knees.
Blood ran down her leg, soaking her clothes. Her head swam with pain and tears clouded her vision.
“I’ve done nothing wrong to you. You are a scoundrel.” Despite her agony, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “If you’re a praying man, I suggest you pray Gabriel doesn’t find you.”

             
“He will have no idea I had anything to do with your disappearance.”
Amos
swung his leg over the saddle. “He’ll believe you perished in the wilderness.”

             
The man was delusional. Charity was too stubborn to die in the snow, despite her fear from the day before. That
had been
exhaustion and cold talking.

             
He spurred the horse to move, almost yanking Charity’s arms from their sockets. If she had a gun, the man would not need to worry about Gabriel. She would take care of him herself! Her leg burned
,
and her knee buckled. How could he be so cruel?

             
The act of lifting her foot clear of the snow for each step caused unbelievable agony. “Just leave me here. I can’t go on like this. You’re a horrible man.”

             
“Shut up.” He slowed his horse. “Walk in the horse’s tracks, and you’ll be fine. Use your head
for something other than a hat rack
, woman.”

             
She glowered, deciding she would not complain again
, e
ven if she found herself dragged, which might not be a bad idea considering how much her leg pained her. “How far is the Indian village?”

             
“Half a day’s ride.
You should be glad that the savages have no qualms about taking white women. I would hate to have to kill you
myself
.
”

             
“We can’t have that, can we?” The coward.

She would never make it. She almost gave into the sobs threatening to burst free. Instead, she focused on bringing to mind Gabriel’s strong jaw and hazel eyes. The children’s dark curls. She hung her head, and for the first time in over two years, prayed for God to help her. If He chose not to, then she prayed
H
e would comfort the children and ease their sorrow at losing another mother.

             
After what she thought was a couple of hours, maybe less, she trudged mindlessly behind the horse, often losing her footing and being dragged until Amos noticed and stopped long enough for her to gain her footing.

This time, h
e glared at her until she wanted to smash her fist into his nose. Instead, she struggled upright and returned his glare.
She wanted to scream at him, tell him that if he would let her ride they would reach their destination faster. But, she wouldn’t. She would not say another word to him. When they reached Red Feather’s villag
e, she would not speak.

When she could go no farther, she collapsed and refused to move. Let him shoot her. She would welcome the end to her misery. With what little strength she could muster, she lifted her head and
stabbed him with her gaze
.

###

             
Gabe jerked as a gunshot rang out. He forced his stiff joints to
move faster and called to the dog
. “Come on, girl.”

             
Who could be shooting
way up here
? He was pretty sure Charity hadn’t taken one of the rifles with her
. He should have checked the mantel
.
There weren’t any homesteaders this far up the mountain that Gabe knew about, but he supposed it was possible someone could have put in stakes
without him knowing
. Maybe Charity found her way to them.
He faltered.
Maybe they weren’t the type of folks for a woman alone to stumble upon.

             
Gabe increased his pace, lifting
one
leg, then plunging, then lifting until he got into a rhythm of making his way through the snow. In some areas, the wind had swept the ground almost clear amongst the trees, something Gabe expressed great thanks to God for.

             
He stopped in a clearing and eyed the fire pit. He held his hand over it.
Still warm
. “What’s this?” He squatted next to a dark stain on the snow. Blood? He stood and looked around, his rifle held ready.

             
Lady sniffed around the blood and a packed down spot in the snow where a body had obviously lai
n
. She whined and looked up at Gabe.

             
“Was Charity here? Is this her blood?” He patted the dog, even while his heart thundered. Had the shot he’d heard wounded, or killed, Charity? If she was dead, where was her body? He quickly checked the surrounding area
,
his movements frantic
.

             
Wait. Slow down and think. Somebody had lai
n
there, and somebody, or something,
was
shot there. He studied the ground, noting hoof prints and what was clearly a set of human tracks following behind. He placed his foot next to the track. The prints were too small for a
grown
man.

             
He set his jaw. Clearly Charity
, or another small person,
followed somebody on a horse. “Come on, Lady. Let’s follow these tracks.”

             
The farther he walked, the clearer it became that someone was following and falling several times in the snow.
Blood stained each scuffed spot that marked a fall, and spots of it could be found in between. Was an injured person being
taken against their will
?
What if he wasn’t following his wife at all? What if he wasted valuable time following the wrong person
?
He stopped
for a moment and studied the tracks once more
.

             
He couldn’t be
wrong
. There weren’t that many people up here. He glanced at the dog. Lady whined and continued down the trail ahead of him
as snow began to fall
.
Gabe raised his rifle and fired off a shot.

###

             
“Get up.” Amos yanked on the rope.

             
Charity’s head drooped, and she stared at the ground. Snow fell and dusted her head and shoulders. She had read somewhere that a thick blanket of snow could actually keep a body warm. Maybe she would try it.

             
“I said, get up!” He yanked harder.

             
She yanked back, barely affecting him on the horse.
His face darkened.

             
He dismounted and stomped over to her. “Do you want to die out here?”

             
She speared him with as icy a gaze as she could muster.

             
He growled and grabbed her elbow. “Get on the horse. We’re almost there anyway.”

             
Pain screamed through Charity’s thigh as he hauled her to her feet and shoved her toward his horse. He half
helped her
and half threw her into the saddle
, then swung up behind her.

“Of all the women in Montana, you must be the most stubborn. I don’t care if you talk or not. Doesn’t affect me any.”