Duffel Bags And Drownings (15 page)

The gang leader gave her a slow once-over. “She looks okay to me. Looks damn fine.”

Maggie flushed at the man’s bold gaze. Yet she couldn’t let go of her concern for
the boy.

“What possessed you to employ this boy in your … organization?” she asked. “Have you
no regard for the young mind that is, at this very moment, being warped—perhaps permanently?”

“See?” Henry waved his hand at Maggie, as if she’d just confirmed his point.

All the men stared at her, bringing a new flush to Maggie’s face and a wave of anger
with it.

Her shoulders stiffened. “Now see here—”

“She’s my wife’s sister,” Spence said. “I’m taking her to the asylum at Henderson.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “How dare you suggest that I am somehow—”

He caught her arm again. “Calm down now, Sis. It’s really for the best.”

She jerked away from him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Shut up!” The gang leader waved his rifle again. “Tie them up and let’s get out of
here.”

Henry fetched rope from his saddlebag and tied Spence’s hands behind him, then turned
to Maggie. He eyed her warily, as if afraid to come too close.

“Sorry, ma’am. I got to tie you up. But first, you gotta give me your money.”

Maggie felt Spence’s gaze boring into her. She ignored him. “My handbag is inside
the stagecoach.”

Henry slipped behind her and tied her wrists. Maggie pressed her lips together to
keep from crying out as the rough material dug into her flesh.

She watched helplessly as the boy hopped into the stagecoach and emerged with her
handbag.

“Excuse me?” she called. “But, if you don’t mind, could you leave me just a little
money?”

“For chrissake …” Spence mumbled.

Henry looked down at the handbag. “I don’t think I’m allowed to do that, ma’am.”

“Well, then, at least leave me the bag itself.”

“I don’t know …”

“Do you feel you must take it? Why?” Maggie asked. “Is it some sort of trophy? A keepsake?
Do you feel compelled to take everything you possibly can, as a way, perhaps, to make
up for no longer having your mother?”

Henry frowned, then shook his head and threw Spence a sympathetic look. “Good luck.”

“Wait!” Maggie called, as he walked away. “If you could just tell me—”

“Shut the hell up!” Spence roared.

Maggie pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him, then jerked her chin
and turned away.

The outlaws mounted up. Maggie’s stomach lurched. They rode off with the four-horse
team from the stagecoach, as well as nearly every cent she had in the world.

Not only that, but they’d left her trussed like a Christmas goose, alone in the wilderness,
miles from civilization, in the company of this dreadful Mr. Spence Harding.

Perhaps if she’d thought faster she could have talked them out of leaving her here
like this. If only she’d had more time to speak with them, question them, she surely
could have understood them better. And with understanding came communication and,
eventually, agreement—or so her father always said.

Maggie’s heart sank. Still, that wasn’t her biggest blunder today. She should have
paid better attention to the outlaws. Studied their technique. After all, she wasn’t
that much different from them.

Not considering that she’d traveled all the way from New York, bound for the town
of Marlow, Colorado, for the sole purpose of pulling off the most daring deed humanity
had ever witnessed.