Early Dawn (7 page)

Turning and closing the door, Matthew angled a look across the street, settling his gaze on the bat-wing doors of the saloon. Piano music tinkled from within the establishment, and an occasional burst of laughter trailed to him on the afternoon breeze. It struck Matthew as being mighty early in the day for folks to be imbibing, but who was he to judge? One thing was for sure: There was no better place than a local watering hole to get information.

Before striking off across the muddy thoroughfare, Matthew tethered Herman to the hitching post beside Smoky so he could reach the water trough. A little liquid refreshment would do all three of them a world of good. Matthew decided he might even buy himself a jug for the trail. When he killed the Sebastian brothers, there would be cause to celebrate. It’d be a hell of a note if he had no whiskey to mark the moment.

The interior of the saloon was undistinguished, a mirror reflection of a thousand others he’d seen over the last three years, complete with the requisite oil painting of a nude lady hanging above the bar. Ironically, the saloon’s piano key tapper was playing “The Fountain in the Park,” a romantic ballad with sappy lyrics that Matthew hadn’t heard since leaving Oregon. A sporting woman in a faded red dress belted out the words, flinging her arms wide as if she were performing onstage for a huge audience.

“‘While strolling in the park one day, in the merry month of May!’” She smiled and homed in on Matthew, her gaze a bloodshot blue that spoke of too many whiskey-soaked nights. “‘I was taken by surprise by a roguish pair of eyes! In a moment my poor heart was stole away.’”

Matthew ignored the invitation. He couldn’t waste time in an upstairs room right now, even if he’d felt so inclined—which he didn’t. The woman looked like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet. Matthew had enough troubles without catching the clap. He turned his attention to three older men who sat at a corner table playing poker.

“Can one of you tell me where I might find the marshal?”

“You’ve found him.” The portliest of the three men turned on his chair, the bulge of his belly rubbing the table’s edge. “How can I help you?”

Matthew’s heart sank. The man was old, for starters, and to top it off, he appeared to be more than a little drunk. Pulling out a chair, Matthew turned it around to straddle the seat. After three years in the saddle, he no longer felt comfortable sitting the proper way. As quickly as possible, he told the marshal about the train holdup.

“The Sebastian Gang, you say?” The elderly lawman rubbed his balding pate. “How can you be so all-fired sure it was them?”

“Because I’ve been tracking them for three years. Trust me, it was the Sebastians.”

“They’re a dangerous bunch, by all accounts.”

More dangerous than this old fellow could imagine. “Yes, sir, they’re very dangerous. Luckily for you, they’re long gone by now, so you won’t have to deal with any of them.”

“Why you tracking them?”

Matthew found it difficult to talk about what had happened to Olivia. “I’ve got my reasons.”

“You aren’t thinking about taking the law into your own hands, are you, mister?”

Matthew ignored the question and pushed to his feet. After glancing at his pocket watch, he snapped the lid closed and said, “If you ride hard, Marshal, you can reach the train in a little over an hour. One of the passengers is in a bad way, so you should take the local sawbones along if you can.”

The marshal nodded and swayed to his feet. For an instant, Matthew entertained the notion of telling the lawman about the kidnapped young woman, but he quickly discarded the idea. He didn’t want a posse of drunks catching up with him sometime tomorrow and getting in his way. If the girl survived the night, which was unlikely, Matthew stood a better chance of saving her than this inebriated yahoo and a bunch of inexperienced deputies. Matthew had learned that lesson the hard way. Just because men wore fancy stars on their shirts didn’t mean they had what it took to face the Sebastians.

Tipping his hat, Matthew strode over to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. After downing it, he bought a jug to take with him. Then, leaving the saloon, he made his way up the street to the general store to pick up a few supplies for the trail. In order to get inside, he had to clang a cowbell to draw the shopkeeper’s attention. While he gathered what he needed, his ears were pummeled by the old man’s small talk—about how slow business was, and how puny profits had forced him to let go of all his help.

“You got a slab of bacon?” Matthew interrupted as he rummaged through a barrel of potatoes. “I need cornmeal and coffee, too.”

On the off chance that the captured woman survived, he’d need grub to feed her, Matthew reasoned. Not that he believed, even for a second, that she would. If the Sebastian boys held true to form, they’d rape her until the shine wore off and then slit her throat.

 

Eden awakened to a stabbing pain in her stomach, a bad headache, and an awful dizziness. Blinking to see, she realized she’d been slung over the back of a horse, her arms and head dangling.
Oh, God
. The events of the morning came rushing back—her struggle to escape from that horrible, filthy man and then sinking into blackness after he struck her.

She focused dazedly on the toe of his dirty boot, thrust through a stirrup only inches from her nose. The acrid stench of his unwashed body was so strong it made her nostrils burn. Moaning, Eden tried to push herself up. With every step of the horse, the saddle horn jabbed her in the middle, and the pain was excruciating.

“Be still!” A hard palm connected with her posterior, delivering a sharp sting even through her skirt, petticoat, and bloomers. “I ain’t puttin’ up with no sass. You hear?”

To Eden’s horror, he cupped his hand over her buttock and gave it a squeeze. She bucked and tried to wiggle away, only to be cuffed on the back of her head with such force that she saw stars.

“Be still, I say. Maybe you was a highfalutin young miss this mornin’, but now ye’re nothin’ but a fine swatch of calico I got plans to enjoy.”

“Take your hands off me, you filthy good-for-nothing! My brothers will hunt you down like the dog you are and kill you for this day’s work!”

The robber laughed and jerked up the back of Eden’s skirt. When she felt cool air slipping in through the slit of her bloomers, she shrieked and jabbed him in the side with her elbow. He snarled and grabbed her by the hair. The sting on Eden’s scalp brought tears to her eyes. The next instant, he wrenched her head back so far, she feared he might snap her neck, but at least he let go of her skirt.

“You’re a little spitfire, ain’t ya? I ain’t never had me a redhead afore. You gonna fight me, sweet thing? I like a little spunk in my women. Never lasts, of course. Even the spitfires go to squealin’ and cryin’ after they get poked a few times. But it’ll be fun while the fight in you lasts.”

When he released his hold on her hair, Eden slumped over the saddle, her head still spinning from the blow to her skull. Despite the pain in her belly from the saddle horn, she decided to take his advice and be still. Fighting him now, when he had her at such a disadvantage, was a waste of energy. She’d bide her time. Sooner or later, they would have to stop and rest the horses. When they did, she’d run the first chance she got.
Squealing and crying?
He had another think coming. She was no sniveler—never had been and never would be. No matter what they did to her, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Thoughts of what they might do to her made Eden’s blood run cold. Though she’d been sheltered all her life, she was well aware of the danger she was in. Even unmarried ladies shared stories, whispering behind cupped hands of the atrocities that had been committed against other women. If even half of those stories were true, Eden was in big trouble. She might hold her own against one man, but she would be powerless against five.

Only a few minutes later, the men stopped along a stream to water and rest the horses. Eden was tossed from the saddle with no more regard than if she’d been a sack of onions. She hit the damp earth with a bone-jarring thud that knocked the breath out of her. Before she could recover, two of the men grappled her onto her back while a third jerked up her skirts, spread her legs, and knelt between her thighs. As he reached to unfasten his pants, Eden knifed up a knee, planted her traveling boot in the middle of his chest, and sent him tumbling backward with a hard shove.

“Hoo-ee!” a man holding one of her arms cried. “We got ourselves a scrapper!”

Eden spit in his face. “Touch me, and my brothers will kill you!”

They only laughed at the threat. Though Eden struggled with all her strength, she couldn’t escape them, and soon the man she’d kicked was in position again, his trousers hanging open. At the sight of his engorged member—the likes of which she’d never seen or even imagined—Eden nearly fainted with fright.

“My oldest brother is Ace Keegan,” she pushed out tremulously. “He’s a famous gunslinger, and my younger brothers are just as fast! They’ll hunt you down and make you curse the day you were born.”

“Have to catch us first.” The man in position groped for the slit in her bloomers. She felt his filthy fingers touch her private places. “And we got us a fine talent for not gettin’ caught. Ain’t you never heard of the Sebastian Gang, girlie?”

Eden bucked and shrieked, but he moved forward to impale her anyway. She clenched her teeth, squeezed her eyes closed, and held her breath, knowing it would hurt. But instead, he suddenly fell sideways across her leg. She lifted her lashes to see a fourth man standing over her, feet set wide apart, fists clenched. It was the fellow she’d tangled with right after leaving the train, the one who’d hit her and knocked her out.

“We didn’t steal the damned girl so you could ruin her!” he yelled. “We’re takin’ her across the border to Estacado, I said. That old Mexican loves gringo females. He’ll pay a small fortune for a redhead.”

“Ah, come on, Wallace,” Eden’s almost-rapist whined as he rolled onto his knees. “What can it hurt if we have a little fun with her first?”

Wallace was taller and stockier than the other four men. He spit a stream of tobacco juice and wiped his mouth with the crusty sleeve of his jacket. “You can have all the fun you want, little brother, but don’t go poppin’ her cherry. Estacado likes his women unused, and before he hands over any money, he always checks first to make sure they’re virgins.”

“What fun can we have if we can’t give her a poke?”

“You can play with her all you like, I said. Use your imagination, for God’s sake! Just don’t let me catch you dippin’ for honey. When you get to that point, finish yourself off with your hand.” Wallace spit again. His cold gray eyes moved over Eden’s body. “And hold off on messin’ with her until tonight. Could be we got a posse on our asses. Soon as the horses is watered and rested, we need to make tracks.”

The moment Eden was released, she rolled onto her side and curled into a ball to hug her throbbing stomach. Mindless prayers circled in her mind.
Tonight
. The mere thought of those animals touching her made her want to die.
Run
. She needed to get away. Only, the men stayed too close for her to make an attempt. After securing their mounts to nearby trees, they hunkered near her to eat. She could hear one man’s jaw popping as he chewed on a piece of jerky. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but they offered her nothing but a cup of stale water. Eden had difficulty drinking it. Fear had closed around her throat like a brutal fist. But she forced herself to swallow. Then, bruised and shaken, all she could do was lie there, huddled in misery.

Soon the men collected their horses. This time, Eden was allowed to sit upright in front of the cold-eyed Wallace. At first she deemed that to be an improvement, but then he looped the reins loosely around the saddle pommel and cupped her breasts in his hands. Eden jerked and tried to squirm away. He only laughed at her struggles, tweaking her nipples and then rolling the hardened peaks between thumb and forefinger. Remembering her training sessions with Ace, Eden snapped her head back and nailed him in the mouth. He roared with anger, and the next thing she knew, he’d dragged her off the horse by the hair and was slapping her. She tried to duck and avoid the blows, but his hold on her hair was relentless and his strength of arm kept her standing upright. She’d done some damage by butting him in the mouth. Blood dripped from his split lips and collected in the spaces between his decayed front teeth. He swung repeatedly at her face.

“Go, Wallace! Show her what for!” one of the other men yelled.

“Woo-hoo!” another encouraged.

Wallace continued to slap Eden until her face went numb and she could no longer feel the blows. When he finally let go of her, she dropped to her knees, so dazed that her legs had become useless.

“Don’t you never pull that kinda shit with me again, little girl. Next time, I’ll strip you naked and lay into you with my belt until my whippin’ arm gets tired. Then I’ll let my brothers have a turn. There won’t be a spot on you without welts, includin’ those purty little tits you don’t want me touchin’.”

Eden shuddered and bent her head.

“Git back on the horse,” he ordered.

She tried to stand up and couldn’t. He caught hold of her hair again and jerked her to her feet. When she failed to mount the horse on the first try, he cuffed her again, then grabbed her at the waist and tossed her up on the saddle. When he swung up behind her, Eden expected him to resume fondling her breasts, but for reasons beyond her, he didn’t. She touched her tongue to her puffy lips and tasted blood. One of her eyes was starting to swell shut. Nevertheless she counted herself lucky. Matters would have been far worse if he had used his fist instead of the flat of his hand.

They rode hard until well after dark, which disgusted Eden. Horses couldn’t see well during the twilight hours, and most of the horsemen she knew stopped to rest until darkness fell, fearful that their mounts might stumble and possibly break a leg. Not these men. They seemed to care about nothing and nobody but themselves.