Faith of the Heart (22 page)

             
Odd, why would someone make a partial ring of stones?
He stared at the ring from a different angle and realization hit. It was the letter “c”! Grinning broadly Tom built his fire, h
is weariness
, and
aches and pains
forgotten.

             
Yes that’s some girl I’ve got there. Some girl indeed.

             
For the first time in days sleep came quick
ly.
 

             
Early the next morning he
rode
slowing,
following the trail
of new clues
Claire
had left behind.
A
wagon had recently been driven west, the ruts were clearly
visible, and a series of pebbles and stones had been dropped in a
long, continuous
line. He laughed to himself. Claire, dear, sweet,
methodical Claire would have thought of that.       
             
By midafternoon
, Maxwell estimated that he was getting near the turnoff point for Columbus. It was a small but bustling city and he’d passed through it once or twice on his way to pick up runaway felons. It sat near the junction of the Platte and the Loop River. Maxwell hoped he would
find Claire before he came to the split. The Loop headed slightly north, then west, whereas the Platte headed south and west. Either way, it would
become
more difficult to find her after the turnoff, especially if the wagon had crossed
through water.

             
The day was hot and sunny, but Tom didn’t notice. His
entire focus was on the trail, looking for signs. He continued following the wagon ruts, but there hadn’t been any lines of pebbles for several miles now. He didn’t think that could be a good sign, but maybe it mea
nt that they had stopped again.
             
The sun was
beginning its descent in front of him; there were only a few hours of light left. His neck ached from staring at the ground
for hours and he rubbed it absentmindedly. He glanced up at a blue jay chirping overhead and caught a glimpse of smoke signaling that a homestead was nearby.
He decided to stop there to see if they’d share a meal with him and maybe some grain for his horse.

             
He turned down the narrow road and stopped cold. There.
The
same tracks he’d been following
.
He dismounted and led his horse quietly down the path. There was no sign
of anyone working in the fields. It was summer. The farmer should
have been out tending
his
crop. Something was definitely odd about this farm. Maxwell
crep
t
up to the back of
a small
sod barn. He tied
his horse to a post and started to slowly work his way around the barn when he heard voices and a gunshot crack through the air, the silence ringing louder than the pistol.

             
Maxwell
burst around front and saw a large, unconscious man on the ground, blood pouring out of a shoulder wound, and Claire passed out next to him, her hand still clutching an old army pistol.
Aside
from a nasty welt on her face, he could see no
major
injuries. He paused to gather
a bucket of water from the well, using it to splash water on Claire’s face.

             
He touched Claire’s shoulder, shaking her gently, trying to rouse her. “Claire, can you hear me?
He got down on his knees and gathered her into his arms.

             
“
Claire
, wake up, it’s Tom.”

             
Claire slowly open
ed
her eyes and gasped, “Wh-what happened?” She looked up into the eyes of her rescuer, which were crinkled with concern. “Sheriff Maxwell! Oh, thank heavens you’re here! I’ve been waiting. . .” Claire felt tears begin to prick her eyes now that the ordeal was so close to being over.
He pulled her close and she buried her head in his shirt.
She didn’t want to cry in front of Maxwell,
and she was dangerously close to breaking down,
so she turned her attention to the other man beside her, lip curling into a grimace. 

             
“Is he
¼
dead?”

             
  Maxwell sco
w
led at the unconscious body.
“No, he’s not dead, but I best go take care of him
before he
wakes up
. Drink some of that water and I’ll
be right back.”

             
Tom knelt down by the wounded man and silently
whistled.  It was one of the cleanest shots he’d ever seen; he couldn’t have done better himself.  He turned and looked at Claire, who was staring at him as if he
were
a mirage. She was calm, but very pale. He turned back to the man just as he was beginning to stir. Maxwell quickly handcuffed him and stuffed a clean handkerchief into the wound to staunch the bleeding.

             
“I need to get him into the house and try to bandage
his
shoulder.”

             
“That’s good. . . but maybe we should
tend to
the other one first.”

             
“The other one?” He said incredulously.

             
“Yes, this is
B…
Bud. Frank’s the one in the house.”

             
“Did you shoot him too?”

             
“Oh,
no! I h
i
t him over the head with a cast iron skillet.”
She
stared
up
at him
with eyes as wide as saucers, face white as a sheet.

             
Tom stared
back
in disbelief, a mixture of emotions playing across his face. He decided on amusement, his mouth creasing into an amused grin.

             
“You just hit him over the head with a skillet?”
Claire
’s face turned pink, she rose,
put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

             
“Yes, I hit him over the head. What is so funny about that?”

             
“Oh, nothing
,
it’s just that I was so scared for you
and here you took out both of these men on your own. I
severely underestimated you.”
 
Claire sensed that Maxwell might be getting ready to tell her something else. His eyes shone with an odd
light
, and he seemed on the verge of a declaration. Just as she thought he might speak, Bud began to moan loudly and piteously.

             
“I’m dying over here. Mister, you just gotta help me. That woman is crazy. She tried to kill me.”

             
Maxwell turned to the man sprawled on the ground. “You fool, count yourself lucky. From the looks of things, if she had wanted to kill you, she would have. As it happens, now you’ll just have a wicked scar.”

             
Bud
spat
at
the sheriff
. “If I ever get my hands on her, I’ll kill her.
I should have, back in that s
tore
in Omaha. That stupid Frank
wanted to keep her as a wife. I told him it was a dumb idea. Mister, you want that wildcat you can have her, I just wanna get

my wound fixed and go h
ome. If you uncuff
  m
e, I’ll just
be on my way.”

             
Maxwell merely flipped up the flap on his shirt pocket,
revealing his badge. “The only home you’re going to see is the jail in Columbus. Now shut up before I shoot you.
I
always aim for the
heart.”

             
Bud slumped down and groaned. Maxwell
handed Claire his pistol and instructed her to watch the varmint while
he checked on the other unfortunate kidnapper.
Maxwell covered the yard in three quick strides and pushed
open the shanty door. Frank was still out cold. He leaned over the
limp figure and felt for a pulse. To his relief, it was strong and regular. Claire wouldn’t have been in trouble with the law if he had died; after all, she fought the two men in self-defense. But it was better all around not to have to deal with the paperwork, and the emotions that came with killing another human being. Knowing that both men would be fine, the thought of Claire smashing a skillet over her kidnapper’s head was
now
downright hilarious.  Maxwell wanted to laugh at the image, but it was quickly replaced by a more somber thought.

             
C
laire claimed she was okay, but was she
really? She had been gone for days, and in addition to the bruise that was flowering on her cheek, her wrists were bloodied and her arms looked bruised. They’d have a serious talk later
, n
ot only about the ordeal, but about their future. Maxwell was determined to protect her from anything like this happening again—he just hoped she had similar ideas.

             
Maxwell glanced down at the man again.
Man alive, a frying pan. Wait ‘til Percy hears about this
. A huge grin of delight spread across his face.
Land sakes.

             
Looking
around the room for something t
o
secure the crooks; he saw a tangle of rope on the floor and used it to hogtie the man
to the bed,
securing him with multiple knots. Frank wasn’t going anywhere for a very long time.  

             
Tom breathed deeply to regain his control before heading out to
tie up
Bud as well.
He yanked Bud up by the elbow and shoved him toward the
shanty. Claire followed behind, the pistol still aimed at Bud’s back in case he tried to escape, or worse, attack.

             
“Get in there, you louse. It’s your lucky day. I’m going let you live. Let’s see how you like being taken captive.”

             
“Sheriff, sir, you cain’t do this. Please, I got to have a doctor.”

             
“We’ll get you a doctor
.
Eventually.” Maxwell glared at the man, daring him to argue.

             
Claire interrupted their willful stares.
“Sheriff, we really need to care for this man. I shot him, true, but I was afraid for my life. We still need to help him. Please
.
”

             
Maxwell softened when he saw the pleading in Claire’s eyes and he relented. “You’re right. We’ll fix him up best as we can
and when we get to Columbus we’ll send a doctor and the law back here to care for him and his buddy. Find me some whiskey, then.”

             
Maxwell half pushed, half shoved Bud into the cabin and tied
the man to the heaviest object he could find, the pot belly stove.
The man opened his mouth to protest, but Maxwell silenced him with a glare. Bud looked over at Frank, still unconscious on the bed, and a visible shudder ran through his body.

             
“Claire, where’s that whiskey? I want to clean out that
shoulder wound. Besides, I could use a belt, and from the looks of your face, a swallow wouldn’t hurt you either
.
”

             
“
Tom
, I’m fine, really I am. I’m just so relieved to see you.
I’ve been praying for days that help would come, and here you are.” Her voice trembled and her knees felt weak. Claire grabbed the table’s edge
to steady herself. After a moment, she reached into the flour
bag and produced
the
bottle of liquor she’d hidden earlier.

             
Maxwell pulled out the stopper and leaned over Bud.”This is gonna sting a bit.” He spread apart the torn and bloodied shirt and sloshed whiskey into the wound. Bud’s face contorted into a grimace of pain, but he said nothing. Maxwell peered closely at the hole.

             
“Doesn’t look too bad.”

He pulled a knife from his boot, poured some whiskey over the blade
to sterilize it, and began to probe gently. Bud yelped in pain before losing consciousness. Maxwell continued to probe, fishing out the slug and setting it on the table. While Bud was still out, Maxwell dressed the wound and
turned to Claire, who had been hovering at his shoulder.