Hoofbeats of Danger (12 page)

From the corner of her eye, she saw Billy dig his heels into Stormy's sides. Stormy flung himself down the slope in a final burst of speed. Surefoot lunged forward too, but he couldn't match Stormy's long-legged gallop. Annie watched Billy draw away from her as he raced toward the stagecoach.

Galloping on, she saw the men clustered around the coach turn around in surprise to watch Billy's headlong approach. Nate Slocum, pulling on the horses' heads, stopped and stood waist-deep in the water.

Annie could pick out Chet Ambrose's broad back in his green coat. He crouched suddenly as Billy neared, as if he hoped to find somewhere to hide midstream. As she watched, he abruptly dropped the wheel rim he'd been holding. The coach lurched dangerously to one side.

Her heart in her throat, Annie urged Surefoot on. A desperate cry reached her ears. It was the woman passenger, screaming from inside the tipping coach. Annie saw the woman's son stick his head out the side window in panic.

Goldilocks whirled around, splashing his way back to the coach. He grabbed the sinking fourth wheel—just in time. Annie felt a surge of relief as the four men passengers, struggling, righted the heavy coach. Annie was close enough now to hear them calling directions to one another.

Then she glimpsed Chet Ambrose, thrashing his way downriver from the coach to deeper waters. Throwing his arms forward, he dove. For a moment, he disappeared under the surface. Then she spied his dark head, glistening wet like an otter, popping up several yards farther on.

C
HAPTER
14

B
ROUGHT TO
J
USTICE

Billy turned Stormy's head and rode downstream along the bank, following the swimming Ambrose. Piles of boulders crowded close to the river's edge. Stormy could barely pick his footing along the narrow strip of land. Meanwhile, the swift current was sweeping Chet Ambrose out of sight.

Urging Surefoot along the trail toward the fording stagecoach, Annie clutched anxiously at the saddle horn. It was so hard to watch and not be able to help.

Suddenly she saw Billy reach up and grab a low-hanging branch of a twisted cottonwood tree that grew crazily out of the jumbled rocks. Annie gasped. Hoisting himself out of the saddle, Billy swung over the river in one lithe motion—and dropped into the roiling water.

Annie and Surefoot swerved past the ford and hurried down the riverbank to fetch Stormy. She caught the winded palomino's trailing reins, then turned to scan the river as she fought to catch her own breath.

A hundred yards downstream, in the middle of the boiling current, she spied Chester Ambrose's dark head. One green arm waved wildly in the air.

And then, just upstream, Annie saw Billy swimming hard toward Ambrose.

She heard the stagecoach passengers shouting behind her as they watched the two swimmers. Annie twisted the reins tight in her hands, willing Billy to swim safely. She saw him latch one arm around a boulder a few yards out from the bank. Then he carefully extended his other arm toward the battered guard.

Ambrose, mouth open in terror, clutched at Billy's outstretched hand. His handclasp held for a moment, then broke off. Ambrose's dark head disappeared underwater.

Then Annie saw Billy plunge under, too. She felt an icy jolt of fear. Did Billy dive under—or did some powerful current suck him down?

Despair choked Annie's throat. Someone as brave and cocky and full of life as Billy couldn't die—he just couldn't! Without thinking, she dropped Stormy's reins and slapped Surefoot on the flanks. The little roan sprang forward and began to scramble along the riverbank, hooves striking on the rocks.

Holding tightly to the saddle horn, Annie kept her eyes pinned on the swollen current. The nimble horse brought her closer and closer. A moment later, she saw one head alone bob to the surface.

A dark head.

“No!” Annie cried into Surefoot's reddish mane. “Ambrose should be the one to drown—not Billy!”

Then she spied a second head, pressed against the big man's shoulder. It was Billy, pulling Ambrose to safety!

Surefoot scraped to a halt on the boulder-strewn riverbank. Annie slid out of the saddle before the horse had even stopped. Looking around frantically, she spotted a dead tree limb, probably torn from a nearby trunk by last night's storm. She hoped it was long enough to reach from the shore to the men struggling in the river. She grabbed it with both hands and dragged it to the water's edge.

Now she could see Billy's desperate face midstream, struggling just to stay above the surface. His blue eyes pleaded for help.

Annie stepped onto a flat boulder in the water, dragging the branch after her. She worked the far end of it into the rushing river. The fierce current seized the limb and whirled it into the middle of the river. Annie spun around, fighting to hold on. The rough bark tore at her palms.

Annie stumbled as the current pulled the tree forward. She slipped off the boulder but kept her balance, splashing into ankle-deep water.

The tip of the branch swung near Billy and Ambrose. With a huge effort, Billy heaved up one arm and grabbed the branch. Annie clung on fiercely, but the weight of the two swimmers dragged the bough down, and it began to slip out of her hands.

Then it held fast. “Now
pull.
” She heard Nate Slocum's voice behind her. Annie pulled on the branch with all her might. Just behind her, she was aware of Slocum and some of the passengers straining to help her. Together, they hauled in the big limb, hand over hand, like a giant wooden fishing line. They towed Billy and Ambrose to the shallow waters by the bank. The four men passengers waded in to grab Billy and the guard and haul them to shore.

Ambrose looked half-dead. His beard, hair, and clothes streaming wet, he collapsed on the shore and gasped for breath. Billy spluttered and coughed up water. His body began to shake uncontrollably.

The woman passenger hurried up, her skirts soaked from wading out of the stranded coach. In her arms she held a couple of buffalo robes from the stagecoach. “Keep them warm,” she insisted. “With the strain and the wet and the cold, they could get pneumonia.”

Both survivors were swaddled quickly in the buffalo robes. Nate Slocum took Ambrose by the shoulders. “What possessed you to swim off like that?” he demanded.

Ambrose's eyes grew wild with fear.

“He was just trying to get away—the outlaw,” Annie said bitterly.

“Outlaw?” Slocum stiffened. “An employee of the Overland Express?” His eyes narrowed at Annie.

“I've got proof.” Annie dug her hand deep in her pocket. “Do you know this knife, Mr. Slocum?” She pulled out the folding pocketknife.

“Why, yes,” Slocum replied. “It belongs to Chet here. Where'd you find it?”

“In our barn.” Annie paused. “And remember that pony that went mad last night? This knife was lying just outside her stall, at the back end of the barn. But Mr. Ambrose had no call to be there last night. The coach horses he was unhitching were stabled at the front.”

Slocum folded his arms, still looking skeptical. Flipping out the knife blade, Annie pressed on. “The knife's got blood and horse hairs on it—black and white horse hairs. And that pony now has a slash on her flanks.”

“She was hit with an Injun arrow that morning!” Ambrose burst out, raising his head. “This fool of a boy told me about it.”

Billy forced his teeth to stop chattering long enough to say, “Those Indians didn't shoot arrows at me—I was just telling a tale.”

Annie looked up at Nate Slocum's hard blue eyes and thought she saw a glimmer of belief there. Drawing courage, she hurried on to tell him everything she knew—about the missing belladonna, Ambrose's murky past, and the strands of green wool she'd found on the wall of Magpie's stall. “And in a wet spot on the floor, we found this boot print.” She held up the McGuffey's Reader, opened to the flyleaf with Davy's inky sketch.

Slocum's brow lowered. “Ambrose, let me see your boot,” he demanded. Before the guard could jerk away, Slocum reached under the buffalo robe and trapped his ankle. He pulled out the man's boot and exposed its sole to view.

Everyone crowded around to compare Ambrose's boot to the sketch. The sole was crossed with the same zigzags as Davy had drawn.

Slocum rubbed a hand over his face. “You've betrayed me, Ambrose—me and every other man who rides for the Overland Express.”

Ambrose flung his head up defiantly. “I hate the Overland. I hate you all. I'm glad that horse went crazy, and I'm glad she kicked Dawson in the head. I'd do it over again in a minute.”

“Hold him, fellas,” Slocum instructed the men on either side of Ambrose. As they pinned Ambrose's arms, Slocum took a pair of handcuffs from the guard's belt. “Never thought I'd have to use these on
you
,” the driver said as he snapped the cuffs on Ambrose's thick wrists.

Goldilocks tapped Annie's shoulder as Slocum started to lead Ambrose back toward the ford. “Is the poor horse he poisoned all right?”

Annie threw him an anguished look. “I—I don't know yet.”

Ambrose, still writhing in Slocum's grip, raised his eyes, cruel as a snake's. “There ain't no cure for a belladonna overdose, you know,” he sneered. Annie felt her body go rigid with fury.

Nate Slocum gave Ambrose a warning jerk on the arm. “There is one cure—time,” he corrected him. “If that horse lives twenty-four hours after getting the poison, she has a good chance of making it.”

Annie swallowed hard. “I've got to get back to Red Buttes, then, and see if she's all right.” She hesitated, looking at Billy, still shivering under the buffalo robe. “When do you figure you can ride back, Billy?”

“He shouldn't be riding, after what he's been through,” Nate Slocum decided. “He'll need rest, and hot soup. We'll take him with us in the coach to the next home station and see he's fixed up. Do you want to come with us?”

Annie shook her head. “Thank you kindly, but my pa's not out of danger yet—I've got to get back to him. And like I said, the poisoned mare might need some tending to.”

“Well, the Overland Express owes you a great debt of thanks,” Mr. Slocum said. “I should have known better than to listen to Ambrose's complaints about your pa.”

Annie brightened. “Then you won't report him to headquarters after all?”

“Report him? Oh, I'll report him all right,” Nate Slocum said gravely. Then she spied a small twinkle in his stern blue eyes. “He'll be reported for being an honest, dutiful stationmaster—and for raising a fine, loyal daughter.”

Annie blushed right up to the roots of her pale hair.

“Can you ride back to Red Buttes on your own?” Slocum went on. “A slip of a girl like you?”

Annie drew herself up tall. “I made it here, didn't I? And I kept up with the fastest rider in the whole Pony Express. Getting home should be easy as pie, Mr. Slocum.”

The firelight flickered that night on the walls of the station house. Annie sat curled in the chair by the hearth, a book spread open on her knees. Her head kept falling forward on her chest as she drowsed off.

“Annie!” Davy called in a warning voice.

Annie's head jerked up.

“You did it again. You fell asleep.” Davy threw her a warning look. “You promised me you'd stay awake to keep me company. I don't want to go to sleep yet … not in there.” He gestured uneasily toward the sleeping quarters where their father still lay.

“I'm sorry, Davy. I'm just so worn out.”

“It ain't every day you ride at breakneck speed to Platte Bridge and back,” Mrs. Dawson said gently from the doorway. “It's no surprise you're tired, Annie.”

Annie jumped to her feet. “You look tired, too, Ma,” she said. “Watching over a sickbed is a worrisome job. Let me take your place for a while. You rest and get something to eat.”

“I believe I will, Annie,” Ma said. She reached back to tuck a few loose strands of hair into the knot on her neck. “I could use a bowl of that good stew Davy warmed up for us.”

Davy smiled, his face flushed with pride.

Annie slipped into the dimly lit bedroom. She took a wet cloth from the tin basin beside the big bed and gently bathed her father's temples. Then she settled into the rocking chair near his pillow. Her father's face looked strange—like a pale, waxy mask.

Rocking, Annie felt herself drift off to sleep again. Her eyelids fluttered. For a confused moment, she imagined seeing her father's eyes open. She started awake and looked over at the man in the bed.

His eyes
were
open!

Joyfully Annie sprang to her father's side. “Ma? Ma! Come here!” she called over her shoulder.

With an anxious step, her mother came to the doorway. She uttered a soft, astonished cry when she saw her husband looking at her.

Pa licked his lips and struggled to sit up. “What time is it—why am I here? Ain't there chores to do?”