Liberty Belle (8 page)

With a half-step lope, Mark ambled toward the tree. Twenty feet ahead, he spooked a couple of prairie chickens into the air.

Wade took aim and fired. Twice. And two birds fluttered to the ground.

“There’s the food. Told ya.”  Mark grinned.

“Hmm.” Wade shook his head with a touch of annoyance.

Mark let out a whoop. “There’s the water.”

Muttering, Wade gathered the chickens and limped to where the boy stood. Pretty as could be, a clear spring bubbled into a pool. The water sparkled in the sun; a shiny reminder of Mark’s faith and Wade’s doubt.

“Think we might stop and eat?” Mark squatted filling his canteen.

Tiredness overwhelmed him, maybe from blood loss. They should go on, but the piercing ache in his leg said otherwise. Kid looked done in, too. “That’s a great idea. We’ll camp here tonight. Eat a good supper and get some rest. We should get to the stage house tomorrow.”

“Will there be a stagecoach?”

Problems. Always problems. “Might be. Not sure when the next one’s due.” He gave a sideways glance at Mark. “You might want to include that in your prayers.”

“Sure will. Surprised the horse isn’t here though.” A mischievous grin split the boy’s face.

“Well, Banjo always was stubborn. Maybe he’s resisting the Lord’s command.” A lightness lifted Wade’s mood. Felt good to enjoy another’s company. He whiled away the hours by resting. Mark by playing in the pool of water.

After a fine chicken dinner, Wade stretched out for the night. He gazed at the stars and pondered the day’s events, Mark’s prayers, and that God who teased him. Relaxed and in a good mood, Wade decided he wouldn’t be surprised to see Banjo come morning.

Chapter 9

Libby adjusted her legs for what seemed like the hundredth time. She hadn’t believed it possible to ache in more places, but a few days in the coach proved her wrong. The thin padding covering the seat gave little relief from the hard bench. To add to the discomfort, the stage rocked and pitched like a wild horse and bruised her arm and shoulder when she was thrown against the side.

Then there were the passengers. She and Flora had to share the cramped space with three of the most despicable creatures she could imagine. More riders had bought tickets, but the stage manager let it escape that the threat of Indian uprisings had kept them from going.
Indians
. She’d not given that a thought before.

The slick gambler seemed to be enjoying the ride, especially when his gaze roved over her. A smooth talker, he was not a person to trust, and she purposed not to talk to him.

The man on the other side of Flora brought a knot in her stomach whenever she glanced his way. Grogan was his name, although she wasn’t sure if it was his last or first. Gaunt of face and frame, he kept huddled in the corner, his head turned toward the window. His worn clothes and the odor surrounding him gave proof that he hadn’t seen soap or water in some time.

The third man, Samuel Samuels, apparently under the spell of too much whiskey, had fallen halfway out of his seat and landed in Flora’s lap after the first turn. Her aunt screamed, and the gambler shoved the inebriated lump to the floor where he’d yet to stir. Libby had seriously wondered if he were still alive, but an occasional moan assured her he hadn’t left this world.

The stage slowed, and the driver shouted.

Flora stirred, opened her eyes, and sat up straight. The wagon pitched to one side, throwing the thin woman against Libby. “Oh, dear, I am sorry.”

“I think we’re stopping.” Libby pulled back the curtain from the window. Nothing. Vast amounts of nothing covered by tall grass waving in the breeze.

In minutes, the coach halted.

The gambler stretched his arms and smiled. “You ladies appear to be withstanding the ride just fine. You certainly make for pleasant scenery.” He roughly kicked the unshaven man in the corner and elbowed the crumpled form next to him.

About to give a disgusted retort, she stopped when the door next to her opened.

The driver grinned a gap-toothed smile. “We’re at the noon stop. Every one out. There’s water and eats for you at the house. Take your leisure. We’ll be leavin’ in an hour.”

Libby accepted the driver’s hand to steady her as she stepped off the stage and then waited as he helped Flora. Libby rubbed her stiff muscles and walked around the coach. The
house
was nothing but a roughly built shack. Not nearly as nice as the stops the first two days. She grimaced at the shabby hut, but at least it wasn’t moving.

She stepped inside and her opinion of the place worsened. The sparse furnishings consisted of a table surrounded by benches. A jug, which she hoped contained water, sat in the middle of the table while dented tin plates set the places. On the stove, something that smelled like burnt beans boiled over a crusted pot. Her appetite shrank.

The dirty passenger shoved past Libby, grabbed a plate, and went to the stove where he piled it high with charred beans.

“Grogan, don’t you know women is first?” The driver yelled from behind. “Ladies, I’ll bring you some beans.”

“Thank you, Dusty.”

“Yes, Ma’am. You ladies take your time. I’m to watch out for ya.” Scowling at Grogan, he headed for the stove.

Libby sat at the end of the table far from the seedy-looking Grogan. Flora settled beside her and heaved a sigh. She appeared to be exhausted. Groaning, Libby could only imagine her own appearance. Grit from the dusty road coated her from hat to shoe, even leaving a sandy taste in her mouth.

“Like two flowers in the desert.” The gambler sauntered in looking as fresh as when Libby had first seen him.

He grinned. “Checked on your horse. Fine animal. Looks like she can run all day.”

“She’s a blooded thoroughbred. I am confident she’ll endure the trip.” Libby chastised herself for letting the man draw her into conversation as she had no intention of encouraging his lurid gazes.

After reaching in his pocket, Harley pulled out a deck of cards and took the seat across from her. “In case someone’s interested.” He proceeded to shuffle them, handling the deck as if the cards were old friends.

Dusty placed a ladle full of the thoroughly cooked beans on Libby and Flora’s plates and nodded at Harley. “You can put those cards away as far as I’m concerned. Devil’s games is what my mama called ’em. Wished I’d a listened to her rather than finding out the hard way.”

A chill rushed over Libby. The sooner they left this little shack and excuse for a lunch the better. Then she thought about the uncomfortable seat. After a couple of bites, she’d eaten all her stomach would allow.

How would she endure the rest of the trip? Had her impulsiveness plunged her into making a mistake? Was her adventure only going to prove Mother’s criticism of her correct?

Flora wiped her mouth with a lace kerchief. “I want to thank you again for letting me come. I have never felt so alive. Oh my. I wish I’d had the nerve to do this ten years ago.”

Libby wished she had Flora’s enthusiasm. “I hope I did the right thing. It’s just that being with these men—”

“Oh. Are you having second thoughts? Of course, if you want to go back, I would understand.” Flora looked down, her chin trembling.

Libby elbowed her. “We’re going on. Like the sign says,
Pike’s Peak or Bust
. I’m not turning back.”
I’m not.

She sent a silent prayer of thanks that Flora had come along. Being in the presence of the depraved men in Leavenworth had been enough to give Libby more than a second thought. After seeing their coach mates, she’d gone right into third, fourth, and fifth thoughts about the possible lack of wisdom in her quest for independence.

Her parents had protected her from the evils of ungodly men, but along with that protection, she’d been kept from any chance to discover the world around her. After a quick prayer, she nibbled on the stale bread. These men were not going to scare her into turning back. Not today anyway.

The hour sped by. Before Libby could stretch all the knots out of her muscles, the driver called for them to board.

Bloodshot eyes and with a hand to his head, the drummer, Samuel Samuels, explained about the elixir he sold. According to him, it was guaranteed to cure anything. Although it seemed to provide little help for the man’s own headache from drinking too much of his own medicine.

Grogan resumed his seat by the opposite window. Fine with her. The farther he kept away, the less she’d have to be assaulted by his rank smell.

With a hard jerk, the stage left the primitive stop. Libby closed her eyes and thought of tall mountains crowned with snow. A new life. Somehow that sheriff who’d thrown down his badge galloped through her mind and brought with him tingles of adventure and a smile to her lips.

Libby relived his strong hands catching her about the waist and lifting her so she could regain her footing. His deep voice, blue eyes, and handsome face. Again, her breath caught. That sheriff had ignited a much different reaction in her than Thomas ever had. Were those the sparks she’d dreamed about? Just thinking of him caused her heart to race.

Her excitement edged away the doubts that lingered like dark clouds on the horizon. Disgust at her double-mindedness buffeted her every bit as much as the bucking coach. She could not go on this way. What did the Bible say? Pastor Dobbs had just preached on the waywardness of an unsettled mind a few Sundays ago. Later, she would find that Bible verse and think on its importance.

Determined to make the best of her situation, Libby discovered how to sway with the rhythm of the rocking stage and found the ride almost comforting. Her mind drifted to the woman who climbed Pike’s Peak with her husband. Surely, she hadn’t settled for an arranged marriage.

Snores erupted from the gambler and Samuels. Flora slept and snuffled sleep sounds of her own. Libby pondered slapping the salesman with her reticule when she glanced at Grogan.

He sat with an alertness that caught her attention. Then he pulled out his pistol, spun the cylinder, and scowled.

Libby pressed against the back of her seat and hoped he didn’t have any ideas to rob the stagecoach. He turned from the window and glared at her.

Her breathing stopped.

Grogan pulled the curtains from his window. “We’re being followed. Wake up the others.”

His harsh voice caused her to jump.
Followed?
She flung back the red drapes beside her and peeked out.

“Oh, oh.” No other words would form. A fleeting thought on how she sounded like her aunt flashed through her mind. She froze, even though her mind galloped in fear. It couldn’t be a good thing to see four riders with guns drawn charging toward the stage.

Chapter 10

Wade opened his eyes to sunlight streaming between the clouds. A quick scan revealed no horse. Just like he thought. No surprise to find a spring by the tree that he’d already spotted. And the land was full of prairie chickens.
Pure coincidence
. God hadn’t listened or answered. Not where he was concerned.

Mark, curled up in the jacket Wade had placed over him, still slept. No sense disturbing the boy. He’d discover soon enough the harshness of this life. Wade frowned. The kid had already suffered enough to knock the faith out of a grown man. Maybe children were more resilient.

Wade braced himself for bad news before removing the bandage from his thigh. The way it felt yesterday, he feared blood poisoning. After unwrapping the bloody cloth, he glanced at Mark. While the leg was still sore and tender, the fever and redness had lessened considerably. Wade wrapped a clean bandage around his thigh. Maybe he’d survive.

The boy sat up and stretched. Without being told, he got up, grabbed the canteens, and started for the pool. He looked toward the north and dropped the containers.

“Someone’s coming. Think it’s more Indians?” Mark pointed, fear clouding his face.

Wade’s gaze followed the boy’s finger. Dust kicked up from the horizon. Wade jumped to his feet, grimaced at the pain, and grabbed his pistol. Over the horizon, dust whirled into the morning air. Kid was right. Could be horses, buffalo, or Indians.

###

Bullets whined through the air as Libby whined to herself. She screeched for the passengers to wake. Panic overtook her.
Common highwaymen
. Her fear was magnified by feeling her aunt’s trembling arm. For Flora’s sake, she kept her thoughts to herself. Especially the one that screamed,
I want my mother.

“Oh my! What is happening?”

Dusty shouted and cracked the whip. The stage jolted as the horses picked up speed. More shots surrounded the coach. A plunk behind Libby’s head sent her diving for the floor along with Flora. In minutes, the stage slowed and the gunfire ceased.

“Whoa.” Dusty yelled, and they came to a stop.

Silence covered the air.

Libby tried to quiet her gasping breaths. Had they outrun the brigands?

“You in the stage, throw out your guns.”

Libby halted her panicked breaths and looked up at Harley.

He grimaced and threw his pistol out the window. “Sorry, ladies. I’ll do my best to see no harm comes to you.”

A gallant gambler?
Libby would have to ponder that one. Grogan threw out his gun. As far as she knew, Samuels didn’t have one. His face white, he sat huddled on the floor with her and Flora.

“Oh dear. What can we do?” Flora whispered with hands over her ears.

“Everybody out of the stage. Now!” Again the hateful voice.

The door opened behind Libby. She tried her best to disentangle her legs from Flora. Apparently, she took too long. Rough hands grabbed her around the waist and hauled her out of the coach. Irritation beat back her fear, and she turned ready to slap the rude man.

Face to face with the barrel of a gun, she changed her mind. Further examination of her predicament showed that the man holding the pistol looked to be more dangerous than the weapon. No taller than Libby, he glared straight into her eyes and sneered as if he dared her to hit him. The hollow anger on his face caused her to step back and bump into Flora.