CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Fifty feet from the peddler, Blake called out. “Hello, wagon!” A picture of Katie bound and gagged in the back kept rolling around in his head. He remembered the night Mrs. Brinkman, after supper was finished and the dishes were dried and put away, had let each older girl, with her help, hold two-week-old Katie for a few minutes. Blake, still feeling like an outsider, hadn’t expected a turn. When Mrs. Brinkman had asked, he’d shyly nodded, carefully balancing a pink-faced Katie in his arms. The tiny blanket-wrapped bundle hardly weighed anything. And Blake had been astonished at how awake the infant was. He’d also been moved by the warmth he’d seen in Mrs. Brinkman’s eyes when she regarded him. Had she wanted a son? In the candlelight, Belle sidled up, tipping her face as the infant gazed up at them with all the trust in the world. The memory was one of his favorites.
Blake’s heart tripped. Katie has to be alive. She just has to be.
The rider looked back. Blake watched him lean over and say something to the driver. The wagon rolled on, but the rider pulled up and waited for him.
Blake plastered a wide smile on his face as he watched the man’s gaze take in the sweat under his armpits—and then fall to his thigh, where his Colt should be strapped. To his relief, Santiago’s horse did have a canteen looped around the saddle horn, plausible for a man setting off, but no saddlebags or bedroll. Selling himself might prove difficult.
The man was white. Middle-aged. Had seen his fair share of fights, judging by the scar at the side of his eye, another on his chin, and a disfigured nose.
“Howdy,” the man said, low, out of the corner of his mouth. “Only a fool ventures the Old Spanish Trail without his weapon.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or a desperate man. Which’re you?”
Blake took a deep breath and slowly let the air escape through his mouth. He reached up, lifted his hat, dragged his shirtsleeve across his moist brow. “I’ve been called worse, I guess,” he replied after a half-hearted chuckle. “Fool or buffoon. But it can’t be helped. I never did take to guns; the loud blast gets my ears every time, as well as spooks my horse. Gave up on ’em long ago.” He looked around. “Hot for this time of year, ain’t it? Seen any banditos?”
The fella blinked back his surprise and then slowly smiled, revealing a row of stained and broken teeth. All Blake could think about was the retreating wagon.
A sly smile appeared. “Banditos? Not today.”
Blake slouched in his saddle. “That’s a relief.” He started forward, and the man followed. “I’m on my way to the mining camp on the Animas River. Are you with the wagon ahead?”
“You talk a lot—for a stranger.”
Blake shrugged noncommittally, but squeezed his mount. The horse extended his stride, forcing the other fellow to jog to keep up. Hoping not to get shot in the back, Blake pushed the horse into a slow lope. Soon, he was only a couple of lengths away from the wagon. He slowed to a walk. The other fellow reined up beside him, clearly perturbed.
Blake strained to hear anything. A woman’s cries or struggles. But there were only the buzz of katydids, his horse’s footfalls, and the crunch of wagon wheels on the dry earth. Is Katie in there, bound and gagged? Has the worst already happened? He finally rode up alongside—to find an ancient Chinese peddler holding the reins.
“Well, howdy,” Blake said, hoping that if Katie was inside, she didn’t make a fuss if she recognized his voice. “I’ve been wondering who was driving.” He felt a little more optimistic now that he’d seen the rider’s companion. He couldn’t be more than five feet tall. “I’m sure glad to meet up with y’all. Don’t like riding by myself since I’m unarmed. There’s safety in numbers, my pa used to say.” He grinned like a fool and hoped he wasn’t about to get the back of his head blown off. He didn’t see any weapons on the driver, but that didn’t mean the man didn’t have a revolver hidden beneath the robe he was wearing or under the seat. His guard had plenty of firepower, though. Enough to make Blake a bit twitchy.
There! A sound. Maybe a boot heel along the floorboards. This deep sensation I have can’t be wrong. Hold on, Katie. I’m coming, but this can’t be rushed.
Blake pretended he hadn’t heard a thing and began plotting how he’d take the rider first and then the driver. Beating up an elderly man didn’t sit well with his conscience. Maybe after he had the tough-looking guard subdued, the driver would give up and hand Katie over. What are the chances of that happening?
A metal pot, a lantern, and other odds and ends hung from hooks on the side of the wagon. “You have any food for sale?” he asked. “It’s a far piece to my destination. I set out rather off the cuff. This burning in my belly won’t keep me for seventy-eight miles, give or take a few.”
The peddler looked his way and studied him for several seconds. “Off cuff? Why dat?”
“I’m a messenger delivering a communication to the foreman of the Rio Grande Railroad Company. After getting my orders, I got to talkin’ in the saloon, like men do. Being stupid, I rode out without any supplies. Now it’s too late to go back. I should have packed a few edibles for the trip, but I didn’t. I have money if you have any eats to sell.” He waggled his eyebrows at the wagon and licked his lips. “Maybe you’d like to make a dollar on your ride down the trail? Whaddaya say?”
The rider was even with him again, and Blake gauged the distance between them.
“Message?” the peddler said. “Let us see.”
Blake tapped his temple under the brim of his hat and smiled. “All up here. Every last word.”
“You share with us, I give eats,” the Chinese peddler said softly. “Not charge friend. Eats for free.”
“I couldn’t do that. Don’t take charity. Never have. I’ll pay my share. Besides, the message is private. Only to be given to the foreman. You fellas don’t want me to lose my job, do ya?” He’d begun pleading about halfway through his little speech—and ignored the way the rider’s gaze kept searching out the driver’s. They wouldn’t kill him just to kill him, but he had no doubt they would if they suspected he was really hunting for Katie.
The driver shrugged. “When we stop.”
“I hate to beg, but I can’t wait that long.” He rode close to the wagon now. The guard moved to within arm’s length. “My stomach is near on—”
A low, garbled “Help!” sounded from inside.
If he heard the cry, Katie’s captors had as well.
Blake lunged across with his right arm and grasped the handle of the pot dangling on the side of the wagon. Swinging wide, he smacked the rider square in the face. The man fell from his horse like a sack of potatoes.
Before the guard hit the dirt, Blake swung back. The peddler halted the wagon and scrambled up in the seat. Several small silver daggers glittered in his hands. Blake had seen throwing knives like these before. They were fast and deadly.
With a speed of a rattlesnake, the Chinese peddler flung the first blade.
Blake spurred his horse, and it bolted forward. The blade sank deep in the leather skirt of his saddle. From the corner of his eye, Blake saw the peddler again raise his arm. Without thinking, he hauled back on the reins, then turned the horse on his haunches as a blade sizzled past his ear—and another his forehead. How many did the old man have?
Arm up again! This time, as if cutting a steer, Blake spurred with his left heel, making the horse jump to the side. The dagger impaled the canteen, and water spurted everywhere.
Blake charged the wagon. The frightened horses danced in their harnesses.
The driver must be out of knives because he’d turned to clamber inside.
Blake galloped forward, leaned from the saddle, and pulled the Colt from the holster belonging to the unconscious man on the ground. He vaulted onto the side of the wagon. Instead of entering from the front like the peddler had, he yanked open the back door.
Blake stared down the barrel of a shotgun.
A cry of pain pierced the air. The small man rocked to the side, and the shotgun fell to the floor with a clatter. Blake jumped forward and struck him in the head with the butt of the Colt.
Katie! Bound and gagged. Her eyes swollen red. Beaded sweat rolled down the side of her face, mixing with her tears. But there was no mistake. If she hadn’t kicked the peddler’s knee out from beneath him, Blake would be dead right now.
Relief coursed through him.
“I’ll be right back, Katie. Give me one minute to make sure the other fella doesn’t wake up and give us trouble.” He cast a confident look at the knife thrower. “He’s out good. I’ll have you out of here quickly.”
Blake jumped out into the sandy loam and strode over to the unconscious outlaw. The man’s bloody face was smashed into the dirt. The anger Blake felt at the sight of John’s youngest bound and gagged smoldered in his gut.
Without any hesitation, he struck the man full force over the head again with his gun to be sure he remained unconscious until things with Katie were squared away.
He turned to the sound of a fast-approaching horse arriving in a plume of dust.