Clover waved as the carriage carrying Molly, Agnes, Jonathan Clemmons, and Colin Doogan drove away. It had been only a week since the spring revel, but Jonathan and Colin were clearly eager to get down to the business of courting, without further delay. Clover was pleased that Molly and her mother were going to have a leisurely day of relaxation, but she heartily wished she could go with them. Their absence also meant that she would be completely responsible for doing the chores and preparing supper. Clover was not sure she was ready for such independence.

She was just about to return to the house when Ballard emerged from the barn and reached her side in several long strides. His dark expression made her tense with concern.

“Lass, your ma and Molly just left, didnae they?”

“Yes. Do you need them back? I am sure you can catch them if we have to.”

He shook his head. “Nay, ‘twould only be so someone could stay with ye for an hour or so, mayhap more. One of my mares is missing. One of the fence rails got knocked down and she slipped out of her paddock. She is one of my best breeders. I will need every pair of eyes I have at hand to find her.”

“Do you want me to come too?”

“Nay, ye stay here, lass. Just keep to the house and dinnae let anyone in.”

“Ballard, do you think someone let her out on purpose?”

He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I cannae say, love. If the mare is only roaming free, ‘tis just a petty revenge, but if she is gone or hurt, it could prove to be a costly one.” He kissed her cheek. “I dinnae think ye are in danger. I can leave Adam or your brothers here, if it will make ye feel better.”

“No. You need Adam, and the boys are only eight. They could hardly protect me if something should happen. Are you sure they will be much help to you?”

“Aye. They can look about as well as I can. Last week they found that lost pig, if ye recall.”

“Yes, of course. Go. We must not let that oaf Big Jim rule our lives with his threats. I will be fine. To tell the truth, I do not think Big Jim Wallis is clever enough to plan my deliberate abduction. He would just charge in blindly.”

Ballard laughed and nodded. “Aye, I think ye judge the mon right.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Stay in the house and I will be back as soon as I can.”

“Good luck,” she called as he loped off.

Clover watched the men ride away, her brothers sharing the horse Ballard had given them. Just as she headed back into the house, she heard an odd creaking sound, as if someone was trying to approach her unseen and unheard along the veranda. She stood still and listened hard, every muscle tensed. Even as she was thinking that she ought to run into the house, the Morrisey boy scrambled nimbly up and over the veranda railing.

“Oh, you gave me a fright. What are you doing here?”

“I just come to visit. Is that all right?” He edged closer and gave her a tentative smile.

“Well, ‘tis fine with me, but will you get into trouble?”

“I already be in trouble today. Thought to meself, well, you gonna get a beating anyway so why not later instead of sooner. So I decided to come a-calling.”

“Pleased to have you.” She pointed to the washing bowl set on a table near the door. “Just wash your face and hands and then you can come inside.” While he did as she asked, she studied him. “What is your name?”

“Brat,” he mumbled as he rubbed his face dry with the cloth hanging on a peg by the bowl.

“That is a horrible name. You must have another.”

“Nope. Weren’t never given no proper name and Brat’s one of the nicer ones the Morriseys call me.”

She shook her head as she ushered him inside. “I simply cannot call you by that name. Do you have another name you might like, one you might give yourself if you had a choice?”

He sat at the kitchen table, watching Clover with wide eyes as she filled a plate of food for him, and considered her suggestion. Finally he said, “Willie.”

“Willie? Why did you choose that name?” She sat down opposite him as he wolfed down the food and cider she served him. The child was fed barely enough to keep him alive.

“I just always liked it. Sorry,” he said as he tried to wipe up the crumbs that had sprayed from his mouth.

Clover smiled. “You are forgiven—this time. But if you intend to visit me often, I will have to teach you some table manners. How old are you, Willie?”

“Near as I can figure, I be about eleven, maybe twelve.”

It was not easy for Clover to hide her shock. She would not have guessed he was any older than the twins, probably younger, for he was so small and thin. Lack of nourishment had clearly stunted his growth.

“Morrisey says I be a runt. He says all Indians are runts—little, bandy-legged, and stupid.”

“If that were true, then the settlers would not have had so much trouble taking their land from them, would they?”

Willie nodded and smiled his thanks when she refilled his cup with sweet cider. “I figured that much for meself. I know all the folk ‘round here ain’t poor fighters either.”

“Have you ever thought of running away to join your father’s people, the Shawnee?”

“Once or twice, but they’d be hating my white half and I ain’t been brought up Indian.” He tensed, listening. “Rider coming.”

Clover heard the rider approaching a moment after Willie spoke. She quickly got the musket down from over the fireplace. Ballard had not taught her how to fire the thing yet. She did not even know if it was loaded. But she hoped that whoever was now banging on her door would not guess that.

“Open this door, woman. I know you got that brat in there.”

“Morrisey,” Willie whispered, and stuffed his mouth with the last of his food.

“Calm down, Willie,” Clover said, hoping she could follow her own advice as she opened the door and aimed the musket at the red-faced man standing there. “What do you want, Mr. Morrisey?”

He took a step back. “I want that boy. He is mine and I have a judge’s word on that, so don’t you be trying to steal him.”

“He will be home when he has finished sharing a meal with me.”

“He ain’t got time to be socializing like some demmed gentleman.” He took a step toward her but quickly retreated when she steadied her aim. “He is mine, woman, and the law says you gotta give him back.”

“As much as I hate to, I will obey the law. But he is a visitor in my house and I refuse to let you drag him off. He will come home when our visit is over and not before.” She frowned when Morrisey glared at the boy.

“It’d be right smart of you to come home with me now, brat, or you will be paying dearly for this game. You know how I treat disobedience.”

“‘Tis that child’s misfortune to know exactly how you treat anything and anyone smaller and weaker than you,” said Clover. “I believe it would be a grave error in judgment on your part if you made this child suffer for visiting me.”

“Oh, it would, huh? And just what will you be doing about it?”

“Let me suggest”—she aimed her musket at his crotch—“that you consider what life would be like if you no longer had anything dangling between your legs.” When he flinched and covered his privates, she flashed him a cold smile.

“That be agin the law.”

“If I claimed I did it in self-defense, I suspect it would be difficult to find anyone who would dispute my story.”

Morrisey glared at her and the boy for another full minute before he strode from the house, mounted, and rode off. She kept her musket aimed at him until he was out of sight. After shutting the door and replacing the musket over the fireplace, she returned to the kitchen table. Willie was staring at her, his brown eyes wide.

“That were a right fine thing you done for me, ma’am. Right fine. It won’t be making no nevermind though. He might be too scared to whup me for this, but he will whup me good for something else.”

“I am afraid you are right. Then again, my interference has allowed you to stay here until you decide to leave. And you might even be able to come back another time if you feel inclined to.”

“I would like that real fine, ma’am.”

Clover noticed the boy was now playing with his food and peeking at her through his surprisingly long black lashes. It was clear that he had something on his mind, but was reluctant to speak.

“You want to ask me something, am I right?” He nodded. “Just ask me, Willie. The worst that can happen is that I will have no answer or will say no.”

Willie nodded, took a deep breath, and asked, “Will you teach me what you be teaching the MacGregors?”

“You mean how to read and write?”

“And figure and act proper and speak good like you do. See, I figure I will get free of Morrisey someday, but he ain’t raising me to be any more than a big dumb brute like him. Now, I know being half-Shawnee’s gonna be trouble, but maybe if I got me some learning and fine manners I could still be more than dirt-poor. I ain’t gonna get nowhere if I be nothing but a half-breed what acts and thinks like Morrisey.”

“I will be pleased to teach you anything you want to know. What would you like to try first?”

“Well, I reckon I best learn my letters.”

“We can start that now. Are you finished eating?” He nodded and she started to clear the table. “Upstairs in the third bedroom on your right you will find a slate and chalk on the table by the bed. Bring them down and we can get started.” She smiled and shook her head as he bounded up the stairs.

Clover was just wiping off the table when the kitchen door slammed open. She screeched, whirled around, and came face to face with Big Jim, a wide leer on his face. Two of his disreputable friends blocked the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Why, sweet thing, I done come to take you to your man,” Big Jim answered.

“Ballard would never send you after me.”

“Not that bastard. Your fine, pretty man from back home. Come along now, he be waiting on you.”

She tried to run but he reached for her, grabbed her, and tossed her over his shoulder. Her struggles had no effect on him as he carried her out the door. Through the curtain of her tousled hair she caught a glimpse of Willie and prayed the boy would have the sense to go alert Ballard and the others.

Big Jim tossed her across his saddle, and before she could scramble free, one of his cohorts bound her wrists and stuffed a filthy gag in her mouth. She felt someone tightly bind her ankles and knew she could not escape now. Big Jim mounted up behind her and, to her disgust, rested his beefy hand on her backside as he rode. She tried to see where they were going, but her hair obscured her vision. All she could do was try not to be sick to her stomach and pray that Ballard would find her before it was too late.

Clover could not restrain a groan as she was dragged off the horse. Her whole body ached and she was nauseated and dizzy. Big Jim picked her up and carried her under one arm like a sack of grain, took her inside a foul-smelling cabin, and roughly tossed her onto a filthy cot.

It took her several moments to recover from her ordeal. She cautiously opened her eyes and looked around. She could hear the men talking just outside the door. She grimaced as she studied the cabin; the place was little more than a hovel. If she was not rescued soon, she could contract some very unpleasant, if not fatal, disease here.

Big Jim entered the cabin, strode over to her, and yanked off the gag. “So you are awake, huh?”

“Might I ask what you think you are doing?” she snapped.

He untied her wrists and ankles. Before she could massage some feeling back into her feet and hands, he looped a thick rope snugly around her neck several times. For a brief moment she was terrified, certain that he meant to strangle her. She struggled to calm her fears when he stood on the cot and tied the other end of the rope to a hook in the ceiling. Even if she stood on the bed, she would never be able to reach the knot. The rope around her neck was wrapped too tightly for her to try to work it off over her head. If she tried to move too far or too fast, she could easily hang herself. She was trapped.

Clover wished she had regained the feeling in her hands and feet so that she could inflict some hurt on Big Jim before he stepped out of reach.

“There, that ought to hold you.” He jumped off the bed and grinned at her. “You can just sit there and think on what’s to come.”

“And what is to come? Is there some reason for this madness, or have you just completely lost what little mind you have?” She gritted her teeth against a hiss of pain as her hands and feet tingled painfully back to life.

Big Jim’s two friends, who had entered the cabin in time to hear her tart remark, chuckled. “Shut up, Poonley. You too, Toombs,” Big Jim snarled at them. “Has Ben gone?”

“Yup,” answered the shorter of the two men. “He and that feller ought to be here before nightfall.”

“And then the fun begins.” Big Jim poked Clover in the ribs. “You and us are gonna have a fine old time, and that big dumb Scot ain’t gonna be around to help you this time.”

“I thought we was supposed to tell MacGregor we got her,” said the short man.

“Shut your mouth, Poonley. We’ll be telling that fool when we feel demmed good and ready.” Big Jim reached out to stroke Clover’s hair. She jerked away from his touch. “You ain’t gonna be so demmed high and mighty soon,” he said. “Once that feller what’s paying us gets here, we’ll work that haughtiness right outta you.”

“Ballard will make you pay dearly for this,” Clover warned. “He will hunt you down.”

“That be just what we want him to do. You are the bait in a trap, woman. You will bring that bastard right to our door, and this time we will have the advantage. He ain’t gonna be so tall and cocky when we get done with him. Not so pretty either. I aim to enjoy taking him down a peg or two, and I know our new friend will too. He be right eager to see you too.”

“And who is this new friend of yours?” she asked, a cold knot forming in her stomach.

“That fancy man of yours from back in Pennsylvania. Me and him met in a tavern in Langleyville and found out we had a lot in common. We both owe your man.”

“Thomas Dillingsworth is in Kentucky? I find that very hard to believe.”

“I ain’t no liar!” Big Jim yelled, and shook his fist at her.

“You ain’t supposed to touch her till Dillingsworth gets here,” Poonley reminded him. “That man was real firm about that.”

“All right. Ain’t no need to ride me so close, Poonley.” Big Jim glared at Clover, then moved to the table where the other two men were sitting. “You hear me, woman? That fancy man of yours is on our side now. Hell, he be paying us good money. Now, you be a cute little thing and I be looking forward to having my turn at you, but truth to tell, I ain’t sure why that man be going to so much trouble to get his hands on you.”

“Do not look to me to end your confusion. I have never understood madmen.” Clover edged along the bed until she was able to rest her back against the rough log wall.

“You saying that Dillingsworth ain’t right in the head?” Big Jim demanded as he poured some homebrew into a battered cup.

“Does his behavior seem to be that of a sane man to you?”

Big Jim shrugged. “The man hankers after you so he takes you.” His companions nodded in agreement.

“You are a master of simplicity, Mr. Wallis.” She watched him frown and eye her narrowly, not certain if he was being insulted. “I believe what you are planning is a hanging offense,” she warned, “and I do not believe that a completely sane man plans to do something that will get him hanged.”

“They gotta prove we did it before they can try and hang us, and there ain’t gonna be anyone left to say that it was us.”

Clover slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. She knew of only one witness Big Jim and his cohorts did not know about—Willie. Although it was hard to say if anyone would believe the boy, even if he was able to tell what he saw.

She was tired and afraid, and she could see no way from the trap she was in, or from the trap she had inadvertently helped them set for Ballard. He would do exactly what he was told in the vain hope that he could save her. If there was no safe way to bring help, he would come alone. He would be one man against five. Formidable odds.

“That’s it, woman. You get some sleep. We want you well-rested when our friend gets here ‘cause we’ll be keeping you real busy.”

As she listened to their crude guffaws, Clover wished she had Mabel’s ability to spit. It seemed the perfect response to their taunts. A night of pure horror, perhaps many nights of such horror, was being planned for her, and they laughed. Anger twisted her roiling stomach, but she was too tired to act on it. Besides, railing at her thickheaded captors would gain her nothing. It seemed strange to go to sleep when she was in such danger, but sleep would at least clear her head and give her a respite from her fear and worry. It would also give her the strength to get away if, by some miracle, a chance for escape presented itself.

Thomas sipped from a tankard of ale and stared at the man called Ben. He was a hulking, filthy brute, and Thomas was a little embarrassed to be seen with him. He needed a strong man whom he could easily control, however. Besides, he doubted he would meet anyone he knew in the dirty little inn, the only one in this squalid town a few miles south of Pottersville.

“Why are you staying here?” grumbled Ben as he scratched his straggly gray beard. “Coulda set yourself closer.”

“I am here because I would rather not alert Ballard MacGregor to my presence.” Thomas glanced around the small, dark common room of the inn with ill-disguised disdain. “‘Tis a poor place for a man of my stature, but I suspect Pottersville is an even more wretched place.”

“It ain’t a bad town.” Ben took a long swallow of ale and wiped his mouth on the stained sleeve of his buckskin coat. “We got the girl. Did just what you told us to and it worked real good. We got her trussed up back at Big Jim’s place.”

“Ye-es. I wish I had taken the time to find someplace other than that flea-infested hovel to hold her in.” Thomas finished off his ale and stood up. “Shall we go?” He started out of the inn.

Ben cursed, gulped down the rest of his ale, and hurried after Thomas. “Ain’t no need to hurry. She ain’t going nowheres.”

“True, but MacGregor may stumble upon his loose mare sooner than we planned. I do not want him to know what has happened to Clover until I choose to tell him.”

“Are you sure MacGregor will do just what you tell him to do? He ain’t never struck me as the sort of man to just walk into a trap, like a lamb to the slaughter. He be a fighting man and a good one too.”

“I have his little wife. He will do exactly what I tell him.” Thomas ran a finger down his crooked nose. “I have that bastard now and he will soon be wishing he never set foot in Langleyville.”

Ballard frowned as he rode up to his house. He had felt uneasy for an hour or more, unable to shake the conviction that something was dreadfully wrong. Finally he had ordered the others to continue their search for the mare and had spurred his horse into a gallop for home. He dismounted and leaped up the steps, into the house.

“Clover!” he bellowed and grew even more concerned when there was no answer.

Fighting his burgeoning panic, he bounded up the staircase. He searched every room twice, then ran back downstairs and inspected the rooms again to be sure she had not fallen asleep somewhere, which he had caught her doing a time or two. As he went back outside to check the outer buildings, he began to move faster. Soon he was running from place to place. His calls for Clover grew more frantic. Back inside the house, he slumped against the kitchen table and tried to gather his wits.

Suddenly he noticed that the outside kitchen door was wide open. He was certain he had not opened it and moved to take a closer look. When he saw the splintered door frame and broken latch, he realized someone had forced his way into the house and taken Clover. He was sure of it.

Cursing, he took his musket down from over the fireplace and loaded it. What was he to do? He did not know who had taken Clover, although he had a strong suspicion, and he did not know where they had gone. He was alone with no idea of how many men he would face if he did find her. Without some answers to his questions, it would be foolhardy to plan his next move.

He sank into the heavy rocker in front of the fireplace and tried to think. Big Jim and Thomas had to be behind Clover’s disappearance. Ballard could almost hear Big Jim’s threats at the spring revel. He thoroughly berated himself for not taking those threats more seriously. Instead of keeping close to Clover, instead of guarding and protecting her, he had run off to find his mare, leaving her completely alone and defenseless. Yet again he had failed to protect her from danger,

Muskrat rubbed against his legs and he scratched the animal’s battle-scarred ears. “I failed her, Muskrat. It seems I am always failing her.”

The cat stretched up on his hind legs, placed his big front paws on Ballard’s knees, and hoarsely meowed. Ballard recalled how he was always catching Clover slipping the big tomcat treats and shook his head. The cat had begun to leave his catches at the kitchen door to impress her. Several times Ballard had come home to find a dead mouse or other small creature covered by a linen napkin, awaiting the proper burial that Clover insisted upon.

“I cannae just sit here and moon over her, Muskrat.” Ballard gently pushed the cat away and stood up. “There must be something I can do. Maybe there is a trail I can follow,” he muttered as he walked to the door, Muskrat ambling behind him.

Outside, he found the hoofprints of several horses. No effort had been made to hide their trail. Clover’s abductors had known he would not be there. They led around the house and into the forest. Ballard was puzzled by the small human footprints that blended with the other prints and disappeared into the forest. Someone was already following Clover and her abductors. A small someone. Since Damien and Clayton were still with Shelton, Lambert, and Adam, Ballard had no idea who that small someone could be.

He stared into the woods for a long moment before returning to the house. He was going to follow that trail. It was probably not the safest or wisest thing to do, but he could not just sit and wait for some word from her kidnappers.

Ballard began to collect a few supplies. If his family did not return before he was ready, he would try to write a note for them.

A bellow startled Clover out of her doze. She fell forward and felt the sharp jerk of the rope around her neck. As she tried to rub her chafed neck between the thick coils of the rope, she quickly returned to an upright position against the wall.

“Damnation, Big Jim, your barn is on fire,” cried Poonley as he squinted out one of the cabin’s tiny begrimed windows.

Clover could not recall having seen anything worthy of being called a barn as she was dragged into the cabin. Poonley must be referring to the large lean-to she had briefly glimpsed. She watched the three men stagger outside, cursing each step of the way. It was evident that they had spent the evening drinking.

A familiar small figure appeared in the doorway a moment later. Clover blinked several times before she trusted what she was seeing. “Willie?”

He hurried over to the cot, hopped up onto the bed next to her, and pulled an impressively sharp knife from inside his ragged coat. Clover recognized it as the big hunting knife Ballard kept over the fireplace in their bedroom. An intent look came over his face as he sawed away at the rope leading from her neck.

“You be real still, ma’am,” he said. “I might cut you if you move too sudden-like.”

“How did you get here?”

“I followed you.”

“But, Willie, we must be miles from Ballard’s house.”

“Ten miles as I figure it. I woulda helped you sooner, but I needed to take a rest once I got here.”

“I am not surprised,” she murmured. “You are obviously a great deal stronger than you look.”

“They ain’t hurt you yet, have they? I fear I was just too weary to think on what they might be doing to you while I was having a rest. Then I had to think of a plan to get them outta this cabin.”

She stared at him in admiration. “You set the barn on fire.”

“That ain’t no barn. Just a rickety bunch of sticks and branches. I let the animals out first. They ain’t done nobody no harm.” He finished cutting through the rope and put his knife away. “We best hurry outta here, ma’am. That shed was burning up fast. Those drunken fools ain’t gonna waste much time trying to save it, especially when they figure that the animals ain’t in it.”

Clover stood up, swaying slightly. As Willie grabbed her hand, she took several deep breaths to steady herself. She refused to let her weakness ruin her one chance to escape.

“Do you know how to get back to Ballard’s?” she asked as they hurried to the door.

“Yup. I can take us straight there or, if these fools try hunting us down, I can get us there by a real crooked route.” He glanced at Clover’s skirts. “I reckon it ain’t something ladies oughta do, but could you hook them skirts up, ma’am? ‘Twill make it a sight easier for us to run through the woods.”

Although she found it a little odd to be taking orders from a child, Clover did as she was told. She brought the back of her skirts through her legs and hooked it under the waistband. Clover just prayed she was not putting too much faith in a boy’s bravado.

Willie peered out the door. “Them fools be standing there with their backs to us just gawking at the fire. Come on, ma’am. We gotta run as fast as we can into the forest. We can slow down a mite sometime later if we make it into them trees without them seeing us.”

He bolted out the door and Clover followed. His speed astounded her. If Morrisey would treat the boy with just a little kindness, he would have a strong worker.

As they ran she waited tensely for a bellow to indicate that they had been spotted and the pursuit had begun, but none came. Even once they reached the shelter of the trees, Willie kept running and she tried her best to keep up. By the time he slowed up a little, Clover was gasping for breath and feeling weak in the knees.

“I think I need a moment or two to catch my breath,” she called as she sagged against a tree trunk.

“I reckon you can, but only for a minute or two,” he said as he walked back to her and sat down. “Once we get to the house, ma’am, I gotta be getting home.”

“You should rest first.”

“I shoulda been back home to milk the cows. If luck be with me, it will be dark by the time I get home and I can sneak in. Morrisey has usually got his fat head stuck in a bottle of homebrew by sunset. If he don’t see me, he don’t hit me, and come the morning he might forget he was a-wanting to.”

“Perhaps if I went with you and explained—”

“That ain’t gonna do no good. I know how to take care of myself, ma’am, and now I know where to get something to eat.” He grinned at her, then stood up and brushed himself off. “Best we be going now, ma’am. We can run easy for a ways. Leastwise till we hear those fools coming after us.”

Clover straightened up and followed him as he led her deeper into the forest. “Are there many wild animals here?”

“Some, but most of them ain’t of a mind to get near us. If one does come sniffing ‘round, we just have to scramble up the nearest tree and wait him out. Can you climb trees, ma’am?”

“I climbed one not long ago. A bear convinced me to try my hand at it.”

He nodded. “I reckon climbing trees ain’t something ladies are supposed to do.”

“No. After all, it might allow a gentleman to peek up your skirts.” She smiled when he giggled. “Willie, if Big Jim and his men get too close, I want you to take care of yourself and not worry about me.”

“But I came to save you.”

“And you might yet succeed. You will do me a greater service by not allowing yourself to get captured if Big Jim starts to run us down. If you remain free, you can tell Ballard what has happened, who has me, and where I am.”

Willie nodded. “That be sound thinking, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She exchanged another brief grin with him, then tensed when he went still, listening. “Big Jim?”

“Reckon so. Come on, ma’am. Time for us to be taking that crooked trail.”

As they ran, Clover heard, and occasionally caught sight of, Big Jim and his two men searching for them. The trees and thick underbrush impeded the men’s progress, for they were inebriated and on horseback. Slowly dusk settled over the forest. It became harder and harder to follow Willie’s twisting journey through the wood. She knew the lengthening shadows aided their escape, however, and struggled to keep pace with the boy. Some time later, badly winded, she stumbled over a root and landed hard on her backside, the breath knocked out of her.

“You all right, ma’am?” Willie asked as he crouched by her and helped her up.

“I will be in a moment. Do you think I can take a small rest again? I do not hear Big Jim.”

Willie sat down next to her. “Reckon he ain’t wanting to get too much closer to your man’s land. It ain’t fully dark yet and if Big Jim rides after us much further, he could get himself seen by MacGregor.”

“Are we that close?” Clover could not believe they had covered so much ground. “I do not see the house.”

“Too many trees. We ain’t that close, but close enough so Big Jim might stumble into the open if he keeps after us.”

“Oh, thank God. I feared I was slowing you down and putting us both at risk.”

“You ain’t done too bad, ma’am. Fact is, you kept up real good. I reckon ladies don’t do much running through the woods.”

Clover smiled and shook her head. “None at all.” She struggled to her feet. “Well, if we are that close to home, let us continue. I can rest when I get there.”

“You got spine, ma’am, you surely do,” Willie said as he led the way.

“Thank you—I think.”

The trees thinned, and at last Ballard’s house came into view. Clover wished she had enough energy left to run. She hoped Ballard was home. He might be able to catch up with Big Jim and put an end to their troubles before they got any worse.

“It just ain’t smart to go any closer,” Poonley said, shaking his head when Big Jim let out a stream of curses. “Fact is, I think we be close enough to MacGregor’s place that you ought to be thinking on being a mite quieter.”

“We had her, curse it all to hell! How the hell did the demmed bitch get loose?” Big Jim tried to turn his panting horse and slapped it on the head when it failed to move quickly enough to suit him.

“I reckon someone cut her loose,” Poonley said, and nodded.

“Think it was MacGregor?” asked the other man.

“You just ain’t got no brain in that head, do you, Toombs,” snapped Big Jim. “If MacGregor had come after us, he would never have left us standing there scratching our arses. Whoever helped her just cut her loose and ran.”

“I reckon Dillingsworth ain’t gonna care much how she got away, just that we ain’t got her no more,” said Poonley.

Big Jim cursed again and headed his horse back to his cabin, Poonley and Toombs falling in behind him. “And since we ain’t got her no more, Dillingsworth ain’t gonna give us our money. Well, if he thinks he’s so blasted clever, he can just come up with a new plan. We got her once. We can get her again.”