Fifteen

The next few days passed quickly for Roan. Duel had sent him out to the site of the latest cattle theft, where he and five other ranch hands worked on getting the last long section of fence back up. He rode with the others to guard against more rustling, but saw no sign of the thieves. The two oldest McClain boys had raised a fuss about coming along, but thankfully, Duel had kept them behind. This was too dangerous and no place for untried young men who’d only just begun to shave. His thoughts drifted to the young boy riding with the group of marauders who’d killed Mose. And the other shot dead in front of him by the person in the barn.

The last hadn’t even had a chance to live yet. The other might if someone got him away from the gang. Roan would if he had an opportunity. But why were they with that bunch?

He missed seeing Marley but was grateful for the space between them. Yet, each night he lay on his bedroll on the ground, gazed up at the dark sky, and found her face among the multitude of twinkling stars.

Each evening, he took Shadow for a run to keep her in shape. The men said they’d never seen a faster horse.

Four days out, trouble rode toward them in the darkness. The shaking ground and terrifying noise of pounding hoofbeats brought back a rush of memories of the last time death had come to visit. Roan inhaled a sharp breath, snatched up his rifle, and kicked out the campfire. He took cover behind the lacy foliage of a cedar tree, determined to hit his targets.

Black-hooded riders spilled through the gaping hole in the barbed wire like hungry wolves, whooping and cursing, emptying their guns at them as they came. They weren’t after cattle this time—these night riders had killing in mind.

Bullets kicked up the dirt around Roan and the cowboys. There must’ve been at least eight marauders. He steadied his aim and fired at the lead rider. The black night kept him from seeing if he hit the man, but a loud yell told him he had.

Roan ratcheted another cartridge into the chamber and swung to another rider. His aim was good. This time the attacker fell from the saddle.

Once all the riders were through, they circled and took another run at the ranch hands. When one man came near, Roan grabbed his ankle, yanked him from the horse, and slung him to the ground. He sat on the man’s chest and snatched off his hood. The scared eyes of another young boy met his.

“Who are you?” Roan yelled. “What do you want?”

Before the kid could open his mouth to speak, someone struck the back of Roan’s head. The stars fell from the sky, exploding around him as he crumpled over.

When he came to, Hardy Gage was bending over and slapping his face. Though his head was splitting open, Roan sat up to find the hooded riders were gone. “Who the hell hit me?”

“One of our visitors. They had me pinned down, and I couldn’t help.”

“Dammit, Gage, they did it to me again. But I know I wounded one and maybe killed another this time.”

“He’s over there by our bedrolls.” He helped Roan to his feet. “Ain’t gonna be doin’ much talkin’ though—he’s dead.”

Roan stumbled over to the prone man. Someone had removed his hood, and he stared up with unseeing eyes. Roan didn’t recognize the face, but he’d take a closer look at daybreak. If only he could catch one alive!

“This has all the makings of a traitor in our midst.”

“What are you sayin’?” Hardy Gage growled above him. “Do you think we’d betray the boss? I’ve been with him for twenty years or more. I’d give my life for him.”

“Calm down,” Roan snapped. “I’m not saying it’s you. I know it’s not. But it’s someone.”

“I always thought it strange that Wes Douglas up and quit for no reason when you came.” The statement came from Mitch Joel. Everyone turned to stare.

“You know, that was a bit odd. Wes’s excuse for riding out was pretty flimsy,” Gage said.

Roan glanced up. “One thing for sure, someone is feeding them information. These rustlers know where to be and when.”

Judd squatted beside him. “From your description of those hooded riders who killed your friend, these were very similar.”

“They are.” Roan glanced at the group of cowboys. “Looks like they answered our questions for us. There’s no doubt the rustlers and the killers are the same group. Dammit! What are they trying to do?”

“Don’t know. But they hit one of our men.”

“How bad?”

“Just a flesh wound.” Judd grinned. “Probably get out of stringing fence for a few days.”

“Glad it’s not serious. Did you see what happened to the man I was sitting on when the other smacked the back of my head?” Roan reached into his hair and found a big lump on his scalp. “I saw his face for a second, and he was just starting to say something.”

“Yeah,” Hardy said. “One of the other riders yanked him up, and they got on a horse and lit out.”

“Why they’re all so young? I’d give anything to know.” Roan stared into the thick blackness.

They sat around for the remainder of the night, afraid to go to sleep for fear the riders would return. By dawn, it was clear the attackers had planned to hit hard and fast, then ride like the devil for safer territory. Some of the men climbed into the saddle to try to pick up a trail.

Roan knelt next to the dead young man and stared at a large bruise on his jaw. He lifted the boy’s hands and noticed the knuckles on both left and right were raw. He’d fought someone not long before they’d attacked. Had he been trying to leave the group and been forced to go on the raid?

Or maybe the boy had simply had a tussle with someone and Roan was overthinking this.

The boy’s pockets yielded few clues—a spinning top and a little wooden dog that someone had whittled. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen, if that. A lump formed in Roan’s throat. The whole sum of this kid’s world was measured in these toys. Only this time, along with the bits and pieces of a life cut too short, Roan found a map of San Saba County folded up in a small square. It showed four large Xs. One was over Mose’s farm. In the lower right corner were the scribbled words, For Mom.

What did the map have to do with the boy’s mother? Was it even his own mother?

Maybe she had lost their land, and in some crazy way, the kid was hoping to get it back. But that didn’t explain all the other raiders. What was their interest?

He examined the boy’s clothing. His shirt had been made from a flour sack, patched at the elbows and near the tail in front. A piece of rope cinched up his pants. The kid’s trousers were also patched. The clothing indicated someone who had nothing—someone very much like Roan. He looked away for a second, struggling to get control of his emotions.

Finding nothing else helpful, Roan stood and showed the other cowboys the map. They shrugged and shook their heads, not even hazarding a guess at what the two words meant.

“Reckon we’d better get the body to the ranch.” Roan slapped his hat against his trousers. “Boss needs to know what happened and probably try to find his kin.” If the boy had any, and from the looks of him, that seemed doubtful. Except maybe for his mother.

Hardy nodded. “The poor kid’s gonna start smelling soon.”

As they scattered to pack up, Judd hung back. “Some of us should stay until Boss decides what to do. If we all leave, those killing varmints might come back.”

Roan shook his head. “Last night showed one thing—they come if we’re here, and they come if we’re not. Doesn’t seem to make much difference to them. What do you think they were after?”

“Don’t think it was cattle.” Hardy rubbed his whiskers. “I think they meant to kill us.”

“I do too,” Roan admitted, wishing he could’ve seen their faces. “But why us? And why turn around and leave before trying to finish the job? They had us outgunned. We don’t have any money, so robbing was out. They had to be sending a message, letting Boss know that they could do whatever they wanted, anytime they felt like it.”

“Who the hell knows? Maybe they like killing. I just don’t feel right about leaving,” Judd said.

“I guess this means no one from the ranch is going to San Saba with you.” The breeze ruffled the red bandana tied around Hardy’s neck. “More than likely, Boss will want to keep us here. Sorry, Roan.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Even alone, he still had to go. And besides, he’d promised to get Marley the information about that book publisher from the mercantile.

No matter how he had to do it, or whether or not he lived to watch it come true, he meant to see that she, at least, reached her dreams.

* * *

Who was the dead man tied to the horse that Roan was leading?

Marley had just gotten the children off to school. She raced from the house, her heart thundering in her ears like a herd of walleyed longhorns. At least it wasn’t Roan, and knowing that brought some measure of relief. She yearned for a private word, but there were too many ears. His weary eyes met hers, then flicked over to her father hurrying from the direction of the corral.

“What happened?” Duel grated through his teeth as though steeling himself. He strode to the dead body to look at the face as the men dismounted.

Roan pushed back his hat. “Hooded men rode in about midnight with guns blazing. We barely had time to take cover. I know I hit some. Maybe this one carries my bullet, but it’s anyone’s guess. After they rode out, we found this boy dead in the dirt.” He paused a second before adding, “He’s young, like the other one at Mose’s farm.”

Marley stood on the fringes and took in Roan’s haggard appearance, his tired eyes. She longed to kiss him, to feel his heartbeat under her palm, and to offer him comfort, but she could do none of that.

Duel bit out some muttered curses. “And the condition of my hands?”

Hardy spoke up, “Pete here got a flesh wound. They struck Roan over the head and knocked him out.”

Marley sucked in a breath. He could’ve been killed.

Roan waved them off. “I’m fine.”

“Hardly hurts, Boss.” Pete held up his arm with a bloodstained bandana tied around the upper portion. “Hardy insisted I need to get it looked after.”

Jessie hurried from the back door of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. Her voice shook with fear. “What happened?”

“Pete needs tending, darlin’.” Duel’s eyes softened as he spoke to Jessie. “If you can’t spare the time, maybe Marley can do it. She’s getting good at doctoring folks.”

“Yes, she is, but no one needs me right now.” Jessie took Pete’s arm and told him to come with her.

“I found these in the boy’s pockets, sir.” Roan handed Duel everything he’d found. “I’ll be curious to know what you think of the map.”

A map? Marley pressed closer and peered around her father. The large Xs puzzled her, and the words in the lower corner were too small to read from where she stood.

Duel frowned at it for several minutes. “Roan, do you think this was the same bunch who killed your friend?”

“They wore the same black hoods, and like before, galloped in without a warning. At least a few of those first raiders were young, just like this dead one and the other at Mose’s. Though I have no proof, I do think they’re the same group.” Roan smiled at Marley, and she returned it, grateful for his notice.

“What the devil do they want besides every last bit of my cattle?” Duel stared in the direction of San Saba.

“I wish I knew, sir,” Roan answered. “What are we going to do with this kid?”

“I’ll take him into Tranquility and speak to the sheriff. He can deal with finding and notifying any kin.” Duel swung around to Hardy. “I hate to send you back out there, but I’d like you and the boys to guard that section of the ranch. I doubt it’ll stop the bastards, but at least maybe they won’t keep stealing me blind.”

“All right, Boss. I’ll have some coffee and hightail it back,” Hardy said. “Boss, this is just a theory, but I have to tell you anyway. Me and the men think Wes Douglas has gone over to their side. He quit too suddenly and for no reason. And it was just as Roan came.”

Duel was silent for a moment, staring at the ground. “You might be right. I had a strange feeling about that. He knows the workings of this ranch, and that could explain a lot.” He swiveled back. “Roan, I’d like to have you ride into Tranquility with me and tell your story to the sheriff.”

“Sure.” Roan hesitated. “In case you forgot, I leave for San Saba in the morning, sir.”

“I didn’t forget.” A wry smile formed on her papa’s face. “I can’t send any of the hands with you like we’d talked about. Just can’t spare them.”

A cold hand gripped Marley’s heart. Roan had to have help. If he went alone, they could kill him. She struggled to draw a breath.

“I understand. I didn’t figure you could. I’ll be fine.” Roan started toward the kitchen with Hardy to get coffee.

Marley swung into step beside Roan. “What are you going to do now?”

“Nothing.” His gray eyes hardened. “I’ve been alone most of my life. This is my fight anyway, not theirs.”

A little cry escaped her, and she clutched his arm. “You’re crazy. That’s just asking to get hurt.” Or worse.

He faced her and smoothed back her hair. “I probably am, but I refuse to live my life in fear. And as you’ve noticed, I’m pretty hard to put in a grave. Please don’t worry about me.”

“Too late, cowboy.” She heard Granny Jack’s voice in her ear, reminding her that every tub had to sit on its own bottom. Her jitters eased some, and she remembered saying, no insisting, that she was not going to bury him. Such hasty, angry words. She knew if someone brought him back to the ranch draped over a horse or in a wagon, she’d dig the grave herself.

And she’d cry her eyes out for the man whose father had told him he was worthless. Maybe he believed that. Maybe that’s why he took these chances. Damn Blackie Culpepper.

She turned to hide her tears and hurried toward the house.

In the kitchen, she poured both men hot coffee. “Would you like some food with that?”

Roan glanced up and smiled. “Not sure I can spare the time. Your father’s in a hurry.”

“Well, I sure can,” Hardy said. “I’m so hungry I could eat a skillet full of skunk eggs.”

Marley laughed. “You’ve been trying to pull my leg with that since I was a girl, Hardy. I’m wise to you.”

“Shoot! You figured me out. But go ahead and fix me a whole mess of hen eggs.”

While she prepared breakfast, she listened to him and Roan.

“I wish we could pick up those riders’ scent. If we could just confirm that they came from San Saba County, it would settle a lot in my mind.” Roan took a drink of coffee and reached for a cold biscuit from a plate in the middle of the table.

Marley handed him a piece of warm bacon to eat with it. She stared at him, admiring the strength of his jaw and his icy gray eyes. She’d once seen those same gray eyes smolder with desire, shivered as his lips found hers, felt his strong arms around her, blocking out the world. His original bruises, compliments of the hooded gang, had all but vanished in the two and a half weeks since he’d been there. They shouldn’t draw any attention in San Saba.

The two men talked about the horse race at the county fair.

“What about your disguise when you leave in the morning?” Hardy asked.

Roan frowned. “I haven’t thought much about it. I don’t have any clothes except what I’m wearing, and another set just like them. Any suggestions?”

“I do,” Marley said quietly. “You’ll need to appear well dressed and project yourself as a successful, educated man. A three-piece suit, a string tie, a new Stetson and boots. Those plus a fresh shave and haircut will hide your identity. The sheriff and others only know you as a poor drifter.”

Roan snorted. “Where do you think I’m going to get those? I’m not a magician.”

“She’s right. Think about it.” Hardy leaned, propping his elbows on the table. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re both crazy.” Roan finished the last of his coffee, stood, and grabbed his hat.

“Leave everything to me.” Marley touched his arm and felt the muscles rippling underneath. “Do you mind if I ride into town with you and Papa?”

His well-formed lips turned up in a smile. “That’s a strange question. Why would I mind? Better hurry though. I have a feeling your father won’t wait.”

The minute he moved to the door, Marley darted into the next room to find her mother. A minute later, with Jessie finishing the preparations for Hardy’s breakfast, she raced toward the barn, but drew up short when Roan led out her saddled horse.

“I saved you some time,” he said.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She accepted his help mounting, and a few minutes later the three of them rode out and headed toward town.

Marley took advantage of the ride to tell her father about her plan for Roan’s disguise. “He’ll be hiding in plain sight. No one will expect a man of means.”

Duel was quiet a moment before answering. “I think that’s a great idea, Marley Rose. When we finish our business with the sheriff, we’ll go to that fancy new clothing store.”

“You’ll subtract the cost from my wages,” Roan said firmly. “It’s that way or not at all.” He paused, then asked, “Describe Wes Douglas. Just in case I run into him in San Saba.”

Marley pictured the man in her mind. “Stocky with brown hair that’s a lot lighter than yours, almost blond.”

“Wes is late twenties, I’d say.” Duel thought a second. “He has a scar on the right side of his neck caused from a bullet wound he said.”

“Papa, don’t forget the way his chin just kind of runs in with his neck. He really doesn’t have a defined chin.” Marley glanced at Roan. “You won’t have any trouble recognizing him if you cross paths.”

Roan chuckled softly. “I think I have a clear picture in my mind. Thank you.”

Tranquility bustled with people, wagons, and animals, and the group soon halted in front of the sheriff’s office.

“Who you got there, McClain?” Sheriff Bagwell hurried from the barber adjacent to his office. The middle-aged man yanked off the cape from around his neck and swiped at the shaving cream on his face, but mostly left it smeared.

“Hey, come back here!” yelled the barber from the door.

“No time,” Bagwell answered, increasing his stride. “Got a dead man out here.”

“Sheriff, he’s not going anywhere,” Duel said. “Reckon he can wait.”

Truman Bagwell shook his head and lowered his voice. “You saved my hide, McClain. Jed was trying to pawn off his old-maid sister on me.”

Duel barked a laugh. “He’s been trying to do that for years, Truman. What’s the problem now?”

“I’m running out of excuses, that’s what the problem is.” The sheriff turned to Marley. “Miss Marley Rose, you’re sure a sight for sore eyes. I think you get prettier every day. If I was little younger, I’d come calling.”

“Why, thank you, Sheriff. If I was a little older, I’d take you up on it.” Marley had always seen Truman Bagwell as a handsome man, what with his sandy hair and those twinkling eyes that saw humor in almost everything. In all the years since she’d known him, she’d never seen him downright spitting-mad angry. An even temper was a fine quality in anyone.

Roan almost never got mad, and he was very patient with the kids, even when they were all clamoring for his attention.

“Truman, if you come to the ranch, it’d better be to play our weekly game of checkers,” Duel growled, narrowing his eyes.

“Relax, McClain. I’m too old and set in my ways to think about taking a wife. I imagine I’d have to train her, and Miss Marley doesn’t appear the easy kind to break in.”

Marley laughed. “You’re not wanting a wife, you’re wanting a saddle bronc. I’m too wild and wooly for you, Truman.”

“Guess you’re right, Miss Marley.” The sheriff scowled at Roan. “Who are you?”

“Roan Penny, a new hand at the Aces ’n’ Eights,” Roan answered, sticking out his hand.

Marley admired the way Roan carried himself. He answered questions directly, without shame, and in a deep, strong voice that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he could handle any situation.

Duel rested his foot on the step to the boardwalk. “Roan brought the dead man to the ranch this morning.”

Bagwell’s mood became somber. “Give me the facts.”

“I sent Roan and some of my hands out to the east section to mend cut fences four days ago. The rustlers are stealing me blind. Last night, a bunch of black-hooded bastards rode through with a barrage of gunfire and wounded one of my men. One of my boys managed to shoot this one.”

The sheriff lifted the dead man’s head, and shock rippled across his face. “He’s still wet behind the ears. Can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen, McClain!”

“I know.” Duel pushed back his Stetson. “I’d give anything to know what he was doing there. I’m not sure, but it appears a new gang of young riders has popped up.”

Worry filled Bagwell’s eyes. “Do you think they’re leftovers of the San Saba mob?”

“Maybe. It sure wouldn’t surprise me,” Duel answered.

Bagwell mumbled something that sounded like a curse. Marley could tell he was shaken. “Then why did you bring the dead man here and not to the San Saba sheriff?”

“Several reasons. The biggest being I’m not positive that this dead rider came from there. Another is that Sheriff Coburn would accuse us of killing the man, but Roan can tell more about that.”

“Penny, tell me every single detail about the riders, and don’t leave out anything,” the sheriff ordered.

“Let me back up just a bit, if you don’t mind, because I think it’s all related.” Roan told him about the cold-blooded murder of Mose and afterward how the riders dragged Roan into McCullough County. Then he laid out how he and Duel got attacked when they went to bury Mose and the young man who died there and moved on to the previous night. He ended with a quiet request. “If no one claims the body, let me know. I’ll pay for the burial.”

Marley was proud of Roan’s thoroughness in relating the details. He’d been through so much, yet hadn’t gone bitter or hard. How his father could’ve given him away was beyond her. She’d like to find Blackie Culpepper and deliver stinging blows to his face.

Roan was worth five hundred Culpeppers.

He’d saved her as much as she had him. In a way, he belonged to her now—if she could just keep him from dying.