Twenty-four

Later that day, Marley finished hanging the last of the diapers on the line and picked up her basket. The chore was never ending. Those three babies were a lot of work. If she ever had any, and she hoped that was a long way off, she only wanted one at a time. But ever since her talk with Jessie, Marley had tried to help out more. Her mother was simply exhausted.

Every so often, Marley took out the dress her mother had given her and ran her fingers across the fine fabric. One day soon she’d wear that dress, and she hoped it would be to stand in front of the preacher. She hadn’t told Roan about it. She wanted it to be a surprise.

The older children had ridden off with Papa Duel, and the younger girls played nearby with their dolls. Marley kept an eye on them, making sure they didn’t wander from her sight.

Young Matt scampered up beside her. He clutched the book of stories she’d been reading to him under an arm. “Where you goin’, Mama Rose?”

“To clean my house. Want to come help?”

“I want you to read me a story.”

Marley stopped. “Matthew, you know stories are for bedtime.”

“My name is Matt.” He gave her a mulish frown.

“Besides…Matt, I thought we agreed to leave my papers in the bedroom. Why did you bring them out here?”

The child lowered his voice to a whisper. “The pirate will get ’em. I gotta keep ’em safe.”

“Oh, I see.” Marley stifled a laugh. The kid was as fanciful as she was. Often she let him make up the bedtime story, and he could come up with some tall tales for sure. Others were very good. “I tell you what. Give them to me, and I’ll keep the pirate from getting them until tonight.” Another of the boys Matt’s age flew out the back door. “Why don’t you and Benji go play for a while.”

“Okay.” He thrust the handwritten stories at her and took off running.

“Remember to stay near the house,” she called, glancing around.

Monsters lurked near, and they stole not only your breath, but your life.

* * *

Just after dawn three days later, Roan and Hardy Gage rode to the far southeast pasture, checking the fence line. The rustlers seemed to know exactly when to strike and where. At the rate cattle were disappearing, Duel McClain would soon have a ranch with no livestock. Sometimes they were able to trail the rustlers for a little ways, but most often all the thieves left behind was a downed fence. Strange how the theft always happened on the east side of the ranch, the side nearest to San Saba County.

The hands had also been searching for signs of Gentry. They’d discovered places where someone had bedded down, and found cigarette butts in the flattened winter grass. While they didn’t know for sure that it was Gentry, Roan felt certain it was.

He kept his gun loaded and his senses sharp. A man could lose his life if he didn’t.

“Hardy, you’ve been around a long time. Have you dealt with rustlers before?”

“Yep. Never this bad though.” Hardy pushed back his hat. “We usually caught the vermin within a day or two. I’m just wondering what in the blooming hell they’re doing with all these animals. They have to be driving them somewhere close.”

“Do you suppose they have a ranch and are stocking it with our cattle?”

“Could be. Or maybe they’re holding them in a canyon.” The old man rubbed his grizzled jaw in thought. “This is more like they have a bone to pick with the boss. They seem to like jabbing him with a sharp stick then hiding for a while, only to come out and do it all again.”

“I still think the bunch here is working with the group in San Saba.” Roan let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought for sure Will Gentry was behind all of it. I would’ve bet money. But it seems that he was only after Marley. How about Wes Douglas?”

“Could be. But didn’t you say that young guy in San Saba claimed someone named Rube led those riders?”

“That’s what Zach swore up and down.” Roan glanced at Hardy. “And you don’t know anyone named Rube? Maybe it’s short for something—like Reuben.”

“Nope.” Hardy shook his head. “Don’t know anyone.”

“Then do you know of a canyon where the rustlers could hold the stolen cattle?”

“Shoot, there’s more of ’em around these parts than a dog’s got fleas. It’d take a while to check them all.”

Roan’s thoughts were already on his plans to head back to San Saba, but he wondered if it was best to stay where he was. He still felt in his bones that Will Gentry had holed up nearby. No, forget San Saba for now. He’d stay and marshal all his energy to the task of finding the man on the Aces ’n’ Eights. Marley deserved to rest easy knowing Gentry would never bother her again.

“Hell and be damned!” Hardy yelled. “Would you look at that?”

A gaping hole in the fence was in front of them. Fresh cow patties said the cattle had recently gone through. Roan glanced around, checking for riders, before he dismounted for a closer look.

“Damn it! This is getting old,” he muttered to Hardy. If only they could set a trap, except the rustlers never hit the same place twice. This time, however, something was different. The path left behind them was clear and easy to follow. Had they gotten sloppy? Or was it an attempt to lure Roan and the others out into a trap of their own?

“If this ain’t the damn drizzlin’s.” Hardy strode to the trampled ground. “Roan, saddle up. We’re trailing the bastards. I’m mad enough to tackle ’em with my bare hands. Besides, Hanson and the others will be here soon to fix the fence.” He glanced at the rustler’s tracks.

“If we hurry, we can catch them.” Roan crawled back in the saddle and followed the marks in the dirt, always aware of the danger.

An hour later, he and Gage rode into the town of Piebald, where the tracks abruptly ended. Cold stares made it clear that the town didn’t have a welcome committee. Their horses clip-clopped down the street, the hair on Roan’s neck bristling. They stopped at a holding pen of sorts next to the stables and dismounted. Cattle milled inside it. Roan moved among them and found over three dozen wearing the Aces ’n’ Eights brand—a diamond with the number eight in the center.

A stocky, bald man marched toward him. “Hey, get out of there!”

Roan glanced at a group of youngsters playing marbles in the dirt and waited until the man got closer. If shooting started, he didn’t want the kids to get hit. “These cattle are stolen. I’m taking them back where they belong.”

“You ain’t taking nothing nowhere, mister.” The man jammed a hat onto his bald head and glared, his hand inching toward his gun. “Can you prove they’re stolen? Maybe you’re looking to steal them for yourself.”

Hardy Gage snorted.

“We work for Duel McClain at the Aces ’n’ Eights.” Roan rested his hand on his Colt. “Rustlers have been stealing us blind. My boss would be happy to claim his stock, but I have a feeling they won’t be here when he comes.”

“You’ll have to take this up with Rube. That’s all I know. I’m just guarding this pen.”

Roan’s ears perked up. “I’d be much obliged if you can tell me where to find Rube.”

At last, maybe he’d lay eyes on the guy. They must’ve been looking in the wrong place. Piebald wasn’t that far from San Saba, but neither was the needle in the haystack when you were trying to find it.

“Try the saloon down the street. Might find Rube there. But I warn you, mister, start trouble, and we’ll escort you both right out of town.”

They mounted up and had no trouble finding the Yellow Dog Saloon. Two men resting their bones against a pole for support would’ve given a seasoned lawman reason for pause. Still, he hadn’t tracked the mangy thieves for nothing.

No sooner had Roan swung his leg over and dismounted, than a wad of spit spattered the toe of his boot and dripped off.

“Who you think you’re staring at?” The snarl came from the spitter.

Roan untied his bandana from his neck and swiped his boot clean before he raised a glance. He didn’t bother replying. It never did any good.

Someone hurled a rotten egg, splattering the projectile against his leg, the stench rising upward. They made Gage a target as well. They’d need a bath after leaving here. After fitting in at the McClain’s, the hollered slurs almost didn’t matter so much.

“I’m talking to you, vagrant,” the man growled at Roan.

Nothing like a rooster fight to draw a crowd. Piebald appeared to overflow with exception-takers. Roan favored them with a wary glare but kept silent. By the way the welcome committee straightened, he knew these men inclined toward the nastier side.

“I asked what you’re staring at, boy.”

“Looks to me like this one’s off the reservation,” the other half of the duo sneered.

Whatever Roan did or said wouldn’t make any difference. They meant to show him the error of riding into their town, so he might as well get the ruckus started. He wasn’t about to apologize to anyone for taking up elbow room on this earth.

Mose’s old advice filtered through the haze. “You’ll spend the rest of your life gettin’ up if you let the likes of rotten no-accounts knock you down.”

Roan braced himself. “Not looking for trouble.”

“Must be, or you’d get back on that horse.”

A strange light filled Gage’s narrowed eyes. “Before you ride into a canyon, you better know how you’re gonna get out.”

“Why is that, old man?”

“We might be a lot more than you bargained for.”

Roan shot Gage a glance. He didn’t know how much the old ranch hand could take and wished he’d come alone. This welcome committee might really hurt Gage.

“You reckon they might take convincing, Bert?” Spitter asked.

“I suppose it’s a waste of time to ask if you know anything about a cut fence on the Aces ’n’ Eights ranch.” Roan’s low drawl took on a steely edge. “Wonder if I’d find a pair of wire cutters in your pockets.”

Spitter snorted. “You must be plumb stupid, boy. Can’t you see you’re not welcome here? I think we’ve made ourselves pretty plain. Get the hell gone!”

A woman striding toward a buggy caught Roan’s attention. Strands of her auburn hair caught the light. When she turned to glance in their direction, he recognized her as Virginia Creek. Her riding skirt and leather jacket looked expensive, and fit her like a glove. What was she doing in Piebald?

A tall, thin man stepped to her side and helped her up into the buggy.

Will Gentry.

Roan straightened his spine and started toward them but found his path blocked by Spitter and his friends. “Do whatever you feel you have to, but I’m going to speak to the lady.” He tried to shove past, conscious of the horde of people gathering, wondering where Gage had gone.

“Bert, I think he wants a licking, don’t you?” Spitter launched himself at Roan, aiming for his stomach. When Roan easily sidestepped, the bastard landed facedown in the dirt. The second man jumped into the fray. Again, Roan dodged the blows and landed two good ones of his own, sending Bert into the barber pole next door.

His attention was on the couple riding away in the buggy amid a cloud of dirt. He had to catch them. Two strides was all he managed to take before someone grabbed his arms from behind and wrenched them tight. Bound up, he made easy prey for the snarling cowards. The horde pounded on him until blood dribbled from his mouth.

Between blows, Roan found Gage. The man was fighting with two men attempting to tie him up.

“Hey now, what’s the trouble, boys?” a man asked.

An arm around Roan’s head prevented him from seeing who’d spoken. He only prayed the man would reason with the bullies.

One of the men holding him spoke. “Preacher Joe, I reckon this godforsaken cuss ain’t never been baptized. Have you, boy?”

A fist slammed into Roan’s kidney. Roan gasped in agony.

“Yeah, we’d consider it an honor to remedy that small oversight. We’d be plumb remiss to shirk our Christian duty,” A second man rasped.

Another fist whipped Roan’s face sideways, the pain making him see stars. If he could get loose, he’d get in some blows of his own, but their grips were bands of steel, cutting into his arms. The thought crossed his mind that he might not live through this. He wouldn’t if the crowd had any say in the matter. But Gage might make the difference if he could free himself.

“Well, that being the case, carry on the Lord’s work,” Preacher Joe said in a booming voice. He left Roan to the sinister flock, who dragged him away by his arms.

Roan spied the horse trough through a haze of bodies, and he knew they meant to drown him. These demons were too close for comfort to the hooded marauders of San Saba. Intent on killing him, the one binding his arms released him in order to hold his head under. Roan took a deep breath just as they dunked him.

He fumbled for his gun only to find the holster empty.

Dirty water washed the bloody grit from his eyes, and the rush of cold helped him think clearly. He managed to reach under the neck of his shirt for his Bowie knife and slid it from the sheath.

He rose, slashing the air. The angry mob scattered from reach. Light from the sun’s rays glinted on the steel blade. Roan held the weapon firmly and backed against his horse as a shot rang out. Luckily, the shooter missed, the bullet kicking up a spray of dirt near his feet.

Spitter lunged, and Roan hooked him under one arm, throwing him into the horse trough, shattering the wood. Water gushed out around their feet. The man sputtered but didn’t get up.

Spying his Colt on the ground, Roan picked it up and leveled it on the group, putting his knife back into the sheath. The men beat a hasty retreat. Someone else fired, and a bullet went through Roan’s Stetson, his hat jumping on his head. His Colt roared, spitting orange fire, sending a bullet into the knee of the man who’d fired his gun. The rabble-rouser went down. Another shot, and a piece of hot lead separated a boot, probably taking off the man’s toe in the bargain.

A scream rent the air.

“The next person who even blinks will get a bullet to the heart.” He delivered the steely warning, spitting blood.

“You’re not the law around here!” yelled one brave soul from the back.

“Maybe not, but my friend and I are leaving, and we’re taking those stolen cattle.” Backing up, he untied Hardy Gage. “Are you hurt?”

Hardy shook his head, holding his stomach. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Pain wracked Roan’s body as he used the last of his strength to put his feet in the stirrups and pull himself into Shadow’s saddle. “Come after us, and I’ll finish this once and for all. I guarantee you’ll lose.”

“We ain’t done with you yet, boy!” yelled Spitter from the mud.

Roan glared at his tormentor. “I’d watch the shadows if I were you. One of these days I might just be there.”

“Tell McClain he’ll never get the rest of his cattle,” said a booming voice from inside the saloon.

That confirmed that they knew the whereabouts of the herd. Roan was tempted to force an answer from these people, but he wasn’t in the best shape and neither was Hardy. If they didn’t leave now, they might not be able to get away at all.

Curses followed as he and Gage returned to the holding pen. He wiped away the blood trickling down into his eye and pointed his Colt at the guard. “Live or die. Your choice,” Roan snapped, his voice as hard as steel.

The man moved aside, then watched helplessly as Gage herded the stolen cattle out and onto the path leading back toward the Aces ’n’ Eights.

Shadow tossed her head, seeming as anxious as he to be rid of the town of Piebald.

Now, if he could just stay in the saddle. Yet each mile severely tested his determination.

Duel and the cowboys still worked at the section of downed fence when Roan arrived, clutching the mare’s mane with the last thread of his strength. They stared in disbelief, moving aside so the stolen beeves could go back into the pasture.

With a shout, Duel hurried to help him from the saddle. Sharp pain swept through his body as his boss and Hanson eased him and Hardy to the ground.

Roan glanced up at him with a grin. “We got the cattle back.”

“I can see that,” Duel answered, hollering for someone to bring water.

Hardy cussed a blue streak, holding a water canteen. “That mess in Piebald needs a lawman.”

Someone dabbed at the cut above Roan’s eye, though it didn’t stop the trickle of blood. Fire burned all the way down his body. He concentrated on the thin clouds overhead to take his mind from the agony.

He told his boss what the man inside the saloon had yelled as he was leaving. “They’re either directly involved or they know where the other cattle are being held. I wanted to stay and force the answer out of them, but I was in no”—he inhaled a shaky breath—“shape. Gage either.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gage declared. “I’m ready to go back and whip some bastards.”

“No, I’m glad you came on,” Duel answered. “I’ll take some men and go find them. But first, I want to get you both to the house before you pass out on me.”

* * *

Marley’s heart pounded when Roan appeared through the trees with her father and some of the hands. He was bent over, clutching his gray mare’s mane. She dropped the wash she was hanging on the line and yelled for her mother, then she raced toward him, fighting the strangling in her throat.

When she reached him, he tried to smile. “I’m fine, Marley Rose. No need for a fuss.”

Her father eased Roan from the saddle, and she knelt in the dirt beside him. “I have eyes. You’re in awful shape.”

Between Duel and Hanson, they half-carried Roan into the house while Hardy staggered behind.

Marley’s anger rose. The cuts and bruises on Roan’s body were clearly visible through the ripped strips of his bloody shirt.

“Fix Roan up first,” Hardy insisted. “They seemed to take pity on the old man.”

Marley put her hands on her hips. “Then why are you holding your stomach?”

“Aw, Marley Rose, it’s nothing that a little rest won’t help.”

“You’ll both get looked after,” Duel said firmly, settling the argument.

While her mother examined Roan, Marley hurried to collect their medical supplies. Roan’s gray eyes followed her. She yearned to kiss away his pain and take away his sadness.

She shot a glance at the triplets asleep in a bed in the corner and willed them to stay silent. Thank goodness, the children weren’t home from school yet either, so they weren’t underfoot. Matt would be right in the thick of things otherwise. Roan Penny was still his hero.

“What happened, Papa?” she asked.

Duel ran a hand through his hair. “Rustlers again. He and Hardy tracked them to Piebald. From what I can see, they were lucky to have ridden out.”

No one had to tell Marley how lucky he was. It appeared someone had meant to kill him.

Jessie laid down the washcloth. “I’m pretty sure you cracked a rib or two. I’ll bind them, but first I need to stitch the cut over your eye, Roan. It’s going to hurt.”

“Do whatever you need to,” he answered. “Marley, Rube was in Piebald along with the stolen cattle.”

“I can’t believe you found him. What did he look like?” She handed her mother a needle and watched her thread it with catgut.

“Well, I didn’t exactly see him—at least not that I know of. I was too busy dodging blows and then bullets. But a man at a holding pen told me Rube was at the saloon.” He wiped his good eye. “A man inside the saloon yelled for us to leave and then fired a shot.”

“I don’t know how you got those cattle back,” Duel said, “and dodged bullets. Are you sure you’re made of flesh and blood?”

Roan chuckled. “Pretty sure. I bled a lot for someone who doesn’t have any.”

Marley reached for Roan’s hand, being careful to avoid his scraped knuckles, while Jessie stitched the cut over his eye. Marley winced each time he flinched when the sharp needle met his tender flesh. If only she could do something. Anything. But all she could do was stand there and hand her mother what she needed.

“And, Marley,” Roan said, “Gentry was also there—in the company of Virginia Creek.”

She frowned. “It’s odd how they keep showing up together. Why is that, you think? Even though they have different last names and Silas Wheeler insisted they aren’t married, they sure keep each other company a lot.”

“I guess she could be his sister.”

“Maybe.”

At last Jessie wiped her hands. “It’s the best I can do. You probably need to see the doc in town.”

“Thank you for fixing me up, Mrs. McClain, but I don’t have time for a doctor. I’ll be fine.”

“Roan, you’ve escaped death more times than I can count,” Jessie said. “One day you may not. You need a safe, quiet job.”

“I warned him against taking on a whole passel of fired-up pot-lickers alone, Miz Jessie.” Hardy Gage grinned. “Roan here gave that God-blessed town hell.”

“They took exception to me, not the other way around,” Roan grunted. “I would’ve found the wire-cutters, too, if the bas”—he flushed, dodging Jessie’s and Marley’s glances before quickly amending—“varmints hadn’t tried to drown me in a horse trough. I’d lay odds that the rustlers were the very ones who started the fight.”

“I’d swear on a stack of Bibles.” Fire shot from Hardy’s eyes, then he winced when Jessie felt around on his stomach.

Duel gazed out at the pasture land. “It doesn’t surprise me that Piebald harbors the thieving bunch. Those folks never had any law.”

Fear struck Marley. More trouble galloped toward them like a thick black cloud of locusts.

“The boys are saddling up, Boss.” Judd stood, hat in hand. “We’ll get back the rest of the herd.”

Marley watched her papa’s expression darken, saw fury climb into his amber eyes.

“I’m riding in a few minutes—with or without them.”

“I’m going with you,” Roan insisted.

Hardy tried to rise only to have Jessie hold him down. “Me too. I’m just fine.”

Jessie glared. “You’re not going anywhere. You probably have bruised kidneys.”

“I reckon I do, but—”

“No buts, Mr. Stubborn.” Her mama was more than a match for the old ranch hand.

Marley’s stomach clenched as she watched her papa take a box of shells from the top of a kitchen cabinet. He grabbed his Winchester carbine from the rack next to the door. “I’d love to have both of you, but I’d sure appreciate it if you’d stay behind with a few men and protect the women and children. No telling what that gang will do next, and Gentry’s still lurking.”

Roan opened his mouth to object but closed it again. “We’ll keep everyone safe.”

Satisfied, Duel’s arm stole around Jessie’s waist, and he pulled her close. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Be careful.” Jess tipped her head for a kiss.

“Count on it.”

“Please don’t test my knitting skills. Besides, I don’t have a lot of catgut left.”

“Can’t promise. Depends on the mood of Piebald’s riffraff. Leave a light on for me.”

“Always.” Jessie cupped his square jaw tenderly.

With a heavy heart, Marley watched her father and Hardy disappear. Anything could happen. It took only a single glance at Roan’s bloody, torn shirt lying on the floor to remind her of that possibility.

Her mother convinced Hardy to lie down in the bunkhouse and bound Roan’s cracked ribs tightly. Muscles flexed in his brawny upper arms and rippled across the portion of his chest left bare of the wrapping. He met Marley’s worry and tried to summon a wry smile, as if to say getting the snot beat out of him was all part of some grand design. Only he’d come too late to convince her of that.

The dark bruises and cuts told of the thrashing he’d gotten. Tears for him stung the back of her eyes.

God, how she loved this man.