Lois Greiman Page 4

  But he willed his legs to hold him steady. Whoever had trussed him up like a Thanksgiving goose was not planning a pleasant Sunday social, and he needed to escape immediately. Clumsily turning his back to the door, he tested the latch. It refused to move beneath his numbed fingers, and he silently swore. It was locked and his hands were tied, literally and figuratively.

  First things first. Free his hands, then contemplate his next move. Straightening, Travis tested his legs again. They were a bit steadier now, his steps more true. He walked carefully back in the direction from which he’d come.

  It was like blindman’s bluff with no hands to feel his way and a splintering ache in his head. His boots tread on something softer now. A rug. He slowed his steps even more. His thigh thumped against the hard edge of something and he turned. There was little enough mobility in his arms, but he stretched them as far back as he could, feeling along the surface of what he figured to be a desk.

  Papers. Several books. An inkwell and…

  His hands brushed something hard and cool. He felt it topple and jerked to catch it, but he was too slow and it crashed to the floor.

  Travis sucked air through his teeth and waited. Surely the noise would alert someone, but no footsteps came, and he realized in a moment that the object’s fall had been blessedly muffled by the carpet.

  Kneeling with some difficulty, he skimmed the floor with his fingertips.

  The broken globe of the lamp sliced the pad of his right index finger before he had time to ascertain what the object was. He drew his hands away, stifled a curse, and realized in a moment that this was the answer to his most pressing problem. Finding the curved glass, he steadied a large broken piece beneath the heel of one boot and thrust his hands over the shard. It cut his wrist immediately, but he ignored the wound and shifted his position.

  Hemp scraped against jagged glass. Back and forth. Back and forth. He could hear voices again and wondered if they were getting nearer. Travis sawed faster, hoping he was making progress.

  A shout sounded from outside. He pushed harder against the glass. It broke and he swore, aloud this time. He winced, waiting a moment.

  From somewhere in the house a door swung open, allowing the harsh swell of many voices to reach him. Travis hurriedly shifted his weight, settling his heel against a smaller piece of glass and sawing with increased speed.

  Something was afoot. Something that boded ill for his continued survival. He could tell by the cramping ache in his ribs.

  “Dead?”

  That one word sounded loud and clear as day. Ryland gritted his teeth, knowing what this meant. Patterson had been discovered and the townspeople had arrived. But why? Wouldn’t they assume the mayor had died from a fall?

  He needed more time. Just a bit more, but footsteps were coming toward him. Travis shifted again, pushing the lamp away, hoping it was hidden below the desk. Falling to his side, he lay still and closed his eyes.

  A key turned in the lock. The door was thrust open.

  “But please, my good people. He deserves a fair trial.”

  “Trial! The money’s gone and George is dead!”

  Travis opened his eyes to the glaring light and blinked. He had no need to see the faces that crowded around the upheld lamp. He’d seen lynch mobs before.

  “We’re just lucky Red here apprehended him before he got out of town.” The speaker had a walrus moustache and narrow eyes. “What’d you do with the money?”

  Travis remained silent, waiting.

  “He killed George.”

  “Deserves no better hisself.”

  “But where’d he put the money?”

  “Please, people,” interrupted a man with silver hair and brocade robe. Thomas Grey, Ryland deduced. “How do we know it was he that committed the murder?”

  “Know? Red here seen him do it,” said a gritty voice.

  “Is that true, Red?” asked Grey, his expression as concerned as his tone.

  The man called Red shifted nervously. He was narrow and tall, with fire-bright hair. “It was dark. But I seen it all.” He shook his head as if still stunned by the horror of what he’d witnessed. “George. He was such a harmless gent and…” His words faltered.

  Travis’s mind careened along. The man was lying, and he was damned good at it. But why? And what about Grey? Was he trying to sound like a good peacemaker for the sake of the townspeople? Had he been the one who had hit him?

  “You saw George stabbed?” Grey asked solemnly.

  Stabbed? Every muscle in Ryland’s body wrenched. Patterson had been stabbed? But why, when he was already dead?

  “I seen it all, Mr. Grey,” said Red, and shuddered.

  “God help us,” Grey murmured, shaking his head miserably. “And the murderer—you’re sure…”

  “It was him!” Red raised two fingers abruptly toward Travis. “But I couldn’t catch up to him right off. So I followed him. Only I lost him in the dark. Then all of a sudden like, there he was—right in front of me. I didn’t want to shoot him. It all happened so quick—wasn’t sure who he was. So I just swung with my rifle.”

  “And you’re sure? You’re sure it’s the same man?”

  Red nodded grimly. “He’s the one. He killed George.”

  There was an angry swelling of sound, like incensed bees, and then the men poured into the room, undeterred by one frail voice that still questioned the whereabouts of the money.

  There was nothing Travis could do. His head swam as he was jerked to his feet. The walls dipped and blackness threatened. His feet faltered, but there was no need for him to walk, for he was being carried along by his still bound arms.

  The mob swarmed outside with him, bubbling about in seething rage.

  The fat yellow moon leered down on him, granting just enough light for Travis to see the rope.

  From the dark, hidden copse, Katherine grasped a branch in each hand and peered through the unfolding leaves. What was happening? Had the world gone mad?

  Ryland stood in the center of a rumbling crowd. She could just make out his head above the others’, but it was the rope that drew the gasp from her.

  This couldn’t be happening! He was innocent! And she knew it!

  The noose swayed from the branch of a nearby scrub oak, stiff and waiting. The mob pressed toward it. Katherine watched the madness unfold as if each part was played with no more consequence than if they were but actors on a stage.

  “Hang him!”

  “No.” She found she’d only whispered the word.

  The noose was pulled downward. Ryland was pressed nearer, and suddenly the horrid reality of the situation broke through to her senses. She was beside the huge horse in a second, her hands on the long gun behind his saddle. She pulled it free with some difficulty, and then she was running through the undergrowth toward the mob.

  “No!” she screamed. “Don’t!”

  The crowd took no notice. There were angry shouts all around. She felt small and helpless. Her hands tightened around the rifle.

  Never in her life had she fired a gun, but she’d seen it done, and desperation made her act. Cocking the thing with shaking hands, she tilted the muzzle toward the inky sky, and fired.

  Her buttocks hit the ground with numbing force. The rifle fell from her stinging fingers, but she scrambled to her feet, only noticing the quiet that had settled in like a wet blanket, chill and uncomfortable.

  “He didn’t do it!” Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. Every face was turned toward her.

  There was a moment of silence, then, “How do you know?” A man in a robe stepped away from the mob.

  “I was…” Katherine stumbled on her own words. She needed to save Ryland, but to condemn herself was more than she could do without blanching.

  “Who are you?” The robed man stepped closer.

  Katherine pressed her palms to her nightshift, suddenly remembering her shameful state of undress. Before she could explain, there were shouts of outrage and shock. Bodies near the
center of the crowd toppled like toy soldiers and then a man careened away from the mob.

  “Run!” Travis shouted, but Katherine was stuck to the ground like a great tree root as she gaped at Ryland’s galloping form. His arms were unbound, and he yelled again, something indiscernible, as he sprinted toward the trees. She watched him go as shots rang out mingled with shouts. Bullets whizzed their high-pitched threats of death.

  Ryland jerked once and faltered, but he collected himself and sped on, finally diving through the screen of trees and out of sight.

  Katherine had no time to think. Men were screaming. People were running toward her. Hoofbeats thundered behind her, and she turned dully.

  “Come on!” Ryland was aboard the giant horse and racing toward her. “Come on, woman!” he shouted again, but Katherine could not yet fathom the vulnerability of her own position.

  “I’m innocent,” she whispered numbly, still believing in justice with fanatic childishness. “I’m innocent,” she said more loudly, and turned to declare that fact to the men behind her.

  A gun exploded close at hand. The bullets twanged between her legs. Katherine bent, staring at the hole bored cleanly through her nightshift. Then, lifting her head with numb slowness, she reached abruptly for Ryland’s outstretched arm.

  The stallion never stopped. The momentum of his power aided by Ryland’s strong grip whipped Katherine up behind the saddle.

  Bullets shrieked past. Katherine wrapped her arms about Ryland, pressed her face into his back and prayed with her eyes closed.

  The sound of bullets became less frequent, but hoofbeats could still be heard. Katherine refused to open her eyes and prayed more fervently, gripping Ryland with petrified fingers.

  Soldier’s hoofbeats echoed down a hard-packed street. He took the corner with the litheness of a huge cat, and Katherine nearly fell, slipping dangerously down the horse’s side and feeling a scream rip from her throat,

  Ryland’s hand clutched her thigh, holding her steady as she clambered upright again.

  They were going back toward Grey’s house! Why? Was he insane? Every able-bodied man in Silver Ridge was waiting to send them to meet their Maker.

  Soldier turned slightly, and his hoofbeats were muffled on grass. Their passage was barely audible here. Finally understanding Ryland’s plan, Katherine prayed their pursuers had continued on in their original direction.

  The clamor of town was left behind. No more gunshots. No hoofbeats followed as far as Katherine could tell, but her heart raced along on such a noisy course that it was impossible to know for certain.

  They seemed to ride forever. Blackness turned to gray around them, and still they continued. The terrain was never level, but tilted up and down dramatically, throwing Katherine from side to side.

  Trees whizzed by as ghosts of shifting shadows. They hit a downhill slope at a gallop. Soldier barely slowed but set his big haunches and slid, dodging trees with breathtaking agility. He leaped. There was a sensation of being airborne, and then they splashed into water that suddenly rushed around and past.

  It sprayed upward, soaking them all as Soldier struggled to keep his footing amongst the moss-covered rocks.

  Miles sped by in jolts and jerks, but finally the stallion stumbled to a trembling halt, his breath coming hard and fast.

  “Are we stopping?” Katherine asked, turning her head to skitter a glance behind. “Shouldn’t we hide? Mightn’t they still be following?”

  Travis Ryland said nothing. His shoulders slumped as, without fanfare or warning, he fell from her grasp into the roiling water.

  Chapter 5

  Katherine stared silently down at Ryland’s sinking body.

  “Dear God,” she whispered, gripping the wet cantle. “Mr. Ryland!” she screamed, but Ryland failed to answer, for he was unconscious and drowning.

  She half fell from the horse, floundered in the rolling stream, then struggled after Ryland’s gently floating body. She grasped him with stiff fingers, turning him faceup.

  “Mr. Ryland,” she whispered shakily. The water was turning pink around them. Nausea turned her stomach. She wasn’t good with injuries. In fact, splinters were known to make her light-headed.

  She swayed woozily then closed her eyes with a snap. If she fainted, she would drown, she thought with unexpected common sense, and opened her eyes to find the source of his lost blood.

  “Don’t panic,” she said aloud, then shifted her eyes to find the bullet wound in his arm. It was half hidden by his tattered sleeve. With a shudder she continued to search for wounds and stopped at the sight of his right thigh. He’d been shot at least twice. Katherine loosened her grip and lifted a hand to cover her mouth.

  His big body slipped sideways, tugged languidly downstream.

  “No!” she cried, grabbing him again. This was no time for hysterics she told herself. No time for fainting. No time for anything but coolheaded action. But at the moment she didn’t want to be coolheaded or active. She wanted to sleep, to curl up into a ball of forgetfulness and wake to learn it was all no more than a bad dream. But even in dreams one must do what needs doing. She bit her lip. “Hold on,” she whispered, and rose awkwardly to her feet, keeping a splay-fingered grip on Ryland’s saturated shirt.

  The current wasn’t fast, but was strong enough to make maneuvering difficult, even without her soggy burden.

  Eventually Katherine tripped over the final rock and fell with a splash atop Travis for the fifth time. Her breath came in deep gasps, and she stayed as she was for a moment, her chest pressed over his as she rested momentarily. “Made it,” she croaked.

  Something touched her back. She squealed in terror and jerked about.

  Soldier nuzzled her again, his big eyes wide and sorrowful.

  “Don’t panic,” she advised him shakily, wanting to pat his nose reassuringly but lacking the strength. “He’ll be all right.” She pushed herself doggedly to her feet then staggered backward, dragging the man’s limp body by his uninjured arm.

  The struggle onto the rocky bank of the river was the most difficult yet. Ryland seemed to have doubled in weight and refused to budge once the mass of his large upper body was free of the frigid water. Katherine pulled frantically at him, but there was no strength left in her trembling arms. She was at the end of her reserves.

  Soldier shuffled an apologetic step forward, leaning over his master with doglike devotion.

  Katherine’s head ached with fatigue, but the fear that their pursuers still followed made her press on. “Got to hide him,” she murmured to the horse, her gaze skimming his dragging reins.

  That was it!

  Katherine grasped the thick ropes of braided leather. It took several minutes to untie them from the metal bit. Slipping the first saturated rein beneath Ryland’s body, she tried to avoid his wound as she pried it under his arms to tie it securely over his chest. The second rein was tied to the first before she tripped forward.

  Jabbering soothingly to the horse, Katherine led him by the bridle, stopping him with his hind feet just inches from his master’s head.

  She hurried back to Ryland and, finding no better way, tied the second rein to an empty stirrup.

  It took several moments for her to convince the horse to drag Ryland up the slope, and Katherine winced as the man’s body scraped over the sharp underbrush, for surely it cut his back as badly as it did her bare feet. But the torturous journey didn’t last long, for the answer to her prayers appeared in the form of a deep ravine. It was neither long nor wide, but large enough to hide two people and a horse.

  Ryland was dragged as close to the slope as possible, and then, with some difficulty, Katherine untied the rein from the stirrup. Biting her lip and employing every bit of her ebbing strength, she pushed at his inert form, finally prying it from its spot and over the edge of the small fissure.

  He slid crookedly, and then, gaining momentum, toppled down the short, rocky slope to bump limply to the bottom.

  Katherine scrambled af
ter him. “I’m sorry,” she said bending down, not noticing the scrapes and oozing bruises that troubled her own body, and touching his throat where the pulse was weak but discernible. “I’m so sorry.”

  His bearded face was pale, with a smear of blood on his temple. She wiped it away with unsteady fingertips.

  “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.” Tears swelled in the tide of her terror. What if he died? He could have escaped more easily without her. Her gaze strayed to his arm. It was bleeding, as was his leg, and she knew she must stanch the flow.

  Tearing the hem of her nightshift with her teeth, she ripped it upward, then sideways, until she had a long, frayed strip of soft once-white fabric. His arm was limp and heavy, his thigh as thick as a tree trunk. She tied the cotton carefully around his upper leg, praying it was not too tight but just tight enough.

  That task done, she settled back on her bare, raw heels and cried.

  She cried for Ryland, who would probably die trussed up in a rag from her nightshift. She cried for her mother who would be heartbroken when she learned of her only daughter’s fate. She cried for Soldier, for Daisy, for Patterson, for her deceased aunt, Dahlia, and finally, and most loudly, she cried for herself.

  Crying turned to sobs. Sobs turned to chest-heaving gasps and finally to hiccupping wails.

  “Can I take this to mean things ain’t going good?”

  Katherine jumped at Ryland’s words. “You’re awake!”

  “Am I?” Ryland’s voice was tortured and weak as he winced. “I was hoping it was only a dream.”

  “No!” She shook her head, taking his words at face value. “It’s not a dream, Mr. Ryland.” She scurried closer. “We’re in a great deal of trouble. They think you killed the mayor. You were shot.” She hiccupped, swiping at her tear-streaked face. “Twice. We got to the river but nearly drowned. We have nothing to eat, you need a physician, and I’m lost.” She paused for a breath before continuing, but noticed with a fresh spark of horror that his eyes had fallen closed. “Mr…” She touched his arm gently. “Ryland?” she said softly. “What do we do now?”