Dangerous Men (Flynn Family Saga Book 2) (2 page)

Someone grabbed Flynn from behind
and spun him.  A fist connected with Flynn’s jaw, and he staggered backward. 
Someone kicked his legs out from under him, and he fell heavily onto his back. 
He tried to curl up to protect his belly, but two of the men grabbed his arms
and dragged him to his feet.

Then, the beating began in earnest.

Twice, they let him go.

Twice, Flynn fell to the ground.

Twice, he staggered to his feet.

The third time, he could not lift
his head.  Darkness took him, and for a while, the pain stopped.

He dreamed that he was a prisoner
in Camp Sumter.  He watched, elated, as Ben and Sam escaped through the back
gate.  Then, the guards seized him.  They began to beat him with their fists,
and then with their rifles.  He felt a rib snap, and pain tore through him.  He
lay, panting, on the ground.  He tried to stand up, but he was too weak and
dizzy.

Flynn woke with a gasp.  He lay,
face down, on the ground.  Gingerly, he pushed himself onto his hands and
knees.  His chest ached, but he could draw a deep breath, so he probably didn’t
have any broken ribs.  He looked around.

Ellie Lonnegan lay on the ground
staring up at the sky.  Her bodice was torn, and her petticoats were bloody. 
Flynn crawled over to her.

There was no pulse.

Cursing, he got to his feet.  His
hand throbbed.  He picked up his pistol with his left hand and checked the
cylinder.  He smiled grimly.  Nick had even taken the bullets with him.  He
studied the ground.  At first, the trail was hard to read  because there were
too many prints, both of men and horses.  But after a few dozen yards, there
were only two sets, Tommy’s and the prints of a grown man.  Flynn followed them
until he found the boy, lying face up, with his leg at an unnatural angle.  His
face was bloody and bruised.  Flynn longed for water to clean the boy’s face,
but his canteen was empty.  He checked Tommy’s leg and winced.

It was broken.

Flynn stood up again.  The canyon
walls seemed to spin around him.  He shut his eyes until the dizziness passed. 
He opened his eyes and walked back to the wagon.  He took a couple of pieces of
wood from the broken crate and tore strips from Mrs. Lonnegan’s linen sheets. 
He went back to Tommy and set the boy’s leg.

Tommy woke with a cry.  For a
moment, terror darkened his light blue eyes.  Then, he focused on Mr. Flynn’s
face.  “Who were those men?”

“Outlaws.”

“Real live outlaws?”

Flynn nodded.  “Yes, Tommy.”  He
rummaged through the wreckage, but the Vaughns had taken all their food.  Flynn
sighed.  He picked up Tommy and started to walk.

*  *  *

Five days after Flynn left, Maggie
stood at the edge of the circle of wagons and watched the sunrise.  She stared
out across the barren landscape, and the sense of foreboding was too great to
ignore.  She strode to the picket line and saddled Patches, the little paint
Sam had given her.  She heard heavy footsteps behind her and turned.

Sam stood behind her.  “Unsaddle
your horse, Maggie.”

“But—”

“I’m boss of this outfit, and I’m
telling you to unsaddle your horse.”

Maggie met his gaze levelly, but
tears shimmered in her eyes.  “Aren’t you worried about Flynn?”

Sam turned and stared northward.

“Major?”

Sam hesitated.  Then, he nodded.  “After
breakfast, I’ll send Ben out looking for him.”

Maggie lifted her chin.  “I’m going
too.”

Sam shook his head.  “No.”

“Yes.”  She tilted her chin up.  “I’m
a better tracker than Ben is.  I’m the one who found Flynn when he was sick
with cholera.”

Sam sighed again.  “All right,
Magpie.  But you’re going to need a good breakfast if you’re going to be riding
all day.”  He led her back to Frank’s cook fire.

Maggie walked beside Sam in
silence.  She tried to eat, but the knot in the pit of her stomach robbed her
of her appetite.  Finally, she gave up and went to the picket line.  Ben was
already there, adjusting cinch strap on Lightning’s saddle.  They mounted their
horses and rode out.  Maggie longed to kick Patches into a gallop, but she knew
that in this rough, dry country, she needed to pace him.  With a sigh, she held
him to a walk.

CHAPTER
TWO

Two days later, Maggie and Ben
reached the place where Flynn and the Lonnegans left the train.  They camped
for the night.  Ben took the first watch.  Maggie lay awake a long time,
worrying.  Finally, she slept, but her dreams were troubled.  She dreamed of
the night her father set fire to the Christmas tree.  She smelled the acrid
odor of smoke and woke with panic pounding through her veins.

The air was hot and still.  Maggie
sat up and stirred the embers of the fire.  She set the pot on the fire and
started to make coffee.

Ben snatched the pot out of her
hand.  “Not on your life, Magpie.  I want to live long enough to kill Flynn for
dragging us out here on a wild goose chase.  Two to one, he stayed in Jensen’s
Wells, consoling that widow woman.”

Maggie nodded with her face averted
so Ben wouldn’t see how much his words hurt.  She was careful not to let anyone
know that she was in love with Flynn.

Maggie and Ben ate hardtack and
sipped coffee.  Ben’s coffee was better than hers, but she missed Flynn’s
coffee.

She missed Flynn.

With a sigh, Maggie threw out the
dregs of her coffee and began to pack up their camp.  She saddled Patches, but
she did not mount him.  Instead, she walked along the trail, frowning.  At
first, there were too many tracks, tracks of both horses and people.  But as
she ranged northward, she found a set of wagon tracks, and Scout’s distinctive
shoeprint.

Her heart went cold.  “Ben, this
wagon wheel’s no good.”

Ben dismounted Lightning and came
over to her.  He studied the trail.  Slowly, he nodded.  “Most likely, they had
to fetch a replacement from Jensen’s Wells, that’s all.”

Maggie shook her head.  “Mrs.
Lonnegan had a spare.  I remember because I had to show her how to lash it to
the side of the wagon after her husband died.”  She sighed.  “Well, at least
the trail will be easy to follow.”

Ben shook his head.  “You are the
most optimistic person I’ve ever met.  Tell me, Magpie, do you still believe in
Santie Claus?”

Maggie grinned.  “I sure do.  Don’t
you?”

Ben laughed.  “Come on.  Let’s see
where this trail leads.”

Maggie nodded.  She mounted
Patches, and they rode along the wagon tracks.  At noon, Maggie reined in Patches next to a water hole.

"Maggie, no!"  Ben leaped
from his horse and grabbed the reins.  He pointed to the rotting carcass of a
horse.

Maggie shuddered.  "What
happened to it?"

Ben's mouth thinned, and a muscle
jumped along his jaw.  "Poison."

Maggie blinked.  "Who would
poison a waterhole?  And why?"

Ben shook his head.  "I don't
know."

*  *  *

They found the broken wheel near
sunset the following day.  Maggie dismounted and studied the ground.  Slowly,
she nodded.  “They replaced the wheel, but then they camped here.”  She
frowned.  “There are a lot of other prints here, Ben.  It looks like at least
seven or eight different horses.  Here’s Scout.”  She pointed to the triangular
marks etched deeply into the dusty soil from Scout’s special horseshoes.  She
frowned as she studied the ground.  “Ben, this is Flynn’s footprint, going in
the opposite direction.”

Ben dismounted.  He studied the
mark in the soil.  Slowly, he nodded.  “Yup.”

Maggie chewed her lip.  “It doesn’t
make sense, Ben.  Scout is headed east, and Flynn is walking west.”

“No, it doesn’t."  Ben stood
among the debris from Ellie Lonnegan's wagon.

Maggie came over to Ben and studied
the ground.  There were drag marks leading westward down the trail.  Maggie
followed them until she came to Ellie Lonnegan’s body.  She turned away and
clenched her teeth against the bitter bile that rose in her throat.  Ben
touched her shoulder, and she turned back to him with, her jaw set and her
hands clenched into fists.  “They
raped
her.”

Ben nodded slowly.  “Yes, Maggie,
they did.”

Maggie looked away, westward. 
After a long silence, she sighed.  She took the shovel from Patches’ back and
began to dig a grave for Ellie Lonnegan.

When they finished burying her,
Maggie went back to the place where she had seen Flynn’s footprints.  At least eight
sets of prints crisscrossed the sand.  The strangers’ prints headed east, along
with Scout’s.  The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened painfully.  “Ben, I
think they took the wagon and Scout.”  She swung up onto Patches’ back.

Ben grabbed the reins and shook his
head.  “It’s almost dark, Magpie.  If you tear off after them, you’ll probably
end up breaking your leg.  Or Patches’.  Or both.”

Maggie sighed.  “You’re right.” 
Reluctantly, she chewed her lip.  “Look at this place.  It’s a perfect spot for
an ambush.  I don’t want to camp here, Ben.  Let’s go somewhere a little less
vulnerable.”

Ben nodded solemnly.  “There’s a
spot back down the trail a ways.”

Maggie sighed.  The last thing she
wanted was to backtrack, but she knew Ben was right.  They rode about a half a
mile east before they camped on a low hill.  She built a fire, and Ben made
supper.  Maggie pushed her food around her plate.  She stood up and stretched. 
“I’ll take the first watch, Ben.  I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Ben nodded and squeezed her
shoulder.  “Flynn can take care of himself, Magpie.”

Maggie nodded, but the knot in the
pit of her stomach tightened a little more.

The night passed without incident. 
Around midnight, Ben relieved her.  Maggie sighed and lay on her bedroll. 
Eventually, she slept.  She dreamed of the first time she saw Flynn.  She ran
to the corral through the pouring rain.  Ed Thompson was late, as usual.  He
was out of breath as he climbed the fence.  “Sorry, O’Brien.”

Maggie simply nodded.  Sidney, Mr.
Thompson's lead horse, whinnied and tossed his head.  Thompson backed away.  Maggie
sighed.  “You’re the boss, Mr. Thompson.  Don’t ever forget that, and Sidney
won’t, either.”  She handed him a sugar lump and showed him how to feed it to
his lead horse without losing a finger. 

Thompson nodded uncertainly.  He
held the sugar lump in the palm of his hand.  Sidney nibbled it delicately.  A
smile spread slowly across Ed Thompson’s thin face.  “I think he likes me.”

Maggie laughed.  “Well, he likes
sugar, that’s for sure.”

Thompson laughed with her.  He
patted Sidney’s nose, and the stallion tossed his head.

Maggie shook out the harness. 
Thompson got the bit into the horse’s mouth and the reins over his back.  He
wrapped the reins around his wrists.

“Don’t!”  Maggie began.

Thunder cracked, and Sidney
bolted.  Mr. Thompson fell into the mud with the reins wrapped around his
wrist.  The stallion dragged him several feet before Maggie could get in front
of them.  Sidney stopped and reared, his hooves just inches from the top of
Maggie’s head.  She held her breath, but Sidney settled down quickly.  With a
sigh, Maggie turned to the man, still lying in the mud.  “Are you hurt?”

Slowly, shakily Ed Thompson got to
his feet.  He shook his head.

“Maybe you ought to rethink using a
stallion as your lead horse.”

Maggie turned.  A tall, thin man wearing
a canvas duster, lounged against the fence.  She nodded.  “That’s what I’ve
been telling him, but he wants breeding stock when he reaches Wyoming.”  She
grinned.  “And Mr. Thompson is as stubborn as Sidney is.”

“Sidney?”  The tall man tilted back
his hat, revealing a face that took Maggie’s breath away, all planes and
angles.  She stared for a long time into his dark brown eyes.  Then, she nodded
and looked back at the horses.  “Sidney Carton.  That’s what he calls the
stallion.  His name is Edward Thompson.”  She climbed the fence and held out a
muddy hand.  She realized how dirty her hand was and rubbed it on her pants’
leg until it was clean and held it out again.  “My name is O’Brien.”

“Flynn.  I’m scout for this outfit.” 
Flynn clasped her hand firmly.

Maggie felt a strange sensation in
the pit of her stomach.  Her face felt hot despite the cold rain.  Then, the
name registered.  Maggie’s eyes widened.  “You’re not Robert Sean Flynn, are
you?”

Flynn nodded.  “Yes, I am.”

“I've read every book Mr. Henderson
wrote about you!”

Flynn’s face reddened.  “Don’t
believe everything you read.”

“O’Brien!  Are you going to stand
there all day?”

Sam’s growl startled her.  Maggie
climbed the fence and picked up the reins.  “Never, ever wrap the reins around
your wrist like that.  If the tongue breaks free—and it will if you hit a big
enough rock—you could break your neck.  Now, hold the reins like this.”  She put
the loop over her wrists.  “This way, you can hold on tightly, but if you have
to, you can let the loops slip over your hands.”  She turned back to ask Flynn
for his opinion, but he was gone.

She started to cry.

Maggie woke with Ben kneeling
beside her.  “Are you all right?”

Maggie smiled wanly at him and
nodded.  “It was just a dream, Ben.”  She got up stiffly.  She felt tired and
limp, but she forced herself to eat.  Then, they rode back to the place where
the wagon wheel broke.

Maggie frowned at a depression in
the ground with a large boulder in the center.  “Look at this, Ben.”

Ben came over to the hole and
whistled.  “It was a trap.”  He looked to the east and then to the west.  “All
right, Magpie, which way do we go?”

Maggie studied the tracks that ran
eastward.  Then, she turned and followed the tracks that led west.  Finally,
she sighed.  “I think we follow Flynn’s tracks.  There are at least eight of
them and only two of us.  If they
are
outlaws...”

“Yeah.”  Ben took off his hat,
wiped the sweat from his forehead and put his hat back on.

Maggie mounted Patches, and they
rode west.

The terrain grew rockier the
further west they traveled.  Time and time again, they lost the trail.  Once,
they hit a patch of sand.  Maggie dismounted and knelt on the soft ground.  She
saw two equal depressions in the sand and a spots that might have been dried
blood.  She frowned and stood up.  Then, she noticed that her own knees had
made similar marks in the sand.  She closed her eyes.  She saw Flynn’s face,
all planes and angles, grinning at her.  “He was injured, Ben!”

Ben squeezed her shoulder.  “Easy,
Maggie.  Flynn’s hard to kill, remember?”

Maggie nodded.  She remembered his
fight against cholera.  Slowly, she drew a deep breath.  She opened her eyes
and stood up.  “This way.”

They continued to follow the tracks
until dusk.

That night, Ben took the first
watch.  Maggie slept, but she dreamed of living over the saloon during the
war.  She smelled the stench of stale beer and cheap cigars.  She heard the
drunken laughter of a man as he climbed the stairs with one of the girls who
worked in the saloon downstairs.

Ben woke her.  “Maggie?”

She gasped and sat up.  She felt
cold, despite the hot, dry air.

Ben looked worried.  “I should take
you back.”

“No!”  Her voice sounded terribly
loud in the stillness of the badlands.  “No,” she said more quietly.  “I’ll be
all right.”  She rubbed her face with her hands.  “Get some sleep, Ben.  I’ll
keep watch.”

He nodded.

Maggie got up and checked her
rifle.  It was loaded, and there was a round in the chamber.  Her hands shook,
but whether with anger or fear, she could not have said.

Ben lay down on his bedroll.  In
moments, he was snoring.

Maggie envied him.

*  *  *

Flynn stared down at the child in
his arms.  Tommy’s face was pale and shone with sweat.  He whimpered with every
step Flynn took.  For a moment, the boy’s face blurred, and he saw Jennie’s
face, bruised and bloody.  Guilt pummeled him, harder than the outlaws had.  He
shut his eyes and sank to his knees.

Tommy began to cough.

Flynn tried to concentrate on the
earth beneath him, the way the Lakota had taught him.  Slowly, gradually,
strength flowed into him.  His chest still ached, but it seemed distant, almost
as if the pain belonged to someone else.  Flynn struggled to his feet.  Tommy
cried out in pain.  Flynn winced.  He took one step forward, then another and
another.

He staggered westward, hoping to
find water.

The days blurred together.  He knew
he wasn’t moving fast enough.  He cut chunks of cactus with his belt buckle. 
He squeezed the juice into Tommy’s mouth first, and then drank it himself.  It
kept him alive, but hunger was weakening him.  He prayed, silently, for rain,
but each morning seemed to dawn hotter than the last.

After five days, he fell one more
time, and this time, he couldn’t get up.  He bowed his head over Tommy’s limp
form.  He wasn’t even sure the boy was still alive.

Get up!  Get up, Eagle Heart
! 
He heard Pathfinder’s voice as clearly as if the Lakota chief stood behind him.

Flynn’s head jerked up.  He looked
around.

The desert was empty.

Then, he remembered.  Pathfinder
had died during the war.  Tears burned his eyes, but he could not cry.

And yet, he felt better, stronger. 
More alert.  Once more, he got to his feet.  Once more, he started to walk. 
This time, he angled southward, hoping to meet up with the wagon train.

*  *  *

Morning came, and still the weather
didn’t break.  The sun rose like a ball of fire, and less than an hour later,
the heat began to shimmer above the rocky ground.  Despite the heat and the
nightmares, energy sizzled along Maggie’s arms and legs.  She ate quickly and
mounted Patches.  Ben mounted Lightning.  Together, they continued to follow
the trail.  From time to time, Maggie had to dismount and check the ground, but
she always found some sign of Flynn’s progress.  Once, it was a scrap of cloth
from Flynn’s Levi's.  Another time, she found the marks of his knees by a dry
water hole.  They came to a stretch of sand, and Flynn’s footprints led south
and west.  They were uneven, as if he were staggering.