Outlaw Hearts (15 page)

“Goddamn, you split my lip!” Clarence yelled, jumping away from her.

Miranda was immediately on her feet, gripping a rock she had grabbed as she rose. She threw it at him, and Clarence cried out when it hit him hard in the ribs.

“You bitch!” he snarled. “You slut!”

“Get out of my sight, or by God I'll find my pistol and
kill
you!” Miranda told him. She heard the sound of people crashing through the trees.

“Mrs. Hayes! What's wrong?” someone shouted. “Mrs. Hayes! Is it you out there? Are you all right?”

“Pa!” Clarence shouted back before Miranda could answer. “Pa, I think she broke my rib!”

“Clarence!” Miranda recognized James Gaylord's voice. The man came closer to his son. “What happened?”

“What is going on here?” The demand came from Reverend Jennings. The man's brothers, and his friend Adam Hummer also arrived on the scene. “Did you see Indians? What happened?”

“What's going on?”

Miranda recognized Hap Dearing's voice. She knew what they would all think, and it made her want to crawl into a hole. Before she could make any reply, Clarence began carrying on about how she had lured him here and made him think he could kiss her. Through tears he told how she had suddenly changed her mind and started screaming and fighting him. “She's just trying to get me in trouble, Pa,” he wept. “I know I shouldn't have come out here with her. I'm sorry, Pa.”

“Get back to camp!” Gaylord commanded his son. Miranda could not see his face well, but she could sense his fury.

“Your son followed me here deliberately,” she told the man. “He's handing you a pack of lies to get himself out of trouble. Can't you see that? He attacked me! He tried to force himself on me!”

“Enough!” This time it was the reverend who spoke up. “We will go back to camp and talk about this.” The man turned and stormed away, and the others followed, no one offering to walk with Miranda. She walked behind them, shaking from Clarence's abuse, wishing she could bathe and wash off his touch, the saliva he had left on her neck. How ironic that she had spent several days with a notorious outlaw and never once felt threatened the way she had felt around Clarence from the first day they left Independence. How she hated him! She knew already no one was going to listen to her side of the story. Their minds were made up. Clarence had given a convincing performance.

She longed for a friend, someone to turn to. She needed someone's understanding at this moment, but when she looked at the faces around the fire when they reached camp, she saw not one kind face. Hap Dearing and his men looked at her as though she were wearing rouge and a red taffeta dress. One of them looked ready to burst out laughing as his eyes boldly roved over her, as though to say he knew all along she was easy. The Jennings men, as well as the brother-in-law James Gaylord, and their missionary friend Adam Hummer, all gave her accusing stares, the Reverend Jennings glaring at her with his nose in the air like a pious judge.

“Mrs. Hayes, we have already discussed the possibility of leaving you behind at one of the forts,” he told Miranda. “I am terribly sorry, but that is what we are going to have to do.”

Miranda felt the panic setting in. If they left her behind, she would have to go on with strangers she didn't know anything about. And what kind of people would be at the place where they would leave her? How long would it take to find someone new to travel with? If she had to wait too long, she would never make it all the way to Nevada this summer. She would be stranded in the middle of nowhere. “I did absolutely nothing improper,” she told the preacher. “Your nephew has been harassing me ever since we left Independence. I have asked him time and again to leave me alone! He has spread lies about me and—”

“I won't listen to any more to your own lies!” Clarence's father roared.

“Why do you think I screamed and fought him!” Miranda shouted back. “Does that sound like a woman who had lured him out there for illicit purposes?”

“You just wanted to get me in trouble, to try to prove it was all me!” Clarence put in, the tears still coming. “You touched me! You said if I came out there with you, you'd show me about women!”

Miranda closed her eyes. Oh, how she wanted to kill! She felt on fire, full of rage, and she breathed deeply for control. She needed to scream and cry, but she was determined not to crumble in front of these pompous asses. She held her chin high and faced the reverend. “If you want to believe your nephew over me, there is nothing I can do about it,” she told him calmly. “I am telling you that you are wrong, Reverend, and if you leave me behind, the sin will be on your head for abandoning an innocent woman. I hope it haunts you forever!”

She saw the man flinch, saw the hint of doubt in his eyes, and she hoped he'd choke on that doubt. “Go ahead and leave me behind. I really don't care anymore. I would rather walk the rest of the way with my trunk on my back than to spend the next two months with such people. And you call yourselves
Christians
!”

She turned and walked away, almost anxious now to be left behind so that she would never have to look at their faces again.
You're a survivor, Miranda Hayes
, she told herself.
You'll make it to Nevada with or without them.
Everyone had tried to tell her she couldn't do this, but by God she would!

“There's a trading post not far ahead,” she heard Hap Dearing telling the reverend. “It's not very big, but at least there are supplies there in case she gets stranded for long. Lots of people stop there. I expect we could leave her off there. The sooner, the better. All this trouble is slowin' us down, and I don't intend to lose any time. If you want to stay along with me and my men for protection, I'd get rid of her at the trading post. There's men there that can look after her.”

Men? What kind of men? Miranda felt sick and lonely, but she was determined not to show any fear or concern if Jennings left her at the trading post. She would get the Winchester out of her trunk and make sure every man there knew he had better leave her alone!

She blinked back tears. An owl hooted somewhere nearby, and it seemed only to accent her despair. She walked farther out into the prairie grass, found a flat rock in the moonlight, and sat down. Her feet ached from a long day's walk, and she reached down and removed her high-button shoes. She rubbed at her feet, and it was then she heard the dreaded rattling sound.

It all happened in the matter of a second. She realized what was lurking under the rock, and in that same sudden thought, before she could react to the sound of the rattler, she felt the horrid pain in her left foot and knew she had been bitten. She gasped with the pain, knew something had to be done quickly. She also knew from her father that a person bitten by a rattler should never run, but panic took away all reasoning. She clung to her shoes and ran back to the camp, collapsing when she reached the fire.

“Ssssnake!” she managed to get out before things began to go black on her.

She felt someone fussing around her foot, heard Hap Dearing tell someone to get him a knife. “…suck out the venom as best I can…” she thought she heard the man say.

“Oh, dear God, what is going to happen next?” It was Opal's voice.

“Maybe it's God's punishment on her for being bad,” Clarence said with a sneer.

I'm going to die
, Miranda thought, suddenly feeling very calm.
I'm going to die out here and be buried in an unmarked grave. No one will ever know what happened to me. Not Wesley…not even Jake.
Why did the thought of Jake not knowing hurt the most?

Good-bye, Jake.
She saw his face, saw his smile as he rode away from her. It was her last thought before she fell into total unconsciousness.

Jake urged a weary Outlaw toward the trading post, wondering how much longer his two horses could keep up the pace he had forced them to endure for the past two weeks. He had been careful not to ride them so hard that they gave out on him, but he had not been nearly as easy on the animals as he would normally have been.

For two weeks he had searched among the travelers he passed heading west. None had seen or heard of the Jennings clan, so he knew that they still had to be ahead somewhere. Hope had sprung anew when he found a trader at Fort Kearny who did remember the reverend and his family, as well as the lovely young widow woman traveling with them.

“Prettiest thing I've ever seen,” the man had commented, bringing a warmth to Jake's heart he was not accustomed to feeling.

“Did she seem all right?” Jake asked.

“Believe so,” the trader had answered, “except that preacher and his family she was travelin' with, I don't know, they didn't seem to be too friendly to her. Maybe it was just my imagination. You know her?”

“I know her. How long ago were they here?”

“Oh, maybe five, six days.”

Jake had ridden the horses even harder since then. There was no doubt now that he had to be getting close. Again he had checked with every group of travelers he passed, but none knew anything about the party Miranda was with, which meant he was still behind them. He didn't like slowing down now, but he needed supplies. He decided he would stop at the trading post just ahead and see if they had what he needed. Maybe someone here had seen the Jenningses and could tell him how close he was.

Now that he was in dangerous, lawless country, Jake had decided to wear his revolvers again. Both were strapped on, and his rifle and shotgun rested in their boots at either side of his saddle. He knew better than most that a man couldn't be too careful, especially a wanted man. The poster back at Independence still haunted him, and he had been sure to shave every day since seeing it.

As he approached the trading post, he scanned his surroundings, a man ever alert. A bearded, dirty-looking, heavyset man stood inside a corral of horses, removing riding gear from one of them. He glanced at Jake and nodded but did not smile. Jake nodded in return, thinking what a pitiful-looking post this was. Two other men sat near an open fire to his left, watching a hunk of beef that was hung over the flames to roast. They, too, looked filthy. All kinds of trash cluttered the area, from broken-down wagons to rusted pans. Chickens clucked and fluttered about the area, and there was a general bad smell about the place.

Jake could not imagine that the Jennings clan had stopped at a place like this, but then if they needed supplies bad enough, they might have. The post consisted of five small buildings, two log and three sod, all with sod roofs. The biggest one had a sign that read Supplies, another read Saloon, and yet another Bath House. Jake supposed the two smallest buildings were living quarters for whomever ran the meager operation. Outside the supply store were stacks of baled hay and sacks of potatoes, as well as a few buffalo skins and some blankets.

About five men, Jake thought. He had seen three outside, figured there were at least a couple more inside the buildings. There were no wagon trains or visible travelers present at the moment. In the distance a small herd of cattle grazed. He rode closer to the supply store, glad to see there were no wanted posters tacked up anywhere. He started to dismount when he spotted something familiar sitting outside the small sod house next to the supply post. It was a trunk, a gold trunk with brass trim and a faded flower design painted on the top. His heartbeat quickened and he rode a little closer, studying the trunk thoughtfully, searching his memory. He had seen that trunk before, in Randy's bedroom!

Surely this was just coincidence. What on earth would Randy's trunk be doing here? Maybe it just happened to look the same. Maybe there were a lot of trunks like this one, with the same gold background and brass trim, the same faded flower design on the lid. Still, they wouldn't all have the same gouge in the front. For some reason he had remembered that long dent in the front of Randy's trunk. No two trunks could have exactly the same damage.

What the hell was going on here? He told himself to be careful. Something smelled here, and it was more than the chickens. His dark eyes moved then to a bearded man who came out of the small house, carrying a pitcher of water. Jake was instantly wary. He had long ago learned to read a man by his eyes. That was why he was still alive and free, why he never lost when a man drew on him, why he seldom lost at poker. A man's eyes could tell a lot, and this man was hiding something. The man hastily closed the door, and Jake did not miss the quick look of worry and guilt on his face.

“Hello there! Can I help you with something?” the man asked, putting on a smile.

Jake glanced at the trunk again. If it was Miranda's, how had it gotten here? Where were the Jennings wagons? “Just need some supplies.”

“Well, then come on over to my store and I'll fix you up.” The man was stocky and looked dirty like the others. He scratched at a beard and then smoothed back his greasy hair as he headed toward the building next door, seeming to Jake to be much too eager to get him away from the sod house. “This whole post is my own setup,” the man bragged. “I do pretty good here.”

The man was grinning too much, as far as Jake was concerned. Jake led Outlaw to a hitching post and dismounted, tying the horse. The packhorse, already tied to Outlaw's saddle, halted wearily behind.

“Name's Nemus, Jack Nemus,” the owner was telling him.

Jake studied the man as he came closer, wondering when he had washed last. He wore soiled cotton pants, and long johns instead of a shirt. There were sweat stains under the arms of the underwear, and some of the buttons were undone, revealing thick chest hair. He put out his hand to Jake, looking him over and appearing a little awed by Jake's height and size.

“Well, now, you're a pretty big man. Hope you ain't lookin' for clothes!” The man laughed, and Jake studied teeth stained brown from too much chewing tobacco. He shook the man's hand, forcing himself to be friendly. He put on a smile.

“Just food and such, tobacco.”

“Well, we have plenty of that. Come on in! What's your name, anyway?”

Jake followed the man inside. “Jake Turner,” he answered, deciding to stick to his new name.

“Well, Jake, you wear those guns like you know how to use them.” The man walked behind a counter and laughed nervously. “'Course, it makes no difference to me why you wear them. Men come through here from all walks of life, I don't ask questions. I just sell them what they need and mind my own business.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jake answered. He looked around inside the stuffy building, seeing no wanted posters there either. He picked up a can of tobacco and set it on the counter, telling himself to stay alert. There were two more men inside the post, probably friends of Nemus.
That
makes
six
, he told himself. “Actually, I'm looking for some travelers,” he said aloud, “friends of mine that I'm trying to catch up with. They're a preacher-family, name of Jennings.” Again he spotted the quick look of guilt and worry in Nemus's eyes, a look he quickly covered with one of curious thought. “They're traveling with a trader named Hap Dearing. Did they pass through here?”

Nemus rubbed his chin. “Well, let me think. I don't always pay attention to names, you know. But some preacher-family did pass through here, four, five days ago. I couldn't tell you their name was Jennings, but I do remember the trader they traveled with, and it seems his name was Dearing. He had three big wagons loaded down with supplies for Virginia City.”

Jake picked out a box of thin cigars. “That's the one. Four or five days, you say?”

“Yes. You just might be able to catch up with them, since you're traveling with just horses. That bunch has wagons, and those supply wagons especially won't be moving too fast. I pity them when they get to the mountains.”

Jake turned to take inventory of where the other two men were standing. He looked back at Nemus, who was rearranging some items under the counter that Jake figured didn't need rearranging. He had a feeling the man was nervously trying to keep busy, wanted to keep from having to look directly at Jake.

“How about flour, sugar?” Nemus was asking. “I know anyone traveling who stops by here around noon like you have are usually in a hurry to get in some more miles before sunset. I'll get your supplies together right fast. Just tell me what you need.”

Jake moved to a wall of shelves where boxes of ammunition were kept, turning so that he could see all three men. “You seem in a big hurry to get me out of here, Nemus,” he told the trader.

He watched the other two men straighten to an alert position. Nemus himself slowly lowered his hand from where he had reached up to take down a sack of flour. The man turned to face Jake. Again came the nervous smile. “Well, it's like I said. Most travelers this time of day are in a hurry. I'm just trying to get you what you need, Mr. Turner. Hell, if you want to stay and rest a while, that's fine too. The men outside are cooking up a hindquarter of beef. You're welcome to stay and eat with us.”

Jake eyed all three of them, taking a cheroot from his shirt pocket and lighting it. He smoked quietly for a moment. “There's one lady in particular I'm looking for,” he finally spoke up. “A widow woman, named Miranda Hayes.” Again Nemus looked away. The other two men glanced at each other, and Jake knew something was terribly wrong. Was Randy here? Why? And why were these men hiding her? “Any of you remember if she was with the Jennings group?”

One of the other two men cleared his throat. “Don't rightly remember, mister.”

Jake studied the man a moment, taking a drag on the cheroot. “Oh, I think you'd remember. Men out in a lonely place like this don't soon forget a single woman as pretty as this one.”

“Lots of women come through here, single and married,” Nemus put in, his friendly, nervous attitude now changing to one of hostility. “Hell, hundreds of people come through here, probably thousands. How are we supposed to remember one in particular?”

“You remembered the Jennings party. If you remembered them, you'd remember Mrs. Hayes.” Jake kept the cheroot between his teeth, and a look of dark fury came into his eyes. “You were right, Nemus. I
do
know how to use these guns,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “And believe me, you don't want to test me out. Why don't you just tell me the truth about what you know about Mrs. Hayes?” All three men eyed each other, none of them looking willing to talk. Jake threw down the cheroot, stepping it out. “One of you is going to get his goddamn kneecaps shot out if somebody doesn't tell me what the hell is going on here,” he seethed. “That's Mrs. Hayes's trunk sitting out there by that sod hut, isn't it?”

“She's dead,” Nemus spoke up quickly. “She got snakebit, and Jennings didn't know what to do with her. They left her off here and we tried to help her, but she died on us.”

The first words brought a wrenching pain to Jake's chest, and it felt like knives were moving through his blood. Dead! Why did it bother him so to think that could be true? He had known Randy for such a little while.

The thought stabbed at him only for a moment. Something in Nemus's eyes and the quick way he had answered told him the man was lying. He
had
to be lying! For some reason, he felt like he didn't even want to live himself if Randy was really dead. “Show me the grave,” he told Nemus.

Before any of the three men could even blink, Jake had drawn one of his revolvers and was aiming it at Nemus. The movement had been sleek and instant, the click of the gun as he cocked it, the determined look in his eyes…it gave all three men the shivers. He moved his arm to point the gun at the other two men.

“Wait a minute,” one of them spoke up, backing away. “I don't want no part of this, Nemus. I ain't dyin' for no woman just because you want to keep her for yourself!”

“Shut up, Stanton!”

“She's over in Nemus's shack next door,” the one called Stanton told Jake. “She really did get snakebit, and she's awful sick. Nemus, he's been takin' care of her.”

Jake held the gun steady, moving it back to Nemus. “I'll just bet you have. What have you done to her, Nemus?”

The man's eyes widened, and he swallowed. “Nothin'! All I've done is keep her cooled down. You know the fever a person gets when they're snakebit. She's lucky she's even alive. Hell, I offered to take care of her. Those people she was with just wanted to dump her off like a sick animal. I…I helped her. What's she to you, anyway?”

“She's my woman,” Jake answered without even thinking. The words had come out so easily that he was hardly aware of what he had said.

“Then what's she doin' travelin' with somebody else?”

“That's my business. You take me next door.”

Nemus looked helplessly at the other two men, who both put up their hands. “We don't want nothin' to do with this, Turner,” they told Jake.

“You bastards,” Nemus growled. “You wanted to keep her around as much as I did. You did your share of lookin'!”

Jake felt such rage he wondered if his head would explode. Looking? Had they all taken advantage of Randy's condition to ogle her naked body? What else had they done?

“We never touched her though,” one of them protested to Jake. “Honest to God, mister.”

Jake backed to the doorway. “Let's go, Nemus.” When the man hesitated, Jake fired, the bullet skimming across Nemus's cheek.

Nemus cried out and jolted back against some shelves. Several sacks of flour fell, one landing on his head and spilling white powder through his hair and over his face. “Jesus Christ!” the man swore as he got to his feet. He coughed and brushed flour from himself, then grabbed a rag and pressed it to his bleeding face. “What the hell is wrong with you, Turner! You could have killed me!”