Untamed Journey (8 page)

The missing horse led Masterson’s thoughts
back to his missing wife. If she were to show up on his doorstep
six months from now, he could end up a bigamist – or worse. If
she’d jilted him, well that was like stealing, since he’d put out
the cost of her clothes and train ride. Not to mention the tidy sum
he’d paid her loving auntie. Mrs. Ruth Masterson would pay for the
privilege of his good name, one way or another, he swore to himself
as his booted feet started to ache.

He’d be damned if he’d play the fool for a
pair of wilted southern belles.

“T
urn around.”

Ruth swung around in fear, only slightly
relieved when she came face-to-shoulder with all six foot three of
Marshal Beauregard T. Jackson. She then made the mistake of looking
up, into the most furious pair of black eyes she’d ever seen.

“Why are you following us?” He demanded. “I
thought I told you to stay with the train.”

Although Jackson had spoken with utmost calm,
Ruth could feel the tension rolling off his big body in waves. His
black eyes were part annoyed, part angry, and even a little
baffled.

She took a deep breath and prayed she’d have
better luck convincing him to help her this time around. “I told
you before – I can fend for myself. I just need a guide. I don’t
know the land here, or how to get to Denver. I thought if I
followed you as far as Fort Lyon, I could hire myself a local to
take me the rest of the way.”

Spoken out loud, Ruth’s plan – concocted in
the middle of the night, after the most terrifying moment in her
life – seemed ridiculously absurd and reckless. But she’d be damned
if she’d admit it to this man. Especially since she had no other
alternative.

“Are you out of your mind, woman?” Jackson
echoed Ruth’s thoughts. “We’re after the bastards that came five
sleeping cars away from murdering you in your bed. And yet you
follow us, because you’re too impatient to reach your lover’s arms?
Those robbers could have circled back to pick up our trail and
walked right across you by mistake. They would have enjoyed playing
with you a bit I can promise you.”

Ruth paled at hearing the unpleasant
possibility spoken aloud. “They could have circled back to the
train just as easily,” she retorted, straightening her slim
shoulders. “They knew we were easy prey with you gone and only a
couple wounded marshals left to guard us.”

The girl’s comment hit too close to home for
Jackson’s conscience, so he changed tactics. “There are wild
animals all over these parts. Did you give any thought to how many
would scent your perfume and come to investigate?”

When she remained stubbornly silent, Jackson
started to pace.

“Hell, forget the outlaws and the wild
animals. I might have slit your throat by mistake, with you
shadowing our trail in the dark.” He pulled his hat off, if nothing
else to keep his agitated hands busy and off the woman’s pretty
throat.

“I’m sure the scent of my perfume would have
stopped you in time.” Ruth snapped back, too tired and dirty to be
sensible and hold her tongue.

Jackson backed Ruth into a tree, to
intimidate her with his size or smell her perfume again, even he
wasn’t sure. “Now I know for certain you don’t have enough good
sense to keep yourself alive out here. Mouthing off to a man twice
your size in the ass-end of nowhere can get you killed.”

“But not by you, Marshal,” she answered with
more calm than she felt. “I may not have known you for long, but
I’ve seen your character plain as day. You saved my life and the
lives of the people on the train with me - men and women with no
connection to you. But you did the right thing anyway when a dozen
other men would have stayed hidden to save themselves.” Ruth didn’t
need to rely on bravado for this speech. Her instincts hadn’t felt
this good about anything she’d done since she’d left her Aunt
Kate’s house.

“I was just doing my job,” Jackson insisted.
“I don’t get paid if too many dead bodies start appearing. It’s bad
for the railroad business.”

Ruth smiled, just a little, knowing a lie
when she heard one. “You should have stuck to the wild animal
story. It’s much more plausible.”

He couldn’t believe this woman. She was part
wild-eyed innocent and part he-didn’t-know-what. She certainly had
guts.

He was saved from coming up with a suitable
reply by the approach of his younger brother, Emmett, and Old Mike.
They had deliberately approached upwind so Jackson would hear their
footsteps well in advance of any instinct to strike down the
unknown.

“Jackson, you’d better take a look at this,”
Emmett advised solemnly.

Ruth saw the tall, lanky man dismount with
more grace than his frame suggested was possible. While Jackson’s
impressive six-plus feet of pure muscle forced Ruth to tilt her
head up considerably to subdue him with a look, this man would
require her to mount Caboose to hold a conversation. She watched
the man hand Jackson a spyglass and silently point thirty degrees
southwest.

Ruth stood in silence, watching both men scan
the horizon. Whatever the distraction, she was glad to have
Jackson’s focus on someone else for a change. She needed a moment
to gather her wits, because she wasn’t entirely sure how she was
going to win their argument and convince Jackson to take her
further west instead of dropping her in the nearest excuse for a
town. From every action and appearance, he struck her as strict,
old-fashioned southern gentlemen. One with just enough western
practicality to refuse to act as her guide into the wilderness, yet
who would insist on leaving her safe in the hands of the nearest
lawman. If only she’d found that character in her husband and his
hired man instead of this random chance stranger, she thought.

Ruth shook off feeling sorry for herself and
tried to focus on more reasons to change Jackson’s mind. Before she
could finish that thought, he turned abruptly toward her.

“Damn. What the hell are we going to do with
you?” He clearly didn’t expect Ruth to answer, as he’d already
turned his attention back to his tall companion.

“Change of plans, little brother. We’ll have
to split up. I can’t risk the woman in a fight if they really are
doubling back. You and Mike take the rest of the men and track the
main group. If you’re right, and the leader was wounded, the two of
you should be able to trail them easily enough without my
help.”

Ruth had to sidle close to hear the brother’s
reply.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“The nearest town is too far away,” Jackson
replied. “She’s got a decent forest mount. I think if we stick to
the high country, we can reach the ranch in two or three days. I
can meet back up with you at Fort Lyon after I drop her off.”

“Whose ranch?” she asked, unable to remain
quiet any longer.

Having her fate once again decided by others,
with no input from her, was scaring Ruth.

“Pack only what’s necessary for survival,
with as little weight as possible,” Jackson ordered ignoring her
interruption. “That means food for you and the horse, warm
clothing, and bedding. Bring rain gear if you’ve got it.”

She was otherwise ignored as both men were
already mounting their horses. Questions would likely get her
nowhere at this point. Seeing her only choice was to go it alone or
do as the Marshal ordered, she grabbed her sleeping blanket and
jerky, but left her change of clothes. She wasn’t sure Caboose
would tolerate the loose riding skirt without dumping her to the
hard ground, so it only took Ruth a few seconds to cross it off her
list of necessities. She swung up onto the Paint.

“I’m ready to go,” Ruth said, hands folded
calmly over the pommel.

Jackson noted she’d left her clothing out in
the open. He dismounted quickly and stuffed her riding skirt under
the nearest bush. There was no time to bury it properly, so they’d
have to take their chances that the outlaws had mediocre tracking
skills.

As he re-mounted and grabbed her horse’s
reins, he answered her questioning look. “Don’t want the outlaws
coming after us to know you’re a woman. They’ll see it as a
weakness if we’re lucky, and if not, as a lure. Our best chance of
survival is out-riding them. Most outlaws are lazy by nature, but
if they catch the scent of a woman, they’ll ride that much harder.
You’re worth a hell of a lot on the open market.”

Ruth paled, but nodded her head in
understanding.

Jackson’s brother rode off in the other
direction, with just a tip of his hat to her and a curt “Good luck”
to his brother. Old Mike followed suit, leaving Ruth entirely alone
with the Marshal.

Jackson handed Ruth her reins, lightly
squeezing her trembling hands in what little comfort he could
offer. “We’re going to ride hard, so do your best to keep up. If
you find yourself getting too tired to stay awake, stop me. We’ll
strap you to your mount so you don’t fall and break something.
Understood?” He waited for her nod before kicking his horse into a
hard gallop.

“T
hey’ve got a
woman?” Bear scratched his over-sized scalp as his clumsy hands
held up a pair of what could only be a woman’s petticoats. “What’s
she doing riding with a posse?”

Halper spat a wad of chewing tobacco into the
dense brush, barely missing Bear’s worn out boots. “She’ll be worth
a hell of a lot to the Comancheros.”

“If she survives us, that is,” the Mexican
added. “My marvelous pecker will exhaust her so much, she will not
have the strength to crawl out from under the Bear, here, and will
be crushed to death.” The Mexican laughed at his own humor.

He was the only one. Bear was looking
slightly squeamish, as he was the only one in the group who didn’t
take pleasure in hurting others. Men didn’t bother him so much, but
women and children made him cringe.

The Mexican wiped his tears of mirth off with
his dirty kerchief, then was suddenly all business as he turned to
Halper. “The Comancheros, my friend, will just as soon slit our
throats as pay us what we are owed. We will be better off riding
her down to Mexico to my madre’s place. She will pay us three times
the usual price for a white woman. And my madre’s house is a fine
place”, the Mexican added. “This woman will have fine clothes and
good food in her belly and a man always between her legs. What more
does a woman want, eh?”

Halper glared at the crude outlaw. He wasn’t
objecting to the unknown woman’s pain, like Bear. He just didn’t
like being surrounded by fools and peasants. They were beneath a
man who’d studied at Oxford. And if the Mexican thought he’d have
any say in the fate of captives, he’d be questioning his poor
judgment directly with his Maker.

Halper didn’t share women. If she was pretty,
he’d take her, and the rest could watch in envy. If she wasn’t,
they still would not get a taste of her.

The Comancheros paid more for a woman who
still had spirit. He wouldn’t lose out on that kind of money.

R
uth followed Jackson
at a ruthless pace for nearly four hours. He slowed their mounts
from a gallop to a canter only when the horses needed rest or the
trail grew too steep for anything but a careful walk.

They were at their slowest pace yet, as they
rapidly gained altitude. Ruth’s horse stumbled, as they scrambled
up the side of a mesa, but quickly re-gained his balance with her
experienced hand at the reins.

Jackson looked back over his shoulder at the
sound of falling rock. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Caboose lost his
footing on the gravel for a moment.”

Jackson could see Ruth was out of breath, and
her mount wasn’t doing much better. But she hadn’t complained once.
“The altitude can be brutal when you’re not used to it. We’ll stop
up ahead so I can check our back trail.”

Nodding her understanding, Ruth nudged
Caboose forward. Several minutes later, she pulled up at the flat
spot where Jackson had stopped and dismounted.

“You should climb down and water your horse,”
Jackson said, before grabbing a spyglass from his saddlebag.

“Should I take care of yours, too?” Ruth
asked.

Jackson nodded his approval before climbing
up a large boulder. The afternoon light gave him a decent view of
their back trail for close to three miles. He carefully started
scanning the path, lingering over several areas that were hidden
behind the curve of the mountain.

After a few minutes had passed, Ruth heard
him curse out loud. The words were enough to make her stomach
clench. “What is it?” she asked.

“My plan didn’t work. We’re being followed.”
Jackson motioned her over and handed her the spyglass. “Look to the
left of the clearing over there, about eleven o’clock. You can see
their dust trail.”

“Are you sure it’s them?” Ruth asked, turning
to look into Jackson’s solemn eyes.

“I wouldn’t bet your life on being wrong,”
Jackson replied, running his hands through his short black hair.
“There aren’t many travelers this late in the season. And I
deliberately took the most difficult route – one that only Indians
and trappers use.”

Jackson stepped down off the boulder and
reached up a hand to steady Ruth. “We’re going to have to go to
ground. Make a stand. I wish I had a way that was safer for you,
but I can’t see any alternative. If we keep running, they’ll catch
up by tomorrow afternoon, no later. We’re moving too slowly to
reach safety before then.”

Suspecting she was the reason they were
moving too slowly, Ruth frowned. “I know it’s not much, but please
accept my apologies, Marshal. I was wrong to follow you, and
foolish to disregard your advice in the first place. Now I’ve put
you in danger.”