Page 23 of Love and Order
CHAPTER 6
Cambria Springs, Colorado Territory Friday, June 27, 1873
It was a huge risk, returning to Cambria Springs before heading to Seth and Lena’s place, but he and Lu Peters needed provisions, and besides Seth, Dutch was the only one he could count on. So he’d left Miss Peters and the horses and slipped into town on foot.
Despite the late hour, the glow from the café windows told Rion his friend hadn’t yet gone to his small upstairs apartment for the night. Either he was still cleaning his kitchen or was cooking to make breakfast easier to serve.
Rion didn’t have time to waste.
Leaving the alley across the street, he ducked onto the street, keeping to the shadows where possible. Reaching the far side, he hurried between buildings a few storefronts down and backtracked to the back of the café. There, he shimmied up the drainpipe that ran beside the second-story window. With effort, Rion slid the lower pane up and pulled himself partway into the sparse room.
As he did, lamplight bobbed up the steps, and he met Dutch’s eyes.
“Howdy.” Rion’s grasp faltered, and he slipped back.
Dutch hurried over and hauled him the rest of the way in the window by his belt. They both tumbled onto the floor, and as quickly as he could, Dutch untangled himself and slammed the window shut.
“What in blazes are you doin’ here? There’re two posses gunnin’ for you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s folks patrollin’ the streets.”
Rion shot him a sheepish grin. “Two posses?”
“One went up the mountain, one went down.”
“And you’re not with either one?”
“Nobody asked. Reckon they know we’re friends—which is why you ought not be here. They’re probably watchin’ the doors.”
“Which is why I came through the window.”
“And that’s not suspicious?”
“I need your help. Food. Rifle. Ammunition.” Shaking, both from the exertion and the near fall, Rion settled himself in a nearby chair.
“Tell me you didn’t do what they’re accusin’.”
“You know me better’n that.” And it rankled that his adopted brother even asked. “I’m tryin’ to prove my innocence.”
“Well, you’re lookin’ pretty guilty, escapin’ jail and all.”
He scrubbed a hand over his beard.
Dutch pulled a small stool over, staring at him with concern. “You all right, Ri?”
“Would you be if someone was makin’ you look like a monster, killin’ women for sport?”
“Don’t reckon so.” Dutch looked him in the eye. “What about the woman that was in the jail? She with you?”
“She’s nearby and safe.”
“Ri, you need to be careful. They still haven’t found Hattie Ingram, and if she eventually shows up dead and you’re caught with another woman in tow, they’re gonna—”
“I know!” He clamped his eyes shut. “I had no intention of takin’ her, but the durn woman climbed up in Mischief’s saddle without me knowin’ it, and …” He waved a hand. “Never mind. You got any of the stuff I mentioned?”
Dutch glared as he rose. “Stay here.” He headed downstairs, this time without the lamp, and returned minutes later with a canvas bag. Settling it on the stool, he reached in and produced a fabric-wrapped bundle.
“I figured you might be stoppin’ by, so … there’s a slab of salt pork, a few day-old biscuits, some fresh corn dodgers.” He unknotted the fabric to reveal the fresh batch. “A mess of pemmican. Some rags and bandages, in case … And help yourself to my rifle and whatever I got in the way of ammunition.”
Rion went to the cabinet where Dutch kept his guns and pulled down the rifle, checked it, and drew out two boxes of rifle cartridges, as well as two boxes for his Colt. Pacing back, he tucked them into the bag.
“Thanks.” He gave Dutch a solemn nod.
Dutch tied the sack. “Now, you do me a favor. Keep yourself alive. I ain’t in the mood to lose a brother and one of my oldest friends.”
“I’m doin’ my best.”
He rose, gave his friend a firm handshake, and started for the window, though Dutch caught his arm.
“I’m gonna turn down the lamp, like I’m headin’ to bed—in case anyone’s watchin’ my place. Wait about ten or fifteen minutes, then slip out the downstairs window. Side of the building, in the storeroom at the back. You know where I mean?”
“Yeah.” Rion grinned. “That’s a lot easier than shimmyin’ down your drainpipe.”
“A lot less dangerous too.”
“Thanks, Dutch.” Again, he shook Dutch’s hand, and the other man pulled him close, gave him a hearty slap on the back, and then stepped back.
“Be careful.”
What was taking so long? Lu paced, darting worried glances toward town. Mister Braddock should’ve been back by now. From her vantage point in the trees, she could sometimes see movement around the distant lights flickering in town, but she was too far away to discern what was causing the wavering.
Lord, please don’t let him have been captured. Bring him back safely with the provisions …
Both Trouble’s and Mischief’s ears pricked, and heated voices sounded from some distance away. She listened, unable to make sense of the sounds, other than someone seemed to be calling out or—
A distant gunshot and a muzzle flash split the quiet darkness.
Lu’s heart galloped. Oh, Lord!
She tightened the cinches on both horses’ saddles and climbed onto Mischief’s back, holding tight to Trouble’s reins. In the distance, more shouting. Lights flooded the street. Her breathing shallow, she watched as mayhem erupted. People called to one another, and lights illuminated windows up and down the street.
“It’s Braddock!” someone shouted.
What should she do? Go, and leave Mr. Braddock to find her? Wait, and risk being captured herself—potentially labeled an accomplice? If she knew where Seth lived, she could try to meet him there, but he’d not told her. He’d only said to be ready to leave in a hurry.
Oh, Lord Jesus—help. Help us both! Mister Braddock is as much a victim as the women he’s accused of killing!
“Lu!” His hushed call from some nearby place gave her a jolt, and she jerked toward the sound. “Get on Trouble!”
Trouble? That was his horse.
“He went this way!” someone slurred. Shadowy forms raced past the lit-up windows.
No time to question … She slid from Mischief’s saddle and mounted the larger horse. As her backside contacted the leather, he appeared.
“Take this!” He shoved a rifle in her hands as he looped something heavy around the saddle horn. Then, without a word, he swatted her left shin, and when she drew her foot from the stirrup, he climbed up behind her. His body wrapped around hers, his mouth near her ear. “Don’t lose hold of that rifle.”
She nodded, mute.
He spurred Trouble into motion, and Mischief’s reins pulled tight in her hand. Behind them, voices called and more gunshots pierced the night, one spattering tree bark in her face. She yelped, and Rion wrapped himself tighter around her, navigating deeper into the trees.
Sounds of a mounted pursuit crashed behind them. Rion said nothing, though his labored breathing gave away his stress. He reined Trouble down a dense path, his arm circling her waist.
Despite the pursuit, she sank into his embrace, one hand wrapped tight around Mischief’s reins and the other around the rifle.
Lord, please—put distance between us and our pursuers.
They rode, the sounds of the chase not stopping. Sweat slicked her skin under the man’s shirt she still wore. Rion silently guided Trouble up the path, breathing hard. On occasion, he glanced back, his grip loosening. Each time, she was thankful when he faced front and reasserted his hold.
After one such check, he spurred Trouble into a faster pace and, coming out on a little rise, immediately reined the horse to the left and down a narrow path, putting a tall, rocky outcropping between them and their pursuers.
“Get down,” he breathed before sliding from behind her, taking the rifle as he did.
As she dismounted, he paced the wide spot on the path, then hurried to where she held both horses. Taking Mischief’s reins, he did something —she couldn’t tell exactly what in the darkness—and dropped the horse on its side.
“C’mere. Quick.”
She went to where he lay across the horse.
“Stretch yourself out across Mischief’s neck. Cover his nose, and speak real soft to him.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Hide Trouble. Quick, or they’ll catch us!”
Again, without questioning, she followed instructions. She stretched out next to Rion, across Mischief’s neck, and as Rion rose, the horse remained remarkably calm.
“Easy, Mischief.” The horse’s ear flicked, but he made no sudden moves or attempts to get up.
Focused on keeping the brown horse calm, she didn’t see where Rion and Trouble went. Minutes later, the men pursuing them rode up to the rocky outcropping, one calling to another. Mischief did stir then, straining as if he wanted to react, though she laid a hand on his soft nose and breathed a brief prayer in his ear.
“Lord, keep us calm and make us invisible like You did Peter when your angel led him out of prison in the book of Acts.”
The horse settled despite the chaos on the other side of the rocks. The men called to one another, words slurring as they debated what direction to go.
At one point, one rider rounded the outcropping, stopped ten feet from them, and peered into the darkness, eventually tipping something to his lips. His shadowy form swayed in the saddle, and his horse pranced as the man nearly tumbled off. Lu trembled as she kept her hand over Mischief’s nose.
“Burl!” another called. He must have twisted in his saddle, based on the creak of the leather. “He went this way.”
The man reined his skittish horse around to rejoin his party.
Lu didn’t move, listening to the posse crash up the path beyond her.
Lord, keep Rion safe.
In the distance, tree branches broke, and a heavy thud met her ears. She cringed.
“There! I hear him.”
A gunshot rang out, and Lu buried her face against Mischief’s neck, trembling as her thoughts ricocheted to what her father had told her of being trapped in the woods, enemy soldiers all around him, after a bullet severed his spine.
Lord, is this what Papa experienced? How often she’d imagined it—but until this moment, she couldn’t grasp the reality.
“He’s gettin’ away!”
Their hoofbeats and hollering faded, and she eventually looked up, her heart pounding.
Lord? Was it safe?
She held her breath and listened. When she was sure they were well beyond hearing range, she rolled off Mischief’s neck, and the big horse climbed to his feet, though she remained on the ground, trembling too much to stand. A minute later, the brush rustled, alerting her that someone was coming. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
“Lu?” Rion’s familiar whisper split the stillness.
A sob lodged in her throat, though she fought it from escaping. “Lu.” He kept his voice low. “Where are you?”
Gulping a breath, she attempted to stand. “I’m here.”
He was next to her before she realized it, lending a strong arm to help her up.
“You all right?” His voice was thick.
“Yeah. Just—” Scared. But if she said it, he’d dump her like he’d planned at the cave.
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her into a hug, and his one strong arm circling her did wonders to calm her racing heart. As she attempted to bury her face against his shoulder, he released her all too quickly. “I was tryin’ to keep myself between you and those drunken idiots and their guns.”
She swiped at her cheek, feeling something warm and sticky as she did. As she pulled her hand away, it was wet. Oh, Lord Jesus.
“Are you all right?”
Turning, he faced Trouble as he slid the rifle—which he’d taken from her at some point, she wasn’t sure when—into the scabbard. “Mount up. We need to git, before those fools figure out they’re chasing a rock I threw.”
“Rion.” She caught his arm, and he grunted, her hand coming away even more sticky.
“You’ve been shot.”
“It’s nothin’.”
“Hogwash!” She dug deep for the calm she’d once possessed as she’d cared for Papa after his injuries brought him home from the war. “We need to take care of—”
“I crammed a cloth in the holes for now.”
“Holes—plural?”
“I appreciate your concern, but we need to put some distance between us and those fools—and quick. Then we can worry about dressin’ any wounds proper. Now, mount up.”
He swatted her hip, and she scrambled to mount Mischief, though after what just happened, she would’ve preferred the comfort of riding with him again.