Page 199 of Conveniently Wed
He moved from rock to tree to bush, staying inside the line of foliage. The wagon followed the driveway, then turned left on the road toward Helena. Away from Butte City.
They were headed in the direction of Fort Benton. Then on to Richmond? Panic pulled his muscles tighter than a deer hideon a stretcher. They had to be taking her back to that louse. The man who planned to kill her.
Through the trees, he saw Jenson turn in the wagon seat and speak. Then Walters reached up to jerk the gag from Leah’s mouth. Were they setting her free?
But no, Walters raised a pistol from his lap so Leah—and Gideon—had a clear view of it. So help him, if any one of them hurt a hair on her head…
The horses pulling the wagon settled into a steady gait, and the landmarks became more familiar as they went. This was the main trail between Butte and Helena, the Mullan Road they called it. At one point it traveled through the edge of a property that neighbored the Bryant Ranch.
Should he take the time to find his old friend John Stands-alone and recruit help? With only himself against three men, he could deal with but one person at a time, while the others would have ample opportunity to hurt Leah. He couldn’t risk attacking without more manpower or a smart strategy.
But it could take an hour to hike up to John’s cabin, then the time to ride back. And what if Jenson and his men didn’t stay on the road? What if they had another hideout somewhere close?
Or what if theydid somethingto Leah while he was gone? He swore under his breath. He would never forgive himself.
Through the trees ahead, a wooden structure appeared. Another wagon? But that wasn’t the road. Gideon crept through the woods toward it, still keeping the wagon in sight between the trees.
The structure was an old cabin, not more than a shack, really. And no sign of inhabitants. Should he ignore it to keep the wagon in his sights? But what if there was something or someone inside who could help him? He couldn’t risk the chance for reinforcements, and he could easily make up ground after a quick search.
The old wood door stuck at first, then the hinges released a shrill complaint as he tugged it open. There was no movement inside, just a dank odor and a mostly barren room.
He stepped in, scanning the space. A pile of furs lay in a corner near the fireplace. A table, bowl, and pipe sat against the opposite wall. But his gaze zeroed in on what hung on the wall beside the door—a bow and quiver of arrows. It must be Sioux, from the decorative paint on the bow and the beadwork on the quiver. Matching feathers hung from the ends of both pieces.
And then his eyes drifted to something he hadn’t noticed before. A rattlesnake skin, complete with the head and rattles. Not the almost translucent kind a snake sheds naturally, but the kind of hide that was killed, skinned, and cured.
Urgency gripped him again, and he tore his eyes from the hide. He grabbed the bow and arrows and headed out the door. Hopefully, they hadn’t rotted with age. They needed to be strong and sharp enough to find their mark—quickly and silently.
He now had a plan, and he sprinted through the woods to catch up to the wagon. All those days he’d spent as a boy with John Stands-alone came back to him in an exhilarating rush. With the native weapons slung over his shoulder, he melted into the land, each step landing on the balls of his feet so his boots were silent against the damp ground.
Soon, he found his target—the wagon—and crept past it until he found a thick tree with a fork in the branches at eye-level. He touched his Colt revolver to make sure it was loose in the holster. Good.
After examining the arrows, he selected the straightest. Placing it against the string, he drew it back and forced his mind to filter through long-ago memories.String between thumb and forefinger, chin tucked, nose almost touching the string.He closed his eye farthest from the string, and focused on the wagon in front of him.
For a moment, he followed the wagon with the bow, gauging its speed and how far ahead of his target he would need to aim. Then he chose a point of aim where the wide flint tip of the arrow should strike Walter’s chest. Without allowing the bow to move even a fraction, he released the arrow.
He didn’t have time to watch the arrow fly to its mark, but drew his Colt and dodged to a closer tree. As he took aim on Jenson, Walters doubled over in the wagon. Looked like the arrow hit its target. A surge of pride washed through him, but he didn’t have time to glory.
He refocused his aim on the big man in the front of the wagon and squeezed the trigger.
Time slowed before him. The boom of the pistol sounded, the acrid smoke filled the air. Jenson jerked, then reached for his left shoulder and turned Gideon’s direction.
Time regained its speed in a fury as Jenson and Ashe both fired at him. He used his shots sparingly, only when he had clear aim. He just had five bullets left.
A scream pierced the gun fire and his heart lept, but he couldn’t shift his focus from the three men. They had ducked low in the wagon now, using the wood as cover. Did Jenson jerk after Gideon’s next shot? Maybe, but the man kept sending fire toward him.
They seemed to have an unlimited supply of bullets, unlike his situation. He was down to one shot, if he’d counted correctly, and still had three ruthless men to deal with. Surely he’d wounded Walters and Jenson, but the men continued to open fire on him.
What else could he do? Where could he turn?God, I need some help here!His gaze moved to where Leah had been sitting, but she’d ducked low in the wagon, too, and he could only see the top of her brown hair.God, please!
He sank back out of sight, fully covered by the tree. Panic choked out his breath, but he was powerless to stop it. What now?
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The sound of gunfire continued on the other side of his tree, but Gideon squeezed his eyes against the noise. Then he heard a cry, a man in pain. Had they turned the guns on each other? He peeked around the rough bark to get a look.
Walters had turned in the wagon so he faced toward the front, but his firearm was nowhere in sight. Jenson was curled into himself, arms wrapped around his stomach. And strangest of all, Ashe had set down his rifle and raised both hands over his head.
Gideon shifted his gaze forward to a vision he’d never imagined. Ol’ Mose stood in the road, a short, stubby gun in his hand. He fired a last round over the heads of those in the wagon, then lowered the firearm.
