Tracking ruby, p.3
Tracking Ruby, page 3
Sophie held her breath and disappeared behind Pride and Prejudice. She hated this argument.
“But Pa doesn’t mind me reading it...”
“Aunt Martha said that book is the reason that you turned down the Preacher is that true?”
Sophie held her breath, anger raging higher with each heartbeat. Her voice was calm and dangerously controlled the next moment that she spoke, “Aunt Martha says I turned down a preacher because of my book?” I will have to set that woman straight, of all the outrageous ideas.
Simon nodded.
“Well. I didn’t. I didn’t want to marry Parson Wheaten, for my own reasons, and none of them have to do with this book, now go to bed.”
“Why don’t you read the Bible more often Sophie?”
Sophie put her book down with a bang. “Who put you up to asking all of these questions!”
Simon shrugged and turned over. Instantly, guilt kicked Sophie in the gut. It was hard to explain to Simon why she didn’t read the Bible more often. She read it on Sundays, and for her lessons when Aunt Martha asked her to, but reading it herself, for her own good as Aunt Martha put it. She didn’t pick it up, she didn’t want to read it. There were too many painful reminders for her in that book. How her mother died with one in her hands, a smile on her face. Her twelve-year-old voice begging God if He’d spare her mother’s life she’d do anything for Him.
That prayer hadn’t been answered, and now, God was nothing more than–God.
Sophie glanced over at the jail cell, Jesse seemed to be sleeping–seemed to have been sleeping for quite some time. Taking a deep breath, she went to Simon’s side and knelt by the cot.
“I’ll try to read more if that will make you happy.”
Simon smiled, “It will make you happy too.”
She only nodded. “Now go to sleep,” and leaning over she kissed his hair.
He wrinkled his nose as he smiled but he didn’t rub away the kiss as he had earlier. Taking the Bible, Sophie went back to the desk and opened it. She read several passages, each seemingly worse than the last. Everyone seemed to be about the wicked and their prosperity–evil, and it’s vices–violence being as a garment–and being forsaken by God.
Simon was sleeping, Sophie closed the Bible and pushed it to the edge of the desk.
My life is like that all right, forsaken and surrounded by the wicked and violent, who prosper from their foolishness–if I am not there to catch them at least.
She picked up Pride and Prejudice and began to read. That at least wasn’t—isn’t like my life—well except the preacher part, but at least that makes me almost want to laugh instead of cry.
Sophie buried her nose in the book and began to read, letting time slip past her as if it didn’t exist.
Chapter 2
The letters started to dance before her eyes, Sophie rubbed her face, with her cold fingers in an attempt to stay awake.
Cold fingers, the fire must have died. How could I have let that happen?
Going to the potbellied stove, she opened the door. The fire had gone out save for a few small glowing coals. Sophie held back a moan. Starting a fire from coals wasn’t one of her greatest talents. Aunt Martha could build a roaring fire from a single dying coal. She’d just have to see what she could do with it. Slowly, Sophie encouraged the coals to take hold on kindling, and from kindling to a dried log. The room started warming up once again, her blood didn’t shiver through her veins, but the warmth made sleep pull at her eyelids. Drowsy blue dreamlands played before her, whispering for her to stop fighting and fall into their gentle arms.
Maybe I can give Simon a turn at the watch if it’s almost five.
The cheerful clock face told her that it was only ten more minutes to three.
It’s almost three, you just have to last for another two hours. Just another two hours Sophie, hold onto yourself girl.
Getting up she paced slightly, trying to avoid the creaky floorboards so she wouldn’t wake Simon; Sophie could care less if she woke Jesse Garrison. He was the very reason she was awake. The thought crossed her mind to go outside and get pebbles to throw them at him. But that was incredibly childish, and unprofessional, and was clearly an incoherent thought. Besides she really didn’t want his company anyways, he was just a nuisance.
Lizzy, how would you have kept yourself awake on a night like this? I am sure there was a time when you could not sleep.
Instantly she thought of Lydia–of Mr. Darcy knowing of their family blot. Surely that had kept Lizzy Bennet awake at night, but the idea of it was not enough to keep her awake. Perhaps–Charlotte Lucas marrying Mr. Collins? That might have kept her awake at night, but no there was no Charlotte Lucas in her life to be sad about marrying any Mr. Collins. Though the preacher had proposed to her. Sophie smiled. She and Lizzy had that in common.
Though I do wish to avoid Mr. Wickham, whoever he may be, and I wonder who my Mr. Darcy is? She giggled softly to herself, Mr. Wickham’s were to be had by the wagon load, while Mr. Darcy. Ah, she would be lucky if she even got a proposal from anyone ever again.
Sophie yawned, her thoughts though entertaining were far from keeping her awake. Opening the small cupboard, she pulled down the coffee pot and a can of ground coffee. This was her last hope, and she had been reluctant to come to it. She and coffee were not terrific friends. She was fond of the scent but could never get the flavor to her liking. Her mother had raised her on good British tea–and coffee tasted too much like someone had burned the tea, and just called it something else. She smiled wondering what American’s thought during the Revolutionary War when they dumped the Brit’s beloved tea in the harbor. Soon the smell of coffee filled the room, and she smiled in anticipation.
Jesse Garrison sat up from the cot, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at the clock.
“You are brewing coffee in the middle of the night?”
Sophie twisted her mouth wryly, “Just trying to stay awake that is all, what woke you up?”
“After being on the cattle trail for a little while your body wakes up to the smell of coffee. Can I have some?”
“I think I made enough for two. How do you drink it?”
“Black.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose, and pulled down two tin cups from the cupboard, pouring them both generous cups, she picked his up and walked toward the bars. He rose to meet her.
“No, stay where you are. I’ll put the cup down, and then you can come get it when I walk away.”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“I trust you as much as I’d trust a fox in the hen house.”
“Even though I didn’t run away when I had the chance?”
“Like I said–my father will decide it all when he comes back in the morning,” she said slipping the cup through the bars and sliding it towards him. He waited for her to step away before he rolled to his feet with a grimace.
“Are you sure you are all right?”
“Right as rain. Why do you keep asking?”
“Grimacing is usually a sign of pain–not ease.”
“Haven’t you noticed that some people go through their whole life grimacing at the world,” and Jesse made an exaggerated grimace.
Sophie giggled.
“There I made you laugh, that has to count for something.”
Sophie wrinkled her brow, “What on earth do you mean by that.”
“How often do your prisoners or even the men whose fights you have to break up make you laugh?”
“Daily,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Then you have a deeper sense of humor than I thought.”
“You thought I had a sense of humor?”
“Anyone who reads’ Jane Austen must have a sense of humor, somewhere in their bones, even if is as dry as dust.”
Sophie stirred her three spoonsful of sugar around in her cup examining Jesse Garrison.
“So you’re a cowpuncher?” she changed the subject.
“Some,” he said yawning.
“Were you looking for work up here?”
Jesse shook his head, “Nah, no one I want to work for out here. I am hot on the trail of something else. Something of fortune.”
“It’s a little late for the gold rush isn’t it?”
Jesse smiled, “I haven’t pinned my hopes on that glittering star. No, something far more important has my attention. Something money can’t buy.”
“Penance? Who did you kill?”
Jesse half laughed half choked on his mouthful of coffee, and Sophie giggled just lightly.
“Do you giggle all the time, or just to annoy me?”
“It’s late, I just might giggle at anything,” Sophie, said trying to hold together a serious face. “Now, go back to sleep, before we wake up Simon,” she whispered as the lad began to stir.
There was complete silence as they both drank coffee, and stared into deep middle distances, their minds whirling in opposite directions. After a little while Jesse Garrison laid down under the forest green blanket staring up at the ceiling, and Sophie turned back to reading her book.
But alas, she had finished it again. She sighed contentedly and leaned back looking up at the ceiling, letting the last few words run through her head, relishing the sweet feeling it always left with her.
“Nothing really to look at is there?” asked Mr. Garrison.
What a way to wreck the perfect reverie. Sophie thought sitting up and looking at her intruder. “Then don’t look.”
“Can’t, not sleepy, and I can’t really toss and turn.”
“I should have sent Simon for the doctor.”
“Nah, I’ll be all right in a few days.”
“Yeah, if you lie around and do nothing I am sure you’ll be dandy. You sure they didn’t crack your ribs?”
“Positive, I’ve had those before.”
Sophie winced.
“Do you want some liniment? That helps sometimes.”
Jesse nodded, that it would give him relief.
Sophie opened her father’s drawer and pulled out the Minard Liniment bottle, he always used it after a long day in the saddle.
Gingerly picking up she brought it to the cell, and set it on the floor through the bars.
As she backed away as Jesse winced his way off the cot and to the bottle,
“They really did you in didn’t they?”
“Almost.”
“Do you want a drink of water?” she asked.
“That would be nice,” he answered.
Stepping outside for freshwater she stopped and took in a deep breath. The night air was cold and clean. The stars twinkled happily as if they were smiling down on her. Taking the pitcher still partially filled with fresh water, she poured two tin cups with water. The room was filled with the pungent smell of liniment.
“Here drink this.” she said offering him cup and taking the liniment from his hand. He drank it all in three deep gulps.
“Don’t drown yourself in that cup.”
“No worry of that,” came back the reply as he set the cup aside.
“Feeling any better?”
“Yes, thank you. You should become a nurse.”
“Ha, I couldn’t stand it if I tried.”
He looked at her. “Couldn’t stand it?”
Sophie shook her head. “I’d be a useless nurse.”
“Doesn’t have anything to do with your fainting does it?”
“Of course not,” she said opening Pride and Prejudice back to page one, once again she began to read, he had shattered her good mood. He had pretty much, destroyed everything good about the day.
Chapter 3
The sound of horse’s hooves and a voice shouting roused Sophie from her slumber. She sat up with a start. Her neck aching. The door was tried and then banged upon with a heavy hand.
Simon sat up with a start.
“Sophie! Open up it’s me!” came the familiar voice.
“Coming Pa!”
Crossing the room, she unbolted the door and opened it.
“We have to get a posse together,” he said bursting through the crack, “The Smithson Gang is rustling out there. I got a crack at one of them last night, pretty sure it was Green Bill. They won’t go very far without him. If I can get a posse, together...this could mean good things for us. There are over a hundred dollars a piece on their heads.”
“Who do you want me to get Pa?” piped up Simon.
He swung around to look at his son, then to the jail cell and back to Simon. “So you’re here too? Good, you know who to fetch the one we trust and bring your sister’s horse.”
“Yes, Pa,” he said with a nod of his head and was off clapping on his brown felt hat as he closed the door behind him.
After the sound of Simon’s running feet had disappeared down the wooden sidewalk Sheriff Brown swung around one last time.
“Who’s this?”
“Jesse Garrison sir,” said Jesse with a bow of his head. Sophie found her eyebrows raised; he didn’t seem like the kind of man to be reverent to anyone.
For a long moment, their eyes met.
“What did you arrest him for?” he said turning to Sophie.
“Disturbing the peace, he was in a row with Twist and his gang.”
“Not surprising, anything besides causing a disturbance?”
“No.”
“What has you up in these parts, Jesse?”
“Looking for a family treasure.”
“Not looking for trouble, are you?”
“No sir!” said Jesse smartly.
Her father made a face that said he was calculating things. “Release him. We’ve got more important things, and he seems harmless enough.”
Sophie felt flabbergasted, and her jaw dropped for a moment. But her father never noticed as he went to his drawer and pulled out a second gun, and loading his belt with fresh bullets.
Taking the keys, she thrust the key into the lock as Jesse stepped towards the door.
“I told you, you could have let me out last night.”
Sophie smiled at him tight-lipped.
“At least you got a free place to sleep.”
“Pity, I paid to stay a night at the boarding house then.”
Sophie felt a slight tinge of a blush creep in her cheeks. “Well if you kept better company, maybe you’d get to enjoy what you pay for,” she murmured and opened the door.
“I thought your company was pretty nice, for the price that is.”
Sophie wanted to kick him but looked away instead raising her head.
In a moment Jesse Garrison walked out of the Sheriff’s office and was gone. Her father was placing a double holster belt in her hand saying, “Strap that on, you’re going to need it.”
“Pa?”
“You’re coming with me. Now get ready.”
“Yes, father.”
Excitement pumped through her veins, this was the first time he had asked her to come along on such an outing, and against such cattle rustlers as the Smithson’s.
Her mind rattled on, there were five members in all. If each was at least worth one-hundred dollars, then...divided by the seven men would be nearly seventy-five dollars. But if she came along, they might include her in the cut, even if they gave her half the cut it would be close to ninety dollars for her father. What kind of marvelous thing would they do with ninety dollars?
Sophie wished she could beg questions of him, but he was too busy pulling out temporary badges from the bottom drawer, and Mr. Walker entered.
“Your son said the Smithson Gang was in taking cattle. I am in.”
Mr. Walker was followed shortly by five other men, a few supplies were gathered, horses saddled up, and almost before she could believe it; Sophie found herself part of a posse searching for the Smithson gang, riding in a group of men that all wore silver stars on their chest. The trail was hot from the McFadden Ranch, but by high noon, the trail had faded and so had Sophie’s energy. Mentally, she calculated that she had maybe two full hours of sleep under her belt, her heavy eyelids fought every waking moment as she searched for any sign of the Smithson Gang.
“Sophie,” her father’s voice startled her.
“Yes Pa?”
He eyed her, “Best go home, us men are going to stay out a while, most likely into the night. Go home and have Aunt Martha put you to bed. There’s nothing out here to harm you, we’ll be lucky if the Smithson’s are still around.”
“Yes, Pa,” she said obediently, her heart wincing, feeling that she had failed and disappointed him.
Turning her horse around, she followed the cold trail, riding homeward, biting back the wayward tears that would cloud her eyes. Exhaustion was stronger than any other feelings she was suffering, and her eyes were refusing to stay open.
A scream of terror caught in her throat awakening her thoroughly as she felt herself falling. The hard ground knocked the breath out of her, and she struggled to grasp for air.
Cruel laughter crowed above her head.
“Look what we found,” cackled a voice that made her want to shiver.
Sophie didn’t know what to be more scared of, the voices or the fact that she could not draw a single breath.
In a moment her breath came in a sharp gasp that hurt her lungs, she drew several quick breaths trying to catch up when a hand touched her shoulder rolling over to face him.
Fear drained Sophie of all her strength, she knew the face instantly from the poster hanging outside her father’s office, the words one-hundred-dollar reward wanted dead or alive, written below it.
Slippery Sam, a member of the Smithson cow smuggling ring.
Her hands went the gun at her waist, it was gone. Her guns were gone!
“Pa!” she screamed.
“He can’t save you now deputy darlin’ you’re all ours,” he said waving a piece of rope before her.
“No, no I am not,” she said pushing away from him and trying to scramble to her feet.
These men would think nothing of hanging her just to teach her father a lesson. Before she could gather her feet beneath her, a set of hands clenched her shoulders, pushing her back to the ground. She writhed, kicking and screaming for every breath in her body. The possibility of death had never seemed so intense or real before. If she wanted to live...to breathe. It felt as if the whole gang pinned her down, but her voice was free until someone stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth, she gagged. It tasted—unspeakable. In minutes bound and gagged, she was tied to her saddle and trapped in a pack of outlaws.
“But Pa doesn’t mind me reading it...”
“Aunt Martha said that book is the reason that you turned down the Preacher is that true?”
Sophie held her breath, anger raging higher with each heartbeat. Her voice was calm and dangerously controlled the next moment that she spoke, “Aunt Martha says I turned down a preacher because of my book?” I will have to set that woman straight, of all the outrageous ideas.
Simon nodded.
“Well. I didn’t. I didn’t want to marry Parson Wheaten, for my own reasons, and none of them have to do with this book, now go to bed.”
“Why don’t you read the Bible more often Sophie?”
Sophie put her book down with a bang. “Who put you up to asking all of these questions!”
Simon shrugged and turned over. Instantly, guilt kicked Sophie in the gut. It was hard to explain to Simon why she didn’t read the Bible more often. She read it on Sundays, and for her lessons when Aunt Martha asked her to, but reading it herself, for her own good as Aunt Martha put it. She didn’t pick it up, she didn’t want to read it. There were too many painful reminders for her in that book. How her mother died with one in her hands, a smile on her face. Her twelve-year-old voice begging God if He’d spare her mother’s life she’d do anything for Him.
That prayer hadn’t been answered, and now, God was nothing more than–God.
Sophie glanced over at the jail cell, Jesse seemed to be sleeping–seemed to have been sleeping for quite some time. Taking a deep breath, she went to Simon’s side and knelt by the cot.
“I’ll try to read more if that will make you happy.”
Simon smiled, “It will make you happy too.”
She only nodded. “Now go to sleep,” and leaning over she kissed his hair.
He wrinkled his nose as he smiled but he didn’t rub away the kiss as he had earlier. Taking the Bible, Sophie went back to the desk and opened it. She read several passages, each seemingly worse than the last. Everyone seemed to be about the wicked and their prosperity–evil, and it’s vices–violence being as a garment–and being forsaken by God.
Simon was sleeping, Sophie closed the Bible and pushed it to the edge of the desk.
My life is like that all right, forsaken and surrounded by the wicked and violent, who prosper from their foolishness–if I am not there to catch them at least.
She picked up Pride and Prejudice and began to read. That at least wasn’t—isn’t like my life—well except the preacher part, but at least that makes me almost want to laugh instead of cry.
Sophie buried her nose in the book and began to read, letting time slip past her as if it didn’t exist.
Chapter 2
The letters started to dance before her eyes, Sophie rubbed her face, with her cold fingers in an attempt to stay awake.
Cold fingers, the fire must have died. How could I have let that happen?
Going to the potbellied stove, she opened the door. The fire had gone out save for a few small glowing coals. Sophie held back a moan. Starting a fire from coals wasn’t one of her greatest talents. Aunt Martha could build a roaring fire from a single dying coal. She’d just have to see what she could do with it. Slowly, Sophie encouraged the coals to take hold on kindling, and from kindling to a dried log. The room started warming up once again, her blood didn’t shiver through her veins, but the warmth made sleep pull at her eyelids. Drowsy blue dreamlands played before her, whispering for her to stop fighting and fall into their gentle arms.
Maybe I can give Simon a turn at the watch if it’s almost five.
The cheerful clock face told her that it was only ten more minutes to three.
It’s almost three, you just have to last for another two hours. Just another two hours Sophie, hold onto yourself girl.
Getting up she paced slightly, trying to avoid the creaky floorboards so she wouldn’t wake Simon; Sophie could care less if she woke Jesse Garrison. He was the very reason she was awake. The thought crossed her mind to go outside and get pebbles to throw them at him. But that was incredibly childish, and unprofessional, and was clearly an incoherent thought. Besides she really didn’t want his company anyways, he was just a nuisance.
Lizzy, how would you have kept yourself awake on a night like this? I am sure there was a time when you could not sleep.
Instantly she thought of Lydia–of Mr. Darcy knowing of their family blot. Surely that had kept Lizzy Bennet awake at night, but the idea of it was not enough to keep her awake. Perhaps–Charlotte Lucas marrying Mr. Collins? That might have kept her awake at night, but no there was no Charlotte Lucas in her life to be sad about marrying any Mr. Collins. Though the preacher had proposed to her. Sophie smiled. She and Lizzy had that in common.
Though I do wish to avoid Mr. Wickham, whoever he may be, and I wonder who my Mr. Darcy is? She giggled softly to herself, Mr. Wickham’s were to be had by the wagon load, while Mr. Darcy. Ah, she would be lucky if she even got a proposal from anyone ever again.
Sophie yawned, her thoughts though entertaining were far from keeping her awake. Opening the small cupboard, she pulled down the coffee pot and a can of ground coffee. This was her last hope, and she had been reluctant to come to it. She and coffee were not terrific friends. She was fond of the scent but could never get the flavor to her liking. Her mother had raised her on good British tea–and coffee tasted too much like someone had burned the tea, and just called it something else. She smiled wondering what American’s thought during the Revolutionary War when they dumped the Brit’s beloved tea in the harbor. Soon the smell of coffee filled the room, and she smiled in anticipation.
Jesse Garrison sat up from the cot, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at the clock.
“You are brewing coffee in the middle of the night?”
Sophie twisted her mouth wryly, “Just trying to stay awake that is all, what woke you up?”
“After being on the cattle trail for a little while your body wakes up to the smell of coffee. Can I have some?”
“I think I made enough for two. How do you drink it?”
“Black.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose, and pulled down two tin cups from the cupboard, pouring them both generous cups, she picked his up and walked toward the bars. He rose to meet her.
“No, stay where you are. I’ll put the cup down, and then you can come get it when I walk away.”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“I trust you as much as I’d trust a fox in the hen house.”
“Even though I didn’t run away when I had the chance?”
“Like I said–my father will decide it all when he comes back in the morning,” she said slipping the cup through the bars and sliding it towards him. He waited for her to step away before he rolled to his feet with a grimace.
“Are you sure you are all right?”
“Right as rain. Why do you keep asking?”
“Grimacing is usually a sign of pain–not ease.”
“Haven’t you noticed that some people go through their whole life grimacing at the world,” and Jesse made an exaggerated grimace.
Sophie giggled.
“There I made you laugh, that has to count for something.”
Sophie wrinkled her brow, “What on earth do you mean by that.”
“How often do your prisoners or even the men whose fights you have to break up make you laugh?”
“Daily,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Then you have a deeper sense of humor than I thought.”
“You thought I had a sense of humor?”
“Anyone who reads’ Jane Austen must have a sense of humor, somewhere in their bones, even if is as dry as dust.”
Sophie stirred her three spoonsful of sugar around in her cup examining Jesse Garrison.
“So you’re a cowpuncher?” she changed the subject.
“Some,” he said yawning.
“Were you looking for work up here?”
Jesse shook his head, “Nah, no one I want to work for out here. I am hot on the trail of something else. Something of fortune.”
“It’s a little late for the gold rush isn’t it?”
Jesse smiled, “I haven’t pinned my hopes on that glittering star. No, something far more important has my attention. Something money can’t buy.”
“Penance? Who did you kill?”
Jesse half laughed half choked on his mouthful of coffee, and Sophie giggled just lightly.
“Do you giggle all the time, or just to annoy me?”
“It’s late, I just might giggle at anything,” Sophie, said trying to hold together a serious face. “Now, go back to sleep, before we wake up Simon,” she whispered as the lad began to stir.
There was complete silence as they both drank coffee, and stared into deep middle distances, their minds whirling in opposite directions. After a little while Jesse Garrison laid down under the forest green blanket staring up at the ceiling, and Sophie turned back to reading her book.
But alas, she had finished it again. She sighed contentedly and leaned back looking up at the ceiling, letting the last few words run through her head, relishing the sweet feeling it always left with her.
“Nothing really to look at is there?” asked Mr. Garrison.
What a way to wreck the perfect reverie. Sophie thought sitting up and looking at her intruder. “Then don’t look.”
“Can’t, not sleepy, and I can’t really toss and turn.”
“I should have sent Simon for the doctor.”
“Nah, I’ll be all right in a few days.”
“Yeah, if you lie around and do nothing I am sure you’ll be dandy. You sure they didn’t crack your ribs?”
“Positive, I’ve had those before.”
Sophie winced.
“Do you want some liniment? That helps sometimes.”
Jesse nodded, that it would give him relief.
Sophie opened her father’s drawer and pulled out the Minard Liniment bottle, he always used it after a long day in the saddle.
Gingerly picking up she brought it to the cell, and set it on the floor through the bars.
As she backed away as Jesse winced his way off the cot and to the bottle,
“They really did you in didn’t they?”
“Almost.”
“Do you want a drink of water?” she asked.
“That would be nice,” he answered.
Stepping outside for freshwater she stopped and took in a deep breath. The night air was cold and clean. The stars twinkled happily as if they were smiling down on her. Taking the pitcher still partially filled with fresh water, she poured two tin cups with water. The room was filled with the pungent smell of liniment.
“Here drink this.” she said offering him cup and taking the liniment from his hand. He drank it all in three deep gulps.
“Don’t drown yourself in that cup.”
“No worry of that,” came back the reply as he set the cup aside.
“Feeling any better?”
“Yes, thank you. You should become a nurse.”
“Ha, I couldn’t stand it if I tried.”
He looked at her. “Couldn’t stand it?”
Sophie shook her head. “I’d be a useless nurse.”
“Doesn’t have anything to do with your fainting does it?”
“Of course not,” she said opening Pride and Prejudice back to page one, once again she began to read, he had shattered her good mood. He had pretty much, destroyed everything good about the day.
Chapter 3
The sound of horse’s hooves and a voice shouting roused Sophie from her slumber. She sat up with a start. Her neck aching. The door was tried and then banged upon with a heavy hand.
Simon sat up with a start.
“Sophie! Open up it’s me!” came the familiar voice.
“Coming Pa!”
Crossing the room, she unbolted the door and opened it.
“We have to get a posse together,” he said bursting through the crack, “The Smithson Gang is rustling out there. I got a crack at one of them last night, pretty sure it was Green Bill. They won’t go very far without him. If I can get a posse, together...this could mean good things for us. There are over a hundred dollars a piece on their heads.”
“Who do you want me to get Pa?” piped up Simon.
He swung around to look at his son, then to the jail cell and back to Simon. “So you’re here too? Good, you know who to fetch the one we trust and bring your sister’s horse.”
“Yes, Pa,” he said with a nod of his head and was off clapping on his brown felt hat as he closed the door behind him.
After the sound of Simon’s running feet had disappeared down the wooden sidewalk Sheriff Brown swung around one last time.
“Who’s this?”
“Jesse Garrison sir,” said Jesse with a bow of his head. Sophie found her eyebrows raised; he didn’t seem like the kind of man to be reverent to anyone.
For a long moment, their eyes met.
“What did you arrest him for?” he said turning to Sophie.
“Disturbing the peace, he was in a row with Twist and his gang.”
“Not surprising, anything besides causing a disturbance?”
“No.”
“What has you up in these parts, Jesse?”
“Looking for a family treasure.”
“Not looking for trouble, are you?”
“No sir!” said Jesse smartly.
Her father made a face that said he was calculating things. “Release him. We’ve got more important things, and he seems harmless enough.”
Sophie felt flabbergasted, and her jaw dropped for a moment. But her father never noticed as he went to his drawer and pulled out a second gun, and loading his belt with fresh bullets.
Taking the keys, she thrust the key into the lock as Jesse stepped towards the door.
“I told you, you could have let me out last night.”
Sophie smiled at him tight-lipped.
“At least you got a free place to sleep.”
“Pity, I paid to stay a night at the boarding house then.”
Sophie felt a slight tinge of a blush creep in her cheeks. “Well if you kept better company, maybe you’d get to enjoy what you pay for,” she murmured and opened the door.
“I thought your company was pretty nice, for the price that is.”
Sophie wanted to kick him but looked away instead raising her head.
In a moment Jesse Garrison walked out of the Sheriff’s office and was gone. Her father was placing a double holster belt in her hand saying, “Strap that on, you’re going to need it.”
“Pa?”
“You’re coming with me. Now get ready.”
“Yes, father.”
Excitement pumped through her veins, this was the first time he had asked her to come along on such an outing, and against such cattle rustlers as the Smithson’s.
Her mind rattled on, there were five members in all. If each was at least worth one-hundred dollars, then...divided by the seven men would be nearly seventy-five dollars. But if she came along, they might include her in the cut, even if they gave her half the cut it would be close to ninety dollars for her father. What kind of marvelous thing would they do with ninety dollars?
Sophie wished she could beg questions of him, but he was too busy pulling out temporary badges from the bottom drawer, and Mr. Walker entered.
“Your son said the Smithson Gang was in taking cattle. I am in.”
Mr. Walker was followed shortly by five other men, a few supplies were gathered, horses saddled up, and almost before she could believe it; Sophie found herself part of a posse searching for the Smithson gang, riding in a group of men that all wore silver stars on their chest. The trail was hot from the McFadden Ranch, but by high noon, the trail had faded and so had Sophie’s energy. Mentally, she calculated that she had maybe two full hours of sleep under her belt, her heavy eyelids fought every waking moment as she searched for any sign of the Smithson Gang.
“Sophie,” her father’s voice startled her.
“Yes Pa?”
He eyed her, “Best go home, us men are going to stay out a while, most likely into the night. Go home and have Aunt Martha put you to bed. There’s nothing out here to harm you, we’ll be lucky if the Smithson’s are still around.”
“Yes, Pa,” she said obediently, her heart wincing, feeling that she had failed and disappointed him.
Turning her horse around, she followed the cold trail, riding homeward, biting back the wayward tears that would cloud her eyes. Exhaustion was stronger than any other feelings she was suffering, and her eyes were refusing to stay open.
A scream of terror caught in her throat awakening her thoroughly as she felt herself falling. The hard ground knocked the breath out of her, and she struggled to grasp for air.
Cruel laughter crowed above her head.
“Look what we found,” cackled a voice that made her want to shiver.
Sophie didn’t know what to be more scared of, the voices or the fact that she could not draw a single breath.
In a moment her breath came in a sharp gasp that hurt her lungs, she drew several quick breaths trying to catch up when a hand touched her shoulder rolling over to face him.
Fear drained Sophie of all her strength, she knew the face instantly from the poster hanging outside her father’s office, the words one-hundred-dollar reward wanted dead or alive, written below it.
Slippery Sam, a member of the Smithson cow smuggling ring.
Her hands went the gun at her waist, it was gone. Her guns were gone!
“Pa!” she screamed.
“He can’t save you now deputy darlin’ you’re all ours,” he said waving a piece of rope before her.
“No, no I am not,” she said pushing away from him and trying to scramble to her feet.
These men would think nothing of hanging her just to teach her father a lesson. Before she could gather her feet beneath her, a set of hands clenched her shoulders, pushing her back to the ground. She writhed, kicking and screaming for every breath in her body. The possibility of death had never seemed so intense or real before. If she wanted to live...to breathe. It felt as if the whole gang pinned her down, but her voice was free until someone stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth, she gagged. It tasted—unspeakable. In minutes bound and gagged, she was tied to her saddle and trapped in a pack of outlaws.
