“Could be.” Wesley pointed at Trumbo and Kleist. “I want the two of you to backtrack half a mile or so. Do it careful. Look for sign of the mountain man and his squaw.”
“We’ll fetch our horses.” Trumbo went to turn.
“Did I say to ride?” Wesley snapped. “Go on foot. That way you won’t leave sign telling King we’re expecting him.”
“Oh. You’re right. I didn’t think again.”
“That’s what I’m for.” Wesley turned and squatted next to Samuel. “Your wrists and ankles are bleeding. I told you not to try to get free, but you didn’t listen.”
“What do you care?”
“Not a damn bit. But I have a job to do and it helps me do the job faster and easier if you’re not weak from loss of blood.” Wesley regarded him thoughtfully. “Your woman says that you and the Kings are friends. Is that true?”
Samuel had to fight the pain to say, “I expect as we are now, yes. Why do you want to know?”
Emala piped up with, “They like us so much, they’ve invited us to come live in their valley.”
“This bothers me more and more. If they like you so damn much, where the hell are they?” Wesley rose. “We’ll spend the night here. If the Kings don’t show by morning, we’ll head out.”
Samuel thought of the suffering his wife and children would go through. “You’re not goin’ to keep us staked out like this all night, are you?”
“No.” Wesley drew his knife and cut a strip from Samuel’s shirt. “Open your mouth.”
“I’ll be damned if I will.”
Wesley jabbed the tip of the blade against Samuel’s neck. “You think you can sass me because I want you alive for the money. But there’s nothing that says I can’t chop off a finger or toe. Or how about if I feed you your daughter’s nose or an ear?”
“I hate you,” Samuel said. But he opened his mouth. His piece of shirt tasted of sweat.
“Why didn’t we gag them earlier?” Olan asked. “They’d have yelled their heads off to warn the Kings.”
“That they would,” Wesley agreed. “All of them, all at the same time, making so much noise, the Kings wouldn’t hear us close in for the kill.”
Olan chuckled. “Trumbo is always saying about how you’re as slick as axle grease, and I have to agree. Could be I’d like to work with you steady if you can give me your word my poke won’t ever go empty.”
“Equal shares is how we split the bounties. Not many runaways are worth as much as this bunch. But I’ve never had less than a hundred dollars in my poke in all the years I’ve been chasing black sheep.”
Emala had put up with all she was going to. “We’re not sheep! We’re human beings!”
Wesley leaned down and pinched the fleshy part of her upper arm so hard, she cried out. “It riles me when your kind claim to be the same as me. Take a good look, cow. I’m human, and my skin is white. Your skin is black. That makes you something else.”
“How can you think that? How can you be so twisted inside?”
“You just can’t stand to hear the truth, you lump of ugliness.” Wesley cut a strip from her dress and bunched it up. “Open wide.”
Emala couldn’t say what made her do it. When he started to stuff the gag between her teeth, she bit down with all her might. Blood spurted and bone crunched. She swallowed some of the blood and nearly gagged.
Suddenly Olan was there. The stock of his rifle rose and fell.
“Emala!” Samuel cried.
“Ma!” Randa wailed.
Chickory was dumbstruck with horror.
Wesley clutched his hand, grit his teeth and hissed, “The bitch! The miserable bitch!” He pressed his bleeding finger to his side and grimaced. “First my teeth. Now this.”
Samuel stared aghast at the blood trickling from his wife’s brow. “If you’ve busted her skull, so help me—”
“As thick as her head is?” Olan responded, and laughed. “Hell, I’m lucky I didn’t bust my rifle.”
“In all the years I’ve been at this,” Wesley said, “no runaways have ever given me as much trouble. And I have a feeling the worst is yet to come.”
“The mountain man?”
“And his squaw. Don’t forget her.”
“She’s female, for God’s sake.”
“She’s a red savage, and she will kill if she has to.” Wesley gazed to the west. “As surely as anything, they’ll try to stop us. I don’t know when and I can’t say how, but they will.”
“Let them. Nate King won’t be so lucky next time.” Olan fingered the hilt of his knife. “Me, I’m looking forward to making a tobacco pouch out of his wife’s hide.”
Chapter Eighteen
A bee buzzed past Emala and she gave a slight start. Ordinarily she would be near panic. Bee stings hurt like the dickens and made her puff up something awful. But she was too upset to panic. Her world had come crashing down around her. Not only that, her head was pounding. Not as bad as the night before but bad enough that she could hardly think.
The slave hunters were strung out in a line. Bromley was in the lead, his shotgun across his saddle. Next came Wesley and Trumbo. Kleist was leading the Worths’ mounts. Last came Olan, in charge of the pack horse, whistling to himself.
For the hundredth time Emala tested the rope that bound her wrists. It was as tight as ever. She bit off a cuss word. She didn’t believe in swearing, and she was doing her best to convince Samuel not to, but Samuel was a man and men had been put on earth to try female patience.
“Lord, preserve us,” Emala breathed.
“What did you say?” Samuel twisted around. “Are you all right? How are you holdin’ up?”
Emala couldn’t get over how devoted he had acted all day. He hung on her every word and was always asking how she was doing. It made her suspicious. When men are nice, they have a secret reason. “I’m fine,” she fibbed. “But thank you for askin’.” If he could be polite, so could she.
They neared a bend in the Platte. The river, usually shallow, deepened and widened into a series of pools. Finches and sparrows chirped in the brush. Warblers sang high in the trees. Squirrels scampered from limb to limb, and a long-eared rabbit bounded off. Does pricked their ears and fled with their white tails erect. In one of the pools a large beaver swam toward a mound of sticks.
Emala couldn’t get over it all. So many creatures, it was the Garden of Eden all over again. It was strange how things worked out, she reflected. Here she had been dragged against her will from her life as a slave, only to find Samuel had been right and being a slave was no life at all. She wouldn’t ever admit it, but she loved being free, loved it more than anything except her children and possibly Samuel.
And just when Emala was starting to savor the joy of being alive, along came the slave hunters and their hired killers to drag her and hers back to the life she despised.
Life just wasn’t fair.
“No, it sure ain’t,” Samuel declared.
Emala realized she had spoken aloud.
“If only we’d made it to the mountains, they’d never have found us. We’d be free forever.”
Wesley slowed and waited for Samuel to come up alongside him. “I heard that. The price on your heads, you’d have hunters after you from now until you’re six feet under.”
“Surely they wouldn’t follow us all the way to the Rocky Mountains?” Emala said, surprised.
“How long before it sinks in? Five thousand dollars is more than most men make in ten years.”
They started around the bend. Trees hid the next stretch of trail. Emala was surprised when Wesley suddenly drew rein and rose in the stirrups. She was even more surprised when she saw why.