Back to Tomorrow

Chapter 14-2

Emily hauled back on the reins, but the little buckskin, determined to reach the water, ignored the cue. One of the men heaved himself up and stepped into her path.

“Whatcher doin’, kid? Ain’t you a fer piece from home?”

Emily hesitated, struggling to gather her wits in spite of a head gone fuzzy with heat and weariness. The man called her kid, which meant he was taking her clothing at face value.

“I—er—I kinda got lost, sir. I was ridin’ from Bisbee to meet my brother. He was s’posed to come out from Fort Huachuca with the money for Ma. He sends part o’ his pay home every month ‘cause our dad got crippled up in the mines. Isn’t this pretty near to Charleston?”

The man shook his head, disgust contorting his rough features.

“Wet-eared kids. Mamas shouldn’t let ‘em out of sight. Yeah, we’re south of Charleston, ‘bout three miles.”

“If—I’ll just water my horse and then I’ll go. I didn’t mean to be botherin’ you men.” Emily struggled to talk, her mouth so dry her tongue felt stiff and clumsy, making her slur her words.

The man stepped aside to let her pass. As she nudged the mare forward, Emily’s glance slid past a couple of the others. One looked vaguely familiar. Whoa, wasn’t he the third man in the group with Jake and the Hulk, the one Jake had called Bucky? She turned her face away as quickly as she could, hoping he wouldn’t see anything familiar about her. She didn’t think he had paid much attention to her the other evening, but she didn’t know for sure. No use taking a chance.

At the river’s edge, Emily slipped out of the saddle and let the buckskin drink, pulling her away, as Zach had done with Rusty, before she drank too much. She walked up and down along the riverbank a few times and then let the mare drink again. Only then did Emily kneel to get herself a drink. As far as she could tell, the men weren’t paying any further attention to her, which was just fine. The less they noticed the better.

Scrambling back into the saddle, Emily started to ride off up the river. If she got to Charleston, it wouldn’t be hard to find her way from there to Tombstone. She’d made that trip before and the road was easy to follow. Traffic had beaten out distinct ruts along the route.

Before she moved out of the little grove of trees, another of the men accosted her. “Just a minute, kid. Do you know who we are?”

Play dumb. The stupider they think you are, the better. Emily’s guardian angel must have put the thought in her mind. She’d been poised to give a flippant answer, but she quickly shifted mental gears.

Trying hard to make her expression as bland, uninterested, and plain stupid as she could, she shrugged like Angelina did.

“I dunno, cowboys, I reckon. Prob’ly rounding up cows along here and fixin’ to brand the spring calves.”

“Yeah, that’s right. We’re cowboys. If you run into anyone and they ask if you seen anybody, just tell them you saw a bunch of cowboys gatherin’ along the river.” The man laughed then, a harsh, ugly bray.

On the verge of spurring the buckskin off at a trot, Emily pulled up short as a lariat loop whistled through the air and settled neatly around her shoulders.

“Not so fast, keed.” A different voice, touched with a bit of Mexican accent, spoke.

Emily turned her horse to face the sound, moving slowly so as not to feel that loop tighten, maybe so much as to drag her out of her saddle. She found herself looking down a length of braided rawhide riata, the style of lasso the Mexican vaqueros used. The man who held the other end could have been Mexican. Lean and dark, he appraised her with obsidian eyes, deep set on either side of an eagle’s beak of a nose. It was the man she had barely noticed, one who had sprawled apart from the others, his hat drawn down over his face as if sleeping.

“Why are you in such a hurry, boy?”

“I—er—I don’t want to make my brother wait. He’ll be mad if I’m late.” Even to her, the story was beginning to sound lame.

Apparently the dark man thought so too. “Take off your hat.” As if to emphasize the order, he jerked the riata, tightening the loop.

Emily raised her hand slowly, bending so she could reach the brim in spite of her arm being pinned to her side at the elbow. She tugged off the hat and freed the tangled mass of her hair. She slumped in despair.

They’d never let her go now.

The man walked down the rope toward her, keeping it tight. “Not a boy.” A smile twitched his wide black moustache but did not soften his eyes a bit. It was a wolfish, wicked looking smile. Emily shivered. She felt like a rabbit looking at a hungry coyote.

Something made her look up at that moment, over and past her captor. She gasped in a swift breath at the sight. Another group of riders poised on the bank above them, each man with a rifle balanced across the front of his saddle. None of them looked friendly.

Intuition told her not to draw attention to the newcomers. She didn’t have a clue what would happen next, but she was going to be in the middle of it, no matter what. She sat quietly, just waiting, as the new riders spilled down the sandy bank, raising their rifles as they came.

“Don’t try anything. We’ve got you covered. What have you done with the loot?” The obvious leader of the new group yelled the words as he centered the bore of his rifle on the man who still held the rope binding Emily’s arms.

Loot? Try anything? What in the world is he talking about? Emily vaguely recalled seeing the tall, lanky man in Tombstone, but exactly where or when she could not recall. Then she noticed he had a badge pinned on his shirt—a copper colored six-point star. An officer of the law, a posse. So just who were these men she’d stumbled upon?

The badge-wearing man glanced from Emily to her captor. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like the looks of it. Drop that riata, hombre, and step back from the little lady’s horse.”

Using the moment’s distraction, one of the first group started for his gun. A shot rang out and the half-drawn pistol went flying before the desperado could fire it. Emily scanned the new riders. One who’d hung back lowered his rifle, a thin stream of smoke still slipping from the barrel.

After that, the rest raised their hands above their heads in tacit surrender. Until they were all securely handcuffed, most with rope, no one paid any attention to Emily. Then, the man wearing the badge turned to her.

“What’s going on here, miss?”

“I was on my way to Tombstone from Bisbee and needed to water my horse,” Emily explained. “I was posing as a youth, hoping to avoid too much notice.”

“You’re a fer piece off the road.”

He continued to study her, suspicion in every line of his leathery face. Emily judged the man to be about fifty, but people seemed to age faster here than in her time, so it was hard to tell. As the tall man approached, Emily could read the “Deputy Marshal” imprinted on his badge. Reaching up, he deftly flipped the rope off of her and threw it down.

“Are you going to tell me you don’t know these fellers or know that they robbed a bank in Tombstone this morning?”

Bank robbers? Oh my God! “No sir, I thought they were just cowboys. They didn’t act like outlaws.”

The deputy marshal chuckled harshly. “And just how do outlaws act, then? You say you’re from Bisbee?”

Emily nodded, feeling it important to stick to her story, but with his keen gray eyes pinning her, she wavered. “Yes, sir—er—that is I came from there today.”

The man rubbed his jaw, looking thoughtful. “Reckon you’d best come along, then. We’re taking this crew back to Tombstone. There’s one more man than what witnesses say took part in the robbery—and you—but I’ll leave that to the judge to sort out.”

Emily’s stomach lurched at the lawman’s casual words. Now she was in still more trouble, might even end up in jail! The Deputy Marshal turned away to gather the posse and the bank robbers into a compact group, one posse member to each robber. As she watched, the posse put leads on the robber’s horses and tied the men to their saddles.

They stashed the extra weapons in scabbards and saddlebags, but the stolen money wasn’t to be found.

The Deputy Marshal put a sharp question to first the dark man and then to a couple of the others, but no one would talk. There was certainly no money to be found in their gear or tack. The fact stirred Emily’s curiosity, but she decided asking questions wouldn’t be wise.

Better to continue her dumb and innocent act for now.

She sighed again, both relieved that there had been no real shoot-out with her in the middle and frustrated that she was now, in effect, a virtual prisoner. She wished even more that she’d been able to listen to Jake and Bucky’s conversation. She was sure the one robber was indeed Bucky, but where was Jake?

A sudden flash of insight hit her then—Jake had the loot! He’d split off from the rest at some point, making his own getaway free and clear.

Just his style—he had the money and the rest of the gang would go to jail. Should she tell the Deputy Marshal?

No, that would only deepen her problem. She’d have some fancy explaining to do to convince the Deputy Marshal how she could be so sure of this information if she wasn’t involved with the gang. Still, it rankled her to think Jake was likely to get away scot-free.

* * * *

By the time Zach and Marshal Cooper’s posse headed back to town, the sun rode low in the west and Rusty wasn’t the only tired horse in the bunch. Zach slouched in his saddle, near the end of the straggling posse. They ambled along a wide wash, strung out for twenty yards or so, heading in the general direction of Tombstone. The worst of it was they’d found nothing to lead them to believe the robbers had headed that way after they escaped from town. The long ride had been a total waste.

As they rounded a bend, Zach just happened to look to one side where a smaller wash entered the one in which they rode. He jerked his mount to a halt as the sight sank in. He knew that horse, knew the man who stood at the black’s head, a hand clamped over the animal’s muzzle. Jake McEuen and his thoroughbred!

The marshal, who’d been right behind Zach, halted and looked also.

They turned together and rode up to the black. The others followed to circle and surround him. Zach thought it strange that the gambler didn’t look either alarmed or surprised.

“McEuen. Just what might you be doing way out here?” The marshal eyed Jake with obvious suspicion, his voice carrying the same doubt.

“I’d gone out to look over a couple of claims I won last week. My horse stumbled in a prairie dog hole and hurt his leg. I was walking him back when I heard riders. Not being sure who it was, I figured I’d best seek shelter until I could identify them. Of course I’m safe in your company, Marshal.”

The marshal looked unconvinced, but then he shrugged as if he’d reached a decision. “May as well come along with us, then. You can ride double behind some of the lighter men, kind of swap around, and lead your horse.”

McEuen accepted the offer courteously enough. Zach watched him for any sign of dismay or anger, but could detect none. The gambler gave no sign at all that he recognized Zach.