Back to Tomorrow

Chapter 10-1

Chapter 10Once they were well out of town, the man took his hand off her face. “No use yelling, missy,” he growled, “‘cuz no one can hear you now, but if you want to holler, I ain’t stopping you.”

Emily didn’t bother to answer, and instead tried to collect enough saliva to spit the nasty taste of his dirty hand out of her mouth. Tugging one arm free from his clasp, she scrubbed her hand across her lips. Her efforts didn’t help much, but for now that was all she could do. She squirmed, trying to get her bottom off the saddle horn, which was pounding into her flesh with every jouncing step the horse took.

“Quit yer damn wigglin’.” The man’s one-armed grasp on her shifted, and she slid backwards toward the horse’s off side. She grabbed a handful of the animal’s mane to stay upright.

“I just want to get off the saddle horn. It’s poking right through me.”

He didn’t answer, but did pull the horse back to a walk, which eased the bumping a bit. Emily tugged at the sunbonnet to keep the strings from cutting into her throat and to get the brim above her eyes instead of canted sideways. She shifted until she could get one leg on either side of the saddle horn and settled down to endure the rest of the trip.

* * * *

Zach rode into Charleston from a different direction than his previous approach. A wiser and much older reporter on the Star-Chronicle staff had once told him the best way to outsmart your enemies was never to do anything by habit. In dealing with a scoundrel like Jake, that suggestion seemed to have much merit. An ambush was less likely if you didn’t follow a normal or habitual path.

This time he rode farther south to the edge of the river and then made his way back northward along the bank, until he neared the Gonzales home and the place Jake rented. Although Zach didn’t expect to find anyone there, he still approached with caution. He halted his horse in the shady protection of some brush to look and listen before riding up to the shack.

Once again, nothing stirred. Even the Gonzales house was silent, which seemed odd. Then he recalled Emily had mentioned Angelina’s family was visiting an aunt across the border. Zach stepped off the bay, loosened the saddle, and tied the animal to a convenient mesquite.

On foot, he circled to approach the house from the rear, intending to enter through the back door. When he reached it, he knocked lightly, keeping his right hand on the butt of his pistol. He wanted to be sure no one was home before trying to force his way in. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t even consider breaking into another person’s home, but this was no routine circumstance.

His knock brought no response. First he tried simply to turn the knob and open the door. To his surprise, the portal swung inward at his touch. Inside, the place was in shambles. At least Mary Ann had made an effort to keep the place picked up, sweep the floor and wash the dishes. Now things looked as if there had been a knock-down, drag-out fight in every room. Chairs had been tipped over, broken glass littered the floor, one of the faded curtains in the kitchen window was hanging by a few threads, and muddy boot prints were everywhere, even up on the walls.

Zach looked around in growing disgust. The place was a pretty poor house at best, but that was no excuse to treat it like a pigsty. But that was the kind of man Jake was, and his cronies were no better. They had no respect for anything, no sense of dignity or decency. He stepped over the shattered remains of a whiskey bottle and began to search the room.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, so he simply proceeded with a methodical search, room by room. There were only three, so the chore wasn’t a huge one. He did find a few small personal things of Mary Ann’s tucked away in a beat-up trunk in the bedroom, but nothing else of any value or obvious significance. He’d almost thought Jake had moved out.

Zach had no idea who owned the small house, so he didn’t know who to ask. Not that Jake would have said anything to the landlord, anyway. The gambler was probably behind on the rent.

He was about to leave when he heard more than one horse and rider approaching at a fast pace. Since the Gonzales family wasn’t home, he suspected the riders were coming here. Slipping out the back door, Zach trotted over the bank into the river bottom. He made sure his horse was tethered so it could be quickly untied, put Mary Ann’s keepsakes in his saddlebag, and then crept back to the rim of the bank.

There he lay down to watch.

Three riders reined in beside the shack. The first he identified at once as Jake, on his black thoroughbred. The second man he didn’t recognize, but the third was the big man with whom he’d fought. As the brute checked his horse and turned in Zach’s direction, Zach could see he held another person in front of him. Peering through the brush and grass, Zach strained, trying to see who it—no…she—was, clearly a woman, in a billowing skirt. Was it Mary Ann? A sunbonnet hid the woman’s hair, but her dress looked like one of Angelina’s. Wait, it’s Emily!

When he recognized her, Zach started to surge out of his hiding place, but common sense overcame chivalric instinct. With three of them, they’d gun him down before he could get more than one of them, and Emily might be hurt in the crossfire. Dead, he could do her no good. He’d have to wait, bide his time and make his chance to rescue her.

The gambler and his friends entered the shack. The big man shoved Emily along in front of him. Zach couldn’t hear what she said, but she seemed to be arguing or complaining. Spunky as she was, she probably protested the way she was being treated. He didn’t blame her. Those brutes had no idea how to treat a lady!

From the sounds emanating from the cabin, the men were simply kicking the litter out of their way. He could hear the rumble of the men’s voices and the sharper tones of Emily’s speech, but he couldn’t make out any words. Frustrated, Zach fidgeted in his hiding place.

He wanted very much to creep closer so he could hear what was being said, but in broad daylight that was too risky. Still, if Emily screamed or cried out, all bets were off. There was no way he could hide in safety and allow them to harm her. Now, at least, he would have surprise on his side. That might be enough to give him a fighting chance.

The windowless north wall of the shack was nearest Zach. Since no one was home at the Gonzales house, he could probably sneak up without being seen—not that they’d give him away if they were home.

But one of the boys might call to him or draw the attention of Jake’s cronies without intending any harm. No more than twenty yards separated his shelter from the cabin, but twenty yards without a bit of cover was a long way to sneak.

He’d gathered himself to jump up and make a run for it when Emily appeared at the back door. She had a bucket in her hand. Apparently she’d been sent for water. She hesitated, looking around.

“Where is the well?”

Zach heard her clearly. He didn’t hear the reply, but she stepped from the doorway and started off as if she knew where she was going.

Again, he poised to move, but at that instant, the hulking man stepped into the doorway to watch her. Zach didn’t dare move now.

The communal well was at the back of the Gonzales’s house. A crude frame supported a heavy rope, which was used to lower and raise the bucket. A circular dry wall of jagged white rocks surrounded the well pit.

Emily pulled up the thick rope, tied an awkward knot around the handle, and slowly lowered the bucket into the well. She drew it up sloshing full. This time she walked slower, her right arm extended to keep the wet bucket away from her skirts. She muttered to herself as she walked, clearly not happy at having to work for Jake and his friends.

From what Zach could see of her face, she looked mad enough to take Jake on all by herself—and without a weapon. Based on what he knew of the gambler, that wouldn’t be wise. Zach would have found her wrath more amusing if he hadn’t been so worried. Jake had a reputation for being a vicious bully, especially when dealing with women or weaker and smaller men.

Worry gnawed a burning hollow in Zach’s belly. Just what did Jake intend to do with Emily? Was she supposed to take Mary Ann’s place?

At that thought, Zach growled a curse. He drew out his revolver, spun the cylinder to be sure every space was filled, and slid the weapon carefully back into his holster.

The well-oiled leather gripped and supported the handgun, but also let it slip out freely when he drew straight up. Although Zach was far from the fastest gun in Tombstone, he was satisfied his accurate shooting would be worth more than speed in the long run.

As Emily and the big man disappeared back into the cabin, Zach scrambled over the bank and sprinted for the north wall. He reached the weathered gray structure without incident and dropped to a crouch near the back corner.

Within moments, his legs began to cramp. The sun beating on his back through the thick shirt drew itchy rivulets of sweat from his skin.

Why couldn’t the blank wall have been on the shady side? But that was the way things usually were—the hardest and worst they could be.

Zach lowered himself onto one knee, almost swearing aloud as he hit a sharp pebble, which felt like it was going right through his kneecap. Biting back the curse, he settled himself for a long, uncomfortable vigil. Sundown was still a good two hours away and complete darkness closer to three. Until then, there was probably not a lot he could do except watch and wait—and go to Emily’s aid should she be seriously threatened.

* * * *

Emily glowered around the cabin in disgust as she set the dripping bucket on the rickety table. “This place is a pig sty,” she muttered. Hot, dirty, and sore from the bumpy ride, she felt cross and surly. The big man glared at her, but didn’t speak. Jake and the other man, deep in a low-voiced conversation, didn’t seem to hear her.

The big man, whom she christened “The Incredible Hulk,” sank onto one of the chairs, his bulk making the old wood groan in protest.

Jake and his other friend treated The Hulk as if he were little more than an animal. Although he was ugly and brutish in both action and appearance, Emily noted at least some intelligence smoldered behind his dirt-brown eyes. She suspected he played his assigned part, keeping to himself more knowledge and craft than anyone guessed. Perhaps she could use this to her advantage later on.

Jake turned, shooting a sharp look her way. “If you don’t like it, Miss Priss, you can clean the place up, but make a pot of coffee first.”

Emily didn’t deign to reply, but did as he said, measuring water and grounds into the greasy black pot and adding a few sticks of mesquite to the coals in the stove to boil the water.

Even a small fire made the cramped kitchen unbearably hot, but there was nowhere else to go. Feeling more dispirited than she cared to admit, even to herself, Emily began to gather the broken glass and salvage what she could from the mess on the floor.

When the coffee was done, she filled two tin cups and took them into the next room for Jake and his partner, whom he called Bucky. She hesitated, hoping to catch a bit of their conversation, but Jake looked up with a snarl. “You better be making supper, girl. I didn’t bring you here just to look pretty, you know.”

Biting back a sharp retort, Emily stalked back to the kitchen. The one small cupboard held little, but she found a tin containing some jerky and a couple of rusty cans of beans, a bag of weevil-infested flour and another can of rancid smelling lard.

Washing out a battered pot, she emptied the beans into it and added several pieces of jerky, crumbled into small bits. The mess didn’t look appetizing, but it would have to do. She sifted the flour to remove as many of the white grubs as she could, fighting her disgust. They wouldn’t hurt anyone, she knew, but that didn’t settle her queasy stomach. The grease was equally offensive, but she managed a batch of lumpy biscuits, and stuck them into the oven.