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Amos Heskins sat dead still, watching the rocks that protected the Indians. He had the patience of a cat at a rat hole, and he put that asset to good use now. Only his eyes moved as he looked for the heads that were under those feathers.
Nothing moved, nothing at all. It was too still, and after a while Heskins began to realize that he had been duped. He cautiously put his hat on the end of his gun barrel and extended it out. Nothing happened. He stuck out his leg. Still no response. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," he said, and he stood up. The landscape remained as quiet as a morgue. So, there was some other reason for this feather ploy.
The horses! Of course. While the Indians had them pinned down with a bunch of feathers they were stealing their horses. Sure enough, when he and Anne walked back to where they had picketed their mounts they found nothing but cold droppings. The horses must have been gone for over an hour.
There was nothing to do but go after them. It seems foolish to be trailing up a band of Indians but in this country it was a better idea than trying to walk out. For one thing Heskins did not want to meet Clay out here in the wilds. Not yet. He wanted their show down to come when he had picked the time and place.
The two of them had walked for hours when they heard the whinny of a horse ahead of them. Heskins immediately led them off the trail and they paralleled it from a hundred yards. When they rounded a knob they saw the missing pair, stripped of their tack and baggage.
Once again Heskins suspected a trap. It made no sense to leave the horses for them otherwise. He bade the girl stay hidden while he circled to look for outgoing tracks. They were there, and he reclaimed the horses before he went back to get Anne. If it came to a choice the horses were much more important.
Once back in the saddle Heskins changed the route of travel. He abandoned his previous route because that was where the Indians had gone. He had no desire to catch up with them again. They had stolen some gear but Amos knew that was a light duty to pay. He couldn't understand why they had given back the mounts but he remembered the expression his mother had always used, "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."
Heskins decided to cut back to the Outlaw Trail well above where he had left Brown's Hole. If he wasn't mistaken Clay was on his track by now. Maybe the fellow could be led into a good ambush somewhere down the line. In fact Heskins could even circle around and reach Brown's Hole before him. No, that was no good, They had just been through that and his relatives there were worthless. Hole in the Wall then, that was the place for it. The men there were a cut above those of the Hole, and plenty of them owed him favors. He didn't actually need any help but he believed in having a little extra security if at all possible. Once decided, he upped their speed to a lope that quickly ate ground.
Anne was stiff and sore, but she would no more tell him that then she would confide in him about her diary. She suffered in silence, her thoughts totally on Jessie.
Was he okay? He had been hit terribly hard over the head back there in the stable. If he were just okay, she thought, she would no longer care what happened to her. Perhaps she could persuade Mr. Heskins... no, there was no way. The only thing she could think of to do was to shoot Heskins if it looked like he was going to get Jess. She hated to for she didn't really believe he was as bad as he tried to make out. She didn't want to shoot anybody. But to protect her beloved Jessie she would, of that she was sure.
I felt a little better in the morning. I was still a little groggy but I didn't feel like an axe was embedded in my head. I chewed on some cold (and stale) biscuit and sipped some water as I took off at daybreak. An urgency was gnawing at my gut that only action would cure.
I came to their camp a little before noon and had trouble figuring out what events had transpired. Evidently Anne's hands were not tied, for I could see the prints of them beside the spot where she must have spread her blanket. It looked like the night had been quiet but some peril was spotted in the morning and they had gone to shelter. A circle around camp quickly told at least part of that story.
There had been three Indians, but for some reason they had not attacked the white man and woman. Of course they had stolen their horses, so maybe that kept them satisfied.
I was sure there was more to it than that. For one thing, why had they left their head feathers propped in back of the rocks with only the tips showing? Obviously to scare their prey. Why not just attack and get it over with? Surely they were not that worried about one armed man and a woman that they must think defenseless. They had to know that one of them was a woman by this point.
Oh, well, nothing to do but keep tracking. Anne and her abductor (I was sure it was Amos Heskins by now) had apparently finally realized they had been tricked and had taken off on foot, following the Indians. This made sense, for a horse is necessary for existence in this country. That's the reason they hang horse thieves. If you leave a man on foot out here you have probably dealt him a death sentence.
When I came to the draw where they had found their horses I found a tiny cairn of rocks. Anne! On our walks I had shown her the old way of showing the direction of travel and she had remembered. At the place where she had waited for Heskins to circle I found a tiny bit of cloth. She must have torn it from her dress and left it here as a message to me.
It was easy to read that they had retrieved their horse, but the question was still why. They must have left something of value on the steeds that the Indians had thirsted for. I was possible but not probable that the culprits were white men acting like Indians to cover their tracks. That was doubtful, for any renegades like that were apt to be more bloodthirsty that the Indian ever thought of being.
I started to walk out into the clearing when a burst of Indian language stopped me in my tracks. I took a quick scan but there was no cover; nothing to even partially hide behind. Whatever transpired now would be done with me in the wide open.
More guttural language ensued, then a familiar voice said, "You stepped in it, white eyes."
It was my friend Peter. At least I hoped he was my friend. "And why is that, my friend?" I asked cautiously.
"I figure that is your woman running around with Amos Heskins, and anybody that goes chasing after a woman has bought himself some big trouble. She is your woman, isn't she?"
"That's right, she is. Did you see her? Did she look alright?"
"You have got it bad, boy. I should just shoot you and save a lot of trouble."
"You're probably right, Peter. Hey, how come you stole the horses and then gave them back. Was this just a practice run or what?"
"You might say it's a form of counting coup. Plus my friends here get a kick out of scaring the devil out of white folks." His friends didn't look like they got a kick out of much. Their flat expressionless eyes were devoid of laugh lines, if you get my drift.
One of them muttered what sounded like a complaint. "He still thinks we should have kept the horses," explained Peter. "I told him that people get hung for that, Indians included. That is one area where they do count Indians."
"Peter, I think you are caught between two worlds. I don't envy you." I knew I had enough trouble living in one world without worrying about two. "Did you see where they went? She is with him against her will, and I've got to catch up to her."
"Oh, I see. Now it starts to make more sense. At first I thought she had run off with another lover, but I couldn't imagine Heskins being the man. Well, they went in the direction of the Outlaw Trail. From there I have no idea. My guess is that they circled back down to the Hole to get in back of you. Tell you what - if you like we will head north and you can head south. If we see them I'll send up an old fashioned smoke. Three puffs repeated means we have spotted them. If we don't see any tracks in five miles we'll turn back and see if you need a hand."
"Thank you, Peter, I appreciate it."
"Think nothing of it. Dog here wants to wave his scalping knife. I don't really think he knows what to do with it."
This was answered by a deep grunt and a look that could probably have killed if it hit home.
Going as fast as I could without making undue noise I rode to the Trail. Traffic must have been heavy, for I had gone over a mile before I found a spot where I could make out individual tracks. They had come this way! That was good. They had to be heading back for Brown's Hole, and I could make some time without watching tracks. Naturally I kept my eye peeled to the sides of the trail in case they had turned off.
When I neared the Hole I cut around it so that I could approach the livery from the rear. Two tired horses were in the front corral waiting for the hostler to take care of them. As I entered I met the hostler named Gabby coming out to do just that.
"Well, Gabby, did you see these two people this time?"
"Yep." Wound right up, he was.
"Did you see where they went?"
"Yep." I could see we were really making progress today.
Curbing my impatience, I asked calmly, "Would you care to let me in on your little secret? Where did they go?"
"Out." I swear, this was like pulling teeth.
My voice must have loudened a bit, for his eyes widened as I said, "What do you mean out? Out of the stable? I kind of guessed that, since they're not here."
"No, no, I mean out of town. They walked down the street and in a couple of minutes they came back by riding different horses. Weren't none of mine. They must belong to one of the Heskins clan." From him, this was quite a speech. I figured he wouldn't say more than two words for the next six months.
"Did you see what direction they took?"
"Nope."
I circled the south end of town but found nothing. On a hunch I rode back up the other way and was pleased to find Peter and his little savage band coming. Apparently they were curious as to how I would make out in my search for my woman. Lord knows what they thought the real story was.
"Peter, do you think we could split up again to cover more ground? We'll make my camp a meeting point for tomorrow. If the trail leads in another direction, send up a smoke. I'll try to do the same, but don't forget I've never done it so the message won't make any sense. It will just tell you my location."
"Maybe someday I'll show you how," said Peter. "Then again, my tribe might not like it and scalp me for it. Maybe we'll just write letters after this is all over, White Eyes."
Once again there was only one thing to say. "Thank you Peter." I knew it was an honor to me to be offered to learn the smoke. "I owe you."
"Darn tootin'," came the very un-Indian like reply.
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