Agnes and the Renegade (Men of Defiance) (22 page)

The men finally found the start of the path that led into the pass. They took it fast—too fast for riders unfamiliar with its dangers. The second horse slid off the path and stumbled down the steep side of the ridge before the rider fell off. The leader moved forward, determined nothing would stop them from catching up with Landry.
 

“Watch out! Don’t push through too fast,” the first one called to the other as he got back in line behind him. “I told you I saw Landry on this ridge. We’ll catch up to him and get our share of the bank money from wherever he stashed it. It ain’t gonna do you any good if you kill yourself first.”

At last, the two were on the trail and moving forward. Chayton stayed in the cover of the woods until they’d rounded the corner of the first switchback. When they were out of sight, he moved onto the path, keeping back far enough that they wouldn’t see him if they looked this way from the opposite side of the winding path. The echoes of their conversation filtered back to him. He didn’t need to worry; they were so focused on moving forward, neither of them were checking their back trail.

When they reached the next turn, he waited for the first to step around, then the second. He’d decided to let the two go ahead all the way out of the canyon. Let them scare out any ambush that might be waiting. Landry and his men expected their other fellows to follow them, but no one was watching for him. He’d catch up to these two by the hill where Agkhee liked to paint, then he’d go for Landry.

He trailed them through the narrows. When they went into the boulder fields, then moved down over the ridge that led by his caves, Chayton moved up, above his caves, riding ahead to get in position so he could pick them off as they descended toward Agkhee’s hill. He looked as far into the distance as he could see, but found no sign of Agkhee and the men she was with, other than a slowly dissipating cloud of dust that led in the direction of her cabin.
 

As the two came into sight below him, he let loose a warrior’s cry. It bounced off the canyon walls, echoing and magnifying until it sounded like a hundred warriors shouting. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was the voices of his ancestors come to help him. Chayton urged his horse forward and screamed his cry again. This time, the man ahead of him withdrew his six-shooter and began to fire haphazardly back at Chayton as he twisted in his saddle to face him. Chayton laughed at the outlaw’s desperate attempts to end his forward progress. He notched an arrow and let it fly. The man’s back arched as the blade entered his shoulder. Chayton notched another and sent it into the man’s other shoulder. The outlaw still tried to shoot at him. Chayton’s next arrow went through the wrist of his gun hand.

The outlaw faced forward and put all of his energy into outriding Chayton—an impossible feat. Chayton and his pony moved like one being in separate skins. So thorough was his paint’s training that he knew exactly what was needed of him even before Chayton gave him a cue. It was what Chayton had been known for among his people. The great warriors of his tribe made profitable trades with him in order to receive a warhorse he’d trained. It allowed him to care for the many people in his extended family, even when the brutal times had increased the quantity of his dependents in such terrible numbers.

Most of those warriors were dead now, but they’d run the narrows with him today, and the wind of their spirits guided his arrows to their precise targets. Emboldened, Chayton squeezed his mount to greater speed. He came even with the man he’d wounded. Leaping from his horse, he jumped into him, dropping both of them to the ground. Chayton pulled his knife, slit his throat, removed his scalp, and returned to his pony and his pursuit of the next man in mere seconds.
 

The man was headed in the direction of Agkhee’s cabin. Chayton’s horse ran with a speed that seemed supernatural. Wind pulled at Chayton’s hair, and the grit kicked up by the man he was chasing made Chayton’s eyes tear. Chayton shot an arrow into the center of the man’s back. He arched his back, flinging his hands wide as he dropped the reins, then fell from his horse.
 

Chayton slowed his mount, checking for signs that Landry had come this way. Sure enough, he found several distinct sets of fresh hoof prints leading west, which correlated with the dust cloud he’d seen from high up on the ridge. From this point, Agkhee would be closer to her cabin than to Logan’s ranch. The only thing playing in her favor now was the fact that Landry loved to torment those weaker than himself. He wouldn’t kill Agkhee outright. It was far more likely he would taunt and torture her until he tired of the sport. Chayton didn’t have long to save her from Landry’s deadly game.

* * *

Logan rode neck and neck with the sheriff and his deputy up to the short pass that led to Chayton’s side of the sandstone ridge. As soon as they started their descent on the other side, he took the lead. They’d topped the hill and were about to start their climb toward Chayton’s cave when they encountered two saddled but rider-less horses.

And one dead body. Riddled with arrows and scalped.

“Shit,” Deputy Rogers growled. “You tellin’ me we’re also dealing with renegade Indians?”

“No. That’s Chayton. He’s gone after them. Stay here,” Logan ordered as he dismounted and started searching for tracks. He wasn’t the natural tracker that his brother or Chayton were, but if several horses had ridden through here recently, it shouldn’t be too hard to see what direction they took. The soft dirt of the sloping hill made it easy to spot the tracks of an unshod horse—Chayton’s mount. Near it were the tracks of several other shod horses. He hurried back to his mount and swung up into the saddle.
 

“They’re heading toward Miss Hamilton’s cabin.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Aggie heard a sharp clap behind her. Dirt exploded off to one side of her. The mad man was shooting at her! She leaned lower over her saddle, stretching as far forward as the saddle horn would allow. By intent or poor skill, the outlaw’s shots were striking the ground either side of her. If he hit her or her mount, her horse would down, and she’d break her neck. She had none of Chayton’s athletic skill when it came to leaping from a moving horse or responding to the falls it might take.

When she saw the hill by her house, she dared to hope she could get around to the front door and slam it shut before the outlaws behind her could reach her. She topped the hill, then spun to the left around the corral, heading for the front door. As she came in front of the house, she saw a surrey parked there.
 

No! Someone was here! No, no, no. She pulled up, quickly dismounted, and ran inside the house, hoping that was where her visitors were. It was empty. She hurried to her painting tent. The men who’d abducted her were at the top of the hill. If she could get to the visitors quickly, they might be able to get inside the house.
 

Or not. There were three women in the tent: White Bird, Sarah, and another older lady she hadn’t yet met.
 

“Quick!” she shouted to them. “Hide!” The trio, who were dispersed about the space of the tent, looked at her with startled faces.
 

The older woman drew herself up over her cane, which she stamped against the hard ground. “Now see here, young lady—”

Aggie exchanged a panicked look with Sarah, who needed no further prodding. She rushed over to grab White Bird, but still they were not quick enough. The men who had been chasing her reached the tent, their horses snorting and breathing hard. Sarah and White Bird had just enough time to duck behind one of the painting screens as Skinner forced open the tent flap and stepped inside.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion? And who are you, sir?” the older woman demanded of the stranger. Her forthright attitude was wonderfully reassuring to Aggie. If anyone could set the topsy-turvy world back to rights, Aggie had no doubt the older woman could. She turned to face the man who’d taken her from Chayton’s valley. How many bullets had he fired? She looked at his gun belt, trying to determine if he’d reloaded after shooting at her. It would have been hard to do at the pace he’d kept while chasing her, but Chayton could have done it.
 

The man turned from her, blocking her line of sight to his gun belt. He ignored the older woman as his gaze settled on Aggie, and he smiled, the expression ghastly on his gaunt face. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this a nice social gathering?” He looked around them. “And at a gallery, no less. Out here, in the middle of nowhere.” He strolled around the place, looking at her paintings.
 

Aggie was frozen in place, afraid to move lest her actions draw attention to Sarah and White Bird’s hiding spot. The man spoke so reasonably, but looked and acted crazed; she couldn’t reconcile the dichotomy. He still had his six-shooter in his hand. He slowly worked his way over to her. She couldn’t control her shaking when he lifted the pistol’s long muzzle up to her face, bringing it against her cheek. She felt its cold metal stroke her skin.

“What do you want?” she asked him.

He smiled. “I have many wants, my dear.” He lifted the gun away and pointed it toward the older woman. “Who is she?”

Aggie shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“What is this place?”

Again, Aggie shook her head. “It was the first dwelling I came upon. I was hoping there’d be a man here who could help me.”

“Ah. Such a pretty hope. A pretty—and unmet—hope.” He stroked the gun down her neck, down the opening V of her shirt. “What will you do to save yourself, I wonder?”

She batted the gun aside. He grabbed the hair she’d knotted at the base of her neck, jerking her body up to his, holding her immobile while his hot breath puffed over her cheek.

Aggie barely heard the whimper of fear. She thought it had come from her, but she saw a small, dark-haired person dash out of the tent, immediately followed by Sarah. The man thrust her away from him and gave chase.
 

“No!” Aggie grabbed the man’s arm, hoping to stop him from going after the Taggert women. He shoved her aside without a second thought. The older woman came over and bent down to lend her a hand.

“Are you hurt?” she asked Aggie.

“No.” She was dazed. And she’d bitten her cheek when she hit the ground. She took the older woman’s arm and led her to the other tent entrance. “Go to the house. Lock yourself in.” She had no doubt that Chayton had by now discovered her absence; she didn’t know if she could keep things from escalating for the length of time needed for him to make his way here.
 

“Not so fast, you two.” A man met them outside the tent, his gun pointed at them.
 

Aggie saw that Sarah and White Bird hadn’t gotten far. Skinner had caught them and was now stroking Sarah with his gun. Rage filled Aggie with courage. She moved toward them and shoved the outlaw away from Sarah. Her bravado won her a clap on the side of her face. Sarah reached for her, exposing White Bird to him.
 

“Oh! What have we here?” he purred in an unctuous voice. White Bird didn’t duck or hide, didn’t shrink beneath his disturbing gaze. He reached out his left hand to finger her thick black hair, like an interested buyer pawing a pelt. “Pity it is so hard to market Indian scalps anymore. Yours would fetch a fine sum.” He smiled as he spoke. “It’s thick enough I could sell it as a warrior’s, which would fetch the best price.”

The other men were standing by, grinning and laughing at the terror Skinner was causing the women. She could tell that Sarah was beyond frightened—her pallor warned she was only inches from all-out shock. Aggie inserted herself between the two of them and faced Skinner. “What do you want with us?”

“Brave little thing, aren’t you?” His gaze slipped over her. “What do I want?” He shrugged. “What any man wants who’s been too long without female company. And food.” His eyes narrowed. “And no witnesses.” He reached around Aggie and yanked Sarah free, shoving her back toward one of his men. “Take that one.”

“No!” Aggie shouted as the man grabbed for Sarah and pushed her toward the cabin. Her friend went without hesitation. Aggie would have followed, but Skinner grabbed hold of White Bird and started to walk away with her.

“And Manny, you can have that one.” He nodded toward Aggie. “Set fire to the tent,” he ordered over his shoulder. “I saw the homage being paid to the ‘noble Indian.’ That trash needs to be destroyed.”

Aggie stood frozen in place, left with the older woman and the third man. He tucked his gun into his shirt, then took out a box of matches. He struck one with his nail, then dropped it on the loose tent flap. She immediately set about trying to put the fire out while still keeping an eye on White Bird. In quick succession, he lit two other areas at the base of the tent.
 

The older woman came to her assistance, using her cane to fight the man back. Aggie almost had one of the burning areas put out when she noticed that Skinner and White Bird had disappeared around the corner of the tent. She started to go after them, but heard the older woman cry out.
 

“Go! Help my great-granddaughter!” she ordered Aggie as she bludgeoned the man with her cane.

Aggie hurried around the corner, running up behind Skinner. She shoved her fists into his back, pushing him down, then grabbed Chayton’s daughter. A a scream unlike any she’d ever heard erupted into the air. Fierce and unholy, it tore into her ears. She shoved White Bird behind her, backing away from the man as she searched for the source of the sound. Had it come from Sarah or the older woman? What on earth made that kind of noise?
 

A gunshot went off. Aggie pressed White Bird to the ground as a screaming blur rode by. Skinner shrieked. Aggie looked back at him and saw an arrow protruding from his right hand. His gun had fallen to the ground. She scrambled to grab it, then hurried back to provide shelter to White Bird. The little girl cowered behind her, her head buried in Aggie’s back.

She looked up in time to see the crazed rider come around again.
Chayton
. Skinner saw him as well. He began to beg and whimper, holding out his uninjured hand as he pleaded, “No! Please, please—”