Faithful Heart (21 page)

The old man glanced at her, furrowed his brow, and asked, “Is his name really
Stranger?”

Breanna did not reply immediately. She let her gaze take in two hawks looking down on them from atop a giant rock pillar, then said, “Don’t you think the name fits him? I mean, the way he travels about helping people out of trouble or capturing outlaws … then like a phantom, fades out of the picture and is gone?”

“I … uh … I ain’t shore you’re answerin’ my question.”

“Many people have called him Stranger when he’s been of help to them, but he hasn’t volunteered his name.”

“Well, I’m still not sure just ‘zactly what you’ve told me, girl. But I think it’s all you’re
gonna
tell me. So, let me ax ya somep’n else.”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Curly raised his bushy gray eyebrows. “Now, wait a minute here! I ain’t axed the question yet!”

“I already know what it is.”

“All right, miss smarty—what is it?”

“Your curiosity is screaming to learn what far country John Stranger is from. And like I just said, I don’t know.”

“You’re in love with that tall drink o’ water an’ you plan to one day be his missus an’ you don’t know where he’s from?”

“John hasn’t told me anything about his past, Curly. I figure when he wants me to know, he’ll tell me.”

Curly rubbed his stubbled chin. “Don’t it seem sorta strange to you, all this secrecy?”

“Why do you suppose he’s called Stranger?”

“Well, I—”

“Some things are better left alone, Curly. I’m comfortable with things the way they are. John’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. He loves me, and I love him. I trust him completely.
The Lord has brought us together. I know that for sure. What else do I need?”

“Nothin’, honey. Pardon this ol’ fogy’s curiosity. You an’ that John Stranger just have yourselves a wonderful an’ happy life!”

“With God’s hand on us, we will!” Breanna said.

As the horses ahead of the train pressed up the steep trail, John Stranger twisted in the saddle, placed his big black Bible in the saddlebag, and said, “Well, Rip, that’s probably enough for today.”

“I’m going to miss these sessions, John. You’ve taught me so much.”

“Glad to be of help,” Stranger said.

The light wind continued to sweep down off the jagged, towering peaks above them. A cold chill washed over Rip Clayson. “I’ll be glad when we get through these mountains.”

“I’m sure it can get pretty bad when the snow flies,” Stranger said. “I’d say, however, chances are we’ll get through before that happens. Even if we see some snow, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Ordinarily that’s so,” Clayson said. “It’s that slight chance that we
could
get caught in a blizzard that keeps my stomach on edge.”

Stranger ran his gaze over the mountains that dwarfed them, then looked back toward where they had come from. “I figure we’re up about thirty-five hundred feet right now, wouldn’t you say?”

“Luther Pass tops out at just over seventy-seven hundred feet. I’d say we’re not far from halfway to the top.”

“Cool as it’s getting at this altitude, I expect it’ll be downright cold at the top.”

“Cold I don’t mind,” Rip said. “It’s blowing snow and ice that makes it dangerous on this steep trail.”

They were passing through a heavily wooded area and started around a sharp curve as they came out into the open. There was a stretch of about a hundred yards before they would be in heavy timber again. Towering rocks lined the trail on both sides.

A lone man stepped out from behind a boulder and into the middle of the narrow trail. He stopped and raised both hands, signaling for Clayson and Stranger to stop.

“What do you suppose he wants?” Rip asked, turning around and motioning for Curly to draw rein.

“I don’t know,” Stranger said, “but we’re about to find out.”

W
AYNE
F
EASTER’S HANDS
held no weapon as he stood with his feet spread in a defiant stance. His revolver remained in the holster on his hip.

As Rip Clayson and John Stranger drew up, Feaster gave them a threatening look and said, “Stay in your saddles. If you so much as flinch, you’re dead men. If you don’t believe me, lift your heads very slowly and take a look in the rocks off to your left.”

Clayson and Stranger could see K. D. Wilhite crouched between two rocks, his rifle pointed directly at Clayson.

“Now, take a look up to your right,” said Feaster, grinning with grim pleasure.

At a level just a bit higher than Wilhite, they could see Les Pate in the cleft of a huge rock, high-powered rifle pointed directly at Stranger.

“Just what do you want, mister?” Rip demanded.

“Shut up!” Feaster said. “I’ll get to that in a minute. I want you boys to know I’ve also got a man who’s got a bead on the cute little blonde sittin’ on the seat of the lead wagon.”

Stranger searched the rocks and spotted a third rifle close to
the man on the right. He could not see the man who held it, but there was no question the gun was pointed at Breanna.

Stranger’s face mirrored his anger as he said, “If the lady is so much as scratched, mister, the world isn’t big enough for you to hide.”

“Tough talk for a dude who’s a trigger squeeze from death, ain’t it?” Feaster said.

“What do you want?” Stranger asked.

“First, I want you and your partner to ease your guns out of their holsters and drop ’em on the ground. Then I want
you
, mister, to get off your horse.”

Feaster saw Stranger’s face harden and roared, “You wanna bullet in your heart, mister? We ain’t hankerin’ to kill nobody here, but it’ll happen if you give us any trouble! All we want is the black and the saddle and bridle that’s on ’im. Everybody stays calm, we’ll ride on, and all you’ve lost is a horse and some leather. Give us trouble, and somebody’s gonna lose their life. Could be you, could be the woman. Now do as I say and drop those guns.”

Five men came running around the bend from the wagons that were yet out of sight, guns ready. As they drew alongside the Wesson wagon, Rip shouted, “Hold it, men! Don’t come any farther!”

“What’s going on, Rip?” one of them called. “Who is this guy?”

“He hasn’t graced us with his name,” Clayson said, “but he’s not alone. There are three riflemen up there in those rocks. One has his gun pointed at John, another at Miss Breanna, and the other at me. They want John’s horse. Back off and lay down your guns, and don’t let anybody interfere.”

On the wagon seat, Curly whispered, “Just sit still, honey, and keep your eyes on John.”

Breanna nodded, glanced at the rifle that was aimed at her from the high rocks, then set her eyes on John, who was half-turned in the saddle, looking at her. When their eyes met, he gave her a steady look. There was something in those iron-gray eyes. She knew John was telling her to keep her attention on him. When he saw in her expression that she understood, he straightened around in the saddle.

Rip and John slowly drew their revolvers and let them fall to the trail.

“That’s good, boys,” Feaster chuckled. “Cooperation here will be well worth the effort. Now,
you
, cowboy … off the horse.”

Stranger swung his leg over the saddle and stepped down. Ebony pulled his head around, eyed his master, and nickered.

“It’s all right, boy,” John said, patting Ebony’s neck. “This man wants to take you for a ride.”

Feaster stepped up and said, “Move away, mister. You don’t need him nearly as bad as I do … believe me. You can pick up another horse at the way station on top.”

Stranger stepped back and watched as Feaster moved up beside Ebony and took hold of the reins. The big black gelding swung his head around again and gave a short whinny.

Under his black broadcloth coat, John Stranger wore a .36 caliber Navy Colt pistol in an obscure shoulder holster. He glanced again at Breanna, then at the hiding place of the man who had her in his gunsights.

Wayne Feaster gripped the reins and raised his left foot to slip it into the stirrup. Ebony sidestepped, causing him to miss. Feaster cursed and tried it once more. Again, the big black
danced sideways, blowing and whinnying. The outlaw swore angrily at Ebony and went at him again, this time swinging aboard from ground to saddle in one leap. The big black shook his head and whinnied, but stood still.

Feaster glared at Stranger and said, “I’m ridin’ outta here, and my men are gonna keep their guns trained on the three of you for five minutes. If nobody does anything crazy, my men will disappear, and nobody will get hurt. But I’m warnin’ you, don’t try to come after us. First man we see on our trail will die.” Feaster looked up at his men and shouted, “Okay, boys, I’m off! If one of ’em flinches, let ’em have it!”

Suddenly Ebony arched his back and lowered his head. He released an angry whinny and exploded under his would-be rider. Feaster went straight up into the air, then came down hard on the saddle. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but he swore and hung on. Ebony did a full circle, head down, rear hooves kicking.

Wayne Feaster gripped the saddlehorn with one hand and clung to the reins with the other. He had always considered himself an expert horseman. He had broken many horses to the saddle, but he had never climbed on the back of one like this. Feaster went up again and came down with a jolt that jarred his teeth. Ebony bucked and turned in a tight circle, throwing Feaster off balance. The outlaw came down once more, this time biting his tongue. The brassy taste of blood filled his mouth.

Ebony laid his ears back, snorted angrily, and gave another violent buck. Feaster took flight and landed hard on his head and shoulder. He didn’t move.

High up in the rocks, Wilhite, Pate, and Cahill looked on wide-eyed. Cahill rose up a few inches, his attention fixed on Feaster, who lay unconscious on the ground. The muzzle of his
rifle, however, had not left Breanna. The other two still held their weapons on Rip and John, but their eyes were riveted on Feaster.

Stranger’s right hand plunged inside his coat for the Navy Colt. At the same time, he shouted, “Breanna, go!” Breanna dove inside the wagon just as John fired at Cahill.

Stranger’s slug tore into Cahill’s right shoulder, knocking him down. The other two outlaws cursed and headed for Cahill, keeping low. Les Pate bent over him and examined the wound. “C’mon,” he said, helping Cahill to his feet. “Wayne’s not movin’ down there. He’s either dead or hurt real bad. We gotta get outta here in a hurry!”

Wilhite picked up Cahill’s rifle, took hold of him also, and they stumbled their way toward their horses.

John Stranger holstered the Navy Colt inside his coat and picked up his .45 as Rip Clayson slid quickly from his saddle. The men who had gathered at Curly’s wagon searched the towering rocks while hurrying toward Stranger and Clayson. Others had come from the stalled wagons and were right behind them.

“Rip, I’m going up there,” John said. “I think I hit the one who had his rifle trained on Breanna.”

“I’ll go with you,” Clayson said, moving toward him. “In fact, I think it would be best if we took a half-dozen of these men with us. Those no-goods just might be waiting up there to shoot whoever sticks his head in amongst those rocks.”

“I doubt it,” John said. “I’d wager the other two took off. But choose your half-dozen, and let’s go.”

Clayson quickly picked out six men, telling the others to stay
on guard. Then they followed John Stranger up into the rocks, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of the gunmen. When they reached the top, the outlaws were nowhere to be seen.

Stranger made his way to the perch where Brad Cahill had held his rifle on Breanna, and as he suspected, his bullet had found its mark. There were blood spots on the rocks and on the ground. The others soon gathered around.

“That’s pretty good shooting,” Rip said. “Sharp angle, small target. Looks like you got him good. Quite a bit of blood.”

“There’s more over here, Rip,” one of the men called. “He’s leavin’ a trail.”

“Let’s follow it,” Stranger said.

A few minutes later, they found the place where the three horses had been tied. The gunmen had fled. The ground was quite rocky, and there were no hoofprints to follow.

When John, Rip, and the six men reached the lower level, they found Breanna and Carolyne Fulford kneeling over the injured outlaw. Everyone in the wagon train was gathered in the open area. A few clustered near Breanna and Carolyne, curious to see how bad the man was hurt.

John and Rip went to Breanna and Carolyne, and the others filled the crowd in on what had happened. The outlaw lay flat on his back. He was conscious, but obviously in a great deal of pain.

“How bad is he hurt?” John asked.

“Broken collarbone and a dislocated shoulder,” Breanna said. “His head took a pretty good blow, and he’s got a big knot under all that hair. There’s a slight cut on his scalp, too.”

“I assume you haven’t given him anything for the pain, nor tried to put the shoulder back in place.”

“No. He only came to about two minutes ago.”

Stranger nodded, then set his piercing gray eyes on the injured man. “What’s your name? And why did you want my horse?”