Swift Runs The Heart (9 page)

The doors opened and a man leapt in. She swung her pistol about. Dimly she heard, “Hey, there's a woman here, Jack.” Then blackness enveloped her.

An overpowering stench of stale body and greasy clothes assailed her. Groggily, she stirred, shaking her head to clear the dizzy waves then stopping as pain shot through her skull, near-blinding her. Gingerly, she put a hand up, feeling her head, then pulled it back.
Someone hit me!

She struggled to sit up—to no avail. She was caught fast round the waist, one hand trapped securely behind her back. The stench came from the large man holding her captive.

“Hold still, girl,” he growled. “Or should I put a bullet through these fine gents here?”

Her eyes snapped open then, ignoring the pain in her head. They were still in the coach. But now the three men with her were herded against the far seat. Through the window behind, she saw men on horseback holding guns to their heads. The trooper's sword had been taken from him and was held to his throat by a man leaning through the window. She heard more men behind her. All wore large hats pulled down low and scarves wound round their faces to prevent recognition. But the voices and the eyes – those she would not forget. Nor the feel of the thick hands holding her. She tried to squirm away, but was only clamped tighter to the coarse body for her pains. Desperately, she fought off the threatening waves of darkness. She must stay awake if she wished to live. Then suddenly she learnt that would not be her worry, not yet, and her heart quaked.

“Hold your wriggling, lass. Not that I don't enjoy it,” said the greasy voice, “but I seen your face and you ain't going nowhere. I know someone who's bin looking for you. He's going to be mighty pleased with the present we got for him, in't he boys?” There was a hateful chorus of laughter from the surrounding men.

“Leave her alone, you rogues,” growled the trooper.

“Now, now, you ain't the boss man here, Trooper,” said the voice behind her. The far door of the coach opened then. More men reached in and the three prisoners were bound tightly.

“What about the one on the floor and the other on the roof?”

“Leave ‘em,” said the man holding her. “If they're not dead yet, they soon will be. They'll tell no tales.”

“What do you want with us?” cried the young man, trying to struggle against the ropes tightly knotted round his arms. His voice rang bravely, but did not fully succeed in disguising the scared youth within.

“You're insurance, boy,” said the man, pulling him out and shoving him up on a spare horse. “We leave your bodies here and Brannigan's troopers will be after us with nought but death in mind. With hostages, now, they'll go more careful like.”

“So when do you kill us?” asked the trooper flatly.

“When it suits,” was the chilling answer.

No more would their captors say. Once the passengers were mounted, Geraldine was pulled out and likewise thrust on horseback. Only there were no more spare mounts, so she must endure the odorous man holding her as she was flung into the saddle before him. Her hands were bound now, too, but in front of her at least, allowing her to cling to the mane as they galloped off. There was little chance of studying their captors, but a brief glance showed no sign of the gold chest, or of a man with a distinctive scar. It changed nothing. All she could think of, beyond the fear and pain, was the shout of the man when he had first seen her. “There's a woman here, Jack,” he had called.

Jack. Jack who?

She was not sorry when the black waves came back and she fell into welcome oblivion.

Then came a time of jolting dreams interrupted with bursts of reality. She could not say which was worse, but supposed it was better when the periods of reality grew and she became once more aware of her plight.

They must have ridden some distance. The flat plain of the trail was giving way to the ridges and gullies of the Dunstan Ranges. Soon they would disappear into the hills, beyond hope of rescue. She sought out her fellow captives. The older passenger was slumped in his saddle not far from her, a look of abject terror and despair on his face. Further off the young man still struggled to stay upright. Both had been lashed to their horses, unable to hold on with their hands tied behind their backs, but the young man was still straining to support himself and his hands twisted and fought continuously against his bonds.

Ahead of him was the trooper, flanked closely by armed men. He was still, but his face was white and even from here she could see the blood staining his sleeve. The injured arm was mercilessly thrust behind his back to tie both hands together and she looked at the grim set of the man's jaw. He was in considerable pain, but she suspected he would rather die than reveal it to their captors. His wish looked likely to come true.

She turned round to her captor. “If you don't want a dead trooper on your hands soon, let me treat that man's wound.”

“He'll be dead soon anyway. Only need him to last long enough to keep his mates off our trail while we escape.”

She tried another tack. “It's full daylight now. What about the trail of bloodspots he's leaving behind?”

The man thought about that, then with a grudging nod moved his horse up beside the man closest to the trooper.

“What'ya want, Bill?”

He thrust his head towards the trooper. “The girl here says they can trace those bloodspots he's dropping. Reckon Jack wouldn't be too happy if we was followed too easily, so pull up while she fixes him.” He shoved his hand in the air and slowly the band of riders ground to a halt. Geraldine was lifted down and thrust towards the trooper, also being lifted off his horse. Bill pulled out his gun and trained it on her. “Remember, no tricks. There's a power of guns facing the pair of you. Jack may not want the goods damaged, pretty lady, but he'd be even madder if'n we got caught ‘cos of you. And from what I hear, you already owe him.”

It was almost too much and she stumbled, only to be pulled up by the trooper. He had been hauled none too gently off his mount and stood unsteadily beside her. Now he offered the only support he could, the solid bulk of his body, and her hands gratefully clung to his shoulder.

”Hold steady, lass,” said his firm voice, despite his trials. “Our courage is our only weapon at the moment. Don't let them think it gone.”

She breathed deeply. He was right. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I don't even know your name.”

“Martin, Miss. Trooper John Martin.”

“Enough talk,” growled Bill. “Just bind him up and let us get out of here.”

She did as bid, fearful of pushing their captors' patience further. But as they rode on, she was aware of a secret seed of hope within her.

Soon, too soon, they reached the hills. The marks of their passing could not be concealed now but it would be easy to ambush a following party in the twisting hills and ridges. Any rescue party would know it. Her ears strained. Was that the sound of hooves following, or only her wishful imagination?

The thieves barely slackened their pace till forced to by the slippery stones underfoot. They had come to the head of a small gully. The riders slowed to a halt and dismounted. A few led their horses up and over the ridge while the rest fanned out, guns aimed towards the valley entrance.
Surely they do not expect any pursuing troopers to blindly stumble into such a trap
, thought Geraldine as she watched from the hollow where she had been forced to huddle with the other prisoners. Two men had been set to guard them, but their grim-faced stares and the thrust of their filthy beards were intimidating enough to stop any escape.

She peered through the grasses, then saw the robbers were not as simple as first she thought. Most faced the valley entrance, but on either side she saw men spreading out to cover the far flanks of the ridges. They did not mean to be attacked from behind, either.

How long they waited there, she could not have said, but the vigil lasted throughout the morning. There must be something to be done. She tried to wriggle closer to the trooper, her hands moving towards the ropes binding his hands, till a harsh growl from the guard sent her back. It did not stop her own hands straining quietly at their ties, concealed in the folds of her gown. Her heavy serge skirts, petticoats and constraining corset may not be as practical as her youth's jacket and trew, but they did have some advantages. A thought came to her. She began to scan the ground about her.
Yes, there
.

The sun was high in the sky now, the heat of the day making its mark. She groaned, slumping to the ground. Immediately the trooper and the young man surged towards her, and she made her groans more piteous still.

“Oi, get back there.” The guards brandished their guns.

“Give her some water at least, man,” snarled the trooper.

“All right, but you two stay back.”

The trooper waited till the man produced his water flask, and refused to leave his place, supporting her as their guard held the flask to her lips. She sipped it gratefully, then began struggling to sit up. The guard's patience ended and he thrust his gun towards the men, ordering them back as she managed to sit up. She set to smoothing her skirts as Trooper Martin turned and began to shuffle away. As she did so, her hands touched the ground covered by her skirts then casually brushed across his. The sharp stone she had seen earlier quickly disappeared into the man's clenched fist, but he gave no sign of it. She kept brushing the dust and dirt from her skirt, then huddled down as the guard waved his gun at her. Her head was showing above the tussocks.

She submitted for now, her object achieved. The trooper did not look at her, but leaned back against the sloping ground, his hands hidden away from either guard. Just then the older man began complaining.

“What about the rest of us? Pass some of that water here.”

Both guards looked at him with jeering laughter in their eyes. “You ain't gonna live long enough to waste water on, old man. Keep your tongue in your head, or it'll be sooner rather than later for you.” They prodded him with their guns, forcing the terrified man to curl close to the ground as he tried to escape the jabs.

It was a cruel game they played, but Geraldine kept silent. While they tormented the poor man, their eyes were only perfunctorily turned to the rest of the prisoners. Her hands kept twisting in the folds of her skirt and soon she knew a spark of excitement. There was a loosening!

From the corner of her eye, she caught a look from the trooper. The barest of winks and a slight shrug forward of his shoulders. His hands were free then. A last twist, and so were her own. The two guards had got the old man's hat now and were taunting him with it, only one hand on their guns as each took and held it just out of its owner's reach. They had become too complacent. As both eyes were turned from them, she lifted one free hand slightly, letting the trooper see. He looked hard at her, a question in his eyes. She nodded back, her face grim.

Suddenly he lunged for a guard, a heavy stone in his hand, and the man fell to the ground. Almost immediately the other slumped forward, a wicked line of red showing as blood trickled from the thump of a rock to his head. Geraldine could only stare. That guard was nowhere near her or the trooper.

“You took long enough to make your move,” said a whisper, then a face appeared between the grasses. “Hello again, sweetheart.” Geraldine could not stop the smile of pure joy that split her face.

“Bas, what in blazes are you doing here?” whispered the trooper.

“Hello, John. Nice to see you too. Can't explain now. We're not out of trouble yet.” Bas slithered into full sight, quickly reaching a hand to smother the surprised gasp of the old man clutching his hat on the ground. “We're only a small troop. Most are at the head of the valley and four more are behind me over the ridge. The best we can hope for is to distract them while we get you out of here. Follow me.”

He reached for Geraldine's hand and drew her with him. She returned the strong clasp of his hand, amazed at the relief she felt at his touch. He held her hand a bare minute before beginning to crawl off, but it was enough. She followed his lead, staying as close to the ground as possible, just as a fusillade of shots rang out from the valley entrance and the thieves' guns answered.

Geraldine grinned. In the volley of noise, the small sounds of their escape would be missed completely.

It seemed interminable, but was not many minutes till they reached the top of the ridge and began to slither down the far side. They must pass the unconscious body of another man as they fled, a trickle of blood showing from the blow on his head. She gagged, but refused to look back. It had been necessary, she told herself.

There were still bandits guarding the far side of the ridge, but Bas lead his small party away to the side, up towards what appeared to be even more hills. None saw them and soon they had rounded a slight bluff and were out of sight. Bas signalled them to stand up, but all knew their lives still depended on absolute silence. Next came a long scramble over rough ground. Their goal was a gap between two rocks up the next ridge, said his pointing arm.

They hurried forward. Always his hand would reach out to steady her if she stumbled. But long before they reached the rocks, she could feel the fear and shock of the morning setting in. Her feet would not seem to go where she wanted.

“A few steps more, sweetheart. You can make it.”

He had said something like that once before. One step in front of the other. That was how it was done. Then came a shout from behind, and a bullet slammed into the ground beside her. Bas thrust her behind him and raised his gun. The voice behind was silenced, but more shots swiftly answered his.

“Quick. Up to the rocks,” he rapped out, kneeling and steadying his aim to fire. She dared not argue, and began to run with the others. The trooper had pulled at her arm to make her obey and soon they stumbled through the gap. Four men waited there, wearing the uniform of the mounted police. They thrust the freed prisoners forward onto the backs of their horses then prepared to mount behind them and leave.