Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (44 page)

She had forgotten the truth she and Benjamin had talked about some time ago, about the peculiar beauty of weakness. But now it came back to her as she considered—no, wallowed—in her weakness. What was the verse Benjamin had quoted? “
My grace is sufficient for thee: for
my strength is made perfect in weakness
.”

Even in her misery, a small smile quirked her lips. She was indeed the perfect specimen for God to use in order to show His marvelous strength. But even that did not instill her with hope. She continued to await her fate with resigned dread. She certainly did not think it was God’s hand when Lyle produced a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag after a hasty supper.

“What you got there, Lyle?” Maurry nodded at the bottle, a gleam in his eye. “You gotta have some liquid courage before you take on the little spitfire?”

Lyle snorted with disdain. “Haven’t had a drink all day, that’s all.” He uncorked the bottle and set it to his lips.

As he pressed the cork back in place, Maurry said, “Ain’t you going to share?”

“Ya need some courage yourself, Maurry?” Lyle sneered.

“Just gimme that bottle!”

Both Lyle and Maurry were hopeless drunks. Maurry had more self-control than his brother, but once he started he usually kept going until the booze ran out or he simply passed out. Lyle passed out drunk practically every night, and since coming to Texas, Maurry had been adversely influenced by his brother. Thus, they shared the bottle this night until it was empty, then Lyle produced another. He had only a couple of swigs before he stretched out on the ground.

“I jes want a few winks ’fore I have the girl. . . .” he slurred. “Ya go ahead . . . I’ll be along. . . .” He was snoring before he finished.

Maurry, seeing that he would soon be going the way of his brother, staggered to his feet. “Got ya all to m’self. . . .”

He propelled himself toward her, then crumpled to his knees, finally toppling over on her. She started to fight him off, only to realize in seconds that he had passed out also. With an odd mingling of disgust and relief, she pushed his wretched body off hers and scooted away.

Instantly she knew this was a prime chance for escape. Not that she had expected to be successful. With her hands tied, she couldn’t hope to get far, but at least she could try to stall what must eventually happen. She would run back in the direction they had come, closer to home. She no longer worried about the children, for Benjamin would be there by now. At any rate, she didn’t expect to reach the cabin. She hoped only to buy time, perhaps give Benjamin, if he was looking for her, a chance to catch up.

It had taken three hours for Maurice to find her—three precious hours closer to Benjamin and to possible rescue. And now it was almost dawn.

Was Benjamin out there? Was he close? Would he save her? She tried not to think of anything else, of the danger he’d be in or the horror he’d feel if—when!—he found out about Kendell.

But the harsh voices of her captors forced her back to the present.

“Well, I’ve had it with you!” Maurice was saying. He grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her to a nearby tree. “But you’re too valuable to shoot.”

With Lyle holding a rifle on her—not that she had either the strength or heart to run again—Maurice untied her hands, made her wrap her arms around the tree, then retied her hands so that she was hugging the tree.

It was almost with relief that she realized Maurry had other intentions at the moment besides rape. Yes, now she remembered he had other methods for keeping his slaves in line. Visions of little Gina’s scarred back intruded into her mind.

“I should’ve done this long ago,” he said. She heard him walk to his horse. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t run again.”

Though she was expecting it, that first stripe with the whip made her gasp in shock more than pain. The pain was there but did not really penetrate her senses until the second and third blows. Then all was pain. Sharp, tearing, wrenching pain. She wanted to be brave and not cry out, and she bit her lip until she drew blood. But after a while stoicism seemed a rather lame virtue, and soon she could not prevent the cries of agony from escaping.

She lost count after the first ten blows. Still, it kept going on and on as if he was indeed going to kill her. It had to be well past twenty— somewhere in the distance she could hear Lyle’s voice keeping count— that she began to lose her senses. As unconsciousness finally closed in upon her, the most peculiar thoughts crossed her mind. She was wearing Rebekah’s pretty brown dress and she had promised Isabel she would take care of it, but now it was surely ruined. Her last conscious thought was that despite her escape from rape, she was going to die after all. Maybe it was just as well. Who could love her now, ruined and scarred?

Then blackness engulfed her even as the snap of the whip continued.

CHAPTER

51

B
ENJAMIN WAS NO TRACKER, BUT
he didn’t have to be because Maurice was taking no pains to hide his passage. They were keeping to what passed for a trail in these parts. What Benjamin couldn’t tell, however, was how long since the signs had been left. He could not judge how close he was to them.

Then the unthinkable happened. It started to rain. The water fell in thick sheets, and when it stopped an hour later, not only had it washed away any trail signs, but it slowed Benjamin’s progress considerably, especially when he came to a creek he must cross. An hour earlier he could have walked across on his horse without trouble. Now the water raged in a torrent down the narrow creek bed.

There might be a better crossing, but it could be miles down the creek. For one panicked moment he considered fording the water anyway.

“What am I going to do?” He stared at the creek, as if God might part the waters for him.

But the torrent just kept on its roiling and boiling journey, unaffected by his despair, untouched by his prayers.

“Benjamin, is that you?”

It was a miracle in itself that Benjamin heard the voice over the rage of rushing water. But it was unbelievable that the voice, as if from heaven itself, was that of his friend John Hunter. Hunter was carefully directing his horse down the steep bank.

“John!” Benjamin shouted, full of glee. “It is me. I’ve got to get across the creek.”

“I’m gonna go down a few miles and see if I can find another crossing.”

“There isn’t time!” Benjamin wondered if he could convince his friend to be party to a suicidal attempt.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s a long story, John. Elise’s in trouble. I have to find her.”

Thankfully, John restrained what must have been a natural urge to question further. “Well, we won’t get far here—”

“I’ve got to try!” Benjamin cried frantically. “Even if there is another crossing, it might be flooded, too.”

John grasped his arm. “Listen to me, Benjamin, you are not going to do her any good if you get yourself killed. That river we crossed when you first came here ain’t nothing compared to this. I’m not even sure the horses can swim it.”

But Benjamin’s wild-eyed gaze was proof enough that he was willing to take that risk.

John studied the creek for a few long moments. Then he scratched his head. “You determined to do this?”

Benjamin gaped at his friend as if he had just sprouted horns. “She’s at the mercy of a man I doubt knows the meaning of the word. God only knows what he’ll do to her if I don’t get there.”

“All right, then. You got rope?” John dismounted, taking his own coil of rope from his saddle. Benjamin handed him his rope, and John tied the two ends together, giving the knot a yank to test its soundness. “That ought to hold.”

Benjamin marveled at the man’s skill. In awe he watched as John made a slip knot around one of the loose ends of the rope to form a lasso. “I’m gonna try to lasso that stump over yonder.” He gestured across the creek to the opposite bank. Benjamin saw the stump, and it appeared sound. The last thing they wanted was to have their lives depend on a rotten tree.

John hoisted the coil of rope over his head and gave a mighty heave. He missed. It took three more tries before the noose finally fell evenly around the stump. Benjamin let out a whoop.

John smiled but said cautiously, “That’s the easy part.”

After securing the other end of the rope to a sturdy tree on their side of the creek, they were ready to cross, using the rope for guidance and support. Not wanting to trust the rope entirely, Benjamin suggested they add a few silent prayers.

“I been praying all along,” John said.

“Then we can do no more.” Benjamin took a breath. Though the words had not come to his mind in a formal way, he knew he’d been praying since leaving his cabin yesterday.

Benjamin went first. If this makeshift pulley wasn’t going to work, he’d be the first to be swept down the creek, and maybe John would have time to get back to safety. His heart was pounding both in fear and in frustration at the painstakingly slow pace he must progress. But he dare not urge his horse too much lest he spook her. She was already shy of the rushing water; in fact, it took some doing just to get her to step into it. She grew skittish in the middle of the creek where the current swirled wildly, and Benjamin had to stop completely.

He rubbed the animal’s neck and murmured encouragement into her ear. “It’s all right,” he lied. “You’re doing fine, just take one step at a time.”

They started again, and as the opposite bank grew closer, Benjamin had to resist every urge to dig his heels in and hurry from that danger ous torrent of water. But even as he reached the bank and stepped onto solid ground, he knew the drama wasn’t over yet. He had to watch the process all over again as John crossed.

Only when his friend came up on the bank safely did it occur to him to wonder what was John’s need to be crossing the flooded creek.

“I was just going into Cooksburg to have Albert fix the blade on my scythe. Harvest will be coming along soon.” He answered Benjamin’s inquiry.

“You could have waited until the river went down.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want my help?” John asked matter-of-factly.

“Well I—”

“No matter. I ain’t gonna let you go off on no rescue when I’m here to help. Now, we best get going.”

As they rode along, Benjamin filled John in on a few more details of what had happened. He had never told John the full circumstances of Elise’s past, but he felt if John was going to place himself at risk, he ought to be informed of the whole story. It really didn’t surprise Benjamin that when John heard the story, he responded with hardly a wink. He had no more thought to judge Elise than he had to decline rescuing her. He knew only that she was a good woman and Benjamin’s wife, and that was enough.

They rode hard for several hours before they spotted the smoke of a campfire. It was a couple of hours before sunset, so Thomson—if it was Thomson—and his party had made camp early.

“If that’s your man,” John observed, “then it’s pretty careless of him.”

“He doesn’t think he has anything to fear.” Benjamin stared hard at the stream of smoke. “I mean to make him regret that.”

John did a double take, both at Benjamin’s words and the hard resolve of them.

Benjamin added, “I mean to kill him if I have to.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” John replied evenly, with just as much conviction.

They loaded their rifles, then split up, each to approach the camp from opposite directions. Benjamin would make the first move, hoping Thomson would think him alone, thus saving John as a surprise, an “ace up your sleeve,” as John put it, forgetting that Benjamin knew nothing of card playing. Benjamin did know what the phrase meant. He only hoped he could maintain enough of a poker face to make the best use of the subterfuge.

CHAPTER

52

B
ENJAMIN TRIED TO STEP QUIETLY
through the brush. He remembered how stealthily the Karankawa had come upon him that day in his camp. Unfortunately, Benjamin only got within twenty yards before he stepped carelessly on a branch, snapping it loudly. He stopped in his tracks and held his breath.

Away in the camp he heard voices.

“You hear that, Maurry?”

“We got visitors.”

“Maybe it’s Indians.”

“Shut up a minute!”

Benjamin had to move fast then in order to beset them before they could get to their weapons, if they didn’t already have them. He barreled into the camp, gun ready, breaking into the clearing just as Maurice was reaching for his pistol. The other man was busy loading his musket.

“Drop it!” Benjamin yelled, aiming at Maurice.

Thomson’s fingers had just barely touched the pistol, but he instantly jerked his hand away. In that same instant, the second man, whom Benjamin had only a peripheral glimpse of, moved. Benjamin could not know for certain if the man had finished loading, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the weapon raise. He started to turn, intending to fire, but before he could take aim, another shot rang through the air.

He gaped in shock as his would-be target jerked violently, then fell back to the ground. He stared dumbfounded as a circle of blood spread on the man’s shirt in the vicinity of his heart.

Then Benjamin shook away his shock, realizing he had not finished his rescue. But he didn’t shake it away soon enough. He’d left enough time for Maurice to retrieve his pistol. Thomson took aim. Benjamin could not expect another reprieve from John, who needed time to reload.

As Thomson squeezed the trigger, Benjamin made a desperate lunge to the left. The shot whizzed past Benjamin, tickling his right ear. Sprawling in the dirt, Benjamin hit something solid. The form made a pitiful groaning sound. At that same moment John stepped into view, came up behind Thomson, and jabbed his rifle into the back of his head.

“Put that pistol down now,” John drawled in that matter-of-fact way Benjamin was finding so admirable.

The pistol clunked into the dirt. Benjamin sat up and turned to inspect what he had struck. With trembling fingers, fearing what he would find, he lifted the corner of the blanket covering the moaning woman he was certain must be Elise.