Early Dawn Page 7

  “Pete’s got a point, Wallace,” Harold chimed in. “She was purty enough when we first took her, but she sure as hell ain’t so fine-lookin’ now.”

  “I don’t think we should even keep her around,” James inserted. “She’s slowin’ us down. You want us to get caught, Wallace, and dangle at the end of a rope?”

  “You bastard!” Boots slapping the earth, Wallace advanced on his youngest brother. Thumping James on the chest with a rigid finger, he said, “I been keepin’ you safe all your miserable life, you little shit. I’ll go on keepin’ you safe if you mind what I say.”

  “I’m just pointin’ out that she’s a danger to all of us,” James replied. “You seen her clothes when we first took her. She comes from some fancy rich family. You think they won’t try to get her back? People like that got influence. They’ll sic a dozen posses on us, and maybe even come lookin’ for her themselves!”

  “I do the thinkin’ for this outfit.” Wallace gave James a final thump on the chest. “You keep your mouth shut and follow orders. Understand?”

  “What we understand is that you think your vote carries the day!” Pete’s voice rang across the clearing. “It’s four against one, Wallace. Seems to me our opinions oughta count for somethin’. I’m tired of just playin’ with her every night. We ain’t none of us had a woman in weeks!”

  “And you ain’t gonna have one for several more.” Wallace tossed a scathing glance at Eden. “She’s for Estacado.”

  “Estacado won’t even want her!” Pete insisted. “Take a hard look at her. He’ll laugh in your face.”

  “We’ll lay over after we cross the Rio. Give her some time to heal and clean herself up. She’ll be purty as ever again, and Estacado will pay top dollar for her. If you boys is that horny, you can rent yourself a whore down there at Margarita’s cantina. Until then, keep your peckers in your pants.”

  Long after the argument ended, Eden mentally circled everything the men had said. What if Wallace lost control of his brothers, and they raped her despite his protests? Once that happened, she would be of no value to them any longer, and one of them would surely kill her. The thought should have terrified Eden, but after four endless days of torment, fear of dying had lost its hold on her. It wasn’t that she wanted to die. No one in her right mind would. It was more a question of what lay in store for her if she survived. Rape, death, or being sold across the border to some filthy old man and enduring a lifetime of servitude and abuse. Wouldn’t it be better if her trials ended swiftly?

  Her brothers hadn’t come. That was the crux of the matter. Until they’d moved from San Francisco to No Name a little over five years ago, they’d always protected her. But now, when she needed them the most, they weren’t here. She felt completely lost and indescribably fearful, because nothing they’d taught her to believe about herself was proving to be true. She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t invincible. She wasn’t as good as any man. During all those training sessions, when she’d clung to Ace’s every word, believing she could prevail against almost anything, she’d been listening to lies. She was only a woman, pitted against five vicious men. If she had still been able to laugh, she would have. To think that her canceled engagement had been the greatest calamity of her life only a few days ago. She would welcome the ostracism of San Francisco society and count herself lucky—now.

  Later, after the brothers tired of toying with her, Eden lay near Wallace on the ground, wishing for a blanket. They were at a higher altitude in steep, rugged, and rocky terrain that sported occasional stands of ponderosa pine. Eden had hoped the hills and trees might provide a windbreak, but instead the cuts and gullies acted as funnels for the icy gusts, making the night miserably cold. How on earth did they expect her to rest when her teeth were clacking? Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to drift off, but sleep eluded her. So instead she drew in the moldy scent of the pine needles beneath her cheek and thought of her brothers, praying that they would find her soon.

  Just before dawn, Eden was jerked to her feet by the noose. The snap of the rope around her neck brought tears to her eyes. Wallace removed the thongs from her hands and feet, which set off a prickly feeling, as if thousands of needles were jabbing her flesh. Then he tugged her along behind him to his horse as if she were a dog. Grabbing the hemp with numb fingers to keep it from cutting into her throat, Eden stumbled behind him on rubbery feet, miserable at the thought of another endless day on horseback stretching before her. Even worse, she knew it would culminate as the last four had, with her providing the Sebastian brothers with evening entertainment until they got so drunk they passed out.

  Eden didn’t know how much more of this she could endure without losing her mind. With each passing evening, they grew crueler, jerking her back to reality with painful pinches and nips of their decayed teeth. It was as if they sensed that she was separating herself from what was occurring, and her lack of response somehow spoiled their fun. So far, Eden had determinedly lost herself in a dreamworld of memories while they played with her, but at this point, she was running low on lovely thoughts.

  When the dream well ran dry, what then? Eden wanted to think that she would endure the humiliation with stoic resolve, but a part of her was fast coming to realize that she lacked the steely willpower her brothers believed she possessed.

  Hunkered down in front of his horse, Matthew peered through the gathering gloom at a patch of churned earth, tracing the edge of one hoofprint with a fingertip. Fresh, he decided. After riding hard for five days, he’d finally caught up with the sons of bitches. It had taken him longer than he wished because he’d stopped to rest his animals more often than the Sebastians had, but constancy and determination had finally won out. He was right behind them.

  Matthew knew from experience that the gang would ride until well after dark. Crazy bastards. The five-day journey had brought them into steep, rocky terrain. It wasn’t horse-friendly country, even in broad daylight, and no matter how careful a rider might be to guide his mount over uneven ground, an animal could still stumble during the twilight hours when its vision was impaired. Matthew wasn’t about to put Smoky or Herman at risk of breaking a leg. He would wait for full darkness, when the gelding and mule would be able to see clearly again.

  The Sebastians would stop to make camp in only a few hours. During that time, Matthew would give his animals a much-needed and well-deserved rest. They’d given him their all during this chase, and he would have to demand it of them again before the night was over, not because he wanted to, but because the woman was still alive.

  Matthew could barely conceive of that. How she had survived for five full days with those heartless assholes was beyond him, but somehow she had. This morning when he’d come across the place where they’d camped last night, he’d seen her smaller footprints mixed in with the men’s. She wore pointy-toed boots with wedge heels, impractical footwear for this terrain—not that she’d ever planned to be here. And therein lay the rub for Matthew, that she’d made it this far.

  He didn’t wish her dead, never that, but he couldn’t help but resent the fact that her presence would ruin his plans. Instead of killing the Sebastians, as he’d dreamed of doing for three long years, he’d be trying to rescue a female he didn’t know who might not even appreciate the gesture. After all she’d endured, she probably wanted to die, God bless her, and Matthew couldn’t blame her. The memories of these last five days would haunt the poor thing for the rest of her life. Unless she was made of stronger stuff than most, she’d never come right again.

  None of that mattered, though, damn it to hell. She was alive, and he felt obligated to rescue her whether she wanted it or not. He would have to postpone settling up with the Sebastians until he got her safely away from them.

  Pushing wearily erect, Matthew removed the saddle from Smoky’s back and relieved the mule of its weighty packs before leading both animals down to the creek for a drink. Moving upstream, Matthew lay on his belly to scrub his unshaven face and slurp cold water from
his cupped hands. Damn. He needed an all-over scrubbing. How long had it been since he’d been able to take a bath? Two weeks, maybe even three? He couldn’t recollect exactly. He knew only that he stank.

  His mother would have conniptions if she could see him now. As a boy, he’d been grabbed by the ear and jerked to his tiptoes more than once for forgetting to scrub his neck. Soap and water come cheap! she’d always admonished. No son of mine is going to parade around with gray skin, you hear? Cleanliness is next to godliness. Those words had found fertile ground within Matthew. Even on the trail, he normally immersed himself in a creek fairly often for a good wash.

  Over the last few weeks, however, gaining ground on the Sebastians had taken precedence over personal hygiene, and he hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of bathing. He’d been settling for scrubbing his face and ears without soap and rubbing his teeth as clean as he could with his finger. Problem was, staying halfway clean from the neck up didn’t diminish his body odor.

  When all five Sebastians were lying dead in shallow graves, he’d buy a new set of clothes, from the skin out, and treat himself to a tub bath, he vowed. And once he was squeaky clean, he’d order himself a sit-down dinner at a restaurant and rent a room so he could sleep in a real bed. Ah, to rest his bones on a down-filled mattress. He hadn’t felt that kind of softness since leaving Oregon.

  When the horses had finished refreshing themselves, he ground-tied them near the gear where they could graze on tufts of grass, while he spent nearly an hour rubbing them down with burlap. They’d been working their hearts out for him, damn it. The least he could do was show a little appreciation. He’d purchased a bit of grain for them in Holden Creek. He finished off the grooming session with a handful for each of them. Herman, the mule, let loose with one of his silly-sounding nickers that always made Matthew want to smile. Poor creature didn’t know for sure what he was, donkey or horse. Matthew could sympathize. He no longer knew for sure if he was a decent man or a dyed-in-the-wool killer. He’d been thinking murderous thoughts for so long that they had started to overshadow everything that had once been good within him.

  He left the animals to munch on serviceberry and switchgrass while he stretched out beside them for a short nap. He had no fear that either animal would step on him. Herman and Smoky had become his trusted friends. He watched out for them, and they returned the favor.

  The wind picked up, whispering through the canopy of pine boughs above him. He breathed deeply of their scent, which reminded him of home and Olivia. Once again, his plans to avenge her were delayed.

  He stared at the swaying boughs for several minutes, hating himself for his mean-hearted thoughts. It wasn’t the woman’s fault that she’d been abducted, wasn’t her fault that she had survived. He needed to stop thinking, If only . . . and deal with the situation handed to him. Determined to do just that, he closed his eyes, forced his mind to go blank, and drifted off to sleep.

  When the men finally decided to make camp, they’d been riding in complete darkness for nearly three hours. Eden pitied the animals, even the draft horses that carried no riders. Despite the lack of weight on their backs, the poor things were exhausted. Her sympathy for the beasts was fleeting, though, because evenings were her torture hours.

  As the men set up camp, Wallace pronounced that it should be safe to build a fire tonight. No posse had caught up with them yet, and he had decided it was unlikely that one would. Eden had given up on anyone rescuing her, so instead of allowing the news to depress her any more than she already was, she thought of how wonderful it would be to feel warm for a little while.

  When Pete delivered her meager supper a few minutes later, she briefly considered refusing both the water and jerky. If help wasn’t coming, she needed to die, and the only way she could accomplish that was to stop nourishing her body. Only she couldn’t make herself do it. As far back as she could remember, her mother had taught her that life was a precious gift. As long as Eden still drew breath, there was hope. Maybe the Sebastians would relax their guard in the days that followed, allowing her to escape, or maybe her brothers would finally show up to rescue her. Instead of seeking death, the coward’s way out, she had to stay focused on surviving.

  After guzzling whiskey with his brothers, Pete returned to bind Eden’s hands and feet. As always, he jerked on the rawhide until it dug into her flesh. He smiled into her eyes as he snapped the leather taut, knowing it caused her pain. Eden locked gazes with him but uttered no sound.

  He looped the noose over her head. Then instead of grabbing her arm to drag her over to the others, as he always had before, he tugged on the rope.

  “Crawl for me, bitch.” He leaned down to leer at her. “Show us boys how eager you are to play.”

  Eden yearned to spit in his face, but fear of him squelched the urge. “I can’t crawl with my ankles bound.”

  “You sassin’ me, bitch?” He drew his knife and thrust the sharp edge against her throat. “I told you to crawl!”

  The glint in his eyes told her that he wanted to cut her. If she didn’t at least try to obey him, he might actually do it.

  So she attempted to crawl. With her feet lashed so tightly together, it was impossible to inch one knee in front of the other, but she made an attempt anyway, only to topple. Unable to break her fall with her hands tied behind her, she fell face-first in the dirt. Pete grabbed her by the hair, jerked her to a kneeling position, and yelled at her to crawl for him again.

  “I can’t!” she cried.

  He pressed the knife against her throat. “You’re a haughty little bitch and need to learn your place. I said crawl.”

  Eden tried, again and again. The last time she tumbled to the ground, Pete rewarded her efforts by burying a boot in her side. Pain lanced through her ribs, robbing her of breath. Black spots danced before her eyes as he dragged her by the hair the rest of the way to the fire.

  Matthew lay on his belly in a copse of bitterbrush, watching the Sebastians abuse the woman. The bastards had built a fire, enabling him to see clearly. It was all he could do not to draw down on the sons of bitches when she was ordered to crawl and repeatedly fell face-first to the ground. When the toe of a boot dug deep into her ribs, he came close to jumping up yet again. But, no, now wasn’t the time. If bullets started flying, the girl might be hit. His aim was to rescue her, not get her killed.

  Even sunburned, disheveled, and bruised to a fare-thee-well, she was younger and far prettier than he had imagined, with bright red hair and delicate features. Her hands and feet were tightly bound, and Pete had looped a noose around her neck.

  Over the years, Matthew had collected several wanted posters and now knew each of the Sebastians on sight. Once she’d been dragged over to the fire pit, James and Charles, both staggering drunk, had entertained themselves with her. As if all the fight had drained out of her like water through a sieve, she sat, limp as a rag doll, staring into the fire, reacting to nothing they did. The blank expression on her oval face told Matthew that she’d moved outside of herself or was possibly in shock. Sweet Jesus. He wanted to help her, but he needed to be smart about it. Eventually the men would pass out. When they did, Matthew would slip into camp and get her out of there.

  He settled in to wait, his stomach rolling with nausea. They played with her like a bunch of little boys with a captured butterfly, fighting for a turn, not caring if they damaged their fragile prize in the tug-of-war. Pete was the most vicious of the bunch. Watching him, Matthew itched to kill the scrawny bastard, not swiftly and mercifully, but inch by slow inch. The little shit wouldn’t think inflicting pain was so much fun when he was on the receiving end.

  Matthew felt drained by the time the brothers grew tired and staggered off to their pallets. He watched them bed down with a bewildered frown pleating his brow. They had stopped short of actually raping the girl. What the hell was that all about? Without so much as a holey blanket to protect her from the cold, she lay curled in a tight ball near Wallace’s pallet, her face drawn an
d pale in the flickering firelight. Studying her features, Matthew guessed her to be around twenty years old. Had they tortured her like this every blasted night? In his heart, Matthew knew they had.

  As the men settled down to sleep, scratching their crotches and farting, Matthew kept his gaze fixed on the girl. The noose was still around her neck, the loose end of the hemp knotted around Wallace’s wrist so she couldn’t roll away or try to loosen her bonds without waking him. She drew up her knees to partially cover her breasts, her eyes glazed and staring at nothing. Matthew’s heart hurt for her, and for a moment, his tender feelings tried to surface. He shoved them back down. Since Olivia’s death, he had learned not to let himself feel much of anything strongly except anger. Anger was safe. No matter how hot it burned, it didn’t hurt him in places so deep he couldn’t even name them.

  The Sebastians had drunk so much whiskey that Matthew doubted it would take long for them to lose consciousness. Soon, Pete was snoring and sputtering. Moments later, James joined in. Wallace was the last to fall into a booze-induced coma. Even then, Matthew remained in hiding. He would have a better chance of getting the girl safely out if he waited for the fire to die down.

  When at last the flames flickered out and the camp was illuminated only by glowing embers, Matthew slithered forward on his belly, the Winchester at the ready in his left hand, his holster flaps unfastened in case he needed his Colts. If those snakes woke up, all hell would break loose.

  Eden had just drifted off into a fitful sleep when a hard hand clamped over her mouth. She jerked awake to see the silhouette of a man hovering over her.

  He bent low to whisper, “If you want to get out of here, don’t move and don’t scream.”