Breath wouldn’t fill Joanna’s chest as his statements tumbled through her mind. His words hinted at something too awful to accept. Too horrible to fathom. “What are you saying, Mr. Bowen? Just tell me.” She grabbed his arm, willing him to produce her son right then and there.
He placed his hand over hers, but she was too focused on his face and the sorrow creasing his features to trouble over anything else. “I think it’s possible that whoever killed the sheriff kidnapped Miss Hannon and your son.”
THREE
But why would they take them? What would they want with a woman and boy?” But she knew what they would want from a lovely young woman like Laura. Joanna’s knees nearly buckled, but she held herself up by sheer force of will and her grip on Mr. Bowen’s firm arm.
His Adam’s apple bobbed under the scruff of newly grown beard at his throat. “Maybe the two saw the shooting. The men might’ve gotten scared and scooped them up so they couldn’t be witnesses. Killing a lawman is a hanging offense, no doubt about it. I’ll round up some menfolk from town and we’ll set out after them.”
She gripped his arm tighter. “I’m coming, too. I’ll get a horse from the livery.” She tripped over her skirts as she ran to gather Laura’s bag and her own satchel of food. With a stumble, she barely kept herself from tumbling down in the grass beside the swimming hole.
“Mrs. Watson. It’s not safe for a woman to go after them, and we can move faster without you.”
She ignored his words. There was no time to quibble, especially when nothing he said would change her mind. With the satchels in one hand and the hem of her cotton work dress in the other, she sprinted along the dusty road toward town.
Halfway there, she registered the deep breaths and pounding feet of the man running beside her and glanced at him. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, but his expression seemed equally set on rounding up the help they needed. For that she was thankful, despite the panic urging her forward. Dare she hope they could find Laura and Samuel before it was too late? She could well imagine what they would do to Laura, but what would the evil men expose her son to?
The streets of town remained empty and deserted. Why had she brought Samuel to this tiny settlement in the middle of nowhere? If only she’d gone back to St. Louis, such a travesty would never have happened, or at least there would be other lawmen around to help.
The livery stood near the edge of town, and Mr. Bowen stopped at the doorway. “I’ll have Sam get the horses ready, then go tell Lanton the news.”
But as she followed him inside the livery, the place seemed devoid of human presence. All the men must still be in the mines, or maybe there was some kind of town meeting she didn’t know about. Horses nickered from the stalls as they entered, and the high-pitched bray of a mule sounded from far down the aisle.
“Anyone here?” Mr. Bowen called as he strode in.
No answer sounded, so he called again. At last he turned to her. “Sam must be off for dinner. See if there’s a bay mare in one of the end stalls. She’s gentle and will work well for you. I’ll run down to the mercantile, then come back and ready my animals so we can get going.”
She’d never been in this barn, had never met Sam, but she wasn’t about to question Mr. Bowen when he was helping her find her boy. She’d deal with the cost of renting the horse later.
Even though she moved as quickly as her shaking hands would allow, by the time she found a saddle and readied the bay mare with the kind eyes, Mr. Bowen had returned and was saddling the chestnut gelding he’d been riding the day before. Within minutes, he had another horse lined up in the hallway and was fastening a packsaddle on its back.
Her throat tightened. “You think we’ll be gone overnight?”
He pulled a strap tight to fasten down one of the packs. “After we find your boy and Miss Hannon, I’ll ride home from there, so I’d like to have my things with me. Besides, something in here might come in handy.”
He thought they’d find Samuel and Laura within a few hours? She wanted to cling to the hope. But they’d been gone for so long already. Hours, probably.
“What did Mr. Lanton say?”
Mr. Bowen pulled the cinch strap on the packsaddle. “He’s gathering men to bring in the sheriff’s body, then to help us catch up to the people who have your son. I told him we’d ride on ahead and follow the tracks.”
Good. At least they wouldn’t have to wait for others to saddle their horses.
After Mr. Bowen scribbled a note for Sam explaining why they’d taken the horses, they mounted and rode out of the barn.
Her heart cried a desperate prayer with every beat of her horse’s hooves. God, save my boy.
They rode as fast as Isaac could track on the rough wagon ruts that passed for a road through this mountain valley. The hoofprints led away from town, which made sense if the men who shot the sheriff were running. Maybe they were ne’er-do-wells living up in one of the ravines where miners congregated. But their trail wasn’t going in the direction of any communities he was aware of.
Lord, let us find them before dark. They would. They had to. If he lost the tracks, there was no telling how far ahead the despoilers would get. Maybe all the way back to the rock they crawled out from under.
But as the tracks left the main path, heading southwest instead of north toward the mining camps, his chest squeezed tighter. Just traveling this direction brought back memories he never allowed himself to relive.
For ten years he’d avoided this trail—and for good reason. He still fought against the dark, hollow places that catastrophe had etched in his heart.
He had no choice now but to go on. Mrs. Watson needed him. So he swallowed the bile churning inside and rode forward.
The one good thing about being familiar with this land was his ability to move fast through the mountain passes, finding the hidden ravines he used to travel back in his lawless days.
Yet, the fact that the men they pursued also rode through those ravines didn’t sit well in his gut. Those men must be just as familiar with this hidden path that would keep them far from any form of law, just as at home in the treacherous gorges and gullies.
Please, Lord, let this not be the gang I started all those years ago. Just because this was the trail to the hideout they’d used didn’t mean the three horsemen they followed were part of that band.
No. He thrust the menacing thought aside. He’d long ago stopped letting his past rise up to haunt him.
For her part, Mrs. Watson kept up remarkably well, her horse following close behind his pack gelding. But as daylight faded to dusk, then to night, the tightness in Isaac’s chest gripped harder. There was enough moon that he could see the tracks as long as they were out in open areas. If they moved into tree cover, he’d probably lose the trail.
Should he keep going? With this woman? He’d hoped to overtake the men before nightfall, but that had turned into a foolish wish. Were the other men from town following close behind him and Mrs. Watson? The posse would have to stop for the night, too.
Since it looked like this chase wouldn’t be over tonight, should he return Mrs. Watson to town where she’d be out of danger? He should at least try.
He reined in his horse and turned to her.