“What is it? What’s wrong?” Her voice held a thick edge of panic, but she hadn’t fallen into hysterics on him yet, proving once again that she was a strong woman. The only kind who could survive in this mountain wilderness, if any could.
He chose his words carefully. “It doesn’t look like we’ll catch them tonight. You’d better go back to town. I’ll stay on their trail, and when the men Lanton sends catch up, we’ll free your son and Miss Hannon.”
The moonlight shone in patches on her face, casting her eyes in deep shadows. “I’m not leaving my son out there without searching for him. He’s all I have left. I’d rather die than risk his life in someone else’s hands.”
God, what do I do? If he allowed this woman to accompany him, keeping her safe may be the hardest part of the journey—especially if it turned out the kidnappers were the ghosts from his past. Or men like them. Or worse. Perspiration coated his palms at the thought.
“We have to ride on. Every moment we’re not moving, those men are getting farther away with my boy.” She moved her horse up beside him. “We should keep going. Both of us. Now.”
The hard set of her chin made her resolve unmistakable.
Will you keep us safe, Lord? But he knew the answer deep in his bones. He’d placed his life in God’s hands, and the Almighty would guard them. The quiet whisper in his spirit only confirmed it.
Breathing out his pent-up nerves, he nudged his horse forward. “We’ll ride until we can’t see the trail any longer.”
“This is where we get a few hours’ sleep.” Mr. Bowen’s voice broke the silence between them.
Joanna stared up at the crags and angles of the mountain rising above them. Her spirit fought against the idea of stopping before she had her boy in her arms, but Mr. Bowen was right. They couldn’t traverse this peak in the dark of night without endangering them both.
And right now they were Samuel and Laura’s best hope.
In fact, it didn’t look very likely they could scale those cliffs in the daytime, but she had to trust Mr. Bowen’s leading. What choice did she have? And if a group of despicable men could find a way over them with her son and her friend in tow, she and this seasoned mountain man definitely could.
“How far ahead do you think they are?” She leaned forward to dismount, her body aching with the movement.
“I’m hoping only an hour or two, but it’s hard to tell how old the tracks are in the dark. We’ll know more come morning.” His voice drifted through the night air, guarded and weary. He’d already slid from his horse’s back and was working at the pack behind his saddle.
She led her mount toward a spot of ground that seemed more level than the rest. “I guess this is the best place for sleeping.” Except she’d brought nothing with her to use for bedding. She’d only had the satchel of food she’d intended as a picnic, and she’d shared half of that with Mr. Bowen while they rode.
Maybe between her saddle blanket and the sack, she would have enough to cushion her head. Thank the Lord the weather was warm enough she wouldn’t need a cover.
“Here. There’s food and blankets in this pack.” He handed over the bundle from behind his saddle. “If you’re hungry, eat. Then divide up the bedding between us. I’m going to stake the horses out so they can graze.”
A breath of relief slipped from her. At least he’d come prepared. Perhaps she should feel guilty for using his things, but as she laid the blankets and furs in two stacks, a breath of thanks was all she could summon.
She had biscuits remaining in her satchel, but maybe he had roasted meat in his pack to accompany her meager fare and fill her protesting belly. Several leather-wrapped bundles looked to be the foodstuffs, and in the second one she checked, she found what she was looking for. Chunks of cooked meat.
As she tucked the other bundles back in the pack, the feel of something hard at the bottom caught her notice. The stiff leather felt almost like a book. Her fingers slid along the surface until they slipped over the edge, brushing the feather-like pages of a thick volume.
She shouldn’t look any further, but she was too exhausted to fight her curiosity. Slipping her fingers around the edge of the book, she eased it out. In the glimmer of moonlight, faded gold lettering on the worn cover read Holy Bible. A glance inside revealed tattered pages and tiny handwriting in some of the margins. A well-used guide, which explained some of the reason why this man seemed so solid.
Closing the book, she slipped it back in the pack, but her fingers brushed another volume as she replaced the Bible. Two more, actually.
She couldn’t help but pull them out. What more would they tell her about this man in whose care she’d placed her life—and the well-being of her son and friend? The first was The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Not as worn as the Bible, but the spine definitely showed wear. The second, Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, looked to have journeyed with him longer than Hawthorne, with dog-eared corners and finger smudges throughout its pages.
What kind of man traveled with his own library? Especially out here, where books were hard to come by. She knew that well, as she’d not had more to read than her own Bible and a couple of well-worn novels by Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë. She’d brought them when she’d first come west with Robert. Samuel had only been a year old then.
It seemed like another lifetime.
The sound of quiet footsteps on stone brought her back to the present, and she quickly tucked the books back in the pack, then set to work assembling the meat and biscuits for a quick meal.
Mr. Bowen eased down on one of the stacks of blankets, then took the food she handed him.
“I didn’t look for plates.” This was hardly the table her mother had taught her to set. She’d be appalled at her eating food with her hands, no serviette or any other form of civility. Still, it was all she had the energy to muster after the long day. She sank down on her own bedding and took a bite of her biscuit.
“No need. Anyway, I’m afraid I only have one set of tin dishes. Hope you don’t mind sharing when we need them.”
“Of course not.” As she chewed, she glanced up at the few remaining stars in the sky. “What time do you think it is?”
“Maybe an hour past midnight.” As long as her day had been, his had probably been just as trying.
A blanket of remorse slipped over her. “I’m sorry I kept you from going home tonight. How long did you say you’ve been gone?”
“A couple weeks.” His voice held that relaxed quality that made her wish she could have so few troubles. “And no worries about the delay. Doesn’t matter much if the trip is extended a day or two—and we switch to hunting weasel.”
The last words caught her off guard, and if she wasn’t so exhausted, they might have summoned a smile. Just now, that felt like too much effort, but she did manage a long overdue offering. “I want you to know how grateful I am for your help.” She looked over at the man so the scant remaining moonlight would show the earnestness on her face.
He nodded. “Lord willing, this will all be over tomorrow.” Then he shifted to pull the blankets from underneath himself. “Best get to sleep. Dawn won’t be far off.”