Marshaling her heart, p.13
Marshaling Her Heart, page 13
“B-but what cause?” Samantha blew her nose. “Women’s suffrage is the right to vote, isn’t it? In Wyoming, women already have the right to vote.”
“Oh, but there’s more, so much more.” Mariah reached for Samantha’s arm and squeezed. “Women in Wyoming had for nearly two years the right to sit on juries. Did you know that? That’s been taken away by a governor who thinks he’s protecting us. We’re backsliding already, losing our rights.
“A woman named Elizabeth Packard just got the state of Illinois to pass a law that says a woman can’t be locked up in an insane asylum without being declared insane. In other words, they can’t lock her up just on the word of her husband. It was already illegal to do this to people generally, but there was one exception—wives.”
Samantha squeaked and took a nervous glance at the kitchen, as if her husband might charge through the door and lock her up in an asylum.
“When a woman marries, she gives up all her rights as a citizen, or nearly all of them. When a woman marries, the married couple becomes one person, and that person is the husband. That woman becomes civilly dead. She can’t sign legal documents, and any property she owns becomes her husband’s. Any inheritance she receives or any money she earns is automatically her husband’s. The job Nell has as justice of the peace for which she’s paid, as well as the money she earns as a seamstress—”
“Making stupid chaps,” Nell muttered.
Mariah, rolling along with her pep talk for Samantha, ignored Nell’s remark. “That money, all your ma’s money, is now your pa’s.”
“B-but Pa wouldn’t do wrong by Ma.”
Mariah thought it was sweet that Samantha called her ma of about a month Ma.
“Yes, that’s right. Your pa is an honorable man, but not all husbands are. Why does a woman have to hope and pray that she doesn’t marry a scoundrel? This country is filled with strange laws that deny women their full rights. Mrs. Mussel and many other women are fighting those unjust laws. Samantha, you’re going through a hard time in this new marriage of yours, but I think it’ll help you to think of bigger things. Leland isn’t a bad man. You’re just having trouble adjusting to marriage. I want you to get Nell’s copies of The Revolution and start reading. Learn how to handle conflict with Leland as a strong woman would, not as an easily upset girl.”
Samantha sat up straighter, squared her shoulders. She looked a little cranky, as if not liking being referred to as an easily upset girl. Well, good. Then she shouldn’t be one.
“You go on and work with Mr. Kintzinger at the newspaper, get a story in the paper every week about women’s suffrage. And while you’re at it, write a story about the risk Mrs. Mussel faced by coming here at the height of the danger from the Deadeye Gang. A courageous woman faced danger to lift all women to a higher place. Her goals can lift men, too, if they’d only realize it. You need to capture all of that in your story. Go talk to Mr. Kintzinger about it. Nell can talk to him, too. Maybe in working on this, you’ll find out you need to talk differently to Leland, as I’m sure he needs to talk differently to you. Instead of fighting and crying and running off, you can learn to stand up straight, look Leland in the eye, and tell him what you’re thinking. Tell him how you’d like things to be between you two. I hope working on the stories for the newspaper and reading The Revolution will help you to do that.”
“Y-you think Mr. Kintzinger will let me write stories for him?”
Mariah jabbed a finger right at Samantha’s chest. “I think if he doesn’t, then you need to start your own paper.”
Samantha gasped, but then a rather military light gleamed in her eyes.
Mariah gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “What do you say? Will you do it? Will you educate yourself about what Mrs. Mussel is doing, as well as your ma, and write about it? Will you use what you learn about a woman being strong to try to get along better with Leland? He’s got things to learn, too. But you do your best, and we’ll urge Leland to do his best, too.”
Samantha listened.
Mariah figured that was all she’d do.
Then with a firm nod, Samantha said, “Nell, can I get your copies of The Revolution?”
Nell gave her an enthusiastic hug. “I have a whole stack of them at my dress shop, on the shelf under the counter. And Leland should read them too, and his brother and sister. This is everybody’s fight, not just women’s.”
Leland came out of the kitchen carrying three cups of coffee, looking thoroughly chastened. Clint followed with the pot.
Sitting down beside his wife, Leland gave her a cup while Clint refilled Mariah’s and Nell’s and sat with a cup of his own. As Clint took a deep drink from his cup and without, as far as Mariah could tell, kicking Leland under the table, Leland slid an arm around Samantha.
“I’m sorry. I know I fuss at you and criticize you. I think I know exactly how you should behave, but I don’t seem to know how I should behave. Let’s go home, Samantha. I’m going to try and be a better husband to you.”
“Can we stop by Nell’s shop to pick up some newspapers she wants me to read? She thinks it’ll help me, oh, I guess learn how to be a better wife to you.”
Mariah clamped her mouth shut. In the big picture it was probably true that it would help her be a better wife. But that wasn’t the real focus of The Revolution.
“I’ll go with you both.” Nell took a few quick bites of the custard, not licking the plate but close enough. Then she gulped down the coffee Clint had just poured her, got up, and left with the young couple. The young couple who walked with their arms around each other.
That was how most of their fights ended, though, so it wasn’t all that good of a sign.
When they were out the door and out of sight past the window, Mariah looked at Clint. “What did you tell him?”
“I’ll tell you while you help me clean up the kitchen, wife. That’s women’s work.”
Since Clint would hardly let her do a thing in the kitchen, Mariah giggled.
Clint took her hand, and together they walked to the back of the diner to clean up what little was left to clean in Clint’s usually tidy kitchen, and they compared notes on their efforts at making two youngsters grow up.
18
We’ll be able to see them right over that ridge. From this point on, be quiet. Absolutely quiet.” Morgan Sawyer didn’t scold anyone, or order them, or even look at the group much. He was here for his expertise, and he expected them to appreciate anything he had to say.
The plan was for them to pair off, with each pair following one man. Becky was the exception. She’d join a pair, so they’d have three in their group.
Two men eased up to the ridgetop and peered down on a campfire. There around the fire were the same six men they’d been following for days.
Becky had been told they were eating and talking, hopefully too far away to hear any noise made by the Marshals.
A hiss came from the ridge—the sign that the group was breaking up. The two men watching slipped away silently into the darkness. Soon all the other groups would do the same. It meant one villain would be left untrailed. But they’d picked him carefully. The youngest. Not a known man.
Becky was sorely afraid the youngsters could be just as mean, just as deadly as the older ones, but they were determined to stay in pairs, so there was no other option.
The next pair of Marshals moved to the ridgetop, Sal among them. They waited a long time before they headed out. Becky wasn’t sure who it was they were following.
They kept moving, the outlaws and the paired-up Marshals. Finally, it was Becky’s turn. She eased up to the ridge with Nate and, she saw now, Tex.
Tex whispered to Nate, “Utah Mike, last to leave.”
Who was Bernard Skleen. Utah Mike was the name the lawmen had said they knew Skleen by. The name on wanted posters. Skleen had been working for Becky’s pa for a long time. She remembered him with a shudder. He’d been one of the worst of them at Pa’s ranch. And Pa had been a lot more loyal to Skleen than he was to her.
One of the biggest reasons she’d taken Grandma’s money and run.
Becky fell in behind Nate, who let Tex go ahead of them. Becky knew Nate was a fine tracker, but she’d seen how Tex could handle a trail, too. Tex led the way.
She’d come along with the hunting party rather than stay back in camp as Owen had urged. Not because she thought they needed her exactly, but because she was safer near them than anywhere alone. Even so, it didn’t quite feel that way right now as they headed straight into danger.
Becky slid a hand over her six-gun. It was loaded and ready.
She’d lived in Wyoming her whole life. Things were much more settled now, murderous stagecoach robbers notwithstanding. She’d been born into a land of cougars, bears, and wolves. There were men who settled their disputes with guns. There were blizzards, avalanches, cliffs to navigate, wild horses to break, and cattle that were known to stampede.
And Becky had survived all of it. Danger came as no shock, and her gun was a tool she always carried.
She followed along with Nate, edging forward in the dark woods. Everyone was on foot now. They’d left their horses behind when they saw the outlaws stripping the leather off their mounts to let them rest, hopefully for the night.
They walked in silence, Becky bringing up the rear.
Nate had urged her to stay close enough so she could hold on to the back of his shirt or at least touch him every few minutes . . . or seconds. And she did. They were on rugged ground. Steep. Climbing toward some unknown spot the outlaws had selected earlier, which overlooked the trail where something was expected tomorrow. Becky didn’t know much about stage lines, so it could be that. It was Nate who knew Wyoming the best. Sal had worked in the area plenty. Between them all, they were sure this wasn’t the trail the main stages ran on. This was a back trail, the kind of slippery location men trying to sneak a freight wagon with a shipment of gold might take.
This trail was a tough one to climb, so steep in places it’d make a mountain goat faint, and so narrow it’d make a rabbit feel crowded.
Regardless of that, they kept moving—slowly since the man they were after was moving slowly. Sometimes it was more climbing than walking, though they didn’t need to find toeholds and scale a sheer cliff.
Becky heard the echoing hoot of a great horned owl. As she inched along, she felt the night breeze fluttering around them. The scent of pine hugged them close.
Becky loved Wyoming and yet she rarely got to explore the beautiful land of her birth. Despite the dangers, the scents and sounds soothed her. She remained on high alert, though, listening for any noise coming from ahead of them.
They trudged forward and upward and kept at it for a long time. Becky kept her eyes sharp, but on a narrow trail with tall trees on either side, it became so dark that she focused on two things only. Keeping silent, and not tumbling off the mountain.
Suddenly a hand closed over her wrist. It took her a second to realize it was Nate’s hand. He wanted her to stop walking.
Whatever the other groups did, their job was to catch Skleen. He was one of the men who had a dead-or-alive poster on him. And Tex didn’t seem overly inclined toward being gentle with the man.
Becky didn’t like the idea of killing a man from cover, but then they’d agreed no gunfire—which would alert the other outlaws—unless it came down to a fight for their lives. So Tex would probably jump Skleen, try and take him down without letting him cry out a warning, and they’d haul him back to the camp alive.
If they were stopping now, Skleen was probably right ahead. Becky and Nate were supposed to stay out of sight.
Nate pressed down on Becky’s shoulder, and she stepped off the trail to the extent that was possible and hunkered down. She didn’t have her hand on her gun. It sickened her to think of pulling the trigger in the pitch-dark and maybe hitting Nate. It surprised her how terrible even thinking of it made her feel. Not just the thought of shooting anyone, which was bad. Not just the thought of accidentally shooting the wrong man. That was worse. For just that one second, she imagined shooting Nate and felt a burn of tears. And that was just the thought of it. Why?
Her reaction wasn’t normal. Not for her. She rarely cried and was calm in times of trouble. Feeling severely aware of the seriousness of what Tex and Nate were about to do didn’t explain the burn of tears. No, they were about feelings she shouldn’t have. Feelings that went back to Nate stepping between her and Pa. Feelings connected to that kiss.
She’d seen Nate doing his tracking. He was as skilled as anyone she’d ever met, until she met Morgan Sawyer. And around here, a lot of men wandered in the mountains. She’d seen men with rare talent as woodsmen.
But Nate was a cut above them.
The threat of tears was foolish. She was no careless youngster. She’d never risk shooting what she couldn’t see.
She pictured Nate slipping along and wished she’d demanded to go with him. Everything felt better when he was close by.
Shoving aside her strange emotions, she paid strict attention to the silent woods around her. She strained to hear what was going on. There were night sounds as before, but nothing that didn’t belong.
A sudden thrashing up ahead brought her to her feet. Hidden behind a tree, she heard thundering footsteps coming down the treacherous path.
And she knew.
Somehow, Skleen had heard the pursuit. Somehow, he’d gotten past two skilled Marshals.
Neither Nate nor Tex would be running flat-out like this. They might be chasing Skleen, yet he was the one running.
With no wish to reveal herself or shoot anyone, she grasped a sapling beside her, timed it to the second, and as the footsteps came even with her, she used the young tree to swing herself out into the trail and land both feet hard in Skleen’s belly.
Skleen slammed into her legs and staggered sideways straight across the narrow trail. His head smashed into a much larger tree. He staggered but didn’t go down.
The impact sent Becky’s legs whipping back and wrenched her whole body. Landing on her feet, Becky swept her gun out of its holster and slammed the butt end of it into Skleen’s head. It sent him sliding and falling past her down that trail. She steadied herself and got out of the way of oncoming footsteps.
Quietly, but loud enough, she said to whoever came first, “I knocked him down.”
There was no sound below them, no pounding boots, no man scrambling to his feet.
It was Nate who came first, then went on by. Tex was two paces behind him. Mainly because she didn’t want to be left behind, she followed after Tex. She heard a rushing sound in the dense woods that lined the trail. It told her just where they were.
Then she heard the metallic snick of shackles being snapped closed.
Tex said, “Use his kerchief to gag him.”
“He’s out cold,” Nate said.
“Keep quiet. Stay back. If he comes around, I don’t want him making any noise that might warn the others. I’ll take him back to camp.”
Tex hoisted Skleen to his feet. The man staggered but stayed upright.
They’d gone a dozen yards down the steep, rocky slope when Skleen wrenched free. He got loose from Tex, then fell and skidded downward a dozen more yards.
Tex hustled after him and stopped him from falling all the way down to the bottom of the slope.
Nate tugged his kerchief off his neck and used it to blindfold Skleen. This time when they hoisted him to his feet, his knees wouldn’t hold. Nate hooked one of his arms through Skleen’s elbow.
Tex took the other side. They dragged him onward. Neither spoke a word. And Becky for certain wasn’t talking. Skleen knew her voice.
They were a long time getting back to camp.
Becky saw the flickering firelight leaping high ahead of them and heard murmuring voices. She also heard a coffeepot clink against a tin cup, and soon she could smell the fire and the savory brew.
Long before they reached the campfire, Tex said, “Stay back.” His warning was muttered well out of earshot of the camp, but it wasn’t necessary. They’d discussed this at length. Becky and Nate would go straight for their horses and ride for the Idee alone while the Marshals took the men away. After some debate, she figured, based on where they’d made their capture, the Marshals would escort the outlaws to Fort Bridger to lock them up in the jail there.
The cavalry units that had guarded Mrs. Mussel and Mrs. Morris had come from there, so they were aware of the dangerous criminal gang roving the territory.
If the Marshals took their prisoners and rode south, they could reach the train station in a single day. If they found the train wasn’t coming through soon, they’d have to push on to Fort Bridger.
They also said that if the train was heading east, they might just ride it to Laramie. A lot could change depending on what they found as they rode.
Keeping any of the outlaws from knowing of Becky and Nate’s involvement was top priority.
Becky stood in the shadows with Nate at her side as they watched Sal jump up and help Tex carry Skleen to the tree they had surrounded with outlaws.
They tied Skleen up and let him slump to the ground. Out cold still, just as he had been for the past hour.
“He made a break for it. I knocked him halfway down the mountain.” Tex’s voice was low. Even with Skleen apparently knocked out, he didn’t want to give the man much to go on.
Nate pulled her away. They headed for where the horses were tied. Brutus came up and silently greeted them.
Becky stroked the patient dog, and then she and Nate got their horses and led them slowly away from the men. They didn’t want any of them, five outlaws in all, to realize someone was riding away. They’d never know anyone else was with the Marshals.
They walked a fair distance, fighting for the most possible silence. Nate took the lead. Finally, Nate stopped moving and whispered to her, “Nice work. You captured our suspect. And you did it in such a way that he won’t know it was you. He didn’t see me either. He was running from us because Tex stepped on a twig loud enough to warn him. Skleen took off, but before he could give us the slip, you stopped him by knocking him halfway down a mountainside.”
