Only The Strong

Chapter Ten

“Chickory!” Randa cried, and started to goad her horse up past her mother’s to reach her brother.

Emala was struck speechless; the unexpected always unnerved her, and this was as unexpected as could be.

Samuel started to swing down. Suddenly he was aware of men on foot closing in from all sides. “Look out!” he shouted to his wife and his daughter.

Randa hauled on her reins. She didn’t want to leave, but instinct warned her that if she didn’t escape, she would end up trussed and helpless. A short man snatched at her bridle, but she jabbed her heels and her horse knocked him aside.

“Stop her!”

Samuel was torn between helping his son and Mrs. King, and fleeing. He started to dismount, thought better of it, and swung his leg back again. But before he could use his reins, two of the men reached him. The one on the right had a bristly mustache and was holding a shotgun, but made no attempt to use it. The one on the left had blond hair and cold blue eyes. Each grabbed one of Samuel’s legs.

Emala squealed in panic. Two men were converging on her. “No, you don’t!” she cried, and reined around. She smacked her horse with the flat of her hand and it broke into a gallop. Pleased with herself, she suddenly realized she was riding toward a low limb. She ducked, but she couldn’t duck low enough; her bosoms got in the way. She tried to twist aside, but the limb caught her across the shoulder. The next thing she knew, she was on her back on the ground with the breath whooshed from her lungs and a short man and a young man standing over her and grinning.

“You sure made that easy, you tub of lard.”

Still on his horse, Samuel kicked the man with the mustache and jerked his leg free of the blond man. He sought to flee. He would have made it, too, except he saw his wife fall and he reined over to help her. That was when another white man, a burly brute with a beard, came hurtling out of the undergrowth. Samuel recognized him; it was a slave hunter called Trumbo. Trumbo rammed into him like a two-legged battering ram.

To his dismay, Samuel was unhorsed.

Fifty feet into the trees, Randa looked back and saw that her father and mother were down. She almost turned back to help them, but the youngest of the whites whipped out a pistol and took aim at her. There was no doubt he would have shot her except that another man appeared, a man she had encountered before—Wesley, his name was—and swatted the younger man’s arm. The pistol went off, but the ball dug a furrow in the ground and not through her.

Randa kept riding.

Emala was on her back, but she wasn’t helpless. She kicked the short man trying to seize her.

Cursing fiercely, the man backed off and leveled his rifle. “Try that again and I will by-God shoot you!”

“Lower that weapon,” Wesley commanded. “How many times must I tell you that they are worth more to me alive than they are dead?”

Samuel barely heard that. He was too busy fighting. Trumbo had slammed him onto his back and sought to pin him, but Samuel was just as big and a lot stronger. He gave the bearded man-bear a shove that sent Trumbo flying. Before Samuel could rise, the man with the mustache and the man with the yellow hair were on him. They got hold of his arms, and the blond man tried to bend his arm behind his back.

Bellowing like a mad bull, Samuel threw them off and heaved to his feet. He turned to help Emala.

“Not another step,” Wesley said, jamming the muzzle of his Kentucky against Samuel’s thigh. “Shooting you in the leg won’t kill you, but it will sure as hell tame you.”

Samuel froze.

“The girl got away,” Trumbo said.

“She won’t get far,” Wesley predicted. “As soon as we tie these two, I want you and Bromley and Kleist to go after her. She’s heading for the open prairie, so it shouldn’t be hard to catch her.”

Emala sat up and jabbed a finger at the back-woodsman. “I should have known it would be you!”

“You’re money in my poke, woman,” Wesley replied. “A lot of money. I wasn’t about to give up this side of the hereafter.” He backed away from Samuel but held the Kentucky on him. “Listen good, you Worths. So long as you do what I say, when I say, you’ll make it back to Georgia in one piece. Give me trouble, any at all, and you’ll suffer.”

Samuel was quivering with fury. He thought the slave hunters had given up, but here they were again. But there was no way he was going back again. No way in hell. He would rather be dead than a slave. Besides, they weren’t taking him back to put him to work in the cotton fields. They were taking him back to hang him. Trumbo went into the trees and reappeared leading horses. From one he took a coiled rope and came over. “Turn around and put your hands behind you.”

Samuel did no such thing.

“You heard him,” Wesley said. “Or is it that you want me to shoot your wife?” He trained the Kentucky on Emala.

“No. Don’t hurt her. I’ll do what you want.”

“Oh, Samuel,” Emala said.

It was just about the hardest thing Samuel ever had to do. He hated it, hated having rope looped tight around his wrists, hated being made to sit and have his ankles tied, too.

“Now do his wife,” Wesley directed.

Emala balled a pudgy fist. “Just you try it,” she warned. “I’ll bean you on the nose. You just see if I don’t.”

Wesley sighed. “Do you have a lick of sense?”

“I don’t care if you put lead into me. I ain’t bein’ tied and that’s all there is to it.”

“Then how about if I put lead into your man?” Wesley aimed at Samuel’s leg.

“All right. All right.” Emala held out her wrists. “Why are all slave hunters so vile?”

“I’m just doing my job, woman. How easy or hard it is depends on you. Keep that in mind and we’ll get along fine.”

Emala fought down a wave of fear. She turned to Winona King and said softly, “I’m sorry to get you mixed up in this. I truly am.”

Winona tried to spit out the gag but couldn’t.

Chuckling, Olan walked over and yanked it out for her. “Usually I don’t give a lick about squaws. But you’re so pretty I’ll make an exception.”

“Pig.” Winona shifted toward Wesley. “My husband will come after us. And he will not be alone. If you are smart, you will let us go and ride away while you still can.”

“I’m smarter than you think,” Wesley told her.

At that, all of their captors laughed.

Pain. A lot of pain. It told Nate King he had returned to the land of the living, although given the throbbing in his head, it might have been better if he stayed unconscious. He felt a swaying motion and something gouging his gut. He must be belly-down over a saddle. He tried to move his arms and legs, and couldn’t.

“I tie good knots,” Peleg Harrod said. “You can open your eyes. I know you’ve come around.”

Nate blinked in the bright sun and turned his head. The old frontiersman was leading his bay by the reins. “Why?”

“That’s the first question I would ask, too. The answer is simple. Money.”

“Someone paid you to bash me over the head?”

“They paid me to lead you into a trap so they can shoot you. The head bash was my idea. You’ll find this hard to believe, but I’ve done you a favor.”

“You’re right. It is hard to believe.” The pain was making a jumble of Nate’s thoughts.

“You’ll savvy when I tell you who I work for.” Harrod paused. “Does the handle Wesley mean anything to you?”

In a rush of memory Nate relived his clash weeks ago with the slave hunters after the Worths. “I figured we were safe once we crossed the Mississippi River.”

“You figured wrong. Those blacks are worth a lot of money. I’m not talking hundreds. I’m talking thousands.”

“You weren’t with them when we tangled back in Missouri.”

“Wesley hired me later. Me and some others who are a lot worse than me. We don’t get along much on account of I have scruples and they don’t.”

Nate tested the rope around his wrists. It didn’t have any slack. The same with the rope around his ankles. To keep the older man talking, he said in mock surprise, “You have scruples?”

“That was uncalled for. But I won’t harm females. Ever. And I won’t kill unless I have to. I failed to mention that to Wesley. He took it for granted I’d have no qualms about leading you into an ambush.”

“So you’re a cutthroat, but a nice cutthroat?”

“Hell, I’m no cutthroat at all. I used to be a trapper, like you. Now I mostly guide and scout and track and such. This Wesley hired me to tag along with him because he’s never been west of the Mississippi.”

Nate’s head was beginning to clear, although it still throbbed. “Do you suppose I could impose on these scruples of yours and you could cut me loose?”

“I would like to. I honest to God would. I’ve grown fond of you and that wife of yours. You’re fine folks. As fine as I’ve ever met.”

“But…?” Nate prompted when Harrod didn’t go on.

“But if I let you go you’ll go charging off to help the blacks and get yourself killed. I’m doing you another favor by keeping you tied.”

“You’re full of favors I can do without.”

Peleg Harrod chortled. “Now see, most men would be foaming at the mouth about now. They’d be cussing and kicking and saying as how they’d like nothing better than to slit my throat. But not you. You lie there as calm as can be. You even joke about what I did to you.”

“So far all you did was conk me on the noggin. Set me free and there won’t be any hard feelings.”

“I didn’t fall off the turnip wagon yesterday. You’re only saying that because you want to go after your wife and the blacks.”

“Those blacks have a name.”

Harrod shifted to stare quizzically at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not like Wesley and his bunch. I don’t hate blacks just because they’re not white. Hell, I’ve had me a few Injun wives.”

“But…?” Nate said again.

“But I don’t give a good damn what happens to them. They never did trust me.”

“After what they’ve been through, can you blame them?”

Harrod grinned and wagged a finger. “Don’t try to make me feel sorry for them. Sure, they’re decent folks. And yes, they must have had it rough as slaves. But Samuel killed a man. He up and murdered his master. He deserves what ever they dish out.”

“Have you ever killed?”

Harrod nodded. “I’ve had to blow out a few wicks. A couple of times so I could keep my hair on my head. And once or twice because someone thought they could help themselves to my horse or my poke.”

“Did you know that Samuel Worth killed his owner to keep his daughter from being raped.”

“Damn you to hell.”

“What?”

“It won’t work.”

“What won’t?”

Abruptly drawing rein, Harrod reined his horse around and brought it next to the bay. “You are one devious son of a bitch, do you know that? Trying to convince me to side with the Worths.”

“I only told you what happened.” But the truth was, Nate did hope to change the frontiersman’s mind.

“And money grows on trees and the moon is made of cheese.” Harrod made a clucking sound. “I don’t want another word out of you—not so much as a peep. Do you hear me?”

“What if I promise not to talk about the Worths?”

“Not about the Worths, or about slaves, or about slave hunters, or about slavery, or about how life ain’t fair, or about my scruples.”

“Is that all?”

“No. You’re not to talk about your wife or your kids if you have any or bring up Jesus or God or your parson if you have one or talk about how the human heart is tender or fickle or both.”

“Is there anything left?

Harrod blinked, then laughed and slapped his leg. “Don’t you beat all. But I mean it. No tricky talk.” He gigged his mount and resumed heading east.

Nate flexed his arms. The rope dug into his wrists, but he didn’t care. He had to work loose no matter how much it hurt or how long it took. “You mentioned having wives—”

“You can’ talk about them, either.”

“Did you have any children?”

“Nor them.”

“How about pets? You must have had a dog or cat you were fond of. Or maybe you’re partial to that horse you’re riding.”

Harrod swung around. “When I said you were devious, I didn’t know the half of it. All right. From here on out you’re not to speak unless I speak to you first.”

“That’s awful harsh.”

“It will be harsher if I have to gag you.”

“Can I say one last thing?”

Harrod groaned.

“My wife thought highly of you.” Nate seldom lied. In fact, he could count the number of times he had lied on one hand and have fingers left over. But he was lying now. “How can you let them hurt her?”

Peleg Harrod swore. “I should have led you into that ambush like they wanted.”