Only The Strong

Chapter Sixteen

They’d beaten her. They beat her about the face and head and neck, beat her so bad that every inch of skin was a bruise or a welt or a bump. Dry blood caked her chin and the corners of her mouth, and red ribbons were under her nose. They must have mashed her face in the dirt after they beat her because her wounds were smeared with it, and dirt was in her hair and speckled the top of her dress.

Deep within Nate King something snapped. He stared down at the woman he loved more than he loved anything or anyone, and it was as if an invisible hand reached into his chest, wrapped around his heart, and squeezed. A red-hot blaze of fury coursed through his veins and his temples throbbed to the beat of pure rage. He had thought he would scream, and now he did. But not a scream of anguish or despair. He screamed a scream of fury. He screamed in molten hate. He screamed as a man screams when all he is or was or ever will be lay hurt before his eyes. He screamed a scream ripped from the depths of his being.

Nate was up off his knees in a blur. The Kentucky boomed but he sidestepped and the slug missed. He drove his fist into Wesley’s face with all the might of his iron muscles. Flesh pulped and teeth crunched, and Wesley went down, spitting blood. Still a blur, Nate whipped a backhand that caught Olan across the jaw and sent him tumbling. A pistol cracked, Bromley this time, but again the shot missed. Nate kicked him in the groin, and it was as if a hog squealed at its own slaughter.

Then Trumbo pounced, closing from behind and wrapping his huge arms around Nate’s. “I’ve got him!”

Nate rammed his head back and cartilage gave way with a wet splat. Trumbo grunted, and his grip slackened. With a powerful heave, Nate broke free and whirled. Trumbo reached for him, but Nate launched an uppercut that started at his knee and lifted Trumbo onto his heels and sent him crashing to the earth.

That left the blond man, the one called Kleist. He had wisely stayed back and now he took aim with a pistol, thinking he had the time.

Nate bent and grabbed the unlit end of a burning brand from the fire and threw it at Kleist’s face. Kleist did what anyone would do—he ducked. It gave Nate the second he needed to take a long bound and drive his fist deep into the blond man’s gut.

All the men were down, some not moving, some thrashing and cursing and spitting.

Nate had eyes only for Winona. He dashed to her side and gently lifted her. The sight of her battered, bloodied face so close to his caused another cry to be torn from his innermost being, and then he was racing for the trees with her clutched protectively to his broad chest.

“Stop him, damn it!” Wesley bellowed. “Shoot him, someone!”

Someone tried. A pistol blasted and lead buzzed by Nate’s ear. A few more strides and he was in heavy cover. He kept running. He ran and ran until his sides were heaving. Caked with sweat, filled with dread, he stopped in a clear space and lowered Winona onto her back.

“Oh, God.”

Nate fought down another cry. He touched her cheek, which was crisscrossed with welts and terribly swollen, and his eyes moistened.

“If they’ve killed you…”

Nate couldn’t finish. He clasped her wrist and felt for a pulse and nearly whooped for joy when he found one, strong and regular. He pressed an ear to her bosom to listen to her heart.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Swallowing to rid his throat of a lump, Nate raised his head. He had lost all sense of direction. The North Star gave him the clue he needed. Apparently he was east of the slave hunters’ camp. Which meant the river should be to his left.

Picking up Winona again with the utmost care, Nate carried her to a grassy flat at the water’s edge.

“Please,” Nate said. He cupped his hand and dribbled water on her face and neck. She groaned, and stirred. He kissed her, then dipped his hand in again and trickled drops between her parted lips and down her throat.

Winona coughed and blinked, and her swollen mouth curled in a hint of a smile. “Are you trying to drown me, Husband?”

“Thank the Lord.”

Winona coughed some more and went to turn her head, and winced. “I take it you saved me?”

Nate couldn’t talk for the new lump in his throat, so he nodded.

“You were a bit late this time.”

Nate bowed his forehead to her shoulder and sobbed. He held her sides and trembled.

“Husband?” Winona had never seen him like this, not in all the years of their togetherness.

“I thought—” Nate said, and couldn’t finish.

“Oh, sweet one.” Winona ran her fingers through his black mane. “I am here and I am alive. Be strong.”

Nate nodded. Sniffling, he sat up and wiped his face with a sleeve. “If I ever did lose you, I wouldn’t be able to go on living.”

“Husband!” Winona said again, and winced again, as well. “I sure do hurt. I killed one of them and they were mad. They beat me, Olan and that Bromley and the German, Kleist.”

“Not Wesley or Trumbo?”

“No. They stood and watched, and Wesley said not to kill me, that I was bait to bring you, and they must keep me alive until I served my purpose.”

“They’re all going to die.”

Winona rose onto her elbows and squinted through puffy eyes. “The Worths, Grizzly Killer? Where are they?”

“The slave hunters have them. I couldn’t save them and you. I was unarmed and it was five to one.”

“We cannot abandon them.”

“Do you honestly think I would?”

Nate cradled her head in his lap and caressed her hair and said softly, “I went berserk. The very thing I have warned Zach about time and again.”

“Where do you think he got it from? He is more like you than he is willing to admit.” Winona grasped his hand and closed her eyes. “Tell me. Do I look as terrible as I feel?”

“You would scare infants.”

Winona started to laugh but stopped. “Don’t do that, Husband. It hurts too much.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

For a while they lightly touched and lightly kissed and then Winona said, “And you were right, Husband.”

“About what?”

“They must die. Especially the one who hurt me the most, that Olan. I will cut out his heart while he is still alive and show it to him as he dies.”

“Only if you get to him before I do.”

In all his born days Samuel Worth had never seen the like. The mountain man had torn through the slave hunters like a tornado through a cotton field. Samuel yearned to have fought at Nate’s side, but bound as he was, all he could do was lie helpless with frustration and give a whoop of joy when Nate made it into the woods with Winona in his arms.

“Lordy!” Emala exclaimed. She had seen it but couldn’t believe it. That one man could do all that. As near as she could tell, he got away without a scratch. The hand of Providence, she decided, and gave inward thanks.

Chickory was speechless with amazement. He had seen only a few violent acts, and none were like this. It reminded him of the Bible stories his ma used to read to him. Stories in which Samson or David or Joshua would smite their enemies, hip and thigh.

Randa was glad Mr. and Mrs. King got away. Now she was worried for her parents and her brother. The slave hunters were in a foul mood. They had recovered and a few were on their feet. They looked fit to kill anyone who glanced at them crosswise.

Olan swore and continued swearing until Wesley snapped at him in anger.

“Enough, damn you. All he did was wallop you on the jaw.” Wesley spat blood and bits of broken teeth.

Trumbo had a huge hand over the center of his face. “I’ve got a busted nose, Wes. I can hardly breathe.”

“Breathe through your mouth then.”

“Oh. I forgot. Thanks.”

Bromley sat up, his hands over his crotch. “That son of a bitch. He about ruined me for women.”

“He’s a panther, that one,” Kleist said. “The next time we run into him, we’ll shoot him on sight.”

Olan said, “We’ve seen the last of him and good riddance. Now that he’s got his woman, he’ll leave us be.”

“No, he won’t,” Wesley said, scarlet leaking from a corner of his mouth. “He’ll be back. Him and his sqaw both.” He nodded at the Worths. “We have something they want.”

“That’s right!” Olan declared, and brightened. “Do you know what this means? We can set a trap for them. See to it his mouth-and nose-busting days are over.”

“He won’t be easy,” Kleist remarked.

“He broke my nose,” Trumbo said.

Wesley pressed ran a hand across his bloody mouth. “Olan’s right. We need to figure out how to draw them in, and we need to do it right.”

“We did it right the first time,” Bromley said.

“Tell that to my mouth.”

Emala cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Wesley, sir, I have something to say.”

“You have nerve, darkie. Keep it short. I’m not in the mood for any of your simpleminded shenanigans.”

“Don’t call her that,” Samuel said.

“Which? Darkie? Or simpleminded? Not that it matters. She’s both. And I’ll call her what ever I damn well please.”

“Don’t bicker over me,” Emala said quickly, to spare Samuel a possible beating. To Wesley she said, “I don’t want any harm to come to the Kings on our account.”

“You don’t, huh?”

“No. So how about if we leave them a message?” Emala proposed. “You got any paper in those packs? And somethin’ I can write with? I’ll say they should go on to the mountains and leave us in God’s hands.”

Samuel said sharply, “You’ll do no such thing, woman, you hear?”

“It’s for their sakes,” Emala said.

Wesley thoughtfully regarded her. “You really think they would do as you ask?”

“They’ve become good friends these past weeks. They’ll do as I ask if I ask real nice.”

Now it was Olan who objected. “Don’t listen to her. We want the Kings to come after us so we can pay that big bastard back for what he did to us.”

“Next time you might get more than a bop on the jaw,” Emala warned. “Did you think of that?”

“I ain’t scared of Nate King,” Olan boasted.

“Then you’re a fool.”

“That mountain man is a hellacious fighter,” Trumbo said.

Emala stared at Wesley. “So, what will you do? Will you or won’t you let me?”

Wesley came and stood over her. “Oh, you’ll get to write Nate King a note, all right. But it won’t be what you were going to write. You’ll say what I tell you.”

“What would that be?”

“You’ll beg King and his squaw to help you. You’ll say you’re afraid of what will happen to your husband when we get him back to the plantation. You’ll say the Kings are your only hope, and to come quick.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Wesley pointed his rifle at Chickory and put his thumb on the hammer. “You’ll do it or you’ll be shy a son.”

“We’re worth more money to you alive,” Emala countered. “You said so yourself.”

“Money I can’t spend if I’m dead.” Wesley pressed the muzzle to Chickory’s temple, and Chickory flinched. “I’ll gladly give up some of it to be sure I live to collect the rest.”

Emala stared at her son and then at the rifle and then at the slave hunter holding it. “You’re a vile man.”

“Is that a no?”

“Don’t shoot. I’ll write your note, but I’ll hate every word you make me say.” Emala’s eyes moistened.

Wesley motioned to Trumbo. “Go look in the packs for the paper.”

“What I want to know,” Olan said, “is how you aim to get this note to Nate King? It’s not as if we know where to find him.”

“We don’t have to. He’ll come to us.” Wesley walked to the center of the clearing. “We’ll pound a stick in the ground right here. We’ll split one end and put the note in it. King will come along, read it, and light out after us hell-bent to rip out our guts.”

“What good does that do us?” Olan asked.

“Don’t you see? We’ll find a perfect spot for an ambush, and he’ll be so fired up to save the darkies, he’ll waltz right into our guns’sights.”

“I like it,” Olan said. “I like it a lot.”

“I pray to God that Nate doesn’t fall for it,” Emala said.

“Quit with the God talk, woman,” Olan said. “I don’t believe in that stuff. There’s no God Almighty and there’s no hereafter. As Nate King and his wife will find out soon enough.”