His Prairie Princess (Prairie Brides 1)

"There's just something about a western.  They're so simple.  Good versus evil.  The cowboy or lawman has to save the girl then gets the girl.  You don't need
to dress them up, their purity alone tells a simple story that always satisfies.  That's why I love westerns."

                                                      John Terleski

Oregon Territory, March 1858

“Let’s just kill her and be done with it!”

Kill her?  What did they mean kill her?  The idiots just tied her up!  Why bother if they were going to kill her anyway?

“Ahhhh, now why would you wanna kill a purty thing like this fer?  I know a better use fer the gal! A
much
better one! After all, it’s why we took her in the first place, ain’t it?”

Two of her captors laughed and leered in her direction.  Oh no!  No
t
tha
t
!

“I still say killing her is our best option.”

“But Jeb!” Another began. “Think of the horrible waste! Ya gotta admit, she’s mighty pretty!”

  Now all four of them leered, including Jeb.  He stood and studied her in a languid manner with renewed interest.

Her eyes widened.
 
No, no pleas
e
!
  She didn’t want to end her life like this!  Raped and murdered by a gang of dirty, stinking, halfwit outlaws!  Thankfully, one of the men’s stomachs growled.  Loudly.  They looked at each other then their bellies.  If Sadie’s guess was right, her life was about to be spared by a pot of beans.

“Well I don’t know about ya’ all, but I
can’t think on an empty stomach,” one moaned, confirming her assumption.  She slumped in her chair in relief.

“And I’m plumb tired of wearing this here mask!” He ad
ded and adjusted the bandana that still covered the lower half of his face.  They’d been wearing them ever since they robbed the stage several hours ago.

“Cain’s right.  I’m starved, and she can’t see us if’n we’re in the other room eatin.  Let’s go.”

Jeb, the leader of the trio, studied her a moment longer before giving in.  “All right, let’s get some grub.  She’s not going anywhere.  And later it won’t matter if she sees us.  As soon as we’re all done with her, she’ll be half dead anyway. We’ll draw straws to see who gets to finish the job.”

They laughed, slapped each other on the back in a congratulatory
manner, and spurs jangling, headed into the main room of their cabin hideout.

Sadie Jones took a deep breath through the nose and grimaced.  The odor from the gag they’d placed on her was atrocious.  She continued to make a face at the awful smell and let her breath out slowly.

Trussed up, gagged, and stuck with four lecherous outlaws.  Oh lovely.  How was she going to get out of this?  She should have listened to her father and never set foot outside her door!  Why had she gone off by herself
?
Wh
y
? 

Because she was a head-strong, stubborn girl with a fierce independence that’s why.  Traits her father said would get her into a lot of trouble and now they had.  What ever was she to do?

When the outlaws had robbed the stage she figured that was that!  Her money would be gone and her quest cut short. Worse, she’d have to get in contact with her father and eventually face his wrath over her brash behavior. She was supposed to be heading to her aunt and uncle’s ranch for a visit, not gallivanting across the prairie in the opposite direction in search of her mother. 

Guilt suddenly assailed her.  Her father didn’t suspect a thing.  Days, even weeks could pass before her aunt got
word to him she didn't make it.  Sadie had set off on the four day journey just as she had on past visits.  But when the stage caught up with a wagon train the temptation was too much. She left the stagecoach and paid a family in the wagon train to take her along with them.  At least until they came to a point where she could catch a stage to the little town of Clear Creek.  It would have worked too if said stage hadn’t been held up.  But Sadie never expected to be taken along with the rest of the loot.  After all, being kidnapped was the last thing on her mind that morning.

Unfortunately it was the foremost thing that afternoon.

She again tried the ropes used to lash her hands behind her back and tie her to a chair.  No use.  They were too tight. She was a helpless captive.  So helpless in fact, Sadie Jones did something she hadn’t done in a very long time.  She began to cry.

It wasn’t so much out of fear, though she was su
re she'd succumb to it when the men came back.  No, these tears were out of anger.  Anger for not heeding her father's advice to wait for him to wrap up a business deal so he could help find her mother.  He
r
rea
l
mother.  Before it was too late.  But Sadie knew that once her father got around to finishing things up and make their travel arrangements, her mother would be out of time.  Not to mention out of luck.  Death usually didn’t give second chances.  And according to a letter her father had received stating her birth mother was extremely ill, death was obviously closing in.  Much the same way it closed in on Sadie now.

Sadie closed her eyes. It was her own fault for taking off in the first place.  She wanted to meet her mother before she died, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.  Her mother would be taken to glory by whatever sort of disease was slowly eating away at her.  Sadie by four men who thankfully had more interest in a pot of beans at the moment than her. But those beans weren’t going to last the scoundrels much longer ...

So
, Sadie Jones, being a practical girl, did the only thing she could think of considering her current predicament.  She sniffed back her tears, bowed her head, and prayed she’d be ready for what ever happened when the beans ran out.

* * *

Harrison Cooke crawled out of his hiding spot underneath the cabin’s porch and crouched beneath a window.  He followed the outlaw’s trail for hours before finally catching up with them.  The driver of the stage was badly injured and it nearly galled Harrison to fetch a nearby farmer to tend him.  But he couldn’t leave the man!  Then he’d be no better than the thieving outlaws who  beat him half to death and left him to die.

Harrison pushed the thought aside as he slowly stood to peek in th
e window.  All the outlaws were inside, their horses unsaddled and put in a makeshift corral.  He figured they’d been here at least an hour and had settled in for the night.  He could smell beans cooking and hear laughter. The scum were probably slugging down shots of whiskey and counting the minutes until they opened the strong box they’d stolen.  Not to mention the mailbag.  That is if they hadn’t already.  But there were no shots fired or sounds of forcing the lock that he’d heard and he’d been under the porch for at least a half an hour.  So the strongbox must still be intact. He hoped the mail fared as well as that’s what he was after.  Letters from Washington regarding his brother’s pardons were in that mailbag, and Harrison was prepared to do what ever he had to in order to get them.  His two brothers were not going to spend another minute in that rancid, disgusting prison!  Not if he could help it!

He took a deep breath and carefully looked through the dirty window.
“What the bloody...” he began on a whisper. “No, it couldn’t be.” He turned from the window, shut his eyes tight, then opened them and peeked through the glass again.  Make no mistake.  It was. They had
a
woma
n
tied up in there!  No
w
what was he going to do?  His only goal was to retrieve the mailbag, but they had a hostage!  But didn’t the stagecoach driver mention a passenger? Harrison and the farmer figured if there was one, (which was rare, who on Earth
wante
d
to come to Clear Creek?) the fool must have wandered off after the stage was robbed.  That being the case, the passenger would have to fend for himself.  The driver had the more pressing problems.  Besides, come suppertime the missing passenger would find his way to the farmer's house once he got hungry.  It was amazing how an empty stomach could help a man’s sense of direction.

The passenger’s real problem, as Harrison saw it, was that
h
e
was in actuality a
sh
e
.  And she had been taken from the stage along with the strongbox and mail. With women being exceedingly scarce in these parts that could only mean one thing.  Harrison closed his eyes and said a quick prayer he would get to her before the outlaws did. Not to mention get them both out alive and unharmed.

He loo
ked at the closed door leading to the cabin’s main room.  Voices and raucous laughter could be heard coming from the other side. The mailbag was more than likely there.  He then looked at the woman.  Even in the dim light from a nearby lantern he could see she was young. Frightened.  Her eyes, a dark cornflower blue, were wide over the gag and filled with tears.  Her hair, from what he could see, escaped about her face in tiny dark tendrils.  She wore a simple white bonnet that hid the rest of her dark tresses, a white blouse and dark wool skirt.  She had no coat, shawl, or other covering.  It must be on the stage with her belongings.  She had to be half frozen from the ride to the ramshackle cabin.  Her boots were practical and dirty.  In fact they looked like she’d done a lot of walking in them and he briefly wondered if she’d come from one of the wagon trains that passed through to the south. 

The boots were also tightly lashed together at her ankles.
 
Crumbs!
 
He certainly hoped she had some feeling left in those little feet and ankles.  She was going to need them to run for her life in a moment. 

Harrison pulled a bowie knife from the scabbard on his belt. It was his only weapon.  He’d been in such a hurry to meet the stage, he’d not bothered to change out of his dirty work clothes or put on his gun belt.  He didn’t wear a gun often, despite being such an excellent shot, but pig farming didn’t much call for it.  But he’d gladly wear one from now on if he managed to get out of this.

He took one last look at the woman.  Her head
was bowed and her body shook in silent sobs, or was it from the cold?  Either way it didn’t matter.  The sight made his whole gut twist.  He gritted his teeth and quietly backed away from the window. 

What he needed was a diversion.  Something to draw the outlaws away from the cabin long enough to rescue the woman and wi
th any luck, retrieve the mailbag to boot. He looked at his surroundings.  It was already dark and getting colder by the minute.  The bit of snow on the ground coupled with the scant amount of moonlight would help, but it was still going to be difficult to get himself and the woman to his horse with out a lantern to light the way.