Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (4 page)

Unaccustomed to such bold talk, Mercy’s jaw slackened, her heart drumming an erratic tattoo. By the time she had sufficiently collected her wits, the rogue had already left the room.

Joining the rest of her family on the front porch, Mercy watched Spencer
McCabe and his brother ride off. Belatedly, it dawned on her that they were not heading north as they should be.

Instead, they were riding due east
. Headed straight for Missouri.

Bending at the waist, Mercy removed another nail from the brown paper bag. Carefully placing the tip of the nail against the weathered fence post, she hammered it into place. For what seemed the hundredth time that morning, she glanced over her shoulder, unable to shake the strange feeling of impending doom. While nothing in the surrounding landscape suggested that any such disaster loomed on the horizon, she nonetheless felt apprehensive.

“If I were to extend an invitation to Dewey McCabe, he’d be obliged to come and visit us, don’t you think?”

“Who cares about some stupid old boy? I want
Spencer
McCabe to come back so he’ll let me shoot his pistols.”

Mercy glanced at Prudence and Gabriel, both of whom were assisting with the fence repairs. In the week since the McCabe brothers had supped with them,
the two had spoken of little else.

Granted, she’d had more than a few unbidden thoughts
herself about the amber-eyed Spencer McCabe. But because she was older and wiser, she’d been quick to turn aside her reveries, knowing full well they would come to naught. Besides, with a full day of farm chores still ahead of her, Mercy had far more pressing concerns.

“And just how do you propose to ‘extend’ this invitation,
Sister? I don’t recollect young Mr. McCabe leaving a forwarding address,” Mercy needled, hoping to put an end to Pru’s starry-eyed musings.

“He simply forgot, that’s all.”

“Humph!”

Mercy put her hands on her hips and stretched her aching back muscles. Since their father’s death last year, a fair amount of man’s work had fallen onto her shoulders. Reaching for the bag of nails, she turned her head, surprised by the fearful look in her sister’s eyes.

“Pru, dear, whatever is the matter?”

“Do you hear all that noise in the distance? It sounds like thousands of hailstones falling against a tin roof.”

Mercy stood stock-still, listening. What she heard was a sound that she’d hoped to never hear again – pounding hooves. Dozens and dozens of them. Raising a hand, little Gabriel silently pointed to a cloud of dust that rose above the eastern ridge. Terrified, Mercy dropped her paper bag, nails spilling onto the ground.

Bushwhackers! And the villainous fiends were galloping toward
the farmstead.

Recalling the last time
that they’d been visited by Missouri bushwhackers, Mercy knew they had scant seconds to act.

“Gabriel, go hide in the barn!”

Surprisingly stoic, the child nodded his head before scurrying off as fast as his nine-year-old legs could carry him.

Her expression frantic, Prudence
peered at the approaching riders. “What are we to do?”

Mercy turned to
ward her sister, her own terror reflected in Pru’s periwinkle blue eyes. Incapable of full sentences, she could barely gasp out the words, “The horses! Neighbors! Quickly!”

Like a bird in flight, Pru raced
away, her long braids flapping against her backside. Mercy hazarded a glance at the charging gang of bushwhackers. She had little doubt that they were about to be accosted by the most dangerous men on earth.

Heedless of propriety, she lifted her calico skirt and ran toward the house, her white drawers flashing in the early morning
light.

Too late!

As she approached the farmhouse, a mob of armed horsemen galloped across the lawn yelling like banshees.

“
Grab her!”

Refusing to slow down, Mercy ran to the porch.

“Mama! Mama!” she screamed, charging through the open front door. Knowing that her mother was upstairs, she took the steps two at a time, her long skirt billowing behind her.

Reaching the second floor landing, she charged down the hall. Then,
barely able to draw a ragged breath, she swung open the door to her mother’s bed chamber.

Momentarily stunned, Mercy put a hand to her mouth, horrorstruck to see a bearded man forcefully trying to pull
her mother’s gold wedding band off her finger. Helplessly lying on the bed, her mother turned to her, her face scored with fear.

“Let her go, you fiend!” Enraged, Mercy hurled herself at the bandit, throwing her arms around his neck as she tried to
pull him away from the bedside.

Her valiant attack lasted mere seconds, the man easily yanking himself free. With a feral gleam in his eye
s, the bearded bushwhacker then turned the tables on her, wrapping both of his arms around her, pinning her against his chest. Unwilling to surrender, Mercy kicked at his shins as she attempted to squirm free of his embrace. Hearing the commotion, several of his comrades ran into the room.

“Hey, Ned
. I think the little gal likes you.”

Mercy
immediately stopped struggling, her fear spiking.

The man h
olding her was none other than Bloody Ned Sykes!
The devil incarnate. And if not the devil, then surely the most infamous bushwhacker of them all. Unable to help herself, Mercy stared into Ned Sykes’ pitiless gray eyes; eyes that betrayed the man for what he truly was – a cold-hearted killer.

Much to her relief, Sykes
removed his arms from around her torso.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his liquor-laced breath hitting her full in the face.

“Mer-Mercy Hibbert,” she sputtered.

“Well now, Miss Mercy Hibbert, where are your menfolk?”

“There are no men here.”

Sykes’
gaze narrowed suspiciously. “You sure about that?”

“As God is my witness.”

“Heard those words a time or two. And sure enough if they don’t mean that there’s some skinny-assed varmint hiding in the corn crib.”

“By all means, search the corn crib,” Mercy huffed,
annoyance momentarily trumping her fear.

“Lucky for you,
I happen to like sassy women.”

“Indeed.” Mercy wrinkled her nose, nauseated by the man’s fetid body odor. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied one of the other bushwhackers rummaging through her mother’s bureau.
Clearly distraught, garbled words of protest fell from her mother’s withered lips.

“You’ll find nothing of value here,” Mercy
hastened to inform the thieving bushwhacker, hoping to prevent the house from being ransacked.

In the process of tossing her mother’s undergarments onto the floor, the would-be thief turned to
wards her. Mercy’s eyes widened with disbelief, gauging the beardless youth to be no more than fifteen years of age.

“I haven’t come across an old lady yet who didn’t have a few trinkets squirreled away. See what I mean?” Angry tears scalded Mercy’s eyes as she watched the
youthful bushwhacker pocket a silver-framed daguerreotype of her father.

“Enough of the yammering.” Sykes clamped a hand around Mercy’s upper arm as he headed toward the door. “We got business to attend to.”

Unwillingly in tow, Mercy grabbed hold of the door frame. “I can’t leave my mother!”

“The hell you can’t!” Sykes yanked her arm away from the door jamb, ripping her dress sleeve in the process. “Now, unless you want me to tear off the rest of that dress, you best do as I say.”

Casting a glance toward the bed, Mercy silently mouthed the words ‘I love you’ to her mother. She hoped,
prayed
, that her family would find the inner fortitude to survive this dark day.

As Sykes dragged her down the stairs and out to the front porch,
Mercy’s gaze met with a woeful sight, that of her sister Prudence imprisoned between two bushwhackers, each of whom had a blond braid wrapped around his fist.

“Hot damn! If there ain’t two of these lil’ blondies!” one of the men loudly exclaimed, his announcement precipitating a round of lewd catcalls.

“Mercy! Are you all right?” her sister called out upon catching sight of her.

“I’m fine.” Then, knowing
what her sister would next ask, she added, “As is Mama.”

“Hey, looky here, Ned,”
a voice suddenly bellowed. “I done found me the man of the house.”

Mercy nearly cried aloud as she watched Gabriel hauled onto the porch, his captor holding him aloft by the seat of his pants. To Gabriel’s credit, his little fists were flying.

“Let me go!” he hollered, his boyish face flushed with anger. “I’m not afraid of you!”

While the bushwhacker promptly set him down, he kept a restraining hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“How old are you, boy?” Sykes demanded to know, a menacing scowl on his face.

Gabriel defiantly stuck his chin out, his brown eyes blazing with animosity. “I’ll be ten years old come September.”

“Then you’re a lucky lad.” To Mercy’s utter surprise, Sykes playfully ruffled Gabriel’s dark hair. “A few years more and you wouldn’t have lived to see September. Now run along. We got some business to conduct here with the Hibbert ladies.”

Gabriel turned to
ward Mercy, his face puckered with uncertainty.

“It’s all right, Gabriel.” Mercy tried to affect a calm tone of voice. “Just do what the man says and don’t get in anyone’s way.” She breathed a sigh of relief as th
e child dashed across the lawn.

No sooner had Gabriel departed than Sykes spun her around to face him. “All right, girl
. I’ve got good reason to believe that you’ve been lying do me. I’m only going to ask you one more time . . . where’s your menfolk?”

“Papa died last year,” Mercy replied
woodenly.

“That’s a damn shame. How about a
n older brother? You got any of them around?”

Raised to tell the truth no matter the circumstance, Mercy could not bring herself to fashion a lie. “Both
of my brothers are back East fighting in the army.”

“On which side?”

Mercy froze. In that instant, she was acutely aware that every eye on the front porch had focused on her. Many a life had been cruelly extinguished when the wrong answer had been given to that deceptively simple question. As well she knew, that very question having been put to her own father right before he died.

With bowed head, she murmured, “They fight
on the side of righteousness.”

“And proud Confederates, they are!” Pru exclaimed. “Why, I don’t know what General Lee would do without them.”

Mercy’s mouth fell open, having only heard the gospel truth ever fall from Prudence’s lips.

“Is that true, gal?”

Mercy worriedly glanced at Pru, well aware that her sister had lied to protect her. Now it was her turn to return the favor. Taking a deep, purposeful breath, she looked Ned Sykes straight in the eye.

“You heard my sister.”

“Hallelujah and praise the Lord!” one of Sykes’ men suddenly shouted from inside the house. A moment later, a gangly man dressed in an embroidered hunting shirt stepped through the front door. “Look what I just found stashed away in the family Bible.”

Inwardly groaning, Mercy watched as the bushwhacker waved the leather-bound
Bible to-and-fro. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that the man had uncovered the daguerreotype of her two uniformed brothers which had been removed from the mantle only the week before. As the photograph was handed over to the rebel chieftain, Pru’s eyes widened with fear, well aware that her lie was about to be exposed.

Turning to
wards Prudence, Sykes’ lips twisted into a smile; a smile that never touched his wintry gray eyes. “This little one’s got hair like an angel, don’t she, boys? Hey, come on over here, angel face. I got something I want to show you.”

Her face marred with fear, Prudence took a
stumbling step forward. When Mercy attempted to go to her sister’s aid, a bushwhacker lassoed an arm around her waist, jamming his grimy hand across the front of her mouth. Desperate to protect her sister, Mercy put up a fierce struggle.

Her captive bent his head, his stubbled cheek grazing the side of her face. “You
keep up with all that squirmin’ and you’re gonna put ideas into my head, sure enough.”

Forewarned, Mercy ceased her struggles, watching
helplessly as her sister stood before the most feared man in all of Kansas. With a sinking heart, she observed Sykes take Prudence by the hand, leading her down the steps to where his mount was hitched. A second later, fear turned into horror as she spied several bloody scalps dangling off Sykes’ saddlehorn.

Releasing Pru’s hand, Sykes
fingered one of the scalps. “I wanted you to see with your own eyes what happens to those folks who don’t have the good sense to tell me the truth.”

“I only said it to make you leave us be,” Pru whispered, tears streaking her face.

“I know that, gal. And that’s why I’m willin’ to forgive you for it.”

“You are?”

Sykes’ lips curved in a humorless smile. “I like your spunk, little sister.” No sooner was the compliment issued than he unsheathed a 10” Bowie knife. With his free hand, he grabbed both of Pru’s tow-colored braids, skimming his knife blade up and down a coiled length of hair. “And just to make certain that you don’t ever lie to me again, I’m going to relieve you of one of these pretty, long braids. Now which one are you going to let me have?”