Prairie Wife (25 page)

Amy stared at him, but Sam inclined his head in acceptance of the
criticism. "Point taken. What do you want to do?"

"Ride after him. Snow last night should assure tracks."

"I'll go with you," Amy said.

"I wasn't plannin' on takin' a buggy."

"I'll ride. I'm going with you, Jesse."

She'd ridden during her first pregnancy, though it had been a
while since she'd been on horseback. "We'll take a buggy," Jesse
said.

"No, that will slow us down. I'm perfectly capable of riding.
I'm going to pack a bag. I'll get your things, too. And I'll have Mrs. Barnes
put up food." She turned and headed back to the house.

Jesse looked at Sam. "She's carryin' a child."

Sam's throat worked and he thrust out a hand. "That's good
news, son."

Jesse shook his hand. "Maybe it's a blessing in more ways
than one. Tell the men I'll figure wages when I return. Tomorrow's payday, and
I don't know how long we'll be."

"Nobody's goin' anywhere but you. They'll wait."

Dressed in her winter coat and warm boots, Amy returned before he
had the horses ready. She stood aside as he finished saddling and tied on their
supplies.

"How would he know which way to head, Jesse? The prairie all
looks the same out there. He'd get lost within an hour."

"He's smart enough to follow the stage trail."

"He heard us quarreling, didn't he. That's why he left."

Jesse gestured for Amy to mount and helped her into the saddle. He
shortened the stirrups. "I can't say, but it's likely."

"He's hours ahead of us already if he left then."

"Don't talk more worry into it than's already there." He
shrugged into his coat, pulled on gloves and put a foot in the stirrup to swing
onto his horse.

Sam stood outside the stable, the dog nestled under one arm to
keep it from following them. "Looks like he headed west. Don't worry 'bout
the station. We'll handle everything."

Amy reached down and Sam took her hand, closing his fingers over
hers. When he released her, she straightened and pulled on her wool mittens,
and they rode out. Jesse double-checked the tracks Sam had pointed out and
agreed Cay had ridden in that direction. They nudged their horses into a trot.

By mid-morning, Jesse was confident that Cay was following the
stage trail. His tracks were obliterated by the morning stage in some places,
but plain in others. "He won't get lost," he assured Amy.

At noon Amy dug biscuits and bacon from her saddle bag and offered
Jesse a portion. They slowed the horses so they could eat as they rode. They
had just shared a drink from his canteen when Jesse's attention shifted from
the rutted trail to a horse running toward them. The animal was saddled, with
the stirrups hooked over the saddle horn. To prevent fright and injury, Jesse
had taught Cay to never leave them dangling when the horse was saddled.

Jesse jumped to the ground and raised one arm. "Whoa. Whoa,
easy, girl." The animal recognized Jesse, whinnied and trotted right up to
him. Jesse took the reins and looked over the animal.

"That your horse?" Amy studied the landscape in concern.

"It is."

"The one Cay was riding?"

Jesse nodded. He handed Amy the reins in order to check hooves.
"He's fine. Nothin' wrong."

He mounted, leading the bay behind, and they rode on. If Cay had
been thrown or fallen, he would be along this trail and they would find him.

Half an hour later, the tracks of hundreds of stage wheels veered
south toward a scrawny patch of trees that grew alongside a meandering stream.
For a quarter of a mile the trickling stream flowed here to the lowest point,
then disappeared to the south again, but it was obvious that drivers used the
area as a stopping point to rest the animals and allow passengers to stretch
their legs.

This time of year, there was even water flowing in the bed. Jesse
had seen the spot before, knew drivers carried buckets of water to the horses
before moving on.

He dismounted and helped Amy down, then led the three horses to
the water, where they lowered their heads and drank. Amy made a trip behind
some bushes while he checked the ground for signs of Cay. Farther up around the
turn and behind an outgrowth of weeds, he found a flattened area. A close look
revealed Cay's boot prints and hoofprints where the dun had been hobbled.

"He hid back there," he told Amy, returning.

She stayed back as he looked at the ground around the trail. He
walked forward along the path the stage had taken and found no further
evidence, then returned and stood with his hand resting on his holster.

"Looks like he left here on the stage."

Amy blinked. "The driver would have recognized him."

He nodded.

"It was Ben North this morning," Amy recalled.
"He'd have asked Cay what he was doing out here. Not that he could have
done anything except take him on and turn him over to the law when he reached
Fort Crowley."

"Unless he never saw him."

"What do you mean?"

"Cay freed the bay deliberately. He could have slipped up to
the stage while Ben and the passengers were down here for water, and stowed
away."

"Wouldn't they have seen him? Where's to hide?"

"On top, amid the luggage. It snowed yesterday. That load was
tarped. Clever boy—small, nimble. He could've sprinted right up top and hid
himself."

Thinking of Cay's determination to run away hurt Amy. "Didn't
he know we wanted him? Was he unhappy with us?"

Without answering Jesse went to bring the horses back up the bank.

"We'll find him, won't we, Jesse?" she asked.

"We'll find him."

Amy's entire body ached by the time it grew dark and they stopped
for the night. Jesse found a spot overlooking a river, built a fire and tended
to the horses. She made them biscuits and opened a tin of beans while he found
branches and set up a small lean-to to keep them dry and the fire out of the
wind.

"Do you think the stage has arrived in Fort Crowley
yet?" she asked.

"It's a full day's ride with a strong team and a good driver.
It's possible Ben got them there by now."

"I guess we could have pushed on."

"It's too dark to risk the horses," he replied.
"We'll be there in the morning."

They ate in silence, then cleaned up and bedded down. Jesse tucked
Amy alongside him beneath the bedroll, combining their body heat to stay warm.

"I'm not slowing you down, am I?" she asked.

"No. We made good time today."

"Maybe by tomorrow night we'll be home with Cay and in our
own bed."

He didn't respond.

Amy closed her eyes and concentrated on Jesse's warmth. She
remembered the words she'd spoken the night before, her denial, her blind
refusal to accept the changes in her body. She'd been too afraid to admit what
Jesse had wanted her to see. Too afraid to acknowledge a new life being
entrusted to her.

When she'd had to adjust her new dresses, she'd attributed her
growth to simply regaining weight she'd lost. It was easy to lose track of
menses and forget she'd missed several. Jesse, on the other hand, wasn't easy
to ignore, wouldn't be pushed out of her mind, and she clung to the hope that
knowledge gave her.

In his infinite love and concern, he wanted only what was best for
her. He had shown her how to be courageous, how to make a change by his own
example. Could she be nearly as brave? Could she look into her heart and face
her fears and inadequacies as he had?

Amy peeked into the ugly truth that hid in the dark recesses of
her mind and shivered.

Jesse hugged her close.

She didn't know if she was strong enough to face it all, to take
out the buried memories and expose them to the light of day. If she did, she
would know once and for all that she didn't deserve another child.

And so would Jesse.

Amy had never been to Fort Crowley, but Jesse knew his way around.
Inside the log walls of the fort was a lively community. Men and women traveled
the boardwalks, calling greetings to one another, and the shops bustled with
activity.

The Shelbys started their search by checking at the livery station
where the stage had stopped. The attendant didn't remember a boy, and the stage
had already moved on, having left only one passenger behind.

Jesse located the man, a printer by trade, and inquired about Cay.

"No lad on the stage," the man told him.

"Did you notice a boy after you reached Fort Crowley?"

The man shook his head.

Jesse returned to Amy, where she waited with the horses, and told
her he'd learned nothing. She glanced around, overwhelmed by the impossibility
of finding Cay.

"How will we find him, Jesse?"

"He's a city boy. He'll find his way around. He'd need food
first off." He left her again to search.

The restaurant owners hadn't seen Cay, but the man who ran the
trading post recalled a lad who bought jerky and inquired of a job.

"What did you tell him?"

"Told him I didn't need no one, but that Bartholomew over at
the saloon always needs help sweeping and emptying spittoons."

"Thank you, sir." Hopeful, Jesse crossed the street and
found the saloon. He turned back to where Amy waited near a water trough,
anxiously watching, before he pushed through the bat-wing doors.

The stale smells of smoke and whiskey assailed him. His attention
was drawn to rows of bottles filled with amber liquid lining the rear counter,
and his stomach lurched. He moved to the scarred wooden bar. A tremor ran
through his hand as he touched the surface, and he pulled back.

A beefy man with an apron laid down a pearl-handled .45 he'd been
oiling, and lumbered over. "Want a shot, mister?"

Jesse could almost feel the burn of whiskey sliding down his
throat; he relived the warmth in his chest as alcohol numbed his senses. He
looked directly at the man and shoved aside the insidious thought.

"No thanks. I understand you might have hired a lad to sweep
just this morning."

"The kid belong to you?"

"He's my nephew."

The man cocked his head. "Mr. Bart hired a kid. He's probably
still out back emptying ashes from the stove." He gestured with a thumb.
"That hallway leads to the rear."

"Thanks." Encouraged, Jesse followed the directions,
boots clomping across the worn floorboards.

He discovered a storage room stacked with crates of liquor and
bins of empty bottles. Another door marked "Private" was locked, so
he moved on to the exit. As he pushed open the grimy paint-peeling door, the
rusted hinges squeaked. He stepped out.

The sound of a pail dropping alerted him, and he discovered Cay
running in the opposite direction down the alley. Relieved to see his nephew,
Jesse took a second to recognize that Cay didn't want to be found and to get
his feet moving. He shot after the boy, who dodged barrels and trash bins, and
darted around a corner.

The narrow passageway between two buildings opened out onto the
main thoroughfare. Ahead of him, Cay dashed into the street, narrowly avoiding
a horse and buggy, and startling another horse and rider. Jesse was at his
heels, ignoring the curses shouted after him.

From her position, Amy spotted Cay. She quickly tied the horses to
a hitching rail and raced after him, too, as he entered another alley. Jesse
caught up with her and they ran until they reached the backs of the buildings.

The boy was nowhere in sight.

Beyond was the log wall of the fort. To the right, a fence too
high for him to jump. The only path he could have taken was to the left, and
they immediately set out that way.

A cat yowled and startled Amy. She froze for a moment, then pushed
onward. They had stumbled into the residential section of town, and ahead lay
tiny yards with outhouses, wood piles, and clotheslines hung with flapping
laundry.

Winded, she paused. "Why is he running? He could be anywhere.
There are a hundred places to hide. Why won't he talk to us?"

Jesse caught his breath. "I'm prepared to check a hundred
places. Are you?"

She nodded.

They split up to investigate yards and privies and wood bins.
Jesse called Cay's name a few times, and once a back door slammed shut as he
passed. Irritation kicked aside some of the worry he'd been fighting down.
Confound the boy, he had to know they cared for him! What kind of fool stunt
was he pulling?

After half an hour, Jesse rose from peering beneath a porch and
came nose-to-gun-barrel with a lawman. The deputy wore a sheepskin coat with a
tin star on the front.

"What are you lookin' for, mister?"

Jesse raised both hands to show he wasn't holding a gun. "My
nephew, Cay Shelby. He ran away from home yesterday and we tracked him here. I came
upon him out back o' the saloon, but he got away."