The Outlaw (13 page)

She slapped the reins again, trying to drive
the horse faster and sent up a silent prayer the animal didn’t miss
a step. The ground was even but one never knew when it would
suddenly give way. A stray hole and the horse would go down, her
along with it.

Colt pulled in beside her. She turned her
head to look at him. He extended his arm, one of his pistols locked
in his palm. “Take it!”

Sarah reached for the gun. Little good it
would do her. She never could hit what she aimed at. She tucked it
into her hand, noticing the hammer already pulled back. It was
ready to fire. She glanced to her right. The Indians were gaining
on them.

Fear crawled its way up her spine. Her
stomach rolled, nausea taking a firm hold. She swallowed the urge
to throw up and lowered her head, willing the horse to move
faster.

A blast from a gun caused her heart to skip a
beat. She didn’t dare look to see who fired it. Colt she assumed,
but she knew there were those who traded with the Indians for guns.
She hoped this band wasn’t one of them. If they were armed, their
chances of getting away were slim.

The chase lasted long enough Sarah grew
confident they’d actually get away. Moments later, she heard a
horse give a deafening squeal. The shouts of men, hoops and
hollers, and she turned her head to look over her shoulder. Colt’s
horse was down, him along with it. “Colt!”

She sat up and slowed the horse without even
thinking. She realized her mistake when the Indians pursuing her
gained the distance between them. She lifted her arm, fired at them
with the gun Colt had given her and was taken moments later, a
strong arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her from the
speeding horse. She screamed, struggled and hoped she didn’t break
her neck in the fall.

The impact with the ground was teeth jarring.
Someone kicked the gun away from her and she lay stunned for long
moments before lifting her head. She was surrounded.

She’d never seen an Indian up close and now
that she did, she would have lived the rest of her life happily
without the experience. Their faces and bodies were painted, bright
feathers adorned their hair and most wore nothing but small scraps
of material around their waists to cover them. They were all
talking at once, laughing as they shouted out words in a language
she’d never understand. She turned her head to look for Colt, her
heart aching as one of the savages kicked him, repeatedly.
“Colt!”

Trying to stand, she was pushed back to the
ground by a foot on her shoulder. She stared up at the Indian who’d
pushed her down and wondered what they would do with them? With
her? She’d heard stories. Stories that made her blood run cold.
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away. Crying would get
her nowhere and she’d die before falling to pieces. The last thing
Colt needed was a woman blubbering like an idiot.

She sat up, pushed her hair out of her face
and looked up at the men standing around her. One grinned before
reaching for her. She jerked away and stood on her own.

Looking back toward Colt, seeing him on the
ground and looking so beaten, the ache in her chest intensified.
His face was bloody, pain etched across his features but his eyes
were on her. She marched toward him, three large, determined steps
taken when a firm hand on her arm stopped her.

Something in that strange language was
shouted at her and she didn’t even try to understand what they
wanted. She kept her gaze on Colt, offering a silent apology for
getting caught.

The Indians surrounding her led her to the
others, her stolen horse collected and guided behind her. When she
was within a few feet of Colt, her heart nearly broke. He was hurt.
She had no idea how badly but she could see it in the strain on his
face. One arm was wrapped protectively around his middle and his
eyes looked a bit glazed over. He was in pain yet he never took his
eyes off her.

When she was jerked to a stop, she glared at
the man who held her. “You don’t have to be so rough! A simple,
‘stop,’ would have sufficed.”

They all stared at her before turning to look
at each other. That funny language that sounded like gibberish to
her once again filled the air and Sarah toned them out, her gaze
finding and settling on Colt instead. “Are you all right?”

He blinked at her then smiled. “Never been
better, sweetheart.”

She tried to smile back but failed miserably.
“What will they do with us?”

“Hard to say.” He coughed, his face
contorting with pain. When he opened his eyes back up, he glanced
at those around him. “I’m pretty sure you’ll make it out alive, if
that’s what you’re worried about. Me, on the other hand, will
probably end up lunch for the buzzards.”

“Don’t say that.”

He gave her a look that told her not to be
stupid. She looked at those Indians surrounding them and knew Colt
was probably right. What use would they have of him? None she could
see. Her, on the other hand… She shivered at the thought.

There were untold uses for her, one in
particular causing her stomach to cramp. She’d rather die than let
one of these men make a slave of her. A slave who did nothing but
see to his needs, whatever they may be.

Looking at the hand on her arm, she followed
it to the man holding her. He was staring at her hair, his gaze
following the locks down to her waist. When he looked back at her
face, she gave him a little smile and nodded her head in Colt’s
direction. “Let me see to him.” She pulled away from him, in Colt’s
direction and hoped he understood what she wanted. His grip
tightened, his lips forming a tight line before shaking his head at
her.

“Stay.”

Sarah gasped when he spoke in English. “You
can understand me?”

Another shake of his head. He didn’t
understand. He obviously knew a few English words and that was
enough for her to keep trying. She nodded to Colt again, and said,
“Please. He’s hurt.”

He shook his head again.

Sarah’s shoulders sagged. He wasn’t going to
let her go.

One of the Indians approached, his features
set into a mask of fury. His face was painted nearly black, the
marking on his chest resembling that of claw marks. His hair was
shaved on both sides of his head with a long tail running down the
center. His eyes were dark and menacing, his posture spoke of
authority. This man led the raiding party. She didn’t have to be
told to know. The way the others reacted to him told her so.

He spoke in fast, clipped words, his arm
lifting to point at Colt who still lay on the ground. When he
looked at her, something glittered in those dark eyes. Something
that caused her pulse to leap. He spoke again, smiling at her
before the others laughed.

Sarah swallowed the hysteria that tried to choke her. She stared
him in the eye and willed herself not to cry.

Colt was finally lifted from the ground. He
groaned, his arm around his middle tightening. He faced the Indian
with the claw marks on his chest. “I’ve nothing of value. Nothing
but the horses.”

The Indian looked at him before turning to
the others. Someone spoke in the background and with a simple nod
of his head toward Colt, two men grabbed him by the arms and pulled
him away.

“Colt!” Sarah struggled in the arms of her
captor, fear causing those tears to return.

“It’ll be all right, Sarah. Just stay
quiet.”

Easier said than done. They pulled him a good
distance away and forced him back to the ground. Sarah took in the
scene around her, saw the faces of those strange men, and wondered
why she’d been so frightened of Virgil and his gang. At least with
the outlaws, she didn’t have to guess what they were going to do to
her.

Long minutes of standing left her tired, hot
and still scared as the Indians surrounding her pulled at her hair,
pinched her in places no man had a right to touch and laughed and
talked amongst themselves as they fondled her.

One of the savages had picked up Colt’s hat
and had placed it on his head. The sight of it enraged her to the
point of recklessness. She snatched it from his head and dared him
to take it from her.

She looked back at Colt. There was an intense
conversation going on between the men surrounding him. She didn’t
know if he understood their language or not but she saw him shake
his head. Knowing Colt, he understood perfectly clear what was
being said.

Another half hour of waiting and someone
turned toward her, shouted an order, and she was being dragged
away. “Colt!”

He shouted back but not to her. He advanced
on the Indian with the claw marks but was jerked back by the two
men holding his arms. They yelled, the noise grew and it wasn’t
until a single shot from a gun was heard that the commotion
stopped.

Sarah turned to where the noise came from and
stared wide-eyed at the man who stood there. He was dressed head to
toe in buckskins. His horse was covered in animal hides and even
though his face was covered in a grizzled beard, he stood tall and
imposing. He lifted his head, barked out a command in the Indian’s
strange language and Sarah thought her heart would burst with joy.
He could speak their language!

He joined the group nearest Colt, his gaze
weary as he approached. The exchange of voices was rough as he
began to speak and filled with harsh, clipped words. She saw him
say something to Colt, watched Colt shake his head no, before his
mouth tightened into a hard line.

The sun beat down on her and she was drained
of energy by the time the two men holding Colt let him go. He
shrugged out of his trail coat and tossed it to the ground,
followed by the holster holding his pistol.

Their horses were gathered, Colt’s stripped
of everything except the reins. She watched the Indian’s dig around
inside his saddlebags, pulling things out and looking at them
before shoving everything back inside. Her stolen horse was led to
the Indian with the claw mark painting on his chest, Colt’s saddle
laid along its back.

When Colt started walking toward her, the
look on his face caused her pulse to leap again. It was a look that
dared anyone to say anything. His brows were drawn down, his mouth
a hard, angry slash across his face. The moment he reached her, he
picked her up, his arms like steel bands around her body as he
walked to his horse, sitting her on its bare back. He jumped up
behind her, grabbed the reins and took off at a gallop.

Sarah could do nothing but hold on, her arms
around his neck. She looked back over his shoulder. The Indian’s
were still talking to the man in buckskins. They were hovered
around Virgil’s horse, inspecting Colt’s saddle and examining the
guns he’d left behind. When they grew faint in the distance, she
realized they were being let go.

Turning her head toward Colt, she noticed he
still looked angry. Blood oozed from a cut below his eye, his lip
was busted and his left eye was a funny shade of blue. She lifted
her hand, swiping away the blood on his cheek with the back of one
finger and felt the tears burning the back of her eyes again. “Am I
right in assuming they’re letting us go?”

He nodded and urged the horse to go faster.
“Yes, but I want to put as much distance between us and them as I
can. I don’t trust them.”

She stared at him for long moments before
placing his hat back on his head. One side looked crushed from
where she'd held it so tight but under the circumstances, she
didn't think he'd complain.

A glance over his shoulder showed the Indians
as colorful dots on the horizon. Her limbs started tingling as she
watched them fade into the distance. She’d been numb from the
moment they were caught. Now that the immediate danger was over,
her body let her know she was definitely alive. Her chest ached,
her throat grew tight with emotion and those blasted tears still
burnt her eyes.

Tightening her hold on Colt’s neck, she
buried her face against his warm skin, inhaled the pure maleness of
his scent, and thanked God things hadn’t ended up worse. They left
a horse behind, along with Colt’s things, but it was of little
importance, those material things. They still had their life, which
was more than she’d hoped for.

The first tear fell before she could stop it,
a snuffling wheeze of breath before she bit her tongue to stop from
crying. The horrifying “what ifs” played inside her head in fast
motion until she was sick with the images.

Colt’s hand at the back of her head, his
fingers splayed against her scalp was all it took for the torrent
to break. She cried against his neck, hot tears scalding her face
until she thought she’d choke from them. His other arm wrapped
around her waist, his hold on her tight, protective. “No reason to
cry now.” His words were a faint whisper next to her ear. “It’s
over.”

She nodded and tried to stop the tears,
snuffled again and took a deep breath. It took long minutes to calm
down. When she’d gotten the fear, and those unruly tears under
control, she lifted her head.

Colt dried her face with his hand; his gaze
darted across her features. His thumb swiped her bottom lip and
Sarah looked up, locked eyes with him and felt her heart sing with
delight. This man protected her, had been beaten bloody and
strolled across the distance separating them to claim her, to carry
her away like some romance hero in one of those dime novels her
daddy’s cook liked to read. He swept her off her feet, literally,
and carried her away.