The Outrider (Redbourne Series #5 - Will's Story) (33 page)

“Mac won?” Excitement filled Mrs. Patterson’s
face. Her shoulders scrunched and her smile spread wide.

“You look like you could use a little help.”
Elizabeth stepped forward, her arms extended, but Mr. Henchley stopped her cold
with a firm hand on her shoulder. The unmistakable sound of a cocking gun was
followed by a painful jab into her side.

“I’m sorry, my dear, we are in quite a hurry. The
lady looks like she can manage without your assistance.” His smile looked like
that of a snake about to consume an egg. “Isn’t that right, madam?”

Mrs. Patterson’s eyes opened almost as wide as
her mouth and Elizabeth imagined this was the first time in a long time the
woman didn’t have something to say. She pursed her lips, readjusted her grip on
her load, and scurried away from them, mumbling something under her breath.

Elizabeth had heard stories about Mr. Henchley
and his devices. She hoped they’d been grossly exaggerated, but was unsure how
far she was willing to go to test the man.

He pushed the barrel of his gun even deeper into
her side, willing her toward the saloon where three horses had been tied to the
hitching post outside. He glanced over his shoulder, back at the livery.

“He will come after me.” She lifted her chin in
defiance.

“Who? Redbourne? Let him come. We’ll settle
things once and for all if he does.”

“Get out of here!” the barkeep yelled as he threw
a man into the street. “And don’t come back.” He dusted off his hands and
folded them across his chest.

Two other men burst through the saloon doors
laughing loudly, but the moment they fixed their eyes on Mr. Henchley, they
immediately sobered. Elizabeth did not recognize any of them.

“Sorry, Boss,” one of them said as he hopped down
off the last section of boardwalk and strode with purpose toward them. “We
didn’t think you’d get her so quickly.”

They were Americans. Henchley must have hired
them after he’d arrived here.

The man on the ground scrambled to his feet and
dusted himself off. “We didn’t see no harm in getting’ a little drink while we
waited for the wagon.”

Henchley removed his gun from her side, pulled
her in close to him, and placed the barrel beneath the man’s chin.

He trembled, eyes wide.

Elizabeth held her breath.

“Where is that brother of yours?” Henchley asked,
closing one eye and leaning close to the man’s face. “That wagon was supposed
to be here half an hour ago.”

He shrugged.

“We’ve got a train to catch in Denver, boys.
Saddle up. We’ll have to start without them.” He reset the hammer on his gun
and removed it from beneath the man’s jaw, to his visible relief.

“Yes, sir!” He picked up his dusty hat and shoved
it atop his head.

A wagon with two men on the bench seat jostled up
the dirt road toward them. The reward her father had offered must have been
quite a sum to warrant the attention of her father’s crony and five miscreant
thugs.

“You’re late,” Henchley spat at them as he
ushered her toward the front of the buckboard.

“Tim’s horse went lame,” the driver pointed to
the man climbing over the seat into the back of the wagon, “and we couldn’t
find a replacement.”

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through,”
Elizabeth said quietly. “My father always said you were the methodical one. The
logical one. Disciplined to a fault. Aren’t you sick of always having to clean
up my brother’s messes? Having to do my father’s bidding?”

“Gag her,” Henchley instructed the man they’d
referred to as Tim. “I’m tired of listening to her yap. Throw her in the back.”

As Tim pulled the grime covered handkerchief from
around his neck and jumped down from the back of the wagon, Elizabeth gagged at
the thought of the cloth coming anywhere near her mouth. She leapt toward the
saloon, but Henchley grabbed her by the hair and roughly yanked her back. Tears
welled in her eyes from the pain.

“Whoa now,” one of the brothers from the saloon
said, his hands raised waist high in front of him, “I didn’t sign up to be
hurting no lady. I thought we was just returning her to her pa.”

Henchley rolled his eyes, then without warning,
shot the man to the ground.

Blood immediately oozed out onto the dirt and the
man clutched at his chest.

Elizabeth gasped. She started forward, but the
brute still had a hold of her hair.

Women screamed and scrambled for cover behind the
nearby confections tables and beneath the mayor’s platform.

“You shot Wayne,” exclaimed one of the men as he rushed
to the fallen man’s side.

“Would you like to join him?” Henchley took aim,
but the man raised his hands, still in a crouched position.

Elizabeth couldn’t allow someone else to get
hurt. She jutted toward Henchley, crouched down below his arm, and jumped up,
pushing against his wrist, using all of her strength to raise his aim and the
shot fired into the air.

“Elizabeth?”

“Elizabeth!”

Both men’s voices were a welcome sound to her
ears. She turned to see both Will and Mac emerge from the back of the livery.

“Will!” she called back to them. “Mac! I’m over
here!”

Henchley grabbed her around the middle and handed
her off to Tim. “Get her into the wagon,” he spat.

The hireling picked her up and tossed her over
his shoulder, then threw her into the back of the buckboard and climbed up
behind her. She glanced upward, the leader of the group still in her view.

“You two,” Henchley motioned to the others, “keep
them busy. Do what you have to do.” He shoved the driver aside and grabbed the
reins.

The buckboard lunged forward, the uneven road jerking
the wagon about, pitching her violently against the wooden contraption as they
made their retreat.

“I’ll take care of these goons,” Mac said as they
emerged from the livery—which housed the make-shift boxing ring—out into the
street, shoving their arms into their shirts. “Go get the girl.”

“And just how am I supposed to do that?”

Elizabeth had been thrown into the back of a
wagon with Henchley at the reins. Will’s attention was drawn to the three
horses that had been tethered to the hitching post in front of the saloon.
Three brutes stood in his way, another lay on the ground, blood seeping from a
hole in his chest.

Henchley.
The hired gun never failed to live up to his
reputation.

“That man needs a doctor,” Will called out to
Henchley’s men.

“Doctor won’t do him no good no more!” one of
them shouted back.

“But, Homer, maybe he’s right,” the man kneeling
next to the injured said just loud enough Will could hear. “I can’t stop the
bleeding.” His hands were covered in blood and he’d wiped some of it onto his
shirt and forehead.

“Shut up, Wendell.” Homer spat into the dirt, his
eyes fixed on Will. “Wayne’s as good as dead.”

“I’m just going to need one of those horses,
fellas,” Will told them as he stepped forward. He blinked a few times, his
vision still a little off. “We’re not looking for any trouble.”

“I’ve got this,” Mac said as he buttoned up his
shirt and returned his cleric’s collar to his neck. “Elizabeth needs you.”

Will nodded. Henchley was a loose cannon and the
longer Elizabeth remained with him, the more danger she was in. He casually
felt his hip. He’d taken off his holster before the match had begun.

Within seconds, the stern and haughty expressions
that had contorted two of the men’s faces had now softened and they held up
their hands, palms out.

Odd.

A stir behind him, pulled Will’s gaze backward
and he was greeted with one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. Men
had filtered out of the livery and now stood as a single wall behind Mac and
him.

“Go!” the preacher yelled.

Will didn’t waste another moment. He ran toward
the men, who parted for him to get through to the horses.

“I’m a doctor,” he heard someone call behind him.
“Let me through.”

Will jumped up into the saddle of the brown and
white Appaloosa closest to him and pulled the reins around in the direction the
wagon had headed.

They can’t have gotten far.

It wasn’t long before he had them in his
sites—though they were moving much too fast for what a normal wagon could
handle.

One wrong move and…

Will couldn’t finish the thought. His gut
tightened and he leaned down close to the gelding’s body, urging him faster.

Each time the wagon hit a bump in the uneven
road, it would rise into the air and quickly crash back down onto the ground
with an awful crunching sound, causing Will’s breath to catch in his throat
until Elizabeth’s head peeked up above the buckboard’s back walls.

He exhaled.

As he gained on them, a man in the back of the
wagon with Elizabeth drew his gun and attempted to aim at Will. With no way to
steady the weapon, the likelihood of being hit was slim, but possible. He
didn’t care. Elizabeth’s safety was all that mattered now.

Without warning, the man crashed through the back
of the fast-moving wagon and he tumbled out onto the ground below, leaving a
gaping hole of splintered wood in the background, framing Elizabeth’s
outstretched form. She’d kicked him right through the tailpiece and Will had to
swerve to miss hitting him.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered aloud, not
breaking his speed.

As he pulled alongside the wagon, he reached out,
but Elizabeth was still too far away to pull safely into his arms. Henchley
snapped his head around and locked eyes with Will. He handed the reins of the
wagon to his cohort and clambered over the seat into the back with Elizabeth.

There was no choice. He had to protect her and
the only way to do that was to make the jump onto the wagon. There would only
be one chance. He kept pace with the wagon as he maneuvered into a position
that would allow him to make the leap without getting caught in the wheel.

Have a little faith, Will.
He could hear Mac’s
voice in his head.

Jump.

He sailed through the air and landed on a waiting
Mr. Henchley. They slammed into the back of the driver’s bench. The broken wood
sliced Will’s shoulder and he could feel blood oozing down his arm. Henchley
landed a hard punch against the side of Will’s face with a cruel laugh and
pulled back to unleash another blow when the wagon shook brutally and the
driver screamed. Will pushed against Henchley’s face as he was pressed up
against the splintered seat, then twisted enough to see that the driver and
team of horses were gone. The bolt must have come loose from the wagon’s hitch.
Without a way to steer they were headed downhill, straight for a ravine.

Henchley growled as he reached for Will’s throat,
but missed as they hit another bump, and by some grace of God, the wagon
remained upright. Will took the disruption as an opportunity to escape from
beneath the man’s weight, slamming his fist into the Englishman’s gut. Henchley
fell, kneeling on the wagon’s bed.

Elizabeth screamed as she slid dangerously close
to the gaping hole at the back of the wagon, desperately reaching for anything
that would stop her from plummeting from the back. Will dived forward, catching
her wrist as her feet scrambled to find footing at the metal corners of the
tailpiece.

She nodded, then screamed as Henchley swung a
piece of broken wood at Will’s prone form. Will took the hit with a grunt and
kicked out at the man, pushing him away against the back of the driver’s seat. He
pulled Elizabeth up as he stood, and his eyes widened in fear as he looked past
the enraged thug.

Time was running out.

“Redbourne, I will not let you take this from
me.” Henchley shouted, his hands gripping either side of the wagon’s corner,
his eyes wild, crazy.

Will reached down and scooped Elizabeth up into
his arms, stepped up onto the edge of the buckboard and jumped. He placed a
hand beneath her head and shifted so his body would hit the ground first. They
rolled several times, but finally came to a stop.