Samuel barely bit back a growl. “By running her out of her house? Or did you plan to make her part of the bargain? Either way, you’re not collecting today. I’ll let you get your horses and ride away, but if one of you so much as looks back, I’ll give the sign for my men to let loose. Clear?”
Gray Beard raised his head a little, scanning the area. Samuel worked hard not to flinch, not to show his hand.
Just then his gelding whinnied from the trees behind him. Other horses answered, probably belonging to these men, and the cacophony filled the woods. Surrounding them.
The ruckus must have appeared to give truth to his bluff, for Gray Beard raised his hands, then eased up from behind the log. “Don’t shoot. We’ll leave. Like I said, we’ve no fight with you and your men.”
“All four of you stand up, then drop your rifles right there.” He aimed his gun at their leader, but kept his gaze circling all four of them. He wasn’t naïve enough to think these were the only weapons the villains possessed, but he was counting on their fear of his greater numbers to keep them from circling back with other guns.
When they’d laid their rifles down, he said, “Now march toward your horses and mount up. Once you’re on, I’ll give you to the count of twenty before I give my men the nod to start shooting. I suggest you be out of range by then.”
“We’ll be gone.” The men marched toward the shifting animals he could just see through the branches. Gray Beard had a stiff set to his shoulders, as though not a bit happy with being forced to leave his prize. But the injured man stumbled forward as though he may not make it to his horse. Thankfully, one of the others helped him mount.
When they were all in the saddle, he gave them one last reminder. “I start counting now.”
Gray Beard sent an annoyed scowl back his direction, then signaled his horse forward, the others following close on his animal’s tail.
In less than a minute, the crashing of the animals’ hooves through the woods died away. Eerie silence took over the area.
Samuel eased out a breath. Now he had to figure out where Henry Clark was, and why his wife had been left alone to defend herself.
And he had to make sure he didn’t get himself shot in the process.
MORIAH CLARK ANGLED her face so she could see better through the peephole between cabin logs, straining to catch any motion in the trees at the edge of the clearing. She could hear the occasional hum of male voices, but no movement. Were they spreading out to approach her from all sides? That’s what she would have done in the beginning if she’d been planning the attack. Thankfully these men weren’t so strategic.
And thankfully, she’d sensed something was wrong before the first man stepped from the trees. Before she met Henry, she would have assumed that instinct was her ancestors’ spirits warning her. Now, she could direct her thanks to the proper source.
Thank you, Lord. And please give me wisdom to know how to fend them off.
A rustling in the cradle behind her spread tension through her shoulders. Then a soft murmur. Not now, Lord. Please.
She sent a glance back as the blanket inside the wood shifted, and a tiny hand rose up from the cloth. Another mew sounded. Cherry wouldn’t be put off much longer. Moriah’s own body proclaimed how long it had been since her daughter’s last meal.
She turned back to the peephole to scan the woods again. The crash of steps sounded in the trees, too heavy for men. Horses? Were more strangers coming? Surely these intruders weren’t leaving of their own accord. Maybe she should send another shot their way.
Her daughter let out a cry, the warning kind that always preceded a full-blown wail. If she didn’t at least pick-up the babe, the men would hear and know she was more vulnerable than she pretended. She couldn’t shoot attackers and nurse an infant at the same time. So far, she’d been able to keep Cherry a secret from the rest of the world, and she couldn’t let that change now. Both their lives would be in even greater danger.
With a final scan revealing no more motion in the trees, she turned from the lookout position and laid her gun on the table, then strode toward her baby girl. She slid her hands under the bundle of blankets swaddling the little body, then scooped Cherry up and tucked her close. “It’s all right, honey. We’re safe.”
Cherry nuzzled Moriah’s neck, seeking out her long-awaited meal. The feel of her tiny, trusting daughter was almost enough to distract her from the danger outside. Or at least make her want to hide away and pretend everything in the world was as sweet and innocent as this new life.
But she couldn’t let her guard down. Cherry depended on her mother to be strong, to protect her from evil men. Her daughter had no idea yet about the ways of the world. Especially in this territory where half-Peigan women who married white men were considered nothing more than a commodity. Worth a handful of horses, if she kept her mouth shut and filled her husband’s belly.
Turning, she held her daughter close and strode back toward the peephole. She couldn’t shoot the rifle with Cherry in her arms, but with the quiet outside, maybe the men had left. Was that too much to hope for? God could perform miracles, so maybe He’d answered this prayer. Finally.
Cherry’s nuzzling became insistent as Moriah peered through the hole to the world outside. The baby banged her little mouth against Moriah’s neck to show her frustration. “It’s all right, sweet one. Wait a minute longer.” She bounced to soothe the babe, even as she tried to focus on the trees.
Something still moved out there. A blue cloth shifted among the branches, then a man stepped from the woods.
Her entire body tensed. Should she lay Cherry down so she could shoot at him? She had to. If he advanced much closer, he could charge the cabin and barge in before she could react.
But he stopped. Only a few yards away from the trees, he halted, his gun held loosely in both hands.
“Ma’am. I ran those other good-for-nothings off, and I’m not here to hurt you.” His voice rang loud in the clearing, deep and commanding. It held a civilized edge, unlike the men who’d made three attempts now to take over her cabin. Was this another of their tactics?
He spoke again. “I’ve actually come to see your husband, Henry Clark. I assume this is his place. I’m a friend of his sister, Rachel. She sent me with a letter for Henry.”
The words seemed foreign as she tried to draw them in. Henry’s sister? Had Rachel heard of her brother’s death?
Moriah’s heart thudded hard in her chest. That wasn’t possible, since she’d been careful not to let anyone know of his passing in these last six months. She’d known the harassment would start as soon as men from the fort realized a woman lived alone in this well-built cabin.
“Ma’am. Are you kin to Henry Clark?” The man outside shifted, his patience wearing.
If he really was a friend of Henry’s sister, she owed it to Rachel to let her know of her brother’s death. Henry had been so fond of the sister he hadn’t seen in over a dozen years, he’d read her letters for weeks after receiving each one. In fact, he’d been using those missives to teach Moriah to read English.
Before the hunting trip that changed everything. Her heart squeezed at the reminder.
“Ma’am?” The man was peering toward the cabin as though he thought maybe she’d slipped out the back door. He might come investigate if she didn’t say something soon.
Cherry let out a complaint, the kind of cry that came just before the true wails. She wouldn’t be silenced much longer.
Moriah had to get rid of this man.
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About the Author
MISTY M. BELLER writes romantic mountain stories, set on the 1800s frontier and woven with the truth of God’s love.
She was raised on a farm in South Carolina, so her Southern roots run deep. Growing up, her family was close, and they continue to keep that priority today. Her husband and children now add another dimension to her life, keeping her both grounded and crazy.
God has placed a desire in Misty’s heart to combine her love for Christian fiction and the simpler ranch life, writing historical novels that display God’s abundant love through the twists and turns in the lives of her characters.
Connect with Misty at www.MistyMBeller.com
Dedication
To my sweet mother-in-law, Barbara.
The way you pour out your love on our family is a legacy we’ll always treasure.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2019 Misty M. Beller
All rights reserved.