Shute stood there with his big hands on his hips staring at her insolently. “Because I want to make it my business,” he said. “I’ve told Barkow where he stands with you. If he don’t like it, he can say so and die. I ain’t particular. I just wanted you should know that from here on you’re my woman.”
“Listen here, Shute!” Baker flared. “You can’t talk to a decent woman that way!”
“Shut your mouth!” Shute said, staring at Baker. “I talk the way I please. I’m tellin’ her. If she tries to get away from here, I’ll take her out to the ranch now. If she waits”–he looked her up and down coolly–“I may marry her. Don’t know why I should.” He added, glaring at Baker, “You butt into this and I’ll smash you. She ain’t no woman for a weak sister like Barkow. I guess she’ll come to like me all right. Anyway, she’d better.” He turned toward the door. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m the law here–the only law.”
“I’ll appeal to the Army!” Baker declared.
“You do,” Shute said, “and I’ll kill you. Anyway, the Army’s goin’ to be some busy. A bunch of Sioux raided a stage station way south of here last night and killed three men, then ran off the stock. Two men were killed lyin’ over on Otter last night. A bunch of soldiers lyin’ not far from the Piney were fired on and one man wounded. The Army’s too busy to bother with the likes of you. Besides,” he added, grinning, “the commandin’ officer said that in case of Injun trouble, I was to take command at Painted Rock and make all preparations for defense.”
He turned and walked out of the room. They heard the front door slam, and Ann sat down, suddenly.
Gene Baker walked to the desk and got out his gun. His face was stiff and old.
“No, not that,” Ann said. “I’m leaving, Uncle Gene.”
“Leavin’? How?” He turned on her, his eyes alert.
“With Bruce. He’s asked me several times. I was going to tell you, but nobody else. I’m all packed.”
“Barkow, eh?” Gene Baker stared at her. “Well, why not? He’s half a gentleman, anyway. Shute is an animal and a brute.”
The back door opened gently. Bruce Barkow stepped in.
“Was Dan here?”
Baker explained quickly. “Better forget that buck-board idea,” he said, when Barkow had explained the plan. “Take the horses and go by the river trail. Leave at noon when everybody will be eatin’. Take the Bannock Trail, then swing north and east and cut around toward the Fort. They’ll think you’re tryin’ for the gold fields.”
Barkow nodded. He looked stiff and pale, and he was wearing a gun. It was almost noon.
When the streets were empty, Bruce Barkow went out back to the barn and saddled the horses. There was no one in sight. The woods along the creek were only a hundred yards away.
Walking outside, the two got into their saddles and rode at a walk, the dust muffing the beat of horse’s hoofs, to the trees. Then they took the Bannock Trail. Two miles out, Barkow rode into a stream, then led the way north.
Once away from the trail they rode swiftly, keeping the horses at a rapid trot. Barkow was silent. His eyes kept straying to the back trail. Twice they saw Indian sign, but their escape had evidently been made successfully, for there was no immediate sound of pursuit.
Bruce Barkow kept moving. As he rode, his irritation, doubt, and fear began to grow more and more obvious. He rode like a man in the grip of deadly terror. Ann, watching him, wondered.
Before, Shute had tolerated Barkow. Now a definite break had been made, and with each mile of their escape, Barkow became more frightened. There was no way back now. He would be killed on sight, for Dan Shute was not a man to forgive or tolerate such a thing.
It was only on the girl’s insistence that he stopped for a rest, and to give the horses a much needed blow. They took it, while Ann sat on the grass, and Bruce paced the ground, his eyes searching the trail over which they had come. When they were in the saddle again, he seemed to relax, to come to himself..Then he looked at her.
“You might think I’m a coward,” he said, “but it’s just that I’m afraid what Shute would do if he got his hands on you. I’m no gunfighter. He’d kill us both.”
“I know.” She nodded gravely.
This man who was to be her husband impressed her less at every moment. Somehow his claim that he was thinking of her failed to ring with sincerity. Yet with all his faults, he was probably only a weak man, a man cut out for civilization and not for the frontier.
They rode on, and the miles piled up behind them.
Chapter XII
Rafe Caradec awakened with a start to the sound of a bugle. It took him several seconds to realize that he was in bed at the Fort. Then he remembered. The commanding officer had refused to allow the surgeon to leave before morning, and then only with an escort. With Lieutenant Ryson and eight men they would form a scouting patrol, would circle around by Crazy Woman, then cut back toward the Fort.
The party at the Fort was small, for the place had been abandoned several years before, and had been utilized only for a few weeks as a base for scouting parties when fear of an Indian outbreak began to grow. It was no longer an established post, but merely a camp.
Further to the south there was a post at Fort Fetterman, named for the leader of the troops trapped in the Fetterman Massacre. A wagon train had been attacked within a short distance of Fort Phil Kearney and a group of seventy-nine soldiers and two civilians were to march out to relieve them under command of Major James Powell, a skilled Indian fighter. However, Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Fetterman had used his rank to take over the command, and had ridden out. Holding the fighting ability of the Indians in contempt, Fetterman had pursued some of them beyond a ridge. Firing had been heard. When other troops were sent out from the Fort they discovered Fetterman and his entire command wiped out, about halfway down the ridge. The wagon train they had gone to relieve reached the Fort later, unaware of the encounter.
Getting into his clothes, Rafe hurried outside. The first person he met was Ryson.
“Good morning, Caradec!” Ryson said, grinning. “Bugle wake you up?”
Caradec nodded. “It isn’t the first time.”
“You’ve been in the service then?” Ryson asked, glancing at him quickly.
“Yes.” Rafe glanced around the stockade. “I was with Sully. In Mexico for a while, too, and Guatemala.”
Ryson glanced at him. “Then you’re that Caradec? Man, I’ve heard of you! Major Skehan will be pleased to know. He’s an admirer of yours, sir!”
He nodded toward two weary, dust-covered horses.
“You’re not the only arrival from Painted Rock,” Ryson said. “Those horses came in last night. Almost daylight, in fact, with two riders. A chap named Barkow and a girl. Pretty, too, the lucky dog!”
Rafe turned on him, his eyes sharp. “A woman? A girl?”
Ryson looked surprised. “Why, yes. Her name’s Rodney. She–”
“Where is she?” Rafe snapped. “Where is she now?”
Ryson smiled slightly. “Why, that’s her over there! A friend of yours?”
But Rafe was gone.
Ann was standing in the door of one of the partly reconstructed buildings. When she saw him her eyes widened.
“Rafe! You here? Then you got away?”
“I came after a doctor for Marsh. He’s in a bad way.” He tossed the remark aside, studying her face. “Ann, what are you doing here with Barkow?”
His tone nettled her. “Why? How does it concern you?”
“Your father asked me to take care of you,” he said, “and if you married Bruce Barkow, I certainly wouldn’t be doin’ it!”
“Oh?” Her voice was icy. “Still claiming you knew my father? Well, Mr. Caradec, I think you’d be much better off to forget that story. I don’t know where you got the idea, or how, or what made you believe you could get away with it, but it won’t do! I’ve been engaged to Bruce for months. I intend to marry him now. There’s a chaplain here. Then we’ll go on to the river and down to St. Louis. There’s a steamer on the way up that we can meet.”
“I won’t let you do it, Ann,” Rafe said harshly.
Her weariness, her irritation, and something else brought quick anger to her face and lips.
“You won’t let me? You have nothing to do with it! It simply isn’t any of your business! Now, if you please, I’m waiting for Bruce. Will you go?”