Sort of.
She could never quite believe it, and that was why she had shied from actually marrying Frank. Now Dal was back, and she might have lost him. By this time he would know about Frank.
The distant shooting ended, and there was only silence.
What should she do? Standing beside her horse, she tried to picture the situation. Shooting at the wagons could only mean the Travens had made an attack or attempted one. To go there now would mean she would be riding right into trouble. The Travens would have their hands full, and there was no way she could help. If she only had a gun!
Like many another western woman she had been shooting since childhood and had often hunted so her family could eat. There had been no convenient stores where food could be bought. Out where she lived people grew their own corn, ground their own flour, made their own molasses, and gathered from the forest, as had the Indians. Several times she had helped to defend their cabin against Indian attacks.
Yet she had no weapon. Dal had always said that if somebody wanted to kill a person lack of a gun would never stop him. There were too many other weapons just lying around a house or barn.
Looking around she found a stick, not over three feet long. It was part of a broken branch, and she stripped away the smaller twigs. She liked the feel of it in her hands. At least, she felt better.
What had happened? She was restless and worried, and never one to stand still. She had always done things, not waited for others.
Think … what could have happened? The Travens had made an effort to rescue the girls. That was more than likely. They had succeeded or they had failed. They might have been killed. On the other hand, they might have escaped.
Suppose they got the girls away from Ashford. What then? Neither Mac nor Dal was apt to keep the girls in the woods, where an attack might recapture them. So they would send them away to a safer place.
Refugio or Victoria, and Refugio was closer. Who would go with them? Jesse was still not quite recovered from his wound, so it would be him.
If they got the girls safely away with either Jesse or Happy Jack guarding them, Dal and Mac would come looking for her.
The girls would have told Dal that she had gone off to the Connery ranch with Colonel Ashford. At the fight near the wagons, Ashford and some of his men had come racing in, but where would they think she was? They had two alternatives. She had either been killed or left at the ranch. There was a third, of course, which was the actual one. She had escaped.
The renegades would come looking for the Travens and for her also. And the Travens would be looking for her.
They would ride south toward Mission Bay, and she must try to intercept them.
This was the land formerly held by the cannibalistic Karankawa Indians, and deep within the forest one might still find remains of ancient fires, and sometimes bones, but they had been primarily fish-eaters.
The forest itself covered thousands of acres of mixed growth, scarred by long-ago fires. Closer to the beach the trees grew more stunted, and there was piled-up debris left from bygone storms that had broken over St. Joseph’s Island and the peninsulas to wreak havoc on the inner shores.
Trees blown down by hurricane winds or destroyed by insects lay scattered about everywhere through the undergrowth. There were few tall trees, most of what was there being trees of medium height mixed with brush. Here and there were small groves of pecans.
Kate Connery was restless. It disturbed her that she did not know what was happening, and she had never been one to sit and wait.
Also, she was too close to where she had disappeared. If anybody came seeking her, this was where they would start. She started off, leading her horse.
At first she was only weaving her way among the trees, finding ways to get through, avoiding obstructions and seeking a trail. She found one.
It was a game trail, obviously used by larger game but showing no indications of recent travel. She mounted her horse and still holding her stick, followed the trail, which led north and then west. Nowhere did she see any tracks.
It was very still. Occasionally, she drew up to listen but heard nothing.
A soft wind from off the Gulf stirred the leaves, causing faint rustlings that worried her and caused her to stop and listen again and again. A branch or a piece of rotting bark fell from a tree and she came up standing, listening, frightened.
Once, near a rotting log, she glimpsed a huge old diamond-back rattler, thicker than her arm. Her horse shied, but she was a good fifteen feet away and not worried. Yet its presence was a warning. There could be others.
It was very still. Twice she saw great white birds sweep by overhead, whooping cranes. There were numerous tracks – a small black bear, many raccoons, even an alligator.
She drew up again, listening. Something moving. Something large, therefore something or someone who might be dangerous. She put her hand on her horse’s neck and spoke softly to it, sshing it.
She heard the sound again. Something … not very far off. Something moving.
She let her breath out carefully. How far away? Was there more than one of whatever it was?
What could she do? Run? But from what? From whom? It could be an enemy. It could also be one of the Travens or one of the girls.
She gripped her stick a little tighter. What was it Dal had said? Thrust, don’t strike. Instinct seemed to make one wish to use a stick as a club, but the thrust was better, at the throat, the face, the mid-section. Jab with it and jab hard, or grip the stick in both hands and jerk it up under the chin … hard.
Movement, not very far off. Suddenly, bitten by a fly, her horse stamped a hoof. Movements ceased.
“Over there,” a man said.
Not one of the Travens, yet a familiar voice, not one pleasantly familiar, either. Her mouth was dry and she tried to swallow, tried several times before succeeding. She gathered the reins, hesitating. Exactly where were they?
There was movement, she glimpsed a horse’s head, then the rider. Behind him, another rider.
“Well, would you lookit this! An’ all alone, too! Just you an’ me an’ the lady, Cut. Jus’ the three of us. I’d say we were gonna have us a time!”
Cutler and Hayden, and she was alone …
Fifteen
She slapped the spurs to her horse and went down the trail as if shot from a gun. Ducking her head because of low branches she raced down the narrow trail, and seeing another turning off to the north, she whipped into it. Her horse leaped a small stream and ducked under a low-hanging limb.
They were close behind and coming fast. If only she had a gun! The trees arched over the trail, and at places wind had bent them down until they almost closed the trail. Running wasn’t going to be enough. She’d have to fight. They were too close behind, and the first time she encountered a real obstruction her horse would stop and they would close behind her.
What would she do? Stab for the face with the end of the stick, then take off again.
Kate was angry. She did not like to run, and she despised the two men who were pursuing her. Yet she was no match for them in any land of physical encounter, except briefly. Well, make it brief then!
Suddenly there was a log across the trail. How good a jumper was her horse? She did not know, but she headed him right at the log, and he went for it, sailing right over it in a long, graceful leap. She pulled up quickly as Hayden’s horse balked, and turning in her saddle she struck him across the face with her stick.
His hand had gone up to block the blow, but too slowly. Her move had been unexpected and swift. Her stick smashed Hayden across the face, and then she was gone again, racing away down the winding trail.
Coming suddenly into a small clearing with a fallen-in cabin, she turned at right angles and raced off down a road of two ruts with grass growing between them. Her horse seemed happy to run, and she gave him his head. A glance back showed they were coming.
Rounding a bend in the road she saw before her a low hanging branch. She ducked … too late!
She hit the ground hard, and her horse went racing off. She heard a yell of triumph, and Hayden hit the ground as she came up. His face was bloody, and there was an ugly welt where she had struck him. It looked also as if his nose might be broken. That she glimpsed in one startled moment as he lunged to grab her.