Steal Me, Sweet Thief Page 15

  "These ropes are awful tight," he said when the young doctor stood over him. "And I'm mighty tired of eating dirt. Help me up?"

  He could feel Geneva's eyes upon him, but he did not even glance at her. Sighing, the doctor bent down. This adventure, Macalester could tell, was beginning to wear on the man. In moments, he felt the ropes give a little. Then the doctor took him by the shoulders and righted him, leaning him against a tree.

  "She's not my wife, Thorpe." Macalester kept his voice low, hoping not to attract the attention of the others. "Don't let anything bad happen to her. Wire Garland Humble in Fort Worth when you get back to town. He'll back me up; I swear it."

  The doctor sighed, backing away from him. "I'll see what I can do," he said, rather lamely, Macalester thought.

  "Can't you untie her?" He had to push for as much as he could get from the man. "At least take the gag off of her. She's mouthy, I know, but…"He shrugged as best he could, under his constraining circumstances.

  Thorpe grimaced and glanced at Geneva.

  "If she doesn't keep her mouth shut, I can't be responsible for what happens to her," he warned, shaking his head as he looked back at Macalester. "These boys're pretty worked up. It doesn't take much to turn some men into wild animals, if you know what I mean."

  Macalester did. He risked a look at Geneva, but could gain no clue to her thoughts from her blank stare.

  "Hear that, Gen?"

  She nodded slowly. She heard: but would she heed?

  Thorpe stepped over Macalester and removed Geneva's gag.

  "What're you doin', Doc?" Orin challenged him, accepting a jug from his neighbor.

  "They have to eat," Thorpe answered tersely. "Hand me a plate of beans."

  "Damn you, Macalester," Geneva hissed as the doctor walked away.

  "You already played that song, honey." He sighed. "Don't you know any others?"

  "Shut up," someone at the fire told them.

  "Oh, leave them alone, Hollis," Thorpe chided the man. "They're human beings."

  "Not for long, if they make any trouble," another piped up. Several of the men laughed.

  "They ain't human," Orin growled, looking right at Macalester with real dislike. "They're just an outlaw and his whore. They're nuthin' to nobody."

  There were choruses of grunts that Macalester, with growing apprehension, took for agreement with Orin's unpleasant sentiment. He glanced at Geneva, who stared blankly at the assemblage, the fire gleaming in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered.

  "That's enough!" Thorpe, agitated, turned on the men. "I won't have these people treated any worse than they have been. I'm beginning to think this woman is telling the truth, after all."

  "He's a fancy talker, Doc," Hollis warned. "I wouldn't put no stock in anything Kieran Macalester has to say. Or his whore, neither."

  "Who put you in charge 'a this trip, anyway, Doc?" Orin drawled, leaning back on his elbows. Macalester did not like that one. He was trouble.

  The doctor then made his mistake. Standing in the center of the ring of men, he drew his gun, demonstrating to Macalester, and no doubt to the rest of the assemblage, his lack of skill with the weapon as well as his lack of diplomacy.

  "I'm the one who put you all wise to Macalester." Thorpe's voice, and hand, shook. "If it hadn't been for me, that bounty hunter would have gotten him, and we'd never have seen any of the money. Now let's all calm down and—"

  He was cut short by Hollis, who had arisen stealthily behind the naive and foolish younger man and clipped him behind the ear with a rock before Macalester could even summon a warning.

  "Damn, Hollis!" One of the men sat bolt upright.

  "Whatsa matter, Ed?" the man with the rock sneered. "Your liver turnin' white, too?"

  Macalester's mouth went bone dry. This was not good. He licked his lips, looking from face to face, trying to find a reasonable man. His search was in vain.

  Orin stood up and swaggered over to the captives. He paused first by Macalester and grinned down at him with a leer that sickened the outlaw. "She must be pretty good," he opined hungrily, "for you to lie like that for her. Think I'll have me a taste."

  "Orin, you ain't gonna…"Ed laughed nervously.

  "Her husband's the most powerful man in Texas," Macalester heard himself say, although he hardly recognized his own voice; it sounded as brittle as glass. "He'll hunt you down like dogs, and kill you, every one of—"

  "You're a damned liar." Orin punctuated his casual rejoinder with a savage kick that caught Macalester in the side, just above his hip bone. "You're just tryin' to protect your property. Well, a man like you got no right to property. None at all. So you can just lay there and watch while we make your property our'n."

  Macalester barely heard him. He nearly blacked out from the pain, but he fought to remain conscious. When he opened his eyes again, Orin was standing over Geneva, wearing the look of a rutting animal. Geneva was staring up at the man with a blank expression. Her body was rigid. Orin glanced once more at Macalester, as though to be sure the outlaw was watching him.

  " 'Sides." Orin grinned. "This ain't Texas. This here's Arkansas."

  With that, Orin was upon her, tearing at her clothing. She struggled against him valiantly, although her hands were still secured behind her back. Her scream was silenced by Orin's mouth upon hers, but in another moment Orin jerked as though he'd been bitten by a snake, and he sat up, straddling her.

  "Sumbitch!" he howled, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He struck her hard with the back of his hand, turning her face to one side. "She bit my tongue!"

  Good for her, Macalester thought.

  The other men gave him no sympathy either.

  "Best stick it where she got no teeth, Orin," one advised, ambling over to join his injured companion.

  Geneva lay still beneath Orin, her blouse torn and the round white flesh of her breast exposed nearly to the nipple.

  "I'll see you all in hell," Macalester heard her say in a remarkably steady voice, "before I let you take me!"

  "Shut the bitch up! Where's that gag?"

  Macalester did not want to watch. He felt helpless to prevent what was about to happen, and it sickened him to think he had brought it upon her.

  A distraction! That was what he needed.

  "If this ain't the sorriest excuse for a posse I ever saw in my life!" He managed a laugh that, he was sure, only sounded unnatural to himself "A bunch of randy old men who let their peeters do their thinkin' for them! Hell, I'll be free again before morning!"

  "Is that a fact?" one of them huffed, swaggering past Geneva to where he sat, bound and defenseless. Here is where I get the skit kicked out of me, Macalester thought. Well, at least that would take their minds off raping Geneva. For a little while, anyway. The thought encouraged him, and he laughed again, louder.

  "You fellas are pretty stupid," he declared roundly. "The best piece of ass in the world ain't worth five thousand dollars!"

  His comments, he was pleased to note, seemed to have taken some of the heat out of the men. Orin, still straddling the ravaged soprano, was livid with rage. He and Hollis joined the man who stood before him, along with the other men who had, until now, watched events from the campfire.

  "You got a big mouth, Macalester," Hollis remarked with a scowl. "Somebody needs to shut it for you."

  Macalester managed a shrug. "Anybody think he's man enough?"

  Orin snickered. "You'd like for us to untie you to find out, wouldn't you? You're a smart sumbitch, Macalester, but we ain't quite as stupid as all that."

  Macalester didn't know about that. In fact, returning the older man's derisive sneer with one of his own, he began to think it entirely possible. "Maybe you're not stupid," Macalester allowed in a most condescending fashion, "but you sure aren't smart, either."

  He opened his mouth to go on, intending to press Geneva's case with the men, but he closed it again, deciding it was best not to return their attention to the woman. All eyes were upon him now,
and he did not wish to remind them of her presence.

  Staring hard at Macalester, Orin withdrew a long, shiny hunting knife from its sheath on his belt. Macalester hated knives. The fact was, he hated guns, as well, and any other kind of weapon that might bring him to serious harm. He forced himself, however, to maintain Orin's stare without blinking.

  "Orin, you ain't gonna—"

  "I'm gonna cut out his tongue!" Orin hissed, holding the knife in an underhand position. "His bitch near bit off mine; I'll take his for payment!"

  A nearby blast deafened Macalester, and Orin flew back a good five feet into the air, a gaping, bloody hole in his chest and a look of surprise on his ugly face.

  "Anybody else want to die, tonight?"

  Lennox walked into the camp, the dirty fringe on his buckskin leggings bobbing gaily to and fro, the shotgun in his left hand smoking, and a long-barreled Colt primed in his right. The posse from Camden, to a man, backed away toward the campfire, their expressions belying their shock.

  Macalester breathed again.

  "I never thought I'd be glad to see you" he muttered, half to himself.

  Lennox granted him a glance.

  "Shut up, Macalester. I ain't doin' this for you. I still owe you one for Little Rock." Then he addressed the posse. "All right, boys. Toss your guns over here. Easy." The men complied with no hesitation, waiting expectantly for the bounty hunter's next command.

  He ordered them to turn around and walk away from the campfire and away from one another. The first man to turn around, he promised them laconically, would get a bullet for his pains.

  Macalester could not help admiring the coldblooded manner in which Lennox then proceeded to shoot down each man, pausing only long enough to take his other Colt from its holster so he did not have to bother reloading. Beside him, he heard Geneva gasp. The sound directed Lennox's attention her way, and he stared at her dishabille blankly. Presently he holstered both guns and unsheathed his own hunting knife, a weapon similar to the luckless Orin's, but somewhat broader. He moved toward her, demonstrating no temperament to abuse, but Geneva nevertheless shrank away from him, her eyes wide with speechless horror. Macalester was not too surprised when the bounty hunter nudged Geneva onto her stomach with the toe of his boot, then, with one neat, efficient gesture, sliced the bonds of her wrists, freeing her hands.

  "Fix yourself, ma'am," Lennox told her in his slow, quiet way. "We'll be ridin' now."

  He walked over to Macalester then, looking him up and down. Macalester fought the uneasy sense that he was being measured for a coffin and maintained his adversary's cool, unsmiling gaze.

  "Howdy, Macalester," was all the man said before severing the cord about the outlaw's ankles.

  "What about my hands?" Macalester dared to ask him as Lennox replaced the knife in its buffalo-hide sheath.

  "I like 'em right where they are. Now shut up and get on your feet."

  Macalester shut up. With some effort, he got to his feet, wincing from the sharp pain in his side where Orin had kicked him. Orin lay in the dirt now, not a dozen feet from where he stood, his glassy eyes staring heavenward, his dirty shirtfront, what was left of it, soaked with his own blood. Macalester, who had gone to check on Thorpe, heard a noise beside him and he turned to find Geneva standing close enough to brush against his arm. She had returned her clothing to an acceptable state, although the white blouse, which he had chosen for its aesthetic rather than practical value, was now torn and soiled. Macalester sighed. Did everything he touched become dirty and sullied?

  Geneva was staring at the lump of humanity that had been Orin, her green eyes wide and glazed. Quickly Mac stepped between her and the sight, wishing he could as easily blot the memory of the last few hours from her mind. She stared up at him, not quite meeting his gaze. A tear worked its way from her eye and left a glistening trail to the crest of her cheekbone. Macalester made a move to brush it away, wanting to touch her pale, smudged cheek, but he was quickly reminded that his hands were secured behind his back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They rode throughout the night and into the following day at a steady, deliberate pace, without stopping. They did not travel fast, which was just as well for Geneva's healing legs. All that was required of her was that she remain in the saddle. Lennox led both her bay mare (the one Macalester had given to the doctor), and Macalester's roan by the reins, leaving her and Macalester behind him to wonder at his plans.

  Macalester rode to her left and a little behind her, sitting erect upon his saddle with his broad shoulders squared and his hands remaining bound behind him. Geneva did not want to stare at the outlaw, but she found she could see him if she stared straight ahead and allowed her peripheral vision to encompass him. She could feel his gaze upon her, as well. It was not as satisfying a sensation as she had envisioned it might be, three days ago on the Arkansas River, when she thought she would gladly see him dead. In fact, it made her feel very heavy, as though a fat little man were sitting upon her chest, urging her to cry.

  At the start of their bizarre odyssey with the forbidding bounty hunter, Geneva, racked by pain, terror and outrage, had submitted to the man's terse, emotionless commands without even thinking to question them. Even Macalester, normally talkative, had nothing to say, either to her or to their custodian. But after a dozen or more hours of staring at the back of the man's dirty suede vest and misshapen, stained bowler hat, Geneva, who had done a lot of thinking and recovering, decided the time had come to break the silence.

  "Mr. Lennox." She congratulated hers elf on the clear, even tone of her voice.

  He did not answer her.

  "Mr. Lennox!" she tried again, louder.

  "What?"

  He had not moved. Not even the brim of his hat had bobbed. At first she did not even realize he had answered her. It so startled her that she had to gather her wits and remember her carefully planned speech.

  "May I know what you plan to do with me?"

  She hoped her emphasis on the final pronoun was adequate to convey her meaning to him. She did not wish to have more discourse with the murdering bounty hunter than necessary.

  "Happens I believe you, ma'am. You ain't Macalester's wife."

  Her relief was so sudden and so thorough that she very nearly fell off of her horse. She drew in a breath and plunged on. "Then—you'll let me go?"

  He still did not grant her a look. "Nope."

  Geneva felt her face drain of blood. "Why not?" She choked out the words.

  "Happens I believe Macalester on that score, too," the man told her, with neither glee nor rancor. "Not even Macalester's that good a liar. 'Sides, Even if he is lyin', it won't take much trouble to look into. Just means a couple a days' detour to Fort Worth on my way to Austin."

  Geneva felt the familiar well of despair within her, which had never been far away from her since her terrible discovery in Little Rock. "Kill me now, then," she said. "I'd rather die than go back there willingly!"

  "I would, ma'am, 'cept I expect you ain't worth nothin' dead."

  Lennox called to his animal to halt and dismounted, his buckskin leggings stretching against the pull of his long, sinewy legs. With a quick, easy gesture, he tied the extra pairs of reins to the pommel of his saddle, then allowed the animals to graze the sparse growth of the forest floor. He approached her mare. Geneva knew he intended to help her down, but she did not want him to touch her. She did, however, have one additional question to ask him, which she did from her saddle.

  "Why did you kill all of those men?"

  The question escaped in a whisper, like the air being slowly released from a child's balloon.

  "Funny question for you to ask." He made an expression that might have been taken for a smile.

  She looked him in the eye, and he her. He had startling eyes, like those of a wild animal. In the mid-morning light filtering through the thinning box elders, they were a most peculiar shade of mustard.

  "What do you mean?" She forced herself to return his c
old, empty-eyed stare.

  "I don't much cotton to rapists," he told her, neither blushing nor hesitating. "Besides, what's it to me if somebody finds the bodies and blames him?" He gestured to Macalester with his thumb. "Get down, now. You, too, Macalester. We'll rest a spell."

  Geneva was not even a little impressed by his reasons. She sat resolutely erect upon the mare, crossing her arms before her tattered blouse. "I refuse to cooperate."

  Lennox smirked. "No, you don't. Because if you do, I'll—"

  "You'll what?" she interrupted, feeling the hairs stand at attention on the back of her neck. "You'll kill me? Go ahead! I told you I'd rather die than go back. And I know you to be capable of killing people. So please, be my guest."

  "If you ain't the mouthiest woman I ever saw!" He shook his head slowly. "No, I ain't gonna kill you. You misbehave, and I'll kill him" He gestured again to Macalester, who still had not said one word.

  What angered Geneva the most about Lennox's response to her defiance was that he turned on his heel and walked away from her immediately after he'd said it. This left her with the impression that he knew she would not want that unhappy event to take place, even when she herself might not have considered it a bad trade at one time.

  But no. Watching Lennox walk away from her, collecting wood for a fire, she knew, hating herself, that she could not sign Kieran Macalester's death warrant. Feeling an ache that started in the back of her neck and crept, like an encroaching tide, throughout her limbs and her entire body, she climbed slowly down from the placid mare.

  She scarcely noticed the soreness in her legs and congratulated herself on having done a proper job of binding them. The dressing should probably be changed. With what? she wondered gloomily. It was probably best left alone, she decided. At least it was clean. She did not even look at Macalester, who dismounted, with some awkwardness, from his sweating roan.

  Lennox untied Macalester long enough for the latter to relieve himself, then immediately tied him again, this time securing the subdued outlaw's ankles as well as tying a noose about his neck with the other end firmly knotted to a strong young maple.