Beloved Outcast. Pat Tracy
tight.
“That doesn’t matter. What’s important is that we—”
“What do you mean, we?” she demanded, hating the new fear Logan Youngblood’s words had unleashed within her. “I told you, I’m not letting you out until you tell me what your crime was.”
“Do you honestly think you have a choice?”
“Yes, I think just that.”
“Dammit, you need all the help you can get. One snotnosed kid isn’t going to hold off a band of revenge-minded Indians.”
“I told you, I’m not—”
“I’ve got ears, Amory. You sound about ten to me. I don’t know what in blazes you’re doing running around the Idaho Territory on your own. But I do know that, if you intend to see eleven, you better haul yourself over here and unbolt this door.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this last night?” Victoria asked, wondering if Logan Youngblood was making up this new threat to scare her into freeing him.
“I was only thinking about the hole in my stomach that needed filling,” came the clearly grudging admission. “I must have passed out afterward.”
“And this morning you came to with the sudden recollection that this fort was about to be attacked?”
“That’s right, boy. We need to get to Trinity Falls.”
Trinity Falls—exactly where she wanted to be.
“Why did they lock you up, Mr. Youngblood?” she repeated, wondering if she could believe anything he told her. Obviously, it served his best interests to lie.
There was a distinct pause.
“I brought the warning of the attack.”
“And they put you in the stockade for that?” Victoria couldn’t suppress her disappointment that he would prevaricate in this dire situation.
“Not exactly.”
“Well, what was it exactly, Mr. Youngblood?”
“They wanted to know how I knew the Indians’ plans.”
“A most sensible question,” she pointed out.
“I told them Night Wolf had warned me.”
“Night Wolf?”
“He’s an. acquaintance of mine.”
“Really?” Victoria asked, intrigued that anyone should count an Indian among his circle of acquaintances. “How did you meet?”
“That’s hardly important.”
“I suppose not.” Still, she was curious about such an odd circumstance. “Why did Night Wolf warn you about the attack?”
“He realizes that more bloodshed will only make it harder for his people to coexist peacefully with the white man.”
“I see.”
Victoria knew she was in the minority in sympathizing with the primitives. To her, they seemed like beautiful and free people who were rapidly losing their home in a land that had sheltered them for generations. If only there could be an end to the violence that raged between the settlers and the Indians, and a place could be preserved for the country’s native inhabitants.
“You still haven’t told me why they locked you up.”
“I refused to lead Colonel Windham to Night Wolf’s camp.”
“Why on earth would you object to doing that?”
“I told you, Night’s Wolf’s people are at peace.”
“Then they have nothing to worry about.”
“Boy, you can’t be green enough to believe that.”
Victoria’s teeth clicked together. “I’m smart enough to stay out of jail.”
“But foolish enough to land in the middle of Indian country during a war.”
“Mr. Youngblood?”
“Yes?”
“Are you comfortable in your cell?”
“Not really.”
“That’s unfortunate, because at this rate you’re going to remain there.”
“Amory, we’re running out of time.” A pounding blow sent a flurry of dust motes flying from the stockade door.
She jumped back. “Stop that!”
“Listen to me, you stubborn brat—the Indians are coming.
“So you said.”
“And you don’t believe me?” he asked, his tone furious. “Where the hell do you think everybody went? To a barn raising?”
Victoria stood before the barred entry and eyed the heavy beam holding it closed. For the first time, she was tempted to unlatch it. If the man was telling the truth about having brought news of an attack, he didn’t deserve to die.
The sun’s rays bore down. She closed her eyes and sent a hasty prayer heavenward, asking for divine guidance.
“Kid?”
The deep voice was relentless.
No answer came to her prayer, at least not in the form of words. But as she stared at the stockade, a sense of inevitability washed over her. The plain and simple truth was that she was incapable of leaving Mr. Youngblood to rot inside his log prison.
“I’m going to open the door.”
“When?”
She struggled to lift the heavy bar lodged tightly between the metal posts. “Now.”
“Smart move, Amory,” came the approving voice. “We’ll ride hard and fast for Trinity Falls.”
“And, once we’re there, we’ll be safe?”
“Since the last gold strike, the town’s swollen to more than five thousand miners,” he informed her. “It’s in no danger of being attacked. Do you have a good horse?”
“No.” A splinter stabbed her index finger. “I’ve got a team of oxen.”
“Well, hell, what kind of time do you think we’re going to make with oxen?”
“They may not be fast, but they’re steady. And they’ve had time to rest. They’ll pull my wagon just fine.”
Victoria gave up trying to raise the bar with her bare hands and went to fetch her cooking fork. She was sure it was sturdy enough to dislodge the metal beam.
“You’ve got a wagon?”
Her efforts began to noticeably budge the crossbar. “That’s right.”
“I don’t like the idea of using a wagon.”
The heavy iron arm finally came free and toppled to the ground. The stockade door swung outward, revealing a sinister black hole.
The prisoner stepped toward the light. “Wheel tracks are too easy to follow.”
Without the barrier of the log portal between them, the deep voice sounded alarmingly close.
“We’re going to need the wagon. I refuse to leave my precious cargo behind.”
Mr. Youngblood emerged from the shadowed doorway, blinking against the sudden onslaught of sunlight.
“Precious cargo—?” He broke off abruptly. She saw his dark eyes narrow at the sight of her. “Well, hell.”
The observation was his, the sentiment hers.