Yankee is still outnumbered four to one.”
Frank James’ laconic remark sent a chill down Lydia’s spine. Ben spine’s, as well. Pressed as close as she was to her husband’s backside, she felt the imperceptible tightening of his muscles.
Oh, dear Lord, please deliver us from this —
“Mama and I are honorary Yankees,” Dixie unexpectedly chirped, poking her cur ly head around Ben’s left hip.
“Dixie, honey . Shh!” Lydia tried, unsuccessfully, to pull her precocious daughter closer to her side. With the rifle hoisted to his shoulder, Ben could offer no assistance.
Several of the bandits guffawed, amused by the antic.
“Look at them red curls,” one of the gunman remarked, a grin plastered on his whiskered face.
“What’s your name, lil’ darling?” another highwayman asked.
“Elizabeth Mary McCabe,” Lydia’s daughter readily replied. “But everyone calls me Dixie.”
“McCabe, huh?” Frank James carefully eyed the three of them. “ Are you any relation to Spencer McCabe?”
The question hit Lydia with a burst of hopeful expectation. It should have occurred to her sooner that these men, former rebel bushwhackers in all likelihood, might be acquainted with Spencer. Although he rarely spoke of it, during the war her former brother-in-law had ridden with some of Missouri’s most notorious marauders.
“Spencer McCabe is my husband’s brother-in-law, his sister having recently wed Spencer,” Lydia informed the bandit leader.
“Keep quiet,” Ben rasped out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll not have my wife conversing with a pack of outlaws.”
The elder James brother ignored the insult. Instead, he shoved his hat off his forehead with his pistol barrel. “Spence McCabe married a Yankee? Lord Almighty, the times they are a changin’.”
“Hey, do you remember that day at Elkins Creek when Spence saved both our hides?”
Frank James answered his brother with a slow nod of the head. “As I recall, I never did have a chance to repay the favor.” He pursed his lips as he mulled over this latest turn of events. Then, much to Lydia’s surprise, he uncocked his pistol and shoved it into his holster. “All right, get on with you,” he ordered brusquely, jutting his chin in Ben’s direction.
“You mean you’re letting ‘em go?” his younger brother asked, an incredulous look on his face. “But he killed Clancy. Not to mention, he put a nice size hole in Bill Dobbs right arm.”
“Yeah, and he’s going to put a ‘nice size hole’ through two of us if we keep standing around yammering about it.” Frank James wrapped his reins around a gloved fist. With the other hand, he tipped his hat at Lydia. “Give my regards to Spence the next time you see him.”
“It will be my pleasure, Mister James.” Lydia had learned long ago that a civil tongue could see one through most of life’s difficulties. Even when those difficulties involved a gang of Missouri outlaws.
Without a backward glance, the four horsemen took off riding. Once they were out of sight, Ben finally relaxed his guard, lowering the Henry rifle from his shoulder.
Belatedly realizing that she still clutched the back of his shirt, Lydia released the linen fabric, relief washing over her in waves. Bending slightly, she hugged Dixie to her side, the child’s innocent remarks having been the catalyst that brought about the final cessation of tensions.
Ben, his shoulders angrily hunched, walked over to the parked wagon. For some reason, one that she could not fathom, he seemed annoyed by the peaceful outcome.
“Given that you were greatly outnumbered, surely you wouldn’t have opened fire on those men?”
As he reached for a wooden box stowed under the jockey seat, Ben said, “If I’d had me some more ammunition, I would have.”
Lydia’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief. “Do you mean to say that you had no bullets in your rifle?”
“Yep, that’s what I’m saying.” Flipping open the ammunition box,
Frank James’ laconic remark sent a chill down Lydia’s spine. Ben spine’s, as well. Pressed as close as she was to her husband’s backside, she felt the imperceptible tightening of his muscles.
Oh, dear Lord, please deliver us from this —
“Mama and I are honorary Yankees,” Dixie unexpectedly chirped, poking her cur ly head around Ben’s left hip.
“Dixie, honey . Shh!” Lydia tried, unsuccessfully, to pull her precocious daughter closer to her side. With the rifle hoisted to his shoulder, Ben could offer no assistance.
Several of the bandits guffawed, amused by the antic.
“Look at them red curls,” one of the gunman remarked, a grin plastered on his whiskered face.
“What’s your name, lil’ darling?” another highwayman asked.
“Elizabeth Mary McCabe,” Lydia’s daughter readily replied. “But everyone calls me Dixie.”
“McCabe, huh?” Frank James carefully eyed the three of them. “ Are you any relation to Spencer McCabe?”
The question hit Lydia with a burst of hopeful expectation. It should have occurred to her sooner that these men, former rebel bushwhackers in all likelihood, might be acquainted with Spencer. Although he rarely spoke of it, during the war her former brother-in-law had ridden with some of Missouri’s most notorious marauders.
“Spencer McCabe is my husband’s brother-in-law, his sister having recently wed Spencer,” Lydia informed the bandit leader.
“Keep quiet,” Ben rasped out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll not have my wife conversing with a pack of outlaws.”
The elder James brother ignored the insult. Instead, he shoved his hat off his forehead with his pistol barrel. “Spence McCabe married a Yankee? Lord Almighty, the times they are a changin’.”
“Hey, do you remember that day at Elkins Creek when Spence saved both our hides?”
Frank James answered his brother with a slow nod of the head. “As I recall, I never did have a chance to repay the favor.” He pursed his lips as he mulled over this latest turn of events. Then, much to Lydia’s surprise, he uncocked his pistol and shoved it into his holster. “All right, get on with you,” he ordered brusquely, jutting his chin in Ben’s direction.
“You mean you’re letting ‘em go?” his younger brother asked, an incredulous look on his face. “But he killed Clancy. Not to mention, he put a nice size hole in Bill Dobbs right arm.”
“Yeah, and he’s going to put a ‘nice size hole’ through two of us if we keep standing around yammering about it.” Frank James wrapped his reins around a gloved fist. With the other hand, he tipped his hat at Lydia. “Give my regards to Spence the next time you see him.”
“It will be my pleasure, Mister James.” Lydia had learned long ago that a civil tongue could see one through most of life’s difficulties. Even when those difficulties involved a gang of Missouri outlaws.
Without a backward glance, the four horsemen took off riding. Once they were out of sight, Ben finally relaxed his guard, lowering the Henry rifle from his shoulder.
Belatedly realizing that she still clutched the back of his shirt, Lydia released the linen fabric, relief washing over her in waves. Bending slightly, she hugged Dixie to her side, the child’s innocent remarks having been the catalyst that brought about the final cessation of tensions.
Ben, his shoulders angrily hunched, walked over to the parked wagon. For some reason, one that she could not fathom, he seemed annoyed by the peaceful outcome.
“Given that you were greatly outnumbered, surely you wouldn’t have opened fire on those men?”
As he reached for a wooden box stowed under the jockey seat, Ben said, “If I’d had me some more ammunition, I would have.”
Lydia’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief. “Do you mean to say that you had no bullets in your rifle?”
“Yep, that’s what I’m saying.” Flipping open the ammunition box,
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