it agin. Hope he din't die."
"Look at this." Lije shook his head in amazement and handed the note to Sam. "The fool signed his name at the bottom. 'D. Russell.'"
Sam shook his head and grinned, giving the note back. "I guess he figured if he returned the horses and promised not to shoot anybody else, we'd quit his trail."
"He figured wrong." Lije scanned the hills ahead of them. "He can't be more than an hour or two ahead of us. Let's push the pace. After two nights of cold camps, I have the feeling he'll build a fire tonight. If we can get close enough before darkness falls, we might see the glow of it."
Two hours later they spotted a pinpoint of light in a patch of trees. They left the horses tied and approached the camp on foot. They found the man's horse hobbled in a grassy area alongside a creek. Its sides were still damp with sweat.
The campfire was a small one, tucked well back among the trees. Moving with silent care, they crept closer and halted when they reached the deep shadows of the hidden campsite. A man sat close to a small fire, his body hunched forward, his head resting in his hands in a pose of weariness and defeat.
Lije motioned for Sam to cover him, then stepped soundlessly into the circle of light, gun drawn. "Are you Mr. Russell?"
The man's head came up with a jerk. "I am." He scowled at Lije, half-bidden in the shadows. "Who are you?"
"My name is Stuartâwith the Cherokee light Horse."
"God damn you." The man lunged for his rifle.
There was no time to think, only react. Lije fired. The bullet struck the man in the right shoulder, spinning him around. Even as he fell, the thief stretched toward the rifle. But Lije was already moving. Reaching it first, he kicked it beyond the man's reach. The man sagged back to the ground with a grunt of pain. Sam Blackburn came out of the shadows and retrieved the rifle.
Lije kept his revolver pointed at the thief, hammer back. "I thought you weren't going to shoot a man in anger again."
"Hell, it weren't anger." The thief pressed a hand to his bleeding shoulder wound, breathing in deep, panting breaths. "It were pure fear. I knowed you were figuring to take me back and hang me. I ain't never favored the idea of meeting my Maker at the end of no rope."
"You shouldn't have shot a man and stole his horses then." With Sam Blackburn on hand to keep the thief covered, Lije bolstered his revolver and went to tend the man's wound.
"Hell, there's a lot a things I shouldn't a done," he declared, then sucked in a sharp breath, grimacing with pain when Lije probed around the wound. "Shoulder's busted, ain't it?" he said through his teeth.
"Could be." Lije nodded. "Looks like the bullet might have ricocheted off the bone and come out the top of your shoulder. There's an exit wound anyway." Lije set about bandaging the man's shoulder.
First light the next morning found the trio on the trail, the thief tied to his saddle and the stolen horses in tow. Lije chose a route that took them past the new settlement of Kee-too-wah, formerly Fort Gibson. If luck rode with him, Lije thought he might get there before the riverboat departed, taking his grandparents and Susannah on their journey to Massachusetts.
By midday the buildings of the old fort were in sight. As Lije lifted his horse into a canter, the hoarse blast of a steam whistle came from the landing. It was the "all ashore" signal that announced the riverboat was beginning its preparations to get under way. Lije called to Sam to stay with the prisoner and spurred his horse into a gallop. The big bay leapt forward with a fresh burst of speed.
When he topped the rise where the ground sloped to the ledge rock, Lije saw that the gangway was still in place. A short distance to his left, his mother and Sorrel stood by the family carriage. Lije pushed the bay horse down the slope, winding his way through the clusters of onlookers.
Deckhands moved to haul in the gangway. He was about to curse his luck when he caught a
"Look at this." Lije shook his head in amazement and handed the note to Sam. "The fool signed his name at the bottom. 'D. Russell.'"
Sam shook his head and grinned, giving the note back. "I guess he figured if he returned the horses and promised not to shoot anybody else, we'd quit his trail."
"He figured wrong." Lije scanned the hills ahead of them. "He can't be more than an hour or two ahead of us. Let's push the pace. After two nights of cold camps, I have the feeling he'll build a fire tonight. If we can get close enough before darkness falls, we might see the glow of it."
Two hours later they spotted a pinpoint of light in a patch of trees. They left the horses tied and approached the camp on foot. They found the man's horse hobbled in a grassy area alongside a creek. Its sides were still damp with sweat.
The campfire was a small one, tucked well back among the trees. Moving with silent care, they crept closer and halted when they reached the deep shadows of the hidden campsite. A man sat close to a small fire, his body hunched forward, his head resting in his hands in a pose of weariness and defeat.
Lije motioned for Sam to cover him, then stepped soundlessly into the circle of light, gun drawn. "Are you Mr. Russell?"
The man's head came up with a jerk. "I am." He scowled at Lije, half-bidden in the shadows. "Who are you?"
"My name is Stuartâwith the Cherokee light Horse."
"God damn you." The man lunged for his rifle.
There was no time to think, only react. Lije fired. The bullet struck the man in the right shoulder, spinning him around. Even as he fell, the thief stretched toward the rifle. But Lije was already moving. Reaching it first, he kicked it beyond the man's reach. The man sagged back to the ground with a grunt of pain. Sam Blackburn came out of the shadows and retrieved the rifle.
Lije kept his revolver pointed at the thief, hammer back. "I thought you weren't going to shoot a man in anger again."
"Hell, it weren't anger." The thief pressed a hand to his bleeding shoulder wound, breathing in deep, panting breaths. "It were pure fear. I knowed you were figuring to take me back and hang me. I ain't never favored the idea of meeting my Maker at the end of no rope."
"You shouldn't have shot a man and stole his horses then." With Sam Blackburn on hand to keep the thief covered, Lije bolstered his revolver and went to tend the man's wound.
"Hell, there's a lot a things I shouldn't a done," he declared, then sucked in a sharp breath, grimacing with pain when Lije probed around the wound. "Shoulder's busted, ain't it?" he said through his teeth.
"Could be." Lije nodded. "Looks like the bullet might have ricocheted off the bone and come out the top of your shoulder. There's an exit wound anyway." Lije set about bandaging the man's shoulder.
First light the next morning found the trio on the trail, the thief tied to his saddle and the stolen horses in tow. Lije chose a route that took them past the new settlement of Kee-too-wah, formerly Fort Gibson. If luck rode with him, Lije thought he might get there before the riverboat departed, taking his grandparents and Susannah on their journey to Massachusetts.
By midday the buildings of the old fort were in sight. As Lije lifted his horse into a canter, the hoarse blast of a steam whistle came from the landing. It was the "all ashore" signal that announced the riverboat was beginning its preparations to get under way. Lije called to Sam to stay with the prisoner and spurred his horse into a gallop. The big bay leapt forward with a fresh burst of speed.
When he topped the rise where the ground sloped to the ledge rock, Lije saw that the gangway was still in place. A short distance to his left, his mother and Sorrel stood by the family carriage. Lije pushed the bay horse down the slope, winding his way through the clusters of onlookers.
Deckhands moved to haul in the gangway. He was about to curse his luck when he caught a
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