Untethered Read online

  He had to raise a posse and get after them. From the looks of the dirt and dried mud, the outlaws had a day on him at least. Heath knew there were good men in town—good men who would believe him. At least, he hoped they would.

  As Heath and his horse galloped toward town, the beauty of the day was lost to him. What did willow branches and cool water mean? Blue sky and green grass, for that matter? Heath Thibodaux knew exactly what the outlaws had in mind for the girls of Pike’s Creek, and it made his stomach churn. He thought again of the sweet, innocent, kindly offered kiss he’d returned with brutality. What he wouldn’t give to take it back—to kiss that girl again the way she deserved to be kissed.

  He growled as he rode, sick at heart, enraged, and with the taste of a kiss he’d desecrated in his mouth.

  ❦

  Heathro Thibodaux arrived in Pike’s Creek to find nearly every resident of the town holed up in the church. Heath learned that Zeke Cranford and Cooper Keel had headed up to Thistle earlier in the day to look for a girl that had gone missing there. So when Cricket Cranford had not come home for supper the night before, her stepmother, Ada, had gone to the King, Burroughs, and Stanley residences looking for her. Naturally she’d found three sets of other concerned parents, and the missing girls’ fathers had ridden out in search of their daughters until the sun set. They’d returned home with no information, and thus everyone in the town was alerted and had gathered at the church in order to coordinate search parties.

  Reverend Stanley was in charge, of course. Heathro could hardly stomach the preacher. He liked preachers as a rule. But he did not like the Reverend Edgar Stanley. The preacher of Pike’s Creek seemed far too arrogant, self-important, and downright bossy to be a good man of the cloth. He rubbed Heath Thibodaux the wrong way at every turn.

  In fact, as Heath stood leaning against the back wall of the church, listening to the reverend openly criticizing Ralph Burroughs and Clifford King for refusing to wait to go searching for their daughters that morning until the town had been called together, Heath’s stomach turned one too many times. It appeared almost as if the self-centered preacher were burning daylight just to buoy ego. But daylight was precious, and Heath needed help—whether he liked it or not. The past had taught him a hard lesson in that.

  “I hear there’s a girl missin’ over in Thistle,” Heath called from the back of the church when Reverend Stanley paused for one brief moment.

  “Mr. Thibodaux,” the reverend greeted rather coolly as Heath strode up the church aisle to the podium.

  “Yes, there is a girl missin’,” Ada Cranford answered as Heath turned to face the congregation.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cranford,” Heath said with a nod as he stepped in front of the podium, blocking Reverend Stanley from the townsfolk’s view.

  “I’m afraid that a missing girl in Thistle confirms what I know happened to your girls here,” Heath began. “There’s white slavers in the area, and they’re gathering up girls to sell.”

  Gasps and groans, shouting and crying commenced.

  “You don’t know that, Thibodaux!” the preacher shouted. “How dare you come into my church and—”

  “Well, unless I’m mistaken, preacher…this here is the Lord’s church, not yours,” Heath growled as the townsfolk settled a bit. “Furthermore, I’m tellin’ you that these girls are in the hands of white slavers. I’ve seen their tracks outside of town. Seems to be eight or nine of them at least…and I figure they took the girl in Thistle and all four of ours too.”

  “And how can you be so sure it’s these…these…outlaws that have our Pike’s Creek daughters?” the preacher argued. “Who are you to be makin’ these kinds of conclusions from some tracks?”

  The Pike’s Creek folks gathered in the church had gone silent—listened—waited for Heath’s response.

  “How can I be sure? You mean other than the fact that Ralph Burroughs’s thoroughbred—the one his daughter rides—other than the fact that thoroughbred is with them?” Heath growled. “Well, I’ll tell you how. I’m a Texas Ranger, Stanley…still papered up, badged, and legal. And I’ve had experiences you cannot imagine! Experiences nobody ever should have to imagine. And I am tellin’ you here and now, this is white slavin’! Do you understand what I’m tellin’ you? These girls are gonna be sold into brothel life if they’re lucky! We have to get our men together and get after these outlaws. I figure they’ve probably got sixteen to twenty hours on us already.”

  “White slavers? Here? In Pike’s Creek?” Reverend Stanley still doubted.

  “And one of them is your daughter, preacher,” Heath added.

  “Well, if a posse is needed—” the preacher began, but he was stopped short by the hard, resounding slap of Ada Cranford. Heath hadn’t seen her approach, but he sure heard her slap the preacher.

  “You’ve kept us waitin’ here all mornin’, Edgar!” Ada Cranford cried. “How dare you doubt this man! How dare you doubt the word of man who is familiar with just this kind of atrocity!”

  Ada turned to Heath. “Will these white slavin’ outlaws hurt our girls before they sell them, Mr. Thibodaux?”

  Visions of the bodies of the dead girls strewn over the rocks at the bottom of a canyon leapt to Heath’s mind—all the pain of the beating he took, the gunshots to his body, the tooth broken out of his head. But there was no time for guilt or pain—no time for reflection on failure.

  “They…they’ll keep them as unspoiled as possible, Mrs. Cranford,” he answered. “But if we don’t track them down—”

  “You men quit sittin’ around lookin’ at each other like a bunch of dumb dogs!” Heath looked to see Maymee Maloney standing at the back of the church. “Posse up with the one real man left in this town, and find our girls!” she cried, dabbing at her eyes.

  “I need to ride up to Thistle and bring Zeke home,” Ada Cranford said.

  “I’ll go with you, Ada,” Maymee offered. “We can take my surrey and team.” Looking to Heath, she asked, “Sh-should someone ride out and look for Clifford and Ralph?”

  “It would take too long, Maymee,” Heath began, “us not knowin’ where they are. The ladies in town can explain everything when they return…and then they can set out to meet up with us.”

  Heath was rather surprised when it was none other that Reverend Stanley’s son who asked, “What do we need to do first, Mr. Thibodaux?”

  Other men nodded in agreement with Wyatt, and Heath said, “Saddle up. Bring enough supplies for several days. Get to it now. We’re leavin’ here in ten minutes or less,” he ordered. Heath glared at Edgar Stanley. “You comin’ along to help save your daughter’s virtue…maybe her life, preacher?”

  “You best be right, Texas Ranger,” Edgar growled. “If you make a fool of me, I swear I’ll—”

  But Edgar Stanley couldn’t finish his sentence—not from where he sat on the floor rubbing at his sore jaw once Heath’s fist had met with it.

  “I’m leavin’ now,” Heath growled, “with or without you, preacher.”

  ❦

  “We’re just stoppin’ long enough for you ladies to take care of your necessaries,” Heck informed them. “No lingerin’. We gotta ride.”

  “But we’re so tired,” Vilma informed the leader of the gang of outlaws who had abducted Cricket and her friends from the old Morgan place the day before.

  “We’re so tired, what, girl?” the outlaw asked.

  Vilma tried not to cry, straightened her posture, and said, “We’re so tired, Mr. Alford.”

  Heck Alford smiled. The sight of his yellow teeth and red gums churned Cricket’s stomach. His hair was long and black—greasy as a skillet after frying fish. His beard was long too, hanging nearly to his chest.

  “Well, that’s more like it, redzee,” Heck chuckled. “You show me a little respect, and I’ll make sure you benefit for it, darlin’. You all have five minutes to take care of your business, instead of just three.”

  Quickly, Cricket and the other girls dropped to th
eir knees next to the stream, cupping water in their hands and frantically drinking.

  “I’m so thirsty!” the girl named Pearl exclaimed. Pearl was from Thistle, and Cricket and the others had learned she was the niece of Ann’s own Mr. Keel. The outlaws had taken her the day before they’d abducted Cricket and the others from Pike’s Creek.

  “I’m so dry from not havin’ enough to drink, I don’t even think I can make water this stop,” Jinny said. Jinny was from a town a day’s ride from Thistle. So was a girl named Nina. Jinny and Nina were sisters and had been abducted a day before Pearl. All this Cricket had learned during the brief stops the outlaws made in order to water and feed the horses and girls.

  Cricket was terrified—perhaps not as trembling and uncertain as she had been the first few hours after having been taken from the old Morgan place, but terrified nonetheless.

  Ann and Marie were strong, but Cricket saw the fear in their eyes as well. Of all the girls, Vilma was the only one who had attempted to speak to the dirty band of outlaw white slavers. Cricket wondered if her courage stemmed from the fact that she was somewhat red-haired (auburn-haired people were considered red-haired, after all) or if her brazenness had something to do with her being a preacher’s daughter. Maybe her faith that no harm would come to her if she spoke to the men was stronger than Cricket’s and the others’. Then again, maybe she was just a fool. Whatever the reason, Cricket was glad that outlaw boss, Heck Alford, had taken to Vilma for some reason. Vilma’s bravery in speaking to Heck and the others had found the girls with longer breaks from riding and more jerky and hardtack at mealtime.

  “You!” one of the men shouted. Cricket looked up from her place kneeling on the creek bank to see the man Heck called Patterson looking at her. He was an ugly man—uglier even than Heck—with dirty blond hair that hung near to his waist and a filthy beard full of crumbs and other unidentifiable things that Cricket guessed had probably originated in his nose.

  “Me?” she asked—though she knew he was speaking to her.

  “Yes, you,” he grumbled. “Take that little one with you when you go to do your business,” he said, pointing to Nina. “I don’t want you chatterin’ with them other friends of yours.” He looked to Marie and Ann then. “That goes for both of you too.” He pointed to Ann and instructed, “You take the one from Thistle.” Looking to Marie, he ordered, “And you take that other one there.” He pointed to Jinny and then leveled his rifle at Cricket. “Now get goin’. You all ain’t got all day.”

  Taking Nina’s hand, Cricket helped her to stand. Glancing around, she spied a piñon tree not too far off. It was small but wide and would provide a little privacy.

  “Come on, Nina,” she said. Glaring at Patterson, she mumbled, “Be a gentleman and turn your head this time please.”

  But Patterson only chuckled. “Hey, Heck,” he called to his boss. “You were right. This one does have voice in her throat after all. And she seems pretty high and mighty to boot.”

  “Well, good,” Heck said. “It’s nice to see you girls are gettin’ more friendly.”

  Gripping Nina’s hand more tightly, Cricket glared at Patterson and marched toward the piñon tree. “Just be glad the others aren’t close, Nina,” Cricket whispered to the younger girl.

  “Oh, I am,” Nina assured her.

  Cricket and Nina quickly tended to the necessaries of life and returned to where the others were already gathering. She exchanged looks of encouragement with Vilma, Ann, and Marie and felt somewhat hopeful once more.

  “Now mount up, you hussies!” Heck hollered. “We gotta long ways to go yet today.”

  Ann began to weep as she watched Heck mount Harley, and Cricket’s heart broke along with her friend’s. She knew how much Harley meant to Ann—how well she treated the animal—how tenderly. But Heck hadn’t quit spurring him since the moment he’d first mounted, and Cricket knew Ann was horrified—not that being abducted by white slavers wasn’t terrifying and horrifying enough.

  “Wait!” Nina called as Cricket began to mount the horse the outlaws had assigned to her.

  “What’s the matter, Nina?” she asked.

  “I-I hear somethin’,” Nina whispered. Suddenly, Nina’s horse whinnied and reared. As the animal began to frantically stomp the ground, Nina cried out and leapt backward in trying to avoid being trampled.

  “What in the hell is goin’ on?” Patterson shouted.

  Reaching out and taking hold of the anxious horse’s reins, Cricket soothed, “There now. Hush. You’re all right,” as she stroked the velvet of its nose.

  “What is it, Patterson?” Heck hollered as he reined in his horse.

  “Oh, somethin’ just spooked one of the horses is all,” Patterson answered.

  Cricket glanced over her shoulder to where the other men waited a little farther off. A wave of renewed terror washed over her. There were seven of them—seven girls who had been taken from their homes and families. Ten men to keep them corralled as they traveled. Or, as Heck had explained in no uncertain terms the day before, ten men who would shoot any girl who tried to escape or ride off.

  She thought of Heathro Thibodaux—wished he would come for her—for them. Yet with her next thought, she was glad he wouldn’t. He’d nearly been killed last time he’d tried to stop a gang of white slavers. Furthermore, Heck Alford had told the girls that at the first sign of a posse, he’d shoot every one of them right between the eyes.

  Therefore, Cricket didn’t know whether to wish for a posse to find them or to pray that Heck Alford, Patterson, and all the others would just drop dead for no reason.

  “Ahhhhhhh!”

  Cricket startled at the sound of Nina’s scream.

  “It bit me! The snake! It’s a rattler, and I’ve been bit!” the girl screamed.

  Cricket looked to see an enormous rattlesnake coiled up near a large rock next to Nina. The horse that had spooked reared again, pulling its reins free of Cricket’s grasp as it began stomping the ground.

  “It’s a damn diamondback, Heck!” Patterson shouted. The idiot outlaw fired his pistol at the snake but missed, and the snake struck again.

  Cricket screamed as she saw Nina crumple to the ground in agony. This time when Patterson fired, the large rattler must’ve known it was whipped—for it uncoiled, slithering off into the sagebrush nearby.

  Heck arrived then, reined in Harley, and asked Patterson, “How big was the snake?”

  Patterson shook his head. “Six or seven feet, at least.”

  “Help me!” Nina cried as she looked at the punctures in her stockings where blood was seeping out.

  “You bit more than once, girl?” Heck asked.

  “Yes!” Nina sobbed. “Twice! It bit me twice! Oh, help me, mister! I don’t wanna die!”

  “Well, darlin’,” Heck said as he drew his pistol, “I sure am sorry to hear that.”

  Cricket screamed as the sound of the gunshot echoed in her ears. She could hear the other girls scream—heard them begin to sob. But she couldn’t move; she couldn’t breathe. She could only stand there in the middle of nowhere—staring in horrified disbelief as Nina slumped to the ground. She was dead.

  ❦

  “I sure hate that we lost one, Heck,” Cricket heard Patterson say as the outlaws sat around the fire after dark that night.

  “Aw, she was dead the moment that diamondback bit her, boy,” Heck grumbled. “You know that as well as I do. And she woulda slowed us down anyhow.”

  “That’s a might lotta silver to lose though, boss,” said a man Cricket had heard Patterson call Frank. “It shore is a shame.”

  “You think we could pick up another girl along the way, Heck?” another man asked. “You know…to make up for the one we lost today?”

  But Heck shook his head. “Naw. We don’t wanna venture too close to any town now, boys. We just need to head straight for New Orleans. Six girls will do us fine. We’ll make a wagonload of money off them. ’Specially that redhead and that purty one they call Grassho
pper, or whatever it is.”

  “Cricket,” Patterson offered. “They call her Cricket.”

  Heck and the other men laughed. “Well, she didn’t chirp one word before today…so’s it puts me to wonderin’ how in the world she got a name like that.”

  The men chuckled, and Cricket wiped the tears from her cheeks. She couldn’t think of anything but Nina. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Nina’s body dropping to the ground—the way they’d left her just lying there with no protection—no grave or even rocks to keep the buzzards away. The outlaws hadn’t even taken the time to close her eyes—and it was all Cricket could think about.

  She tried to block out the sounds of the outlaws’ conversation—tried to ignore the discomfort of her hands and feet being bound. She tried not to hear the other girls weeping—trying to gasp quietly as they sobbed with sorrow for Nina and fear for their own lives.

  Closing her eyes, Cricket inhaled the warm aroma of cedar smoke, of evening grass, and of the beads of dew that were already starting to gather on its tender, green blades. She tried to imagine her daddy and Ada, wrapped in each other’s arms and kissing the way they did each evening before retiring to their bedroom. But more than anything, she envisioned Heathro Thibodaux—tried to recall the warm, moist, sweet flavor of the driven kiss he’d forced on her little more than a week before. What she wouldn’t give to have that kiss at that moment. Oh, she’d thought it was harsh and rather lustful only eight (or was it nine?) days ago. But now—as she lay there allowing the memory of it to bathe her in a moment of escape—she wished for Heathro Thibodaux’s driven kiss more than anything! She even wished his danged bull was chasing her through Mr. Burroughs’s pasture—that Mr. Thibodaux was hollering at her to get her fanny over the fence and then helping her do it—that he was spitting on her foot and rubbing it in.