The poor lad was grief-stricken; Babcock wanted to pat the young man on the shoulder. Now he wished he did have candy in his parcel.
“Of course, I’ll do what I can. Let me get home and prepare a few things, then I’ll be on my way.”
* * * *
“Poor Cyrus! He must be so worried!”
“Nora, I’m sure her parents are worried too.”
“Of course.” Nora wrapped the remaining biscuits from breakfast along with some dried beef they had.
Babcock put them in his saddlebag. He ran his hand over the worn leather. Damn, I should have been dead a dozen times over. We’ve gotten through a lot together. And now we’re trying to save a girl, again.
“Honey?” Nora said, breaking into his thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“It’ll be okay. You’ll find her. Now I wish you had gotten more sleep last night.” She winked at him.
“Lord, I’m glad I didn’t. If I have to depart this world, at least I had one last night of heaven.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He turned to go and she placed her hand on his arm. He stopped and looked down at her concerned face. How many years had it been since he saved her bonnet from that dusty, dirty street? He recalled that first encounter and how the West Texas wind whipped her hair around her face like raven wings. He had been a seasoned Ranger and she was a young woman, only seventeen. But the moment he returned her bonnet to her, they both knew they’d be seeing more of each other.
She gently squeezed his arm. “Promise me you’ll come back. I need you. Remember, you’re my hero.”
He rankled and shrugged out of her grasp. “I’m no hero.”
“You are to me.”
He only nodded and walked out the door.
* * * *
A small crowd had gathered in front of the store to see him off. No other men volunteered to accompany him. That was fine with Babcock, as he preferred to work alone and anyone else would probably slow him down.
As he gathered the last of his supplies, he felt a tug on his arm. He looked down to see Mrs. Nederhoff. “Bring her back, no matter what’s happened to her.” Her eyes held his.
He couldn’t look away. “Do you know what you’re saying? No matter what? What kind of life would she have?”
She stood firm and squeezed his arm. “Bring her back, no matter what.” The strength of her conviction energized him.
“Yes, ma’am.” He mounted his horse and winced in pain. He’d have to try the ointment sometime soon. He was glad he had thrown it in his bag. At least his pain gave him extra incentive for a swift return.
Cyrus shuffled his feet. He said to Babcock in a low voice, “I sure hope that Callihan fella’s not planning on taking her down to Mexico to sell her.”
There were a few gasps in the crowd. Babcock knew they were all thinking it, Cyrus just happened to be the one to say it aloud. Babcock responded, “Actually, that could work in her favor. If he plans to sell her, he’ll keep her in good shape. Pure girls fetch a higher price.” More gasps arose from the crowd. Babcock had no patience for such drama and was eager to be on his way.
“Please bring back my little girl,” Mr. Nederhoff pleaded.
Babcock glanced at Mrs. Nederhoff and her words resonated in his head. Bring her back, no matter what.
* * * *
Babcock left town in the direction of the Nederhoff farm, under the assumption that she was nabbed on her way home. Happy to have the town behind him, he could focus on tracking.
In no time he was able to discern her footprints. Most tracks were horse tracks in the middle of the road, so hers at the edge stood out. He saw she hadn’t veered from the road. Then he noticed where there had been a scuffle. He dismounted to see more clearly. Yes, there had been an altercation here and it went off the path. He followed the marks and found the small package she had been carrying. Babcock was disgusted with the Nederhoffs for missing such simple signs. I suppose times are changing. Folks can’t seem to handle the simplest things anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if people’ll soon forget how to do things like prime a pump.
He looked around more and was relieved to find no traces of blood. It looked like Callihan had kidnapped her, not harmed her, yet. Babcock placed the package in the road for the Nederhoffs to find and thought about the path Callihan would take. Once he had her, he’d probably take a direct path to Mexico, roads be damned.
Sure enough, it didn’t take long to find the horse tracks heading directly south. The sand and dirt had been kicked up, so Babcock knew Callihan was in a hurry.
“I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch.” It was a race to the border.
* * * *
Callihan had made no effort to hide his tracks. Babcock assumed Callihan was thinking that speed was on his side. Babcock galloped when the trail was easy to follow, standing in the stirrups when possible. Lord, when will this ointment start working? At times he walked to find the trail.
By early afternoon he found their campground from the night before. Good, I’m gaining on them. The fire had been small. It appeared that only one person had been by the fire. He studied the bark of the nearest tree and found rope fibers. So Helen had been tied to the tree. He studied the ground and froze when he saw blood on the dirt. He couldn’t make sense of the evidence. Then he looked more closely and found white threads in a small area. The same type of material that might be used to make petticoats.
He felt dread grow in his chest. Maybe Callihan didn’t care about the money? Maybe he couldn’t wait? Bring her back, no matter what. Then another voice rose up from the past. If she’s ruined … Babcock pushed it from his mind. How long had it been since he thought about that? He had to focus on finding Helen. He tried not to think about the white fibers.
He rode at full speed until dark. He found a small creek and made camp. While bedding down for the night, he thought about a second scene he had come across during the day. The tracks had been clear then it looked like the horse had gone in circles. The horse had meandered and both Callihan and Helen had been on foot. Just off the road, Babcock found a bloody strip of white cloth, just like the fibers he had found earlier. He didn’t know what to make of it. He coiled it until all the bloody spots were aligned. It looked like it had been wrapped around something, bigger than a leg or an arm. The head or a thigh? He hoped she hadn’t been snake bit. If that happened, there was little he could do for her.
Babcock drifted to sleep. He was young again, twenty-one or twenty-two? They had been fighting the Comanches and Apaches daily. A father had been to town and returned home to find it burned, his horses stolen, his wife filled with arrows and scalped, and his fourteen-year-old daughter was gone. The father told Babcock’s group, “She has yellow hair and blue eyes. I knew we shouldn’t have come out here to this God-forsaken land. If you find her and they’ve had her, if she’s ruined ….”
Babcock’s dreams were haunted by eyes. Those blue eyes that followed him through decades and beyond. Were they begging for mercy, pleading for relief, or begging to go home? Perhaps the glassy eyes no longer made sense of the world? Or was that something he had told himself to ease his guilty conscience?
The sound of the gunshot woke him with a start. He tried to listen over his gasping breath. Was the gunshot from his dreams or was it real? He heard his horse nicker nearby and he relaxed. It was the dream. This situation is bringing up things best left forgotten. It won’t end the same way this time. But I hope I can spare her the same horror. The sky was turning from black to blue, almost sunup. He packed his gear. Today I’ll find her.
* * * *
The tracks