Win kicked out the fire, grabbed Seth’s horse, and went after the other two horses.
They walked west for a good hour or so, trying to put some distance between them and the three bodies. Eli had no idea who they had been, nor did he care. And if they had families or loved ones concerned about their whereabouts that was just too damn bad.
Seth was limping from the pain and finally—mercifully—Win led them through a small copse of trees and into a clearing near the creek they’d been following. Win unrolled a bedroll and Eli knew it would be too painful for Seth to sit. “Lie down on your stomach, Seth.”
Seth nodded and lay down on the blanket. Both men unsaddled the three horses and hobbled them so the horses could graze and drink from the creek without fear of them running away. Eli retrieved a bag of jerky from his saddlebag, grabbed his canteen, and offered both to Seth before taking a seat next to him. Seth refused the jerky but he eased up on his side and took a long draw from the canteen as Win gathered wood for a fire. Eli pulled off his still-wet shirt and spread it out on the grass to dry.
The night was hot and muggy, and they certainly didn’t need a fire for warmth, but Eli did need the light to better examine Seth’s face. As they waited for the fire to take hold, Eli dug around in his saddlebag, looking to see if he had anything to give Seth for the pain, and came up empty.
“Why did they do that to me, Uncle Eli?”
Eli suspected the branding was one part of a larger ritual that he and Win had interrupted and could only guess what the men had in store for Seth. But three men, a bottle of whiskey, and a young boy was a recipe for all types of deviant behavior. But telling Seth that would open the door to more questions Eli had no interest in answering.
“Evil lurks among men, Seth. And there is no viable answer to that question. Just take comfort in knowing they’ll never do it again.”
“But why me?”
“You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, Seth. They chose you because you were available at a time when they were seeking to fulfill their evil desires.”
Seth thought about that for a few moments and then said, “I’m glad you and Win killed ’em. You sure they’re dead?”
“Rest assured, they’re dead,” Eli said as he pulled a rag from his saddlebag and dampened it with water from the canteen. “Roll up on your left side, Seth, and let me examine your face.”
Seth rolled onto his side, and Eli gently cleaned his face. “You have some scrapes and some bruising but no deep lacerations.”
“Lacerwhat?” Seth asked.
“Lacerations. Cuts.” Eli scooted back and said, “You can lie back down now.”
As they settled in for the night, it finally dawned on Eli that he’d killed his first man and he wondered if he’d have to deal with mental recriminations later because, at the moment, he felt no remorse whatsoever.
CHAPTER 12
Abigail Turner was getting worried. It wasn’t unusual for Emma to stay out after dark catching fireflies with her older cousins or whatever else they could find to do to occupy their time. But she couldn’t remember Emma ever staying out this late. Although she had been trying to allow Emma more freedom, staying out until eleven p.m. was going too far. She pulled a lantern off a peg near the door, lit it, and stepped out into the dark night.
Abby decided her first course of action was to check her mother’s house, hoping Emma had decided to stay over. When Abigail reached her parents’ house, she climbed the steps up to the porch that fronted the house and eased the front door open. Over the years, as the Ridgeway clan grew more prosperous, additions were made to the main house and it now contained six bedrooms, a parlor, the main living area fronted by a large fireplace, and a large kitchen. Hoping not to wake her mother, she shifted the lantern to her left hand so that her body would shield most of the light.
Stepping lightly across the yellow pine floors, she walked toward the rear of the house, where three of the bedrooms were, the others, upstairs. Despite her best attempt at being quiet, she heard her mother say, “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Ma, Abby,” she said as she walked toward her parents’ bedroom in the far back corner of the house.
There was a rustle, a squeak, then the sound of feet on the floor. “What in the world are you doin’ prowlin’ around the house in the middle of the night?” Frances asked, stepping out in the hall as she belted her robe.
“Lookin’ for Emma.”
“She’s not here, Abby. When’s the last time you saw her?”
“At supper. Have you seen her since then?”
Frances shook her head. “No. I saw her earlier in the day. Think she might have decided to spend the night with one of her cousins?”
“Not without asking. She knows better than that.”
“Check the barn?”
“Not yet. Thought I’d try here first.”
“Let me put on some shoes and I’ll help you look,” Frances said. She ducked back into her bedroom and returned a moment later, wearing a pair of moccasins an old Ponca woman had given her.
Abby followed her mother through the house as her mind spun with possible locations where Emma might be. The bunkhouse was off-limits to any and all children and there were several other shacks scattered across the ranch, but none close enough to walk to. That left the barn, or the other three houses owned by her brothers and sister. Abby’s mind returned to the present when her mother reached above the fireplace and took down the double-barrel, ten-gauge shotgun.
A tingle of dread raced down Abby’s spine. “What are you thinkin’, Ma?”
“I’m not,” Frances said. “And don’t you start thinkin’ about a bunch of bad things, either. The shotgun is in case we run into varmint while we’re lookin’.”
Abby started biting the nail on her right index finger, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood.
“Quit bitin’ your fingernails,” Frances scolded. “We’ll find Emma.” Frances didn’t need to check if the shotgun was loaded—it remained that way at all times. She walked over to a shelf by the front door and grabbed a few extra shells and slipped them into the pocket of her robe. “Think we need another lantern?” Frances asked.
With her apprehension about Emma’s welfare on the verge of spinning out of control, Abby said, “No, let’s just go.” She grabbed her lantern from the table and hurried toward the door. She stepped out into the darkness, and Frances followed behind. “I don’t even know where to start,” Abby said.
“We’ll start at the barn and work out from there,” Frances said in an even voice, trying to ease her daughter’s worry. “Emma has to be here somewhere. We’ll find her.”
“I’m goin’ to wring her neck when we do,” Abby said angrily.
After searching the barn and the surrounding area outside, they found no sign of Emma. Frances and Abby checked the smokehouse just in case and went house by house, inquiring about Emma’s whereabouts. They’d looked everywhere they could think to look and there was still no Emma.
After being awakened, Eli’s wife, Clara, and Rachel joined the search and they now had three lanterns burning.
“Let’s pause for a minute and think this through,” Frances said as she grabbed Abby’s arm and pulled her to a stop.
“We can’t stop,” Abby shouted as she yanked away from her mother’s grasp.
“We’re not stopping, Abby,”