The top edge of the sun was barely peeking over the eastern horizon Tuesday morning when Wendell MacWherter left his house and walked to the livery stable to feed and water the horses. There was a distinct chill in the air. He exhaled puffs of steam in the cool air, and he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat as he trudged toward the Canadian side of town.
Taking on the livery stable was proving to be a profitable enterprise, but the down side of taking on this new business responsibility was the necessary task of caring for so much livestock before he had even fully awakened. The animals must be cared for before he could even enjoy breakfast with his family, requiring that he get up at least an hour earlier each day. Still, in spite of his own weariness, he could not deny that dawn was the most beautiful time of the day.
He took the back way this morning, as he occasionally did, walking through the grassy areas behind each of the businesses on the west side of the street. It was a beautiful, crisp, clear morning, and he turned his gaze to the mountains in the west that reflected the early morning sunshine, marveling at their unique, rugged beauty. As a former eastern city dweller, he felt a particular appreciation for the breathtaking splendor of the mountains. There was simply nothing in the east that could compare with the high peaks of the Rocky Mountains. But as he observed that jagged, rocky crest, he noticed the seasonal changes that were occurring. There was fresh snow on the high peaks that had not been there the day before.
As he came around the backside of the general store, he came to an abrupt halt, staring with wide eyes at the unexpected sight of a horse that stood cropping grass on the knoll behind the stable, waiting to be let in for its morning feed. The horse was fully tacked.
It was easy to recognize the mare as Marie's horse, her flashy gray on white leopard Appaloosa, for there was no other animal like it in the whole Montana territory, and probably not in the Alberta territory, either.
He looked around, puzzled. "Doctor Dumont?"
Hearing his voice, the mare raised her head from the patch of grass, and nickered a greeting through her nostrils, happy to see him. Understanding that it would require a human to remove the saddle and bridle, she moved toward him, ears pricked forward. She came right up to him, nudging him with her soft, whiskered muzzle, as if asking for his assistance.
Wendell grasped her bridle and led her toward the stable, and as he reached the structure's back door, he saw a movement in the cemetery, attracting his startled attention. Standing in the middle of the cemetery, grazing among the headstones, was Jack Craddock's bay quarter horse.
His pulse quickened.
Marshal Craddock was very meticulous in the care of his horses, and Wendell understood immediately that if the horses were here, fully tacked, the animals had either somehow gotten away from their riders, or else something terrible must have happened to them. He feared the latter.
He turned his gaze to the wilderness beyond the boundaries of town, a panicked hand on top of his head, as he searched the horizon. There was no sign of Doctor Dumont or Marshal Craddock. It was obvious that the two horses had returned to town on their own sometime during the night.
Quickly, Wendell pulled open the wide stable doors, led the mare inside, and tied her to a support post. Then he dashed from the stable, and ran down the street toward Corporal Bennett's quarters. He did not stop running until his body slammed hard against Clive's front door, and he began beating on it, frantically, with his fists.
Startled from a sound sleep, Clive nearly went straight to the ceiling. Sitting bolt upright, he turned startled eyes to the door on which Wendell was still pounding, and he heard the banker's frantic voice, shouting, "Corporal Bennett! Wake up!"
Rubbing a hand across his eyes in an attempt to drive the lingering drowsiness from them, he called, "Hang on, Mr. MacWherter! Let me get my pants on!"
Wendell continued to bang on the door. "Corporal Bennett, open up! This is urgent!"
Clive knew Wendell to be a rather nervous man who often jumped to conclusions, so it was difficult to determine whether it was a real emergency, or just something that Wendell perceived to be an emergency. Wondering why the banker had not summoned the marshal, and irritated by the relentless pounding on his door, Clive groaned his frustration as he rolled out of bed, tangling his legs in the sheets, and nearly tripped, performing a funny little dance to recover his balance. He offered a silent thank you that no one had seen that, then reached for his trousers and stepped into them, then pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders as he went to the door and yanked it open.
Wendell's beating fists nearly struck Clive in the face, and the Mountie took a startled step back as his hand shot up to deflect the blow. "What is it?" he asked with annoyance.
"Their horses came back alone," Wendell said, a short statement, simple and to the point.
There was no need for the banker to explain who "they" were. Clive knew instantly. The two men stared at one another for a brief moment, then Clive said, "I'll get my boots on."
Quickly, he pulled on his socks and his boots, then, without taking the time to put on his jacket, he sprinted down the street toward the stable with Wendell behind him, trying to keep up with his longer, more athletic, strides. As he ran, Clive was forced to accept the realization that Sally and Lucy had been correct in their assumption that something was wrong, and he was forced, with a sinking heart, to admit that they had lost precious time in starting a search for them.
Still tied to the support post, Marie's mare whinnied anxiously when she saw him enter the stable. Jack's gelding had wandered in through the open door, and was waiting patiently at its stall door. It turned its head to look at him with a placid expression. The gelding was nearer, so Clive examined it first, noticing immediately that Jack's rifle was still in its scabbard. There was no blood on the saddle to indicate that the rider had been injured, but the horse had several cuts and scratches.
Next, he went to the mare. Marie's doctor's bag was missing, indicating that she must have taken it with her, wherever she had gone, but, like Jack's gelding, the mare's legs and flanks were scratched.
Wendell was watching over his shoulder as the Mountie examined the lacerations. "What do you think happened?" he asked.
Clive shook his head, bewildered. "I don't know, Mr. MacWherter." He indicated the lacerations. "Those could have been caused by briars," he suggested. "That would mean they've run through the forests, somewhere, possibly in a panic."
Wendell looked skeptical. "Go far enough in any direction, and you're likely to go through a forest at some point."
"Yes, but they couldn'thave gone that far. We'll concentrate on the nearby forests. The question is, did they travel to Canada or to the U.S.?"
"Can't you track them?" Wendell asked. "The marshal has been teaching you to track."
Clive glanced at him, impatiently, his own feelings of inadequacy in regards to his tracking skills surfacing in the form of resentment. "Do you know how many horse tracks there are leading in and out of town? We didn't even see which direction they came from! That would have at least been something." He paused to think with the rational mind of a lawman. "All right, where did you first see the horses?"
"The mare was grazing on that knoll behind the stable. The marshal's horse was in the cemetery."
Clive nodded. "All right. That would seem to indicate that they probably came in from the west or the north. That narrows it down, some."
Wendell was shaking his head. "Maybe. That is still a lot of territory, Corporal."
"I know that!" Clive snapped, then instantly regretted his display of temper when Wendell's face took on an expression silmilar to a childish pout. He forced himself to calm down. "I'm sorry, Wendell," he said, using the banker's first name as a friendly gesture. "I'm just trying to figure out the best course of action, here."
Wendell nodded, accepting the apology.
"All right," Clive continued. "Would you saddle my horse? I'm going to round up some men to form a search party."
Clive started out the door, but bumped in to Sally as she was coming in. She had spent the entire night at Marie's front window, watching the front gate in the hopes that her friend would come in, tired and weary from a long night of caring for a patient. She had finally dozed off on the lounge. She had awakened in time to see Clive run in to the stable a few minutes earlier, she had realized by his behavior that something was wrong. Quickly, she had checked on Lucy to assure herself that the young girl was sleeping, then she had hurried to the stable to voice her concerns.
"Corporal, Marie never came back last night," she told him as each took one step back from the other in the aftermath of their collision. Her eyes came to rest on the Appaloosa mare that was being unsaddled by Wendell, then turned quickly to Clive again. "That's Marie's horse. Is she back? Where is she?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Duffield."
"What about the marshal?"
Clive did not answer, but his eyes shifted toward the gelding that was still waiting beside its stall.
Realization dawned. She knew then that the horses had come back without their riders. "Something has happened to them, hasn't it?" she asked, fearfully.
"We don't know that," he answered, trying to be patient, but the realization that he should have acted promptly the night before had left him with the urge to hurry, now. "Any number of things could have happened."
"Like what?" she demanded.
"Well, they could have been thrown from their horses ---"
"Marie, maybe," she said, doubtfully, "but not the marshal. He stays on a horse like he's glued to the saddle." Her eyes were harsh with worry and accusation as she demanded, "Are you finally planning to do something about this, Corporal?"
"I'm organizing a search party right now."
"You should have done that last night, if you hadn't been more intent on your dinner than you were on doing your job! And because you couldn't be bothered, something terrible may have happened to them! I thought they were your friends!"
Her words stung, and his first instinct was to defend himself. "They are my friends, Mrs. Duffield, and I care very much what might have happened to them, but it doesn't change the fact that a search last night would have been severely restricted. Do you have any idea how dark it is in the woods at night?"
"The woods?" Sally asked, hopefully. "You have an idea where they are, then?"
He drew a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh that turned into a drifting puff of steam around his head. "Not really, but judging from the scratches on the horses' legs, they must have been running through a heavily wooded area. The point is, we're wasting time discussing who is to blame. I need to get some men together to start searching for them." He nodded toward someone behind her, and added, "And you need to take care of Lucy."
She turned around and saw that Lucy was standing behind her, bundled in her heavy robe, staring with wide eyes at the horse that she knew belonged to her guardian. "What's happened?" she implored, looking and sounding much younger than her thirteen years. "Where's Marie?"
"I'm going to find her, Lucy, I promise," Clive said, reassuringly.
Sally went to the girl and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, noticing that she was shivering, either from the cold or from worry. "Come on, let's go back inside the house."
"I want to help," Lucy insisted.
"So do I, but I'm afraid we'd just get in the way. Neither of us could keep up with them. The best we can do is pray for their safe return."
She guided the girl back to the house, while Clive walked briskly to the small shack near the stable, where his friend, Archie Stanton, had taken residence. He hesitated briefly at the entrance, knowing from past experience that Archie tended to react with all the charm and personality of an angry grizzly when abruptly awakened. Bracing himself, he knocked loudly on the door.
"Archie, wake up!"
He heard some inaudible grumbling from inside the shack, then a moment later, the door was yanked open, and the twin barrels of a shotgun were thrust in Clive's face.
"This had better be good, Boy-o," Archie growled. He was dressed only in a pair of unflattering long underwear, and his fine textured salt and pepper hair stood on end, giving him the appearance of a wildman.
Without even flinching, Clive shoved the shotgun away from his face. "Don't point that at me. Get dressed. I need your help. Marie's and Jack's horses came in during the night without them."
The sleep instantly vanished from Archie's eyes, replaced by concern. He liked Marie, and he respected Marshal Craddock. "You goin' searching for 'em?"
"Yes. Can I count on you?"
Archie did not hesitate. "I'll be ready in two shakes."
Clive gave one quick nod of appreciation as Archie withdrew the shotgun and slammed the door closed. Then the Mountie returned to his quarters to get his jacket and his rifle. Next, he rounded up nearly a dozen men who resided in and around town, all willing to help search for the marshal and the doctor. They met at the stable, and when they were all mounted, they turned to the Mounted Policeman for instructions.
Clive gazed at their solemn expressions, making eye contact with each of them, and said, "Gentlemen, we don't know what we're up against, so I want us to split up into four groups of three riders. There is safety in numbers."
"How much do we know about where they were going and what they were doing?" asked Dom.
"All we know is that Doctor Dumont left a note for her ward, Lucy Walker, explaining that she had been summoned yesterday afternoon to tend to a shooting victim. She did not say where the shooting was, but Marshal Craddock must have felt there was a potential danger, because he accompanied her. They haven't been seen or heard from since. There is a possibility that the Englishman, Oliver Knapp, may be involved in this, and if he is, then he's armed and dangerous, so be careful. We know he had a romantic interestest in Doctor Dumont that she did not share, and we also know that he fired a shot at the marshal last week that would have been fatal if the bullet had found its mark."
The men exchanged glances, and Clive understood what they were thinking, but it was something he did not want to even consider.
"If one or both of them is injured, then time is important. If you find anything, fire a shot to alert the others. Dom, you and Archie will ride with me. We'll head northwest, toward Antler Cove. That is where the marshal and I tracked Knapp, before we turned back. The rest of you can choose your partners and your territories, but we're pretty sure they moved into heavily forested areas due to the condition of their horses, so that is where we need to focus our search. Good luck to you," he added.
The group of riders spurred their mounts into a gallop, and rode out of town in a cloud of dust, then spread out to cover more territory.
Wendell watched them, wistfully, until they disappeared over the horizon, wishing he had improved his riding skills to the degree that he could accompany them. He knew he would only slow them down, or worse, get himself hopelessly lost in the woods if they got ahead of him.
With a sigh, he fed and watered the remaining horses, then trudged back home for breakfast with his family, even though he no longer had any appetite.
Marie awakened to the sound of someone snoring softly in her ear, and for a brief moment, her imagination carried her back to an earlier time, when she was safe at home with Jacques sleeping soundly beside her. Then, as wakefullness returned, she became aware of the uncomfortable chill in the air, and the hard ground beneath her. The full reality returned in a rush of despair, disappointment, and a sinking heart. Jacques was dead, buried in the town cemetery, and she was trapped in the rubble of an old house with Jack Craddock sleeping beside her.
Sometime during the night, she had turned over to face him to utilize the shared body warmth that was their only method of preventing hypothermia, for the temperatures had fallen significantly throughout the night. Her hands were nestled between their bodies in an attempt to warm her cold fingers, and her head was tucked beneath his chin, her forehead pressed against his neck. His left arm was draped across her waist, and his left leg was bent, with the knee propped against her leg.
In spite of the uncomfortable cold, a slight smile of amusement turned up the corners of her lips as she wondered: What would Iris Metzger think if she could see this?
No doubt, she would find it shocking. At that moment, Marie was not interested in what would or would not be deemed proper. She only knew that she was very cold.
She lay quietly for several minutes wihout moving, listening to Jack's deep, even breathing, but she was too chilled to join him in finding additional sleep. She was shivering from the cold, and feared that the involuntary shaking would awaken him, so she very slowly and very carefully disentangled herself from his arms and legs, and slid away from him.
Her attempts to avoid disturbing him failed. He stirred slightly, and came awake.
"What's wrong?" he asked, drowsily, raising his head to gaze at her through the dim light inside the cellar.
"Nothing," she replied, softly. "Go back to sleep."
He yawned, but made no attempt to try to go back to sleep. Instead, he rubbed his face with his hands in an attempt to drive away the lingering drowsiness from his eyes. "Aww, what I wouldn't give for a hot cup of coffee!" he exclaimed, his voice muffled behind his hands. Then he lowered his hands, and tucked them under his armpits. "Damn, it's cold!" he added.
Marie was not offended by his rare use of profanity. Jack was not a man who typically cussed, but at that moment, he had merely spoken aloud the sentiment she had been thinking. "It inspires a greater appreciation for all those things we take for granted, doesn't it?" she asked, wistfully. "All those little luxuries and pleasures we never really think about." She was still shivering, noticeably. "Right now, all I can think about is a warm blanket. Or a warm fire. I don't suppose there's any way ----"
He was shaking his head negatively before she could complete the sentence, so she did not bother to finish it.
"Too dangerous," she agreed, stating the obvious reason before he could say it.
He nodded. "As much as I would like to, we can't risk it. A single spark, 'n this dry lumber would go up like a torch," he said. "'Course, a good strong blaze would bring help, but I couldn't guarantee the condition we'd be in when they got here!"
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, and she swiped them away, angrily, trying hard not to succumb to the desire to weep. She was so cold, so tired, so hungry, so thirsty, and her ankle was swollen and throbbing incessantly. She was filthy, her dress was torn, her hair had come loose from its pins, and was a matted mess. She was determined that she would not complain, for complaining would solve nothing, but she could not check the flow of tears that spilled over the rims of her eyes and down her cheeks before she brushed them away.
Jack saw the tears, and his heart went out to her. "Marie," he said, softly. Ignoring the twinge in his sore rib, he scooted across the cold floor to comfort her. "It's all right."
"No, it isn't," she retorted with another angry swipe of her hand to remove the wetness from her cheek.. "I'm acting like a spoiled baby."
"No, you're not," he told told her, soothingly. "Here. I'll keep you as warm as I can," he promised, drawing her into his arms.
She snuggled against him for warmth and comfort. "I'm sorry, Jack," she said, sorrowfully, laying her head against his chest.
"What for?" he asked, surprised.
"For getting you in to this. I should have seen what kind of man he is before we even left Paris. Maybe I did know, and I chose to ignore it. Whatever the reason, if I hadn't been silent about it, this would not have happened."
He held her tighter. "You listen to me, Marie. This ain't yer fault. you hear me? Knapp owns this, all by hisself. You ain't his keeper, and you couldn't have known all those years ago that he was capable of doin' somethin' like this. You couldn't've known what was in that sick, twisted mind o' his."
"He was going to kill you," she said. "If that had happened, I don't think I could bear it."
"He didn't kill me, and he ain't gonna kill me. Until he's behind bars, I ain't gonna let my guard down." He rubbed his hand up and down her back, reassuringly. "At least we're safe for awhile. He probably thinks we're dead right now."
"You shouldn't have come with me," she lamented. "You'd be safe at home, right now."
"No, I wouldn't. I'd be out lookin' fer you, worried sick about what that hombre had done to ya. No, I'm glad I'm here." He stroked her hair. "Do ya realize, this is the longest I've ever had ya to myself? Now, you'd better stop those tears, or'll they'll freeze. You'll have ice pellets rollin' down yer face!"
She almost laughed through her tears, but she was touched by his concern, as well. She did not doubt for a moment that Jack would have searched all night for her, whether it was dark or not. Her arms encircled his waist. Perhaps he was one of those things she had always taken for granted..
He rested his cheek on top of her head. "We'll be all right, Marie. It'll warm up in a few hours."
She sat very still, savoring the warmth of his body as she listened to his steady heartbeat, and prayed for a rescue before night fell again.
GO TO CHAPTER SIXTEEN