“Do not look to me to end your confusion. I have never understood madmen.” Clover edged along the bed until she was able to rest her back against the rough log wall.
“You saying that Dillingsworth ain’t right in the head?” Big Jim demanded as he poured some homebrew into a battered cup.
“Does his behavior seem to be that of a sane man to you?”
Big Jim shrugged. “The man hankers after you so he takes you.” His companions nodded in agreement.
“You are a master of simplicity, Mr. Wallis.” She watched him frown and eye her narrowly, not certain if he was being insulted. “I believe what you are planning is a hanging offense,” she warned, “and I do not believe that a completely sane man plans to do something that will get him hanged.”
“They gotta prove we did it before they can try and hang us, and there ain’t gonna be anyone left to say that it was us.”
Clover slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. She knew of only one witness Big Jim and his cohorts did not know about—Willie. Although it was hard to say if anyone would believe the boy, even if he was able to tell what he saw.
She was tired and afraid, and she could see no way from the trap she was in, or from the trap she had inadvertently helped them set for Ballard. He would do exactly what he was told in the vain hope that he could save her. If there was no safe way to bring help, he would come alone. He would be one man against five. Formidable odds.
“That’s it, woman. You get some sleep. We want you well-rested when our friend gets here ‘cause we’ll be keeping you real busy.”
As she listened to their crude guffaws, Clover wished she had Mabel’s ability to spit. It seemed the perfect response to their taunts. A night of pure horror, perhaps many nights of such horror, was being planned for her, and they laughed. Anger twisted her roiling stomach, but she was too tired to act on it. Besides, railing at her thickheaded captors would gain her nothing. It seemed strange to go to sleep when she was in such danger, but sleep would at least clear her head and give her a respite from her fear and worry. It would also give her the strength to get away if, by some miracle, a chance for escape presented itself.
Thomas sipped from a tankard of ale and stared at the man called Ben. He was a hulking, filthy brute, and Thomas was a little embarrassed to be seen with him. He needed a strong man whom he could easily control, however. Besides, he doubted he would meet anyone he knew in the dirty little inn, the only one in this squalid town a few miles south of Pottersville.
“Why are you staying here?” grumbled Ben as he scratched his straggly gray beard. “Coulda set yourself closer.”
“I am here because I would rather not alert Ballard MacGregor to my presence.” Thomas glanced around the small, dark common room of the inn with ill-disguised disdain. “‘Tis a poor place for a man ofmy stature, but I suspect Pottersville is an even more wretched place.”
“It ain’t a bad town.” Ben took a long swallow of ale and wiped his mouth on the stained sleeve of his buckskin coat. “We got the girl. Did just what you told us to and it worked real good. We got her trussed up back at Big Jim’s place.”
“Ye-es. I wish I had taken the time to find someplace other than that flea-infested hovel to hold her in.” Thomas finished off his ale and stood up. “Shall we go?” He started out of the inn.
Ben cursed, gulped down the rest of his ale, and hurried after Thomas. “Ain’t no need to hurry. She ain’t going nowheres.”
“True, but MacGregor may stumble upon his loose mare sooner than we planned. I do not want him to know what has happened to Clover until I choose to tell him.”
“Are you sure MacGregor will do just what you tell him to do? He ain’t never struck me as the sort of man to just walk into a trap, like a lamb to the slaughter. He be a fighting man and a good one too.”
“I have his little wife. He will do exactly what I tell him.” Thomas ran a finger down his crooked nose. “I have that bastard now and he will soon be wishing he never set foot in Langleyville.”
Ballard frowned as he rode up to his house. He had felt uneasy for an hour or more, unable to shake the conviction that something was dreadfully wrong. Finally he had ordered the others to continue their search for the mare and had spurred his horse into agallop for home. He dismounted and leaped up the steps, into the house.
“Clover!” he bellowed and grew even more concerned when there was no answer.
Fighting his burgeoning panic, he bounded up the staircase. He searched every room twice, then ran back downstairs and inspected the rooms again to be sure she had not fallen asleep somewhere, which he had caught her doing a time or two. As he went back outside to check the outer buildings, he began to move faster. Soon he was running from place to place. His calls for Clover grew more frantic. Back inside the house, he slumped against the kitchen table and tried to gather his wits.
Suddenly he noticed that the outside kitchen door was wide open. He was certain he had not opened it and moved to take a closer look. When he saw the splintered door frame and broken latch, he realized someone had forced his way into the house and taken Clover. He was sure of it.
Cursing, he took his musket down from over the fireplace and loaded it. What was he to do? He did not know who had taken Clover, although he had a strong suspicion, and he did not know where they had gone. He was alone with no idea of how many men he would face if he did find her. Without some answers to his questions, it would be foolhardy to plan his next move.
He sank into the heavy rocker in front of the fireplace and tried to think. Big Jim and Thomas had to be behind Clover’s disappearance. Ballard could almost hear Big Jim’s threats at the spring revel. He thoroughly berated himself for not taking those threats more seriously. Instead of keeping close toClover, instead of guarding and protecting her, he had run off to find his mare, leaving her completely alone and defenseless. Yet again he had failed to protect her from danger,
Muskrat rubbed against his legs and he scratched the animal’s battle-scarred ears. “I failed her, Muskrat. It seems I am always failing her.”
The cat stretched up on his hind legs, placed his big front paws on Ballard’s knees, and hoarsely meowed. Ballard recalled how he was always catching Clover slipping the big tomcat treats and shook his head. The cat had begun to leave his catches at the kitchen door to impress her. Several times Ballard had come home to find a dead mouse or other small creature covered by a linen napkin, awaiting the proper burial that Clover insisted upon.
“I cannae just sit here and moon over her, Muskrat.” Ballard gently pushed the cat away and stood up. “There must be something I can do. Maybe there is a trail I can follow,” he muttered as he walked to the door, Muskrat ambling behind him.
Outside, he found the hoofprints of several horses. No effort had been made to hide their trail. Clover’s abductors had known he would not be there. They led around the house and into the forest. Ballard was puzzled by the small human footprints that blended with the other prints and disappeared into the forest. Someone was already following Clover and her abductors. A small someone. Since Damien and Clayton were still with Shelton, Lambert, and Adam, Ballard had no idea who that small someone could be.
He stared into the woods for a long moment before returning to the house. He was going tofollow that trail. It was probably not the safest or wisest thing to do, but he could not just sit and wait for some word from her kidnappers.
