keep the girls in the wagon, they’d be safe for a while. Only, Four might slip out looking for rocks or Two might decide to test her skills in tracking him. One of them could refuse to use the chamber pot and want to make their circle in the open. Number One might decide it was time for her to take over the world.
Trapper knew one fact: With Colonel Chapman’s daughters, he needed to expect the unexpected.
His head was starting to hurt more from worrying than he did from his black eyes or split lip, or bruises and cuts.
A short little man who looked like the reincarnation of Napoleon appeared and strutted over to Trapper. The newcomer rocked back on his heels as if he was teasing. “You must be Trapper Hawkins. I must say, you are far more trouble to track than that fat teamster. We lost your trail the third day out. Since then we’ve been riding back and forth, trying to guess where you were. It was pure luck we found your horses last night.”
Trapper didn’t speak or move. It wasn’t hard for him to look half dead; he pretty much was.
The little man turned and yelled at his men, “I told you to capture him, not beat him senseless. If he dies, one or two of you will be buried in the same grave.”
The beefy guy grumbled and finally said, “I don’t see that it makes any difference. You told us we was gonna kill him anyway.”
“And that little widow with him,” another added. “But I’d like to spend some time with her first.”
All three started arguing over Emery.
Trapper sat calmly on the ground with his hands tied behind him and blood dripping from several cuts on his face. His one thought was which one of these outlaws he’d kill first.
The little Napoleon pushed them aside and stood in front of Trapper.
“Sorry about my men. They can’t seem to follow orders,” he said, as if there was nothing unusual about Trapper being tied up.
Trapper stilled. “Those are my horses. Take them and be gone and I won’t shoot you.”
The thin cowboy hiccupped a laugh and asked, “How you gonna shoot us? Your hands are tied and you don’t have a gun.” He tapped the barrel of his rifle against the back of Trapper’s head.
The leader shrugged, as if not interested in anything the thin cowboy said. “I didn’t spend two weeks tracking you just to take the horses. You insult me by even thinking I’m a horse thief. That’s not what I came for.”
Trapper saw no gun on the man. He might give the orders, but he wasn’t a fighter.
“I heard you fought for the South, Trapper. Thought I’d make you an offer. One chance, you might say, from one soldier to another.”
“You’re here for the girls.” Trapper made a statement. He wasn’t asking a question.
“Yes, we are. We’re not going to hurt them. They’re worth too much alive. We just plan to keep them until their papa gives us enough money. Then we’ll give them back, take the money, and head for California.”
“I’m not turning them over.” Trapper steadied himself. He sensed another man was standing back in the fog even though he could not see him. Once the shooting started, Trapper had to get two, maybe three, before they killed him. The man hidden in the fog was a wild card in this deadly game they played.
The three who’d beat him up were not ready for a gunfight. They’d done their job of beating him. The man in the fog might be the assigned killer.
Trapper put his palms together and twisted hard on the wet rope. It gave just enough to slip one hand out.
The short man was too busy making his point to notice. “Now think about it, Reb. You can get on your black devil of a horse and ride away, or you can die right here. Either way is fine with me.” He smiled. “Either way we take the girls.”
Trapper figured if he could bide his time a little longer, the sun would burn away some of the fog and his chances would be better. “What’s in this for me? I’d already be dead if you didn’t want something else from me. So, tell me what you want.”
The outlaw leader laughed. “You’re right. The old man at the trading post told us you were well-armed and you bought more. I only see one rifle on you, which means the others are