The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,87
her, his eyes were like chips of ice and his expression was nothing short of ferocious.
“Turn away,” he demanded sharply. “I don’t want you to see this side of me. Get up and start walking.” He gestured to what she assumed was the north. “Bart and the Rangers should be here soon.”
She nodded her disheveled head, then turned her back. One of the men screamed bloody murder while she limped off on her swollen ankle. Another howl rose behind her, then another.
An unholy chant rippled around the canyon walls and she realized this time it was Crow, not the outlaws. The wild, piercing sound sent shivers down her spine. Several more chants mingled with the Harpers’ pained howls but Natalie kept limping in the direction Crow had sent her. Whatever was happening in the canyon seemed to be so much more than scare tactics and punishment for the bandits’ crimes.
When hoofbeats resounded ahead of her Natalie ducked behind a boulder and grabbed her pistol. She peaked around the oversize slab of rock to see Bart and the Rangers clattering downhill, displacing dust and pebbles as they came.
Natalie shot to her feet. “About time you showed up. Crow is taking care of the Harpers all by himself.”
All four men blinked in surprise. “Did Crow release you already?” Bart asked.
“No. I did that myself while the Harpers were sleeping off their bout with whiskey.”
They gaped at her so she reached into her garter to wave the stiletto in front of them. “Wedding gift from Crow. Contrary to the consensus in New Orleans high society, diamonds are not a woman’s best friend, a dagger is—”
Another bone-chilling wail echoed in the chasm. Maybe it was her imagination but she swore the sudden downdraft of wind sweeping over the caprock sounded like whispered voices.
Bemused, she glanced up at the men on horseback.
“Phantom Canyon,” Phelps informed her.
“Once there was a village where Donovan Crow grew up,” Bart added solemnly. “It’s the place where he lost most of his family and many of his friends. The army slaughtered the tribe’s horses, cattle and dozens of his clan. Those who survived were marched to the reservation in Indian Territory.”
Natalie suspected the strange chants Crow had uttered were some sort of ceremonial ritual. The unholy sounds had frightened her but she imagined they had really scared the bejeezus out of the Harpers. If the lost souls of the Kiowa and Comanche were swirling around Phantom Canyon, she would not be surprised.
Bart leaned down to extend his good arm so Natalie could boost herself up behind him. “Nice breeches, by the way,” he teased as she settled behind him.
“Thank you. I’m thinking of designing trousers expressly for women. Dresses are such a nuisance when you’re cutting yourself loose from ropes and running for your life.”
“Blair Wear?” he ventured with a chuckle.
Natalie giggled…until another ear-piercing scream filled the air. Followed by another…and another.
Phelps nudged his horse forward. “We better check on Crow and his prisoners.”
Natalie looped her arms around Bart’s waist and laid her head against his back. “I haven’t had much sleep the past two nights. I would give a small fortune for a nap.”
“You can have a nap for free, Nat,” he replied, patting her hand consolingly. “I’ll grab hold of you if you start to fall off.”
Natalie closed her eyes, sighed tiredly and dreamed of the Kiowa warrior who had appeared from nowhere to rescue her at the precise moment she needed him most.
Van stared down at the Harper brothers, who looked the worse for wear after he had dragged them behind their stolen horses to the stream. They lay faceup, their noses and mouths barely above the water—because he had propped rock pillows beneath their heads to allow them to breathe.
Considering they smelled like stale sweat and whiskey, they were probably suffering hellish hangovers. Van was sure it was the first time in a long while the bandits had bathed—unless they had been rained on. The cool water also cleansed their wounds and that was all the medical treatment they would receive until he had the answers he wanted.
Of all the places the Harpers could have held Natalie hostage, Phantom Canyon had given the best advantage. He knew the area exceptionally well and he had accurately guessed where the Harpers had holed up.
“Now then, let’s try again,” Van told his prisoners. “The stolen money? You remember it, don’t you? Bank robberies? Wounded bank tellers?”