The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

103: Or As the Pearls of Morning Dew

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Fiona by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Curled against the rough timber wall of the dugout trapper's cabin, Fiona considered that this horrible predicament would have three possible outcomes.

The first was that her patience would finally pay off and she would see a chance to get her hands on a weapon, kill Stone, and somehow escape.

She knew that this scenario was extremely unlikely.

The second possibility would be that Stone would lose his temper and kill her outright, or worse, sell her back to Collins who would no doubt end her over her warning the Lakota about the army's pending attack.

That, she knew, was a far more likely outcome than the first. In fact, it held the same sort of odds that would move the boys at home to bet lots of money on in one of their poker games.

And then there was the third possible outcome, and this one, she knew held the highest likelihood of occurring. And this possibility was that any any escape attempt she made would go quickly and horribly pear-shaped, and directly result in her getting herself killed.

She had long since stopped crying, giving herself over to a seething resignation. Her mouth was parched, and she ran her tongue over the swollen knot where a backhanded blow had split her lip. Bastard.

She shifted where she lay, flexing her bound hands in front of her, the too-long sleeves of Lundy Bad Medicine's army coat catching on the rawhide around her wrists. The image of the young man's blood-spattered corpse in the back of the wagon back at Bridger haunted her, and she wondered if she might share his fate. I'm wearing the clothes of a murdered man. Wouldn't that be bloody ironic?

No...she thought, too weary to panic. I suspect I shall simply disappear. What will you think became of me, beloved? Will you think I just left you? The thought broke her heart more than the prospect of dying did. I wasted so much time. So much time we could have been together. He throat tightened, her eyes growing hot. She forced back her tears, determined that she was done weeping. How stupid I was. How did I ever think I could ignore what I knew was true...that I loved him?

She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of Bad Medicine's coat. How valuable time is when we are out of it. I can't see what was in front of me, apparently, but looking backwards is the clearest bloody view I've ever seen.

Stone and a handful of his men had evidently stopped at the cabin to pick up some ammunition and supplies, and she wondered if this was where he lived most of the time. The place was crude but sturdy, with a dirt floor, and rough logs protecting the dug-out room cut into the hill. It was dark inside, under the sod roof, and smelled of earth and pine and brain-tanned leather. Fiona had the overwhelming sensation that she was prey trapped inside the lair of a dangerous wild beast, waiting for the bear to decide he was finally hungry enough to devour her.

Could I kill him if I get the chance? Could I do it? She remembered Mr. Devereaux collapsing beside her when Stone had shot him, and how Stone had dragged her as if she were a his latest kill, and how many times he'd cuffed and punched her. I'm never going to see Storm again because of him. He's going to think I abandoned him. Yes. I could do it. I could kill Stone.

Bloody hell, I want to kill him.

The sun outside the window was sinking below the ridge line, draining the color from the sky and turning the inside of the cabin into coffee-toned shadows. She could hear Stone stalking around the cabin, muttering in hushed conversation with his men.

I'm not getting out of this alive...but I bloody well will be doing my best to take someone with me when I go.

She could hear swearing, and startled yelping. She raised her head, pulling herself up to a sitting position against the wall, new fear growing inside her. A low humming filled her ears. What's happening? One of Stone's men ran past her, and she shrank back.

Stone flailed his arms around his head, his long hair whipping with his frantic movements. "Find the damn nest!" he howled, slapping at himself. "Shit!"

"Bloody hell," she breathed, freezing against the wall and watching the darkening air fill with a cloud of ominously buzzing flecks that swirled around the room like angry, living smoke.

The cabin's full of bees.

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