Horsepeople

Chapter Fourteen

Eagle picked his way down the hillside, flaxen mane swaying with each step. With the reins in one hand, Will held the other against his thigh, tapping out an impatient rhythm during the slow decent. Eagle could feel his agitation in the way his hips were stiff in the saddle and the hand on his reins unyielding against the bit, yet his rider didn't ask him for more than a walk. From where Will was, he could see the townsfolk gathered beneath the maple tree, waiting for his report. So too were their horses standing, fully tacked, at the tie-rails lining the boardwalk.

"Seven of them, on foot, with four rifles," he told them when he reached the shade of the sweeping maple. His heart had taken up the fluttering tattoo of his fingers. "They'll be here in an hour or so."

Jo nodded, Dakota's information was holding true so far.

"Let's go meet our guests," she said and Maryanne, Danny, and Kurt placed their feet in their stirrups and swung onto their horses. Insisting on riding out with them, Harold pulled Freddie next to the bench and pulled himself onto his horse as well. Charlie stepped into the small wagon and clucked to Eddie, pulling in behind the line of riders. It was both a greeting party and a show of strength.

As they rode out of town, Beady disappeared into the Hotel. If all went to plan, they would be eating the turkeys she had in the oven. Her stomach, however, was a dread-filled pit and she was unable to entertain the idea of filling it with food. Refusing to ride out with them and vetoing his son's willingness to join the party, Marshal ducked into their cabin. Young Shannae watched resentfully from the barn, wishing that she were riding out with them; she was just as good a rider as Danny now.

At Will's direction, the riders skirted around a foothill that lay to the east of town, so as to come up on Grant and his men from behind. According to Dakota, the men must have been walking for two days, only knowing the general direction in which the women had fled. When at last the riders came around the hill, the group of men were walking a hundred paces ahead of them. Their steps were weary. Will put two pinched fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.

The men stopped and turned, a couple shouldering their rifles. The riders raised their own empty hands; flat palmed, and walked their horses over to the group. They didn't charge the walking men or trample them under hoof, but surrounded them nonetheless in what felt like an impenetrable barrier of walking horseflesh. From on the ground, mounted riders can be surprisingly intimidating.

"Don't let them squeeze us, boys!" A nasal voice shouted. Jo recognized it in an instant from the Wal-Mart, the hair on her neck bristling. She tried to remain calm. "Keep them rifles up!"

Generally soft-spoken and ruminative, Harold could, when impassioned, speak in a loud, authoritative voice.

"Keep them rifles down!" he said. "If you want to see Dakota and Laura again, you'll put them down!"

Grant sputtered, his face turning a mottled red. "You fucking savage," he said, fists balled at his side. "Threatening my wife!"

"Not a threat, just a fact. You have two choices," Harold continued over Grant's slurs—he'd been called worse—"you can shoot us and never find them, or you can put your guns down and have a peaceful talk over dinner."

"We'll rip your fucking town apart to find them," Grant replied, even as some of his weary men slackened their grip. "You're going to bring them to me now, or we'll start shooting."

"No can do," Harold sighed, leaning on his horn. "See, they're not with our people. We drew straws and whoever had the short one hid your two women in secret. Now, the problem is is that the rest of us don't know who got the short straw or where they're hid."