Belle Gone Bad Page 15

  And yet, despite the danger, he could see a magnificent oil painting. He visualized the slope of a mountain covered by thick trees, two lone riders hunkered over their horses, and driving rain slanting across the canvas. Maybe Belle had changed him or maybe getting healthy had opened his eyes to the beauty around him. Either way, he wanted to capture the wildness of Indian Territory before it was gone, ground down under the weight of civilization.

  He stowed away his vision for future use. First they had to survive the storm and get to Wildcat Falls. If they couldn’t make it, they’d have to dismount and lead their horses in on foot or seek shelter under the trees until the storm passed across the mountains. He didn’t like either choice.

  As the rain came down harder, lightning flashed across the sky followed by a loud crack of thunder. Kirby shied under him, so he patted the horse’s neck to calm him. As the blue norther grew in intensity, he was pelted by sleet mixed with rain while lightning and thunder surged around him. He glanced about for shelter but couldn’t see much in the darkness. Yet he could tell that Wildcat Trail was turning into a raging stream of debris-strewn water. When he heard Belle’s mount stumble ahead of him, he knew their time had run out to make the safety of Wildcat Falls.

  Maybe they’d be lucky enough to find a cave, but he didn’t have much hope. He called to get Belle’s attention, but she couldn’t hear him for the storm or see him as she continued to trudge ahead. Surely she would turn around soon and motion to get off the trail. But she kept heading upward with the slashing rain at her back. At least they weren’t facing into the wind. But it was small comfort. He was drenched to the skin and water dripped from the brim of his hat onto hands that were wet through his leather gloves.

  Soon sleet turned to hail. He pulled up the collar of his duster, but the cotton didn’t do much to protect him from the fury of the storm. He shielded his face with one hand, but that didn’t help much, either. They had to get under some type of cover as quickly as possible. Yet Belle appeared to be headed upward. He urged Kirby forward, determined to ride up beside her and get her off the trail before they were washed or blown away.

  At that moment lightning flashed and illuminated a man dressed from hat to boots in black leather. The barrel of a Winchester protruded from his black duster. He sat on the back of a big black steed in the center of Wildcat Trail. He appeared impervious to the storm or any other type of danger.

  For a moment, the outlaw didn’t look real. Mercy couldn’t be sure the storm wasn’t playing tricks with his eyes. But Kirby snorted, threw up his head, and stopped dead in his tracks.

  Belle stopped, too. She quickly raised her right arm high and made the outlaw hand sign with her fingers. Red Dog had sworn it was how Wildcat Falls residents recognized friends from enemies at a distance.

  When the lightning passed, followed by rolling thunder, darkness enveloped them again.

  Mercy wanted to draw his Colt .44, but the darkness, the storm, and the outlaw’s rifle made it too dangerous. If he caused trouble now, they might never get into the Falls. And they needed the sanctuary now more than ever.

  Lightning flashed again. Without seeming to move, the outlaw’s horse was nose to nose with Belle’s mount. The man appeared even bigger up close. With one flick of his wrist, he motioned Belle off the trail. She eased her mount into the tall, wet grass, and the outlaw rode forward.

  At the next lightning flash, Mercy was face to face with the stranger. He quickly followed Belle’s example and gave Red Dog’s hand gesture. Under the wide brim of his hat, the outlaw looked Mercy over, then replied with the same signal.

  When darkness surrounded them again, Mercy took a deep breath. They hadn’t been shot outright, so maybe they’d be escorted to Wildcat Falls or another hideout where they could get warm and dry, feed the horses, and find out more about their surroundings. He’d be careful not to do anything that might endanger Belle or Diana.

  He remained still, waiting for the next lightning burst to show him where to go. When it came, he was surprised to see an empty trail. He looked around and saw the outlaw already some distance above Belle’s position. If the man followed a trail, Mercy couldn’t see it. The stranger appeared to cut his own path with his horse through thick brush and across rock as he moved away from the trail. Maybe the man was part wildcat because he seemed able to see in the dark.

  Belle held up her right fist in triumph and then opened her fingers to hold her palm toward Mercy. He did the same. As if she’d touched him, he felt her connection. Come hell, high water, or a blue norther, they were headed into the outlaw’s den to rescue Diana.

  When he heard Belle fall in behind the stranger, he let Kirby follow her. He trusted his gelding to keep up with the other horses. And he had to trust the outlaw to lead them to safety despite the battering of the storm.

  After a while Mercy realized that they’d never have reached the town on Wildcat Trail. The stranger was leading them in a zigzag path that would be impossible to find on their own. Once in the Falls, if that’s where they were going, they’d need somebody to lead them out. He understood now why outlaws weren’t concerned about being found on Wildcat Knob.

  When lightning flashed, he kept an eye out for Belle’s safety. So far, she appeared to be holding up. As they rode ever upward, ever deeper into the wilderness, the blue norther relented slightly and hail turned to sleet. He patted Kirby’s neck in reassurance as sleet became rain. Maybe the storm would soon blow itself out across the mountains.

  As the sky lightened, the rain slowed, and the wind died down, the outlaw stopped before a huge slab of black-streaked, rust-colored rock jutting upward like the prow of a ship. All around, pine and oak trees rose majestically into the sky. Grass dried to a golden color grew out of red ochre soil.

  Mercy felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. They were at a dead-end. Had the outlaw brought them to this lonely place to shoot them and hide their bodies to be picked clean by buzzards and coyotes? He slipped his hand under his duster and grasped his six-shooter, although he wondered if it was too wet to work. If this man was a bushwhacker, maybe the one Belle sought, Mercy would save their lives if he could get the drop on him.

  But the outlaw didn’t go for his Colt. He pointed at the rock, turned his horse, and disappeared into the curtain of rain.

  Mercy frowned, confused and concerned. When Belle looked back at him, he shrugged as he urged Kirby forward. They’d followed the stranger this far, so now wasn’t the time to turn tail and run. Belle gave him a thumbs up and disappeared into the rain, too.

  Now Mercy was intrigued with the situation. He followed them, turning Kirby to the side and riding through a gap between two slabs of rock wide enough to drive a wagon through. He glanced back. As the rain slacked off even more, he could see that the rock slabs overlapped. From outside, nobody would ever guess there was an entrance onto this side of the rock formation.

  He was impressed with the hideout. Not only was the area hard to reach, but once you were here, you wouldn’t think to look behind every rock slab for an entrance to the town.

  A wide, level road led upward. Belle rode beside the stranger. Mercy caught up with them. As the blue norther moved east over the Little River Valley, the rain slowly tapered away. He glanced around at the dense forest and undergrowth. The outlaws had probably cleared an area and built cabins and animal corrals out of local timber.

  When they reached the summit of Wildcat Knob, the Sun came out, bathing Wildcat Springs in a golden glow. A long row of one-and two-story buildings built of red rock and brick nestled behind a portico that covered a long boardwalk. A livery stable with a horse corral was situated at each end of the town. Sunlight glinted off real glass windows. Residents must all be inside due to the blue norther because not a single person walked on the boardwalk or stood at the corrals.

  Mercy shook his head in amazement. If a man was looking for paradise, he’d just found it.

  “This is beautiful.” Belle gestured toward
the town. “How did you get these structures built here?”

  The outlaw looked at her. “Italian masons.”

  That news almost knocked Mercy out of his saddle, but it made about as much sense as anything else on Wildcat Knob.

  “But where did you find them?” Belle asked.

  A slight smile twitched the outlaw’s lips. “Italian miners came from Europe to work Choctaw coal mines near McAlester. Some are masons. A few traded the dark of the mines for the light of Wildcat Falls.”

  “It’s truly a wonder,” Belle said.

  “Thanks.” He glanced at Mercy. “You two look like a couple of drowned rats.”

  “Appreciate the help,” Mercy said.

  “You got me out of a warm, dry saloon.” The outlaw frowned. “You better have a damn good reason for being here.”

  “We do,” Belle said.

  “Make it short and sweet,” the outlaw said. “My trigger finger’s getting itchy.”

  Chapter 32

  “A friend of ours, Red Dog from Burnt Boggy Saloon, thought we might like it here,” Belle quickly said.

  “Good man,” the stranger replied. “But why?”

  “I’m Aurora,” Belle explained. “I’m here to establish a . . . uh, a—”

  “Dance hall,” Mercy completed.

  “You got ladies?” the outlaw asked.

  “Fort Smith.” Belle hadn’t realized that pretending to be a lady of the evening would be difficult. She patted a curl of her wig and felt it droop in her hand. “I realize I’m not at my best—”

  “Your wig sure as hell isn’t. It’s enough to scare off any man.”

  Belle blinked in astonishment. He’d insulted her wig. “Well, I never.”

  “I doubt that.” The outlaw chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “You might clean up good enough, what with new clothes and a wig from Adella’s Delights.”

  Belle straightened her spine, preparing to give him the rough side of her tongue.

  “No doubt you’re right,” Mercy agreed.

  She glared at Mercy, willing him to see her anger, but he was staring straight at the outlaw.

  “Who are you?” the stranger asked.

  “Name’s Mercy. I’m a wood carver. The Red River Saloon’s bar is my work.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Thanks,” Mercy said.

  “We’ve got one rule in Wildcat Falls.” The outlaw cocked his head. “You follow it or you get out.”

  “What is it?” Belle feared it would be something so horrendous that they’d have to leave.

  “Pride.”

  “Excuse me?” She tried to think how that could be a rule.

  “Some folks don’t cotton to pride in their fellow man. Not so here.”

  “No problem with it,” Mercy said.

  “Good.” The outlaw fixed each of them in turn with a hard stare from his clear green eyes. “If a man loses his pride, he loses his will to pull his weight and better his life. That hurts him and everybody around him.”

  Belle nodded, wondering if this was an outlaw town or an itinerant preacher’s brush arbor.

  “In Wildcat Falls, everybody works or pays in gold. Everybody’s got skills of one kind or another. Here, everybody uses their God-given abilities.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Mercy said. “We’re looking for a place where we can contribute our skills.”

  “And pay our own way.” Belle felt grateful that Mercy didn’t say what skills or for how long. She was already wanting to edge back the way she’d come.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what do they call you?” Mercy asked.

  The outlaw’s lips twitched in a parody of a smile. “Desperado.”

  “Good to meet you,” Belle said, thinking the opposite. If you bred an outlaw with a preacher, what did you get? She figured she was looking at the result. He was a big, broad-shouldered, handsome man with blue-black hair worn long, a black mustache, and tanned skin. But he’d be absolutely ruthless if crossed on any of his so-called rules, of which there had to be more than one.

  Yet she wasn’t here to make friends with him. She simply didn’t want him to get in her way. She’d say or do whatever was necessary to find the kidnapper and bushwhacker. There was no point in looking for the pacer’s tracks. Those were long gone in the rain. But as soon as she had a chance, she’d look in the stables and see if she could find the horse.

  “If you can pay or work, there’s room in the Wildcat Hotel for you,” Desperado said. “You may stay till you see how you like it here and how we like you.”

  “Thanks,” Mercy said. “We’d sure like to get warm and dry.”

  Desperado nodded. “If Jimmy hadn’t seen you on Wildhorse Trail and alerted me, you’d still be circling Wildcat Knob.”

  “Please thank Jimmy for us,” Belle said, remembering her manners.

  “How could he see us so far away?” Mercy asked.

  “He might as well be a squirrel,” Desperado said. “He climbs and leaps from tree to tree. He can go all over these mountains without his feet ever touching the ground.”

  “That’s impressive.” Belle glanced at the dense forest around them, realizing that it’d be possible.

  “That’s his God-given skill,” Desperado added.

  “We’d like to take care of our horses,” Mercy said.

  “Use the stable at the north end of town.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Another thing,” Desperado said. “I don’t want to hear you’re causing any trouble with the people. They come here from all over and from all sorts of difficulties and backgrounds.”

  “We don’t want trouble,” Mercy said.

  Belle nodded while crossing her fingers behind her back. Trouble was the only reason they were here.

  Desperado narrowed his eyes. “There’s plenty you two aren’t telling me, but it’ll all come out in the wash. It always does.”

  She rubbed the Soleil Wheel over her heart to ease the sudden ache. There was more to Desperado than met the eye, but she didn’t want to know about it. She just wanted to complete her mission and get out of town.

  Desperado touched the brim of his hat. He turned his horse and rode down Main Street toward the livery stable at the south end of town.

  Belle couldn’t resist letting out a sigh of relief. “I guess that’s our welcome. Such as it is.”

  “Probably more than we deserve,” Mercy said.

  “We’re going to clean up this town. Afterward, maybe he’ll be appreciative.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “I’m not counting on anything in this strange place.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “That’s part of the trouble. It’s just not natural.”

  Mercy chuckled. “You’ll like the Falls once you’re out of those wet clothes and in a hot bath.”

  “And to think he insulted my wig right to my face.”

  “You never liked it.”

  “That’s not the point. He’s certainly no gentleman.”

  “Maybe he’s too honest for that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “An honest outlaw?”

  “Come on. Let’s be kind to our horses and get them to the stable.”

  She turned Juniper toward the livery stable across from them. “You’re right. I’m just grumpy. The last thing we needed getting up here was a blue norther.”

  “You won’t get an argument out of me.”

  As Belle rode with Mercy by her side, she felt watched by those inside the buildings. She could see movement behind glass windows, but no one ventured out onto the soggy boardwalk or the muddy street. She couldn’t tell what the stores contained, but she saw the word SALOON painted in yellow letters near the roofline of a brick two-story building. Next door to it was the Wildcat Hotel with a second-floor balcony enclosed with a stone balustrade supported by five fancy columns.

  She wasn’t surprised to see that the livery stable was a well-crafted building of cedar planks with a shake
shingle roof. A man stood in the entry to the dogtrot with a calico cat at his feet. He folded his arms across his chest. He wore baggy blue jeans, a blue plaid shirt, brown vest, cowboy boots, and a Stetson. He also had a black patch over one eye.

  “Howdy,” Mercy said. “You got room for two horses?”

  Belle stopped beside Mercy as she watched the man. He didn’t appear any friendlier than the first one. How she wished to be in Texas, where you were a friend till proven different.

  “Might be.” As he walked out of the shadows, the cat stalked out of sight. He looked over both horses. “You rode them through the blue norther?”

  “No choice,” Mercy said.

  “There’s choice and there’s choice.”

  Belle felt like pulling off her wig and stomping it. Could no one in Wildcat Falls speak directly?

  “Came on us sudden,” Mercy explained.

  “No harm done. Yet. Best get them dried off, fed, and rested.”

  “That’s what we’d like,” Belle said.

  The man stared at her with his unblinking eye and then glanced at Mercy. “You got gold or you want to muck stalls?”

  “Gold.”

  “Good.” He stood still. “Time’s awastin’. Those horses don’t need to be standing and shivering.”

  Mercy dismounted, walked to the man, and handed him a gold eagle. “We’ll unsaddle and rub—”

  “No, sir!” the man said. “Take your saddlebags and go. These horses are under my care now.”

  Belle quickly got down. Everybody in Wildcat Falls appeared to be living on a knife’s edge. She untied her saddlebags, put them over her shoulder, and stroked Juniper’s nose. She nodded at Mercy when he joined her with his saddlebags.

  “By the way, I’m Aurora and this is Mercy.” Belle put on her best smile, hoping to make friends so she could get inside the stable later and look for the pacer.

  “Who cares?” the man growled. “What are the horses’ names?”

  “And your name is?” She persisted in her manners even as she seethed inside.