Chapter Seven

Whit stopped by Brigg's office, but the marshal wasn't around. Looking at the calendar on the wall, he noticed it was the day before Thanksgiving. Thursdays were normally game night at the Chapmans, but with it being a holiday, Briggs probably went early to spend a few days.

He was probably already tucking into one of Marmee's home-cooked meals, and then he'd be spending the rest of the night drinking coffee and playing cribbage until Weston brought out the jars of cider.

It wouldn't be until Saturday when Briggs would finally come back to town, but Whit didn't know how late it might be. His fist collided with the desk, the sound reverberating in the air before he swiftly exited through the front door.

"Hey, Whit! Wait up."

Whit turned to see Tom coming from the mercantile and crossing the street.

"What are you doing in town?" Whit asked.

"You know. A little of this. A little of that."

Whit didn't have time for Tom's games today. "No. I don't know. Are you headed to Miss Marcy's?"

"Might stop by later. Got some business for Ma first."

"I'm headed to the Billings as well."

Tom paused for a minute. "Is it time?"

Whit nodded. He wasn't sure what Tom was talking about, but if Whit could find out any useful information, he could pass it along to Briggs before he left town.

"Why do you think I'm in town?" He grabbed Tom's arm and tugged him down the street. "Ma didn't give me many details. I'm just supposed to go the house. How did you know?"

"We learned from George Youngerman yesterday. Brodie paid him off this morning. Who would have thought it was under our noses all this time?"

"Youngerman. Youngerman." Whit rolled the name off his tongue. "Don't think I know him."

"We knew him in Texas. A scrounger of sorts. Sells information. Turns out one of Randall Hartman's boys is sweet on his sister."

"You've been using the sister to get information?" Whit's anger was white hot. Not only was this bigger than what he originally thought, it now involved his family.

"She is a charmer. George is going to give her to Brodie now they've found Ma's grandson."

"She must be something." Whit laughed to keep from retching. All he could think about was unleashing his fury on Tom, demanding answers. "Where did they find him?"

Tom jogged along, trying to keep up with Whit. "He's been with the Chapmans all this time." Tom slapped Whit on the arm. "Can you believe it? They'll grab the boy and then destroy the family."

Hart . They were looking for Hart.

"That close? Have they found his ma?"

"Not yet. Ma will find her though."

"Guess I don't know the whole story."

"Don't matter none. Since Ma gave the word to get rid of the preacher, I guess plans are in motion."

Whit breathed a sigh of relief. Tom just confirmed Esther's family was alive for now.

"Do you think we should check with Brodie first?" Tom asked.

Slapping Tom on the side of the head, he glared at the man. "Do you really want to explain to Ma you had to check with Brodie when she ordered me to come to town to kill the family who took her daughter away?"

Tom's eyes opened wide. "I guess not. What do you need from me?"

Whit shook his head. "How many men are at the house right now?"

"Boone should be the only one there."

"Any others around?"

"Might be a few over at Miss Marcy's, but they are off tonight. Need me to go get them?"

"No. I need you to stick with me."

They approached the house from the south side. Whit could see signs shouting FEVER STAY OUT! on the walls and windows. He tensed as Tom walked up the creaking stairs to the front door and slid inside. Whit followed; his boots were silent on the worn wooden floorboards.

His heart thrummed a rapid beat in his chest, each thud echoing the urgency of his mission. The dim glow of lamplight flickered through the cracks of the closed doors, casting eerie patterns on the walls.

"God, guide my steps," Whit prayed inwardly, his eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of danger.

"Boone!" Tom called. "Where are you?"

"In here." Boone sauntered out of the kitchen, his hands full with a half-eaten piece of crusty bread. A mischievous twinkle shone in his eyes as he took another bite and spoke around it. "Was making a…"

He didn't finish the sentence as the items dropped to the floor, and he tumbled to the ground. Tom turned and fumbled for his gun.

"You!" Tom's eyes widened in shock, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Whit finished Tom off with two rounds before he could pull his revolver from his holster. Taking the revolver from Tom's body, Whit climbed the stairs to the second level. He didn't know how many of the Richards' gang were in the house.

He crept forward, pausing at each door to listen for the sound of breathing or whispered prayers.

At last, he found them. A muffled sob escaped from behind a locked door, followed by a hushed plea for mercy. Whit's jaw clenched at the sound, and his resolve hardened.

"I'm here to help. Can you unlock the door from the inside?" he called through the keyhole.

"No. They locked us in here." Reverend Billing's voice sounded far away.

"Back away from the door."

Counting to three, Whit kicked at the door with his boot. The door shattered to reveal the Billings family huddled together in a small, windowless room. Their faces showed fear and desperation, but at the sight of Whit, hope flickered in their eyes.

"You're the man from the store," Naomi said.

"Let's get you out of here," Whit waved them into the hallway, as he looked for any new intruders in the house.

"Do you have Esther?" Mrs. Billings asked.

"I know where she is. We have little time. I need you all to follow me and stay as quiet as possible."

Reverend Billings nodded; his stern features softened by gratitude. "We will do as you say, son. Thank you for coming to our aid."

"Thank me later," Whit replied. "We need to get you out of here and somewhere safe."

"I don't want to leave my house. It is God's will…"

"That you don't die." Was this man as stubborn as his daughter? Whit thought. "Maybe he sent me to make sure it doesn't happen. There are some terrible men who have your daughter, and they have been waiting to kill you."

"Who has Esther?" Ruth asked.

"Ma Richards has been looking for her since you left Texas." Whit thought Mrs. Billings might faint.

"Oh Charles, what are we going to do?" She pulled her daughters close to her.

"The Lord will take care of it, Mother." His eyes fixed on Whit with a mixture of trust and caution. "Lead the way," he finally murmured.

Whit took a deep breath, and silently vowed, with God's help, he would see them all safely through this dark night.

"We are going down the stairs to the back door. I'm sorry for what you're going to see, but I don't have time to move their bodies. We don't have much time. Once we get to the back of the house, you are going to run for the livery."

He led them down the stairs and around the bodies. Mrs. Billings sobbed and begged her daughters not to look.

The older of the two daughters clutched her father's arm, her knuckles white with fear, while Reverend Billings kept a protective hand on his wife's shoulder.

Whit led the Billings family out the back door into the moonlit night. The livery stable was down the dusty street, but he knew Richards' men could be lying in wait. He scanned the silent town, one hand on his holster, ready to draw again at the first sign of trouble.

The Reverend gathered his trembling wife and daughters close. "Stay together," he whispered. "The Lord will see us through."

"Run!" Whit urged the family, his voice strained with urgency. They didn't need to be told twice. The Billings hurried past him, leaving the dark confines of the farmhouse behind as they raced toward freedom.

Whit followed behind, his eyes covering both sides of the street in case danger found them. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadows. Whit's gun was in his hand in an instant and he released a sigh of relief when he realized it was a thin dog which stepped out in front of them.

"Git," Reverend Billings said, shooing the dog with his hands. The dog barked at the small group and quickly trotted down the street.

Taking a calming breath, Whit shook off his nerves and slid the door open, ushering everyone inside.

"Stay close," he whispered to Mrs. Billings and her daughters as he ushered them into the extra room where Hiram would find them later. "You'll be safe here."

"Thank you," Mrs. Billings said between breaths, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Whit nodded, offering a tight-lipped smile as he swiftly exited the room.

"Reverend," he said, "I need you to ride as fast as you can to the Chapmans." He grabbed a saddle and placed it on a horse in the enclosure.

"Esther?" Reverend Billings asked, concern furrowing his brow.

"She's safe, for now," Whit assured him, his gaze meeting the Reverend's steady one. "You need to get to Marshal Briggs as quickly as possible. Let him know the Richards gang took Esther, and they are coming for Hart. This is important. They are camped near Flat Junction. He'll need Joe or Devin Moore." As Reverend Billings mounted the horse, Whit's thoughts raced with worry. What if he couldn't save Esther? What if this plan failed?

"You said the Chapman Ranch? Flat Junction? Joe or Devin Moore?"

"Yes. Briggs should be there for dinner and cribbage with Weston tonight."

"God bless you, son," the Reverend replied, his hand gripping Whit's shoulder with gratitude. "I knew there was good in you."

"Wait." Whit grabbed the halter. "Go toward the Stagecoach Bridge and through the Hartman's land. Cut over by the barn. You won't run into anyone over there. Do not let anyone know I'm with them, or I told you."

"I won't, but why?"

"If you do, Esther and I might both die. Go," Whit urged, his voice catching with emotion. He watched Reverend Billings ride off toward the stagecoach road and bridge which crossed the creek.

"Lord, guide me," he prayed silently, watching the Reverend disappear into the night. Whit looked at the sky. He needed to get back to the camp before Briggs arrived. He didn't care about being a part of the gang, now he knew what they were preparing for.

It didn't involve cattle or stealing. It revolved around the gang who completely dedicated themselves to an old lady's whims. They willingly indulged her sick daydream of misguided justice and her unwavering determination to mend a broken family. The cost of lives lost along the way was of no concern to them.

He had to return to the camp, find Esther, and make a run for it.

The camp was in disarray when he arrived. The large wagon containing most of the supplies was missing, Ma and Libby were nowhere to be found. Men were laying on bedrolls around the fire.

He swung off his horse and hurried to Esther, who was sitting on a log, her hands tied in front of her.

"What's the meaning of this?" Whit asked, lifting Esther up. He tugged on the bonds binding her wrists.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Brodie said. "Ma wants her to stay tied up."

"Where is Ma?"

"She's headed toward Lincoln. We found what we were looking for, so there isn't a reason for her to stay."

"Heard you found the kid?" Whit undid the knots and released Esther's hands.

Brodie's eyes narrowed, and he pulled his knife from its scabbard. "How do you know that?"

"Tom told me. I took care of him, though."

"What do you mean, you took care of him?"

"I went to take care of the problem." Whit glanced at Esther. "Tom was running his mouth at Marcy's."

"Are you sure it was Tom?"

Whit shrugged. "Why is everyone questioning me today? I don't have time for someone who is going to rat out their friends. It's a good thing we were moving. I guess all this time he was spending in town, word got to the marshal where we were hiding out. How do you think Briggs knew about everything happening?" He glared at Brodie.

"It's a good thing Tom is gone, then."

"Yeah. It is. We need to pack up whatever is left and get out of here," he ordered, his voice tense with urgency.

"Whit, what's going on?" Austin asked, concern etched on his boyish face.

"Marshal's coming. I don't know how long we have. We need to get out of here." Whit turned back to Brodie, who was staring at him. "Doesn't seem you trust me, after everything I've done."

"You have to earn trust, boy," Brodie growled

Whit stepped forward and clenched his fists. "I break into the marshal's office and steal his journal. I plant false evidence leading him to Grand Platte. Then you have me steal cattle from ranches, where I might add, the owners know me. Then today, Snake tries to kill me." He was close enough to see the depths of Brodie's one good eye. It was black and lifeless. Ma taught him there was always good in people. It was why she had stayed with Randall Hartman for so long. Looking at Brodie, Whit could see there was nothing good in him at all. Glancing at Esther, he lifted a finger and pointed at her. "I learn you find the kid, which means going to town to kill my wife's family."

Esther gasped at the revelation. "No!" She started crying.

Whit snarled at her. "They were nothing to me. This is my family. Go pack our things and stop your crying." Turning back to Brodie, he pushed the outlaw in the chest with one finger. "I find out my friend is the lowest kind of yellow there is, and I end up killing him too. I've done a lot of killing for you, Richards. I'm done trying to prove my loyalty to a man who doesn't want it. I came here because I heard about you from my pa. I heard stories of the great Richards gang and how they were the terrors of the West." He spat on the ground. "I don't see anything in front of me but a bunch of cowards hiring other people to do their dirty work for them."

Brodie slapped Whit's hand away. "You don't know anything."

"I know the marshal is coming. Whole town knows Esther is missing now. I didn't have to come back and warn you, but I did."

"Then why did you?"

"As I said, you're my family now. You think I can just waltz right back into Flat River? I have two options. Either I am on the run, or I'm on the end of a noose. I've never been partial to rope."

Brodie stared at him for a moment longer. "I think you've earned your place by now." Turning to his men he shouted at them. "Pack everything up!"

Whit watched as the camp came to life, men hurrying to pack up their belongings, casting wary glances his way.

"Let the posse come," a man yelled from the crowd.

"I could use a gunfight," said another.

"Get busy!" Whit snarled, his voice like thunder. "They'll be here soon, and we need to be ready!"

The men leaped into action, fear driving them to work faster. Whit couldn't shake the anger coursing through him, but beneath it all was a gnawing worry for Esther. He had to protect her at all costs.

"Since Esther didn't leave with Ma, we're going to have to tie her up before moving," Brodie told Whit.

"She can help pack for now. I'll make sure she's secured before we leave," Whit replied, clenching his fists. If he protested, it would only raise suspicion. Instead, he nodded curtly, praying for the strength to see this through.

Esther was putting her few belongings in a sack when Whit crawled into the tent. She glared at him, tears running down her cheeks.

Whit reached for her, but she pulled away. "Don't you touch me. You are nothing more than a heathen. I hope you burn in…"

He grabbed her and kissed her, ignoring the feel of her hands pummeling his shoulders. When she finally collapsed, exhausted from fighting him, he held her for a moment.

"Sweetheart, listen," he began, his voice low and steady so the men outside wouldn't hear him. "I know this is terrifying, but I need you to trust me. I'll protect you. Your family is still alive."

"What? Why did you say…"

He pressed a finger against her lips. "I didn't think I was going to come back here today. Snake had every intention of killing me when he took me out of here."

Tears fell down her cheeks, and Whit pulled her closer. His heart ached at the sight of her tears. "I apologize for dragging you into this mess," he murmured. "I swear on my life, I'll get you back to your family."

"I miss them so much."

Whit gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I know you do," he mumbled. "I saw your family today, and they are worried sick about you. I had to make Brodie believe they were killed. Don't say a word. It isn't safe."

Brodie's shout from outside shattered their moment. "We need to go."

Whit's jaw tensed. He took Esther's hand. "Do you trust me, Esther?"

Her gaze searched his face for sincerity, and she hesitated before nodding her head, placing her faith in him. Whit could see the turmoil within her. A woman standing at a crossroads, torn between the familiar life she had always known and the mysterious unknown which beckoned to her.

"I do, Whit."

They finished packing and rolled up their tent. Whit picked up the supplies and tucked them under his arm. Grabbing Esther's hand, he headed toward his horse.

"Whatever happens next, do exactly what I say, all right?" he instructed, hoping she understood the gravity of his words.

Before she could respond, a stranger appeared from the shadows, meandering into the camp.

"Where's Brodie?" he drawled.

Whit recognized him as one of the two travelers who came into the mercantile looking for a lost relative.

As the man's menacing strides brought him closer to Esther, Whit felt a tightness in his chest. Suddenly, Brodie appeared like a striking snake from behind the intruder, swiftly slicing his knife across the man's throat with cold and brutal precision.

A spray of blood splattered across Esther's face, and she let out a piercing scream which tore through the night air. Her eyes filled with tears, and she cried out in horror, unable to tear her gaze away from the gruesome sight.

"Get a hold of yourself, girl!" Brodie barked, grabbing the limp body by the collar and dragging it into the dark woods beyond the camp.

Whit moved to Esther's side, wiping the blood from her face with the sleeve of his shirt. His chest tightened as he saw the terror etched onto her features, and a surge of anger coursed through him.

As a gloom settled over the camp like a shroud, Whit knew they were running out of time. He had to make his move soon or risk losing everything.

Brodie came back, and Whit scowled at him. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

"Someone who is no longer useful," Brodie said gleefully. "He located Ma's grandson. The boy was right under our noses. Still no sign of Evangeline but give it time. I have no use for him, now."

A loud bang reverberated, followed by a hissing sound. Esther screamed as Whit turned around to see Austin laying on his back staring up at the sky through lifeless eyes.

Brodie's men started shooting in the dark at any moving shadow.

Whit grabbed Esther and pulled her to the ground.

"Esther, stay down and keep close to me," he whispered urgently, scanning the darkness for any sign she had been hit.

"I'm all right," she yelled over the melee.

"Why ain't you fighting, Moore?" Brodie yelled. "You yellow?" he asked, pointing his gun toward Whit.

Whit raised his Colt and fired several shots above Briggs' head, hoping to buy himself some time. The crack of gunfire filled the air, mingling with the shouts of outlaws and lawmen alike.

"Lord, please protect us," Esther murmured under her breath, her eyes squeezed shut in fear. Whit glanced at her; concern etched on his face.

"Stay low," he instructed her, knowing if anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself.

"Whit!" an outlaw sneered from behind him. "Ya ain't even shooting proper! Ya trying to help ‘em?"

"Hush!" Whit retorted, anger flaring in his chest. He turned and took aim before firing his gun again, this time grazing the fleshy part of Marshal Briggs' arm. The marshal grunted in pain, instinctively dropping his own weapon.

"See?" Whit spat at the outlaw; his voice was bitter. "That's how you shoot."

Whit's fingers squeezed the trigger, sending two bullets slicing through the air and piercing the outlaw's chest. Without hesitation, he grabbed Esther by the waist and lifted her onto the back of a nearby horse.

He swung his own body onto the saddle behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her as he spurred the horse forward toward safety.

As their horses thundered out of the far end of the camp, Whit's eyes scanned the edges for any signs of danger. Then he saw his brother Rex, hidden between the bushes, with a look of disbelief on his face. They locked eyes for a split second before Whit turned and kicked his horse to go faster, knowing they needed to leave everything behind.