her!” Boris declared.
“Who is she?” Frog asked. “If she ain’t Anne Ferry, who in the blue blazes have we had to cotton to for the past month?”
“She must be that Hope . . . What’d she say her name was?”
“Who cares who she is?” Big Joe said. “Boris is right. We gotta git rid of her.”
Grunt? Where was Grunt? Did he want to get rid of her, too? Hope coughed, a racking hack that brought all conversation to a halt.
“She’s gettin’ sicker. Maybe we won’t hafta do away with her. Maybe she’ll just croak on her own.”
“She’s too mean to croak on her own.” Big Joe’s voice filtered through the deep fog.
“What’s wrong with her?” Frog asked.
“How should I know?” Big Joe shot back. “I ain’t no lady’s maid.”
Cool fingers touched her forehead. Her eyes refused to open, but she sensed it was Grunt. The touch was infinitely gentle.
“Her fever’s rising. We’ve got to get it down.”
She heard Boris back away. “She got somethin’ I’m likely to catch? I git the ague real easy—”
“Shut up, Boris.”
Hope whimpered when she felt a cold cloth pressed to her forehead.
“She’s caught cold. Frog, get some more blankets.”
Hope moaned. She didn’t want those dirty old blankets on her. They weren’t fit for an animal, let alone a lady. She pushed at the gentle hands that now securely held her captive.
“Don’t waste time with blankets. Put her outside and let’s be done with it. She’ll be dead by mornin’.”
“Boris is right,” Frog said. “Put her outside and lock the door. Good riddance.”
“No one come near her,” Grunt warned. “We’re not going to let her die.”
“She ain’t Ferry’s daughter, what do you care?”
Grunt’s voice firmed. “No one lays a hand on her.” She heard him do something. Cracking an eye open, Hope saw Grunt reach for his gun belt and strap it on.
With a sour look, Big Joe returned to the fire.
“I still say we get rid of her,” Boris growled. “She ain’t no use to us! Jest a millstone around our necks.”
The outlaws’ voices faded as Hope slipped back into unconsciousness.
She was running now from something dark and sinister. Glancing back over her shoulder, she stumbled over rough ground, trying to make out the shadowy form that was chasing her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Just incredible heat, a furnace filling her whole body. She didn’t know where she was; everything was so black and closing in. Hot. She was so hot! Water. She needed water . . . cool water. The murkiness drew her deeper, covering her mouth. She was choking, clawing at this thing. . . .
Suddenly her fear was reality. The darkness was real, and there was something hard and persistent across her mouth. She clawed at the thing, trying to rip it away. She heard a grunt as she was tossed over a man’s shoulder like a sack of flour. Awake now and terrified, she kicked and lashed out, trying to free herself. The darkness she’d desperately tried to escape was real, and someone was carrying her off into the night. Hope’s worst fears were coming true. The outlaws were going kill her.
Bile rose to the back of her throat, and she struggled with all her might. The man was large and strong, his shoulder pressing into her middle. She was going to die, and no one would know. Murdered somewhere in the Kentucky wilderness. Was she still in Kentucky? She couldn’t be sure . . . she didn’t even know! Mr. Jacobs would think she had abandoned him, changed her mind about marriage. Her sisters wouldn’t know what had happened to her. Aunt Thalia would take to her bed when she learned that Hope had disappeared and never been heard from again.
This isn’t fair; it isn’t fair, Lord! I never asked for anything more than a husband so I wouldn’t be a burden to Aunt Thalia. And now she was going to die at the hands of ruthless outlaws, and not even her family would know what had happened to her. Why,
“Who is she?” Frog asked. “If she ain’t Anne Ferry, who in the blue blazes have we had to cotton to for the past month?”
“She must be that Hope . . . What’d she say her name was?”
“Who cares who she is?” Big Joe said. “Boris is right. We gotta git rid of her.”
Grunt? Where was Grunt? Did he want to get rid of her, too? Hope coughed, a racking hack that brought all conversation to a halt.
“She’s gettin’ sicker. Maybe we won’t hafta do away with her. Maybe she’ll just croak on her own.”
“She’s too mean to croak on her own.” Big Joe’s voice filtered through the deep fog.
“What’s wrong with her?” Frog asked.
“How should I know?” Big Joe shot back. “I ain’t no lady’s maid.”
Cool fingers touched her forehead. Her eyes refused to open, but she sensed it was Grunt. The touch was infinitely gentle.
“Her fever’s rising. We’ve got to get it down.”
She heard Boris back away. “She got somethin’ I’m likely to catch? I git the ague real easy—”
“Shut up, Boris.”
Hope whimpered when she felt a cold cloth pressed to her forehead.
“She’s caught cold. Frog, get some more blankets.”
Hope moaned. She didn’t want those dirty old blankets on her. They weren’t fit for an animal, let alone a lady. She pushed at the gentle hands that now securely held her captive.
“Don’t waste time with blankets. Put her outside and let’s be done with it. She’ll be dead by mornin’.”
“Boris is right,” Frog said. “Put her outside and lock the door. Good riddance.”
“No one come near her,” Grunt warned. “We’re not going to let her die.”
“She ain’t Ferry’s daughter, what do you care?”
Grunt’s voice firmed. “No one lays a hand on her.” She heard him do something. Cracking an eye open, Hope saw Grunt reach for his gun belt and strap it on.
With a sour look, Big Joe returned to the fire.
“I still say we get rid of her,” Boris growled. “She ain’t no use to us! Jest a millstone around our necks.”
The outlaws’ voices faded as Hope slipped back into unconsciousness.
She was running now from something dark and sinister. Glancing back over her shoulder, she stumbled over rough ground, trying to make out the shadowy form that was chasing her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Just incredible heat, a furnace filling her whole body. She didn’t know where she was; everything was so black and closing in. Hot. She was so hot! Water. She needed water . . . cool water. The murkiness drew her deeper, covering her mouth. She was choking, clawing at this thing. . . .
Suddenly her fear was reality. The darkness was real, and there was something hard and persistent across her mouth. She clawed at the thing, trying to rip it away. She heard a grunt as she was tossed over a man’s shoulder like a sack of flour. Awake now and terrified, she kicked and lashed out, trying to free herself. The darkness she’d desperately tried to escape was real, and someone was carrying her off into the night. Hope’s worst fears were coming true. The outlaws were going kill her.
Bile rose to the back of her throat, and she struggled with all her might. The man was large and strong, his shoulder pressing into her middle. She was going to die, and no one would know. Murdered somewhere in the Kentucky wilderness. Was she still in Kentucky? She couldn’t be sure . . . she didn’t even know! Mr. Jacobs would think she had abandoned him, changed her mind about marriage. Her sisters wouldn’t know what had happened to her. Aunt Thalia would take to her bed when she learned that Hope had disappeared and never been heard from again.
This isn’t fair; it isn’t fair, Lord! I never asked for anything more than a husband so I wouldn’t be a burden to Aunt Thalia. And now she was going to die at the hands of ruthless outlaws, and not even her family would know what had happened to her. Why,
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