Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(65)

She certainly didn’t reach for it now. She just kept it in mind. When she got her chance, she’d be fighting with more than just her wits.

She came back to the first and most awful thing that pounded in her head harder than the horse pounded as it galloped along.

Was Kevin dead?

She itched to reach for her knife.





Twenty-Seven




They were a long time reaching the peak the pigeon flew over. They looked all around but no sign of a hideout. No sign of Hawkins. No sign of a pigeon. There were trails, but none of them more worn down than others.

The country was higher, and snow sifted down. The trail they were on crested above the tree line, then led down to sickly, bent trees nearly too high to grow, then thicker trees that towered overhead, even though from where the group stood, they looked down at where the trees grew. If they went down, they’d soon be swallowed up in dense forest.

“Remember how many people have been shot from cover since we’ve come out here.” Molly thought of the evil men pursuing them as she, Kevin, and Andy were sleeping on the ground, still a day out from Bear Claw Pass.

The three of them had crawled into the darkness away from the firelight and watched two men unload their guns into the abandoned blankets. A fine welcome to Wyoming Territory.

Win had been shot, though they assumed the bullet was aimed at Kevin, then Falcon had gone to track the would-be killers, and he’d been shot. Later on, Win and Kevin were attacked again. Then Wyatt, then Rachel. No one died, but they’d come too close, too many times.

Molly looked down at the steep descent. A likely place for an armed man to hide. They’d better ride easy.

Or uneasy in this case.

“Do we release another pigeon?” Wyatt had one hand resting on top of the pigeon crate to balance it.

John rode over to him. “Yep, no way to know which way to take from here.”

He opened the crate while Wyatt steadied it. Slid another bird out of the door and quickly closed it. “Keep a sharp eye.”

Everyone nodded. He released the bird. It flew straight east.

The only direction without a trail, and a direction at odds with where the other bird seemed to be heading.

“That one’s going to Casper,” Cheyenne said.

“Let it get out of sight.” Falcon rode up close. “I don’t know if a homing pigeon might follow its friend, but in case that could happen, let’s wait a spell.”

The bird vanished from sight.

“I envy that bird its fast wings,” Molly said, mostly to herself. She’d ridden up on Wyatt’s left while John was on his right. Falcon and Cheyenne were a few paces ahead of them on the trail, Sheriff Corly at their side.

Wyatt rested one gloved hand on her back, drawing her eyes from the spot where the bird had been lost in the distance.

He smiled.

They really did need to have that talk.

John reached for the crate. He tossed the friendly bird gently into the air. It spread its wings and went flapping east, too.

A third pigeon headed east.

“Two left,” the sheriff said. “We’re running out of chances.”

Molly said a quiet, intense prayer for the Lord to lead them all, including the pigeon. John released the second-to-last bird. It soared like an arrow in flight, heading north. The center trail, into the thickest woods.

They watched to pinpoint where it flew out of sight.

There was a long trail downward and another peak beyond. The bird went on north, straight and steady, beyond the next peak.

They were a long time riding down, then back up. Everyone was wary. Molly found her nerves taut as she tried to look for hidden gunmen. There were too many likely places for an outlaw to stand guard over the trail.

At the top of the next peak, the mountain was white with snow but not above the tree line. The trees held the snow better than that last barren peak. It was growing colder by the moment. The icy wind penetrated Molly’s coat, and no one else could be much better. The way was impossible to guess. No obvious tracks. The snow was packed and slippery. Trees seemed to surround them, and snow fell heavily enough they couldn’t make out a trail anywhere.

A stream gushed out of a crack in the mountain nearby. Despite the cold, it was a stunning place. The stand of evergreens with their lush needles was broken here and there by the bare branches of an oak or cottonwood or a copse of aspen trees.

Molly looked at the beautiful, forbidding forest. The snow had turned to needles of ice, and her fingers were numb with cold.

They had one bird left.

John looked each of them in the eye. “This is it. We’ll follow it as far as we can, and if we don’t find it or find some trail that gives us a way to travel, we’ll have to go back.”

“And probably have to make a deal with Kingston,” Sheriff Corly said bitterly.

It burned every one of them to let the man go, but to capture Hawkins, who had committed multiple murders, they might have to agree to his terms.

Molly caught Wyatt’s hand, and she prayed silently. She saw Falcon and Cheyenne whispering with an intensity that made Molly think they were sharing a prayer.

Wyatt lifted her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips. Their eyes met.

John quietly said, “Amen.”

He reached in the cage for the last pigeon and tossed it in the air.

It took off like a shot straight north. At least it wasn’t going to Casper. They all watched, all hoping and praying.