Chapter Nine

Riding side by side, the Cartwright brothers veered south along Crooked Creek Road. Nothing had been said since they'd started out. Nothing aloud, that is, and the silence hung thick in the air.

Adam knew his brothers were bothered by what had happened before they'd left to join the search party – Adam had avoided speaking to Betsy Ann.

Joe had ridden in, hard, from Virginia City. The Cartwrights had gathered by the barn, and Ben had assured his sons that Betsy Ann was out of earshot, inside the house, dressing for the day. The decision had been made quickly that Adam and Hoss would join the search for Jessamine and the marshal. But while Hoss, Joe, and Ben had gone back inside, Adam busied himself with filling canteens, gathering ammunition, and saddling Chubb and Sport. He'd even double checked the cinches and then topped off the canteens.

Now, as they neared the rest of the search party, facing Betsy Ann and questions about her mother still weighed on Adam's mind. Assurances and promises seemed like lies, and Adam had been taught that adults owed children something better. The closer they rode to the others, the more determined Adam became. If Jessamine Reid was alive, he'd bring her back to her little girl.

Sheriff Coffee met the Cartwright brothers half way, and as they joined the rest of the search party, he filled them in on their plans.

"We know Marshal Drake and Mrs. Reid headed out of Carson City in a rented buggy. This morning, the sheriff in Carson asked around town and found someone who passed them in the buggy about ten miles outside the city."

Hoss lifted his hat and swiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. "So we backtrack."

"That's right. And if we're lucky, we'll find the buggy with a cracked wheel and them holed up in the shade. Now let's get moving."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They'd been riding along either side of the road, eyes checking the scorched trail for clues. Twenty miles from Carson City, the search party came to an abrupt stop.

"There!" Hoss said, pointing to the tracks in the dust. "See 'em? Buggy tracks. Looks like they took off." Leaning from his saddle, he followed the channels in the dirt, between some trees and behind a crop of boulders. "Ran clean over . . . Here!" He looked up quickly. "The buggy's back here. It's been smashed to bits!"

Half of the party searched on foot, the others scattered further. Everyone looked for foot tracks, some sign that the marshal and Mrs. Reid had walked away from the buggy.

"Look!" Joe jumped from Cochise and knelt near some brush. "These are wagon tracks. And here . . . and over here . . . Drag marks."

Adam nodded. "Somebody stopped that buggy, Roy. And they dragged something or someone into a wagon."

"Adam's right," Hoss said. "And there's something else." He came from behind the rocks, the fingertips of his right hand held for everyone to see. "Blood. There's blood on what's left of that buggy."

Roy called for everyone to gather. "Men, it seems certain the marshal and the lady ran into some trouble."

Anxious, Joe spoke up. "You mean Crocker and his men."

"Now, Joe, we don't know that for sure, but I reckon it's a darn good possibility."

"Let's assume it was Crocker and his gang," Adam said, a touch of relief in his voice. "They're headed to Carson City. What are we waiting for?"

The men mounted, and once again, Roy split the group. "You men head down to the old trail and the rest of you come with me. Ride hard, but keep your eyes open. The two roads run parallel, so if ya see anything, fire three times."

Both groups started out, and Roy called to them with one more detail. "Crocker's a murderer, and he's likely got the marshal and a woman. Be careful, men."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Douglas and Jessamine rode through the brush. They had no way of knowing how soon Crocker would discover them missing, and the rugged terrain was their best chance for traveling undiscovered.

Though Douglas wouldn't admit it, the pain from the bullet in his shoulder throbbed with his horse's every step. He'd worried about Jessamine's abilities, but she rode alongside him, sometimes taking the lead, the lack of a saddle and tack doing nothing to slow her down.

"Douglas." Jessamine signed as she called his name, pointing to narrow stream running to their left. "I doubt the stock has been watered since . . ."

"All right. We'll stop, but only for a moment."

As the horses drank, so did Douglas and Jessamine. When they'd had their fill, they mounted and started off, slowly at first.

"You must know this area well," Douglas said. "I didn't see that stream until you pointed it out."

"I do know the area. And I'm sure you'd have seen it if you weren't hurting so badly."

"It's not so bad, really."

"It's another three miles or so to the Pierson ranch. We can see to your wound once we're there."

"Are there hands on this ranch?" He asked as he helped Jessamine onto her horse. "Someone who can go for help? Someone to send a wire to the sheriff in Virginia City?"

"Yes. The Piersons have several hands." They started on their way, side by side as they crossed the stream. "In fact, one of them used to meet up with Oliver and Betsy Ann, and they'd ride to Paiute Bluff." Jessamine's face grew solemn. "The bluff was one of Betsy Ann's favorite places. She hasn't been there since Oliver died."

Douglas couldn't seem to find words to comfort Jessamine. "We'd uh, we'd best get moving. The sooner we get to the Pierson place, the sooner we can get to the Ponderosa and your little girl."

Douglas was better at consoling than he knew.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When the Pierson homestead came into view, Marshal Drake and Jessamine spurred their horses to a full gallop. The rush of adrenaline returned, they bounded toward the house, lit from their horses, and sprinted for the door. Quickly, Douglas took the lead, holding Jessamine back with his arm.

"Douglas, what's-" She grasped his forearm and gasped.

He signaled her silence and gently pushed her against the house wall. Leaning forward, he peered into the opening – the front door was ajar. Without thinking, his hand moved to his side, and he shivered. A lawman feels naked without his holster.

With his arm still protectively placed, Douglas scanned the porch, looking for anything he could wield as a weapon. Propped against a support beam was a thick-handled broom, and he released Jessamine just long enough to snatch the long, wooden pole.

"Stay behind me," he whispered. Leaving her vulnerable on the porch was not an option.

Wide eyed, she nodded.

The door creaked and Douglas cursed under his breath. Slowly, he stepped forward, his feet steady, his eyes darting around the Piersons' living room. Shards of glass, splintered chairs, an overturned table, and smashed porcelain haunted the silent, vandalized room.

Jessamine smothered a gasp with one palm, and she clutched at Douglas' jacket with the other.

Cautiously, the pair weaved their way through the room, avoiding the ruin scattered on the floor. As they approached the first of three bedrooms, Douglas pushed Jessamine against the hallway wall, and then he spoke to her, silently, with eyes that warned of what they might find.

From the first bedroom to the third, they found destruction and chaos: upturned mattresses, emptied dresser drawers, and chifferobe doors left dangling on their hinges. Three times, Douglas had directed Jessamine to a corner of a room, motioned her to stay, and then plowed through muddle on the floors, searching for signs of the Piersons and their hands.

Convinced the ransacked house was connected to Jubal Crocker and his men, Douglas started for the kitchen, once again tucking Jessamine behind him. Their breathing came in short, shallow gasps, images of the murder in the Reid kitchen foremost in their thoughts.

Douglas stopped abruptly, and Jessamine found herself pressed tightly against his back.

"Don't look" was all he said.

Tears exploded in her eyes, pools of sorrow and fear that swelled and spilled onto her cheeks. "Who?"

"A woman. Blonde, petite."

"Oh, God. It's Jane. J-Jane Pierson."

Jessamine moved, slightly, and Douglas spun to face her, seizing her by the shoulders. His rough touch made her gasp.

"Douglas, wha-"

The alarm in his eyes was startling.

"There's mo . . .? Another? Patrick, too?"

Douglas squared his shoulders, determined to veil the grisly scene. "A man, tall and stalky, with a dark mustache and-"

Jessamine scraped her bottom lip with her teeth and nodded. "Patrick Pierson."

Tipping his head, his eyes softened. "And another. A red-haired young man."

"Oo-oo-oh!" Jessamine closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against his chest. "That's Seth. He and Oliver and Betsy Ann used to go exploring together. He's . . . he was a sweet boy, my daughter's friend."

"They've been gone for days, Jessie." He hesitated. "The house has been torn apart, just like yours. Someone was looking for something. Looking hard."

Tears streaked Jessamine's face, and she fought against the numbness threatening to wash over her.

"Jessie, there's a box near the boy, near Seth. The lock's been shot from it. Do you remember Seth or the Piersons having such a box?"

Jessamine shook her head. "I don't know . . . I can't be sure . . . Wait. Betsy Ann and Oliver went exploring one day. I made a picnic lunch, and Betsy Ann asked me to make extra sandwiches because Seth was going along. When they returned, there was something . . ." She shook her head again and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "Something about Seth carving small horses. He gave one to Betsy Ann, and she said Oliver gave Seth a box for his carvings." Jessamine looked up at Douglas, sudden awareness in her voice. "She said it was a box with a lock on the front! But I don't understand. What would Crocker want with Seth's carved horses?"

"The horses are here, Jessie, scattered all over the floor. Crocker was looking for the box, but the box didn't hold what he expected – the money he'd stolen."

Jessamine waved a finger at Douglas as she back out of the kitchen and into the hallway. "No! You're wrong! The stolen money couldn't have been in that box. Not ever! It would mean that Oliver . . . No! You're wrong!"

"All right. For now, let's say I'm wrong." He took her hand in his and led her down the hallway and into the living room. "We need to get going."

Jessamine pulled back. "We can't leave them like this!"

"We have no way of knowing for sure," he said as he opened the Piersons' gun cabinet, "but I'd bet Crocker has already discovered us gone and his man dead in our place. He's tracking us, Jessie. I'm sure of it."

Jessamine glanced toward the hallway.

"We'll send someone back to bury them, proper. I promise. Here." Douglas held out a rifle and a box of shells. "Load this, and put the rest in your pockets."

Douglas did the same with two more rifles before searching the cabinet drawers for a holster and pistol. He found one, check it for bullets, and then slipped it around his waist. "Let's go. We have some time to make up. We'll have to ride hard and fast."

Jessamine's nod was hesitant. "All right. I'm ready."