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  Meanwhile the third man had made a new discovery, one that pleased him almost as much as the rich pickings from the strongbox. The coach was carrying a passenger, a fear-stricken girl hoping to avoid detection in the dark interior. Ellie Rogers had left her Indiana home some weeks earlier with the purpose of joining her fiancé, Captain Eugene O’Malley at military headquarters in Edwinton, but he had been posted to Fort Laramie and his telegram to stop her travelling had not arrived in time.

  Now, without his knowledge, she was following him into the West, determined to become an army wife. When she was pulled from the coach and flung to the ground Ben Garland protested. Not only was she a passenger in his care, but his natural instinct was to treat females with respect. When his words fell on deaf ears he made the mistake of reaching for his gun. He suffered the same fate as his pal. In a moment he too lay dead on the road.

  The outlaw leader told his cohort to leave the girl. Cavalry troops patrolled the area, so they needed to head south as quickly as possible. He turned his horse to lead the gang away, then stopped to gather up Jake’s Stetson, with which he replaced his own old grey hat.

  ‘Come on,’ he called and put spur to horse. The man with the money was soon in the saddle and following, but the third man, Clem Butler, was reluctant to lose his prize.

  ‘Perhaps there isn’t time at the moment,’ he told the girl, ‘but you’ll keep for later.’ He punched her on the jaw, threw her unconscious body over his saddle, then climbed on to the horse himself.

  They rode for three hours, sticking to rugged terrain, avoiding recognized trails and thus the chance of meeting other travellers, until they were well clear of the site of the hold-up. Their pace was handicapped by the fact that Clem Butler’s horse carried double. Ellie had covered the first part of the journey unconscious and slung over the saddle like an over-large blanket. Then, when her senses returned to her, she was obliged by the restrictions of her dress to ride sidesaddle as Clem straddled the bareback area behind her.

  Fear, evoked by the memory of the dead stage driver and shotgun guard, gripped Ellie, who had never before witnessed violent death. Her mind was tormented with visions of that hold-up and her recognition of the predicament she was in. Shock and fear caused her to tremble and gradually, just as the mental anguish of the late morning was becoming almost unbearable, so too did the effects of the physical abuse become only too evident. Aches and pains racked her body: she was suffering abrasions from having been thrown to the ground, a bruise was swelling where she’d been punched, she felt soreness across her midriff where her body had been pressed against the hard leather saddle, and nausea and dizziness from being hung head down across the horse.

  Clem Butler was repulsive to her. His arms encircled her, pressed tightly against her. He exhaled his warm, unpleasant breath against her neck and ear and although she refused to turn her head in his direction she could sense the lustful looks that he cast upon her. Occasionally his hands touched her, almost casually but bearing a message of what was to befall her when they stopped. Escape, it seemed, was impossible. Her hands were tied together with a long strip of rawhide, the other end of which was secured to the pommel of Clem’s saddle. If she jumped off she would be dragged along behind, and Clem, she was sure, would enjoy every minute. Nor did she expect any sympathy from the other two.

  Lew Butler and Charlie Huntz had made it clear that they didn’t want anything to do with her. They had cursed Clem for not leaving her at the stagecoach, where there had been the possibility of rescue. If they’d left her behind she could have unharnessed one of the horses and ridden on to the nearest settlement. Lew and Charlie didn’t really care if she lived or died, but kidnap for the purpose which Clem had in mind was not their way. If a posse caught up with them now they would be shown no pity. Abusing a woman got a man hanged as surely as rustling cattle or stealing a horse. Now Clem’s horse was blowing hard with the effort of keeping up but it was necessary to put more distance between themselves and the hold-up.

  All three outlaws had, as soon as they were clear of the stricken stagecoach, removed the neckerchiefs that covered the lower part of their faces. Although Lew was broader and two inches taller than Clem, it was clear to anyone who met them that they were brothers. Even Lew’s heavy jowls couldn’t distract attention from the long, straight nose they had in common, nor the thick eyebrows over long-lashed brown eyes. These features and the dark, lank hair confirmed they were brothers. Charlie Huntz had an unruly mass of red hair and a full red beard through which his tongue continuously flicked as it tried to moisten his thin dry lips. His small blue eyes were restless, forever searching for what might be approaching, never settling on what was within reach.

  At about the time that the coach should have been reaching the trading post near Fort Laramie the group halted on a ridge above a stream, a tributary of the North Platte. Satisfied that the area was clear of both white men and Indians, Lew Butler led the way down to the water’s edge. The horses dipped their heads to drink. Clem unfastened the rawhide strip from the saddle horn and pushed Ellie out of the saddle. With a painful yelp she landed half-in and half-out of the stream, her head cracking against a submerged rock. Clem grinned at her distress.

  ‘Well,’ he said, dismounting, ‘guess it’s time.’ He grinned at Ellie as she wiped the water from her face.

  ‘Ain’t you interested in how much we got?’ Charlie Huntz, who had exchanged an anxious glance with Lew, tried to distract Clem from his purpose. He rubbed his hand around his neck as though he could already feel a rope noose tightening there.

  ‘You count it,’ said Clem. ‘Just give me my share and perhaps I’ll let you have a share of this one.’ Ellie tried to pull away from him but he’d wrapped the strap of rawhide several times around his left wrist. ‘No good,’ he told her. ‘You can’t get away.’ He tugged suddenly and swiftly, pulling Ellie off balance so that she stumbled towards him. When he tried to kiss her she pushed him away.

  ‘Come on, Clem,’ said Lew. He was following Charlie Huntz further up the bank to where he was emptying the contents of his saddle-bags. ‘I’ve never seen so much money at one time.’

  ‘And it’s all ours,’ Charlie shouted gleefully.

  Clem turned his head that way and seemed bemused by the number of bundles scattered at Charlie’s feet. ‘What do you think we got there?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said his brother, ‘and don’t care, either.’

  ‘Must have been a special bank run,’ declared Charlie. He was checking the value of the bundles and forming them into three piles. ‘Bring your saddle-bags, Clem, if you want a share.’

  Clem looked at Ellie, torn for a moment between his desire for her and his love of money. He grinned, drew a long knife from a scabbard on his left hip and tied the length of rawhide to it. Then he plunged the blade into the ground.

  ‘Be good,’ he told Ellie. He left her by the water while he led his horse up to where the other two were sharing a joke about the money.

  ‘More than eighty thousand dollars,’ declared Charlie. ‘We’ll be the kings of Cheyenne.’

  ‘No,’ said Lew. ‘We can’t go to Cheyenne with this money. Where would we have got eighty thousand dollars? Sheriff Boyston would have us in jail before we’d laid down our first full house. No, Charlie. We gotta go somewhere we ain’t known. Some big city.’

  ‘St Louis,’ said Clem.

  ‘New Orleans,’ said Charlie. ‘Always did want to take me a ride on one of those riverboats. Hear tell they got show girls and minstrels on board to entertain people while they’re playing the gambling tables.’

  Lew smiled. ‘Sounds good,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got a hankering for San Francisco. I’d like to see the ocean.’

  ‘Lots of things I’d like to see,’ said Charlie Huntz.

  With such talk combined with the pleasurable employment of filling their saddle-bags, Ellie Rogers was momentarily forgotten. She, however, conscious that this might be her only opportunity to escape, w
as pulling the knife from the turf. She had no plan in her head other than to get away from the three men. Across the stream there was an abundance of hickory bushes and willow trees. If she could reach them before they noticed she’d gone then perhaps there was a chance they would ride away without her. Lew and Charlie, she knew, were anxious to be free of her. Only Clem would mount any kind of a search, but it wouldn’t be for long. They needed to get as far away as possible from the stagecoach hold-up.

  Clem thought the knife was stuck securely in firm ground, but the stream had been much wider during the spring flood and beneath the grassy surface the soil was still moist and loose. Even for Ellie, for whom physical strength had never been a necessary development, the knife came free without much effort. She glanced at her captors who were still in a happy huddle thirty yards away. Partly obscured from their sight by the grazing horses, she moved towards the water, slowly at first, then, when her departure seemed to be unobserved, she began to hurry across to the other side.

  She had almost gained the far side of the stream when Clem spotted her attempted escape. Instantly he was running down the slope, splashing through the water, and had her by the arm before she had taken more than six steps on the opposite bank. Even though she still held the knife in her tethered hands, she offered no immediate resistance. Panic constricted her breathing and, gulping for air, she allowed Clem to take the weapon from her and pull her back across the water.

  She stumbled once, sinking to her knees in the stream. The chill of the running water released the tension in her body. She sobbed, her misery expelled in a heavy sigh which freed the tightness in her chest. She screamed, an instinctive declaration of fear but also of defiance. Her shrieks and struggles continued as Clem dragged her up the bank, yelling as loudly as she could, pleading for mercy which she knew he would never show.

  ‘Shut her up, can’t you,’ called Lew. ‘They’ll hear her in Fort Laramie if she keeps up that din.’

  Clem grinned at her; he pushed his arm across his chest to deliver her a backhand blow, but he never landed it. Instead, his eyes bulged with surprise and unuttered pain, then he pitched forward, fell against her, knocking her to the ground, pinning her there with the weight of his body.

  The things that happened next all happened together. The realization that two arrows protruded from Clem’s back and that he was now a dead weight on top of her, registered with Ellie at the same time as the wild whoops and sounds of splashing came from the direction of the river. She heard someone, Charlie Huntz she suspected, shout, ‘Indians!’ That was immediately followed by the crash of gunfire. At that moment, for Ellie the world consisted of nothing but shouts and the pounding of hoofs.

  Suddenly an Indian was above her, leaping from a painted, white pony and brandishing a huge knife. His face was squat and dark with a flat nose and narrow eyes. It was painted with blue lines and yellow splotches and Ellie thought he was a devil risen from Hell itself. His eyes met hers but his expression didn’t alter. He grabbed the hair on Clem’s head and with a swift single swipe of the knife sliced off the top. Blood drizzled on to Ellie’s face and the Indian shouted a victory cry as he held the scalp aloft. But at that very moment of his triumph a bullet tore through his body and he dropped, writhing, to the ground.

  Gripped as she was by terror, it took Ellie several moments to realize that the turmoil had receded, that the gun battle had moved away from the riverbank. Presently, the only sounds she could hear were the rippling of the water over the stony riverbed and the song of those birds that now found it safe enough to resume their natural life.

  For Ellie, however, nothing was natural. Supine and bound, she feared she would suffocate where she lay. The weight of Clem’s body, which covered her from head to toe, seemed to increase moment by moment. She felt as though she was being pressed into the ground. All the air had been driven from her lungs and she could manage only short, shallow breaths, each one as painful as a knife thrust.

  But the human spirit is indomitable and Ellie’s desire to survive was intact. Instinct told her that she had to get out from under Clem’s body and find a refuge before anyone came back. Indian or white man, whoever it was would kill her. By manoeuvring her legs she figured she’d be able to work herself into a position which would give her more purchase to turn her body and slide out. Once free of Clem’s weight she could find the knife and cut her bonds.

  As it happened, her first significant movement was with her shoulders. Squirming with her buttocks to move her legs caused a corresponding, involuntary lift with the upper part of her body. It wasn’t enough to free any part of her but it did cause Clem’s head to roll from her chest to her shoulder. His wide open eyes stared at her, the blood from his lifted scalp running thickly down his face in twin rivulets. The ugliness revolted her and she heaved again with her body until the pain in her arms bade her stop.

  She hadn’t achieved much physically, but it provided the mental boost she needed to continue to struggle, She was convinced that she was capable of freeing herself from the burden of Clem’s body. What she wasn’t sure about was how long it would take her, whether she had time to escape before her tormentors or the Indians returned.

  It took several minutes, alternately heaving with her shoulders then quirming with her buttocks to free her legs. This achieved, she bent them at the knees in preparation for a final effort. With the lower part of her body unrestricted she hoped to be able to relax the strain on her arms and, by kneeling and turning, get out of the situation she was in.

  First though, she needed a moment to revive from her exertions so far. She had been beaten, restrained, deprived of food and water and had witnessed such violence as she had hardly supposed possible; now she feared that if she didn’t escape from this place she wouldn’t survive to the end of the day. Her chest ached from the very act of breathing and her arms felt as though they were close to leaving their sockets. Still, Ellie convinced herself that one last effort would see her free. She moved her legs in readiness, giving herself room to twist which would provide sufficient purchase to turn her torso. Then something sticky and hairy clamped around her right ankle and gripped tightly.

  Ellie gasped and turned her head. The Indian she had thought dead held her with his left hand. It also held Clem’s scalp. The stickiness on her leg was Clem’s blood. In his right hand the warrior still held the knife he’d used to lift Clem’s scalp. For several seconds they looked at each other. No sound passed between them. Terror was the expression etched on Ellie’s face. His was set with determination, eyes wide and staring, and mouth partly open.

  Then he began to move. Inching forward, his expression remained unchanged, his eyes never leaving Ellie’s face. She kicked out, hoping to shake herself free of his grip but succeeded only in wrenching her arms and causing herself more pain. He wasn’t a big man, wiry thin, but his hand was hard on her leg and his hold growing ever tighter. She kicked out again, blanking out her mind to the agony it caused to her arms, but that effort had no more success than her first. The Indian used his right forearm to lever his chest and shoulders from the ground, then shifted his weight to his left arm. Pressing down on Ellie’s ankle he pulled himself forward to within striking distance and raised the knife.

  Ellie knew she was at his mercy. There was nothing more she could do. She began to imagine the searing pain as the long, broad blade sliced its way to her lungs and other organs. Or perhaps he would crawl closer still and slit her throat. They locked eyes and, for what seemed like an eternity, they stayed in those positions. Then, suddenly, the Indian’s mouth disgorged an eruption of blood. It covered Ellie’s dress. She screamed, then watched mesmerized as the hate-filled eyes turned blank and the Indian’s head drooped forward, slowly, his forehead finally coming to rest on her thigh.

  Tearfully, her body shaking with shock, she found the strength to ease herself out from under Clem. Shuddering, she knew not whether from fear or relief, she began to crawl away, then remembered the knife in the Indian�
��s hand. She prised it from his fingers and stuck the blade into the ground, far enough to enable her to rub her rawhide bindings along the edge until they were severed.

  Wiping tears from her face she tried to force her brain to decide what to do next. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know which direction would lead her to Fort Laramie or any other settlement. All she could be sure of was that she had to get away from this place. She looked across the river. That was the direction in which they’d been heading and the direction from which the Indians had attacked. She couldn’t decide whether either of those facts was favourable to her. Perhaps she ought to follow the stream. It was sure to lead to a larger river. She’d be bound to come across settlers if she followed the river.

  Her decision made, she determined to move on to higher ground, up to the tree line, which would give her some protection if anyone came looking for her. When she turned her heart plunged. Not ten paces from her an Indian sat astride a brown piebald pony. He was naked except for the merest deerskin cloth. His hair was loose but adorned with two eagle feathers which were worn at the back of his head. He held a round, buffalo-skin shield in his left hand and a long lance in his right. His face and body were unpainted but his horse had many markings in red and yellow. For several seconds horse and rider remained motionless, then, slowly at first, they started towards her. A sob burst from Ellie’s throat. She had no more resistance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When the Indians came racing across the river Charlie Huntz had his hands full of dollar bills. Hundreds of them, in tidy bundles, were wrapped inside bands denoting the Cattlemen’s Bank of Chicago. So greedily was he eyeing the money that it took several seconds for the threat from beyond the narrow stream to register in his mind. By the time he’d shouted a warning – the single word – ‘Indians!’ arrows were already flying.