a hero from the cover of a dime novel.
He took a moment to look the three riders up and down before he smiled and lowered the gun. “Mark Shafton,” he said. “And this is my wife, Laura. You’re welcome to the water, gentlemen. In fact, we’d be pleased to have you stay for a meal. Laura makes a right tasty pot of bean stew, and today she’s cooked enough for an army.”
The young wife kept her face lowered. Her fingertips pressed her husband’s arm in what Caleb guessed to be a silent plea to get rid of the strangers. But Mark Shafton paid her no attention. The man was either a saint or a fool, maybe both. The smell of seasoned beans that drifted from the house made Caleb’s mouth water, but he couldn’t help hoping—for pretty Laura’s sake—that Noah would decline the offer.
“That’s right hospitable of you, Mr. Shafton.” Noah swung wearily out of the saddle. “We been hankerin’ for a home-cooked meal ever since we left Texas. I’m Luke Johnson, and these are my brothers Sam and Will.”
Caleb shrank into his jacket as the two shook hands. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard Noah give false names. Clearly he meant to cover their tracks. But why? That was the question that chewed on Caleb’s nerves.
Maybe after they left this place he’d confront his brothers and demand to know what was going on. After all, he was practically a man now. He had a right to know.
“You can water your horses at the trough over there,” Mark Shafton said. “By the time you’ve washed up at the pump and filled your canteens, dinner should be on the table.”
“I’ll get more butter out of the springhouse and set some extra places.” Laura darted off like a little hummingbird—so beautiful, Caleb thought. Just looking at her gave him pleasure, like the sight of a cactus in bloom or the deepening glow of a sunset.
Inside, the sparsely furnished house was well kept and cheerful. Strings of garlic and Mexican chiles hung from the open rafters of the whitewashed kitchen. Sprouting herbs in little pots lined the windowsills. The plain plank table had been scrubbed and oiled till it glistened. In its center, a small pottery vase held fresh yellow buttercups and blue columbines.
Laura ladled the beans into bowls from the big iron pot on the stove, then joined the four men at the table. She sat directly across from Caleb, her eyes focused on her food. Caleb watched the careful motion of her spoon as it traveled from the bowl to her pretty rosebud mouth. She took tiny bites, as if she were only pretending to eat.
“We came west last fall, right after we were married,” Mark Shafton was saying. “My wife had inherited a little money back in St. Louis, and I invested it in this prime land. We’ve got five hundred acres, with a good stream running down from the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. You may have noticed the dam I built—I’m right proud of it. It channels water through the springhouse, just a few steps from the back door, so Laura doesn’t have far to walk. That’s important these days.” His eyes lingered on his pretty wife. A smile tugged at one corner of his chiseled mouth.
“Well, you’d best keep a sharp eye out for floods,” Noah muttered around a mouthful of beans. “Strikes me that a big storm could bring enough water down that channel to do some real damage.”
“So I was told.” Mark Shafton buttered a piece of crusty bread. “But when I build something, I build it to last, so I’m not greatly worried. In a few years I plan to have one of the finest cattle ranches in the territory.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded the visitors with a smile. “That’s enough about us. Tell me about your trip, gentlemen. I always enjoy talking with travelers. A man can learn a lot about the country that way.”
While his brothers chatted with Mark Shafton, Caleb stole glances at Laura. Once she looked up, and her dove-gray eyes met his before they flashed downward. After that he was more careful. He loved watching her, but she was already ill at ease. He had no desire to worsen her discomfort.
All too soon, the meal was over. Noah rose from his chair, stifled a belch and announced that it was time to leave. “We’re right grateful for your hospitality, ma’am,” he said, lifting his Stetson from the back of the chair. “It’s been a long spell since we had such tasty vittles.”
He strode outside, followed by Mark Shafton, with Zeke trailing behind. Laura had risen and was gathering up the bowl of butter and the pitcher of milk to take to the springhouse.
“Can—Can I carry that for you?” Caleb’s voice squeaked, forcing him to clear his throat before he could finish the question.
She shook her head. “You’d better catch up with your brothers, Will. You don’t want them leaving you behind.”
The name threw him for an instant. Then he remembered it was the one Noah had given him. She had actually remembered it. As for being left behind by his brothers, there was nothing he’d like better, Caleb thought. Maybe the Shaftons would hire him to stay on and help with the ranch. He was a good worker and there was nothing he didn’t know about horses and cattle.
But Caleb knew better than to dream. When Noah and Zeke rode out the ranch gate, he would be riding with them, and he would never see Laura again.
As Laura hurried out the back door with the butter and milk, he turned away and headed outside. Noah was standing by the horses, talking to Mark Shafton. Zeke was nowhere to be seen.
As he walked toward the corral, Caleb felt a sudden, embarrassing urge, likely brought on by having eaten so many beans. “Beg your pardon, Mr. Shafton, but would you mind if I used your privy?” he asked.
“Go ahead,” the young man replied. “It’s out in the trees, past the springhouse. But you might have to wait for your brother. He went that way a minute ago.”
Caleb found the privy empty, with no sign of Zeke. He did his business and was bending to wash his hands in the creek when he heard voices coming from behind the closed door of the springhouse.
“Just hold still, girlie, while I get a hand under them petticoats.” Zeke’s voice was rough and ugly. “Behave yourself, now, and you’ll be fine. Hell, you might even enjoy it.”
“Please don’t…” Caleb could barely make out Laura’s strained whisper. “Please, I’m going to have a baby.You might hurt—” Her words ended in a gasp.
Caleb pounded against the wooden door. “Zeke! You crazy fool, let her go!” he shouted.
The door resisted as if it might be latched or braced. Frantic, Caleb backed off and flung his full weight against the rough-sawn planks. This time the door gave way so suddenly that he hurtled through the opening and crashed full force against the opposite wall. Something snapped in his shoulder. Dizzy with pain, he careened backward to crumple on the earthen floor.
His eyes caught the flash of a blade in a dark corner of the springhouse. Zeke, he realized, was holding his big Bowie knife against Laura’s throat with one hand while the other hand fumbled beneath her skirt. Dazed and hurting, Caleb scrambled to his knees. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side.
“Get out of here, you stinkin’ little half-breed,” Zeke snarled. “And don’t you go runnin’ to Noah, or I’ll carve you up like a—”
His words ended in a shriek as Laura sank her teeth into his forearm. “You hellcat!” he howled. “I’ll show you—”
They were grappling now, the blade catching glints of the light from the open doorway.
