the place.” He nodded toward Jesse and Hendershot who were busy with the wagon and said, “Them two are stayin’ back.”
“What do ya need me to do?” Win asked.
Percy pondered the question for a moment. Win was a hell of a tracker, much better than he was, but the two Mexicans could cut sign almost as good as Win could. However, Win had fought in his share of Indian scrapes and was deadly with a rifle in his hand. “Probably be best if you went along, Win,” Percy said. “The more eyes lookin’, the better. Accordin’ to Colonel Davidson the Comanche are gettin’ mighty frisky.”
“Why doesn’t Davidson do something to address the problem?” Eli asked.
“Army’s goin’ to but he didn’t know when,” Percy said. “I reckon he’s got his hands full keepin’ what Indians he does have corralled.”
“Ought to take their damn horses away,” Win said. “That’d keep ’em from ridin’ off.”
“That’s his problem to worry about,” Percy said. “We got our own problems.” He looked at Eli and asked, “What happened to Seth?”
Eli told Percy what had happened, including Seth’s branding.
“Jeezus,” Percy said under his breath. “Where are those three bastards now?”
“They remain right where we found them,” Eli said. “You can rest assured they will never abduct another child.”
Percy nodded. “Good. Any idea of who they were?”
“No, nor do I particularly care,” Eli said. “When are you leaving?”
“As soon as I can get things squared away,” Percy said.
“What are the odds of quickly finding Emma?” Eli asked.
“Not good,” Percy replied. “It’s wide open country out west and finding anything will be a damn chore, much less a bunch of sneaky Injuns on the run.” He pushed his hat back and wiped his sweaty brow with his shirtsleeve. “I need to go do a few things before leaving.” Percy issued instructions about what he wanted done and turned for his house. He walked by the corral to see if either of his two sons, Chauncey or Franklin, were around but he saw no sign of them. Probably out fishing, he thought. Walking up the stairs to the front porch, Percy paused, took a deep breath, and pushed through the door.
“You’re back,” his sixteen-year-old daughter, Amanda, said. Tall and willowy with long dark hair and blue eyes, she was the spitting image of her mother when she had been young.
“Not for long,” he said, leaning down to kiss Amanda on the cheek.
“Goin’ out to look for Emma?”
Percy nodded. “How you holdin’ up?”
“I’m scared, Papa. That coulda been me out there.”
“Can’t live your life running scared all the time. How’s your ma?”
“She ain’t gettin’ any better.”
“She isn’t.”
“You say ain’t all the time,” Amanda said.
“Doesn’t mean I want my kids sayin’ it.”
Amanda rolled her eyes and Percy smiled before shuffling toward the bedroom they’d added on three or four years ago when things got too tight. The curtains were drawn, the room dark. Percy had met Mary Blalock in San Antonio at the tail end of his time with the Rangers. And she had been a beauty with long dark hair, blue eyes, and a wicked sense of humor. But the person now lying in the bed in front of him bore little resemblance to the woman he’d met those many years ago. Percy inhaled a deep breath and released it before stepping into the room.
“Mary, you asleep?” Percy asked.
“You back already?” Mary asked, her voice slow and slurred by laudanum, a powerful drug derived from dissolving opium powder in alcohol.
“Yeah, but I have to head back out.” Percy stepped over to the window and cracked the curtain open a tad so that he could see.
“Emma?” Mary asked.
“Yes,” Percy replied as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and covered Mary’s hand with his own. “How are you feelin’?”
“Poorly. Can’t use my left arm at all.”
Percy had brought in doctors from all over, but none could say with any specificity what was ailing his wife. The most common response was that Mary might get better or her condition could continue to worsen. Thanks very much, Percy had thought at the time. “Want to try and get out of bed to walk around a bit?”
“I can’t, Percy. My eyes . . . are so blurry . . . can’t hardly see and . . . can’t feel . . . my left leg at all.”
The two sat in silence for several moments and Percy’s mind drifted to the task ahead. The odds of finding Emma were long, but knowing his father, they would ride to the ends of the earth before even thinking about riding home.
“Percy?” Mary said, drawing Percy away from his thoughts.
“Yes?”
Mary withdrew her right hand from under his and reached out, placing a hand on Percy’s gun belt.
“You have . . . your pistol?”
Percy had a pretty good idea where this was going. “Yes.”
“Please . . . I beg you . . . please . . . shoot me. I can’t stand this . . . misery,” she said, with a feeble tug of his gun belt.
It was a request Mary had made before and Percy knew she was in agony, but he couldn’t bring it upon himself to kill his wife and the mother of his children. “I can’t do it, Mary.”
“Then leave me . . . your pistol and I’ll . . . do it myself.”
Percy stood and leaned over and kissed his wife on the forehead. “I can’t do that, neither.” Percy turned and walked out of the bedroom and then out the front door, tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d debated the issue a thousand times in his mind and, if it had been just the two of them, he might have done it. But Amanda had been the one caring for her mother and the thought of asking her to help clean up the aftermath of a bloody suicide by gun was more than Percy could tolerate.
Percy stopped, dried his eyes, and returned to the house. He stuck his head in the door and asked Amanda to step outside for a moment and she did. “Mandy,” Percy said, “your ma’s in terrible shape.”
“I know that,” Amanda snapped. “I’m the one takin’ care of her.”
“I know, and I appreciate it mightily.” Percy paused, trying to frame the next few statements in his head. After a moment or two he said, “Where do you keep the bottle of laudanum you’ve been givin’ her?”
“On a shelf in the kitchen.”
“I
