of the night? Strength of purpose flowed into her. “Thank you, Papa Doc.” She shoved away from the wagon, unhitched Traveler and mounted. Coat or no coat, doctor’s bag or not, she would go. The child did not have a chance of surviving the storm without her.
Please, God, let me find her soon. She cannot live in this storm. Emma lifted her lips in a grim smile. Why did she pray when she did not expect God to answer? Why did it make her feel better? It was foolishness.
Her teeth clattered together. She clenched her jaw, but could not sustain the pressure. She had never been so cold. But at least the hail had stopped and the wind was at her back. She tried to use her misery to block out her fear. It was impossible. Every time the lightning flashed across the sky and streaked to the ground with a thunderous clap that made the very air vibrate, she had to hold herself from screaming. She dare not let Traveler sense her terror. Thank goodness he was not a horse to panic at the flashes and rumbles.
“Good b-boy, Traveler.” She patted the horse’s neck, studied the ground in front of her. The rain and hail had beaten the grasses down so that it was difficult to make out the wagon tracks. If only the land were not all the same! Had she come far enough? Was this where they had started the wild run with the wagons? Was she even looking in the right place?
Almighty God, for that little girl’s sake, guide me to her, I pray. She lifted her head and peered through the deluge, trying to spot something familiar. Something she had noticed earlier that afternoon. There had been a rise with a dip in the middle of the top. She had wondered if there was a pond….
Lightning glinted, turned the sky into a watery, yellow nightmare with a coruscating tail dropping to the earth. Thunder crashed. She rode on, topped the next swell and spotted the rise she was looking for off to the right. She had been going the wrong way. She slumped in the saddle, discouraged, frightened. What if she got lost out here? What if—
“Stop that this i-instant, Emma Allen! That little g-girl needs y-you!” She could barely hear her own voice above the pounding rain. But the scolding worked. She squared her shoulders, wiped the rain from her eyes and reined Traveler around. The wind slapped a long tress of freed hair across her eyes. She brushed it back, wiped the sheeting water from her forehead. She would surely find the wagon tracks now. Then she could line them up with that rise and backtrack. She rode down the other side of the swell into a broad swale, urged Traveler into a lope and came up the knoll on the other side. And there, lying on the sodden grass, was the child.
“Whoa!” Traveler danced to a stop. “Please G-God. Please l-let her be a-l-live.” Emma slid from the saddle, led Traveler close and dropped the reins to the ground. Please let him stand. She grabbed the blanket she had been sitting on to keep it dry, knelt beside the child and touched a cold, tiny wrist. A faint throbbing pulsed against her fingers. Tears sprang to her eyes, mingled with the rain on her cheeks. She blinked her vision clear, leaned over the child to protect her from the bone-chilling downpour and began to examine the small body.
The storm had let up, except for the relentless rain. The occasional glimmer of lightning and grumble of thunder in the distance held no menace. Zach circled the herd of stock one last time. They were bunched and settled, the threat of a stampede past. The others would be able to handle them now. He slapped the water from his hat, peered through the rain at the wagons. Some had not moved, despite his relayed order. Must be there were problems Blake couldn’t handle. He rode down into the shallow basin and headed toward the Lewis wagon.
“Be reasonable, Lorna.”
“I’m not moving from this place without her.”
“Blake said it’s only a short ways. If she—”
“Don’t say if, Joseph Lewis. Don’t you dare say if!” The Lewis woman buried her face in her apron and burst into tears.
Zach scowled. This was no time for a domestic argument. “I ordered all the wagons moved to higher, dryer ground, Lewis. They’ll bog here when the water soaks in. Unless you have a broken wheel or axle, get rolling.”
“It’s not the wagon, sir. It’s—it’s—” The man looked at his wife, cleared his throat. “Our little Jenny has come up missing. The missus asked all around for her and no one has seen her. We—we figure she fell out of the wagon during our run here. But I’ll find someone to move the wagon while I go look—”
The wife jerked the apron from her face. “I ain’t leaving this place ’till she comes back, Joseph Lewis! If this wagon moves, it goes without me. She’ll come here, and I’ve got to know one way or…or the other.”
“Hush, Lorna! I told you if Miss Allen—”
“Miss Allen?” Zach’s scowl deepened. “What does Miss Allen have to do with your daughter?”
“She went to look for her.”
Anger shot him bolt upright in the saddle. Fool woman! He’d told her not to go riding off by herself. Now he’d have two lost people to search for! At least she couldn’t have much of a head start on him. His face tightened. “How long ago did Miss Allen leave?”
“Why, right away. When I was askin’ round about Jenny. She said she would find her, and she got on her horse and rode off.”
“During the storm?”
The woman nodded. Her lips quivered. “She took the blanket with her. To warm Jenny when she found her.”
The fury of the storm was nothing compared to the anger that flashed through him. Zach stood in the stirrups, looked behind him. “Blake! Get these wagons moving! Every one of them!” He looked down at the man beside him. “Lewis, you move your wagon out with the others. I know this land, and if it’s humanly possible, I’ll bring your daughter back to you.”
He glanced up at the misty light filtering through the rain. It would soon be night—and Miss Allen was out there searching unknown land with no trail experience to fall back on. Fool women. May he be spared from them all! He urged Comanche into a lope and started back along the wagon trail.
Chapter Four
Zach swiped off the water sluicing from his hat brim and squinted through the rain at the dark shape ahead. It was a horse, all right. One with an empty saddle. Where was the Allen woman? He scanned the area as far as he could see through the downpour. There was no sign of her. Had the horse been frightened by lightning and thrown her? Had he ridden past her unconscious, injured body in the storm?
He muttered a couple choice words he’d picked up in the cavalry and urged Comanche into a walk. If he spooked her horse, he might have to chase it for miles and he needed it to carry Miss Allen and the child back when he found them—no matter what their condition. His stomach knotted. He was used to handling injured or wounded or even dead soldiers—but a woman and child…
Zach shoved the disquieting thought away and focused on the job at hand. The first thing was to catch the horse. He reined Comanche to circle wide to the right, so the horse would not perceive them as a threat and bolt. He watched the horse, saw it lower its head and kneed Comanche left to move in a little closer. If he— There she was!
Zach halted Comanche, stared at the figure kneeling on the ground in front of the horse, head down, shoulders hunched forward, her back to the driving rain. It was, indeed, Miss Allen. And she was likely injured, else she’d be riding. He told the wind what he thought of foolish women, slid from the saddle and dropped the reins.
Water
