Kizzie's Kisses (Grandma's Wedding Quilts #2) Page 2

  A few feet away a horse neighed at the indignity of being jerked to a quick stop. She heard a thud of boots hitting the ground. There would now be two of them to contend with, but she could not give up; she had to try to save her life. The safety, maybe even the lives of her family, might depend on her getting word to her father and uncle in time for them to come protect them from the Indians.

  Another string of expletives from a new voice assaulted Kizzie’s ears. “Have you gone loco, Tucker? Leave the boy alone.”

  The next thing she knew, the hand gripping her throat was jerked away. She took a step back and leaned over. She grabbed her burning throat with her left hand as she inhaled deeply. She forced herself to ignore the pain. On her second breath, she remembered the knife she intended to pull from her boot.

  The mocking laugh from the large man with blood running into his eyes chilled her. “You gotta be blind, Jones. Either that, or you better start spending more time in the whorehouses. I came up behind that kid watching us through the trees and knew right off what showed beneath the bottom of the jacket didn’t belong to no boy.”

  As Kizzie slowly stood, she hid the hand holding the knife behind her leg. She continued to gasp for breath. She glanced at the second man. He was younger, maybe only a few years older than her cousin Otto. Unlike the lowlife who had attacked her, his golden brown hair was neatly trimmed and his long narrow face was clean-shaven. She guessed the brown and white plaid muslin shirt had been put on clean that morning. He was taller and well-built, but lacked the animal bulk of her assailant. As his grey eyes studied her, she watched his expression turn from puzzlement to one of understanding once he recognized the truth in the other man’s words.

  Kizzie turned her face away from him. She knew her braid had stayed secured under her hat. The waistcoat and jacket should have hidden her tell-tale feminine bosom and small waist. She suppressed her annoyance that her disguise had not worked as well as she had hoped. However, whatever had tipped the disgusting excuse for a man before her off regarding her gender was secondary to saving herself and her horse. The grip of the newcomer secured his one fist, but Tucker’s other hand still held Sugarcone’s reins.

  Kizzie realized the gun had fallen too far away for her to reach it. All she had for protection was her knife. She jerked it in front of her and crouched, prepared to attack. “Let go of my horse, you vile, wretched varmint, you excuse for a human being!”

  The large man blinked and wobbled on his feet, but continued to clutch the reins. “Someone like you don’t need no horse like this. It’s mine now. And you’ll be, too, you little slut.”

  Fighting back tears, Kizzie lunged forward before either man could react. She aimed for the hand holding Sugarcone’s reins and sliced the knife across the man’s wrist. She realized she had not struck a vein, but the cut was deep enough that it drew blood. Once more she made her demand in a shrill voice. “I said, let go of my horse.”

  The man named Tucker lunged for Kizzie, but his movements were now slow. His balance was thrown off as the other man leapt forward and slammed his body against Kizzie’s attacker. She skittered out of the path of his fist and again reached for Sugarcone’s reins in an attempt to pull them free. Her attacker must have pushed the other man out of the way, for she gasped as she felt the man’s free arm wrap around her shoulders and pull her tight against him. She turned her face away from the stench of his breath as she struggled to break free and position her knife to strike back. The next thing she knew she heard the click of a hammer next to her ear.

  “Let go of her and her horse, Tucker. Now!”

  Tucker wobbled on his feet, but held Kizzie fast. She heard the chuckle as well as felt it rumble in his chest.

  “I want the horse, Jones. As for the girl, you can have her when I’m done with her.”

  “What is the matter with you? Neither the girl nor her horse is worth a bullet in the head, Tucker. If you don’t let her go right now, I’ll see to it that’s what you get.”

  Tucker loosened his grip on Kizzie, but still held fast to the horse’s reins. He stepped back and turned to face the man named Jones as he snorted derisively. “You shoot me, what will your pa say, Jones? He made the deal with me for our wagons to travel together. What’s he going to do to you when he finds out you’re killing off his business partners?”

  “Over my objections, for safety reasons while we are in Indian country, my father entered into the agreement with you. He never intended for our men and wagons to travel with a drunk, a thief, a murderer or a”—Jones glanced at Kizzie before he turned back to Tucker—“defiler of women.”

  Kizzie felt the tears coursing down her cheeks. Here she was, trying to escape hostile Indians only to find herself in the clutches of the most degenerate white man she could ever hope to cross paths with. It was all too much.

  The reprobate not only threatened her and her horse, but the large black stallion with the white blaze and two white socks belonging to the man named Jones who appeared to be coming to her rescue kept trumpeting and milling around Sugarcone, causing her mare to sidestep nervously and try to pull free.

  Tucker blinked and swayed on his feet. “Defiler of…Don’t give me none of your fancy talk, Jones. The girl owes me. That little witch shot me and knifed my wrist.” He shook his head in an attempt to fling the blood out of his eyes. Unsuccessful, he loosened his grip on the reins in order to wipe his face. “Besides, I’m hung over, not drunk, idjit.”

  “You’ve been drinking solid since we left this morning, Tucker.”

  Kizzie took the opportunity to duck out from under Tucker’s arm and grab Sugarcone’s reins. She jerked them out of the man’s hands as he swayed on his feet, ready to pass out. She suspected it was due more to drink than anything she had been able to accomplish against him. She grabbed her pistol from the ground where it had fallen and shoved it back in her waistband before she wiggled the knife back into the side of her boot.

  Overwhelmed with the desire to get away as fast as she could, Kizzie stepped in the stirrup. She quickly found herself dancing on one foot to keep from being thrown to the ground. She had never known Sugarcone to misbehave like this.

  “Hold still, Sugarcone!” She turned to watch Jones lower the man to the ground. Her attacker had passed out, whether due to the alcohol he had consumed recently or a concussion to his head caused by the pepperbox gun’s bullet, she didn’t know or care. She tried again to mount her horse. Sugarcone neighed in complaint and sidestepped. Kizzie jerked her head up in time to see the stallion nip Sugarcone on the rump.

  Without letting loose of the reins, Kizzie pulled her foot out of the stirrup. She turned and faced Jones, her free hand on her hip as she issued a command born of frustration. “Mr. Jones, will you please control your horse? You should have trained him to behave better.”

  After seeing that Tucker was breathing all right, the man named Jones stood up to face Kizzie. He glanced at her before he allowed his eyes to roam over the two horses. His face split into grin. “I’m sorry, miss, but the problem isn’t the way Thunder is behaving. The cause is your mare.”

  “Sugarcone isn’t doing anything wrong. It’s your horse that keeps bothering her which is why I can hardly get in my saddle. Now, will you please get his reins and pull him away from my horse?”

  The man started towards the stallion. Yes, miss. Sorry we didn’t have occasion for introductions earlier. Leander Jones at your service. And you are Miss….?”

  “Tie up your horse first.”

  Kizzie heaved a sigh of relief as she watched him lead the big black towards a tree and tie the reins to a sturdy branch. She began to answer him, but the sound of an additional horse riding up fast from the direction from which she had come ratcheted her anxiety to the next level.

  Whoever it was, she did not want to deal with anyone else. She scrambled into the saddle as quickly as Sugarcone would allow her. “You don’t need to know. All I know is I am getting away from here as fast as I can to find hel
p to protect my family from the Indians. I hope you keep traveling right into their path.” She spun Sugarcone in place as she pointed to Tucker passed out on the ground. “If they kill and scalp any of you, make sure he’s the first one.”

  Leander Jones moved so quickly she didn’t see him until he stood next to Sugarcone, the reins beneath Sugarcone’s chin gripped tightly in his hands. “That’s rather harsh, miss. Now, I know you’re upset and have every right to be. You don’t need to tell me your name if you aren’t so inclined. However, I’ve been sent along to guard this freight train knowing we will soon be entering a large stretch of desolate prairie where we might run across hostile Indian tribes angry with whites encroaching on their hunting grounds. Please tell me what you know about any Indian attacks in the area.”

  Kizzie sucked in enough air to answer. Then she looked up into the face of the man who had approached on horseback and her breath whooshed out of her lungs. She felt her face blanch. An Indian. The newcomer was an Indian.

  Kizzie narrowed her eyes and studied him. He wore western pants with a leather belt and a holster loaded with bullets for his five-shot pistol. He wore a faded red calico shirt with a small floral design. In place of a collar he wore a neckband made of quills. Draped around his neck, he wore another necklace made of quills and some sort of small shells. Earrings of shells and quills dangled from his ears. He wore his head shaved on the sides with a thick strip of hair running from his forehead up over the center of his head. That, and the moccasins instead of boots, marked him as an Indian.

  Except his face didn’t look completely Indian. She could see some white features, too, especially his light-colored eyes. He must be mixed blood.

  Kizzie turned to study Leander Jones to see how the man reacted to this Indian joining them. He showed no fear. Just the opposite.

  “Charlie, you have returned early.”

  Charlie nodded towards Kizzie, his piercing gray eyes focused on her face. “Who is the woman? Why is she dressed like a boy?”

  “She won’t tell me her name or why she’s dressed like that. She came riding hard from the same direction as you. When she saw the dust of our wagons, she pulled off towards the river. She was about to tell me something about Indians to the west.”

  Kizzie sniffed in disgust. How could it be so obvious she was a woman when she was dressed like this? She couldn’t keep the irritation from her voice. “If you must know, I wear these trousers when I help my father with the stock. Today I needed to ride fast without anyone trying to stop me or interfere, which is why I borrowed some of my brother’s clothes so I could pass as a boy. Plus, a skirt could have flapped in the wind and spooked my horse. And, it would have taken longer for me to get the knife out of my boot if I had to fight my skirt out of the way first.”

  Kizzie’s eyes widened in shock as she watched Charlie break into a wide, toothy grin. She had no idea Indians would smile like that, even half Indians. The man turned to Leander and chuckled. “I see I missed something interesting.”

  “That you did, my brother. But the cause of all the trouble is now sleeping like a baby over yonder. She gave him his due.”

  Charlie looked over at the man Tucker and grimaced with disgust. “It is not good for us to travel with him and his wagons.”

  Puzzled, Kizzie’s forehead wrinkled. “You two are brothers?”

  Charlie lost his smile. He glanced at Leander and subtly shook his head. Then he turned to Kizzie and smiled again, only not so wide. “Blood brothers. As in, when two men trust each other with their lives and make a pact to always look out for the other.”

  “But, you’re Indian. You’re at least part Indian, aren’t you?”

  “My mother was Kaw. Some call us Kansa Indians.” The man smiled again and a teasing tone crept into his voice. “We’re one of the tame tribes. My name is Charlie Gray Cloud, miss. Mr. Jones and I have known each other a long time.”

  Leander Jones turned to give Charlie a puzzled look. The Kaw man just stared back, almost as if his eyes were warning Leander about something. Leander returned the look and spoke slowly. “Charlie is our scout for the trip, miss. I trust him with my life.”

  These two might trust each other, but Kizzie wasn’t sure she could trust either one of them. “I’m overjoyed you’re reunited and happy to see each other. Now, please let go of my horse. I need to go.”

  Kizzie tried to pull away, but Leander held the reins tight. “First tell us what you know about the Indians.”

  Kizzie huffed with impatience before she quickly told them all she had heard. When she got to the part of what the attacking Indians had done to the women, her words faltered. Leander interrupted her to tell her she didn’t need to say anymore about that—they understood. When she finished, Leander turned to Charlie. “What do you think?”

  Charlie shrugged. “It explains what happened earlier. I saw a large group of whites moving this way with wagons and horses, but not many cattle. It looked like they were fleeing from something. When I tried to approach to find out what was going on, some of the men pointed at me and started shouting. Next thing I knew, bullets were flying my way.” Charlie stopped long enough to offer Kizzie another toothy smile. “Even a half Kaw knows enough to get away from people shooting at him.”

  Without releasing her horse, Leander stepped between her and Charlie to detract the man’s attention from Kizzie. “What tribe do you think they are?”

  Charlie shrugged. “My guess would be Cheyenne. Maybe their dog soldiers. I don’t think the Comanche would come this far north and there has been no trouble lately from the Kiowa. None of them are anyone we want to tangle with.”

  Impatient with them taking the time to guess, Kizzie snapped at them. “Whoever they are, what they did to those people proves they’re savages.”

  Charlie looked over at her with a frown. “They are warriors trying to protect their land from being taken over by white men. They mean business and are deadly. You said you have a brother just two years younger than you. Why did your people not have him ride to your father for help rather than put you in danger?”

  Furious, Kizzie narrowed her eyes and leaned towards the two men. She answered through clenched teeth. “I did not tell them I was going for help. Sugarcone belongs to me. My father promised us each a horse once we turned fifteen, which, as he pointed out, is no mean task with the Army wanting every horse they can get their hands on for the war. She’s my horse for me to ride, not my horse to take care of until some male comes along and decides I need to give her up for his use because he thinks he’s more suitable, or more capable and deserving. If anyone is going to ride Sugarcone to Fort Riley to get help from my father and Uncle Jefferson, it is me. Now LET. ME. GO!”

  Leander, a grin on his face, released the reins and stepped back, his hands raised in surrender. Without any further words between them, Kizzie guided Sugarcone around the men, all the while keeping the mare well away from the black stallion which had not ceased to stomp, snort and pull at his reins. She ducked her head to clear the last of the tree limbs before she urged Sugarcone into a gallop, choosing a path that gave the stopped freight wagons a wide berth. Without looking back, she pushed Sugarcone towards Fort Riley.

  Charlie watched the young woman ride away for only seconds before he turned to Leander. He calmly watched the man rush to the tree and release the unhappy stallion. “You plan to let her continue on her own?”

  Leander spoke sharply to his horse as he mounted it. He turned the horse in a tight circle until he faced Charlie. “What do you think?”

  “I think you are as interested in that young woman as Thunder is in her mare. Be careful with her. She’s a feisty one.”

  Leander turned back to Charlie with a grin. “I assume you mean the girl although Thunder may beg to differ. Feisty doesn’t begin to cover it. She refused to tell me her name and I don’t want to lose track of her. Since it’s her father I intend to see her safely to, I’ll be sure to be careful. I haven’t lost all good sense.”<
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  Charlie jerked his head in the direction of the stalled freight train. “What about the wagons?”

  “I’ll stop by long enough to tell the men to stay here and prepare for an attack until we know what is happening with the hostiles. I see no reason to ride into trouble only to get us all killed.” Leander danced his restless stallion in a circle as he continued. “Do me a favor and see to it Tucker doesn’t cause any more trouble with any refugees that make it this far.”

  Chapter 3

  Leander followed the young woman. At first, once she returned to the road, all he could see was a dot in the distance kicking up spits of dust. Thunder signaled he was ready for a good run. Leander found it increasingly difficult to hold the stallion back. With its longer legs it gradually gained on the mare. However, as Leander watched Sugarcone’s rider glance back and urge her horse to go faster, he knew he needed to hold Thunder back. The young mare was strong, but had already been pushed hard for many miles. It would do no one any good if the mare was ridden into the ground.

  Leander shook his head in frustration as he tightened the reins on Thunder. The little firebrand wouldn’t even tell him her name. He had to admit that with her first introduction to the men attached to the freight train being that piece of scum Tucker, he couldn’t blame her if she didn’t trust him.

  They reached a point in the road where he could see Junction City in the distance. Beyond he knew he would find the Republican River just before it joined with the Smoky Hill River that lay just to the south of the Smoky Hill Trail his freight train planned to follow to the gold fields of Pike’s Peak. Those two rivers joined to form the Kansas River. With the young woman’s destination being the fort just north of the Kansas a short distance east of Junction City, that meant she would need to cross the river.

  The spring run-off had raised the water level some. The freight train had already taken advantage of the good weather and the Republican River not being in flood stage to make the crossing two days before using old man Clarke’s ferry since the bridge which had been washed out in 1858 had not been rebuilt. With the oxen not having been amendable to pulling the wagons onto the ferry, it had taken the full day for all the wagons to cross.