The Fire in Ember - DiAnn Mills [116]
How did a man deal with mixed feelings? He despised the thought of her betraying him, using his love against him. Had she lied to all of them about the abuse and the beatings? And what about using his family? Yet the prospect of finding her dead wrenched at his soul. God forgive him, but he didn’t know which tragedy would be worse. He was a selfish man, not a godly one. The realities of life took priority over feelings. He knew it. He tried to accept it.
“Over here,” Evan called.
John swung his attention to his brother who’d bent to examine tracks. Evan lifted his head and peered at him. “She was here.” His voice barely registered above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
John stopped. He willed his feet to join his brother. “Are you sure?”
Evan pressed his lips together and nodded, his focus glued on John. “She’s been wearing Mama’s old shoes, the ones that had a worn heel on the left foot.”
John forced himself to walk toward Evan. With a deep sigh, he knelt and saw for himself. The prints were Ember’s. Every nerve ending in his body went numb. Then the sensation turned to grief. Every indication pointed to her guilt.
Bert counted three other men who rode with Clint and Lester.
She recognized one as a man who’d ridden with Leon. Where could they drive this many cattle without the law catching up? Unless they planned to change the brands.
At daybreak, the men drove the cattle into a canyon on the far west side of the Wide O. Now that was stupid. Mr. Oberlander had ranch hands who’d discover them, and they had orders to shoot trespassers. She supposed a few more dead men meant nothing to her brothers.
With the gag in her mouth, she couldn’t ask questions. Instead she allowed the why’s and where’s to roll around in her head. The filthy bandana tasted of dirt and smelled of sweat and tobacco. Much more of this and she’d be sick all over Clint’s back.
John pulled his slicker from his saddle bag and shrugged into it. The rain had started in spits, then increased to a downpour. He, Evan, Bob, Wirt, and Parker followed the herd south. When the thieves had left miles behind them, they’d find a place to hide in one of several canyons. This was an organized plan, strategically set in place by a clever man. The manner in which the cattle had disappeared left John believing someone had spent time watching his every move. Ember. He’d trusted her … believed her. If he weren’t a grown man, he’d shed a few tears. But his concern about her was turning to betrayal.
“It’s rained nearly every day for the past two weeks,” Evan said. “Hard to follow a herd of cattle when the tracks disappear and the rain blinds you. But it can be done.” He pulled his poncho up around his neck. “All we have to do is look harder.”
Rumbling from the mountains behind him seized John’s attention. He turned to see a steadily blackening sky over the mountains, moving their way. Rain soaked a man to the bone; lightning killed him. But John preferred taking his chances with the storm on an open range to losing his cattle.
Parker rode up next to John. “They’re at least six hours ahead of us,” he said. “Maybe more, depending on how fast they drove the herd last night. Let’s get out of this weather and talk about what we can do.”
John wanted to shout that Parker looked like a coward wanting to stop the search because of bad weather. But John knew he was the foolish one. He also knew trekking out alone invited a shooting—his own. Riding on for several feet, he searched for words and reasoning.
“Uncle Parker’s right,” Evan said. “The lightning’s getting closer. There’s no denying another storm’s coming through.”
“John, I understand how you feel with all of your livestock gone and Ember missing,” Parker said. “But the cattle won’t move fast in this storm.”
Lightning flashed a jagged sword across an angry sky followed