Page 13 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
“The rest of you, just stay right where you are. The train’ll move on shortly,” the robber said, grabbing Constance’s arm and forcefully directing her out the door. She nearly fell off the steps coming down from the train car, one hand pressed to her hat which was already knocked askew.
“Are you crazy?” Another robber sat atop a horse, a rifle drawn up and ready to fire at the slightest provocation from the train conductors or whoever the rather sooty-looking gentlemen standing with their hands in the air were.
“I’ll explain later,” the robber next to her grumbled.
Between one thought and the next, the two robbers had her up on a horse and the three of them were riding away across the flat and dusty plain.
She wondered absently where her carpetbag would end up.
Back home, when a person planned to spend hours riding a horse in any direction at all, one wore something a bit more conducive to riding. Constance was particularly disappointed that her hat had long since joined the wild western plains. She’d be red as a tomato by afternoon. Or maybe it was already afternoon. She couldn’t exactly see the watch on her shirtwaist.
Constance wasn’t a terrible rider, by any means, but she hadn’t spent this much time on the back of a horse in ages. Her father had made sure she could ride, considering he was part-owner of one of the largest cattle ranches in the west. Not that he’d been out west much to see his investment, but he liked to pretend their family were well-to-do ranchers. Constance thought it was ridiculous, but she’d learned to ride just like everyone else.
The two outlaws rode next to her. They’d stopped once out of sight of the train and had tied her hands to her pommel.
The outlaw to her left was tall and leaning towards lanky, while the other one seemed a bit shorter. Neither one had said a word since they’d finished tying her up.
The wind caught her honey-blond hair and whipped it into her mouth.
“I don’t suppose,” she said, while attempting to spit the hair out. “I don’t suppose either of you will tell me where we are going?” She rubbed her chin on her shoulder.
“You’ll find out when we get there,” the tall one said.
“Keep quiet, will you?” the other shot back, as if irritated. “You’ve already botched this enough!”
“I didn’t say nothing!” the first man continued. “Besides, she’ll see where we are once we’re there!”
His companion groaned. Both of them still had their faces covered with bandanas and their hats were pulled low over their foreheads, so Constance couldn’t quite tell what they looked like, but she was beginning to wonder about the validity of these outlaws. Their voices didn’t sound quite as deep as they hadduring the train robbery, which had her questioning her original assumption of their ages.
“I really don’t suppose I could guess anything from what you said,” Constance began, “but I would like to know why you were looking for me in particular. You didn’t even bother to rob me. I thought outlaws always stole a person’s belongings, especially jewelry. I’ve got a lovely brooch clear as day but neither one of you even asked about it. If this is the Wild West, I must say, I’m a bit disappointed.”
“That’s cause we aren’t outlaws,” the shorter man huffed.
“Now who’s running his mouth?” the tall outlaw glared. “Technically we are, as of an hour ago.”
The other pulled his horse up short. “No, we aren’t. Outlaws make a living off robbing trains and such. We only did it the once. It ain’t like we plan on making a habit of it.”
The taller man had stopped his horse as well by this point. “Yes, but we did rob a train. Therefore, we are currently outside of the bounds of the law.” He waved a hand illustrating his point. “So, we’re outlaws.”
“But not real ones,” the other insisted, “more like…you know, how Robin Hood was an outlaw.”
“This is completely different.”
Constance watched the two argue for a moment, then considered letting her horse walk on. As she didn’t know exactly where she was, it seemed foolish to strike out on her own just yet. Though she was beginning to suspect it wouldn’t take much to initiate a “jailbreak” if she decided to make a run for it, considering how distracted her captors were.
Of course she’d been kidnapped by amateurs.
She wanted to roll her eyes, but instead pulled her horse to a halt. It was a pretty little thing. She didn’t know a whole lot about horses, other than how to stay on top of one and direct itwhere you wanted it to go, but its gait was smooth as silk and it seemed to sense what it should do even before she did.
Constance reined in her train of thought and glanced at the two outlaws-who-weren’t-outlaws. They were still arguing, but the topic had changed to whether Robin Hood was even a real story, the semantics of outlaw-hood left behind.
The taller one seemed to come to his senses first and noticed her again. “Come on now, or we won’t get there ‘til nightfall,” he grunted—as if it was her fault they’d stopped.
The shorter man didn’t say anything, just pulled ahead as if he was upset the other one had realized they’d stopped before he did.
The tall one was nearly right. It was late afternoon before they stopped; the sun hot on Constance’s head and her stomach very empty when at long last the trio entered a small stand of trees near a bluff. They wandered past a shining stream that ran alongside their pathway, glittering in the late sun. Constance was simultaneously grateful for the shade the trees provided and strangely enthralled by the scenery. They followed the stream around a bend until it reached a ranch house. Constance sat back a little on her horse, in awe, as they approached the yard.
The sunlight cast a warm and loving glow on the small cabin, clean and cozy, nestled beneath several aspens that rustled gently in the breeze. Farther beyond it stood a large barn and a stable yard, all fenced in. A weathervane creaked mildly as it moved with the wind.
