His head hurt so much that he was having trouble thinking. “Where were you? And Frank? And you?” he said to Sam.
Edith answered. “I was sleeping outside and didn’t do nothin’ or say nothin’. I’d like to live awhile longer.” She glared at him, daring him to say anything. “Frank ain’t here, I don’t know where he is, and I think they hit Sam.”
’Ring turned to see the man, and because of his darker skin the blood running down his neck hadn’t been immediately visible. ’Ring knew Sam’s head must be hurting as much as his own did, but Sam gave no indication of it. ’Ring’s opinion of the man rose a bit. He looked at Edith, barely able to keep the sneer from his voice. “Which way did they head?”
“Through the town.”
“West,” he murmured, then turned and left the tent. He woke Toby when he was saddling Buttercup and quickly, tersely, answered Toby’s questions.
“You ain’t goin’ by yourself, are you?” Toby asked.
He knew he had to. Toby wasn’t especially good on a horse and, besides, he was getting old, and on top of that ’Ring didn’t want to put him at risk. He trusted no one else. “I want you to stay here and find out what you can about what’s going on. Where was Frank and—?”
“Gamblin’. The man’s a heavy gambler.”
’Ring turned to Toby. “And the cowardly Miss Honey?”
“Takes in customers after ever’body’s asleep.”
It was amazing that a person could know someone as long as he’d known Toby and still find out new things. He’d had no idea Toby could be so observant. “And Sam?”
“He’s real hard to figure.”
’Ring mounted his horse. “Find out what they know. Find out whose side they’re on and—” He paused. “Find out who hired them.” He reined his horse away. “I’ll see you when I have her.”
He rode through the camp, concentrating hard to ignore the pain in his head and the anger in his soul. He blamed himself for her having been taken, for not looking more and seeing more.
There was no way to track her in the dark through a camp of several hundred men who did anything but keep regular hours. All ’Ring could do was ask. After an hour he found a couple of men who said yes, they’d seen four men riding west and the opera singer had been sitting in front of one of the men.
“How did she look? Hurt?”
“Pretty,” one man said. “I told her her singin’ was real good, and she nodded toward me. Didn’t smile though.”
“You have any idea where they were taking her?”
“I didn’t ask, but there’s only five or so camps up that road. ’Course I ain’t been up there for a couple of weeks now, so there might be more ’n that now.”
’Ring thanked the men and started up the steep, rutted trail. On each side of the road the trees had little bark left on them because the miners had used block and tackles to get their wagons up and down the road.
The sun came up and still he rode, his eyes searching the ground for any clues to the direction she took. Perhaps she knew something about tracking, at least enough to leave something behind so someone could follow her. The sun was high in the sky, and he saw nothing that gave him a hint as to where she’d been taken. At about eleven he came to a fork in the trail and he halted his horse, removed his canteen, and drank.
He had a fifty-fifty chance of taking the right way. With resignation he started down the right-hand trail. He’d gone no more than fifty feet when, from overhead, came an arrow, which stuck into a tree ahead and to his left. For a moment ’Ring stood still. It was a Crow arrow, exactly like the one shot near him before.
Slowly, he rode forward and took the arrow out of the tree. Was it another warning? As he looked at the tip, he suddenly knew: the arrow was meant as a barrier. He was going the wrong way. So the Crow must know where she’d been taken. He knew but he wasn’t going after her. Why?
’Ring looked up in the mountains, but saw no one. Because she’s not in danger, he thought. She might have been taken, but she wasn’t in danger.
’Ring turned his horse around, then started down the other trail. He felt sure of himself now. Ten miles down the road he came to another branch and this time, when he took the right branch, there was no arrow. He kept going until, at sundown, he reached a little camp of no more than fifty men living in shacks and tents and under overhanging rocks.
Maddie wasn’t difficult to find. She was sitting on a stump surrounded by very sad-looking men.
“Just one song?”
“P
lease, ma’am?”
“We’ll pay you.”