The Winter Pearl. Molly Bull Noble

riders coming up behind them at a fast gallop, and her pulse began to race. They wore masks. For a moment, she couldn’t react.

      Outlaws.

      “Jump back inside!” she heard the driver shout to Jeth and Simon Carr. “I’m gonna try to outrun ’em.”

      Both doors flew open. The stagecoach lurched forward—starting off at a fast pace, while the two men crouched on the floor.

      “Get down!” Jeth yelled to the women. “Both of you.”

      Honor jumped to the floor beside Jeth, Annie Carr right behind her. The men pulled pistols from their belts.

      Honor hadn’t expected Jeth to be armed—he was a preacher. However, she felt relieved, knowing he carried protection.

      “Will we be able to outrun ’em?” Annie asked in a shaky voice.

      “Yes, ma’am,” Jeth replied. “I think so. At least, I hope so.”

      Every muscle in Honor’s body tensed as the carriage rolled on down the hill. Clinging to the edge of the bench, she tried to imagine the driver and the man riding shotgun whipping the horses, urging them to run even faster. She could only hope the two men driving the stage could outrun their pursuers.

      The carriage took a sharp curve, wobbling and swaying back and forth over the big rocks. Honor was tossed against Jeth again and again, and he jostled against her.

      She felt a sudden jolt as the carriage lurched sharply. “What’s happening?”

      Jeth peered out a window. “We lost a wheel! I can see it rolling down the hill.”

      The carriage swerved to the right. The screeching cry of iron against rock rang out. All four passengers tumbled to the side of the stagecoach. Honor could scarcely breathe until Jeth pulled her out from under Annie. The crippled rig careened down the hill, half rolling, half dragging. They were coming close to the edge of a cliff. Annie screamed.

      “Move out of my way, Miss McCall!” Jeth shoved Honor to one side and crawled to the door.

      The stagecoach lost speed, then banged against the side of an embankment. They were all thrown to and fro. The rig slid a few more feet. Then stopped.

      “Praise the Lord!” Jeth released a big breath of air and wiped his brow. “Someone must have cut those horses loose. Anybody hurt?” He glanced around and smiled. “Guess not. What a blessing.”

      “We’re safe, then?” Honor asked, feeling a first rush of relief.

      Jeth shook his head and cocked his pistol. “Now we’ll have to deal with the outlaws.”

      Honor shrank to the floor as shots blasted from both directions. Jeth placed his hand on her back to keep her there. At the ring of a bullet hitting metal, Honor glanced out the window just as a rifle flew by.

      “The stagecoach driver lost his weapon,” Jeth announced.

      Jeth and Simon aimed their pistols at the three riders who had caught up with them. Before the two men inside the carriage could discharge a single shot, the outlaws surrounded the crippled stagecoach.

      “Everybody out with your hands up,” a bandit with gray hair shouted down from his horse. “And be quick about it.”

      Jeth tucked his pistol in the waistband of his trousers. “Do whatever they tell you to do, Miss McCall,” he whispered. “This is not the time to try anything risky.”

      Honor stepped down from the stage and stood between Jeth and Annie Carr. When she raised her hands above her head, she noticed that the edge of one bill protruded from the cuff of her dress.

      Two of the robbers had dismounted. A young-looking man with a pimply face above a red bandanna held a basket that reminded Honor of the one she had discarded back in Falling Rock. Another outlaw stood beside him, aiming a gun at the hostages. The man with gray hair remained atop a big, reddish horse. He held a rifle on the group as well.

      “Put all your money and valuables in the basket there,” he ordered them. “And hurry up, or you’ll be sorry.”

      When Honor thought nobody was watching, she attempted to push the money back in the cuff of her dress. The next moment, everything went black.

      Chapter Three

      Lucas awoke with a jerk. Someone was pounding on his front door.

      “All right, all right,” he shouted. “Hold on to your horses. I’m comin’!”

      He sat up. A massive headache made him wish he were still flat on his back. He pressed a hand over his forehead and looked around. He was shivering on the hard kitchen floor. Had he been there all night?

      He stumbled to his feet. His legs felt like jam. Slowly, he made his way to the door and opened it. An icy wind swept inside. His shoulders shook from the cold.

      The grave diggers he had hired stood on his porch. All three men wore dark clothing, gloves, and something furry-looking covered their ears.

      “Mr. Scythe,” the tallest one said. “Remember me? Hector Brown?” He motioned toward the other two. “And these are my brothers, Joey and Abner. We hate to bother you at a time like this, but you forgot to pay us for burying your wife yesterday.” He handed Lucas a sheet of paper.

      “A bill?”

      Hector nodded.

      “Oh, yes. The money.” Lucas searched for something to say, to stall for time. “You’ll have to excuse me. I ain’t feelin’ well today.”

      Hector nodded again. Joey and Abner just stood behind their brother, staring at Lucas.

      Lucas shook his head. If it ain’t one thing, it’s somethin’ worse, he thought. “Wait here, and I’ll go see what I can do.”

      He started to close the door, to shut out the chill, but when he saw the hard look of warning in Hector’s eyes, he left it open.

      Lucas stormed into the kitchen and grabbed the cookie jar, one of the places Harriet liked to hide money. He removed the wooden lid of the clay pot and tossed it on the floor. Then he poured out the contents of the jar. Broken cookies, crumbs, and a sprinkling of sugar spilled onto the table. A few coins clinked together. They rolled around and stopped.

      He scooped up the money and counted it. Thirty-six cents. He winced. The diggers expected more. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now.

      Lucas pasted a smile on his face and walked back to the door. “Here’s thirty-six cents. Sorry, I know it ain’t enough. But it’s all I’ve got until I sell them calves I’ve been feedin’. This’ll have to hold you ’til then.”

      Hector Brown stepped forward, filling the doorway. “We expected to be paid in full. When will we get the rest?”

      “As soon as I can find the time to drive my calves into town and sell ’em.” Lucas grabbed the door and began to swing it shut as he spoke. “I’ll keep in touch. And much obliged to ya.”

      “Wait, Mr. Scythe.” With the toe of his black boot, Hector prevented the door from closing all the way. “We’ll be back. You can be sure about that.”

      When Lucas finally closed the door, he leaned against it for a moment, listening to the three men depart. He felt hungry as well as cold. Thirsty, too. For something stronger than cow’s milk or water.

      Now, where was that Honor-girl? “Missy,” he shouted. “Get in here!”

      No answer.

      “Don’t play games with me. I ain’t in the mood.”

      Lucas grimaced. That girl was never around when he needed her.

      As he moved toward the kitchen, he glanced in a mirror on the parlor wall—then stopped and looked again. His eyes seemed more red than usual. His face had a drawn, pasty look.

      He