"They either didn't come this way or they stayed off the stage road here," Prine said.
He had to be careful. Because he knew who'd taken her and where she was being held, he had to be very careful. He didn't want to say anything that would make him sound as if he had some knowledge he was keeping from Neville.
Neville had two moods for the first ninety minutes. He was either silent or so angry he could barely shape words.
"When we find them," he said, "I'm going to kill them."
"Well, if it's in self-defense, that'd be fine, Neville. But if it's not—it'd be murder."
"Why should I worry about murder? They sure as hell didn't worry about kidnapping. She's an innocent young girl. I've kept her sheltered all her life. I didn't see any reason for her to get filthy by rubbing up against the rest of the world."
"She must've picked up a few things working in the church basement."
Neville frowned. "Do-gooder stuff. She doesn't have to live with them. Get to know them. She gets to hand out food and clothing and feel that she's doing something with her life. Then she runs right back to our house with the servants and all the luxuries."
Neville probably didn't even know how contemptuous he sounded. She was his little sister, a pretty piece of fluff he needed to protect because that was what honorable gentlemen did—protected pretty pieces of fluff. Prine was resentful. Cassie was such a part of his imagination now that he wanted to defend her. Say that she was a grown woman and a smart one and a good one. Say that she had a laugh like music and eyes that you couldn't ever forget. Not ever.
But he knew better, of course. He rode on.
Just after noon, they reached the timberland. Prine himself had a few bad moments—doubt and fear that maybe he'd done the wrong thing. Maybe he should have stopped this kidnapping the moment he found out about it. What if she tried to escape and got killed in the process? It was possible. Things went wrong all the time. All the time.
Neville's shout jerked Prine from his thoughts.
Neville drew his horse up short and flung himself from his saddle. He was a lot rougher man than Prine would have guessed from meeting him at the recital. He looked comfortable with a six-gun and even more comfortable with his fists.
By the time Prine dismounted, Neville had hunched down over something in a patch of crusty soil and said, "Shit."
Then he was up on his feet, scowling.
"Thought I saw that damned crooked horseshoe print."
"You need to relax. That's the best thing you can do for yourself right now."
Neville scowled. You could see the calculation in his eyes. He wasn't sure he could whip Prine, but he was about ready to try. Then he took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. "I don't always treat her the way I should, Prine. And she resents it. And I promise not to do it anymore. And then I go right on treating her like this little child. But for all of that, I love her. I love her more than anything on this earth." Anger seized him again. "So it's not real easy to relax. Not when you love somebody the way I love her."
He stalked back to his horse and rode off.
Prine gave him some time alone and then caught up with him.
Neville surprised him by saying, "Sorry I ran my mouth back there. I guess I forgot you want to find her as much as I do."
"I sure do," Prine said. "I sure do."
By the time he got done testifying in court, Sheriff Daly had missed not only both posses but also the chance to talk to Richard Neville.
One of Neville's men came to the sheriff's office a few minutes after he returned from the courthouse.
Hank Cummings was the man's name. He probably changed clothes sometimes, but Daly could never remember seeing him in anything other than the faded blue work shirt, the faded blue Levi's, and the faded white hat that was now the color of sweat and dirt.
"They swung out by the ranch to see where she was kidnapped. Guy hit Mike Perry pretty hard."
"Mike Perry? He doesn't usually ride with her into town, does he?"
"Not usually. But she was worried about a loose wheel."
"Bob Carlyle left me a note. I've lost three hours. No use trying to catch them now." With the sole of his Texas boot, he shoved a chair in Cummings's direction. "Sit down a spell."
"Sure."
"I want to know a few things about the ranch. That's why I wish I could talk to Neville."
"Well, I'll help you any way I can."
Daly resorted to his briar; Cummings started rolling a cigarette.
"Neville fire anybody lately?" Daly said.
"Not that I've heard of."
"Anybody been giving him trouble? Some old enemy?"
"Nope. Mike Perry bunks with all the boys, and he always tells us what's going on with 'the mister,' as the boys call him. He hasn't said anything about any enemies."
"Any cowhand seem to have it in for him?" Cummings grinned, his ancient, weathered face showing the boy that lingered somewhere inside him. "You asking me to speak out of school, Sheriff?"
"Out of school?"
"You asking me what the boys—and I'm including Mike Perry here—really think of Neville?"
Daly drew on his lighted pipe, savored the taste of tobacco. "They don't like him, huh?"
"You ever met many people who do?"
Daly smiled. "I see what you mean."
"If you're askin' if he's well-liked, hell no, he isn't. But if you're askin' if one of the boys would kidnap Miss Cassie, hell no, they wouldn't. You got to remember, most of the boys on the Bar Double N have been there ten, twenty years. A couple of them's been there almost thirty. They helped raise Miss Cassie. She's the opposite of her brother. She calls most of 'em 'uncle.' Uncle Bob and Uncle Bill and so on. Most of the hands never had time to get married or raise a family, so they sort of adopted her. They might do a number of things if they got pissed off enough at Neville—but they'd never touch Miss Cassie. Never."
Daly had his feet up on the desk. "Well, it doesn't have to be anybody from the ranch. I always try to look at the people around them first. But there've been so damned many kidnappings lately. A couple of convicts get out of prison with no money and no prospects, they start reading the papers to see who's got some money. And then right away they go after their child."
"That's probably what happened here."
Daly nodded. "Probably." Then: "How about Cassie? She have any enemies?"
Cummings snorted. "Cassie? Who'd have anything against Cassie? For one thing, even though she's lived here all her life, she's never really met a lot of people. The mister kept her pretty much sheltered since their father died. I expect this is just the kind of thing he was afraid of."
"Kidnapping?"
"Or rape. That's where an old enemy might fit in. Kidnap the mister's sister and rape her. The mister would go crazy. You don't see many suitors around Cassie, and that's why. He wants her to stay pure as long as he can. Right up to her wedding day. He knows he'll have to marry her off eventually. But until then, she's pretty much under his thumb."
"Then if it isn't a ranch hand and it isn't an angry suitor—we're probably back to some drifters who thought they saw an easy way to make some money."
"I don't like that choice at all."
"Neither do I," Daly said. "Those're the kind of men who end up killing the girls they steal."
Chapter Nine
The ride back at day's end was long and mostly silent, both men, Prine and Neville, given to their own thoughts and feelings. They'd gone all the way to the major river in the area and found nothing.
Now, hungry shadows gathering for the feast of night, they came to the outskirts of Claybank.