each end of the bar stood gaboons, wooden boxes filled with sawdust, that served as poor men’s spittoons. By the look of the floor, no one there took very good aim.
Connell scanned the crowd. Nearly a dozen men were dressed in the blue of the cavalry but only a few were as filthy and bruised as the guilty parties he was looking for had to be. Bellying up to the bar, the largest of the four was lifting a glass and laughing as another member of the disgusting quartet gave his impression of Faith’s shocked facial expression after her fall.
Silent, Connell approached, his jaw set, his fists clenched. The loudmouth had reddish hair and a swollen eye as purple as a ripe plum. When Connell tapped him on the shoulder, he turned, still chuckling, with a sarcastic what-do-you-want? look on his face.
Connell reached up and whipped off the man’s hat, turning it over to serve as a collection basket.
“Hey! What the…?”
“For the lady you boys hurt,” Connell said. The low, menacing timbre of his voice was as threatening as his words. “Ante up.”
The man cursed. “Now wait a…”
Connell had grasped the redhead by the shirtfront and hoisted him high in the air before anyone could interfere. As formidable as the soldier was, he was no match for such ferocious rage and brute strength. The others began to edge away.
“All of you,” Connell shouted. “Freeze where you are and fill the kitty.” His head cocked toward the hat, which had landed on the bar when he’d grabbed the loudmouth. “Now.”
He waited till three soldiers had complied before releasing the fourth. “Your turn.”
“I ain’t got no money to waste on no stupid settler.”
Connell’s fist connected hard with the man’s jaw, sending his body sliding along the front of the bar where it finally came to rest in a heap near the gaboon. He gestured to the man’s friends. “Pick him up.”
The smallest of the three shook his head violently and backed away, his hands in the air. Thin and much shorter than the others, he’d obviously gotten the worst of the brawl. “No way. He wakes up, he’ll kill me.”
“Judging from what’s left of your sorry face, it looks like he nearly did, already.” Connell glanced at the remaining two. “You think your friend would be interested in making his fair share of the contribution?” He held out the hat. The few coins it contained chinked together.
“Sure, sure. Ol’ Bob, he’s a regular fella. He just gets nasty when he’s keepin’ company with John Barleycorn, is all.” The closest one reached into his companion’s pockets and came up with a fistful of coins. “This do ya?”
When the soldier dropped the money into the hat, Connell gathered it in his hand, briefly calculated how much there was, then threw the empty hat across the face of its unconscious owner. “He wakes up, you tell him for me that the lady is much obliged.”
“Yes, sir. Sure will.”
Turning away, Connell stalked out. He was certain neither Miss Faith Beal nor Mrs. Morse would approve of his methods, yet they’d have had to admit they were effective. There was no need to go into detail when he delivered the “donations” to the women. It was enough to know that he’d righted a wrong. An innocent young woman wouldn’t have to suffer more hardship because of the yahoos who’d harmed her.
Thinking about Faith’s vulnerability, he took a deep breath and exhaled noisily as he reentered the trading post. Near the door, the pale girl with corn-silk hair still sat atop the filled sacks. White flour dusted the back and shoulders of her blue dress, a clear reminder of her fainting spell. An older man and several women were fussing over her. Unsure of whether or not to approach, Connell paused to listen to what they were saying.
“No! I can’t stay here. I just can’t,” the girl whimpered. “Please, take me back to camp with you.”
“Now, Miss Charity,” the man was cajoling, “you’ll be perfectly safe with Mrs. Morse. Your sister might need you.”
“No! No, no, no.” She stamped her small foot. “It wasn’t my idea to come here in the first place and I’ll not stay. I demand you deliver me back to Captain Tucker.”
One of the matrons patted Charity’s hand. “There, there, dear. Of course we’ll see that you get to the captain. I’m sure your sister is in good hands.”
Shaking his head in disgust, Connell watched them leave before he started for the staircase.
Anna Morse met him halfway up and solidly blocked his path. “Well?”
“The sister left,” he said, scowling.
“Figures. What about the fellas what done the hurting? Did you clean their plows for ’em?”
“Enough to get their attention. I never did intend to start another set-to.” He transferred the money he’d collected to the proprietress. “If you want more…”
“No need. This’ll be plenty. I bandaged her myself. You was right. She’s got a few sore ribs.”
“You bound her tight?”
“’Course. I did fine and so did she. She’s a spunky one, that Faith.”
Connell nodded. “That she is.”
“Too bad about her ma.”
They made their way to the base of the stairs, Connell in the lead. “Her ma?”
“Got kilt by the same twister that wiped out their house and most of their belongings,” Anna told him. “That’s why she and that worthless sister of hers are on their way to Californy to look for their pa.”
“Alone?” Connell couldn’t believe how many women tried to cross the plains without proper help or preparation. He didn’t fault them for their courage, only for their lack of common sense.
“That’s right. Ramsey Tucker’s supposed to be lookin’ after them. To my thinkin’, they’d be better off all by themselves than trustin’ him.” Heading toward the busy young man who was trying to wait on three families at once, she slipped the coins Connell had collected into her apron pocket. “I’m comin’, Will.”
Connell followed and asked, “When does the Tucker train pull out?”
“Tomorrow.” Anna smiled with understanding. “Don’t fret. Our girl’ll be able to travel just fine. Now, scoot. I got work to do.”
It wasn’t till Connell was outside that he remembered what Faith had said about having to drive her own team. Well and whole, she might be able to do it. Hurt the way she was, the pain would be dreadful. Besides, she might make her condition worse. Maybe even puncture a lung.
Muttering and gritting his teeth, Connell argued that Faith wasn’t his concern. Irene was. He found his horse where the boy had left it, rechecked the cinch on his saddle, then mounted. It was time to head for Maguire’s or some such place. The drink and eats he’d promised himself a whole lot earlier were way overdue.
Standing in the upstairs room in her chemise and drawers, Faith listened at the slightly open door, then quietly eased it closed. Thanks to the tight bindings around her midriff, she’d managed to get out of bed without too much discomfort. She hated corsets. Always had. But she had to admit wearing one might have spared her poor bones.
Placing her forehead and palms against the wood of the door, she closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that somehow, when she opened them again, her current predicament would prove to be no more than a bad dream.
Such was not the case. Breathing shallowly when she really wanted to sigh deeply, she straightened and took a long look at the room. The bed sagged in the middle where the ropes had stretched, but at least it was clean. Mrs. Morse had hung her soiled dress on a peg next to the pine washstand. On the floor in front of it was a