Because of Katie Ellen’s pa. If Bullard was back, naturally Josiah would want a part in capturing him. And if he found another neighbor responsible for sheltering Bullard, what would happen then?
Joel had been warned how knotted the allegiances were. Postmaster Finley hated the Pritchards. Katie Ellen and her family blamed Taney for Bullard’s escape. And someone carried ill will toward Doc Hopkins. The tangled roots of family trees determined which side of a feud one was on, and the seeds from those trees kept the feuds sprouting up year after year. Joel had been very judgmental and more than a little na?ve when he’d come, thinking that these people were all troublemakers who hated the law. He tried to put himself in their position. What if someone had killed his pa or some kin of his? Wouldn’t he go after the perpetrators, badge or none?
The trees thinned out. They’d reached the bald knob—the hilltop void of any covering—and the purpose of meeting here was only too clear. While Josiah broke through the forest and trotted to the gathering at the center, Joel was relegated to waiting in the trees. He tethered his horse away from the path they’d come in on, wary of more stragglers, and inched his way as close to the edge of the cover as he dared.
Twenty to thirty men, all in disguise, circled up on the hill. From opposite his position, another two rode out to join them in the moonlight. The giant leader waved them forward, but Fowler was the only one easily recognized. Joel tried to place some of the horses, but knowing they’d been rubbed with soot, all he could do was guess. Well, he wasn’t interested in unmasking them, only in intervening before they could carry out their vigilante plans.
But someone was unmasked. From the other side of the mountain, Scott Murphy appeared with his coat turned inside out. He hesitated until he spotted Fowler, then trotted forward. Did his aunt and uncle know he’d slipped away from them? If so, they’d be sick with worry. But the lure of adventure and heroism was too strong a draw on a young man. Joel understood only too well.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Fowler bellowed.
The riders fanned out to face him, but Scott didn’t cower. “I’ve come to do my part. I’m riding with you tonight.”
Joel looked for Josiah. Would he intervene? But he’d gotten lost among the other black hoods.
“You’ve already done your part, son.” Fowler’s words rang out clear through the burlap hood. “It’s thanks to you that we found his hideout.”
“And you were supposed to tell the deputy,” Scott answered. “You promised you wouldn’t go out for Bullard alone.”
Scott knew where Bullard was? Scott was one person Joel hadn’t thought to ask. And the one person who believed in him . . . besides Betsy, that was.
“The deputy was invited. It was his decision to stay on the porch instead of running with the pack. You’ve put your faith in the wrong man.”
“That may be, but I’m still going to make Bullard accountable for what he did to Doctor Hopkins and Stony Watson. They’re my neighbors, too.”
It looked like Scott might get his way, but then the men began to murmur. Finally, a man with rough, homemade britches and a coat that had more holes than material spoke up. “Scott, we’re all your neighbors and your pa’s, too. We don’t aim to make an enemy of Fred, but if we let you ride with us, that’s what’s going to happen. He’ll be hot at you, but we’d all share blame.” Hoods nodded in agreement. “Go on home, Scott, until you’re older. It’d be a favor to us not to have to explain to your folks.”
The murmurs grew in strength, until it was clear that Scott had lost his bid. With slumped shoulders and head hanging low, he didn’t seem to even notice the men who rode near to slap him on the back or give him a word of encouragement. Did he know who was talking to him? Joel yearned to know, but that wasn’t his first concern. His first concern was getting to this Bullard man before they could mete out their own punishment, and Scott might just be his answer. If he hurried, Joel should be able to circle the hill and catch up with Scott on the south side. He just had to get to his horse.
Joel turned, right into the double barrel of a shotgun.
“Hey, fellers,” the masked man called. “Looky what I caught.”
How did they wear these masks in the summer? Even with the cool air, the thick burlap trapped her breath until Betsy felt liable to suffocate. Or maybe it was the racing of her heart that was depleting the oxygen. Scott’s appearance hadn’t helped any. No matter what story she jeopardized, Betsy could not allow Scott to ride with the Bald Knobbers. Even if it meant disclosing her identity, she’d do it to make sure her cousin was protected. Thankfully that hadn’t been necessary.
Scott had just disappeared into the trees when a shout from the other side of the clearing was raised. Another straggler? Betsy tugged her hood into place so she could see better. So much for the secret location. Seemed like everyone in the county knew where to find them.