Angus whipped around, separating her from the boy and renewing the torment in her head.
“Yer mother’s fine, boy. I sent her to town with a message. Get on back to camp and start packin’ up. We got to move again.” As Angus spun around and trudged in the direction that must lead to his camp, Emma fought through the pain to lift her head and watch Ned.
He had turned to gaze off into the direction his father had come from, and he hesitated. She willed him to go after Flora. If the two could escape, Angus would have no further hold on them.
“Now, boy!” Angus barked.
Ned jumped and scurried to follow his father.
Emma flopped back down, a tear leaking from her lashes.
32
Malachi crouched down and traced the faint outline of a footprint in the earth on the far side of the river. Emma’s footprint. The one he’d been tracking for the last twenty minutes. The one that disappeared after this final marking, as if the woman herself had sprouted wings and flown away.
“Where are you, Emma?” he whispered, his frustration and desperation mounting.
He’d tried to hold it together ever since he spotted Henry, still clad in her nightclothes, hurrying across the road toward the boardinghouse. Told himself Emma wasn’t that far ahead. He’d track her down. But now that her trail had evaporated, his nerves were fraying with alarming speed.
Why had he thought the danger had passed just because the sun had risen? If Porter hadn’t drawn him away to the boardinghouse, he might’ve seen Emma leave. Might’ve stopped her. If only . . .
Mal shook his head. Second-guessing his choices served no purpose. At least he knew who was responsible for leading Emma away. Porter had brought a distraught Esther to him and showed him the note the woman had found tucked into her Bible that morning. Mal had barely had time to scan the paper and read the signature at the bottom before Henry came flying across the street, her gray braid swinging wildly behind her. Mal had shoved the note at Porter and sprinted out to meet his aunt. When she’d told him what Emma had done, he hadn’t taken the time to confer with the freighter. He just grabbed his rifle from inside the boardinghouse door and raced for the river, trusting Henry to inform the others about what had happened.
Emma’s trail had been easy enough to read at first. He’d lost it for a while after she entered the river but picked it up on the opposite shore fairly quickly. Until it disappeared. He’d searched east and north, the two directions her path seemed to have been heading, but he’d found no trace of her. Not a single marking.
Which meant he was missing something. Again. Just like the two previous times he’d searched for the outlaws.
So he’d circled back to the last footprint he’d found. Now he stared at it, traced it, and prayed the Lord would show him what he was missing, because his own abilities were obviously not getting the job done.
“All right, Mal. A giant bird didn’t swoop down and snatch her up, so her next step had to fall somewhere.” He’d searched the far side of the branches that stood in her path, yet found nothing. So she either walked atop the dead brush back down into the river or she followed its path north. She’d already crossed the river, so returning that way made no sense. She must have headed north. Though why she would have chosen to walk upon such an uneven pile of dead branches and leaves when dirt and prairie grass offered much more stable footing, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.
“Who cares if it make sense?” he muttered under his breath. “It’s the only option left.” Mal stepped atop the branches, taking a moment to dig in his bootheel to make his position more secure. Then he brought his second foot up. His heel sank, but something solid held his toe aloft. A stone. He hunkered down to examine it, brushing away the dried leaves and dirt with his hand. A flat river rock. The size of a man’s boot. One that would allow a man to travel away from the river without leaving a trail.
Malachi surged to his feet, leapt off the brush, and started running again. Running along the outlaw’s path of brush and stone, jaw clenched tight in disgust for missing what had been right in front of him all along, even as his heart rejoiced that he finally had a direction to search.
I’m coming, Emma. I’m coming.