Texas Ranger, Runaway Heiress

Eaton snorted derisively as he closed his suitcases then exited his suite. He’d told Gabrielle that she’d be sorry for breaking off the engagement. The men hired to abduct her would keep her stashed from sight for at least a week. Then Eaton would decide whether her safe return or her premature death would better serve his campaign.

“Here’s your ticket, Mr. Powell.” Marshal Long dropped it into Eaton’s palm. “All the arrangements have been made for your journey. Rest assured that I will do everything I can to locate your fiancée while you’re out of town.”

Eaton nodded, looking as forlorn as he knew how. “I cannot thank you enough,” he said, pumping the marshal’s hand with fake gratitude. “I won’t forget how cooperative you’ve been in this rescue effort. Every time I consider the horrible ordeal Gabrielle faces it breaks my heart.”

“All of us hope your fiancée returns safe and sound.”

Don’t count me in those numbers, thought Eaton.

Eaton ambled off to take his noon meal. The number of individuals who approached him to offer sympathy and political support pleased him. He wondered fleetingly if Gabrielle would be offered a decent meal during her captivity. Then he shrugged off the thought and devoured the meal that the café proprietor announced was “on the house.”

Hud topped a rise of ground on the northern trail and paused to stare across the broad valley flanked by twisted ridges of bare rock and deep gullies. His eyes widened in surprise when he looked through his field glasses to see a caravan of three wagons that displayed the logo of the traveling theater troupe from The Flat. Four saddle horses were tied to the trailing wagon and six uniformed soldiers from Fort Griffin accompanied the caravan.

He wondered if Gabrielle Price’s kidnappers had bound, gagged and stashed her in an oversize trunk and hauled her away. Who would think to search for her among the crates and trunks that held costumes and stage props? He hadn’t considered that the abductors might belong to the troupe. Either that or they were traveling with the group for their own safety. This, after all, was an area where renegades occasionally sneaked from the reservation in Indian Territory and crossed the Red River to hunt and plunder.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he noticed a dozen riders trailing single file through a deep ravine so the unsuspecting caravan wouldn’t notice them. Military escort or not, the caravan was in danger. The six soldiers were no match for a dozen Comanche and Kiowa braves.

Hud went on high alert when he heard the first war whoop and saw the raiders clambering up the steep ravine to race headlong toward the caravan. He shoved his field glasses into his saddlebag then reined Rambler northeast. He rode hell-for-leather to reach the ravine the raiding party had abandoned. With any luck, he and the soldiers could catch the warriors in crossfire and force them to abort the attack.

If Gabrielle Price had been bound, gagged and tucked inside a trunk, it might be all that saved her from injury. Hud had let her down once by not being there to intervene when she was abducted. If she was with the caravan, he hoped he could save her from being shot full of arrows and bullets.

Hud did not want the unpleasant task of explaining to Commander Price what disasters had befallen his daughter while she was supposedly under his care.

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