Chapter Thirty
Ance knew that his prayers would be going unanswered when he saw the plume of smoke rising in the morning sun in the distance. He passed a wandering saddled horse and realized the man lying dead nearby had probably been the rider.
Ance slid from his mare's back and approached the man who was lying face down in the grass and dirt with an exit wound through his back. He grabbed the man by his dirty black hair, lifted his head to get a glimpse of his face and then quickly dropped his head back onto the ground and dismissed him. Ance had no idea who the man was.
He continued on his way on foot and paused at one of Old Man Thompson's spike-filled holes the man was so fond of. A body lay inside, impaled through the stomach and most certainly dead. Ance was fairly certain he recognized the face as that of a man who worked for Barnaby.
"Son of a bitch!" Ance snarled. He'd turned his emotions off after leaving the Indian's the night before. He had turned off any thought or feeling and simply focused on riding hard and fast to reach Old Man Thompson's, refusing to think about the possibility that he'd find anything wrong when he arrived.
All those emotions he'd refused to feel came careening back into him at once. Panic, fear, dread and nausea all swirled in Ance's gut and made it hard for him to breath. He pulled his gun and ran, coming upon more dead bodies, both horses and men, as he went.
The silence weighed heavily all around him. No laughter, no singing, no critters, no anything. Just silence.
The source of the smoke soon become clear when Old Man Thompson's smoking woodshed and barn came into view. It was clear the fire was old--probably from yesterday. All that was left of it was smoldering ashes.
Ance stopped in his tracks and scanned the surroundings. It was still and silent. Dead silent. Did Ance dare walk to the cabin, step through the broken door and see what lay inside? Part of him longed to simply run away. Turn and flee and never look back.
This was all his fault. If he stepped into that house and found his ladies lying dead upon the floor... if he had lost them simply because he hadn't been there to keep them safe...
Ance gagged. He knew he had to go inside. If they were... he swallowed hard. They deserved a proper burial before Ance went hunting vengeance.
His stomach clenched and rolled violently when he stepped up onto the creaking porch steps and saw the thick, drying pool of crimson blood. Ance drew a deep, shuddering breath and stepped inside the cabin.
He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the change in light. Dust motes floated through the sunrise streaming in the window as the light breeze blew the burlap sack curtain. The cabin seemed even more silent than the outdoors had.
A body was sprawled beside the window and Ance clenched his fist when he realized it was Old Man Thompson. The man was dead with more than one gunshot wound to his chest.... It would seem Ance wouldn't be giving away his pouch full of gold after all. With a heavy heart, Ance walked to the man and draped a tattered blanket from the chair over his body.
Ance wasn't sure what to feel as he realized that Penelope and Audrey were not dead in the cabin. Then he glanced toward the loft and realized he hadn't checked everywhere just yet. The ladies may have tried to hide from Barnaby and his men up there and, if they had, they may still be there...
Ance went to the ladder and slowly made his way up it. He closed his eyes tight as he neared the top, counted to three, prepared his heart for the worst and let his gaze go to the tiny loft bedroom.
Empty.
Barnaby hadn't killed them.
Barnaby had taken them.
Ance growled and slid back down the ladder. That son of a bitch had stolen them! The thought of what those men would do to Penelope filled Ance with rage and when he thought of them touching Audrey, a jealousy and desperation like Ance had never felt before raged to life inside him.
Ance strode toward the door, intent on tracking the direction Barnaby and his men had gone when a scratching sound caused him to pause. He stood very still and listened closely. Seconds ticked by but finally the sound came again... It sounded as if it came from beneath the chair.
"Hello?" Ance called out as he walked slowly that way. "Is someone there?"
"Ance?" a faint, little voice replied.
Ance's heart pounded. That was Penelope! He quickly went to the tattered chair and tossed it aside. He ran his fingers over the wooden planks and found several that were loose. With a curse, Ance pulled them aside and found the little girl staring up at him with those wide brown eyes. She was filthy from the dirt, her blond hair was a tangled mess and her freckled cheeks were pale. It was clear from the swollen redness in her eyes that she'd been crying and Ance wasted no time in reaching into that hole and pulling her out to safety.
He clutched Penelope tight to him and kissed her hair as she began to cry. "I didn't think anybody would come," she gasped.
"I'll always come for you," Ance vowed. "Don't you ever worry about that."
With a hopeful heart, Ance glanced into the hole, sure that he'd see Audrey as well but then he realized the space was too small. His heart fell once again. "Penny, where is your mama?"
Penelope sniffed and moved her head from his shoulder. She swallowed hard and her cheeks trembled. "I don't know. She hid me but there wasn't room for her. I heard Old Man Thompson tell her to hide but she said no. She said she was going to protect me...." Penelope let out a choking sound as she sobbed. "I heard her yelling and loud bangs... they were gunshots and I just closed my eyes and stayed quiet because she had told me to. Did they kill my mama, Ance?"
Penelope's swollen eyes went to the blanket covered figure upon the floor. Ance quickly shook his head and grabbed her chin gently. He turned her face toward him and her eyes met his. "Your mama isn't dead, Penny. I've searched this place and she ain't here."
Her eyes widened with panic, "They took her, Ance! They're going to hurt her! We have to get her back."
Ance nodded as cold, hard resolve settled in his chest. "Don't you worry, Penny," he assured the girl. "I'm getting your damn mama back."
A/N: i know it's short but i haven't had much time to write the last couple days and I wanted to give y'all something to read. Hope you like it!
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Dancing with the Devil
Historical Fiction*** Ansel Adams, or Ance as those he knows tend to call him, is a bad man though he didn't consider that to be his fault. His father had been a bad man, his grandfather had been a bad man--hell as far as Ance knew he came from a long line of men wer...
