Dancing with the Devil

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ance was cramped up and overheated as he remained curled up in the makeshift compartment inside Irish's cart. His hiding place was nearly impossible to see if someone happened to look inside the cart--it had also been made to hold cargo much smaller than Ance.

His knees were in his chest and he was having trouble drawing deep breaths because he was so constricted. He hoped no one would open the compartment too quickly because if they did, he'd come popping out as if he were spring loaded.

Getting the cart hadn't been too difficult. Ance had left Irish out of sight, ridden into town as if pasing through and expressed his interest in owning the thing. The sheriff had been so desperate for money to help rebuild his busted jail that he'd happily taken Ance up on his offer, never realizing that Ance had been the one to blow up the building in the first place.

The four and a half days it had taken them to make their way to the fort had been torture for Ance. There'd been nothing for him to do but worry and envision all the terrors that Audrey had probably been forced to endure. He had at least been able to catch up on a bit of rest in the back of the cart during the day while Irish drove up front. He felt rested, strong, able and more than a little pissed off and ready to get his woman back--ready to bring Penelope her mother back.

He sat in his tight quarters, his knee pressed against his nose and making breathing quite difficult, and listened to a guard demand Irish to stop his cart and explain his reason for being there. Ance rolled his eyes when Irish began a long winded, rambling sales pitch touting the extreme benefits of his elixir with just enough Irish brogue in his words to draw a man's attention. He claimed that with the help of his elixir a man could shoot crows from the sky, hit can at two hundred yards, lift two hundred pounds without straining and get rid of any and all ailments, aches, pains and malfunctions. It sounded like a load of fresh horseshit to Ance but it was clear the men listening were interested as they began talking back and forth.

"Just wait here a minute, Irishman. We'll go see about letting you in!" One of them called.

Ance wished they'd damned well hurry. If he didn't get his goddamn legs out of this position soon, he'd be forced to drink a bottle of Irish's snake oil poison just to have hopes of ever moving again. It seemed as if hours passed, though Ance knew it had only been minutes, before the creaking of metal hinges and scarping of wood against dirt indicated that the heavy fort gate was being swung open.

The cart lurched as it started forward, sending Ance's nose into knee and causing him to let out a string of curses under his breath. He had a feeling Irish's great plan had included him cramped up in this compartment just for Irish's sick and twisted amusement.

Barnaby's voice suddenly filled the silence and Ance fought the urge to burst from his compartment, lunge from the back of the cart and slit the bastard's throat then and there. Ance closed his eyes and breathed deep as he listened to the conversation going on outside the cart.

"What's your name?" Barnaby asked.

"Fergus is the name my mama gave me, sir, but Irish is what ya can call me. That's what all my friends call me," Irish replied with a light laugh.

"Irish? I've heard that name before. Aren't you a two-bit thief and a scam artist?" Barnaby demanded. Ance nodded, though he couldn't be seen. Irish's reputation was certainly an earned one.

"Only to those lesser lads and lasses without the brains for business sense and science, good sir!" Irish exclaimed. "I am a scientist and a businessman and neither of those things are respected among farmers and cow herders."

Barnaby's laughter filled the air. "You are certainly right about that!" he agreed. "Us businessmen are often looked down upon but we're just making a living the same as everyone else."