Wellspring (Paskagankee, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

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the elderly slave had heard the man coming when he hadn’t heard a thing.
    Then he
forgot all about the slave, all about how the old black man had ridden ten long
hours crushed into the false bottom of the delivery wagon. He forgot about
everything. Because being dragged along behind the stranger, the man’s left ham
fist wrapped securely around the collar of her nightdress, was Luke’s wife.
    Sarah.
    Her
eyes were wide and terrified and a heavy layer of dust caked the bottom of her
dress, and after a moment’s shocked hesitation, Luke took two steps toward her.
He would attack the man if necessary to rescue his wife, he would die to save
her if he must, he would do whatever it took, and—
    —and
the man calmly lifted a big Colt revolver and placed the barrel against Sarah’s
temple. “Stop right there,” he said, and Luke stopped right there.
    “Well,
well, well,” the stranger said thoughtfully, glancing from Luke to the slave
and back. “Whatta we have here?” He caressed the side of Sarah’s beautiful head
with his gun and Luke prayed he wouldn’t pull the trigger. Luke could see Sarah
trembling, but she stood quietly and said nothing.
    The
slave was positioned behind Luke. He didn’t move or speak. Luke could feel his
presence although he could not see him. It was obvious the old man was waiting
to see what would happen next, something Luke was more than a little curious
about, himself. He calculated how long Fulton had been gone and what he might
be doing. The deliveryman should long since have returned from inside the
tavern for another armload of flour or case of beer or sack of clean linen.
    “What’s
your business here, friend?” Luke asked.
    “We all
friends now, are we?” the man countered without any trace of a smile.
    “Well,
we ain’t enemies. Least not yet. I certainly mean you no harm, although it’d sure
be easier to stay friends if you
release my wife. What brings you to Paskagankee at this time of night?”
    The
stranger chuckled. He was relatively young, maybe thirty-five, and relatively
handsome, if you discounted the small pair of scars running in thin parallel
lines along his right cheek. His face was flushed and his hair mussed and his
manner abrupt. “So, this little filly wasn’t lying, after all. She told me I
could find you here. Ya see, I need a place to hole up for a bit. They’s some
people chasin’ me and they ain’t exactly what you’d call the highest of high
society fellas.”
    “What
does that have to do with me, and what does it have to do with my wife?” Luke
longed to lunge at the stranger; the urge was almost overwhelming. He wanted to
punch the man into submission, six-shooter or no six-shooter, then sweep Sarah
into his arms and hold her until she stopped trembling, to convince her
everything would be all right.
    But
Luke was very afraid everything was not going to be all right.
    “What’s
it got to do with you? Nuthin’ really, ‘cept you happen to own the house I
busted into a few minutes ago lookin’ for shelter. Once I showed her my gun,
your very kind—and might I add, very beautiful—wife volunteered
that they wasn’t much of anyplace to hide in that house, and if it was the
first shelter I considered it would
probably be the first one the folks chasin’ me would consider, too.” He spit on
the ground. “Smart lady.”
    Matt
Fulton poked his head around the corner of the building. The stranger couldn’t
see him, but Luke had a clear view of the deliveryman. Matt had apparently
heard the commotion back here and exited through the front door of the tavern,
circling around to approach the stranger from behind.
    Luke
knew Matt was always armed—it would have been suicide driving a wagon
full of liquor and bar supplies all over northern Maine without some way to
protect himself, and a weapon was even more critical given the illegal human
cargo Matt carried—but he knew also that the deliveryman had left his gun
on the seat of the