Long Road to Freedom Ch. 03

The Agreement

The day progressed with a heavy, suffocating tension. Beau maintained a disquietingly constant presence, treating Nora with an unusual mix of casual cruelty and unsettling, possessive curiosity. To him, she was not a mere prisoner. Rather, she was more of a prized piece of stolen jewelry, something to be cared for enough to keep its value yet kept securely under a watchful eye.

Shortly before the sun began to set, he settled on a site to make camp for the evening. Nora set out to tend to the horses, content with any task that kept distance between herself and the outlaw. He watched her move with an experienced ease around the animals.

With calm and focused intent, she brushed away the sweat stains and checked the horses' hooves without needing to be told. The familiarity of the task worked to produce an amount of much-needed peace in the woman. She found herself already liking the calm temperament of the black Quarter Horse.

"He got a name?" she asked Beau over her shoulder, stroking the white stripe that ran down the gelding's face from forelock to muzzle.

"Blackjack," he replied in a clipped tone.

He busied himself with their tack, feigning disinterest as if he were not observing her every movement with keen interest. He used a dirty rag to wipe away the grit and grime from the metal bits of their bridles.

"Hm," she hummed in begrudging approval.

It was a good horse name. She took a moment to watch the pair avidly nibble at a lush patch of scrub. Their gentle way of being allowed her to momentarily forget the horror of her situation. Blackjack looked about two hands bigger than her stout thirteen-and-a-half-hand mustang. Their coats, one black, one gold, reminded Nora of an equine night and day.

She audibly scoffed at the absurd poetry of it, like a badly written novella. They even shared a similar white face stripe, though to be fair, that was a fairly ubiquitous marking among horses. Maybe fate had gotten bored with all the run-of-the-mill human suffering and needed a new, particularly mean-spirited form of entertainment to pass the time. Nora snorted under her breath at her own expense. After she had finished with the basic husbandry, she set out to start a campfire and prepare a meal for the evening.

Beau felt a slow-burning amusement watching Nora pretend to be a docile servant, knowing full well there was a tempest of rage brewing just beneath the surface. He wanted to poke at that simmering anger, stoke it a bit, to see what it would take to make her flare to life again.

"Come here, Nora," he commanded after she had gotten a fire burning and set a pot of water to boil. He gestured to where he sat languidly against a blunt boulder. "I'm tired of looking at your pretty face from all the way over there. Come sit on my lap."

She stiffened, his words making her feel as if he had reached out from across the camp and slapped her. Slowly and deliberately, she turned away from her preparations to stare the man down in outraged disbelief.

"Are you joking?" she managed, her throat dry and tight.

He sat, his posture relaxed and expectant, though his eyes were sharp and demanding. A slow, mocking smile curled his lips as he watched genuine shock and disgust spread across her face. "I don't joke much, sweetheart," he replied. While he sounded amused, there was a gruff rumble to his voice that carried a clear warning that this was not a request. He was eager to see if this was enough to trigger the fight in her or if the exhaustion of the long road had encouraged her toward a little obedience. Either outcome was acceptable to him. "Now, Nora, don't make me ask again. It's been a long day, and I've decided I want some company while waiting for supper."

For a long moment, she stood frozen with indecision. Irrationally, she considered bolting into the waiting arms of the desert but abandoned the idea almost as soon as it manifested. She was nimble, but in this open country, there were very few places to hide even if she somehow managed to gain any ground.

She glared at him, remembering his terrifying and effortless strength. The thought reinforced the notion of physically fighting him as an equally worthless endeavor. She compelled her legs forward, step by painful step, toward the leering man still patiently waiting for her to make up her mind.

He savored how she scowled defiantly even while she moved to obey. When she was finally within range, he reached out to snatch her by the waist with a firm, possessive tug. Her small form dropped onto his lap. He let out a long, satisfied sigh, leaning his head back as he tightened his arm around her midsection, effectively pinning her against his chest.

"See? That wasn't so hard," he whispered against her ear, his breath warm and smelling faintly of tobacco.

She shuddered. Adrenaline, hate, and fear coursed through her body in equal measures to the point where she could hardly think straight. He was wrong. Sitting still against him was the hardest thing she ever had to do.

"You've had your fun," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Now please, kindly let me up. I have things to do."

He tightened his grip on her waist to remind her she was on his time now. Against him, he could feel the heat of her body coupled with the thrumming of her frantic heartbeat. He found the sensation intoxicating. It was the feeling of a wild thing momentarily forced into tameness.

"Who says I've had my fun?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr.

He did not try to push things further yet, content to enjoy the psychological torment he could inflict with minimal effort. He let his hand slide lightly up her side, a casual but searing gesture.

She clenched her eyes shut as if they could shield her from the monumental landslide of terror and disgust that crashed around her. "Please... don't," she pleaded, her voice sounding uncharacteristically thin.

He felt her trying to shrink inward as he held her fast. It fueled a power trip that felt more rewarding than most of his past robberies. He rested his chin against her shoulder and angled his face to look at her, his eyes alight with a wicked glint.

"Please? You beggin' me already?" he teased, with a mixture of amusement and growing hunger.

He appreciated the way her stubborn pride clashed with her helplessness. For a moment, the silence of the wilderness spoke on his behalf. The sounds of the night, the crackle of the fire, and the distant chirping of crickets emphasized how alone they truly were.

"Yes, I'm beggin', okay?" she finally bit back, her eyes snapping open as her patience with this game wore thin. "Don't," she demanded and squirmed against him. "Please, I've never... It can't be with you. Please." Her voice grew quiet, and her cheeks burned with shame as she struggled to find the words to explain herself adequately.

The abrupt shift in her was unmistakable. There was a newfound vulnerability that promptly replaced all the rage and exasperation. Immediately, he began to think to himself how powerful this new bit of leverage could be if applied correctly. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

"Well now, that's a confession," he murmured, his tone dropping to a deep and intimate timbre that reverberated against her back. He still did not release her, but at last his hand fell away, only to linger above her hip. "You're a little untouched wildflower, darlin'? I'd say that makes this a whole lot more interesting."

Her breathing came in shallow gasps as the distinct lack of mercy in his voice registered. The idea that she had somehow managed to make the situation worse struck her to the core. Her body began to tremble even though his hand had ceased its lewd wandering.

"I... I ran away before my wedding day," she admitted shakily, all but confirming his statement. "Please, I promise, I won't fight you on anything. Just don't do that. Don't take that from me." She knew that trying to bargain with this man was a fool's errand, but she was backed into a desperate corner.

The value of his prize had unexpectedly tripled. The idea of being the first to claim some young, wild beauty was an extra bit of indulgence he had not expected to stumble upon in the middle of nowhere. "Anything?" he echoed, his voice a dark, silky thread, as he thought over the potential of a pliable Nora.

Once more, his resting hand slid up her side, his fingertips slipping under the hem of her shirt. "That's a very dangerous promise to make to a man like me, sweetheart. I think you've given me an open invitation to see just how much you're willing to trade to protect that honor of yours. You sure that's what you want?" His fingers edged further up, ghosting along her smooth skin and tracing the outline of her ribs.

"Anything!" she blurted out, spurred into decisive action by his relentless, probing fingers lazily making their way under her clothing. "Don't... don't do that. And I'll do anything." The words tumbled out in a breathy, terrified mess.

He could taste the pure desperation radiating off her and decided, at least for the moment, this agreement served him well. He paused his exploration. "Anything. Hm," he muttered thoughtfully, his voice like honeyed gravel. His hand retreated from under her shirt to instead rise up and cradle the back of her neck. His thumb brushed soothing circles against her skin in a way that would have been tender if not for the man behind the motion. "Alright. I'll hold off on takin' your virtue... But this is a bond, Nora. From here on out, you don't question me, you don't fight me, and you do exactly as I say without a single word of complaint. The moment you slip up, that precious little innocence of yours becomes mine."

Nora nodded meekly. With this new threat on the line, he finally had her. She would not dare consider disobeying him unless she had a guaranteed means of escape ready to go. Even still, they both knew that her nature would make this an insurmountable challenge, but it was one she had to endure if she wanted to walk away from this intact.

He released her with a gentle but deliberate push, as if discarding a toy he had finished playing with. He watched her scramble to her feet, her face a clear picture of relief and lingering dread. There was a surge of pride in his chest at his own clever cruelty. He had effectively turned her from a dangerous wild card into a subservient tool with a few well-placed words.

"Now, go get the supper finished," he ordered, his voice resuming its cold, detached quality. "And don't burn a damn thing."

Her hands clenched at her sides, but she didn't say a word. Seething, she turned her back on him and returned to tending to their dinner. He was already trying to push her into breaking their newly forged pact, she realized. But no matter what he made her do, she knew she could not afford to let herself snap. The consequences were too great.

* * * * *

The next day arrived unceremoniously. The harsh sunlight illuminated the landscape, stripping the orange rocky surface of its vibrancy. For most of the morning, Nora played the part of a silent, obedient shadow. She collapsed the camp with quiet efficiency and stalwartly followed Beau as he and Blackjack led the way northward.

They had been riding for hours when Nora began to hear a droning, rumbling rush growing in volume somewhere in the distance. Her curiosity piqued. She had suspected for some time they were nearing the great Colorado River. This must mean he intended for them to cross it at some point.

"That the Colorado?" she decided to ask, breaking her committed silence. She hoped nothing bad would come from such an innocuous question.

Beau turned in his saddle to look over his shoulder at her in mild surprise. Throughout the day, each time he glanced over to find her eyes downcast, he felt the thrill of victory. Whenever their eyes accidentally met, he would give her a dangerously knowing smirk. But at some point, he found this ongoing quiet game had long overstayed its welcome.

"Yep," he replied, in a manner that was neither friendly nor irritable. "We're gonna cross at Lee's Ferry."

Nora's expression soured. "The one controlled by the Mormons?" There was a distinct note of distaste in her voice.

With a gentle squeeze of the reins, he slowed Blackjack's pace to allow the horses to amble side by side. "That's the one," he confirmed, taking interest in her shift of disposition. "Not fond, I take it?" he asked almost conversationally.

After diligently working all day to make him bored of her, his increased proximity made her regret saying anything at all. She sighed heavily and weighed the wisdom of telling the outlaw something true about herself.

"My pa's cattle ranch is right outside of Pipe Spring. They basically own the thing," she said eventually, after deciding it was ultimately harmless. The boredom she had so carefully cultivated was finally working against her. "They, uh, I don't know... They put a fort around it a few years back to protect it from the tribes. But my father, well, he took issue with that. It's a damn desert after all. I mean, they weren't keen on sharing with them before. But still..."

He listened, keeping his face impassive. "Huh," he mused after a brief pause. "Your pa soft on the Indians?" There was something in the way he spoke the words that made Nora seethe, like it was an insult.

"My pa is Mexican," she snapped, before working quickly to control her temper. She added more evenly, "he always used to say that, for many of us, to be Mexican was to be native too. It wasn't always a popular sentiment... But I knew what he meant. Most of us come from the Spanish and some tribe or another. But regardless of heritage, it's not right to be treating people that way."

Beau stared at her in astonishment. "You're Mexican?" he asked, ignoring most else of what she had said. His characteristic drawling rumble rose in volume with genuine surprise. "Speak any Spanish?"

"¿Y tú qué crees?" she responded flatly, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. She was regretting this conversation more and more with each passing exchange. "Pa was Mexican, ma is from Kentucky. He saw the spring marked along the Old Spanish Trail and decided to start a cattle ranch near it. I think he figured he and ma would have some semblance of privacy way out there."

"I'll be damned," he muttered in open amazement. An amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he considered these new puzzle pieces given to him, furthering a more complete picture of Nora. It had not been lost on him that this time she had used the word 'was' when describing her father. He decided it was best to let it lie for now. "Well, I think you'll be interested in knowing that ol' Lee of Lee's Ferry was executed a few months back for his role in the Mountain Meadows massacre."

She tilted her head in open curiosity. "The what?" she asked, abruptly derailed from the wave of sorrow brought on by reminiscing about the family she had all too recently abandoned. Around them, the sound of rushing water grew more forceful, requiring both parties to steadily speak louder.

"Oh, just a grizzly bit of savagery a few decades back," he drawled lazily as if talking about the weather. "They killed over a hundred travelers for no damn reason, then tried to cover it up. But most folks around figured it out right quick. Point is, guess ol' Lee was involved in some way or another. So, the long arm of the law snatched him up and shot him dead for the whole affair." He finished his explanation with a wicked grin. He knew this tale was unlikely to bring any joy to a gentler soul, like Nora, who was less accustomed to the senseless violence of humanity.

She glared at him but refused to let her torment be used as fodder for his own sick amusement. "Ah," she replied with deliberate neutrality. "Hadn't heard of it. Though, I suppose most people aren't eager to share that little story."

Following this, Nora became quiet, no longer willing to engage with the man. The rhythmic clopping of the horses' hooves, which had been the constant drumbeat of their journey, was now dampened by the roar of the approaching river.

"Be careful when riding down to the ferry. There's a drop-off that's damn steep," Beau warned, disregarding any attempt to ignore him now that the dam of conversation had broken. "And when we get there, don't even think about crying for help. I have no qualms killin' to keep what's mine. So, unless you want that blood on your hands, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

"Alright, I get it," she snapped.

There was no part of her that doubted the truth in the outlaw's words, but she found his threat predictable. She had already assumed violence would be the end result of any open effort to recruit someone to her aid. If she were going to escape, she would need to be far more clever and be fully prepared for whatever hell he would raise in his effort to get her back.

It was not long until they reached a bluff where they could see the expansive river stretching below as it cut its way through Glen Canyon. They rode along the cliffside for an hour more. Eventually, the height of the ledge dipped lower as the canyon found its natural end. The wild flow of the Colorado had slowed into a more tranquil and shallow-looking passage.

From there, Nora could see the stone and wood structure of an outpost near the riverbank. As Beau had promised, the trail leading to the site, colloquially called 'Lee's Backbone', was in fact precariously steep. It strained the balance of their horses, causing the pair to dismount and lead their animals by hand down the strenuous pass.

Before they attempted to cross, Beau prudently decided to stop and restore their supplies at the station. This gave their horses some time to rest near a graciously provided water trough under the shade of a sparsely leafed tree. He refreshed their dried staples, like their hardtack, beans, and salted meats. However, this was not the only thing that caught his eye.

Owing to Lee's family garden, the outpost also offered a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables. These were as valuable as any luxury item for travelers this far out. As such, the family could sell their produce at exorbitant prices. Contentedly, Beau used Nora's money to indulge in some fresh goods, as well as purchase the restock of supplies and pay their fare. When all was said and done, both their knapsacks and saddlebags were filled to capacity, and Nora was several silver dollars poorer.

As they exited the outpost and she was certain he was not looking, Nora glared daggers at Beau. They led their horses to the riverbank, finding themselves waiting alongside four strangers. A glorified wooden crate, deemed adequate enough to be called a ferry, slowly returned to their side of the sandy shore via a rope pulley system. After the boxy platform was dragged onto the wet bank, the beasts of burden were loaded, followed by the passengers.

Throughout the crossing, Beau chatted sociably. He cheerfully claimed that he and his wife were on their way to Utah to start their new homestead. Lying with an easy grace, he softened his cruel features, passing himself off as a humble and lovestruck man eager to get his beautiful, young wife settled.

For her part, Nora kept quiet and tried not to seem too prickly. She found herself appalled when Beau masterfully folded her dour demeanor into their story. He whispered in confidence to the men that his wife was sick with the early maladies of childbearing. Thus, her normally sunny disposition had been all too recently smothered.

Nora watched how Beau kept his thumbs hooked lightly in his front pockets. He feigned a relaxed posture as he conversed with uncharacteristic joviality. She recognized the gesture for the threat it was. He was intentionally keeping his hands near his revolvers, which were well concealed under the long draping folds of his duster, invisible to all but the most observant. The men around him seemed drawn in by his natural charisma, and it made Nora look away in discomfort. If only they knew that Beau would take their lives in cold blood without any hesitation if it served him.

As they rode away from the ferry and left the safety of company behind, the kindly mask slipped away. His cool blue eyes met hers. "You made the right choice back there," he remarked approvingly, though his praise was anything but warm or gentle.

Nora felt a shudder run down her spine and opted to not bother with a reply. They wasted no time in continuing on their way. It was not long before they once again abandoned the main trail. Beau preferred the privacy of the untamed wilderness for reasons obvious to those who consistently found themselves conducting less than legal business.

Nora reconstructed her wall of silent obedience, complying with any and all of his commands with a dutiful indifference. She made no attempt to talk to the outlaw, finding that after their last chat she preferred the boredom of the doldrums over his company.

They rode on for several more hours when the sun began to make its descent. The early colors of dusk painted the asymmetrical outlines of the desert with deep, golden hues. The chilly October air reemerged with a jarring suddenness, making it seem as if the day's merciless heat had never existed at all.

When Beau indicated to stop, Nora wordlessly began with the necessary arrangements. As usual, she tended to the horses first. She untacked them and shared a full feedbag of oats between the two animals to help maintain their strength on this demanding journey. Once she felt they had been properly attended to, she set out to find firewood before it became too difficult a task in the rapidly fading light. She worked with quiet dignity, keeping herself useful and carefully avoiding any eye contact that could prompt unwanted attention.

All the while, Beau watched her work from under the brim of his hat as he leaned against a gnarled juniper tree, his arms crossed. He noted the way she moved, stiff, precise, and entirely devoid of the wild temperament that almost cost him a chunk of his arm two nights ago.

Her strategic use of silence had created a diplomatic sort of partnership that was far too peaceable for his liking. Now, the quiet felt like a challenge in its own right. He was not looking for a cohort or an associate. He wanted entertainment, a toy that squeaked when he squeezed.