The Black Hills

by William W. Johnstone

  Anna stared into them, shocked and horrified, her mind still trying to comprehend all that happened in the past two minutes.

  The screams of frightened horses caromed through the building roar of the flames, penetrating Anna’s stunned consciousness. She bolted forward and, mindless of the hot flames licking at her, the smoke watering her eyes and making her lungs ache, she ran down the barn alley.

  There were two stalled horses, one on each side of the alley. Both were being doctored—one for saddle galls, the other for a swollen fetlock. They were pitching and rearing, the flames showing orange in their eyes.

  Quickly, Anna opened the stall doors and hazed both animals back toward the front of the barn. The horses followed a curving, dark, smoky path through the flames until they were outside, galloping, screaming, and buck-kicking off into the misty dawn shadows.

  Anna followed the mounts’ path through the building fire and stumbled out between the gaping doors that were also limned now with snapping flames. Near Cass, she dropped to her knees with exhaustion and drew several draughts of fresh, cool air into her burning lungs. Tears oozed from her stinging eyes.

  “Fire!” a man called. “Fire! Fire!”

  Anna turned to see a bulky, apron-clad man running toward the barn from the bunkhouse. The cook continued running toward the barn, bellowing. Several other men, half-dressed, stumbled out of the bunkhouse, looking around groggily.

  “Get the water buckets!” one of them shouted. “Water! Water! Hurry!”

  Anna looked at Cass. He lay belly-down in the dirt and ground horse apples of the barnyard, moaning. The hair on the left side of his head was burned away, and the skin was scorched.

  “Oh my God!” a familiar voice shouted.

  Anna looked toward the house. Her father was running toward the barn, Chang following from about ten yards back. Ludlow was clad in a red plaid bathrobe, longhandles, and deerskin slippers.

  He stopped suddenly and stared incredulously toward his son and daughter. Cass still lay belly-down, arms folded over his head, moaning and writhing. Graham Ludlow looked from Anna to Cass and then back to Anna.

  “What . . . ?” He stumbled forward, thick gray hair in his eyes that reflected the burning barn’s dancing flames. He glared at Anna, his eyes now cast with accusing. “What . . . have . . . you . . . done?”

  Anna stared back at him. She wanted to explain, but she could find no words. Her mind was still reeling from Cass’s assault. Besides, what would be the point? She just wanted to get the hell out of here.

  She looked at the buckskin tied to the corral, dancing and whickering fearfully as smoke from the barn roiled around it. Anna heaved herself to her feet, ran over to the mount, ripped the reins off the top corral slat, and swung up into the leather.

  “Get back here!” Ludlow bellowed, running heavily toward her, the robe winging out around him. “Get back here, damnit, Anna! Where do you think you’re going?”

  She turned the horse out from the corral, glanced at her father once more, then swung Ivan to the southwest and gave him his head.

  “Anna, get back here!” Ludlow shouted behind her.

  The horse gave a shrill whinny, rose off its front hooves, dropped back to the ground, and bolted off its rear feet, heading for the ranch portal and the gradually lightening hills beyond.

  CHAPTER 13

  Annabelle galloped to the crest of a steep rise west of the ranch, stopped the buckskin, and looked back.

  It was full dawn now, but the sun was still twenty minutes away. The orange glow of the burning barn was like a sun itself, pulsating in the gauzy, purple shadows of the long slope upon which the lodge house sat.

  Anna wasn’t all that unhappy about the barn. No horses or people had been inside, and her father’s men would be occupied for the next couple of hours fighting to contain the fire, which they would likely do. The well was near the barn, and she could see the caterpillar-shaped line of the bucket brigade stringing out from the well to the fire.

  By the time her father’s men took to her trail, it would be cold, and she and Hunter would be well on their way cross-country to Cheyenne. Revulsion and humiliation swept through her as she remembered Cass in the barn. She probably should have left him in there to burn alive, a deserving punishment for a man so wicked. Quickly, casting the bleak, angry reflections aside and turning her thoughts instead to the prospect of seeing Hunter soon in the old prospector’s cabin, she booted the buckskin on down the trail.

  The horror of the past several hours would seem a distant memory as soon as she saw the man she loved again. Nothing would stand in the way of her and Hunter’s happiness.

  She pushed Ivan on down the trail, but not too hard. They had many miles to cover today. As she loped past the hill on which she’d spied the mysterious rider, another chill spread across her shoulders. She wondered if the mysterious horseman could have been Cass, then quickly nixed the idea.

  There was no way he could have gotten back to the Broken Heart ahead of her. When she’d seen him on the porch, he’d been quite drunk; he’d obviously been sitting there awhile.

  All Anna knew was that she’d feel mighty glad and relieved to be safely in Hunter’s arms. It would be nice to get away from the Hills for a while even though they planned to be gone only long enough to be married. They had to get back to the Hills so Hunter could buy the Johnson ranch, and they could start a life together as husband and wife—a good distance from the Broken Heart and the corrupt town of Tigerville.

  An hour after she’d left the ranch, Anna put the buckskin up across a shoulder of a forested hill, outcroppings of mossy rocks jutting around her. The trail wound up and over the hill’s brow and then along a twisting path through thick pines and aspens. When the trees peeled back behind her, her heart lightened.

  The cabin sat before her, hunkered at the base of the high, rocky ridge that contained the old prospector’s mine. Sunlight angled through the pines behind her, limning the weathered shake roof spotted with tufts of green moss.

  It was still early, not yet eight o’clock. Hunter wasn’t due to arrive for several hours. Anna’s nerves were still frayed from what had happened at home, but maybe she could get a few hours’ sleep . . .

  Wait.

  Something was wrong. Someone was here.

  Sniffing the air, Anna looked at the rusty stovepipe jutting from the cabin’s roof. A thin tendril of gray smoke unfurled just above the pipe, dispersing in the barely sunlit air. Anna could smell the tang of burning pine.

  She looked around for a horse. There were none.

  She turned back to the cabin, frowning. “Hunter?” she called tentatively. “Hunter, are you here?”

  The buckskin lifted its head sharply, snorted uneasily.

  Hooves thudded heavily down the slope behind Anna. She whipped her head around with a start. A man sat a horse in the tree shadows about forty yards down the hill, partially concealed by the pines.

  He was gazing up the slope toward the cabin. Anna couldn’t make him out in the murky morning light and dense shadows.

  Hipped around in her saddle, one hand on the cantle, she called, “Hunter?”

  She waited. The horseman continued to stare at her in menacing silence.

  “Hunter?” Anna called, slowly waving an arm. “Is that you?”

  The watcher jerked his horse around, a big black, and galloped down the slope, weaving through the pines and aspens, the black’s hooves kicking up gouts of morning-damp forest duff and throwing it back behind him.

  “Hey!” Anna called, heart thudding. “Who are you?”

  Hooves thudded softly in the thick forest duff.

  “Hey!” Anna yelled, whipping the buckskin around. “Stop!”

  She booted the buckskin down the slope and onto the watcher’s trail. As she gained the bottom of the slope, her stalker who was now her quarry disappeared over the top of the next hill.

  “Come on, boy!” Anna urged the buckskin.

  She had a feeling
he was the same man she’d seen on her ride to the ranch the previous night. She wanted to know what he wanted, why he was following her.

  She shot up and over the top of the hill. The rider was now galloping along the bottom of the next ravine, heading off to Anna’s right. She swerved the buckskin in that direction. As she gained the bottom of the slope, the other rider disappeared around the shoulder of a low, pine-sprinkled ridge.

  “Stop!” Anna shouted. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

  She leaned forward over the buckskin’s pole, urging more speed. Ivan leaped a deadfall pine. As she rounded the shoulder of the ridge, she spied the other rider galloping straightaway from her, fifty yards distant, hatted head bobbing as his black galloped hard, leaping over and swerving around obstacles.

  Anna followed the man up and over another hill and then along another, narrow ravine sheathed in pine brush and firs leaning close over the trail down which water from a nearby spring trickled. A few yards ahead, the trees disappeared on Anna’s left, the ground dropping away into a deep canyon.

  Something flew toward Anna from her right side. She screamed as the man crashed into her, driving her out of her saddle.

  As the buckskin continued galloping straight on down the trail, Anna hit the slope with a loud grunt and a whoosh as her breath was pounded out of her lungs. She rolled several times, then came to rest on her belly, facedown in the thick, tawny grass.

  She sensed quick movement to her right. Then someone jerked her around by her coat collar. She gasped as a large, red fist started toward her in a blur of fast motion. It stopped inches from her chin.

  “Anna?” a familiar voice said.

  “Hunter!”

  * * *

  Hunter unclenched his fist and dropped his hand. Anna stared up at him, her green eyes round and bright with fear.

  “Oh God, Anna—are you all right?”

  She winced and fell back onto her elbows. “I . . . I think . . . so.” She frowned curiously. “You’re . . . early.”

  Hunter smiled. “Couldn’t wait.”

  Anna smiled back. “Me too.”

  “Oh, honey,” Hunter said, looking her over, running his hands down her legs extended out before her, probing for broken bones. “Is anything broken? Jesus, I didn’t mean to . . .” He let his voice trail off and shook his head in disbelief at what he’d done. “I . . . I thought you . . . were the one chasing . . . you. I mean . . .”

  “It’s okay.” Annabelle smiled, her cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling sharply as she breathed. “I’m all right.” She looked back up along the ridge. “Did you see him—the other rider?”

  Hunter shook his head. “I didn’t get a good look at him. I heard you yelling, so I took off after you. I saw two riders. I thought since you were yelling, you must have been the one being chased.” He ran his hands down her arms. “Oh, Anna—are you sure you’re all right, honey?”

  “I’m all right.” Suddenly, she threw herself into his arms, pressing her mouth against his thick neck. “Oh, Hunter!”

  He held her tightly. “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. I got you now.”

  Her body quivered as she sobbed against him, holding him tightly around the neck.

  “What did he do, Anna?”

  She shook her head slightly. “Nothing. He was just watching me.” She pulled away, looking up at him, tears dribbling down her cheeks. “He just gave me a fright, that’s all.” She gazed up at him. He sensed there was something more she wanted to say, that there was more bothering her, but she was having trouble finding the words or was reluctant to speak them.

  “What is it, Anna? What’s wrong? Are you sure he didn’t do anything to you? Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

  “Oh, Hunter—so much has happened. I don’t want to go into it right now.”

  “What?” Hunter said, shaking his head curiously. “I don’t understand. What all has happened?”

  She stared up at him, eyes flooded with tears.

  “It’s your father, isn’t it?” he said, hardening his jaws in anger. “I bet he made trouble.”

  “No.” Anna shook her head, tossing her mussed hair back behind her shoulders. “No, it’s not that. I’ll tell you later.” Suddenly, her eyes were cast dubiously, and she wrinkled the skin above the bridge of her nose.

  “What is it?” Hunter said.

  “That rider.” Anna looked back up along the ridge before returning her gaze to Hunter. “He found the cabin. He must have spent the night there. Or part of the night, anyway. I saw smoke lifting from the stovepipe.”

  Hunter thought about that, shrugged. “Probably just some drifter who needed a place to spend the night.” He grinned. “Who cares? We won’t be needing that shack anymore. Soon, we’ll have a house of our own.”

  Anna returned the smile, but an edginess returned to her gaze.

  “Can you stand?” Hunter asked her, taking her hand. “Let’s fetch the gold and hit the trail. What do you say?”

  Annabelle beamed back at him. “I say I love you, Hunter Buchanon!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with deep affection.

  Hunter returned her kiss with a heartfelt one of his own. Then he ran his fingers through her long, thick red hair and brushed his thumbs across her smooth, suntanned cheeks. He frowned. “Is that... fire ash . . . ?”

  “It’s nothing,” Anna said. “Let’s fetch the gold and head for Cheyenne.”

  Hunter helped her back up the steep slope to the narrow trail at the top. She moved a little stiffly at first but then got her step back and was able to climb without assistance. He fetched his own horse and the mule he’d brought along for hauling the gold to Cheyenne. The mule was rigged with a wooden pack frame and heavy canvas panniers.

  Hunter’s mount, one of several in his string but also his favorite, was a fine charcoal stallion he’d named Nasty Pete for his wicked streak. He left the mule with Annabelle and then he and Nasty Pete ran down the buckskin, returning Ivan to where Annabelle waited where he’d left her.

  “Where’s your trusty sidekick?” Annabelle asked.

  “Bobby Lee? Left him at home. I don’t think he’d get on well in Cheyenne.”

  “No.” Anna laughed. “I don’t think Cheyenne is at all ready for Bobby Lee.”

  Hunter swung down from Nasty Pete’s back to help Annabelle onto the buckskin, but she ignored his offered hand, saying, “Save your strength for your wedding night, Hunter Buchanon. You’re gonna need it.” She flashed a coquettish smile at him, then swung lithely into the leather.

  Chuckling, feeling the warmth of desire low in his belly, Hunter stepped back up onto the grullo, and, leading the mule by its lead rope, headed for the cabin. He rode up the last ridge and drew up in front of the shack, noting the thin, gray smoke curling from the chimney pipe. Like Anna had said, someone had made the cabin home for the night.

  Just some drifter, most likely. Nights got cold in the Hills even at high summer. Hunter didn’t begrudge anyone a warm night’s sleep. Frightening his girl, though, was another thing altogether. That put a burr under Hunter’s saddle blanket. He wished he’d gotten a better look at the man. On the other hand, maybe it was best he hadn’t . . .

  He turned to Anna drawing rein beside him. “You sure you’re all right, honey?”

  She drew up her mouth corners and narrowed her eyes, which sparkled with warmth. “Fine as frog hair split four ways.” It was one of old Angus’s many colorful expressions. “Now that I’m back with you, my love.”

  Hunter smiled and swung down from Nasty Pete’s back. “You wait here. I’ll be back in a minute with your dowry.” He winked at her.

  “Uh-uh.” Annabelle stepped down from the buckskin. “I’m right by your side, Hunter Buchanon. From here on out.”

  As Hunter led the mule back along the base of the ridge wall, Anna clung to him closely, hooking her arm around his, pressing her hip against his thigh as they walked. As they approached the trail that meand
ered up the ridge wall, Hunter stopped abruptly.

  He stared up at the mine mouth.

  “What is it?”

  Hunter dropped the mule’s reins and ran forward. He leaped onto the slope and sprinted along the trail that angled through the brush and rocks. At the cave mouth, he stopped, his heart turning somersaults in his chest.

  Someone had removed the brush he’d used to cover the mine entrance. It lay piled to each side.

  “Oh God!” Anna said, coming up behind Hunter and closing a hand over her mouth.

  Hunter glanced at her. “Doesn’t mean anything. Maybe the fella you saw was the old prospector who carved the mine in the first place. Maybe he’s thinking about working it again.” He paused, his words sounding wooden even to his own ears. “That’s probably all it is.”

  Heavily, he moved into the mine, doffing his hat and crouching. He moved blindly through the stygian darkness, wanting to run but, knowing there was rubble strewn here and there about the floor, he held himself back. He heard Anna’s footsteps behind him.

  As he approached the thin shaft of light that marked the niche into which he’d cached his gold, he slowed his pace even more. His boots grew heavy. He sensed what he would see before he even saw it.

  Or saw them, rather—the rocks behind which he’d stowed the gold.

  They lay strewn about the base of the mine wall, leaving the cache itself as dark as an empty eye socket. Slowly, his knees threatening to buckle from shock, he shoved his left hand into the hole. He didn’t need to. He knew what he’d find. He found it, all right.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but air and gravel and the solid chiseled rock of the cave wall.

  The gold was gone.

  Suddenly a voice, sounding like a shout from the top of a well, caromed toward Hunter and Annabelle from the direction of the mine entrance. “You two lovebirds might as well make yourselves at home!”

  Annabelle gasped. She grabbed Hunter’s arm.