Freedom in the Mountain Wind

by Misty M. Beller

  Maybe he was friendly. Maybe only a Shoshone hunting party. But something in Beaver’s gut warned of danger.

  He closed the distance between himself and the rock at a steady lope, honing his focus on the area ahead but keeping his other senses tuned around him. It would be just like a Sioux war party to have men hiding in the tall grass, ready to leap out and strike him down the moment he neared. He had to scout out the source of the shot, to make sure he wasn’t leading the others into danger. But it was up to him to make sure he wasn’t ambushed.

  No Sioux dogs had attacked by the time he reached the base of the hill. He slowed his horse to a walk, his finger on the front trigger of the rifle in his lap. Maybe he should dismount and creep forward on foot so he could be quieter. But he hated to be at a disadvantage against mounted braves, especially if they’d already seen him and were lying in wait.

  He eased his horse forward, studying the buffalo that became more and more visible as he rounded the base of the hill.

  When he reined the gelding around a boulder that jutted from the ground, a flash of silver was his first warning of the gun aimed at him.

  A man sat atop a horse as golden as bright sunlight. At first glance, the stranger looked Indian, but as Beaver studied his features, he saw the man didn’t have the sharp cheekbones of any of the tribes he knew of. The man’s features were small and dark, somewhat like Joel’s, although the two didn’t really look alike.

  Maybe this was Adam.

  Beaver never took his eyes from the man. “By chance, are you Adam Vargas?”

  A flash of confusion touched his dark eyes. He raised the rifle a little higher, tucking the butt deeper into his shoulder and closing one eye as he peered down the barrel. “What do you want?”

  The man’s words were draped in a thick accent. Not Indian, but a little like Joel’s speech when he was angry. Maybe this fellow was from the same land his friend had hailed from as a boy. Spain, was it?

  Beaver Tail kept his rifle in his lap, although every part of him itched to raise the gun and set this interloper in his place. Yet, if this was Joel’s brother, he was friend, not foe.

  He forced his breath to stay even. “I’m traveling with a friend, Joel Vargas, who’s looking for his brother. Be you he?”

  Again, the flash of confusion in the man’s eyes, so quick Beaver would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching. Then he seemed uncertain. Maybe trying to decide something. At last he spoke. “I am not, but I’ve met this Adam Vargas. A man who speaks my own tongue.”

  So they were from the same land. “Who are you then?”

  Another pause, as if he was judging how much to tell. “Manuel Lucas. Where is this Vargas you speak of? The brother.” He still pointed the rifle at Beaver. Obviously he didn’t yet trust him as a friend.

  The feeling was mutual.

  “He is coming with a group behind me.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about the others. He could have led this man away from the trail they traveled and kept them from possible danger. Maybe he still could. “What’s your business in this place?”

  The man raised one shoulder in a casual gesture. “Hunting. Gathering furs for trade.”

  “You are alone?” Beaver studied his expression to read the words he didn’t speak.

  The man bobbed his chin once. Then he lowered his gun. “I would meet the man Vargas. I can tell him of his brother.”

  Joel would like that. In fact, if Beaver Tail didn’t bring this stranger to Joel, his friend may well express his frustration with fists. Joel was certainly worried about his brother.

  But he hated to expose Susanna and her father to a possible threat, not until he knew this man’s nature and intentions. Maybe he could bring Joel without the others.

  Beaver gripped his reins. “I’ll bring him to you here.”

  “I’ll go with you.” The man edged his horse forward, and if Beaver wasn’t mistaken, he raised his rifle a little, for Beaver could now see the dark shadow inside the gun’s barrel.

  In truth, the powder residue showed clearly that the weapon was sorely in need of a cleaning. Wilkins would have a thing or two to say about it.

  He kept the smile inside him. There were plenty of serious matters he needed to attend to. How could he keep this man from coming with him to where Susanna and Wilkins were? Did he need to keep the man away?

  Joel, Caleb, and French would all be on their guard. Surely, with the four of them, they could keep this stranger from harming the two they’d promised to protect. He just had to stay on his guard so the man didn’t get the upper hand on their ride back to the group.

  He leveled the fellow with a hard stare. “I’ll take you to speak with him, but you’ll need to remove your finger from that rifle’s trigger. You come in peace, or you don’t come at all.”

  One side of the man’s mouth tipped a tiny bit, and he gave another single nod. “Agreed.”

  Beaver Tail returned the nod, then, with all his senses on alert, he turned his horse and rode beside Lucas across the open land. He could only hope he wasn’t leading a wolf into his herd of innocent deer.

  Susanna and her father trusted him. He couldn’t let them down.

  “Ho, there.” Joel’s voice split the air.

  Susanna’s horse nearly bumped the animal in front of her as Pa veered his mount out of the line of horses that were all jerking to a halt.

  “What is it?” She peered ahead, first right in front of Joel to see if his horse had surprised a rattler or other dangerous animal.

  Nothing that she could see, but the man was staring off into the distance. The direction Beaver Tail had gone.

  She followed his gaze. There. Two riders? As the figures grew larger, she made out twin silhouettes, both on horseback. One had to be Beaver Tail. He wouldn’t let strangers meet them without him there to stand guard. She knew that without question.

  But who was the other man? Joel’s missing brother? Her heart leapt in her chest. Joel would be so pleased. But what would that mean for their party? Would the men turn back to Beaver Tail’s town? Part of her wanted to go there, to meet the people who’d helped shape him.

  But the rest of her craved a chance to see the majestic Rocky Mountains while Pa could still manage the trip. Could she and her father survive those treacherous peaks alone? She was less sure now than ever.

  As the riders approached, the strong outline of Beaver Tail became clear, easing the knot she’d not even realized had formed in her chest. The second man had the same dark features as Joel, but the nearer they came, the less he resembled their friend.

  When the two men stopped in front of their group, she studied the stranger. His eyes were set closer together—and narrowed as he scanned their group. The way they roamed over her—hovering on her face, then sliding down the length of her and back up—made her want to move her horse behind her father’s.

  But she wouldn’t cower.

  There seemed to be no recognition between Joel and the man. He must be a stranger.

  Her gaze shifted to Beaver Tail. His look settled on her at the same instant, and a fierce determination locked in his eyes. Then he turned back to the stranger beside him. “This is Manuel Lucas.” His nostrils flared, as though the name were distasteful to him. Then his gaze swung to Joel. “He’s met Adam.”

  Joel sat up straighter. “Where is he? Is he well?”

  Mr. Lucas nodded, a slow, singular action. “Last I saw him, he was riding west into the mountains with a band of Shoshone. Looking for what he called Palouse horses.” The man eyed the rest of them, his gaze hovering on her once again. “You hail from the north or the east?”

  The way he was looking at her, he might have meant the question for her alone. But Caleb spoke up, edging his horse in front of her. “We’ve come from a Blackfoot tribe north of here.” He motioned toward Beaver Tail. “The town where his people live. We all spent the winter there.”

  He wasn’t including her and Pa, of course, but Lucas wouldn’t know
that. Did Caleb make the generalization intentionally? Either way, she was happy not to be called out. The less she was brought to this man’s attention, the better.

  “And what of the lovely lady?” The stranger leaned sideways to see her around Caleb’s bulk.

  She didn’t let herself move. Didn’t shift to hide again. She could stand up to this man’s impertinence as well as any man’s.

  “She and her father are riding with us. Under our protection.” Beaver Tail’s voice held an undertone of steel. He reined his horse over next to Caleb so he was facing the stranger—more of a shield for her.

  Lucas raised his brows. “Good to hear. A lady needs protection in a dangerous land like this.” Something in his tone crept over Susanna like a herd of fleas. Or maybe like these blasted mosquitos. If only she could swat this man away.

  “What did my brother say to you? Did he tell why he was going farther into the mountains? Was he looking for Nez Perce Indians?”

  The stranger shrugged. “I don’t think he said.”

  “Surely he told you something more. Did the men he was with speak to you at all?” Joel had his back to her, but his tone made it clear he was growing suspicious of the man’s lack of detail.

  “Let’s see.” Lucas shifted his gaze to the sky, as though deep in thought. Then he leveled his gaze on Joel. “Something might come to me over a bottle of whiskey. Do you have any to share?”

  “None.” This time, French was the one to bark out the word as he reined his horse beside Joel’s. “We none of us drink the rot gut.” Now all four men had parked their horses side-by-side, like a shield protecting her and Pa. A sight she was more than thankful for just now.

  “How did my brother look? Well? Any injuries?” Joel’s hard tone didn’t hide the desperation in his questions. Worry for his brother must be eating him from the inside out.

  “I saw no wounds.” Lucas slid a look at Beaver Tail. “He was riding with Indians though, so they could turn on him any time.” The sneer was impossible to miss, as though he was leveling a direct charge against the man.

  She held her breath as she watched the hard line of Beaver’s jaw. Would he take the bait and attack this rude stranger? She’d like to take a swing at him herself, but keeping the peace was important. The last thing they needed was an enemy in a land already overrun with dangers.

  “It’s time you leave, Lucas.” Joel’s tone may have been steely before, but now his voice held a barely-restrained fury.

  The man cocked his dark brows. “I meant no disrespect. Only that I haven’t found that particular tribe very trustworthy.” What was this man’s game? She couldn’t see him well over Caleb’s shoulder. Did he still hold the rifle he’d been gripping as he and Beaver Tail rode up?

  “We’d best be on our way. And you go along on yours.” Even in a hard tone, Caleb’s words sounded like something he’d say to a good friend. The man was simply too nice.

  Lucas eyed him, then his gaze swung from one person to the next, skimming over Pa and resting only briefly on her. Then he nodded. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

  He nudged his horse and maneuvered the animal around Beaver Tail. But instead of heading off on his merry way, the man aimed his mount at her. Before she could react, he leveled a venomous gaze on her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, señorita. I do hope we meet again.”

  “You won’t.” Beaver Tail spun his horse toward the man.

  The action made Lucas’s horse throw its head up and lurch backward. The man jerked on the reins to still the mount, tightening his grip on his rifle.

  The gun exploded in a flash and a cloud of black smoke.

  Chapter 12

  Susanna screamed, pulling her horse away from the blast. Dear God, don’t let him have shot anyone.

  But even as she prayed, the sound of a man’s cry registered in her ears. No!

  She blinked to clear the acrid burn of gunpowder from her eyes. Who’d been hit? A single scan of the men made the answer all too clear.

  Joel was leaning to his right, clutching his side even as he craned his neck to send a glare back to Manuel Lucas that should have slayed the man.

  “Leave now, or your life is mine.” Beaver Tail had his own rifle raised and aimed at Lucas’s chest.

  Shock blanketed the stranger’s face, and his dark skin paled. At least the shot hadn’t been intentional.

  Lucas nodded, then eased his horse backward several steps before turning the animal. With a grunt, he kicked his mount into a lope.

  Susanna turned her focus to Joel. He was almost doubled over now that the threat had been sent away. She slid from her horse and moved to his side. “How bad is it?”

  Blood leaked over his hands. Not a good sign that it had already penetrated his shirt. But he was holding the side, not his back, so maybe the bullet had only struck flesh. If it missed a vital organ, he should heal.

  If…

  She’d heard a shot through the belly could be an awful way to die.

  “I’m fine.” Joel grunted, as though afraid to let the breath out of his chest.

  “Get down off your horse.” She took the animal’s reins with one hand, then reached up to grasp Joel’s upper arm with the other.

  “I have the horse.” Beaver Tail’s quiet words barely penetrated her focus. But as soon as she absorbed them, she released the reins.

  “Let me help him down.” Caleb placed a beefy hand on her shoulder, easing her backwards. He’d be able to help Joel more, so she stepped out of the way.

  “I can do it.” Joel pushed Caleb’s hand away, then gripped his saddle and raised his leg over the horse’s rump. She couldn’t see his face, but the pain from the act must have been awful.

  When he slid to the ground, a groan slipped out, filled with enough pain to lodge in Susanna’s chest. The moment his feet landed on the ground, he released the saddle and gripped his side, then stumbled toward the open ground in front of the horses. He dropped to his knees, then lay in the grass, curling around his injury.

  Suzanna turned to ask her father to find their medical supplies, but he’d already dismounted and was rifling through the pack behind his saddle. Already pulling out what she’d need.

  She dropped to her knees beside Joel. “I need to look at the wound.”

  Gripping the bottom of his shirt, she eased his hands away from his side. He unfolded a little, lying flat on his back. His breaths came in hard, deliberate inhales as he fought through his pain.

  She lifted the fabric, heavy with blood, and the sight underneath made bile churn in her belly. Blood seeped from a hole near the outer edge of his side. She swallowed down the bitterness that threatened to rise in her throat and used a clean part of his hem to dab the crimson from his skin so she could better see the wound.

  There was a chance the bullet had only plowed through flesh and muscle, not anything vital, but she had to know whether the ball was still lodged inside. “Can you turn a little so I can see if the bullet came out the back?”

  Joel muttered words she didn’t understand—and likely didn’t want to know the meaning of—as she helped him ease onto his side enough for her to glimpse his back.

  Yes. Blood leaked from a wound that matched that on his front. At least Joel wouldn’t have to endure the pain of digging the bullet out. Pa would have been the one to handle that task, since he was so adept at working with tiny tools in tiny places. If he’d ever wanted to leave gunsmithing, he could have surely become a surgeon.

  But now the binding of this wound was up to her since she’d learned nursing skills from her mother—at least what skills she could master by the age of twelve.

  She had to stop the bleeding, and it would be best if she could wash away the gunpowder residue with a bit of alcohol. She glanced up at the men standing around her, eyes wide, every one of them. “Do we have whiskey or any other hard drink? I need to clean the wound.”

  French glanced at the other two men as he answered. “I spoke the truth. We none of
us drink it.” Then he looked at Pa as he shuffled to her side with the medical pack. “Do you have some I can retrieve?”

  “No.” She turned back to Joel and wiped her hands on a clean part of the shirt. “I’ll need water then. Pa, can you get a good-sized roll of bandage out of there? And some ground hot pepper.” That should help quench the flowing blood.

  Within minutes, she had the wounds washed out, dried pepper plastered to the holes on both his front and his back, and was ready to wrap bandages around him.

  She glanced at Beaver Tail, who’d knelt beside her. “I need him to sit up so we can bandage him.”

  He nodded, then gripped Joel’s shoulders and eased him upright. The injured man’s face paled with the effort, and a vein in his neck jutted out. He looked as if he’d like to spew more of those Spanish words he’d been muttering, but the pain probably restricted anything from coming out—even breath.

  As soon as Beaver Tail had him sitting, she set to work quickly. “Let’s take this shirt off until it can be washed.” Today wasn’t as warm as other days, but there was plenty of afternoon sunshine to keep him from getting chilled.

  With Beaver Tail on one side and her on the other, they soon had Joel’s shirt stripped off and the bandage secured tightly around him.

  She sat back on her heels and looked around. “Can we camp here for the night? He needs to rest, at least until the wounds stop bleeding.”

  French stepped closer. “Caleb went to scout out a good place by the river. Joel can go that far, oui?”

  She nodded, then turned back to her patient. “Do you want to walk or ride?”

  “Walk.” He spoke through gritted teeth. After inhaling a deep breath, he rolled onto his hands and knees. Then, with Beaver gripping his upper arms, Joel eased up to his feet.

  As she watched her patient limp toward the river, her gaze drifted to the man walking beside him, leading two horses with a third tethered behind.

  Beaver Tail cut an impressive figure with his broad, muscled shoulders tapering down to a trim waist, his raven black hair fanning around his shoulders. But it was so much more than his striking physical features that had begun to draw her these past days.