That felt like Mitch had as good as killed him, and Mitch didn’t like the way that set on his soul.
There’d be more attempts, and to stay alive, Mitch would have to kill again. His dislike of the man he’d become in the city, and knowing his future would include fighting for his life and very likely killing those who’d been hired to murder, forced his hand.
He wanted home. So, he laid careful plans and made his move. Now here he was—a man alone. No one knew where he was or who he was.
He enjoyed the feeling of that as he rode along.
The wind had a bite, and he smelled snow in the air.
He also smelled sagebrush and pine needles. He heard rustling in the woods and caught the shiny reflection of a pair of eyes. He judged it to be an elk.
It made him smile, and he whistled “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” a favorite song of his ma’s. And as he rode through the night and the next day, he felt nearer to God than he had in a long time. That shamed him. He hadn’t attended church back east. He hadn’t cultivated friendships with people who were at peace with God.
Just another good reason to come home. He knew he couldn’t physically get nearer to his Heavenly Father, he had to do it in his soul. He spent the long ride in prayer and song, and longed for the ranch and his parents and little brother, Dave, as peace wrapped around him like the loving arms of God.
He avoided people—not hard to do in this area. In truth, though he rode for hours, he hadn’t seen a single soul. He crossed a trail well-traveled enough it must lead to a town, but he didn’t go in. He planned to arrive at home without anyone knowing he’d come. The Circle Dash was so far from a town, it was likely no one would pay much mind to the return of the older Warden son.
Word would get out Mitch Warden was home, but no one would connect him with Mitch Pierce, the New York City industrialist who had quietly vanished.
The next night he was nearly falling asleep on horseback. Giving in to exhaustion, he scouted the area for a long time to make sure he was alone, then he built a small blazing-hot fire, no bigger than his Stetson.
He ate jerked beef and drank water from a spring that held the cold of oncoming winter. He carried apples in his saddlebags and hard biscuits and a tin of cookies. It struck him as the finest meal he’d had in ages.
He woke up the next morning with only one more long day ahead. Tonight, he’d sleep in his own bed at his pa’s house, eat food cooked by his ma, and see his little brother after ten long years.
But by midday snow was falling, and it got heavy enough, and the wind sharp enough, that he gave up on reaching home.
He cut across a trail that he knew led into Bucksnort, still a long ride from his folks’ place. He didn’t like going in there because he didn’t want to be recognized. But he’d been a long time gone, and he looked little like the boy he’d been at sixteen, the kid who’d run off to war.
The thought of a hot meal and a real bed out of the snow lured him in.
He didn’t like to admit it, but facts were facts. He’d gotten soft.
When he reached the town, he saw little had changed. It was a small, dusty frontier town, well . . . dusty with snow. There was a single block of businesses facing each other across a narrow dirt street. A few cabins behind the short row of ramshackle businesses had lantern light. Tinny music came from the saloon.
Beyond that, there was no life, no motion. Mitch rode in slow and easy. Always a cautious man, he tied his horses in back of the saloon. It was farther if he had to run, but no one would see him coming until he stepped inside. No sense giving men who were the worse for liquor time to think before they saw him.
He wasn’t a drinker. He was a man too determined to always be at his sharpest to let whiskey dull his thoughts.
But the saloon was where people were, so he’d get out of the cold, and maybe they had a meal, though it was late. He’d find out if the old boardinghouse was still in business.
He walked along the side of the saloon, and as he approached a shuttered window, he heard muttered conversation and caught the name Quill Warden. Pa.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
“He hit old Quill Warden. Couldn’t find the body, but they got him sure enough.” One voice rose above the rest. “Wax is a deadeye.”
“Smilin’ Bob claims he got the shot on Warden, not Wax.”
“Bob’s a braggart. But come to that, I didn’t see who did the shootin’. Deal the cards.”
Mitch’s heartbeat slowed. His breathing went calm and cold. It’d always been like this when there was trouble. Cool under fire, his pa called it. His pa, Quill Warden.
He wanted to go in there and rip answers out of the talker’s throat.
Instead, he stayed calm and listened.
“I don’t know where the rest of the family went. Into the highlands west of their place, I reckon.”
“I’ll open. Quit yer jabberin’ and play or get out,” a gruff voice interrupted.
Rough laughter followed, and they started talking about their poker game.
If they said more, Mitch didn’t hear it. He was galloping for home.
Dave’s horse arrived at the bottom of the canyon and stopped, reaching for a mouthful of grass. He let his brown stallion have his head, which gave Dave a chance to sit and soak the beauty in.
Jo came up beside him, and her horse went to grazing with a crunch.
The wind swept across the grass as if it were being brushed along by the hand of God. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze. The wind wasn’t as sharp up here; the walls wee serving as a windbreak.
He was surrounded by a bowl, with a perfect blue sky arched overhead. Movement at the far end of the valley drew his eye, and he watched a small herd of elk bound away. Checking for what he knew had to be there, he saw a majestic bull standing halfway up the far side of the canyon. Always on guard, even though Dave guessed the old beast with his massive horns didn’t expect to see a man and woman come riding into his kingdom.
Dave watched as the cows, their half-grown spring calves at their sides, vanished on bounding feet, then the bull elk moved off his craggy perch to follow his family.
That old guy was in for a surprise. He was no longer going to have this beautiful kingdom to himself. He was going to have to share with a big old herd of cattle. And still there would be grass enough for all.
The elk herd headed away, and Dave wondered where they were going. What was on past this canyon? Could there be more grass, more beauty?
Dave broke out of what was nearly a trance as he absorbed the sights and sounds, the crisp air and soothing winds of this place. He saw an eagle’s nest that was so huge it had to be ancient. The stalks of grass swayed and danced on the wind until Dave almost heard music. It was hard to turn away from the breathtaking view, but all the questions that clamored to be answered helped him turn to look at Jo.
“Do you know if that trail we just came up fills in over the winter? Is this place cut off?”
“I’ve been up this trail in the winter a few times, and it was open.” Jo was silent a moment. “I’ve come just to see it. Sit back there where the trail opened up on this canyon. I’ve always known that elk herd wintered up here, and if I needed to, I could find meat here because of them. But I never needed to hunt in here. In fact, riding down this slope is the farthest I’ve ever come, even when I’ve been in the mood to wander far afield.”
“Far afield except you never leave Hope Mountain.”
“Is that what you call it, this mountain we’re on? My grandpa called it Lost Peak Mountain.”
He was silent awhile. “When I was a kid, my brother and I tried every way we knew how to find a trail up here, one we could ride a horse on. We were so far apart in age, and he left when I was still mighty young. A few summers, though, we did a lot of climbing and got up that trailhead a few times, but it is such a long, hard climb that we never explored it. We couldn’t be gone overnight, and the way that trail was, it was already a long day up and down�
��but I knew that one meadow was there. I always remembered it. I always wanted to find a way up here. I never told my folks, though, not until just this year when I wanted to start a ranch of my own. Ma’d skin us if she knew we climbed up here when we were kids.”
Jo smiled. “You couldn’t come up, and I couldn’t go down. I’ve never even ridden through the entrance to this canyon.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea, but I always stayed out. Grandpa did tell me there’s another valley, higher up. But I’ve never searched for it.” Jo added, speaking in a near-reverent whisper, “I’d like to see it sometime.”
Dave was thinking about just how far they were getting from a town if the whole family settled up here. But he wanted it. He wanted to own it. The land office would sell it cheap because it would look like wasteland on their map. But considering the situation down in the lowlands, it’d be worth their lives to go buy it. Even if they risked it, went down and bought it, then lived to get back here, the purchase was public record, and anyone hunting them would know right where they’d gone.
But maybe if they slipped down, bought it, and got back up before the snow closed the trail down to the lowlands, they’d be safe until spring.
He gazed with what he was sorely afraid was pure greed. He’d rarely seen such a likely place for a ranch. And he’d be switched if it’d be owned by anyone but him. Pa would want it, but he was going to have to stay right where he was down at the Circle Dash—once it was safe again.
This land was going to be Dave’s.
Then, because he was drinking it all in and staring so hard, he saw something that made him squint. “What’s that?” He pointed to what looked like a tumble of limbs and branches almost swallowed up by a copse of trees to the right, not that far away.
Jo turned and studied the spot he’d indicated. Finally, with a little gasp of pleasure, she said, “I think that’s a cabin. It’s built a lot like ours, only smaller. And it looks as if it’s made by Grandpa’s hand. I wonder if that’s where he lived until we were sure he didn’t bring a sickness home from his trips to town. He never said where he stayed, and I reckon he did that deliberately.”
“My grandma could sure fuss at a man, and Grandpa would sometimes leave when she was flying out at him, say he was going hunting or trapping. He’d be gone a long spell. Sometimes so long it scared me a little, wondering if he might be gone for good like my parents.”
“There’s a cabin up here, already built.” Dave couldn’t believe the luck. It looked strange, but if it kept the snow off his head, he could start living there tonight.
“Looks like. I’ve never seen it before. Let’s ride over.”
Dave nodded, then said, “I’ll teach you how to ride as we go. Your mare is calm from taking a long walk, and she’s shown no signs of feistiness. If we drive the cattle up here, I won’t be able to lead your horse. So, if you want to come, you’d better learn a few riding tricks.”
He turned to see her hands tighten on the saddle horn until her knuckles were white. Fighting back a smile, he said, “First, let go.”
He lifted his hands in front of her. “It’s not like the horse is real slippery, now is it? Have you come even close to falling off?”
Shaking her head a bit, she said, “No.”
Dave waited. He wanted to rush back down to the camp and get the cows driven up, but he really did wish she could ride a horse.
Slowly her hands relaxed. She rested them on the front of the saddle, close enough to grab the horn in an emergency.
“Now take the reins.” He handed them over, careful not to make any sudden moves.
She clutched them but didn’t do any yanking around that could upset the horse.
“Your mare is used to being ridden with a group of other horses, so I’m going to head for your grandpa’s cabin, and I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t just come right along. Just stay easy in the saddle and ride along.”
Jo nodded, not looking all that excited, more like grimly determined.
Dave set out at a walk so slow and easy it’d rock a baby to sleep. The mare fell in beside his stallion, and they were over at the strange-looking house in a few minutes.
“You stay up there and let me tie up the horses, then I’ll show you how to get down.”
He was soon at her side. “Hold on to the saddle horn now. Put your weight in this stirrup. Sort of stand up on your left leg and swing your right leg slow and easy over the horse’s back, then let that swinging leg go on down all the way to the ground.”
Jo did it. She did it so well, Dave grinned at her as he helped her dislodge the foot still in the stirrup.
“You make a likely cowpoke, Jo. Now let’s go see what’s in that house over there.”
12
Jo was trembling. It surprised her because she had rock-solid nerves in the normal way of things.
She took one step toward the cabin, and Dave’s hand came to rest on her back. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want.”
Jo turned to him. She really had no experience with men. With people, come to that. Just her sisters and animals. And as always, she was curious.
“What made you say that? What did I do that made you wonder if I didn’t want to go in?”
Dave met her gaze. His expression was so kind. “You lost all the color in your face. Pale as milk.”
His eyes went to her cheek again. He reached up and drew one finger, gentle as a breeze across her cheek. “You’ve got a bruise. I thought so before, but when you went so pale it really stood out. I-I didn’t hurt you, did I? When I caught you in the woods?”
Jo was ashamed of what Ursula had done and didn’t want to cast her sister in a bad light.
“Pale as milk, really?”
Something flickered in Dave’s eyes that said he wanted an answer about the bruise, but he didn’t demand one. “Yes, and you seemed unsteady like you might . . . oh, not collapse, you seem a little too tough for that, but turn and run maybe. Why don’t you want to go in?”
“You mean my face actually changed colors?”
“Yes, haven’t you ever seen your sisters get pale when they’re sick?” His fingertips caressed the bruise again.
“My sisters and I don’t get sick. You have to catch a sickness from other people, so how would we?”
“Um . . . I suppose you can’t catch a sickness, but you might run a fever with an infected scratch?”
“That happened a few times. Ilsa doctored us. Grandpa taught her so much, and he was sick toward the end. Not from going out among people, because he hadn’t gone out for a long time. But he said old age was catching up to him. He started to forget things. He said he was a—a—what did he say? Doddering old fool. I remember that. Sometimes he thought Ursula was Grandma. He was confused the last stretch of his life. Ilsa had herbs and potions he’d taught her, and that was one thing he remembered. He enjoyed talking about all kinds of healing tricks with her. He called her his little medicine woman. But you said I got white. Pale. That happened to me?”
“It did.”
“Hmm.” Jo turned to face the cabin and lifted her chin. “I’m trembling and scared because it’s a part of Grandpa’s life I know nothing about, and I thought I knew him very well. But now I realize how often he was gone. He ran traplines and went to town to trade. And the fights with Grandma, of course. Sometimes he’d be gone awhile, but I can’t really remember how often or how long.
“He only went down the mountain to trade once in a long while after Grandma died. And he continued the rule of staying away for two weeks after he got back. What if he’d died up here? We might never have known what became of him. He’d have just vanished like our parents did.” Jo’s head whipped around to look at Dave. “You don’t suppose something like that happened to our parents, do you? They got sick and were ordered by my grandma to stay away, and they were off somewhere, camping, waiting, and they d-died alone. Home closed to them.”
Dave slid an arm across her shoulders
. “I’m sorry life held so much fear for you. And it still does for Ursula. None of you have ever gone down, have you?”
“No. When Grandpa died, we were scared. We had no way to buy supplies. But he knew we’d live on past him, and he prepared us for that day. He taught us to live off the land. We’d learned much of it at Grandma’s knee, too. She’d grow wheat and corn, then grind it into flour of sorts.”
“I can’t believe corn and wheat grow up here so high.”
“Grandma said it’s hard to grow anything in such a short summer. But the canyon we live in is very sheltered. And there’s a hot spring coming out of one area. It seems to keep the land around it warm, because Grandma said in that one stretch, she could grow a nice garden, and if she planted very early, she could get a crop of corn and wheat. She taught us how to care for our garden and milk a cow. How to tend the chickens.”
“So, you raise everything you eat?”
“I’m the hunter in the family. I bring in the meat. Elk and deer now and then, and wild boar. But we eat smaller game a lot. Rabbit and grouse, young bighorn sheep are good, and mountain goat. And I know where to get honey and Indian potatoes. There are nuts and berries and greens, oh, so many things. It’s a rich land, and Grandpa taught me all about it, and he showed us all how to find the healing herbs Ilsa uses so well. And we learned to store up plenty for the winter, because it’s a harsh time.”
“I’d like to see your home, Jo.”
“It’s tucked away in a canyon with a narrow entrance, almost as hidden as this one. Not a huge meadow, but big enough for us. It’s beyond a crack in the canyon walls, so you would have been lucky to find us when you were scouting.” Jo’s eyes met his, and she felt her brow lower with worry. “I’d like to show you my home, but Ursula would hate it.”
Jo touched her cheek, and she saw Dave notice, his eyes sharpening.
“Does that bruise have something to do with me, Jo?”
“No, it only has to do with my very frightened older sister.”
Aiming for Love Page 8