Holt's Gamble

by Barbara Ankrum

  Asa cleared his throat. "He's... fine, but he's not here."

  Matthew's alive. Like a litany, the words repeated over and over in her head. "Thank God," she murmured tearfully. "But where is he?"

  Her father rubbed a hand over his mouth and stubbled chin. "He's back in San Francisco with a friend, waitin' for ye."

  "For me?"

  "Aye. Ye see, I was comin' east to get ye, lass, like I said I would when I struck it rich."

  Kierin closed her eyes and shook her head. "You were coming back without Matthew?"

  Asa clapped an arm around her shoulder. "Well, it's... it's a long trip back, as ye well know. California is a growin' place. Full o' opportunity. And I like livin' out here. Matthew's better off stayin' put back there than traipsin' across the country again."

  "Why didn't you just send for me?"

  Asa gave her an affronted look. "What? And have ye travel without a chaperon? Unthinkable."

  His sudden concern for her honor almost made her laugh out loud. "Do have any idea what I've had to do in the year since you left?"

  Asa swallowed and color crept up past his collar. "Aw, don't be too hard on yer old man for his shortcomings, darlin'. Ye think a day's gone by I haven't regretted leavin' ye back there? It was a poor thing I did and I'm ashamed of it. I'm hoping ye can find it in yer heart to forgive me." He bowed his head. "I've missed ye, Kiery."

  His plea for forgiveness caught her off guard. She was prepared for denial or, at the very least, indifference to what she'd been through. Was it possible he'd changed? Looking again at the shattered glass at his feet, she doubted it. But there was more at stake here than restoring her broken trust in him. There was her brother.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, "Matthew's missed you somethin' dreadful, too."

  She knew Asa thought she could be swayed by the mention of Matthew's name. The truth was—she could. With a sigh, Kierin let the subject of forgiveness go for now and wiped at the moisture in her eyes. "Is Matthew all right? How did you manage to escape the Crow?"

  A relieved smile softened the worried lines around Asa's eyes. He patted her arm. "There's time enough for that story and all the others I have to tell you. Where are ye stayin' and who's this?" he asked, gesturing at Jacob.

  Jacob frowned slightly as he held out his hand to Asa. "Name's Jacob." He shook Asa's hand briefly then stuffed his hands into his back pockets. "Your daughter's been travelin' with us since Independence."

  Asa blinked at the black man and then back at Kierin. "Oh?"

  "It's a long story, too," Kierin interjected. "Why don't you come back to our camp. I'll clean up that cut for you and you can have some washtunkala."

  Asa gave her a puzzled look. "Washtu-what?"

  "Stew, Pa. Stew."

  * * *

  Dove ladled yet another serving of the savory corn stew into Asa's bowl while Jacob and Kierin exchanged looks. She wondered how long it had been since her father had had a decent meal. He never could find his way around a kitchen, she mused.

  "Thank ye," Asa mumbled, digging into his third helping. The fire had died down to a mellow glow that warmed their feet and sent fragrant pitch-scented smoke spiraling into the star-studded sky. "So," he continued, looking up at Kierin, "where is this fellow, Clay Holt, now?"

  She hesitated, knowing she could not tell him the truth. She'd already told him about Clay's winning her contract in a game of cards and she'd decided, in spite of Jacob's disapproving frown, to keep the whole truth about what had happened back in Independence from Asa—including her attempt to kill her former boss and Clay's being wanted for murder.

  If she'd learned anything in the last year, it was to rely on her own instincts about whom she could trust. She didn't trust Asa any more now than she did a year ago—and certainly not with any knowledge that could endanger Clay's life. A two-thousand-dollar reward would be a temptation her father might not be able to resist.

  Dove and Jacob watched her closely, waiting to hear her response. Jacob's expression was dark and unreadable.

  Kierin smiled politely at her father. "Clay had some business to tend to with the Cheyenne. He's planning on meeting us back on the trail north of here in a few weeks," she lied.

  Asa shook his head thoughtfully. "Don't seem like he should 'a left you in the middle of the wilderness to your own resources."

  Kierin's chest tightened. Like an old wound torn open, resentment festered anew. "I'm hardly alone as you can see, and that's an odd statement coming from you, don't you think?"

  "Aye." He nodded meekly. "You're right. I deserved that. You've every reason to hate me, Kiery. But as ridiculous as it may seem to you, I'm... askin' you not to. For Matthew's sake. He needs you Kiery. Needs yer firm hand. I'm afraid he's felt the lack of yer motherin'."

  "He's all right isn't he? He's not sick?"

  "No, nothin' like that. But he misses you. I was wrong to separate ye."

  "Yes. You were." She tipped her chin up defiantly. "But it was my fault for letting you do it to me."

  Surprise and relief chased the worry from his face. "You've changed, darlin'. My girl's growin' up."

  "I'm not a girl anymore, Papa. I'm a woman. Don't ever make the mistake of thinking you can take advantage of me again."

  He stared at her thoughtfully for a long moment, as if he were about to tell her something. But he changed his mind, scuffling his heels in the dirt. If he'd wondered what she'd meant about being a woman, he didn't ask. She felt Jacob's eyes on her and decided she and her father had aired enough dirty linen for one night.

  "You were going to tell me how you and Matthew got away from the Crow."

  "So I was," he agreed, clearing his throat "Well it was like this. It was early in the mornin' when the bloodthirsty savages hit the train."

  Kierin shot a look at Dove, who sat listening with a carefully blank expression.

  "Me an' Matthew," Asa continued, "an' a Norwegian fella, named Kip Johanssen, were, by the grace o' God, down by the river, a hundred yards or so from camp, gettin' water. All of a sudden, we heard a ruckus that curdled the blood in our veins.

  "Most of them in camp were still abed when it happened," he continued. "They didn't even have time to load their guns. There were war whoops and screams... gunshots... 'twas terrible to hear.

  "We were lucky enough to find cover there in the bushes," he went on, visibly shaken by the recollection. "There was nothin' we could 'a done for any of those poor souls, except die with 'em. So, we kept to ourselves until the Crow finished their nasty business and left. They burned the wagons, stole the stock and all the food and guns they could carry. They lifted the scalps of every man, woman, and child they left behind." Asa swallowed hard then, lost in the recollection of his own private version of hell.

  "We laid low for a whole day, until we were sure they weren't watchin' our camp. Johanssen's partner died in the battle, but Kip managed to rescue the money they'd hidden in a strong box in the bottom of their wagon. At night, we lit out on foot for the Little Sandy, where we met up with another train headed for Fort Bridger."

  Kierin put down the untouched bowl of soup she held. Her stomach was already tied in knots and her father's tale had just taken her appetite away altogether. The thought of her little brother facing such ugliness and terror broke her heart. "It's a miracle they didn't see you."

  "Aye."

  "Y'all walk out on foot?" Jacob asked.

  "One scrawny mule got missed somehow by the heathens," he replied. "Maybe he was too sorry-lookin' for them to take, but we caught him and took turns ridin' him down the mountain."

  "You said you left Matthew in San Francisco. Is that where you went?"

  "Aye. The goldfields of the mother lode were pretty near played out, so we went to the city to see what was what. I tell you, that town is growing so fast it would make your head spin. Fires burn it down every time they get the damn thing built, but they just keep rebuilding, bigger and better. Johanssen had been a sawyer in Minnesota, an
d with the money he had, we went into partnership in a small saw-mill operation." Asa's eyes lit up. "We made a killing in lumber, Kiery. More money than you ever saw. And when Kip decided he could spare me, I decided to come for ye." He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. "And here I am."

  The only response was the crackling of the fire and the lowing of an oxen in the distance. He dropped his hands with a shrug and licked his dry lips. "My wagon's ready to pull out. I figure we can hook up with the folks on your train headed for California tomorrow. How long will it take you to pack, Kiery?"

  His question made her feel suddenly sick. It was as if he were asking her to pack a Sunday picnic, for heaven's sake! She'd known the question was coming. She'd been preparing for it all evening. But when it came, she had no idea what to say. Could she just leave Jacob and Dove? And what about Clay? What would he do if he returned to find me gone? Would he understand my need to be with my brother? To protect him?

  How different was this from what he was doing? Riding off in search of vindication, she reasoned stubbornly. Misery struck her again at the thought of leaving without knowing what had happened to Clay. She had no choice. He must know what finding her brother meant to her. She would write to him through Jacob and explain. If he still wanted her, she'd come back to him. With Matthew.

  She was about to say as much, but Jacob's deep baritone voice stopped her.

  "Miz Kierin, can I talks to you—alone?"

  Kierin swallowed, guessing what was coming. But she owed it to him to explain. "Of course, Jacob. Excuse us, Papa, Dove."

  When he'd drawn her away from the circle of light, Jacob bowed his head and sighed heavily. "It prob'ly ain't my place to be sayin' this to you, Kierin, but Clay give me a responsibility fo' you. An' I mean to hold up my end of the bargain. I don't reckon Clay figured on nothin' like this comin' up... but I got to say, I don't like it. I knows he's your pa, but I knows, too, what he done to you before."

  "Jacob-"

  He held up his large hand. "Let me say what I got to say. I understands 'bout your brother an' all, but I don't like this. You just seen your pa throw'd out a barroom window fo' cheatin'. Don't that tell you nothin'?"

  Kierin steepled her fingers against her lips. "Yes. It tells me that he hasn't changed and that's the very reason I have to go."

  Jacob shook his head in confusion.

  "I'm not a fool, Jacob. Not anymore. And I'm not as easily taken in as you might think. I don't know if my father's telling the truth about the saw mill or about the character of that Johanssen fellow. I hope it's the truth.

  "Nevertheless, I've made a promise to find Matthew, and now I have. My father's not fit to raise him, and right now he's all Matthew's got. My brother needs me. Don't you see?"

  "So you just gonna hop in his wagon an' ride off wid him?" he asked with a helpless shake of his head. "What am I gonna tell Clay? He's gonna be madder'n a hornet." He took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh, raising a cloud of dust. "I'll come with you."

  "And leave Dove and the baby alone? No. No you won't, Jacob."

  Jacob squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, knowing she was right. She rested her hand on his forearm.

  "I'll leave a letter for him explaining everything. When he comes back,"—she hesitated,—"if he comes back, you can give it to him."

  "Oh, yeah, he a'comin' back, Kierin," Jacob said with an assurance that made her wonder if he knew something she didn't. "An' when he do," he continued, "he'll be comin' after you."

  Her throat constricted with tears she refused to shed. In the distance she heard the mournful yip of wolves. They mated for life, Clay had told her once. She understood it now. Mating for life. There would never be another man for her if Clay didn't come for her. Of that she was utterly certain.

  Jacob's words echoed in her head. He'll be comin' after you. God, I hope you're right, Jacob, she thought. I truly do.

  * * *

  Clay eased Taeva and the pack mule out of the dappled shadow of a stand of aspen, into the fast-moving, frigid waters of the Greybull. The sharp scrape of hooves against the river rocks echoed off the shale wall above him like rifle shots. The shallow river mirrored the startling azure blue of the cloudless sky and the jutting snow-capped summits the Wind River Mountains above. The snow never melted completely up there, and even in August at 7,500 feet, the air still held the bite of winter. His breath formed little clouds as he blew into his hands to warm them.

  There was an ethereal quiet to this place, he mused, urging the stallion onto the far bank. Something Holy. Though God, per se, was a concept with which he'd lost touch long ago, it was easy to understand the Cheyennes' belief in the benevolence of the All Father when he was here amid the pristine beauty of the mountains. It went beyond human understanding, beyond mere mortal imagination. If there was a God, he thought, he was right here in this spot.

  Above him, he caught the flash of white on the wingtips of a young golden eagle as it sailed on the air currents. It was the first game he'd seen for days and he hoped it meant he was getting closer to a decent meal. His stomach growled in response to the thought. He was headed to lower altitudes today, as soon as he found what he'd come for.

  He broke the cover at the edge of the tree line and the Big Horn Basin spread out below him. A hundred shades of green shadowed the valley. White pine, aspen, and Douglas fir carpeted the floor. To the east, the Bighorn Mountains curved protectively around the valley like a cradling arm. To the north loomed the snowcapped peaks of the impressive Absarokas. Farther than these, the granite summits of the Pryors.

  He pulled the brim of his hat down against the sun's glare and scanned the valley below. A smile eased the corners of his mouth when he found what he'd been seeking. Wisps of smoke curled from the cookfires of an Indian camp, not half a day's ride away. Many Horses' camp. He hoped.

  Clay nudged Taeva forward, eager to make the camp by nightfall. It had been more than a week since he'd seen another human being. It had been startling to discover how much he missed human contact. He smiled again. One human, specifically.

  As he eased down the mountain, Clay allowed his thoughts to drift to Kierin, as they had so many times since he'd left her behind. She'd laid claim to his heart as he thought no woman ever could again. A dull ache had settled in his chest the day he'd left and hadn't gone away since. Clay let out an audible breath, fingering the warm metal of the locket he kept fastened around his neck.

  God he missed her.

  Taeva and the pack mule dropped their big heads to crop at some tender cranesbill and mule's ear blossoms that dotted the slope. Clay let them have their heads for the moment, while he stared off into the distance.

  For the hundredth time, he questioned whether he was doing the right thing in going back to Independence. Maybe he was bull-headed and stubborn as she'd said, though he preferred to call himself practical. He only knew that there were times when life narrowed a man's choices down to one. This was one of those times for him. He'd been running away from commitment for years—commitment to his own life, his need to be committed to someone else. That was all over now. Kierin had taken up permanent residence in his heart and he'd have her back freely, or die trying.

  By late afternoon, he crossed the first sign of unshod Indian ponies and he knew he was close. He pulled up on Taeva, laying a soothing hand on the horse's smooth black flank.

  "What do you think, boy?" he asked, no longer bothered that he'd taken up talking to his horse for lack of other company. "Does this smell like home to you?"

  Taeva's ears were pitched forward already and he stomped an anxious foot against the soft carpeting of pine needles. Clay surveyed the area carefully for signs of lookouts. Chances were, they'd already seen him coming, he thought, nudging Taeva forward. He straightened in the saddle and released the lock over his rifle scabbard. He was fairly sure this was Many Horses' camp, but better to be safe than sorry. It had been a long time since he'd shared a fire with the Cheyenne. He was vé-ho-e�
��a white man—and that fact alone could make him unwelcome these days.

  Clay heard the camp before he saw it. The roar of excited voices was alarming and he wondered what the hell was going on. It didn't take him long to notice, with some relief, that the extra shadows he'd acquired since crossing the creek were lookouts posted at the outskirts of camp. If they were following him, he reasoned, nothing too serious could be happening in camp.

  As he approached, he could see that the tepees were set up around a beaver-dammed stream, sheltered perfectly by the same white pine and mountain ash he'd been riding through for hours. The morningstar symbols painted on the tepees assured him that he'd found the Northern Cheyenne.

  Clay spurred his horse forward and found himself joined by the two shadow-riders whom he immediately recognized as Spotted Frog and his older brother, Sees the Sky.

  Spotted Frog, a tall, lanky warrior, whose youthful body already bore the scars of battle, grinned at him in silent greeting. Except for the small feathered braid alongside his face, his ebony hair flew behind him like a shiny black raven's wing.

  Sees the Sky, a shorter version of his brother, raised his lance in greeting, then brought his horse to a jog beside Clay's.

  Clay kept his eyes on the crowded circle of people ahead and he realized he'd ridden into the middle of a rollicking game of Buffalo Pound. Having no desire to interfere with the game, he motioned to Spotted Frog to pull up just short of the clearing, so they could watch the end of the game unobtrusively.

  He'd seen it played before and could understand now why there was such a commotion. It was a game of skill, speed and within which the "hunters" try to corral the "buffalo" without either side making bodily contact. The goal was a three-foot gate through which the "buffalo" had to be herded.

  This time, the players were young boys. They all looked to be near ten or twelve, dressed only in breech-clouts and headbands, and covered head to toe with dirt.

  Clay could easily see why the boy who played the buffalo had been chosen. He was fast, with a long-limbed grace that belied his obvious youth. Chasing him were six other young warriors, who, though agile, couldn't match his dexterity or speed.