Holt's Gamble

by Barbara Ankrum

  "I didn't sleep much," the boy admitted.

  "Funny, neither did I."

  Matthew swallowed hard. "You said I could tell you my decision this morning."

  Clay waited.

  "I've decided to go back."

  Clay ran a wet hand down his face. "It was a man's decision, Matthew, any way you slice it. I know it wasn't easy for you to make it. But I know, from personal experience, you'll always have another home here if you want it. To the Cheyenne, you're family now. Time won't change that."

  "Gray Wolf said the same thing to me." Matthew tipped his head down, his freckles more evident in the morning light. "Buffalo Wallow cried when I told her." He rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. "When will we go?"

  He'd planned on spending a week or so with the Cheyenne to rest up before going on. Now, that time could only work against them. "The sooner the better. Kierin's not getting any closer to us here. We should be able to catch up with the train in a couple of weeks on horseback."

  Matthew gave a curt nod and stood, unfurling his lean, coltish legs. "I'll get my things together then. Well leave today."

  As he watched Matthew walk away, Clay decided he wouldn't regret spending the next two weeks getting to know the boy. Matthew reminded him a little of himself—the boy he'd been, years ago. He smiled at the bittersweet memory of his own youth.

  Clay knew that the boy who'd become Little Fox would live on in Matthew even after he'd left the Cheyenne and what he'd learned here would hold him in good stead for the rest of his life.

  He'd forgotten the water's chill until a shiver raced down his back and he ducked down under the water again to finish his bath. It was no use wondering what he'd do after he saw Matthew safely to Kierin. He'd learned a long time ago to do what was in front of him. Right now, that was getting Matthew home. After that? Perhaps, he sighed, the same force that seemed to be guiding his life now would lead his footsteps again.

  Buffalo Wallow Woman and Corn Woman together packed enough food to last weeks and Clay carefully stowed it beneath the duck covering on his pack mule. Matthew had donned his best deer-hide shirt and leggings for his departure. The shirt was intricately quilled, a gift, Clay guessed, from Buffalo Wallow Woman.

  At his side was a finely beaded sheath with a large bone-handled knife. With his long hair held back with a strip of tanned leather, Matthew looked every bit the part of the Cheyenne he'd become.

  "Në-sta-vä-hóse-vóomatse," the boy told Buffalo Wallow Woman and Gray Wolf. "I'll see you again." Corn Woman's sister embraced the boy, holding back her own tears.

  When they parted, Gray Wolf pressed a small, fur-wrapped bundle into Matthew's hand. "Do not forget what I have taught you, Little Fox," he said. "May the All Father guide your path."

  Matthew swallowed hard and nodded, squeezing the medicine bundle in his hand. "Good-bye, Gray Wolf. I will not forget you."

  Clay said his farewells to Many Horses and Corn Woman and mounted Taeva. Matthew swung up on the back of his steady Pinto and glanced at Clay.

  "Ready, boy?"

  Silently, Matthew nodded. Without looking back, he nudged his pony forward with the touch of his moccasined-heels. Clay did the same and together, with the sun on their backs, they galloped out of the village of their brothers, the Northern Cheyenne.

  * * *

  "What do you mean she's gone?" Clay exploded, sending Jacob stumbling back a step. With nearly two weeks of grueling riding behind them, Clay was in no mood for guessing games. Blind anger overrode the panic welling in Clay's chest on hearing the bombshell Jacob had just dropped in his lap. "Where the hell is she?"

  "I be tryin' to tell you..." Jacob's expression revealed what it had cost him to tell Clay this news. "She left more'n a week ago."

  "Where? Where'd she go?"

  Dove moved protectively toward her man. Jacob's arm went around her and his uneasy glance flicked back and forth between the boy and Clay. "To California... wid her pa."

  "Her pa?" came Matthew and Clay's stunned echo.

  Clay shook his head with disbelief. "What the hell—? I thought he was killed in the massacre." He glanced at Matthew, the other unexpected survivor, whose worried expression now rivaled his own.

  Matthew had told him as much as he could remember about the massacre—which wasn't a lot. He'd been in shock and most of it remained simply a shadowy nightmare for him. But one thing was certain now, Clay thought. If Asa McKendry had lived through it somehow, he sure as hell hadn't bothered to go back to see if his son held, too.

  "You're sure it was him?"

  Jacob nodded reluctantly.

  "Dammit." Clay whirled around and slammed his open palm against the side of the wagon. "Damn it to hell." He and Matthew had pushed hard for nearly two weeks to get back here. They'd damn near worn out their horses and themselves in the process. And she'd left him. Just like that.

  Well, he thought, to be fair, he'd left her first.

  He knew she'd been angry when he'd left. He thought she'd get over it once she thought about it rationally. Thought she'd see he'd had no other choice but to go. But he'd never expected something like this.

  Jacob cleared his throat. "That ain't all of it, Clay?"

  Clay turned on Jacob, an angry light burning behind his steely eyes. He gave a short, bitter laugh. "It's worse?"

  "Well, it ain't what you be thinkin'. I tell you, she wouldn'a gone wid him at all, 'cept'n he told her Matthew be waitin' for her in San Francisco."

  Clay's jaw dropped open. "He... what?"

  "I had a bad feelin' 'bout the whole thing," Jacob told him with a regretful frown. "I tried to tell her..."

  Like a sail suddenly stripped of its wind, Clay slumped against the wagon with a groan. He stared out onto the sage-covered bottomland of the Raft River without really seeing it. What kind of a father—hell, what kind of man—manipulated his daughter with such blatant lies? And to what end? What could he want with her in San Francisco? He closed his eyes against the fearful hollow pounding of his heart.

  "It sounds just like something he'd do," Matthew commented bitterly.

  Clay put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Maybe we'd better hear this from the beginning, Jacob."

  Shaking his head sadly, Jacob said, "She be a grow'd woman wid a mind o' her own. But I swear, I wish I'd'a hog-tied her an' kep' her here."

  The image of that brought a reluctant smile to Clay's lips and he wondered how many times he'd thought of doing the same thing himself.

  An hour later, the fire popped and sizzled as Dove turned a pair of rabbits skewered on stripped green sticks over the flame. The smoky aroma drifted over the campsite, teasing Clay's growling stomach even when he'd thought he wasn't hungry. He turned to Jacob. "You said this Kip Johanssen fellow has some kind of a lumber operation on the Sacramento River?"

  "That's what McKendry say, but even Kierin had her doubts 'bout it," Jacob answered. "She just be so all-fired set on findin' her brother again..." His voice drifted off.

  Matthew was silent, grim, poking a stick into the edge of the fire. Clay could only guess what the boy was feeling. It made him all the angrier that Matthew's father was using his son as a pawn in whatever game he was playing. After hearing Jacob's side of it, Clay felt sure that the meeting at Fort Hall had been no coincidence. But if it wasn't, what was Asa McKendry doing there and what kind of trouble had Kierin fallen into?

  "They have a nine-day head start on us. Was he pulling with oxen teams or mules?" Clay asked Jacob.

  "Mules."

  "Damn. They'll move faster with mules." Clay stared at the plate Dove handed him. "Well, so be it. I'll be leaving at first light."

  Matthew's head jerked up. "I'm going with you."

  "No, you're not. You' re staying right here where Jacob and Dove can keep an eye on you."

  "Oh, no I ain't," he answered stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm coming. She's my sister and I'm gonna help you find her."

  Clay scowled at him.
"Look. I have no idea what I'm getting into here. All I know is I'm going to be riding hard and fast to catch up with your sister and I can't afford to be slowed down."

  Matthew's chin went up in a way that was irritatingly familiar. "Have I slowed you down yet?"

  Clay rolled his eyes heavenward. "Lord, deliver me from stubborn McKendrys," he muttered.

  "Well, have I?"

  Clay stared at him silently, knowing it was true. Not only had he never slowed them down on the way here, but he'd proved himself to be quite handy with a bow and arrow. Over the past couple of weeks, he'd come to enjoy Matthew's company.

  Still, he didn't know what he'd find when he finally caught up with Kierin. She would never forgive him if anything happened to her brother, and the very real fear that she was walking into something dangerous clawed at his gut like some wild animal. Oh hell, he thought. You tried this tack once before with his sister and look how far it got you. "No, you haven't slowed me down, boy, and I was wrong to say it," he admitted with a sigh. "If you're determined to go, I don't suppose there's much I can say to stop you."

  "Hena?haanehe,"Matthew said, slipping back into the familiar Cheyenne tongue. "That's the end of it, then. I'm going."

  Clay arched a dark brow. "Right."

  "It looks like you met your match, Clay boy," Jacob said with easy grin.

  "It appears that way," he agreed. "It's that blasted McKendry logic. Gets me every time. Your sister is just as proficient at it as you seem to be."

  Matthew smiled knowingly. "She was a good teacher."

  "She's good at a lot of things," Clay replied as her face crept back into his mind. Besting him in arguments was only one of them, he thought with a grin. He watched Matthew dig into the food Dove had placed before him with renewed relish, his youthful appetite restored with the settling of their argument. Clay forced himself to eat, knowing his body required the food. But his mind was elsewhere. On the woman who possessed a piece of his soul.

  If it had been practical to ride off tonight after her, he would have. But the horses needed rest. Nine days' head start. Damn, he thought, they could be a hundred and seventy-five miles ahead of him by now. If anything's happened to her, I'll kill McKendry with my bare hands. Clay closed his eyes, willing himself to stay calm, rational. For her sake, he'd need to.

  Lost in thought, he jumped when Jacob touched him on the shoulder.

  "Clay, Kierin left this for you when she left for California. She wanted me to give it to you when you come back from Independence."

  Clay hesitated a moment before taking the letter Jacob offered him. "Thanks," he said. His hand shook slightly as he broke open the envelope and he angled it closer to the firelight. It read:

  Dearest Clay,

  By now Jacob has told you where I have gone and why. I hope you can understand my need to do this, just as I've tried to understand your need to go back to clear things in Independence. My own stubborn pride kept me from saying this before you left, Clay. But pride seems so unimportant in the face of things, so I'll say it now. I love you and, in spite of everything that's come between us, I always will.

  My fondest hope is that you are safe and well, my darling. I will get in touch with Jacob after we are settled in San Francisco with Matthew.

  All My Love, Kierin

  Clay stared at the letter for a long minute before refolding it and slipping it back in its envelope. He blinked and swallowed hard, trying to relieve the burning lump of emotion at the back of his throat. I'll find her, he thought. I swear to God I will. And when I do I'll never let her go again.

  Chapter 21

  A heart-wrenching scream shattered the night's stillness and tore Kierin from a deep sleep. She sat bolt-upright in the small tent she shared with her father, her heart pounding like a caged wild thing within her breast. Blindly, she searched for her father's hand.

  "Pa!" In the inky blackness, she could hear Asa thrashing, still in the throes of a nightmare. "Pa, wake up," she demanded, shaking him. "It's all right, it's only a dream. Wake—ungh-h—" His brawny arm connected with her jaw, knocking her backward, sprawling her against the side of the canvas tent.

  "No! Let go—" he yelled, still gripped by the night terror. "I have t'... go back..."

  Momentarily stunned, Kierin blinked back the dizziness from the blow and struggled back up to her knees. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him like this since they'd started out together nearly three weeks ago. His nightmares were becoming more and more frequent as the days passed. And more violent, she mused, rubbing her tender jaw.

  "Pa, it's Kierin. It's all right." She pinned his arm down this time and soothed the hair off his damp forehead. "It's all right now."

  Asa awoke with a start. He stiffened and blinked, trying to focus on the face hovering above him.

  "It's Kierin, Pa."

  "Ach-h... Kiery..." he breathed, tightening his hand around her arm. "Oh-h-h... sweet God in heaven. I thought—"

  "It was only a dream. You're right here with me now."

  "Aye, that's good... that's good..." He pulled a sweaty hand down his damp face. "I... I'm sorry, darlin'." He reached up and touched her face. "Did I... did I hurt you?"

  "It's nothing," she reassured softly. "You didn't mean to. But these dreams you're having are worrying me, Papa. They're happening more and more. Maybe if you talk about them, they'll—"

  "No." He sat up abruptly. "I mean, I don't even remember what it was about now. Better to leave dreams in their place. It's all they are anyway. Just dreams."

  "Bad dreams," she said, unconvinced.

  "Aye," he sighed. "Go back to sleep now, lass. We've got a long day in front of us tomorrow."

  Kierin hesitated, then lay back down on her pallet, staring into the darkness. She listened to the steady rushing sound of the nearby Humbolt River and the rhythmic thudding of her heart.

  Asa, too, listened to the uneven rhythm of his heart. It thumped painfully against the wall of his chest and felt as if it had a steel band tightening around it. He lay perfectly still waiting for the pain to pass.

  It always did.

  He flexed the fingers of his left hand, which felt characteristically numb. The attacks were getting worse all the time, just as that doctor in San Francisco had warned they would. He wondered just how long he had. Not long by his calculations. Long enough, he hoped, to get Kierin to San Francisco and settled with the security for her he'd been promised.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, taking long slow breaths. He hoped to God he hadn't made a mistake tricking her this way. But it was the only way she'd have come with him, after the way he'd left her behind in Independence. He only hoped she'd forgive him the lie when she found out the real reason he'd come for her. It was for her own good, he told himself for the hundredth time. After he was gone, she'd be taken care of in a style he'd never been able to give her. After what he'd put her through, God knew, she deserved it.

  Aye, it was the right thing, he decided. But, he wondered, why then was he plagued by these nightmares? Over and over in his dream, he'd see Matthew being murdered at the hands of the Crow—his scalp lifted, his face battered beyond recognition. Helplessly, he'd watch Kierin run toward her brother, to help him, only to be set upon by the savages as well. He blinked back the recurrent images.

  It was his conscience that plagued him, he knew. He hadn't seen Matthew die, of course. His imagination generously supplied all the horrible details his eyes hadn't witnessed. In fact, he hadn't been able to find his body and could only assume that the red savages had dragged him off to torture and kill him somewhere else. He groaned silently, thinking of it.

  His son. His boy.

  He'd failed both his children miserably. No one would argue that point, he thought with a grimace of pain which was as much physical as mental. He'd made his share of mistakes in his life. Mostly, he had to admit, because of his love of a bottle. It had taken his health, his home, and worst of all, his children. But he meant to do what he could to change that.
God help him, though, if the dreams that tormented him at night didn't stop, they would surely be the death of him.

  Beside him, he could hear his daughter's restless breathing, telling him she was no more asleep than he.

  "Kiery?"

  She turned her head in the darkness. "Mm-hm?"

  "Do you remember your ma much?"

  "Course I do." It had been ten years since she'd died, but her face was still as vivid in Kierin's mind as if it were yesterday. "Why?"

  "Ach-h, ye remind me of her sometimes, ye know."

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he said it. "I do?"

  "Aye. Sometimes yer eyes flash the way hers did—all green like the sea in a storm. Sometimes... it's the way ye talk, like ye could forgive me anything. She was like that, ye know." His voice cracked with emotion. "I—I was never worthy of her."

  Kierin swallowed hard, surprised to hear him speak of her. It had been years since he'd allowed himself to do so. It was common knowledge that her mother had married beneath her station—all grist for the gossip mills of Independence where she'd grown up, she recalled bitterly.

  Sarah McKendry's family, the grandparents Kierin had never known, hadn't forgiven her for falling in love with a working-class Scotsman who had nothing more than his dreams to offer her. Though Sarah had forgiven him everything, Kierin knew he'd never forgiven himself for the life of privilege he'd stolen from her.

  The night sheltered the two of them and the words they had never spoken to each other before. It cloaked expressions best left unseen.

  "She loved you, Papa," Kierin told him simply.

  "Aye, and more's the pity. I want better for ye, Kiery. Better than just a living eked out of the land like I gave yer ma. Ye know that, don't ye?"

  Kierin frowned, turning toward him again. "What's this all about, Papa?"

  He was silent for a long minute. "I haven't done too well keeping the promises I made yer ma when she died. I told her I'd raise ye up right and keep ye headed in the right direction. An' look what I've done to ye..."