Spirit's Song

by Madeline Baker

  Ravenhawk sat on a bench outside the Mazza ranch house. Victor Mazza and his younger brother, Rafael, had a nice place. The back of the house was tucked against the rear wall of the canyon. There was a fair-sized barn, a sturdy corral. There was no cover between the front of the house and the entrance to the canyon, providing a clear view of anyone who might try to approach the house uninvited.

  Ravenhawk propped his foot on the porch rail. If he had a spread like this, he’d be raising horses, not risking his life robbing stagecoaches.

  The sound of angry voices drifted through the open window. Inside, Victor Mazza and Nash were arguing over how to split the loot. Mazza figured he was due a bigger cut than the others since he had planned the robbery. Nash disagreed. He felt they were all due equal shares. Rafael agreed with his brother, saying they should get an extra cut for providing Nash with a place to hole up.

  Ravenhawk ran a hand through his hair. The strongbox had yielded a little over sixty thousand dollars. Depending on how Nash and Victor decided to split the take, he figured his cut would be somewhere around four or five grand. It was a good-sized chunk of change; more money than he’d ever had in his life, and it weighed heavily on his conscience. He had robbed a number of banks and stages in the past, but he’d never killed anyone. Victor Mazza had killed the stagecoach driver in cold blood; Nash had killed the shotgun guard when the man made a furtive move. Two of Nash’s men had been killed. A third, a young kid named Claudill, had been wounded and left behind.

  Ravenhawk swore softly. Robbery was one thing. Cold-blooded murder was something else entirely. Damn.

  He stared out into the darkness, torn between the thought of staying with Nash and riding on. There was safety in numbers. He hadn’t realized until they got here that Mazza and his brother had a gang of their own. He had learned from one of Nash’s men that Victor and Rafael never worked together. One of the brothers always stayed at the ranch with part of the gang, ready to ride to the rescue if there was trouble.

  Ravenhawk had planned to stay on at the Mazza place until things quieted down. Before the robbery, staying here had seemed like a good idea. But that was before Mazza had gunned the driver.

  Before he had seen Jesse Yellow Thunder inside the coach.

  He swore softly. Talk about bad luck and bad timing. He wondered if Kaylynn had been on the stage, too. Somehow, the thought of her being there, knowing that he had been part of the robbery, left him feeling ashamed, the way he’d felt when he’d been a boy and his mother had caught him in some act of mischief.

  There would be no safety for him here if Yellow Thunder decided to come after him. And the bounty hunter would come. Ravenhawk knew it as surely as he knew good whiskey from bad.

  He would ask Nash for his cut and leave tonight, or maybe in the morning. He’d had enough of riding the outlaw trail. He was going back to the Lakota and he was never leaving there again. It was time to find a willing woman, settle down, raise a couple of kids, and count himself damn lucky he’d gotten away with a whole skin.

  A woman. He closed his eyes, and an image of Kaylynn floated across his mind. Ah, Kaylynn, with her wide, innocent eyes and tempting pink lips.

  If Jesse Yellow Thunder was here, could the woman be far behind?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kaylynn stood at the window of her room, looking down into the street below. In the faint light of the new day, she could see the sheriff and his posse mounting up, but she had eyes only for Jesse. Dressed all in black, he stood out from the others, a tall, dark man mounted on a sleek roan mare.

  As though feeling her gaze, he glanced up at her window.

  Last night she had begged him not to go, but to no avail. It was more than the reward, she thought. It was a personal vendetta.

  She watched as the sheriff and his men rode out of town. Jesse gazed up at her a moment longer and then, with a wave of his hand, he turned and followed the posse.

  She stared after him until the dust settled, a nagging feeling that she should go after him worrying the edges of her mind. What if he killed Ravenhawk? What if Ravenhawk killed him?

  It was a thought that haunted her all that day. And it was such a long day. She went for a walk. She took a nap. She sat in the hotel lobby and read a newspaper someone had left behind. And all the while her mind was conjuring images of Jesse and Ravenhawk. Sometimes Jesse killed Ravenhawk. Sometimes Ravenhawk killed Jesse. Sometimes they killed each other.

  She went to bed after dinner, only to toss and turn until dawn.

  Rising, she went to look out the window, wondering if Jesse had reached Mazza’s hideout yet. Last night, her dreams had been filled with violence and bloodshed and death. Jesse… She should have gone with him.

  She turned away from the window and began to pace the floor. Even if Jesse would have let her ride along, what made her think she could do anything to stop the inevitable confrontation between the two men? She had asked Jesse not to go, and he had gone anyway, driven by a sense of duty, a need to salvage his pride.

  She paced the floor for ten minutes, her agitation growing. She couldn’t just stay here and wait and wonder. She had to know what was happening, had to know that Jesse was all right.

  She dressed quickly and then, taking up the gun Jesse had given her earlier, she left the hotel and ran down to the livery.

  Ron Hays looked surprised to see her, and even more surprised when she asked if he would rent her a horse.

  “Leaving town, are you?” he asked, his disapproval at the thought of her riding out alone clearly etched on his face.

  “Not exactly. Do you have a horse I can borrow?”

  “I’m sure I can find you one, though I don’t think you should be traveling by yourself.”

  “I know, but it’s urgent. Can you help me?”

  Hays looked her over from head to foot. “Do you know how to ride?”

  “Of course.”

  He nodded. “I have a horse I think will fit you well enough.”

  Fit me, Kaylynn thought with a grin. What a peculiar way of putting it.

  Minutes later, Hays emerged from the stable leading a long-legged brown horse with three white stockings and a white splotch on its forehead.

  “This here’s my horse,” Hays said. “His name’s Rufus.”

  “Your horse!” Kaylynn explained. “I couldn’t…”

  “Well, he’s the only broomtail I’ve got that I’d trust you with. Climb up there so I can adjust the stirrups.”

  He held the reins while Kaylynn mounted, adjusted the stirrups to the proper length.

  “Does that sour-faced Indian know you’re leaving?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t mean any disrespect, but you’re a poor liar,” Hays said gruffly. “If you lose your way, just give Rufus his head, and he’ll bring you safely home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hays.”

  “Hays, just call me Hays.”

  “Thank you, Hays.”

  He grunted softly. “Be careful.”

  “I will.” She looked down at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Yellow Thunder did me a favor once. He’s never let me repay it.” Hays shrugged. “Don’t let that gruff exterior of his fool you for a minute. He’s a good man underneath.”

  “I know. Thanks, again.”

  Hays nodded. “Have a care now.”

  Kaylynn smiled at the livery man. Then, taking up the reins, she rode out of town after Jesse.

  The trail of the posse was easy to follow. It occurred to her that she had learned more than she realized while living with the Cheyenne. Some things she had learned by doing, some by watching, and some she seemed to have absorbed without conscious thought.

  One of Mo’e’ha’s grandsons had taught her what she knew about tracking. He had been a precocious boy of about ten, eager to show off what he knew. He had showed her how to distinguish between dog tracks and wolf tracks, deer and elk tracks, how to tell, from the way grass had been flattene
d in passing, which way a horse was going. When a man walked, he pushed the grass down ahead of him, so it lay in the direction he was going, but when a horse walked, it pushed the grass backward. Mo’e’ha’s grandson had also taught her how to tell time by the position of the sun and the stars, how to locate water.

  It was peaceful, riding alone across the land in the quiet of a new day. The last streaks of sunrise trailed across the sky, the rich golds and pinks gradually fading until they disappeared altogether. She had never paid much attention to sunrises or sunsets until she was captured by Two Dogs. Living with the Cheyenne had taught her to appreciate the beauty of the world around her, to find pleasure in simple things.

  Pleasure…she had found pleasure of another kind in Jesse Yellow Thunder’s arms, in the gentle touch of his hands, the intoxicating taste of his mouth on hers.

  She couldn’t believe how she had melted in his embrace, hated to admit, even to herself, that she had been ready, eager, to give herself to Jesse, body and soul. She knew in her heart that she would have given him anything he asked for if those two boys hadn’t interrupted them when they did. It had felt so right to hold him, to let him kiss her, and kiss him in return. Even now, the mere thought of him filled her with a warm, rosy glow, as though she had swallowed a ray of early morning sunshine.

  She urged the horse into a gallop, wondering how far it was to the ranch where the outlaws here hiding out, wondering if she would get there in time. She had a feeling Jesse would not be happy to see her, but she didn’t care. She could tolerate his anger, but she knew she would never forgive herself, or him, if he killed Ravenhawk simply to assuage his pride.

  * * * * *

  There were a dozen men in the posse. Jesse recognized a couple of the men as shopkeepers though he didn’t know their names. They had spent the night a few miles from the canyon the night before, then ridden the rest of the way that morning. Now the canyon was just ahead, awash in the early light of a new day.

  The entrance was narrow, only wide enough to allow one horse through at a time. Two well-armed men, posted on either side of the entrance, could probably keep an army at bay for quite a while, but, try as he might, he couldn’t find any sign of a lookout.

  Keegan’s deputy, Hank Frey, went to check it out. He returned a short time later. Using a stick, he drew a diagram of the layout inside the canyon.

  “Any lookouts?” Keegan asked.

  Frey shook his head. “I didn’t see any.”

  Sloppy, Jesse thought. Or maybe they thought they were invincible.

  Keegan grunted. “We’ll play it like this. Yellow Thunder, you take two men and come down near the barn. Hank, you take two men and circle in from the right. The rest of you will ride with me.” Keegan pulled a silver-backed watch from his vest pocket. “Yellow Thunder, how long do you think it will take you to get in place?”

  Jesse shrugged. “Maybe twenty minutes at the outside.”

  “All right. Just to be safe, we’ll wait thirty minutes before we make our move.”

  “How many men do you think are in there?” Hank asked.

  The sheriff shrugged. “No way of knowing. I’d guess ten or twelve.” He looked at Jesse. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hank?”

  “Let’s do it,” the deputy said.

  Jesse urged the roan up the rocky slope that made up the back side of the canyon wall. Two of the men followed him.

  He thought about Kaylynn as he rode toward his destination. She occupied his every thought, his every waking moment, every dream. He tried to tell himself it was impossible, that he couldn’t have fallen so deeply, so hard, in such a short time, and yet he couldn’t deny the feelings of his heart. Just his luck, he thought bitterly, to fall in love with a woman who belonged to another man. No matter that she had left her husband; she was still another man’s wife, and he had no right to love her, to want her, to think they might have a life together. And even if she loved him in return, he had nothing to offer her. He was thirty years old and what did he have to show for his life? Nothing. He owned one horse, one saddle, a Winchester rifle, a .44 Colt and little else.

  He put all thought of Kaylynn from his mind as he crested the ridge. A narrow shelf hung out over the canyon. Dismounting, he dropped to his hands and knees, crawled toward the edge and peered over the side. The barn was directly below him. The ranch house was situated to the left. It was L-shaped, with a tile roof. A lazy column of blue-gray smoke rose from the chimney. He counted nine horses in the corral; six of them were saddled, leading him to believe that at least part of the gang was getting ready to ride out. He didn’t see Ravenhawk’s Appaloosa among them. A half-dozen or so skinny chickens were scratching in the dirt near the barn. A big gray cat was curled up on a rock on the side of the house.

  Glancing toward the east, he saw the sheriff and his men riding through the entrance one by one. He shook his head, unable to believe that Mazza didn’t have one of his men keeping watch at the entrance to the canyon. Either the man was unbelievably arrogant or just plain stupid.

  A movement from below caught his eyes and he smiled faintly when he saw Ravenhawk leave the house and enter the barn. Once again, luck was with him.

  A shot rang out. One of the sheriff’s men clutched his chest and toppled over the back of his horse.

  Someone inside the house shouted, “We’ve got company!”

  He heard the sheriff holler, “Take cover!” and then the air was filled with the sound of gunfire.

  Jesse glanced over his shoulder at the two men who had accompanied him. “You two, get on down there and cover the back of the house.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he replied, and launched himself from the overhang to the roof of the barn, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the sloped roof.

  Keeping his head down, he inched toward the front of the roof and peered over the edge. The pulley system used to lift hay from the ground up into the barn’s loft jutted out just above a small door, which was open.

  Swearing under his breath, Jesse lowered himself over the edge of roof and dropped onto the arm of the pulley. Swaying back and forth, he gathered momentum, then propelled himself toward the loft, feet-first, trying not to think of the consequences if he missed.

  He landed on his butt just inside the door. Off balance, he managed to grab hold of the door frame to keep from tumbling over backward and crashing to the ground. Damn, but that had been close!

  The interior was dim and smelled of hay and horseflesh and manure. Taking a deep breath, he rolled onto his stomach and crawled toward the edge of the loft. Ravenhawk was standing near the barn door, looking out. His Appaloosa, saddled and ready, was waiting in a nearby stall.

  Quick and quiet, Jesse descended the ladder and crept up behind his quarry. One sharp blow from his gun butt rendered Ravenhawk unconscious. Moving quickly, he plucked Ravenhawk’s Colt from his holster and tucked it into the waistband of his own pants, then he tied Ravenhawk’s hands together with a length of rope. That done, he took Ravenhawk’s place at the door.

  Several bodies lay sprawled in the dirt between the entrance to the canyon and the house. Three of the posse members were holed up on the side of the house behind a pile of wood, firing at a handful of outlaws who were riding for the entrance. He recognized Nash and Mazza among the fleeing outlaws. Apparently, the last man out of the corral had neglected to close the gate and the other horses had scattered.

  There was the sound of gunfire from the back of the house. A moment later, the front door burst open and four men ran outside, only to be cut down by the remaining members of the posse.

  A few minutes later, the two men who had climbed the canyon wall with Jesse stepped out from behind the barn. The three men alongside the house stood up. Two more posse members, both wounded, emerged from the back of the house.

  The fight was over.

  Jesse glanced over his shoulder. Ravenhawk was sitting up, a so
ur expression on his face.

  “Damn,” Ravenhawk muttered. “I knew I should have left last night.”

  Jesse grunted softly. Grabbing Ravenhawk by the arm, he pulled him to his feet and shoved him toward the door, then took up the Appaloosa’s reins and followed Ravenhawk outside.

  The posse had gathered on the porch. Hank was bandaging one of the men. All eyes turned toward Jesse and his prisoner as they exited the barn.

  “Where’s Keegan?” Jesse asked

  “Dead.”

  “Too bad. Keep an eye on this one for me, will ya? I’ll ride up on the rim and get our horses.”

  Jesse swung onto the Appaloosa’s back and rode out of the canyon.

  His mare and the other two horses were where they had left them. Taking up the reins, he rode around the rim to where the other members of the posse had left their horses.

  Leading the horses, he rode back toward the canyon, his thoughts again centered around Kaylynn. He wondered how she had spent the day, wondered if her husband was still looking for her. He tried to tell himself she was none of his business. She belonged to another man and he would be worse than a fool to get involved, but it was too late. He was already involved.

  When Jesse got back to the canyon, Ravenhawk was sitting on the porch, his expression glum. The bodies of the dead men had been carried into the barn. Hank Frey informed Jesse that the money taken from the stage had been found hidden beneath the floor in the barn.

  “It was all there,” the deputy remarked, pleased.

  Jesse dismounted. Handing the reins to the posse’s horses to one of the men, he checked the cinch on the roan. “I’ll be leaving now,” he told Frey.

  “Leaving?”

  Jesse nodded. “Some of your men are wounded. They’re gonna slow you down. I don’t have time to wait for you.”

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “I’ve got someone waiting for me in town.”

  Frey grunted softly. “You might wanna let Doc Gordon know what happened out here. Tell him to let Harvey know we’ve got some business for him.”