The Crow and the Bear

by Kristy McCaffrey

  The Crow and the Bear

  Kristy McCaffrey

  The Crow and the Bear by Kristy McCaffrey

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright© 2015 Kristy McCaffrey

  Cover Design Livia Reasoner

  Prairie Rose Publications

  www.prairierosepublications.com

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Silverton, Colorado

  October 1878

  “You’re not listening to me.” Jennie Livingstone scanned the gentlemen gathered in the common room at the Silverton Hotel. “This absence isn’t normal for Papa.”

  “We know you’re worried, Jennie,” an older man named Sharply said. “But Ben knows these hills. He’s not missing. He’s just late.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Something’s wrong.”

  She looked in turn at each one of them—strong men who had spent their lives mining and prospecting. She trusted them, knowing they were her papa’s friends. “Won’t any of you help me search for him?” In desperation, she added, “I’ll pay you.”

  Silence engulfed the room.

  “I’ll help you, miss.”

  Jennie spun around at the deep timber of a man’s voice. With her back to the entryway, she hadn’t noticed his arrival.

  Dark eyes greeted her from beneath a well-worn Stetson. Black hair cascaded to his shoulders. Tall, he filled the space he occupied, drowning out the presence of every other man in the room. His nose was reddened from the biting wind that had descended into the valley during the night, but while he had the look of an Indian, Jennie was put in mind of the crows that congregated around the home she shared with her father on the edge of town.

  “Who’re you?” one of the miners asked.

  “Name’s Callum Boggs. I’m a bounty hunter from Missouri. There’s talk Ben Livingstone went to Silas Ravine.”

  Jennie gasped as agitation overtook the room. “How do you know that?” she asked.

  “I have my sources.” Mister Boggs removed his hat. “Is that why none of these gentlemen will help you?” His eyes swept the room.

  Stunned, Jennie turned back to Sharply, his grizzled features matched by the dirt-stained clothing he wore. “Did Ben go to Silas Ravine?”

  The old man exhaled deeply. “He might’ve said that’s where he was headed.”

  “Is that why he didn’t take me with him?”

  “I expect so.”

  Anger filled her. And fear. Her papa knew the stories about the ravine, knew the tragedy that could befall anyone who dared to go there. She always travelled with him into the hills when he scouted ore veins, but this time, he’d insisted that she stay back because she’d not been feeling well.

  I shouldn’t have let him go.

  Tears threatened, but she shored up her courage. Crying over spilled milk wasn’t going to find Papa. As she searched the room full of men, all avoided her gaze.

  Except one.

  Bounty hunter Callum Boggs.

  “Aren’t you afraid of Silas Ravine, as all these men are?” Her hand swept the room.

  Narrowing his eyes, the barest hint of a smile played across his mouth. “No, miss, I’m not.”

  “Then, you’re hired.”

  He acknowledged his new employment status with a slight nod while planting the Stetson atop his head. “We best get started.”

  Jennie wondered how this man had come from nowhere to help her, but she kept her curiosity in check. Perhaps heading into the hills with a stranger was lunacy, but Silas Ravine—the site of numerous missing men and reputed to be haunted—left her with few options. She could go alone. She certainly knew these mountains, the hills and valleys and streams, but a frisson of unease shivered down her spine. She was as afraid of Silas Ravine as any of the men here. If she must go—and for her papa she would—then making a bargain with a warrior of Hades was the best course of action.

  Possibly the only course of action.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cal walked with Jennie Livingstone to her home at the end of Reese Street, flipping his jacket collar up to ward off the late-October chill despite the clear day. With the immense Rocky Mountains surrounding the town of Silverton on all sides, direct sunlight wouldn’t last for long. Jagged peaks covered with snow hinted that winter never truly left this place.

  He shouldered his knapsack and drew a sidelong glance at the intrepid young woman.

  It was her. The one he’d dreamt about.

  She was even more striking in person. Brown hair pulled loosely from her face in a haphazard bun, a smattering of freckles on her nose, deep green eyes the color of a Scottish forest. Gazing at her, it had been difficult to remain focused on the task at hand.

  He’d come in search of an outlaw named Harley Jessup, but he couldn’t deny he was curious about her, the woman in his visions, she who was to guide him into the mountains. His Scottish grandmother had taught him the ways of dream forecasting and it often guided him on manhunts.

  He hadn’t known her first name. “Jennie.”

  “Yes?”

  He didn’t mean to say it aloud. In an effort to cover his slip, he asked, “How long have you and your father lived in Silverton?”

  “About three years.”

  “Is your mother here? Any siblings?”

  “I’m an only child. My mother died when I was three. I don’t really remember her.” She watched him. “Why have you come all the way from Missouri?”

  “My ma and pa live in Springfield, but I was recently in Arizona Territory.”

  “How long have you been a bounty hunter?”

  He skirted around a mud hole. “About five years now.”

  “Are you good at it?”

  He couldn’t suppress an amused smile. “Good enough.”

  “I suppose that will be assurance enough.”

  “Worried you won’t get what you pay for?”

  She laughed, the air turning white from her breath. “I plan to keep an eye on my investment. Have you ever been in the Rocky Mountains before?”

  “No.”

  A buckboard ambled past, the man nodding at Jennie. “I’m only taking you along to fight off the bears, and other things.”

  He frowned. “What kind of ‘other things’?”

  “Not everything can be seen with your eyes or heard with your ears.”

  “Sounds like a puzzle.”

  “Are you easily spooked?”

  He grinned. “No.”

  “That’s good,” she replied, clearly agitated. “And I just want to state for the record that if you try anything, I’ll kill you.”

  Cal stopped walking, stunned by her casual statement. It was clear she wasn’t easily pushed around. Despite being a petite woman, she carried herself with a sturdy constitution, one he couldn’t deny appealed to him immensely.

  “I can assure you that I’m not here to take advantage of a woman,” he said.

  She watched him with a stern expression, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll choose to trust you, then. I need a man I can rely on.”

  “You can count on me, Jennie.”

  Her expression softened and she turned away, continuing down the street.

  Despite the rocky start, Cal decided he liked her.

 
; CHAPTER THREE

  Jennie guided her bay roan gelding onto the path leading from Silverton, his grayish coat matching the overcast morning. Her new companion—Mister Boggs—rode beside her on a stock horse he purchased in town, the animal’s powerful hindquarters flexing with each step. They both had bedrolls, extra blankets, and saddlebags stuffed with supplies. Her trusty mule, Maisie, trailed behind, loaded with two small canvas tents, food, ammunition, and medical supplies.

  She had a Winchester in a boot and a Colt tucked into her bags. She noticed Mister Boggs kept a Colt as well, side-holstered for easy release. He also had a long rifle—a Henry from the look of it. Although an older weapon, she knew from her papa it offered strong repeating action at close range. A bounty hunter would likely have need of such a firearm, but she suspected this type of protection would prove useless in Silas Ravine.

  Boggs brought his horse level with hers. A cold wind greeted them as they left Silverton and headed north toward the mining camp of Eureka. Jennie tugged her hat down, her hair in a braid down her back. She was dressed practically—wool trousers, boots, flannel shirt, long underwear, thick socks, a heavy duster, and a red scarf she’d woven herself.

  “Where’re you from?” he asked.

  “I was born in Philadelphia. After Mama died, an aunt raised me. Papa came and went. When I was about ten years old, he came west to work as a surveyor in the Denver area. He’s educated as a geologist. I begged to come with him, and he let me. We went from place to place—Virginia City, California, Arizona Territory—but I think Silverton is his favorite.”

  “It sounds as if you’re well-traveled, Jennie Livingstone.”

  “It suits me to have a change of scenery.” She glanced at his hard profile. Was she loco for setting off into the wilderness with a man she didn’t know? While she had hoped to have one of the local miners accompany her, it was abundantly clear that Boggs was more suited to this expedition than a man such as Sharply, especially now that the destination was Silas Ravine.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she continued, “but are you Indian?”

  “Would it bother you if I was?”

  “No.”

  “My ma is Comanche. My pa is Scottish.”

  Watching Boggs as they collected supplies and gear yesterday, his actions precise yet restrained, spoke of an inherent strength missing from the men in town. While they were a tough lot, they lacked grace. Jennie wondered if all Comanche were like Callum Boggs.

  “Have you ever been to Scotland?” she asked.

  He nodded. “When I was a boy. My pa is from the Inverness area. He took all of us.”

  “Who’s ‘all of us’?”

  “My ma and my two brothers.”

  “Are they bounty hunters, too?”

  “For a time, yep. My older brother, Jack, was married earlier this year and is about to become a father, so I’m guessing his days of manhunts are over. I don’t think Hannah would like it, and truth be told, he never wants to leave her.”

  “He must love her very much.”

  “I’d say so.”

  She guided her horse past a boulder in the path. “And what of your other brother?”

  “Kester’s the runt. He’s roaming Arizona Territory at the moment.”

  “Does he look like you?”

  Boggs frowned at her. “It’s been said my brothers and I have such a resemblance that people can’t tell us apart.”

  “Then Kester’s no runt,” she murmured.

  “I do believe you just complimented me, Miss Livingstone.”

  “I’m sure I’m not the first woman to say something...nice...about you.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  When she looked at him, raising her eyebrows in question, a look of derision crossed his features but was soon gone. “Half-breeds don’t always garner warm welcomes,” he added softly.

  “Not everyone is ignorant.”

  He held her gaze longer than courtesy dictated, causing her to look away, momentarily flustered. Why in the world would she care about the prejudices against this man?

  Breaking the awkward tension, he said, “Can you tell me why Silas Ravine is so feared?”

  Jennie considered the question. If she told him the rumors, would he refuse to go any farther with her? She’d traveled these hills enough that she could certainly continue on alone. Couldn’t she? Her chest squeezed as her heartbeat raced. In that moment, she knew she desperately needed this man to stay close.

  “Right about the time my papa and I came to town, a criminal named Harley Jessup had been caught and placed in the jail. While awaiting a trial, he managed to escape. Some say a local fancy woman helped him. He disappeared into the mountains, and his trail went cold.”

  “So he escaped?”

  “Unfortunately, he did. But then word came that he was in Silas Ravine. The Atkins brothers live up that way, and they reported seeing him. It was said that Jessup froze to death in a freakish storm that descended on Hallowtide.”

  “I see.” Boggs appeared to brood, which Jennie didn’t understand.

  She plowed ahead anyway. “I don’t know if you’ve ever spent time in a mining community, but there can be a great deal of superstition. The following spring, men began to trickle into the ravine because rumor had it there was a large vein beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Needless to say, that bred a lot of secrecy about the area. After a time, all of the men who’d gone to stake a claim had never returned. So a posse was sent to investigate.”

  “What happened?”

  “Only one man returned, and the story he told frightened everyone.”

  Boggs settled back into his saddle, the leather creaking in response. “Try me.”

  “They’d searched for evidence of the bodies, but could find none. When nightfall came, they were forced to make camp. During the night they heard voices, but couldn’t see anyone. An older man in the group began choking, then died suddenly.”

  “That hardly merits a supernatural slant.”

  Jennie took in the panorama of ponderosa pine and juniper trees, a veritable Garden of Eden. “I agree. But the man who survived—his name was Wyatt, I think—claimed that a mist descended and shadows began to flit past them. Some of the men drew guns. When the attack came, Wyatt was knocked out.”

  “Convenient.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Did it ever occur to anyone that Wyatt killed the men in the posse himself?”

  The realization dawned on Jennie. “Why would he do that?”

  “Can’t say, but maybe he wanted access to the claim.”

  “But he’s since left Silverton. From what my papa said, he was quite delirious after, bordering on madness.”

  Boggs watched her. “Why?”

  “Papa never told me all the details, but I’ve heard from others in town. The men’s bodies were mutilated, their eyes gouged out...and...and on a nearby rock were piled organs ripped from the bodies.”

  Jennie took a fortifying breath. She didn’t like talking about this, especially now that her father had supposedly entered that place.

  “Has anyone been to the ravine since then?”

  Jennie brought her gaze to Boggs and saw compassion reflected back to her, despite his gunmetal eyes. “Yes. Of course. There’ve been men from time to time who ventured there. None of them ever returned.” And now her papa hadn’t, either.

  “So, there’s no one who’s seen the comings and goings into this ravine?”

  Jennie inhaled the crisp autumn air, seeking to wash the fear from her body. “The Atkins brothers still live in the valley up ahead. They don’t enter the ravine, either. They’re just as scared as anyone else.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. Augustus lives alone and is a bit off. His brother, Lemuel, lives farther up with his wife, Betsy. They keep to themselves and don’t come to town much, but they’ve spoken of strange happenings in the valley near the entrance to Silas Ravine
—mutilated animals, strange markings on the rocks, trees that have been stripped of bark in unnatural ways.”

  “Everyone stays away based on these tales?”

  Jennie nodded.

  “Why did your father go there?”

  Jennie glanced behind her to check on Maisie. “The vein, of course. It’s said that Silas Ravine has one of the biggest lodes in the San Juan Mountains. I suppose his curiosity finally got the better of him. Prospecting can be like a siren’s call.”

  “Like a woman you can’t put out of your mind.”

  Jennie wondered if such a woman existed for Callum Boggs, but she kept her thought to herself. She scanned the magnificent scenery—high mountains blanketed with dense woodlands and patches of oak brush; a clear waterfall flowing across a granite escarpment.

  “Your pa may just be holed up somewhere, investigating a promising vein, caught up in the excitement and not realizing he’s past due.”

  She knew that was the logical explanation, and she sincerely hoped it turned out to be true. Boggs appeared skeptical as to the dark curse that somehow hung over Silas Ravine, but Jennie knew that there was something more to the place.

  Simon had told her.

  But she couldn’t tell Boggs about Simon. He’d label her daft and possibly refuse to continue helping her.

  The townsfolk had spoken in whispers of her from time to time, but never to her face. Ben Livingstone was well-liked and respected, and those sentiments naturally extended to his daughter. She had worked hard to help her papa, apprenticing at his side, learning about the shape of valleys, the coloration of rock, the slant of ridges that might indicate veins of everything from copper to silver to gold.

  But she also had help. She’d spoken of it once to Ben, but when he laughed at her, she never uttered another word. She’d never quite figured out how the townsfolk spread gossip of her, but suspected it was the time she ‘spoke’ in a forest with her allies. Someone must have overheard.