Willow

by Norah Hess

  She gave no more thought to the two cowboys until she heard the rapid thuds of horses coming up behind her. She looked over her shoulder and a cold chill went through her. She recognized her father and Buck Axel thundering toward her. She dug her heels into the mare, sending her into a hard gallop. The ranch was not quite a mile away.

  But the stamina and the speed of the two big stallions chasing her soon outran the spirited little mare. Her father and Buck rode up, one on either side of her, and Buck grabbed the reins, bringing her mount to a plunging halt.

  "Let go of her," Willow ordered in a trembling voice. When Buck only gave her a leering smile, she raised her riding crop and struck him across the face with it.

  The fat man glared at her a moment, his fingers on the welt that was beginning to seep blood. Then, leaning forward, he lashed out, catching her across the cheek. At her cry of pain, the mare reared excitedly, dancing around with nervous steps.

  When Willow almost lost her seat, Otto ordered with a threatening look, "Settle down now. We'll leave your Maw where she is if you come peacefully with us."

  "For how long?" Willow looked suspiciously at him. "Until you can sneak back here and grab her too?"

  "I have no need for that weakling. As long as you behave yourself and do as you're told, she can stay at that ranch until she rots for all I care."

  Willow knew with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach that her father spoke the truth. He really wouldn't care if he never saw his wife again. It was up to her to give her mother a chance at happiness.

  But if she was to sacrifice her chance of someday being married to a good man and having a family, she wanted to secure that same thing for her mother. Ruth wouldn't be bearing any more children, but she could find happiness married to Rooster.

  She looked at Otto and said frankly, "I will go with you, but neither of you will have any peace from me unless—"

  "Unless what?" Otto growled, giving her a threatening look.

  "Unless you see a lawyer and set Ma free through a divorce. Then there will be no trouble from me."

  Otto looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then nodded his head. "Agreed," he said. "I have to see a lawyer anyhow. It won't be any trouble to have him write up some divorce papers."

  "I will want to see the papers," Willow warned. "I know how wily you can be."

  "What business do you have with a lawyer?" Buck asked suspiciously.

  "It's this way." Otto stared back at the man he didn't trust any more than his daughter trusted him. "I want it stated legally that you give me permission to water my cattle in that stream that runs through your property. And furthermore, you might as well know right now, you'll stay away from Willow until I get such a document in my hand."

  Pure hatred stabbed at Otto from the fat man. Buck's right hand reached for a holster that wasn't there. His arm was useless, paralyzed from the bullet that Jules had put in his shoulder the first time he and Otto had tried to make away with Willow.

  "Accept it, Buck," Otto sneered. "I've got you where the hair grows short. I'll call the shots from now on. You've had it your way long enough." Buck said no more, but his slitted eyes promised revenge.

  "Let's go," Otto said, and led off Willow rode behind him, and Buck brought up the rear. Willow's shoulders drooped in defeat as the mare plodded along. She was getting a reprieve for now, but sooner or later she would be the wife of beastly Buck Axel.

  It was an hour before sundown when Otto drew rein at the Bio Grande and announced they would make night camp there. He untied a grub bag from the back of his saddle and, dropping it to the ground, said, "As soon as I build a fire, cook us something to eat, Willow."

  Nothing has changed, Willow thought wryly as she rummaged through the bag. Paw barking orders as usual and me jumping to obey him.

  She paused a moment, gazing thoughtfully across the river. Ma wasn't here now. Before, she had always hurried to do as her father ordered to save her mother from being struck or kicked savagely. She no longer had to do everything he told her to do.

  But right now she would rather make their supper than sit idle where Buck could sit down beside her and give her those leering looks while he talked to her.

  Unfortunately, she soon found that the way he ogled her every movement as she set a pot of coffee to brewing and fried salt pork and warmed a can of beans, was just as disturbing as if he were talking to her.

  Night settled in as they ate the meal Willow had prepared, and the air turned bitterly cold. "You'd better scare up enough wood to last us through the night." Otto looked across the fire at Buck.

  "Why me?" Buck asked, bristling.

  "Because I gathered the wood that cooked our supper," Otto fired back. "We're gonna share the chores. You won't have any trouble finding some wood. There's a full moon coming up."

  When Buck stamped off into the night, Willow said, "As you know, Paw, I don't have a bedroll."

  "Don't worry about it. I brung one along for you."

  Willow wondered if her father had a little soft feeling for her after all. She was disabused of that idea when Otto said, "I'm not taking a chance on you catching pneumony and dying on me before Buck signs that paper."

  Shaking her head, Willow gathered up the dirty tin plates, pot and skillet, and took them to the river to scrub them out with sand. When she returned to camp, she found that in her absence Buck had gathered an armload of firewood and that her father was unrolling his blankets.

  He looked up at her and said, "Roll out your bedroll here, next to mine. And, Buck, roll up in your blankets across the fire from us." He patted the gun he had tucked inside the covers. "I don't want you getting any foolish notions in your head tonight." Buck gave him an evil look; then, unrolling his blankets, he crawled between them.

  When Willow rolled out her bed of blankets, she gave a wry smile. Her father wasn't taking a chance on her catching pneumonia. He had wrapped a thick tarp around her rolled-up blankets. It was to go on the ground first to ward off the cold and dampness. Whatever his reason, she was thankful for the extra protection when she crawled beneath the covers. Her trapped body heat soon had her warm and cozy.

  She lay on her back, gazing up at the full moon, listening to the steady slap-slap of the river against its banks. Her poor mother would be half out of her mind by now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The old Spanish clock on the marble mantle struck the half hour. "Four-thirty." Ruth dropped the half-finished sweater she was knitting for Rooster and stood up. "Willow should have been home an hour ago." She was near tears when she walked into the kitchen and stared through the window for the fourth time in an hour.

  The sun had dropped behind the mountains and dusk was settling in. In order to see more clearly, Ruth stepped out onto the small veranda. She peered in the direction of the Asher ranch, but saw no rider coming toward the house. The frostiness in the air chased her back inside.

  "Where is Rooster?" she whispered, holding her cold hands over the flames to warm them. He always calmed her, made her feel better. But he would be home late today, she remembered. He and Jimmy were riding fence, looking for breaks in the wires.

  Ruth sat back down and gave in to her fear that her husband and Buck Axel had grabbed Willow. They were probably on their way to New Mexico right now.

  Tears flowed down her cheeks. She would never see her dear daughter again. Her only child would be forced to marry that beastly man. Any woman involved with him didn't live long. Her mind went back to all the awful things she had ever heard about Buck Axel. She was almost hysterical when Rooster found her sitting in the dark.

  "Ruth, love, what's wrong?" He picked her up and sat down in the chair, holding her on his lap.

  "Oh, Rooster," Ruth sobbed, "it's Willow. She went to the Asher ranch this morning to give Jess her share of the money from the cattle, and she isn't home yet. I know something dreadful has happened to her. She would never let me worry this way if she could help it."

  "Wel
l now, honey," Rooster soothed, "maybe the mare threw a shoe and Willow is walking her in."

  "And maybe Otto has her," Ruth cried fearfully.

  That same thought had occurred to Rooster, and he cursed himself for letting Willow go alone on her errand. He should have sent one of the men with her.

  "I'll go ride a piece and look for her. I bet you one of your pies, I'll find her walking home."

  "No, Rooster!" Ruth clutched his arm. "Don't leave me. Send one of the men."

  "All right." He patted her hand. "But first I'll light the lamp and build up the fire. It's icy cold in here."

  Rooster could find none of the hands around; only Jimmy sat in the bunkhouse. The teenager's face blanched when Rooster told him of his fears. "I want you to ride to the Asher ranch and find out what time Willow left there."

  Before Rooster got back to the house, Jimmy had saddled a fresh mount and was riding out of the barnyard at a fast gallop.

  He had only traveled about a quarter of a mile when he came upon a spot in the trail where sod and dirt had recently been trampled. He reined in, and sliding out of the saddle, he hunkered down to examine the hoofprints there.

  He soon recognized a set of prints. There was a vee-shaped nick in the front left shoe. Willow had pointed it out to him last week, wondering if it hurt the mare to walk on it. Two other sets of prints were larger and bit deep into the sod. They had been made by large horses, the type that men were likely to ride.

  He found the exact spot where the two horsemen had ridden up on Willow. He could tell that the mare had reared up, and the hoofprints milling around told him that one or both of the men had grabbed the little animal. He knew the whole story when all three sets of prints led off in single file, as they traveled south.

  Rooster had been right in his suspicions.

  Jimmy climbed back in the saddle and sat a moment, wondering what he should do. Should he ride on to the Asher ranch and tell Jules what had happened to Willow, or should he return home and tell Rooster what he had discovered? He knew that Miss Ruth would be beside herself, wondering what had happened to her daughter, so he turned the horse around and galloped back the way he had come.

  Rooster was carrying wood into the house and heard him coming. Jimmy slid out of the saddle; his voice near to breaking, he said, "You were right, Rooster. They've got her. She was almost home when they grabbed her."

  "Oh, Lord." Rooster doubled his hands into fists. "This may kill Ruth." He looked at Jimmy. "You've got to ride to the Asher ranch and tell Jules what has happened. He and Logan will go after the bastards. I pray that they will get to Willow before that Buck—"

  "I know what you mean, Rooster," Jimmy said as he swung back into the saddle. He touched spurs to the horse and it was off at a gallop. Giving a sorrowful shake of his head, Rooster continued into the house to break the disturbing news to Ruth.

  Jimmy's horse was winded and spent when he drew rein in front of Jules's sprawling home. A light burned in the great room, and dismounting, he stepped up onto the wide veranda and looked through one of the three windows that flanked each side of the door.

  Jess was sitting alone in front of the fire, her clay pipe clenched between her lips. Should he tell the old woman that Willow was missing? he asked himself Or should he go straight to the bunkhouse in the hope he would find Jules with his men.

  But the old lady was a strong-minded old bird, he told himself, and would take the upsetting news in stride. He took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

  Jess's gray head jerked around and she peered through the glass. Her smile told the teenager that she recognized him. She rose stiffly and, picking up her cane, hobbled toward the door.

  "What brings you here, Jimmy, at this time of night?" she asked, opening the door for him. "Is everything all right at the ranch? Willow was here this morning and she said everything was fine there."

  "I'm here because of Willow, Miss Jess," Jimmy said. Then, as gently as he could, he told her what had happened. He ended by asking, "Where is Jules? I think Rooster wants your nephew to ride with him when he goes after Willow."

  Jess dropped her cane and clutched at a chair back. "He's not here," she said in a breathless voice. "He and Logan decided to go on a last wild horse drive while the weather held. He said they would be gone for a week or two. I think they're going up into the high country."

  "When did they leave?"

  "Shortly after Willow left to go home. He seemed upset. Maybe he and Willow quarreled about something."

  "They do that a lot," Jimmy said distractedly; then he asked, "Can I borrow a horse to ride back to the ranch? Mine is spent."

  "Of course, son. Take any one of them you want. But don't you want a cup of coffee or something to eat before you go?"

  "Thank you, Miss Jess, but I don't have time. Rooster is waiting for me."

  "Godspeed then," the old lady said.

  Rooster built a cigarette and stepped outside to breathe the night air as he smoked it. It was half gone when he heard the thunder of hoofs racing up to the house. He stepped off of the veranda as Jimmy slid off his mount. The animal stood, his legs braced, his head drooping, his muzzle and chest flecked with foam.

  "I pressed him hard," the teenager said, compassion for the heaving animal in his voice.

  "Did you speak to Jules?" Rooster asked, the red tip of his smoke arcing in the darkness as he flipped it away.

  "He wasn't home, Rooster. He and Logan have gone up to the high country looking for the wild ones. Miss Jess said they might not be back for a couple weeks."

  "Damn," Rooster swore grimly, staring unseeingly at the moonlit yard.

  Jimmy waited a short while for him to say more. When the silence continued, he asked, "What are we going to do now? Will you go after them?"

  "I'd like nothing better than to go after the bastards and shoot them down like the mad dogs they are. But I dare not leave Ruth now. She is overwhelmed with grief and is like a frightened little child. I need to be with her to keep her from going over the edge."

  "What then?" There was a tone of impatience in Jimmy's voice.

  Rooster sighed heavily and turned his attention to him. "I hate to ask this of you, Jimmy. I know you're exhausted, but would you take the hound and try to track Jules and Logan?"

  "Of course I will. I'd do anything to get Willow out of those men's clutches." Rooster slapped the teenager affectionately on the shoulder. "I don't know what we'd do without you, son. Hustle over to the cookhouse and have Corrie Mae fix you a hearty meal before you start out. When you've finished, I'll have a fresh horse saddled and the hound will be ready. You'll have to start at the Asher ranch so the hound can get the scent of that black stallion Jules rides."

  Jimmy trotted off for the meal his stomach was clamoring for, and Rooster called the hound and walked toward the barn.

  A short time later a white blanket of fog hung over the land as Jimmy and the hound left the ranch, heading toward the high country.

  Logan and Jules had camped beside a wide, shallow stream bordered with drooping willows. Logan had prepared a rabbit he had shot from the saddle and had roasted it over the low-burning flames. When they'd finished eating, the two men sat staring into the campfire.

  "All right," Logan began when he finished building a cigarette, then lit it with a twig from the fire, "tell me what has put you in such a black mood. Every time I've tried to get a conversation going, you've only grunted."

  "I guess I just don't feel like talking." Jules pulled his own bag of tobacco and papers from his vest pocket.

  "That's a blazer, and you know it." Logan narrowed his eyes at the gloomy man tapping tobacco into the thin paper. "It's Willow, isn't it? You've argued with her again, haven't you?"

  Jules passed his tongue across the paper, then rolled the cigarette. When he had pulled a burning twig from the fire and lighted it, he said gruffly, "Yeah, it's that little witch again. She's driving me crazy."

  "What has she done this time?"

&
nbsp; "She refused to marry me."

  Dry amusement danced in Logan's eyes, and with a hint of laughter, he said, "So you finally asked her to marry you. Did you ask her real nice-like?"

  "Of course I did. I told her real nice that I would marry her if that was what she wanted."

  "Those are the words you used to ask her to be your wife?" Logan looked at Jules incredulously. "No words of love, or anything like that?"

  "I was trying to make love to her at the time," Jules answered testily.

  "So that's what brought on your proposal. Willow wouldn't cooperate and you were so hot to have her, you thought to bribe her with an offer of holy matrimony?"

  "That's what she's wanted all along." Jules tossed his spent smoke into the fire. "I thought she would be happy, getting her wish."

  "I'm sure she was overjoyed," Logan said cynically. "I'm surprised she didn't take you up on your offer immediately."

  "Go to hell," Jules snapped. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

  The subject of Jules's wedded bliss was dropped as the two men rolled new cigarettes.

  A wolfs chilling howl pierced the moonlit evening.

  "He sounds like he's on the prowl," Jules remarked.

  "Yeah. He's the majestic lord of wherever he roams. He answers to no one."

  "He reminds me of you." Jules grinned at Logan. "I've never heard you answer to anyone." When Logan made no response, he asked, "Do you think we've been friends long enough for you to tell me a little about yourself? Your last name for instance?" He grinned, "Or were you whelped by a pair of wolves?"

  Logan took the jibe in the same way it was given, good-naturedly. "My last name is Lapante. I am the only child of a French father and a Ute Indian mother. I was born and raised in northern Colorado."

  "Where are your parents now?"

  "Both dead. They were caught in a snow avalanche one day while running my father's trapline. I was ten years old."

  "Who took care of you after that?

  "My old Ute grandparents."