by Norah Hess
"Are they still alive?"
"No. They died from old age when I was eighteen. That's when I left the tribe and came down the mountain to see how white people lived."
"And?"
Logan snorted. "My father's people no more welcomed me than my mother's people had. A half-breed is scorned by both whites and Indians. He doesn't fit in anywhere."
"People are damn fools. I've never known a man more upright than you."
"Thank you, friend. That means—" Logan paused in mid-sentence when a big dog rushed into camp and made straight for Jules, his tail wagging a greeting.
"That's my hound," Jules exclaimed, coming to his feet. "He has tracked me all this way." Both men slapped a hand to their holsters when a dark figure appeared out of the shadows. "Jimmy." Jules recognized the teenager. "What are you doing up here? Is my aunt all right?"
"She's fine, Boss. It's Willow. Her Paw made off with her today."
"Oh, dear Lord." All the blood seemed to drain from Jules's face. "When did it happen? Where?" He fired the questions at Jimmy as he picked up his saddle and hurried to the stallion tied up beneath one of the willows.
"This afternoon after she left your place. She was about a quarter of a mile from home when they grabbed her," Jimmy said as he followed Jules. "I was able to read the signs," he added, pride in his voice.
"Has Rooster gone to look for her?"
"No. Miss Ruth is so upset, he's afraid to leave her. That's why he sent me to fetch you."
"I won't be going back with you, Jimmy. Logan and I will head out for New Mexico from here. Logan knows where the Ames ranch is. He used to work there."
"Can I go with you?" Jimmy asked eagerly.
"No, son. You've ridden enough for one day. There's some rabbit and hardtack and coffee left over from our supper. Take half the blankets from my bedroll and spend the night here before the fire. There's enough wood to last you through the night."
In less than five minutes, Jules and Logan were galloping away from the fire, heading in the direction of New Mexico.
Willow had never felt so exhausted in her life as when she and her father and Buck approached the Axel ranch in mid-morning. They had ridden hard since leaving Texas, stopping only for a fast meal and a few hours' sleep. Her face and hands were dirty, and her long curling hair was a tangled mess. Her clothes were wrinkled from sleeping in them, and her feet felt swollen from being encased in her boots all this time.
As they rode up to the yard, overgrown with weeds that were now brown and bent, she ran a glance over the house. The roof of the porch was sagging, weatherbeaten boards were missing from the frame building, and three panes of glass were broken in the windows. Rags had been shoved in the jagged holes.
The place looked a far cry from what it had been when she had used to visit the former owners.
If it were possible, Willow felt even more dispirited at the thought of having to spend the rest of her life with Buck in this hovel.
"Get down, girl," Otto ordered as he swung to the ground. "Get inside and rustle us up something to eat. Me and Buck are hungry."
Willow noted that Buck was already in the house, having rushed there as soon as he dismounted. As if I don't know what his hurrying is all about, she thought as she climbed stiffly to the ground, every bone and muscle in her body aching. He's probably got some poor Indian or Mexican woman tied up to his bed.
As she followed her father into the kitchen, an angry-faced Buck came bolting in from one of the back rooms. "I think that dammed bitch is about to die on us, Otto."
"Did you leave food and water for her like I told you to? Did you put covers over her?"
"Hell, yes. I put water and some beef jerky on the floor, and I laid a blanket over her."
"A blanket?" Willow said disgustedly. "She probably has pneumonia. It's freezing cold in here. And beef jerky to chew on for close to a week? Our old hound is better taken care of."
"You'd better go take a look at her." Otto pushed willow out of the kitchen.
The room was dark and cold, the shutters closed. Willow flung them open, then walked over to the bed and looked down at a sight that made her cry out in compassion. A delicate-boned girl lay tied on a dirty mattress, the single blanket bunched at her feet. Her light brown hair was matted and sundry bruises covered her small face. Willow judged that she barely weighed a hundred pounds.
The half-breed lay in a stupor, limp and motionless. Willow knew she was gravely ill, hanging on to life by a slender thread. She laid a hand on the flushed forehead, and it was very hot to the touch. The girl had a high fever.
Willow sensed that the men had entered the room, and without looking around she began to issue orders. "Get me a basin of cold water and a washcloth. And one of you prepare something for this poor girl to eat. And get some heat in this pigsty. And bring me more blankets."
When her father and Buck started making grumbling noises, she spun around to face them. "If this girl dies because of your treatment of her, I will report it to the authorities no matter how long it takes me. I will see you both hanged for this terrible thing you have done."
Fury stabbed out of Buck's pale eyes, and Otto could barely contain his anger. But without words, they stomped out of the room and seconds later there came the sound of cooking utensils being banged around and the smell of wood catching fire. A short time later, a basin of water was banged down on the rickety table beside the bed, then some blankets were dropped at her feet.
"Hurry up with the food," Willow snapped as Buck's heavy tread moved toward the door.
Her first act was to pile the extra blankets on top of the girl and to tuck them tightly around her narrow shoulders. She sat down on the edge of the bed then and began to bathe her face.
In just a few minutes the water grew warm from the heat of the raging fever. "I need more cold water in here," Willow's voice rang out in a no-nonsense tone.
"You're getting mighty bossy," Buck growled when he brought another basin of water into the room. "I hope you know that you will pay later on for every order you give."
"Hah," Willow snorted. "As if you'd need an excuse to beat me."
"I'll do more than beat you, missy." Buck licked his lips in anticipation.
"And I'll kill you the first chance I get," Willow shot back at him. "I'm strong, not like this poor creature. I will get my revenge."
"Bah," Buck growled. "I'd like to see the day when you can kill me." For all of his brave words, Willow noted there was a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
Twice more Willow called for water. The last time Buck brought in a pail of water. "See if that will hold you for a while," he growled, setting it at her feet. Willow noted as she continued to bathe the girl's face and throat that her skin felt less hot. Hope rose in her breast when she began to stir and moan. "Please, Lord," she prayed as she smoothed the hair off the smooth brow, "Let her live."
The girl's eyelids flickered; then brown, pain-filled eyes looked up at Willow. At first she shrank against the pillow, but when Willow spoke soothingly to her, she relaxed some. "Don't be afraid," she said gently. "I won't let those brutal men touch you."
Thanksgiving and doubt battled in the soft eyes. Then terror took over when Otto entered the room, a bowl of steaming food in his hands. "It's all right." Willow laid a calming hand on the shrinking shoulders. "He has brought you something to eat."
The girl remained tense until Otto left the room. She relaxed then and allowed Willow to lift her head and prop the other pillow behind her and to sit her a little higher in the bed.
"Let's see what we've got here." Willow picked up the bowl Otto had set on the table. "Do you like beef stew?" she asked, stirring the spoon through the meat and potatoes. She sniffed at the bowl, then tasted the meat. "I guess this was cooked sometime last week, but it smells and tastes all right. I guess it has kept because it's so cold in here. Do you want to try it?"
The girl nodded eagerly, and Willow began to spoon the stew into her mouth, at first g
iving her only gravy and small bits of potato. She wanted her empty stomach to have time to accept the food. Slowly then, she fed her pieces of meat.
When the bowl was empty, the brown eyes asked for more. Willow shook her head in answer. She was afraid the girl's stomach would reject more.
She had just wiped the pale lips with the washcloth when Otto entered the room again. He held a length of coiled rope in his hand. "Me and Buck are riding into town to see the lawyer," he said. "I'm gonna tie you to the bed. I know you'll run the first chance you get. Hold out your hands or I'll beat that breed senseless."
Willow knew that he would, and with a sigh she sat quietly as he tied her wrists together and then fastened the end of the rope to abed leg. "That ought to keep you until we get back," he muttered, and left the room.
"You are their prisoner too?" The question was filled with surprise and disappointment.
Willow nodded. "Although Otto is my father, I am, nevertheless, a prisoner, the same as you are. But"—she smiled—"maybe all is not lost."
When she heard the kitchen door slam shut, Willow stood up and found that the length of rope allowed her to walk to the window a few feet away. She stood to one side of it and peered out. In moments she saw her father and Buck ride away. She walked back to the bed, and propping her right foot up, she said, "Honey, there is a knife tucked in my boot. Do you think you can roll over on your side and fish it out for me?"
With wild hope blazing in her eyes, the girl slowly inched over on her side and reached into Willow's boot. She gave a weak, glad cry when her fingers closed over the long, heavy jackknife. She pulled it out and handed it to Willow, a proud look in her beautiful brown eyes.
Willow managed to free the long blade; then, dropping her foot to the floor, she sat down on the edge of the bed and held out her bound hands to the girl. "Do you think you have the strength to cut this rope?"
"I will do it." The answer came firm and determined.
With trembling hands she sawed away with the knife for a minute, then had to rest another minute before continuing. In all, it took about five minutes before the knotted rope fell apart. The girl lay back, exhausted. When Willow had cut the other end of the rope and sawed through the one that bound the girl, she wanted to take her and ride away at once. Logical thinking held her back, though. They would need food and water on their trip to freedom.
She hurried into the kitchen and rummaged through Buck's larder. She yanked from a shelf a slab of salt pork, a handful of pemmican and four cans of beans. Shoving them into a cloth bag that lay on the table, she added some hardtack that lay in the clutter of dirty dishes and scraps of dried food. She next grabbed a canteen off the wall and filled it with water from a pail sitting on the floor.
Willow hung the trail grub on the door handle, then at a half run she returned to the bedroom. "What's your name, honey?" she asked as she began wrapping the girl up in one of the blankets. "Cailyn."
"No last name?"
"Just Cailyn."
"Cailyn, you must be brave now, and call on all your strength, for we are leaving this place." Cailyn nodded eagerly and Willow helped her to a sitting position and then hefted her over her shoulder.
Steadying Cailyn with one hand and the food supplies with the other. Willow stepped out onto the decaying porch. She looked toward the tree where she had tied her mare. The little horse was not there. In a panic, she looked wildly around the immediate area. The mare was nowhere to be seen.
As Willow's brain raced, one thing was clear. They had to get away. If it meant walking all the way to Texas, then she would do it.
It was late afternoon when Logan led the way to the Ames ranch. He frowned when he saw no smoke coming from the chimney of the main house.
"It doesn't look like there's anybody here." Worried concern was in Jules's voice. "Where do you suppose the bastard has taken her?"
"There's smoke coming from the bunkhouse. Let's go see if the cowhands know anything about their boss's whereabouts."
When Jules and Logan walked into the mean quarters that housed ames's help, three men looked up from their seats around a burning potbellied stove.
"Hiya, Logan," one of the men said. "Are you gonna work with us again?"
"Maybe. Where can I find Otto?"
"We ain't seen him for almost a week. He spends a lot of time over at the Axel ranch. You might find him there."
"Thanks. We'll go look for him there."
"We should have known that's where she would be." Jules swore savagely as they rode off, Logan leading the way. "How far is it to the Axel ranch?"
"Around four miles," Logan answered as he prodded his horse into a hard gallop.
They had covered about two miles when Jules drew in a sharp breath. Willow's mare was trotting slowly toward them, the stirrups swinging emptily against the animal's side.
Jules grabbed the mare's reins, imagining all kinds of terrible things that could have happened to Willow. He knew in that instant that the lovely young woman meant more to him than anyone or anything else in the world. He had stubbornly held on to his determination never to marry, never to give up his independence. What a damn fool he had been, he raged at himself as the stallion thundered on.
They arrived at the run-down ranch house and ran a glance over it. Everything was quiet inside. But smoke rose from the chimney and both men were wondering if inside, guns were trained on them.
They were dismounting when Jules saw the sudden flash of sun on metal. "Take cover," he yelled to Logan just as there came the whiplike crack of a rifle. As the shot buried itself in a tree, Jules and Logan bolted for the doubtful protection of the dilapidated porch. They drew their Colts and crouched down, waiting. There was no doubt in their minds who was shooting at them, or that Willow was inside the house.
Jules was praying that she wouldn't come running out as the rifle spoke again, the bullet slamming into a rotting support post this time.
"When they get up the nerve to show themselves, I'll take Otto down and you take care of Axel."
"No. I'm going to kill Otto Ames," Jules declared. "His greed has caused all of this to happen to Willow."
"No, you're not." Logan sounded just as determined. "Although Willow may hate his guts, the bastard is, after all, her father. If you kill him, it will always be between you."
"All right," Jules agreed. "I'll take Axel."
There came a barrage of gunshots, and bullets sprayed the porch, splintering wood and breaking windows. When it grew quiet, Logan looked at Jules and said, "Either their aim isn't worth spit, or they can't see us."
"Can you make out where they are?"
"They're over there in that stand of cottonwoods east of the house. I saw movement there a couple of times."
Jules peered toward the trees. "I wonder why they've stopped shooting."
"It's my guess that they're either out of bullets, or close to it."
"What do you say we take the battle to them?" Jules suggested.
Logan nodded and said, "Remember, no matter what, I'm to get Otto."
Jules agreed with a nod of his head as he broke open his Colt and checked for spent shells. "When we hit the ground we'll separate, coming at them from two sides. That should spook them real good."
"I'll go right and you go left," Logan said, and then added, "Are you ready?"
"I'm ready," Jules answered and they hit the ground, running. Two shots rang out. One kicked up dust at Jules's feet and he felt sure that Buck Axel had shot at him. He had only the use of his left hand now, and most likely couldn't hit the broadside of a buffalo.
Jules's eyes widened when he saw Buck leave the protection of the trees and come at him in a lumbering run. He crouched, and the Colt in his hand grew steady as his wrist muscles stiffened. When the fat man was four yards away, his gun blazing, Jules slowly squeezed the trigger.
Buck staggered, dropped his smoking gun and clutched at his chest. He sank slowly to his knees and fell on his back, his open eyes staring sightles
sly at the sky.
As Jules shoved the Colt back in its holster, two shots rang out from the trees. A minute later Logan appeared, reholstering his Colt. "I got the bastard," he said grimly. "I put a bullet in his gut. He won't die easy."
Jules didn't hear Logan after his first announcement. He was running toward the house. Minutes later he was back outside, looking like a wild man as he rushed to his stallion. "The house is empty," he said when Logan came running up. "I can't understand it. If she's not here, where is she?"
"Maybe we should look in the barn," Logan suggested. "She might have escaped from the house and hidden there."
Jules began to realize that he wasn't thinking in a calm and logical manner. He should have thought of that. It should have occurred to him also that Buck might have bound and gagged her and left her in the barn while he went on some errand. He wouldn't want a neighbor coming along and finding her tied up in the house.
"Let's go look," he said, and started running toward the barn.
As Willow pushed on, every nerve tight with determination, Cailyn's weight grew heavier and heavier. She became breathless and stumbled occasionally. She feared she couldn't go on much longer without a rest.
But she dared not stop. She figured she had only covered about a half mile. Her father and Buck could ride her down within minutes. And by now her father probably had the signed document that gave him the rights to the river he needed so badly for his cattle. That would signal the beginning of her life of hell with the brutal rancher.
Willow staggered on, panting for breath. Finally she caught her toe against a rock and was sent sprawling into a deep coulee. Cailyn cried out as she was dislodged from Willow's shoulder, her head hitting a rock. Willow lay still, the breath knocked out of her.
When she could breathe again, she rose and bent over the girl. She sighed in relief when Cailyn gave her a weak smile. Getting down on her knees, she felt her forehead and frowned. The smooth skin was hot again. "Honey," she said, "we'll rest here a little while. I'm going to carry you over to that pile of brush and rocks. It's a good hiding place for us."